"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along
the line, "I should like just to remember the order of the houses
here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London.
There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the
Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian
Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building depot. That carries us
right on to the other block. And now, Doctor, we've done our work, so
it's time we had some play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then
off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony,
and there are no red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums."
My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very
capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the
afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness,
gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his
gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those
of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted,
ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his
singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and
his extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as I have often
thought, the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which
occasionally predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him
from extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was
never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been
lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his black-letter
editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come
upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the
level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his
methods would look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not
that of other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in
the music at St. James's Hall I felt that an evil time might be
coming upon those whom he had set himself to hunt down.
"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he remarked as we emerged.
"Yes, it would be as well."
"And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This
business at Coburg Square is serious."
"Why serious?"
"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to
believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being
Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help
to-night."
"At what time?"
"Ten will be early enough."
"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."
"Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger, so
kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved his hand,
turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.
I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was always
oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with
Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what
he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw
clearly not only what had happened but what was about to happen,
while to me the whole business was still confused and grotesque. As I
drove home to my house in Kensington I thought over it all, from the
extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the "Encyclopaedia"
down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with
which he had parted from me. What was this nocturnal expedition, and
why should I go armed? Where were we going, and what were we to do?
I had the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's
assistant was a formidable man--a man who might play a deep game. I
tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter
aside until night should bring an explanation.
It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my way
across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two
hansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered the passage I
heard the sound of voices from above. On entering his room I found
Holmes in animated conversation with two men, one of whom I
recognised as Peter Jones, the official police agent, while the other
was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and
oppressively respectable frock-coat.
"Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket
and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. "Watson, I think you
know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr.
Merryweather, who is to be our companion in to-night's adventure."
"We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see," said Jones in his
consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a
chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running
down."
"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,"
observed Mr. Merryweather gloomily.
"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," said the
police agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, which are, if
he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and
fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not
too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of the Sholto
murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than
the official force."
"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said the stranger
with deference. "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is the
first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I have not had
my rubber."
"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you will play
for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the
play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will
be some ?0,000; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you
wish to lay your hands."
"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's a young
man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and I
would rather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in London.
He's a remarkable man, is young John Clay. His grandfather was a
royal duke, and he himself has been to Eton and Oxford. His brain is
as cunning as his fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every
turn, we never know where to find the man himself. He'll crack a crib
in Scotland one week, and be raising money to build an orphanage in
Cornwall the next. I've been on his track for years and have never
set eyes on him yet."
"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night.
I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I agree
with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is past ten,
however, and quite time that we started. If you two will take the
first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the second."
Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive and
lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the
afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets
until we emerged into Farrington Street.
"We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow
Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the
matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is not a
bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession. He has one
positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as tenacious as a
lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we are, and they are
waiting for us."
We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had found
ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and, following the
guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage and
through a side door, which he opened for us. Within there was a small
corridor, which ended in a very massive iron gate. This also was
opened, and led down a flight of winding stone steps, which
terminated at another formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to
light a lantern, and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling
passage, and so, after opening a third door, into a huge vault or
cellar, which was piled all round with crates and massive boxes.
"You are not very vulnerable from above," Holmes remarked as he held
up the lantern and gazed about him.
"Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon the
flags which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!"
he remarked, looking up in surprise.
"I must really ask you to be a little more quiet!" said Holmes
severely. "You have already imperilled the whole success of our
expedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit down
upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?"
The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a very
injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his knees
upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began to
examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few seconds
sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again and put his
glass in his pocket.
"We have at least an hour before us," he remarked, "for they can
hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed.
Then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work
the longer time they will have for their escape. We are at present,
Doctor--as no doubt you have divined--in the cellar of the City
branch of one of the principal London banks. Mr. Merryweather is the
chairman of directors, and he will explain to you that there are
reasons why the more daring criminals of London should take a
considerable interest in this cellar at present."
"It is our French gold," whispered the director. "We have had several
warnings that an attempt might be made upon it."
"Your French gold?"
"Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources and
borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of France.
It has become known that we have never had occasion to unpack the
money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The crate upon which
I sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed between layers of lead foil.
Our reserve of bullion is much larger at present than is usually kept
in a single branch office, and the directors have had misgivings upon
the subject."
"Which were very well justified," observed Holmes. "And now it is
time that we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an hour
matters will come to a head. In the meantime Mr. Merryweather, we
must put the screen over that dark lantern."
"And sit in the dark?"
"I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and I
thought that, as we were a partie carr閑, you might have your rubber
after all. But I see that the enemy's preparations have gone so far
that we cannot risk the presence of a light. And, first of all, we
must choose our positions. These are daring men, and though we shall
take them at a disadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we are
careful. I shall stand behind this crate, and do you conceal
yourselves behind those. Then, when I flash a light upon them, close
in swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no compunction about shooting
them down."
I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behind
which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front of his
lantern and left us in pitch darkness--such an absolute darkness as I
have never before experienced. The smell of hot metal remained to
assure us that the light was still there, ready to flash out at a
moment's notice. To me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch of
expectancy, there was something depressing and subduing in the sudden
gloom, and in the cold dank air of the vault.
"They have but one retreat," whispered Holmes. "That is back through
the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have done what I
asked you, Jones?"
"I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door."
"Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent and
wait."
What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but an
hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must have
almost gone and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs were weary
and stiff, for I feared to change my position; yet my nerves were
worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my hearing was so
acute that I could not only hear the gentle breathing of my
companions, but I could distinguish the deeper, heavier in-breath of
the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note of the bank director.
From my position I could look over the case in the direction of the
floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light.
At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then it
