this boy done gone get into trouble."
"Yes, you'll tell the magistrate about it, Steve," said Holmes. "I've
been watching you and Barney Stockdale--"
"So help me the Lord! Masser Holmes--"
"That's enough. Get out of it. I'll pick you up when I want you."
"Good-mornin', Masser Holmes. I hope there ain't no hard feelin's
about this 'ere visit?"
"There will be unless you tell me who sent you."
"Why, there ain't no secret about that, Masser Holmes. It was that
same gen'l'man that you have just done gone mention."
"And who set him on to it?"
"S'elp me. I don't know, Masser Holmes. He just say, 'Steve, you go
see Mr. Holmes, and tell him his life ain't safe if he go down Harrow
way.' That's the whole truth." Without waiting for any further
questioning, our visitor bolted out of the room almost as
precipitately as he had entered. Holmes knocked out the ashes of his
pipe with a quiet chuckle.
"I am glad you were not forced to break his woolly head, Watson. I
observed your manoeuvres with the poker. But he is really rather a
harmless fellow, a great muscular, foolish, blustering baby, and
easily cowed, as you have seen. He is one of the Spencer John gang
and has taken part in some dirty work of late which I may clear up
when I have time. His immediate principal, Barney, is a more astute
person. They specialize in assaults, intimidation, and the like. What
I want to know is, who is at the back of them on this particular
occasion?"
"But why do they want to intimidate you?"
"It is this Harrow Weald case. It decides me to look into the matter,
for if it is worth anyone's while to take so much trouble, there must
be something in it."
"But what is it?"
"I was going to tell you when we had this comic interlude. Here is
Mrs. Maberley's note. If you care to come with me we will wire her
and go out at once."
Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes [I read]:
I have had a succession of strange incidents occur to me in
connection with this house, and I should much value your advice. You
would find me at home any time to-morrow. The house is within a short
walk of the Weald Station. I believe that my late husband, Mortimer
Maberley, was one of your early clients.
Yours faithfully,
Mary Maberley
The address was "The Three Gables, Harrow Weald."
"So that's that!" said Holmes. "And now, if you can spare the time,
Watson, we will get upon our way."
A short railway journey, and a shorter drive, brought us to the
house, a brick and timber villa, standing in its own acre of
undeveloped grassland. Three small projections above the upper
windows made a feeble attempt to justify its name. Behind was a grove
of melancholy, half-grown pines, and the whole aspect of the place
was poor and depressing. None the less, we found the house to be well
furnished, and the lady who received us was a most engaging elderly
person, who bore every mark of refinement and culture.
"I remember your husband well, madam," said Holmes, "though it is
some years since he used my services in some trifling matter."
"Probably you would be more familiar with the name of my son
Douglas."
Holmes looked at her with great interest.
"Dear me! Are you the mother of Douglas Maberley? I knew him
slightly. But of course all London knew him. What a magnificent
creature he was! Where is he now?"
"Dead, Mr. Holmes, dead! He was attache at Rome, and he died there of
pneumonia last month."
"I am sorry. One could not connect death with such a man. I have
never known anyone so vitally alive. He lived intensely--every fibre
of him!"
"Too intensely, Mr. Holmes. That was the ruin of him. You remember
him as he was--debonair and splendid. You did not see the moody,
morose, brooding creature into which he developed. His heart was
broken. In a single month I seemed to see my gallant boy turn into a
worn-out cynical man."
"A love affair--a woman?"
"Or a fiend. Well, it was not to talk of my poor lad that I asked you
to come, Mr. Holmes."
"Dr. Watson and I are at your service."
"There have been some very strange happenings. I have been in this
house more than a year now, and as I wished to lead a retired life I
have seen little of my neighbours. Three days ago I had a call from a
man who said that he was a house agent. He said that this house would
exactly suit a client of his, and that if I would part with it money
would be no object. It seemed to me very strange as there are several
empty houses on the market which appear to be equally eligible, but
naturally I was interested in what he said. I therefore named a price
which was five hundred pounds more than I gave. He at once closed
with the offer, but added that his client desired to buy the
furniture as well and would I put a price upon it. Some of this
furniture is from my old home, and it is, as you see, very good, so
that I named a good round sum. To this also he at once agreed. I had
always wanted to travel, and the bargain was so good a one that it
really seemed that I should be my own mistress for the rest of my
life.
"Yesterday the man arrived with the agreement all drawn out. Luckily
I showed it to Mr. Sutro, my lawyer, who lives in Harrow. He said to
me, 'This is a very strange document. Are you aware that if you sign
it you could not legally take anything out of the house--not even
your own private possessions?' When the man came again in the evening
I pointed this out, and I said that I meant only to sell the
furniture.
"'No, no, everything,' said he.
"'But my clothes? My jewels?'
"'Well, well, some concession might be made for your personal
effects. But nothing shall go out of the house unchecked. My client
is a very liberal man, but he has his fads and his own way of doing
things. It is everything or nothing with him.'
"'Then it must be nothing,' said I. And there the matter was left,
but the whole thing seemed to me to be so unusual that I thought--"
Here we had a very extraordinary interruption.
Holmes raised his hand for silence. Then he strode across the room,
flung open the door, and dragged in a great gaunt woman whom he had
seized by the shoulder. She entered with ungainly struggle like some
huge awkward chicken, torn, squawking, out of its coop.
"Leave me alone! What are you a-doin' of?" she screeched.
"Why, Susan, what is this?"
"Well, ma'am, I was comin' in to ask if the visitors was stayin' for
lunch when this man jumped out at me."
"I have been listening to her for the last five minutes, but did not
wish to interrupt your most interesting narrative. Just a little
wheezy, Susan, are you not? You breathe too heavily for that kind of
work."
Susan turned a sulky but amazed face upon her captor. "Who be you,
anyhow, and what right have you a-pullin' me about like this?"
"It was merely that I wished to ask a question in your presence. Did
you, Mrs. Maberley, mention to anyone that you were going to write to
me and consult me?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, I did not."
"Who posted your letter?"
"Susan did."
"Exactly. Now, Susan, to whom was it that you wrote or sent a message
to say that your mistress was asking advice from me?"
"It's a lie. I sent no message."
"Now, Susan, wheezy people may not live long, you know. It's a wicked
thing to tell fibs. Whom did you tell?"
"Susan!" cried her mistress, "I believe you are a bad, treacherous
woman. I remember now that I saw you speaking to someone over the
hedge."
"That was my own business," said the woman sullenly.
"Suppose I tell you that it was Barney Stockdale to whom you spoke?"
said Holmes.
"Well, if you know, what do you want to ask for?"
"I was not sure, but I know now. Well now, Susan, it will be worth
ten pounds to you if you will tell me who is at the back of Barney."
"Someone that could lay down a thousand pounds for every ten you have
in the world."
"So, a rich man? No; you smiled--a rich woman. Now we have got so
far, you may as well give the name and earn the tenner."
"I'll see you in hell first."
"Oh, Susan! Language!"
"I am clearing out of here. I've had enough of you all. I'll send for
my box to-morrow." She flounced for the door.
"Good-bye, Susan. Paregoric is the stuff... Now," he continued,
turning suddenly from lively to severe when the door had closed
behind the flushed and angry woman, "this gang means business. Look
how close they play the game. Your letter to me had the 10 P. M.
postmark. And yet Susan passes the word to Barney. Barney has time to
go to his employer and get instructions; he or she--I incline to the
latter from Susan's grin when she thought I had blundered--forms a
plan. Black Steve is called in, and I am warned off by eleven o'clock
next morning. That's quick work, you know."
"But what do they want?"
"Yes, that's the question. Who had the house before you?"
"A retired sea captain called Ferguson."
"Anything remarkable about him?"
"Not that ever I heard of."
"I was wondering whether he could have buried something. Of course,
when people bury treasure nowadays they do it in the Post-Office
bank. But there are always some lunatics about. It would be a dull
world without them. At first I thought of some buried valuable. But
why, in that case, should they want your furniture? You don't happen
to have a Raphael or a first folio Shakespeare without knowing it?"
"No, I don't think I have anything rarer than a Crown Derby tea-set."
"That would hardly justify all this mystery. Besides, why should they
not openly state what they want? If they covet your tea-set, they can
surely offer a price for it without buying you out, lock, stock, and
barrel. No, as I read it, there is something which you do not know
that you have, and which you would not give up if you did know."
"That is how I read it," said I.
"Dr. Watson agrees, so that settles it."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, what can it be?"
"Let us see whether by this purely mental analysis we can get it to a
finer point. You have been in this house a year."
"Nearly two."
"All the better. During this long period no one wants anything from
you. Now suddenly within three or four days you have urgent demands.
What would you gather from that?"
"It can only mean," said I, "that the object, whatever it may be, has
only just come into the house."
"Settled once again," said Holmes. "Now, Mrs. Maberley, has any
object just arrived?"
"No, I have bought nothing new this year."
"Indeed! That is very remarkable. Well, I think we had best let
matters develop a little further until we have clearer data. Is that
lawyer of yours a capable man?"
"Mr. Sutro is most capable."
"Have you another maid, or was the fair Susan, who has just banged
your front door, alone?"
"I have a young girl."
"Try and get Sutro to spend a night or two in the house. You might
possibly want protection."
"Against whom?"
"Who knows? The matter is certainly obscure. If I can't find what
they are after, I must approach the matter from the other end and try
to get at the principal. Did this house-agent man give any address?"
"Simply his card and occupation. Haines-Johnson, Auctioneer and
Valuer."
"I don't think we shall find him in the directory. Honest business
men don't conceal their place of business. Well, you will let me know
any fresh development. I have taken up your case, and you may rely
upon it that I shall see it through."
As we passed through the hall Holmes's eyes, which missed nothing,
lighted upon several trunks and cases which were piled in a corner.
The labels shone out upon them.
"'Milano.' 'Lucerne.' These are from Italy."
"They are poor Douglas's things."
"You have not unpacked them? How long have you had them?"
"They arrived last week."
"But you said--why, surely this might be the missing link. How do we
know that there is not something of value there?"
"There could not possibly be, Mr. Holmes. Poor Douglas had only his
pay and a small annuity. What could he have of value?"
Holmes was lost in thought.
