第 10 页

I didn't observe. She had small round, hanging gold earrings,

and a general air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfort-

able, easy-going way."

Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.

" 'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully.

You have really done very well indeed. It is true that you have

missed everything of importance, but you have hit upon the

method, and you have a quick eye for colour. Never trust to

general impressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon

details. My first glance is always at a woman's sleeve. In a man

it is perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. As you

observe, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most

useful material for showing traces. The double line a little above

the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the table, was

beautifully defined. The sewing-machine, of the hand type, leaves

a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and on the side of it

farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the broad-

est part, as this was. I then glanced at her face, and, observing

the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, I ventured a

remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to sur-

prise her."

"It surprised me."

"But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and

interested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots

which she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were

really odd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and

the other a plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower

buttons out of five, and the other at the first, third, and fifth.

Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed,

has come away from home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is

no great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry."

"And what else?" I asked, keenly interested, as I always was,

by my friend's incisive reasoning.

"I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving

home but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right

glove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see

that both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She had

written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have

been this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the

finger. All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must

go back to business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the

advertised description of Mr. Hosmer Angel?"

I held the little printed slip to the light.

"Missing [it said] on the morning of the fourteenth. a

gentleman named Hosmer Angel. About five feet seven

inches in height; strongly built, sallow complexion, black

hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers

and moustache; tinted glasses, slight infirmity of speech.

Was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coat faced with

silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and gray Harris

tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots.

Known to have been employed in an office in Leadenhall

Street. Anybody bringing --"

"That will do," said Holmes. "As to the letters," he contin-

ued, glancing over them, "they are very commonplace. Abso-

lutely no clue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac

once. There is one remarkable point, however, which will no

doubt strike you."

"They are typewritten," I remarked.

"Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the

neat little 'Hosmer Angel' at the bottom. There is a date, you

see, but no superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is

rather vague. The point about the signature is very suggestive -- in

fact, we may call it conclusive."

"Of what?"

"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it

bears upon the case?"

"I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able

to deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were

instituted."

"No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two

letters, which should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the

City, the other is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windibank,

asking him whether he could meet us here at six o'clock to-

morrow evening. It is just as well that we should do business

with the male relatives. And now, Doctor, we can do nothing

until the answers to those letters come, so we may put our little

problem upon the shelf for the interim."

I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle

powers of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt

that he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy

demeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which he

had been called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him to

fail, in the case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adler

photograph; but when I looked back to the weird business of

'The Sign of Four', and the extraordinary circumstances con-

nected with 'A Study in Scarlet', I felt that it would be a strange

tangle indeed which he could not unravel.

I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the

conviction that when I came again on the next evening I would

find that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up

to the identity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary

Sutherland.

A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own

attention at the time, and the whole of next day I was busy at the

bedside of the sufferer. It was not until close upon six o'clock

that I found myself free and was able to spring into a hansom

and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I might be too late to

assist at the denouement of the little mystery. I found Sherlock

Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin form

curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable array of

bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of hydro-

chloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical

work which was so dear to him.

"Well, have you solved it?" I asked as I entered.

"Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta."

"No, no, the mystery!" I cried.

"Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon.

There was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said

yesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawback

is that there is no law, I fear, that can touch the scoundrel."

"Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss

Sutherland?"

The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had

not yet opened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall

in the passage and a tap at the door.

"This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windibank," said

Holmes. "He has written to me to say that he would be here at

six. Come in!"

The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some

thirty years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a

bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and

penetrating gray eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of

us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a slight

bow sidled down into the nearest chair.

"Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes. "I

think that this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made

an appointment with me for six o'clock?"

"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite

my own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has

troubled you about this little matter, for I think it is far better not

to wash linen of the sort in public. It was quite against my

wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable, impulsive girl,

as you may have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when

she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I did not mind

you so much, as you are not connected with the official police,

but it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised

abroad. Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you

possibly find this Hosmer Angel?"

"On the contrary," said Holmes quietly; "I have every reason

to believe that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel."

Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. "I

am delighted to hear it," he said.

"It is a curious thing," remarked Holmes, "that a typewriter

has really quite as much individuality as a man's handwriting.

Unless they are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike.

Some letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on

one side. Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank,

that in every case there is some little slurring over of the 'e,' and

a slight defect in the tail of the 'r.' There are fourteen other

characteristics, but those are the more obvious."

"We do all our correspondence with this machine at the

office, and no doubt it is a little worn," our visitor answered.

glancing keenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes.

"And now I will show you what is really a very interesting

study, Mr. Windibank," Holmes continued. "I think of writing

another little monograph some of these days on the typewriter

and its relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted

some little attention. I have here four letters which purport to

come from the missing man. They are all typewritten. In each

case, not only are the 'e's' slurred and the 'r's' tailless, but you

will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the

fourteen other characteristics to which I have alluded are there as

well."

Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat.

"I cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes,"

he said. "If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know

when you have done it."

"Certainly," said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key

in the door. "I let you know, then, that I have caught him!"

"What! where?" shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his

lips and glancing about him like a rat in a trap.

"Oh, it won't do -- really it won't," said Holmes suavely.

"There is no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is

quite too transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when

you said that it was impossible for me to solve so simple a

question. That's right! Sit down and let us talk it over."

Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a

glitter of moisture on his brow. "It -- it's not actionable," he

stammered.

"I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves,

Windibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a

petty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the

course of events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong."

The man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon

his breast, like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet

up on the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his

hands in his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it

seemed, than to us.

"The man married a woman very much older than himself for

her money," said he, "and he enjoyed the use of the money of

the daughter as long as she lived with them. It was a consider-

able sum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would

have made a serious difference. It was worth an effort to pre-

serve it. The daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but

alfectionate and warm-hearted in her ways. so that it was evident

that with her fair personal advantages, and her little income, she

would not be allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage

would mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what

does her stepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course

of keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company

of people of her own age. But soon he found that that would not

answer forever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and

finally announced her positive intention of going to a certain

ball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives an

idea more creditable to his head than to his heart. With the

connivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself,

covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face

with a moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that clear

voice into an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account

of the girl's short sight, he appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and

keeps off other lovers by making love himself."

"It was only a joke at first," groaned our visitor. "We never

thought that she would have been so carried away."

"Very likely not. However that may be, the young lady was

very decidedly carried away, and, having quite made up her

mind that her stepfather was in France, the suspicion of treach-

ery never for an instant entered her mind. She was flattered by

the gentleman's attentions, and the effect was increased by the

loudly expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel

began to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed

as far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. There

were meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure

the girl's affections from turning towards anyone else. But the

deception could not be kept up forever. These pretended jour-

neys to France were rather cumbrous. The thing to do was

clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner

that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young

lady's mind and prevent her from looking upon any other suitor