"And his age?" I asked.
"Well, if a man can stride four and a-half feet without the smallest
effort, he can't be quite in the sere and yellow. That was the
breadth of a puddle on the garden walk which he had evidently walked
across. Patent-leather boots had gone round, and Square-toes had
hopped over. There is no mystery about it at all. I am simply
applying to ordinary life a few of those precepts of observation and
deduction which I advocated in that article. Is there anything else
that puzzles you?"
"The finger nails and the Trichinopoly," I suggested.
"The writing on the wall was done with a man's forefinger dipped in
blood. My glass allowed me to observe that the plaster was slightly
scratched in doing it, which would not have been the case if the
man's nail had been trimmed. I gathered up some scattered ash from
the floor. It was dark in colour and flakey--such an ash as is only
made by a Trichinopoly. I have made a special study of cigar
ashes--in fact, I have written a monograph upon the subject. I
flatter myself that I can distinguish at a glance the ash of any
known brand, either of cigar or of tobacco. It is just in such
details that the skilled detective differs from the Gregson and
Lestrade type."
"And the florid face?" I asked.
"Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I have no doubt that I was
right. You must not ask me that at the present state of the affair."
I passed my hand over my brow. "My head is in a whirl," I remarked;
"the more one thinks of it the more mysterious it grows. How came
these two men--if there were two men--into an empty house? What has
become of the cabman who drove them? How could one man compel another
to take poison? Where did the blood come from? What was the object of
the murderer, since robbery had no part in it? How came the woman's
ring there? Above all, why should the second man write up the German
word RACHE before decamping? I confess that I cannot see any possible
way of reconciling all these facts."
My companion smiled approvingly.
"You sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly and well,"
he said. "There is much that is still obscure, though I have quite
made up my mind on the main facts. As to poor Lestrade's discovery it
was simply a blind intended to put the police upon a wrong track, by
suggesting Socialism and secret societies. It was not done by a
German. The A, if you noticed, was printed somewhat after the German
fashion. Now, a real German invariably prints in the Latin character,
so that we may safely say that this was not written by one, but by a
clumsy imitator who overdid his part. It was simply a ruse to divert
inquiry into a wrong channel. I'm not going to tell you much more of
the case, Doctor. You know a conjuror gets no credit when once he has
explained his trick, and if I show you too much of my method of
working, you will come to the conclusion that I am a very ordinary
individual after all."
"I shall never do that," I answered; "you have brought detection as
near an exact science as it ever will be brought in this world."
My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the earnest
way in which I uttered them. I had already observed that he was as
sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of
her beauty.
"I'll tell you one other thing," he said. "Patent-leathers and
Square-toes came in the same cab, and they walked down the pathway
together as friendly as possible--arm-in-arm, in all probability.
When they got inside they walked up and down the room--or rather,
Patent-leathers stood still while Square-toes walked up and down. I
could read all that in the dust; and I could read that as he walked
he grew more and more excited. That is shown by the increased length
of his strides. He was talking all the while, and working himself up,
no doubt, into a fury. Then the tragedy occurred. I've told you all I
know myself now, for the rest is mere surmise and conjecture. We have
a good working basis, however, on which to start. We must hurry up,
for I want to go to Halle's concert to hear Norman Neruda this
afternoon."
This conversation had occurred while our cab had been threading its
way through a long succession of dingy streets and dreary by-ways. In
the dingiest and dreariest of them our driver suddenly came to a
stand. "That's Audley Court in there," he said, pointing to a narrow
slit in the line of dead-coloured brick. "You'll find me here when
you come back."
Audley Court was not an attractive locality. The narrow passage led
us into a quadrangle paved with flags and lined by sordid dwellings.
We picked our way among groups of dirty children, and through lines
of discoloured linen, until we came to Number 46, the door of which
was decorated with a small slip of brass on which the name Rance was
engraved. On enquiry we found that the constable was in bed, and we
were shown into a little front parlour to await his coming.
He appeared presently, looking a little irritable at being disturbed
in his slumbers. "I made my report at the office," he said.
Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and played with it
pensively. "We thought that we should like to hear it all from your
own lips," he said.
"I shall be most happy to tell you anything I can," the constable
answered with his eyes upon the little golden disk.
"Just let us hear it all in your own way as it occurred."
Rance sat down on the horsehair sofa, and knitted his brows as though
determined not to omit anything in his narrative.
"I'll tell it ye from the beginning," he said. "My time is from ten
at night to six in the morning. At eleven there was a fight at the
'White Hart'; but bar that all was quiet enough on the beat. At one
o'clock it began to rain, and I met Harry Murcher--him who has the
Holland Grove beat--and we stood together at the corner of Henrietta
Street a-talkin'. Presently--maybe about two or a little after--I
thought I would take a look round and see that all was right down the
Brixton Road. It was precious dirty and lonely. Not a soul did I meet
all the way down, though a cab or two went past me. I was a strollin'
down, thinkin' between ourselves how uncommon handy a four of gin hot
would be, when suddenly the glint of a light caught my eye in the
window of that same house. Now, I knew that them two houses in
Lauriston Gardens was empty on account of him that owns them who
won't have the drains seed to, though the very last tenant what lived
in one of them died o' typhoid fever. I was knocked all in a heap
therefore at seeing a light in the window, and I suspected as
something was wrong. When I got to the door--"
"You stopped, and then walked back to the garden gate," my companion
interrupted. "What did you do that for?"
Rance gave a violent jump, and stared at Sherlock Holmes with the
utmost amazement upon his features.
"Why, that's true, sir," he said; "though how you come to know it,
Heaven only knows. Ye see, when I got up to the door it was so still
and so lonesome, that I thought I'd be none the worse for some one
with me. I ain't afeared of anything on this side o' the grave; but I
thought that maybe it was him that died o' the typhoid inspecting the
drains what killed him. The thought gave me a kind o' turn, and I
walked back to the gate to see if I could see Murcher's lantern, but
there wasn't no sign of him nor of anyone else."
"There was no one in the street?"
"Not a livin' soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then I pulled myself
together and went back and pushed the door open. All was quiet
inside, so I went into the room where the light was a-burnin'. There
was a candle flickerin' on the mantelpiece--a red wax one--and by its
light I saw--"
"Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked round the room several
times, and you knelt down by the body, and then you walked through
and tried the kitchen door, and then--"
John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and suspicion in
his eyes. "Where was you hid to see all that?" he cried. "It seems to
me that you knows a deal more than you should."
Holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the constable.
"Don't get arresting me for the murder," he said. "I am one of the
hounds and not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or Mr. Lestrade will answer for
that. Go on, though. What did you do next?"
Rance resumed his seat, without however losing his mystified
expression. "I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. That
brought Murcher and two more to the spot."
"Was the street empty then?"
"Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any good goes."
"What do you mean?"
The constable's features broadened into a grin. "I've seen many a
drunk chap in my time," he said, "but never anyone so cryin' drunk as
that cove. He was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin' up ag'in the
railings, and a-singin' at the pitch o' his lungs about Columbine's
New-fangled Banner, or some such stuff. He couldn't stand, far less
help."
"What sort of a man was he?" asked Sherlock Holmes.
John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression. "He
was an uncommon drunk sort o' man," he said. "He'd ha' found hisself
in the station if we hadn't been so took up."
"His face--his dress--didn't you notice them?" Holmes broke in
impatiently.
"I should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop him
up--me and Murcher between us. He was a long chap, with a red face,
the lower part muffled round--"
"That will do," cried Holmes. "What became of him?"
"We'd enough to do without lookin' after him," the policeman said, in
an aggrieved voice. "I'll wager he found his way home all right."
"How was he dressed?"
"A brown overcoat."
"Had he a whip in his hand?"
"A whip--no."
"He must have left it behind," muttered my companion. "You didn't
happen to see or hear a cab after that?"
"No."
"There's a half-sovereign for you," my companion said, standing up
and taking his hat. "I am afraid, Rance, that you will never rise in
the force. That head of yours should be for use as well as ornament.
You might have gained your sergeant's stripes last night. The man
whom you held in your hands is the man who holds the clue of this
mystery, and whom we are seeking. There is no use of arguing about it
now; I tell you that it is so. Come along, Doctor."
We started off for the cab together, leaving our informant
incredulous, but obviously uncomfortable.
"The blundering fool," Holmes said, bitterly, as we drove back to our
lodgings. "Just to think of his having such an incomparable bit of
good luck, and not taking advantage of it."
"I am rather in the dark still. It is true that the description of
this man tallies with your idea of the second party in this mystery.
But why should he come back to the house after leaving it? That is
not the way of criminals."
"The ring, man, the ring: that was what he came back for. If we have
no other way of catching him, we can always bait our line with the
ring. I shall have him, Doctor--I'll lay you two to one that I have
him. I must thank you for it all. I might not have gone but for you,
and so have missed the finest study I ever came across: a study in
scarlet, eh? Why shouldn't we use a little art jargon. There's the
scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of
life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every
inch of it. And now for lunch, and then for Norman Neruda. Her attack
and her bowing are splendid. What's that little thing of Chopin's she
plays so magnificently: Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay."
Leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound carolled away like a
lark while I meditated upon the many-sidedness of the human mind.
CHAPTER V
Our Advertisement Brings A Visitor
Our morning's exertions had been too much for my weak health, and I
was tired out in the afternoon. After Holmes' departure for the
concert, I lay down upon the sofa and endeavoured to get a couple of
hours' sleep. It was a useless attempt. My mind had been too much
excited by all that had occurred, and the strangest fancies and
surmises crowded into it. Every time that I closed my eyes I saw
before me the distorted baboon-like countenance of the murdered man.
So sinister was the impression which that face had produced upon me
