The Sign of the Four Page 2

  Chapter II

  The Statement of the Case

  Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward composureof manner. She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well gloved,and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, a plainnessand simplicity about her costume which bore with it a suggestion oflimited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed andunbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull hue, relievedonly by a suspicion of white feather in the side. Her face had neitherregularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression wassweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly spiritualand sympathetic. In an experience of women which extends over manynations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a facewhich gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I couldnot but observe that as she took the seat which Sherlock Holmes placedfor her, her lip trembled, her hand quivered, and she showed every signof intense inward agitation.

  "I have come to you, Mr. Holmes," she said, "because you once enabledmy employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domesticcomplication. She was much impressed by your kindness and skill."

  "Mrs. Cecil Forrester," he repeated thoughtfully. "I believe that Iwas of some slight service to her. The case, however, as I rememberit, was a very simple one."

  "She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the same of mine.I can hardly imagine anything more strange, more utterly inexplicable,than the situation in which I find myself."

  Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He leaned forward inhis chair with an expression of extraordinary concentration upon hisclear-cut, hawklike features. "State your case," said he, in brisk,business tones.

  I felt that my position was an embarrassing one. "You will, I am sure,excuse me," I said, rising from my chair.

  To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to detain me."If your friend," she said, "would be good enough to stop, he might beof inestimable service to me."

  I relapsed into my chair.

  "Briefly," she continued, "the facts are these. My father was anofficer in an Indian regiment who sent me home when I was quite achild. My mother was dead, and I had no relative in England. I wasplaced, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at Edinburgh,and there I remained until I was seventeen years of age. In the year1878 my father, who was senior captain of his regiment, obtained twelvemonths' leave and came home. He telegraphed to me from London that hehad arrived all safe, and directed me to come down at once, giving theLangham Hotel as his address. His message, as I remember, was full ofkindness and love. On reaching London I drove to the Langham, and wasinformed that Captain Morstan was staying there, but that he had goneout the night before and had not yet returned. I waited all day withoutnews of him. That night, on the advice of the manager of the hotel, Icommunicated with the police, and next morning we advertised in all thepapers. Our inquiries led to no result; and from that day to this noword has ever been heard of my unfortunate father. He came home withhis heart full of hope, to find some peace, some comfort, andinstead--" She put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut shortthe sentence.

  "The date?" asked Holmes, opening his note-book.

  "He disappeared upon the 3d of December, 1878,--nearly ten years ago."

  "His luggage?"

  "Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to suggest aclue,--some clothes, some books, and a considerable number ofcuriosities from the Andaman Islands. He had been one of the officersin charge of the convict-guard there."

  "Had he any friends in town?"

  "Only one that we know of,--Major Sholto, of his own regiment, the 34thBombay Infantry. The major had retired some little time before, andlived at Upper Norwood. We communicated with him, of course, but hedid not even know that his brother officer was in England."

  "A singular case," remarked Holmes.

  "I have not yet described to you the most singular part. About sixyears ago--to be exact, upon the 4th of May, 1882--an advertisementappeared in the Times asking for the address of Miss Mary Morstan andstating that it would be to her advantage to come forward. There wasno name or address appended. I had at that time just entered thefamily of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess. By heradvice I published my address in the advertisement column. The sameday there arrived through the post a small card-board box addressed tome, which I found to contain a very large and lustrous pearl. No wordof writing was enclosed. Since then every year upon the same datethere has always appeared a similar box, containing a similar pearl,without any clue as to the sender. They have been pronounced by anexpert to be of a rare variety and of considerable value. You can seefor yourselves that they are very handsome." She opened a flat box asshe spoke, and showed me six of the finest pearls that I had ever seen.

  "Your statement is most interesting," said Sherlock Holmes. "Hasanything else occurred to you?"

  "Yes, and no later than to-day. That is why I have come to you. Thismorning I received this letter, which you will perhaps read foryourself."

  "Thank you," said Holmes. "The envelope too, please. Postmark,London, S.W. Date, July 7. Hum! Man's thumb-mark oncorner,--probably postman. Best quality paper. Envelopes at sixpencea packet. Particular man in his stationery. No address. 'Be at thethird pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre to-night at seveno'clock. If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wrongedwoman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you do, allwill be in vain. Your unknown friend.' Well, really, this is a verypretty little mystery. What do you intend to do, Miss Morstan?"

  "That is exactly what I want to ask you."

  "Then we shall most certainly go. You and I and--yes, why, Dr. Watsonis the very man. Your correspondent says two friends. He and I haveworked together before."

  "But would he come?" she asked, with something appealing in her voiceand expression.

  "I should be proud and happy," said I, fervently, "if I can be of anyservice."

  "You are both very kind," she answered. "I have led a retired life,and have no friends whom I could appeal to. If I am here at six itwill do, I suppose?"

  "You must not be later," said Holmes. "There is one other point,however. Is this handwriting the same as that upon the pearl-boxaddresses?"

  "I have them here," she answered, producing half a dozen pieces ofpaper.

  "You are certainly a model client. You have the correct intuition.Let us see, now." He spread out the papers upon the table, and gavelittle darting glances from one to the other. "They are disguisedhands, except the letter," he said, presently, "but there can be noquestion as to the authorship. See how the irrepressible Greek e willbreak out, and see the twirl of the final s. They are undoubtedly bythe same person. I should not like to suggest false hopes, MissMorstan, but is there any resemblance between this hand and that ofyour father?"

  "Nothing could be more unlike."

  "I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out for you, then, atsix. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I may look into the matterbefore then. It is only half-past three. Au revoir, then."

  "Au revoir," said our visitor, and, with a bright, kindly glance fromone to the other of us, she replaced her pearl-box in her bosom andhurried away. Standing at the window, I watched her walking brisklydown the street, until the gray turban and white feather were but aspeck in the sombre crowd.

  "What a very attractive woman!" I exclaimed, turning to my companion.

  He had lit his pipe again, and was leaning back with drooping eyelids."Is she?" he said, languidly. "I did not observe."

  "You really are an automaton,--a calculating-machine!" I cried. "Thereis something positively inhuman in you at times."

  He smiled gently. "It is of the first importance," he said, "not toallow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is tome a mere unit,--a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities areantagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most winningwoman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children fortheir insurance-money, and the most repellant man of my acquaintance isa philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon theLondon poor."

  "In this case, however--"

  "I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule. Have youever had occasion to study character in handwriting? What do you makeof this fellow's scribble?"

  "It is legible and regular," I answered. "A man of business habits andsome force of character."

  Holmes shook his head. "Look at his long letters," he said. "Theyhardly rise above the common herd. That d might be an a, and that l ane. Men of character always differentiate their long letters, howeverillegibly they may write. There is vacillation in his k's andself-esteem in his capitals. I am going out now. I have some fewreferences to make. Let me recommend this book,--one of the mostremarkable ever penned. It is Winwood Reade's 'Martyrdom of Man.' Ishall be back in an hour."

  I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts werefar from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon ourlate visitor,--her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, thestrange mystery which overhung her life. If she were seventeen at thetime of her father's disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty now,--asweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and become alittle sobered by experience. So I sat and mused, until such dangerousthoughts came into my head that I hurried away to my desk and plungedfuriously into the latest treatise upon pathology. What was I, an armysurgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking-account, that I shoulddare to think of such things? She was a unit, a factor,--nothing more.If my future were black, it was better surely to face it like a manthan to attempt to brighten it by mere will-o'-the-wisps of theimagination.