第 9 页

right away to you."

"Your father," said Holmes, "your stepfather, surely, since

the name is different."

"Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds

funny, too, for he is only five years and two months older than

myself. "

"And your mother is alive?"

"Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr.

Holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death,

and a man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself.

Father was a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a

tidy business behind him, which mother carried on with Mr.

Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr. Windibank came he made her

sell the business, for he was very superior, being a traveller in

wines. They got 4700 pounds for the goodwill and interest, which

wasn't near as much as father could have got if he had been

alive."

I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this

rambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary he

had listened with the greatest concentration of attention.

"Your own little income," he asked, "does it come out of the

business?"

"Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle

Ned in Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4 1/2 per

cent. Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I

can only touch the interest."

"You interest me extremely," said Holmes. "And since you

draw so large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into

the bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in

every way. I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely

upon an income of about 60 pounds."

"I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you

understand that as long as I live at home I don't wish to be a

burden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while

I am staying with them. Of course, that is only just for the time.

Mr. Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it over

to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I earn at

typewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can often do

from fifteen to twenty sheets in a-day."

"You have made your position very clear to me," said Holmes.

"This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as

freely as before myself. Kindly tell us now all about your

connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel."

A flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face, and she picked

nervously at the fringe of her jacket. "I met him first at the

gasfitters' ball," she said. "They used to send father tickets

when he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, and

sent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go. He

never did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I

wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat. But this time I

was set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to

prevent? He said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all

father's friends were to be there. And he said that I had nothing

fit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never so much

as taken out of the drawer. At last, when nothing else would do,

he went off to France upon the business of the firm, but we

went, mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our

foreman, and it was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel."

"I suppose," said Holmes, "that when Mr. Windibank came

back from France he was very annoyed at your having gone to

the ball."

"Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remem-

ber, and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use

denying anything to a woman, for she would have her way."

"I see. Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, a

gentleman called Mr. Hosmer Angel."

"Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to ask

if we had got home all safe, and after that we met him -- that is to

say, Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after that father

came back again, and Mr. Hosmer Angel could not come to the

house any more."

"No?"

"Well, you know father didn't like anything of the sort. He

wouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say

that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But

then, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle

to begin with, and I had not got mine yet."

"But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt

to see you?"

"Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and

Hosmer wrote and said that it would be safer and better not to

see each other until he had gone. We could write in the mean-

time, and he used to write every day. I took the letters in in the

morning, so there was no need for father to know."

"Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk

that we took. Hosmer -- Mr. Angel -- was a cashier in an office in

Leadenhall Street -- and --"

"What office?"

"That's the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I don't know."

"Where did he live, then?"

"He slept on the premises."

"And you don't know his address?''

"No -- except that it was Leadenhall Street."

"Where did you address your letters, then?"

"To the Leadenhall Street Post-Office, to be left till called

for. He said that if they were sent to the office he would be

chaffed by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady,

so I offered to typewrite them, like he did his, but he wouldn't

have that, for he said that when I wrote them they seemed to

come from me, but when they were typewritten he always felt

that the machine had come between us. That will just show you

how fond he was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that he

would think of."

"It was most suggestive," said Holmes. "It has long been an

axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most impor-

tant. Can you remember any other little things about Mr. Hosmer

Angel?"

"He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk

with me in the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he

hated to be conspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he was.

Even his voice was gentle. He'd had the quinsy and swollen

glands when he was young, he told me, and it had left him with

a weak throat, and a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech.

He was always well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes

were weak, just as mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against

the glare."

"Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfa-

ther, returned to France?"

"Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed

that we should marry before father came back. He was in

dreadful earnest and made me swear, with my hands on the

Testament, that whatever happened I would always be true to

him. Mother said he was quite right to make me swear, and that

it was a sign of his passion. Mother was all in his favour from

the first and was even fonder of him than I was. Then, when

they talked of marrying within the week, I began to ask about

father; but they both said never to mind about father, but just to

tell him afterwards, and mother said she would make it all right

with him. I didn't quite like that, Mr. Holmes. It seemed funny

that I should ask his leave, as he was only a few years older than

me; but I didn't want to do anything on the sly, so l wrote to

father at Bordeaux, where the company has its French offices,

but the letter came back to me on the very morning of the

wedding."

"It missed him, then?"

"Yes, sir; for he had started to England just before it arrived."

"Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then,

for the Friday. Was it to be in church?"

"Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviour's, near

King's Cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the

St. Pancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there

were two of us he put us both into it and stepped himself into a

four-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in the

street. We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler

drove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and

when the cabman got down from the box and looked there was

no one there! The cabman said that he couid not imagine what

had become of him, for he had seen him get in with his own

eyes. That was last Friday, Mr. Holmes, and I have never seen

or heard anything since then to throw any light upon what

became of him."

"It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated,"

said Holmes.

"Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why,

all the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I

was to be true; and that even if something quite unforeseen

occurred to separate us, I was always to remember that I was

pledged to him, and that he would claim his pledge sooner or

later. It seemed strange talk for a wedding-morning, but what

has happened since gives a meaning to it."

"Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that some

unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?"

"Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he

would not have talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw

happened."

"But you have no notion as to what it could have been?"

"None."

"One more question. How did your mother take the matter?"

"She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the

matter again."

"And your father? Did you tell him?"

"Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had

happened, and that I should hear of Hosmer again. As he said,

what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of

the church, and then leaving me? Now, if he had borrowed my

money, or if he had married me and got my money settled on

him, there might be some reason, but Hosmer was very indepen-

dent about money and never would look at a shilling of mine.

And yet, what could have happened? And why could he not

write? Oh, it drives me half-mad to think of it, and I can't sleep

a wink at night." She pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff

and began to sob heavily into it.

"I shall glance into the case for you," said Holmes, rising,

"and I have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result.

Let the weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let

your mind dwell upon it further. Above all, try to let Mr.

Hosmer Angel vanish from your memory, as he has done from

your life."

"Then you don't think I'll see him again?"

"l fear not."

"Then what has happened to him?"

"You will leave that question in my hands. I should like an

accurate description of him and any letters of his which you can

spare."

"I advertised for him in last Saturday's Chronicle," said she.

"Here is the slip and here are four letters from him."

"Thank you. And your address?"

"No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell."

"Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is

your father's place of business?"

"He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret im-

porters of Fenchurch Street."

"Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly.

You will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I

have given you. Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do

not allow it to affect your life."

"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall

be true to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes

back."

For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was

something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which com-

pelled our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon the

table and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever

she might be summoned.

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his finger-

tips still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him,

and his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down

from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a

counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with

the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of

infinite languor in his face.

"Quite an interesting study, that maiden," he observed. "I

found her more interesting than her little problem, which, by the

way, is rather a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you

consult my index, in Andover in '77, and there was something of

the sort at The Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however,

there were one or two details which were new to me. But the

maiden herself was most instructive."

"You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite

invisible to me," I remarked.

"Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know

where to look, and so you missed all that was important. I can

never bring you to realize the importance of sleeves, the sugges-

tiveness of thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a

boot-lace. Now, what did you gather from that woman's appear-

ance? Describe it."

"Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat,

with a feather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black

beads sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments.

Her dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a

little purple plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were

grayish and were worn through at the right forefinger. Her boots