"'Well,' said I, 'you said you'd give me one for Christmas, and I was
feeling which was the fattest.'
"'Oh,' says she, 'we've set yours aside for you--Jem's bird, we call
it. It's the big white one over yonder. There's twenty-six of them,
which makes one for you, and one for us, and two dozen for the
market.'
"'Thank you, Maggie,' says I; 'but if it is all the same to you, I'd
rather have that one I was handling just now.'
"'The other is a good three pound heavier,' said she, 'and we
fattened it expressly for you.'
"'Never mind. I'll have the other, and I'll take it now,' said I.
"'Oh, just as you like,' said she, a little huffed. 'Which is it you
want, then?'
"'That white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of the
flock.'
"'Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you.'
"Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird all
the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was a man
that it was easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed until he
choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. My heart turned to
water, for there was no sign of the stone, and I knew that some
terrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird, rushed back to my
sister's, and hurried into the back yard. There was not a bird to be
seen there.
"'Where are they all, Maggie?' I cried.
"'Gone to the dealer's, Jem.'
"'Which dealer's?'
"'Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.'
"'But was there another with a barred tail?' I asked, 'the same as
the one I chose?'
"'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never tell
them apart.'
"Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my feet
would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold the lot at
once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they had gone.
You heard him yourselves to-night. Well, he has always answered me
like that. My sister thinks that I am going mad. Sometimes I think
that I am myself. And now--and now I am myself a branded thief,
without ever having touched the wealth for which I sold my character.
God help me! God help me!" He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his
face buried in his hands.
There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and by
the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes' finger-tips upon the edge of
the table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door.
"Get out!" said he.
"What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!"
"No more words. Get out!"
And no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon the
stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls
from the street.
"After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his clay
pipe, "I am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies.
If Horner were in danger it would be another thing; but this fellow
will not appear against him, and the case must collapse. I suppose
that I am commuting a felony, but it is just possible that I am
saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again; he is too
terribly frightened. Send him to jail now, and you make him a
jail-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of forgiveness. Chance
has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its
solution is its own reward. If you will have the goodness to touch
the bell, Doctor, we will begin another investigation, in which, also
a bird will be the chief feature."
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECKLED BAND
On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have
during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock
Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely
strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the
love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to
associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards
the unusual, and even the fantastic. Of all these varied cases,
however, I cannot recall any which presented more singular features
than that which was associated with the well-known Surrey family of
the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The events in question occurred in the
early days of my association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms
as bachelors in Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed
them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the
time, from which I have only been freed during the last month by the
untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It is
perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I have
reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the death of
Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even more terrible
than the truth.
It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning to find
Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He
was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece
showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him
in some surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was
myself regular in my habits.
"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, "but it's the common
lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon
me, and I on you."
"What is it, then--a fire?"
"No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a
considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is
waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander about
the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people
up out of their beds, I presume that it is something very pressing
which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting
case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I
thought, at any rate, that I should call you and give you the
chance."
"My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything."
I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional
investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as
intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis with which he
unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw
on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend
down to the sitting-room. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled,
who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered.
"Good-morning, madam," said Holmes cheerily. "My name is Sherlock
Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson, before
whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am glad to see
that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light the fire. Pray draw
up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot coffee, for I observe
that you are shivering."
"It is not cold which makes me shiver," said the woman in a low
voice, changing her seat as requested.
"What, then?"
"It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror." She raised her veil as she
spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable state of
agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with restless frightened
eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features and figure were
those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot with premature
grey, and her expression was weary and haggard. Sherlock Holmes ran
her over with one of his quick, all-comprehensive glances.
"You must not fear," said he soothingly, bending forward and patting
her forearm. "We shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You
have come in by train this morning, I see."
"You know me, then?"
"No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of
your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had a good
drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the
station."
The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my
companion.
"There is no mystery, my dear madam," said he, smiling. "The left arm
of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places.
The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a dog-cart
which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the
left-hand side of the driver."
"Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct," said she.
"I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at twenty past,
and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I can stand this
strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues. I have no one to
turn to--none, save only one, who cares for me, and he, poor fellow,
can be of little aid. I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes; I have heard
of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you helped in the hour of her sore
need. It was from her that I had your address. Oh, sir, do you not
think that you could help me, too, and at least throw a little light
through the dense darkness which surrounds me? At present it is out
of my power to reward you for your services, but in a month or six
weeks I shall be married, with the control of my own income, and then
at least you shall not find me ungrateful."
Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small
case-book, which he consulted.
"Farintosh," said he. "Ah yes, I recall the case; it was concerned
with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time, Watson. I can
only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote the same care to
your case as I did to that of your friend. As to reward, my
profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty to defray
whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which suits you best.
And now I beg that you will lay before us everything that may help us
in forming an opinion upon the matter."
"Alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror of my situation lies in
the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions depend so
entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to another, that
even he to whom of all others I have a right to look for help and
advice looks upon all that I tell him about it as the fancies of a
nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can read it from his
soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have heard, Mr. Holmes, that
you can see deeply into the manifold wickedness of the human heart.
You may advise me how to walk amid the dangers which encompass me."
"I am all attention, madam."
"My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who is
the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in England, the
Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border of Surrey."
Holmes nodded his head. "The name is familiar to me," said he.
"The family was at one time among the richest in England, and the
estates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north, and
Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, four successive
heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition, and the family
ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the days of the
Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of ground, and the
two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under a heavy
mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence there, living the
horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his only son, my
stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new conditions,
obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled him to take a
medical degree and went out to Calcutta, where, by his professional
skill and his force of character, he established a large practice. In
a fit of anger, however, caused by some robberies which had been
perpetrated in the house, he beat his native butler to death and
narrowly escaped a capital sentence. As it was, he suffered a long
term of imprisonment and afterwards returned to England a morose and
disappointed man.
"When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner, the
young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery. My
sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years old at the
time of my mother's re-marriage. She had a considerable sum of
money--not less than ?000 a year--and this she bequeathed to Dr.
Roylott entirely while we resided with him, with a provision that a
certain annual sum should be allowed to each of us in the event of
our marriage. Shortly after our return to England my mother died--she
was killed eight years ago in a railway accident near Crewe. Dr.
Roylott then abandoned his attempts to establish himself in practice
in London and took us to live with him in the old ancestral house at
Stoke Moran. The money which my mother had left was enough for all
our wants, and there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.
"But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time.
Instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our neighbours,
