and familiar. Worst of all, he speedily assumed the same attitude
towards my daughter, Alice, and spoke to her more than once in a way
which, fortunately, she is too innocent to understand. On one
occasion he actually seized her in his arms and embraced her--an
outrage which caused his own secretary to reproach him for his
unmanly conduct.'
"'But why did you stand all this,' I asked. 'I suppose that you can
get rid of your boarders when you wish.'
"Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. 'Would to God
that I had given him notice on the very day that he came,' she said.
'But it was a sore temptation. They were paying a pound a day
each--fourteen pounds a week, and this is the slack season. I am a
widow, and my boy in the Navy has cost me much. I grudged to lose the
money. I acted for the best. This last was too much, however, and I
gave him notice to leave on account of it. That was the reason of his
going.'
"'Well?'
"'My heart grew light when I saw him drive away. My son is on leave
just now, but I did not tell him anything of all this, for his temper
is violent, and he is passionately fond of his sister. When I closed
the door behind them a load seemed to be lifted from my mind. Alas,
in less than an hour there was a ring at the bell, and I learned that
Mr. Drebber had returned. He was much excited, and evidently the
worse for drink. He forced his way into the room, where I was sitting
with my daughter, and made some incoherent remark about having missed
his train. He then turned to Alice, and before my very face, proposed
to her that she should fly with him. "You are of age," he said, "and
there is no law to stop you. I have money enough and to spare. Never
mind the old girl here, but come along with me now straight away. You
shall live like a princess." Poor Alice was so frightened that she
shrunk away from him, but he caught her by the wrist and endeavoured
to draw her towards the door. I screamed, and at that moment my son
Arthur came into the room. What happened then I do not know. I heard
oaths and the confused sounds of a scuffle. I was too terrified to
raise my head. When I did look up I saw Arthur standing in the
doorway laughing, with a stick in his hand. "I don't think that fine
fellow will trouble us again," he said. "I will just go after him and
see what he does with himself." With those words he took his hat and
started off down the street. The next morning we heard of Mr.
Drebber's mysterious death.'
"This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier's lips with many gasps and
pauses. At times she spoke so low that I could hardly catch the
words. I made shorthand notes of all that she said, however, so that
there should be no possibility of a mistake."
"It's quite exciting," said Sherlock Holmes, with a yawn. "What
happened next?"
"When Mrs. Charpentier paused," the detective continued, "I saw that
the whole case hung upon one point. Fixing her with my eye in a way
which I always found effective with women, I asked her at what hour
her son returned.
"'I do not know,' she answered.
"'Not know?'
"'No; he has a latch-key, and he let himself in.'
"'After you went to bed?'
"'Yes.'
"'When did you go to bed?'
"'About eleven.'
"'So your son was gone at least two hours?'
"'Yes.'
"'Possibly four or five?'
"'Yes.'
"'What was he doing during that time?'
"'I do not know,' she answered, turning white to her very lips.
"Of course after that there was nothing more to be done. I found out
where Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers with me, and
arrested him. When I touched him on the shoulder and warned him to
come quietly with us, he answered us as bold as brass, 'I suppose you
are arresting me for being concerned in the death of that scoundrel
Drebber,' he said. We had said nothing to him about it, so that his
alluding to it had a most suspicious aspect."
"Very," said Holmes.
"He still carried the heavy stick which the mother described him as
having with him when he followed Drebber. It was a stout oak cudgel."
"What is your theory, then?"
"Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as far as the Brixton
Road. When there, a fresh altercation arose between them, in the
course of which Drebber received a blow from the stick, in the pit of
the stomach, perhaps, which killed him without leaving any mark. The
night was so wet that no one was about, so Charpentier dragged the
body of his victim into the empty house. As to the candle, and the
blood, and the writing on the wall, and the ring, they may all be so
many tricks to throw the police on to the wrong scent."
"Well done!" said Holmes in an encouraging voice. "Really, Gregson,
you are getting along. We shall make something of you yet."
"I flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly," the
detective answered proudly. "The young man volunteered a statement,
in which he said that after following Drebber some time, the latter
perceived him, and took a cab in order to get away from him. On his
way home he met an old shipmate, and took a long walk with him. On
being asked where this old shipmate lived, he was unable to give any
satisfactory reply. I think the whole case fits together uncommonly
well. What amuses me is to think of Lestrade, who had started off
upon the wrong scent. I am afraid he won't make much of--Why, by
Jove, here's the very man himself!"
It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we were
talking, and who now entered the room. The assurance and jauntiness
which generally marked his demeanour and dress were, however,
wanting. His face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were
disarranged and untidy. He had evidently come with the intention of
consulting with Sherlock Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague he
appeared to be embarrassed and put out. He stood in the centre of the
room, fumbling nervously with his hat and uncertain what to do. "This
is a most extraordinary case," he said at last--"a most
incomprehensible affair."
"Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!" cried Gregson, triumphantly. "I
thought you would come to that conclusion. Have you managed to find
the Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?"
"The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson," said Lestrade gravely, "was
murdered at Halliday's Private Hotel about six o'clock this morning."
CHAPTER VII
Light In The Darkness
The intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so momentous and
so unexpected, that we were all three fairly dumfoundered. Gregson
sprang out of his chair and upset the remainder of his whiskey and
water. I stared in silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were
compressed and his brows drawn down over his eyes.
"Stangerson too!" he muttered. "The plot thickens."
"It was quite thick enough before," grumbled Lestrade, taking a
chair. "I seem to have dropped into a sort of council of war."
"Are you--are you sure of this piece of intelligence?" stammered
Gregson.
"I have just come from his room," said Lestrade. "I was the first to
discover what had occurred."
"We have been hearing Gregson's view of the matter," Holmes observed.
"Would you mind letting us know what you have seen and done?"
"I have no objection," Lestrade answered, seating himself. "I freely
confess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson was concerned in
the death of Drebber. This fresh development has shown me that I was
completely mistaken. Full of the one idea, I set myself to find out
what had become of the Secretary. They had been seen together at
Euston Station about half-past eight on the evening of the third. At
two in the morning Drebber had been found in the Brixton Road. The
question which confronted me was to find out how Stangerson had been
employed between 8.30 and the time of the crime, and what had become
of him afterwards. I telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description
of the man, and warning them to keep a watch upon the American boats.
I then set to work calling upon all the hotels and lodging-houses in
the vicinity of Euston. You see, I argued that if Drebber and his
companion had become separated, the natural course for the latter
would be to put up somewhere in the vicinity for the night, and then
to hang about the station again next morning."
"They would be likely to agree on some meeting-place beforehand,"
remarked Holmes.
"So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterday evening in making
enquiries entirely without avail. This morning I began very early,
and at eight o'clock I reached Halliday's Private Hotel, in Little
George Street. On my enquiry as to whether a Mr. Stangerson was
living there, they at once answered me in the affirmative.
"'No doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting,' they said.
'He has been waiting for a gentleman for two days.'
"'Where is he now?' I asked.
"'He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be called at nine.'
"'I will go up and see him at once,' I said.
"It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake his nerves and
lead him to say something unguarded. The Boots volunteered to show me
the room: it was on the second floor, and there was a small corridor
leading up to it. The Boots pointed out the door to me, and was about
to go downstairs again when I saw something that made me feel
sickish, in spite of my twenty years' experience. From under the door
there curled a little red ribbon of blood, which had meandered across
the passage and formed a little pool along the skirting at the other
side. I gave a cry, which brought the Boots back. He nearly fainted
when he saw it. The door was locked on the inside, but we put our
shoulders to it, and knocked it in. The window of the room was open,
and beside the window, all huddled up, lay the body of a man in his
nightdress. He was quite dead, and had been for some time, for his
limbs were rigid and cold. When we turned him over, the Boots
recognized him at once as being the same gentleman who had engaged
the room under the name of Joseph Stangerson. The cause of death was
a deep stab in the left side, which must have penetrated the heart.
And now comes the strangest part of the affair. What do you suppose
was above the murdered man?"
I felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentiment of coming horror,
even before Sherlock Holmes answered.
"The word RACHE, written in letters of blood," he said.
"That was it," said Lestrade, in an awe-struck voice; and we were all
silent for a while.
There was something so methodical and so incomprehensible about the
deeds of this unknown assassin, that it imparted a fresh ghastliness
to his crimes. My nerves, which were steady enough on the field of
battle tingled as I thought of it.
"The man was seen," continued Lestrade. "A milk boy, passing on his
way to the dairy, happened to walk down the lane which leads from the
mews at the back of the hotel. He noticed that a ladder, which
usually lay there, was raised against one of the windows of the
second floor, which was wide open. After passing, he looked back and
saw a man descend the ladder. He came down so quietly and openly that
the boy imagined him to be some carpenter or joiner at work in the
hotel. He took no particular notice of him, beyond thinking in his
own mind that it was early for him to be at work. He has an
impression that the man was tall, had a reddish face, and was dressed
in a long, brownish coat. He must have stayed in the room some little
time after the murder, for we found blood-stained water in the basin,
where he had washed his hands, and marks on the sheets where he had
deliberately wiped his knife."
I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the murderer, which
tallied so exactly with his own. There was, however, no trace of
exultation or satisfaction upon his face.
"Did you find nothing in the room which could furnish a clue to the
murderer?" he asked.
"Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber's purse in his pocket, but it seems
that this was usual, as he did all the paying. There was eighty odd
pounds in it, but nothing had been taken. Whatever the motives of
these extraordinary crimes, robbery is certainly not one of them.
There were no papers or memoranda in the murdered man's pocket,
except a single telegram, dated from Cleveland about a month ago, and
containing the words, 'J. H. is in Europe.' There was no name
appended to this message."
