The Adventure of the Cardboard Box Read online

large number of parcels were handed in upon thatday, and they have no means of identifying this particular one, or ofremembering the sender. The box is a half-pound box of honeydewtobacco and does not help us in any way. The medical student theorystill appears to me to be the most feasible, but if you should have afew hours to spare I should be very happy to see you out here. I shallbe either at the house or in the police-station all day.

  "What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat and run downto Croydon with me on the off chance of a case for your annals?"

  "I was longing for something to do."

  "You shall have it then. Ring for our boots and tell them to order acab. I'll be back in a moment when I have changed my dressing-gown andfilled my cigar-case."

  A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat was farless oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had sent on a wire, sothat Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like as ever, waswaiting for us at the station. A walk of five minutes took us to CrossStreet, where Miss Cushing resided.

  It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and prim,with whitened stone steps and little groups of aproned women gossipingat the doors. Halfway down, Lestrade stopped and tapped at a door,which was opened by a small servant girl. Miss Cushing was sitting inthe front room, into which we were ushered. She was a placid-facedwoman, with large, gentle eyes, and grizzled hair curving down over hertemples on each side. A worked antimacassar lay upon her lap and abasket of coloured silks stood upon a stool beside her.

  "They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things," said she as Lestradeentered. "I wish that you would take them away altogether."

  "So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until my friend, Mr.Holmes, should have seen them in your presence."

  "Why in my presence, sir?"

  "In case he wished to ask any questions."

  "What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I know nothingwhatever about it?"

  "Quite so, madam," said Holmes in his soothing way. "I have no doubtthat you have been annoyed more than enough already over this business."

  "Indeed I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life. It issomething new for me to see my name in the papers and to find thepolice in my house. I won't have those things in here, Mr. Lestrade.If you wish to see them you must go to the outhouse."

  It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the house.Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a pieceof brown paper and some string. There was a bench at the end of thepath, and we all sat down while Homes examined one by one, the articleswhich Lestrade had handed to him.

  "The string is exceedingly interesting," he remarked, holding it up tothe light and sniffing at it. "What do you make of this string,Lestrade?"

  "It has been tarred."

  "Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt,remarked that Miss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can beseen by the double fray on each side. This is of importance."

  "I cannot see the importance," said Lestrade.

  "The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and thatthis knot is of a peculiar character."

  "It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note of that effect,"said Lestrade complacently.

  "So much for the string, then," said Holmes, smiling, "now for the boxwrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. What, did younot observe it? I think there can be no doubt of it. Address printedin rather straggling characters: 'Miss S. Cushing, Cross Street,Croydon.' Done with a broad-pointed pen, probably a J, and with veryinferior ink. The word 'Croydon' has been originally spelled with an'i', which has been changed to 'y'. The parcel was directed, then, bya man--the printing is distinctly masculine--of limited education andunacquainted with the town of Croydon. So far, so good! The box is ayellow, half-pound honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save twothumb marks at the left bottom corner. It is filled with rough salt ofthe quality used for preserving hides and other of the coarsercommercial purposes. And embedded in it are these very singularenclosures."

  He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across hisknee he examined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forwardon each side of him, glanced alternately at these dreadful relics andat the thoughtful, eager face of our companion. Finally he returnedthem to the box once more and sat for a while in deep meditation.

  "You have observed, of course," said he at last, "that the ears are nota pair."

  "Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke of somestudents from the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them tosend two odd ears as a pair."

  "Precisely. But this is not a practical joke."

  "You are sure of it?"

  "The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in thedissecting-rooms are injected with preservative fluid. These ears bearno signs of this. They are fresh, too. They have been cut off with ablunt instrument, which would hardly happen if a student had done it.Again, carbolic or rectified spirits would be the preservatives whichwould suggest themselves to the medical mind, certainly not rough salt.I repeat that there is no practical joke here, but that we areinvestigating a serious crime."

  A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion's words andsaw the stern gravity which had hardened his features. This brutalpreliminary seemed to shadow forth some strange and inexplicable horrorin the background. Lestrade, however, shook his head like a man who isonly half convinced.

  "There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt," said he, "butthere are much stronger reasons against the other. We know that thiswoman has led a most quiet and respectable life at Penge and here forthe last twenty years. She has hardly been away from her home for aday during that time. Why on earth, then, should any criminal send herthe proofs of his guilt, especially as, unless she is a most consummateactress, she understands quite as little of the matter as we do?"

  "That is the problem which we have to solve," Holmes answered, "and formy part I shall set about it by presuming that my reasoning is correct,and that a double murder has been committed. One of these ears is awoman's, small, finely formed, and pierced for an earring. The otheris a man's, sun-burned, discoloured, and also pierced for an earring.These two people are presumably dead, or we should have heard theirstory before now. To-day is Friday. The packet was posted on Thursdaymorning. The tragedy, then, occurred on Wednesday or Tuesday, orearlier. If the two people were murdered, who but their murderer wouldhave sent this sign of his work to Miss Cushing? We may take it thatthe sender of the packet is the man whom we want. But he must have somestrong reason for sending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason then?It must have been to tell her that the deed was done! or to pain her,perhaps. But in that case she knows who it is. Does she know? Idoubt it. If she knew, why should she call the police in? She mighthave buried the ears, and no one would have been the wiser. That iswhat she would have done if she had wished to shield the criminal. Butif she does not wish to shield him she would give his name. There is atangle here which needs straightening out." He had been talking in ahigh, quick voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now hesprang briskly to his feet and walked towards the house.

  "I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing," said he.

  "In that case I may leave you here," said Lestrade, "for I have anothersmall business on hand. I think that I have nothing further to learnfrom Miss Cushing. You will find me at the police-station."

  "We shall look in on our way to the train," answered Holmes. A momentlater he and I were back in the front room, where the impassive ladywas still quietly working away at her antimacassar. She put it down onher lap as we entered and looked at us with her frank, searching blueeyes.

  "I am convinced, sir," she said, "that this matter is a mistake, andthat the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have said thisseveral times to the gentlemen from Scotland Yard, but he
simply laughsat me. I have not an enemy in the world, as far as I know, so whyshould anyone play me such a trick?"

  "I am coming to be of the same opinion, Miss Cushing," said Holmes,taking a seat beside her. "I think that it is more than probable--" Hepaused, and I was surprised, on glancing round to see that he wasstaring with singular intentness at the lady's profile. Surprise andsatisfaction were both for an instant to be read upon his eager face,though when she glanced round to find out the cause of his silence hehad become as demure as ever. I stared hard myself at her flat,grizzled hair, her trim cap, her little gilt earrings, her placidfeatures; but I could see nothing which could account for