A Study in Scarlet Read online

  CHAPTER VI. TOBIAS GREGSON SHOWS WHAT HE CAN DO.

  THE papers next day were full of the "Brixton Mystery," as they termedit. Each had a long account of the affair, and some had leaders upon itin addition. There was some information in them which was new to me. Istill retain in my scrap-book numerous clippings and extracts bearingupon the case. Here is a condensation of a few of them:--

  The _Daily Telegraph_ remarked that in the history of crime there hadseldom been a tragedy which presented stranger features. The Germanname of the victim, the absence of all other motive, and the sinisterinscription on the wall, all pointed to its perpetration by politicalrefugees and revolutionists. The Socialists had many branches inAmerica, and the deceased had, no doubt, infringed their unwritten laws,and been tracked down by them. After alluding airily to the Vehmgericht,aqua tofana, Carbonari, the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, the Darwiniantheory, the principles of Malthus, and the Ratcliff Highway murders, thearticle concluded by admonishing the Government and advocating a closerwatch over foreigners in England.

  The _Standard_ commented upon the fact that lawless outrages of the sortusually occurred under a Liberal Administration. They arose from theunsettling of the minds of the masses, and the consequent weakeningof all authority. The deceased was an American gentleman who hadbeen residing for some weeks in the Metropolis. He had stayed at theboarding-house of Madame Charpentier, in Torquay Terrace, Camberwell.He was accompanied in his travels by his private secretary, Mr. JosephStangerson. The two bade adieu to their landlady upon Tuesday, the4th inst., and departed to Euston Station with the avowed intention ofcatching the Liverpool express. They were afterwards seen together uponthe platform. Nothing more is known of them until Mr. Drebber's bodywas, as recorded, discovered in an empty house in the Brixton Road,many miles from Euston. How he came there, or how he met his fate, arequestions which are still involved in mystery. Nothing is known of thewhereabouts of Stangerson. We are glad to learn that Mr. Lestrade andMr. Gregson, of Scotland Yard, are both engaged upon the case, and itis confidently anticipated that these well-known officers will speedilythrow light upon the matter.

  The _Daily News_ observed that there was no doubt as to the crime beinga political one. The despotism and hatred of Liberalism which animatedthe Continental Governments had had the effect of driving to our shoresa number of men who might have made excellent citizens were they notsoured by the recollection of all that they had undergone. Among thesemen there was a stringent code of honour, any infringement of which waspunished by death. Every effort should be made to find the secretary,Stangerson, and to ascertain some particulars of the habits of thedeceased. A great step had been gained by the discovery of the addressof the house at which he had boarded--a result which was entirely due tothe acuteness and energy of Mr. Gregson of Scotland Yard.

  Sherlock Holmes and I read these notices over together at breakfast, andthey appeared to afford him considerable amusement.

  "I told you that, whatever happened, Lestrade and Gregson would be sureto score."

  "That depends on how it turns out."

  "Oh, bless you, it doesn't matter in the least. If the man is caught, itwill be _on account_ of their exertions; if he escapes, it will be _inspite_ of their exertions. It's heads I win and tails you lose. Whateverthey do, they will have followers. 'Un sot trouve toujours un plus sotqui l'admire.'"

  "What on earth is this?" I cried, for at this moment there came thepattering of many steps in the hall and on the stairs, accompanied byaudible expressions of disgust upon the part of our landlady.

  "It's the Baker Street division of the detective police force," said mycompanion, gravely; and as he spoke there rushed into the room half adozen of the dirtiest and most ragged street Arabs that ever I clappedeyes on.

  "'Tention!" cried Holmes, in a sharp tone, and the six dirty littlescoundrels stood in a line like so many disreputable statuettes. "Infuture you shall send up Wiggins alone to report, and the rest of youmust wait in the street. Have you found it, Wiggins?"

  "No, sir, we hain't," said one of the youths.

  "I hardly expected you would. You must keep on until you do. Here areyour wages." [13] He handed each of them a shilling.

  "Now, off you go, and come back with a better report next time."

  He waved his hand, and they scampered away downstairs like so many rats,and we heard their shrill voices next moment in the street.

  "There's more work to be got out of one of those little beggars thanout of a dozen of the force," Holmes remarked. "The mere sight of anofficial-looking person seals men's lips. These youngsters, however, goeverywhere and hear everything. They are as sharp as needles, too; allthey want is organisation."

  "Is it on this Brixton case that you are employing them?" I asked.

  "Yes; there is a point which I wish to ascertain. It is merely a matterof time. Hullo! we are going to hear some news now with a vengeance!Here is Gregson coming down the road with beatitude written upon everyfeature of his face. Bound for us, I know. Yes, he is stopping. There heis!"

  There was a violent peal at the bell, and in a few seconds thefair-haired detective came up the stairs, three steps at a time, andburst into our sitting-room.

  "My dear fellow," he cried, wringing Holmes' unresponsive hand,"congratulate me! I have made the whole thing as clear as day."

  A shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross my companion's expressive face.

  "Do you mean that you are on the right track?" he asked.

  "The right track! Why, sir, we have the man under lock and key."

  "And his name is?"

  "Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in Her Majesty's navy," criedGregson, pompously, rubbing his fat hands and inflating his chest.

  Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief, and relaxed into a smile.

  "Take a seat, and try one of these cigars," he said. "We are anxious toknow how you managed it. Will you have some whiskey and water?"

  "I don't mind if I do," the detective answered. "The tremendousexertions which I have gone through during the last day or two have wornme out. Not so much bodily exertion, you understand, as the strain uponthe mind. You will appreciate that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for we are bothbrain-workers."

  "You do me too much honour," said Holmes, gravely. "Let us hear how youarrived at this most gratifying result."

  The detective seated himself in the arm-chair, and puffed complacentlyat his cigar. Then suddenly he slapped his thigh in a paroxysm ofamusement.

  "The fun of it is," he cried, "that that fool Lestrade, who thinkshimself so smart, has gone off upon the wrong track altogether. He isafter the secretary Stangerson, who had no more to do with the crimethan the babe unborn. I have no doubt that he has caught him by thistime."

  The idea tickled Gregson so much that he laughed until he choked.

  "And how did you get your clue?"

  "Ah, I'll tell you all about it. Of course, Doctor Watson, this isstrictly between ourselves. The first difficulty which we had to contendwith was the finding of this American's antecedents. Some people wouldhave waited until their advertisements were answered, or until partiescame forward and volunteered information. That is not Tobias Gregson'sway of going to work. You remember the hat beside the dead man?"

  "Yes," said Holmes; "by John Underwood and Sons, 129, Camberwell Road."

  Gregson looked quite crest-fallen.

  "I had no idea that you noticed that," he said. "Have you been there?"

  "No."

  "Ha!" cried Gregson, in a relieved voice; "you should never neglect achance, however small it may seem."

  "To a great mind, nothing is little," remarked Holmes, sententiously.

  "Well, I went to Underwood, and asked him if he had sold a hat of thatsize and description. He looked over his books, and came on it at once.He had sent the hat to a Mr. Drebber, residing at Charpentier's BoardingEstablishment, Torquay Terrace. Thus I got at his address."

  "Smart--very smart!" murmured Sherlock Holmes.

 
"I next called upon Madame Charpentier," continued the detective."I found her very pale and distressed. Her daughter was in the room,too--an uncommonly fine girl she is, too; she was looking red aboutthe eyes and her lips trembled as I spoke to her. That didn't escapemy notice. I began to smell a rat. You know the feeling, Mr. SherlockHolmes, when you come upon the right scent--a kind of thrill in yournerves. 'Have you heard of the mysterious death of your late boarder Mr.Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland?' I asked.

  "The mother nodded. She didn't seem able to get out a word. The daughterburst into tears. I felt more than ever that these people knew somethingof the matter.

  "'At what o'clock did Mr. Drebber leave your house for the train?' Iasked.

  "'At eight o'clock,' she said, gulping in her throat to keep down heragitation. 'His secretary, Mr. Stangerson, said that there were twotrains--one at 9.15 and one at 11. He was to catch the first. [14]

  "'And was that the last which you saw of him?'

  "A terrible change came over the woman's face as I asked the question.Her features turned perfectly livid. It was some seconds before shecould get out the single word 'Yes'--and when it did come it was in ahusky unnatural tone.

  "There was silence for a moment, and then the daughter spoke in a calmclear voice.

  "'No good can ever come of falsehood, mother,' she said. 'Let us befrank with this gentleman. We _did_ see Mr. Drebber again.'

  "'God forgive you!' cried Madame Charpentier, throwing up her hands andsinking back in her chair. 'You have murdered your brother.'

  "'Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth,' the girl answeredfirmly.

  "'You had best tell me all about it now,' I said. 'Half-confidences areworse than none. Besides, you do not know how much we know of it.'

  "'On your head be it, Alice!' cried her mother; and then, turning to me,'I will tell you all, sir. Do not imagine that my agitation on behalfof my son arises from any fear lest he should have had a hand in thisterrible affair. He is utterly innocent of it. My dread is, however,that in your eyes and in the eyes of others he may appear to becompromised. That however is surely impossible. His high character, hisprofession, his antecedents would all forbid it.'

  "'Your best way is to make a clean breast of the facts,' I answered.'Depend upon it, if your son is innocent he will be none the worse.'

  "'Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us together,' she said, and herdaughter withdrew. 'Now, sir,' she continued, 'I had no intention oftelling you all this, but since my poor daughter has disclosed it Ihave no alternative. Having once decided to speak, I will tell you allwithout omitting any particular.'

  "'It is your wisest course,' said I.

  "'Mr. Drebber has been with us nearly three weeks. He and his secretary,Mr. Stangerson, had been travelling on the Continent. I noticed a"Copenhagen" label upon each of their trunks, showing that that had beentheir last stopping place. Stangerson was a quiet reserved man, but hisemployer, I am sorry to say, was far otherwise. He was coarse in hishabits and brutish in his ways. The very night of his arrival he becamevery much the worse for drink, and, indeed, after twelve o'clock in theday he could hardly ever be said to be sober. His manners towards themaid-servants were disgustingly free and familiar. Worst of all, hespeedily assumed the same attitude towards my daughter, Alice, and spoketo her more than once in a way which, fortunately, she is too innocentto understand. On one occasion he actually seized her in his arms andembraced her--an outrage which caused his own secretary to reproach himfor his unmanly conduct.'

  "'But why did you stand all this,' I asked. 'I suppose that you can getrid of your boarders when you wish.'

  "Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. 'Would to God thatI had given him notice on the very day that he came,' she said. 'Butit was a sore temptation. They were paying a pound a day each--fourteenpounds a week, and this is the slack season. I am a widow, and my boy inthe Navy has cost me much. I grudged to lose the money. I acted for thebest. This last was too much, however, and I gave him notice to leave onaccount of it. That was the reason of his going.'

  "'Well?'

  "'My heart grew light when I saw him drive away. My son is on leavejust now, but I did not tell him anything of all this, for his temperis violent, and he is passionately fond of his sister. When I closed thedoor behind them a load seemed to be lifted from my mind. Alas, inless than an hour there was a ring at the bell, and I learned that Mr.Drebber had returned. He was much excited, and evidently the worse fordrink. He forced his way into the room, where I was sitting with mydaughter, and made some incoherent remark about having missed his train.He then turned to Alice, and before my very face, proposed to her thatshe should fly with him. "You are of age," he said, "and there is no lawto stop you. I have money enough and to spare. Never mind the old girlhere, but come along with me now straight away. You shall live like aprincess." Poor Alice was so frightened that she shrunk away from him,but he caught her by the wrist and endeavoured to draw her towards thedoor. I screamed, and at that moment my son Arthur came into the room.What happened then I do not know. I heard oaths and the confused soundsof a scuffle. I was too terrified to raise my head. When I did look upI saw Arthur standing in the doorway laughing, with a stick in his hand."I don't think that fine fellow will trouble us again," he said. "I willjust go after him and see what he does with himself." With those wordshe took his hat and started off down the street. The next morning weheard of Mr. Drebber's mysterious death.'

  "This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier's lips with many gasps andpauses. At times she spoke so low that I could hardly catch the words. Imade shorthand notes of all that she said, however, so that there shouldbe no possibility of a mistake."

  "It's quite exciting," said Sherlock Holmes, with a yawn. "What happenednext?"

  "When Mrs. Charpentier paused," the detective continued, "I saw that thewhole case hung upon one point. Fixing her with my eye in a way whichI always found effective with women, I asked her at what hour her sonreturned.

  "'I do not know,' she answered.

  "'Not know?'

  "'No; he has a latch-key, and he let himself in.'

  "'After you went to bed?'

  "'Yes.'

  "'When did you go to bed?'

  "'About eleven.'

  "'So your son was gone at least two hours?'

  "'Yes.'

  "'Possibly four or five?'

  "'Yes.'

  "'What was he doing during that time?'

  "'I do not know,' she answered, turning white to her very lips.

  "Of course after that there was nothing more to be done. I foundout where Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers with me, andarrested him. When I touched him on the shoulder and warned him to comequietly with us, he answered us as bold as brass, 'I suppose youare arresting me for being concerned in the death of that scoundrelDrebber,' he said. We had said nothing to him about it, so that hisalluding to it had a most suspicious aspect."

  "Very," said Holmes.

  "He still carried the heavy stick which the mother described him ashaving with him when he followed Drebber. It was a stout oak cudgel."

  "What is your theory, then?"

  "Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as far as the Brixton Road.When there, a fresh altercation arose between them, in the course ofwhich Drebber received a blow from the stick, in the pit of the stomach,perhaps, which killed him without leaving any mark. The night was sowet that no one was about, so Charpentier dragged the body of his victiminto the empty house. As to the candle, and the blood, and the writingon the wall, and the ring, they may all be so many tricks to throw thepolice on to the wrong scent."

  "Well done!" said Holmes in an encouraging voice. "Really, Gregson, youare getting along. We shall make something of you yet."

  "I flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly," the detectiveanswered proudly. "The young man volunteered a statement, in which hesaid that after following Drebber some time, the latter perceived him,and took a cab in order to get away fro
m him. On his way home he met anold shipmate, and took a long walk with him. On being asked where thisold shipmate lived, he was unable to give any satisfactory reply. Ithink the whole case fits together uncommonly well. What amuses me is tothink of Lestrade, who had started off upon the wrong scent. I am afraidhe won't make much of [15] Why, by Jove, here's the very man himself!"

  It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we weretalking, and who now entered the room. The assurance and jauntinesswhich generally marked his demeanour and dress were, however, wanting.His face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were disarrangedand untidy. He had evidently come with the intention of consultingwith Sherlock Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague he appeared to beembarrassed and put out. He stood in the centre of the room, fumblingnervously with his hat and uncertain what to do. "This is a mostextraordinary case," he said at last--"a most incomprehensible affair."

  "Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!" cried Gregson, triumphantly. "Ithought you would come to that conclusion. Have you managed to find theSecretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?"

  "The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson," said Lestrade gravely, "wasmurdered at Halliday's Private Hotel about six o'clock this morning."