with the conditions if you budge from the office during that time.'
"'It's only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,'
said I.
"'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan Ross; 'neither sickness nor
business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your
billet.'
"'And the work?'
"'Is to copy out the "Encyclopaedia Britannica." There is the first
volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and
blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be
ready to-morrow?'
"'Certainly,' I answered.
"'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you once
more on the important position which you have been fortunate enough
to gain.' He bowed me out of the room and I went home with my
assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my
own good fortune.
"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in low
spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair
must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be I
could not imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that anyone could
make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing
anything so simple as copying out the 'Encyclopaedia Britannica.'
Vincent Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime I
had reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morning I
determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of
ink, and with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I
started off for Pope's Court.
"Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as
possible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was
there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off upon the
letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from time to time
to see that all was right with me. At two o'clock he bade me
good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I had written, and
locked the door of the office after me.
"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager
came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week's work.
It was the same next week, and the same the week after. Every morning
I was there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr.
Duncan Ross took to coming in only once of a morning, and then, after
a time, he did not come in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to
leave the room for an instant, for I was not sure when he might come,
and the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I
would not risk the loss of it.
"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots
and Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with
diligence that I might get on to the B's before very long. It cost me
something in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my
writings. And then suddenly the whole business came to an end."
"To an end?"
"Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as usual
at ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little
square of cardboard hammered on to the middle of the panel with a
tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself."
He held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet of
note-paper. It read in this fashion:
The Red-headed League
is
Dissolved
October 9, 1890.
Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful
face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely
overtopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a
roar of laughter.
"I cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried our client,
flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. "If you can do nothing
better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere."
"No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he
had half risen. "I really wouldn't miss your case for the world. It
is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my
saying so, something just a little funny about it. Pray what steps
did you take when you found the card upon the door?"
"I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at
the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it.
Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the
ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of
the Red-headed League. He said that he had never heard of any such
body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the
name was new to him.
"'Well,' said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.'
"'What, the red-headed man?'
"'Yes.'
"'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor and
was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises
were ready. He moved out yesterday.'
"'Where could I find him?'
"'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King
Edward Street, near St. Paul's.'
"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was a
manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard
of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross."
"And what did you do then?" asked Holmes.
"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my
assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say
that if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite good
enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place without a
struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough to give advice
to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right away to you."
"And you did very wisely," said Holmes. "Your case is an exceedingly
remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you
have told me I think that it is possible that graver issues hang from
it than might at first sight appear."
"Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. "Why, I have lost four pound a
week."
"As far as you are personally concerned," remarked Holmes, "I do not
see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. On
the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some ?0, to say
nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every
subject which comes under the letter A. You have lost nothing by
them."
"No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and
what their object was in playing this prank--if it was a prank--upon
me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two and
thirty pounds."
"We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And, first, one
or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first
called your attention to the advertisement--how long had he been with
you?"
"About a month then."
"How did he come?"
"In answer to an advertisement."
"Was he the only applicant?"
"No, I had a dozen."
"Why did you pick him?"
"Because he was handy and would come cheap."
"At half-wages, in fact."
"Yes."
"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?"
"Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face,
though he's not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his
forehead."
Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. "I thought as
much," said he. "Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced for
earrings?"
"Yes, sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he was a
lad."
"Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. "He is still with
you?"
"Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him."
"And has your business been attended to in your absence?"
"Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never very much to do of a
morning."
"That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion
upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday,
and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion."
"Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor had left us, "what do
you make of it all?"
"I make nothing of it," I answered frankly. "It is a most mysterious
business."
"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is the less
mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless
crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the
most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter."
"What are you going to do, then?" I asked.
"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three pipe problem, and I beg
that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." He curled himself up
in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and
there he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting
out like the bill of some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion
that he had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he
suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man who has
made up his mind and put his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.
"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," he remarked.
"What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few
hours?"
"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing."
"Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City first,
and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a good
deal of German music on the programme, which is rather more to my
taste than Italian or French. It is introspective, and I want to
introspect. Come along!"
We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short
walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story
which we had listened to in the morning. It was a poky, little,
shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick
houses looked out into a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of
weedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard fight
against a smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls
and a brown board with "Jabez Wilson" in white letters, upon a corner
house, announced the place where our red-headed client carried on his
business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one
side and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between
puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down
again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally he
returned to the pawnbroker's, and, having thumped vigorously upon the
pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up to the door
and knocked. It was instantly opened by a bright-looking,
clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step in.
"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished to ask you how you would go
from here to the Strand."
"Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant promptly, closing
the door.
"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away. "He is, in
my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am
not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something
of him before."
"Evidently," said I, "Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a good deal
in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you inquired
your way merely in order that you might see him."
"Not him."
"What then?"
"The knees of his trousers."
"And what did you see?"
"What I expected to see."
"Why did you beat the pavement?"
"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are
spies in an enemy's country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square.
Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it."
The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner
from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to
it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the main
arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City to the north and
west. The roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce
flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while the footpaths were
black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to
realise as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately business
premises that they really abutted on the other side upon the faded
and stagnant square which we had just quitted.
