A Study in Scarlet Read online

  CHAPTER VII. LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS.

  THE intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so momentous and sounexpected, that we were all three fairly dumfoundered. Gregson sprangout of his chair and upset the remainder of his whiskey and water. Istared in silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were compressed and hisbrows drawn down over his eyes.

  "Stangerson too!" he muttered. "The plot thickens."

  "It was quite thick enough before," grumbled Lestrade, taking a chair."I seem to have dropped into a sort of council of war."

  "Are you--are you sure of this piece of intelligence?" stammeredGregson.

  "I have just come from his room," said Lestrade. "I was the first todiscover what had occurred."

  "We have been hearing Gregson's view of the matter," Holmes observed."Would you mind letting us know what you have seen and done?"

  "I have no objection," Lestrade answered, seating himself. "I freelyconfess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson was concerned inthe death of Drebber. This fresh development has shown me that I wascompletely mistaken. Full of the one idea, I set myself to find outwhat had become of the Secretary. They had been seen together at EustonStation about half-past eight on the evening of the third. At two in themorning Drebber had been found in the Brixton Road. The question whichconfronted me was to find out how Stangerson had been employed between8.30 and the time of the crime, and what had become of him afterwards.I telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description of the man, and warningthem to keep a watch upon the American boats. I then set to work callingupon all the hotels and lodging-houses in the vicinity of Euston. Yousee, I argued that if Drebber and his companion had become separated,the natural course for the latter would be to put up somewhere in thevicinity for the night, and then to hang about the station again nextmorning."

  "They would be likely to agree on some meeting-place beforehand,"remarked Holmes.

  "So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterday evening in makingenquiries entirely without avail. This morning I began very early, andat eight o'clock I reached Halliday's Private Hotel, in Little GeorgeStreet. On my enquiry as to whether a Mr. Stangerson was living there,they at once answered me in the affirmative.

  "'No doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting,' they said. 'Hehas been waiting for a gentleman for two days.'

  "'Where is he now?' I asked.

  "'He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be called at nine.'

  "'I will go up and see him at once,' I said.

  "It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake his nerves andlead him to say something unguarded. The Boots volunteered to show methe room: it was on the second floor, and there was a small corridorleading up to it. The Boots pointed out the door to me, and was about togo downstairs again when I saw something that made me feel sickish, inspite of my twenty years' experience. From under the door there curleda little red ribbon of blood, which had meandered across the passage andformed a little pool along the skirting at the other side. I gave a cry,which brought the Boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The doorwas locked on the inside, but we put our shoulders to it, and knocked itin. The window of the room was open, and beside the window, all huddledup, lay the body of a man in his nightdress. He was quite dead, and hadbeen for some time, for his limbs were rigid and cold. When we turnedhim over, the Boots recognized him at once as being the same gentlemanwho had engaged the room under the name of Joseph Stangerson. The causeof death was a deep stab in the left side, which must have penetratedthe heart. And now comes the strangest part of the affair. What do yousuppose was above the murdered man?"

  I felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentiment of coming horror,even before Sherlock Holmes answered.

  "The word RACHE, written in letters of blood," he said.

  "That was it," said Lestrade, in an awe-struck voice; and we were allsilent for a while.

  There was something so methodical and so incomprehensible about thedeeds of this unknown assassin, that it imparted a fresh ghastliness tohis crimes. My nerves, which were steady enough on the field of battletingled as I thought of it.

  "The man was seen," continued Lestrade. "A milk boy, passing on his wayto the dairy, happened to walk down the lane which leads from the mewsat the back of the hotel. He noticed that a ladder, which usually laythere, was raised against one of the windows of the second floor, whichwas wide open. After passing, he looked back and saw a man descend theladder. He came down so quietly and openly that the boy imagined him tobe some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. He took no particularnotice of him, beyond thinking in his own mind that it was early for himto be at work. He has an impression that the man was tall, had a reddishface, and was dressed in a long, brownish coat. He must have stayed inthe room some little time after the murder, for we found blood-stainedwater in the basin, where he had washed his hands, and marks on thesheets where he had deliberately wiped his knife."

  I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the murderer, whichtallied so exactly with his own. There was, however, no trace ofexultation or satisfaction upon his face.

  "Did you find nothing in the room which could furnish a clue to themurderer?" he asked.

  "Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber's purse in his pocket, but it seemsthat this was usual, as he did all the paying. There was eighty oddpounds in it, but nothing had been taken. Whatever the motives of theseextraordinary crimes, robbery is certainly not one of them. There wereno papers or memoranda in the murdered man's pocket, except a singletelegram, dated from Cleveland about a month ago, and containingthe words, 'J. H. is in Europe.' There was no name appended to thismessage."

  "And there was nothing else?" Holmes asked.

  "Nothing of any importance. The man's novel, with which he had readhimself to sleep was lying upon the bed, and his pipe was on a chairbeside him. There was a glass of water on the table, and on thewindow-sill a small chip ointment box containing a couple of pills."

  Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an exclamation of delight.

  "The last link," he cried, exultantly. "My case is complete."

  The two detectives stared at him in amazement.

  "I have now in my hands," my companion said, confidently, "all thethreads which have formed such a tangle. There are, of course, detailsto be filled in, but I am as certain of all the main facts, from thetime that Drebber parted from Stangerson at the station, up to thediscovery of the body of the latter, as if I had seen them with my owneyes. I will give you a proof of my knowledge. Could you lay your handupon those pills?"

  "I have them," said Lestrade, producing a small white box; "I took themand the purse and the telegram, intending to have them put in a place ofsafety at the Police Station. It was the merest chance my taking thesepills, for I am bound to say that I do not attach any importance tothem."

  "Give them here," said Holmes. "Now, Doctor," turning to me, "are thoseordinary pills?"

  They certainly were not. They were of a pearly grey colour, small,round, and almost transparent against the light. "From their lightnessand transparency, I should imagine that they are soluble in water," Iremarked.

  "Precisely so," answered Holmes. "Now would you mind going down andfetching that poor little devil of a terrier which has been bad so long,and which the landlady wanted you to put out of its pain yesterday."

  I went downstairs and carried the dog upstair in my arms. It's labouredbreathing and glazing eye showed that it was not far from its end.Indeed, its snow-white muzzle proclaimed that it had already exceededthe usual term of canine existence. I placed it upon a cushion on therug.

  "I will now cut one of these pills in two," said Holmes, and drawing hispenknife he suited the action to the word. "One half we return into thebox for future purposes. The other half I will place in this wine glass,in which is a teaspoonful of water. You perceive that our friend, theDoctor, is right, and that it readily dissolves."

  "This may be very interesting," said Lestrade, in the injured tone ofone who suspects that
he is being laughed at, "I cannot see, however,what it has to do with the death of Mr. Joseph Stangerson."

  "Patience, my friend, patience! You will find in time that it haseverything to do with it. I shall now add a little milk to make themixture palatable, and on presenting it to the dog we find that he lapsit up readily enough."

  As he spoke he turned the contents of the wine glass into a saucer andplaced it in front of the terrier, who speedily licked it dry. SherlockHolmes' earnest demeanour had so far convinced us that we all sat insilence, watching the animal intently, and expecting some startlingeffect. None such appeared, however. The dog continued to lie stretchedupon tho [16] cushion, breathing in a laboured way, but apparentlyneither the better nor the worse for its draught.

  Holmes had taken out his watch, and as minute followed minute withoutresult, an expression of the utmost chagrin and disappointment appearedupon his features. He gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers upon thetable, and showed every other symptom of acute impatience. So greatwas his emotion, that I felt sincerely sorry for him, while the twodetectives smiled derisively, by no means displeased at this check whichhe had met.

  "It can't be a coincidence," he cried, at last springing from his chairand pacing wildly up and down the room; "it is impossible that it shouldbe a mere coincidence. The very pills which I suspected in the case ofDrebber are actually found after the death of Stangerson. And yet theyare inert. What can it mean? Surely my whole chain of reasoning cannothave been false. It is impossible! And yet this wretched dog is none theworse. Ah, I have it! I have it!" With a perfect shriek of delight herushed to the box, cut the other pill in two, dissolved it, added milk,and presented it to the terrier. The unfortunate creature's tongueseemed hardly to have been moistened in it before it gave a convulsiveshiver in every limb, and lay as rigid and lifeless as if it had beenstruck by lightning.

  Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath, and wiped the perspiration from hisforehead. "I should have more faith," he said; "I ought to know bythis time that when a fact appears to be opposed to a long train ofdeductions, it invariably proves to be capable of bearing some otherinterpretation. Of the two pills in that box one was of the most deadlypoison, and the other was entirely harmless. I ought to have known thatbefore ever I saw the box at all."

  This last statement appeared to me to be so startling, that I couldhardly believe that he was in his sober senses. There was the dead dog,however, to prove that his conjecture had been correct. It seemed to methat the mists in my own mind were gradually clearing away, and I beganto have a dim, vague perception of the truth.

  "All this seems strange to you," continued Holmes, "because you failedat the beginning of the inquiry to grasp the importance of the singlereal clue which was presented to you. I had the good fortune to seizeupon that, and everything which has occurred since then has served toconfirm my original supposition, and, indeed, was the logical sequenceof it. Hence things which have perplexed you and made the case moreobscure, have served to enlighten me and to strengthen my conclusions.It is a mistake to confound strangeness with mystery. The mostcommonplace crime is often the most mysterious because it presents nonew or special features from which deductions may be drawn. This murderwould have been infinitely more difficult to unravel had the body ofthe victim been simply found lying in the roadway without any ofthose _outre_ and sensational accompaniments which have renderedit remarkable. These strange details, far from making the case moredifficult, have really had the effect of making it less so."

  Mr. Gregson, who had listened to this address with considerableimpatience, could contain himself no longer. "Look here, Mr. SherlockHolmes," he said, "we are all ready to acknowledge that you are a smartman, and that you have your own methods of working. We want somethingmore than mere theory and preaching now, though. It is a case of takingthe man. I have made my case out, and it seems I was wrong. YoungCharpentier could not have been engaged in this second affair. Lestradewent after his man, Stangerson, and it appears that he was wrong too.You have thrown out hints here, and hints there, and seem to know morethan we do, but the time has come when we feel that we have a right toask you straight how much you do know of the business. Can you name theman who did it?"

  "I cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, sir," remarked Lestrade."We have both tried, and we have both failed. You have remarked morethan once since I have been in the room that you had all the evidencewhich you require. Surely you will not withhold it any longer."

  "Any delay in arresting the assassin," I observed, "might give him timeto perpetrate some fresh atrocity."

  Thus pressed by us all, Holmes showed signs of irresolution. Hecontinued to walk up and down the room with his head sunk on his chestand his brows drawn down, as was his habit when lost in thought.

  "There will be no more murders," he said at last, stopping abruptly andfacing us. "You can put that consideration out of the question. You haveasked me if I know the name of the assassin. I do. The mere knowing ofhis name is a small thing, however, compared with the power of layingour hands upon him. This I expect very shortly to do. I have good hopesof managing it through my own arrangements; but it is a thing whichneeds delicate handling, for we have a shrewd and desperate man to dealwith, who is supported, as I have had occasion to prove, by another whois as clever as himself. As long as this man has no idea that anyonecan have a clue there is some chance of securing him; but if he had theslightest suspicion, he would change his name, and vanish in an instantamong the four million inhabitants of this great city. Without meaningto hurt either of your feelings, I am bound to say that I consider thesemen to be more than a match for the official force, and that is why Ihave not asked your assistance. If I fail I shall, of course, incur allthe blame due to this omission; but that I am prepared for. At presentI am ready to promise that the instant that I can communicate with youwithout endangering my own combinations, I shall do so."

  Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be far from satisfied by this assurance,or by the depreciating allusion to the detective police. The former hadflushed up to the roots of his flaxen hair, while the other's beady eyesglistened with curiosity and resentment. Neither of them had time tospeak, however, before there was a tap at the door, and the spokesmanof the street Arabs, young Wiggins, introduced his insignificant andunsavoury person.

  "Please, sir," he said, touching his forelock, "I have the cabdownstairs."

  "Good boy," said Holmes, blandly. "Why don't you introduce this patternat Scotland Yard?" he continued, taking a pair of steel handcuffs froma drawer. "See how beautifully the spring works. They fasten in aninstant."

  "The old pattern is good enough," remarked Lestrade, "if we can onlyfind the man to put them on."

  "Very good, very good," said Holmes, smiling. "The cabman may as wellhelp me with my boxes. Just ask him to step up, Wiggins."

  I was surprised to find my companion speaking as though he were aboutto set out on a journey, since he had not said anything to me about it.There was a small portmanteau in the room, and this he pulled out andbegan to strap. He was busily engaged at it when the cabman entered theroom.

  "Just give me a help with this buckle, cabman," he said, kneeling overhis task, and never turning his head.

  The fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air, and putdown his hands to assist. At that instant there was a sharp click, thejangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet again.

  "Gentlemen," he cried, with flashing eyes, "let me introduce you to Mr.Jefferson Hope, the murderer of Enoch Drebber and of Joseph Stangerson."

  The whole thing occurred in a moment--so quickly that I had no timeto realize it. I have a vivid recollection of that instant, of Holmes'triumphant expression and the ring of his voice, of the cabman'sdazed, savage face, as he glared at the glittering handcuffs, which hadappeared as if by magic upon his wrists. For a second or two we mighthave been a group of statues. Then, with an inarticulate roar of fury,the prisoner wrenched himself free from Holmes's grasp, and hurledhimself th
rough the window. Woodwork and glass gave way before him; butbefore he got quite through, Gregson, Lestrade, and Holmes sprang uponhim like so many staghounds. He was dragged back into the room, and thencommenced a terrific conflict. So powerful and so fierce was he, thatthe four of us were shaken off again and again. He appeared to have theconvulsive strength of a man in an epileptic fit. His face and handswere terribly mangled by his passage through the glass, but loss ofblood had no effect in diminishing his resistance. It was not untilLestrade succeeded in getting his hand inside his neckcloth andhalf-strangling him that we made him realize that his struggles were ofno avail; and even then we felt no security until we had pinioned hisfeet as well as his hands. That done, we rose to our feet breathless andpanting.

  "We have his cab," said Sherlock Holmes. "It will serve to take him toScotland Yard. And now, gentlemen," he continued, with a pleasant smile,"we have reached the end of our little mystery. You are very welcome toput any questions that you like to me now, and there is no danger that Iwill refuse to answer them."

  PART II. _The Country of the Saints._