第 7 页

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 astute-

ness 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 edi-

tions. 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 knowl-

edge was not that of other mortals. When I saw him that after-

noon 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 Encyclopedia 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 pawn-

broker'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 recognized 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

peajacket 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 meth-

ods, 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 30,000 pounds; 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 profes-

sion. 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 formi-

dable 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 exarnine 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 carree, 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 de-

pressing 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?"

"l 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 lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without

any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand

appeared; a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the

centre of the little area of light. For a minute or more the hand,

with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then it was

withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark again

save the single lurid spark which marked a chink between the

stones.

Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rend-

ing, tearing sound, one of the broad. white stones turned over

upon its side and left a square, gaping hole, through which

streamed the light of a lantern. Over the edge there peeped a

clean-cut, boyish face, which looked keenly about it, and then.

with a hand on either side of the aperture, drew itself shoulder-

high and waist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. In

another instant he stood at the side of the hole and was hauling

after him a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale

face and a shock of very red hair.

"It's all clear," he whispered. "Have you the chisel and the

bags? Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I'll swing for it!"

Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the

collar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of

rending cloth as Jones clutched at his skirts. The light flashed

upon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes's hunting crop came

down on the man's wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stone

floor.

"It's no use, John Clay," said Holmes blandly. "You have

no chance at all."

"So I see," the other answered with the utmost coolness. "I