The Sign of the Four Read online

  Chapter VII

  The Episode of the Barrel

  The police had brought a cab with them, and in this I escorted MissMorstan back to her home. After the angelic fashion of women, she hadborne trouble with a calm face as long as there was some one weakerthan herself to support, and I had found her bright and placid by theside of the frightened housekeeper. In the cab, however, she firstturned faint, and then burst into a passion of weeping,--so sorely hadshe been tried by the adventures of the night. She has told me sincethat she thought me cold and distant upon that journey. She littleguessed the struggle within my breast, or the effort of self-restraintwhich held me back. My sympathies and my love went out to her, even asmy hand had in the garden. I felt that years of the conventionalitiesof life could not teach me to know her sweet, brave nature as had thisone day of strange experiences. Yet there were two thoughts whichsealed the words of affection upon my lips. She was weak and helpless,shaken in mind and nerve. It was to take her at a disadvantage toobtrude love upon her at such a time. Worse still, she was rich. IfHolmes's researches were successful, she would be an heiress. Was itfair, was it honorable, that a half-pay surgeon should take suchadvantage of an intimacy which chance had brought about? Might she notlook upon me as a mere vulgar fortune-seeker? I could not bear to riskthat such a thought should cross her mind. This Agra treasureintervened like an impassable barrier between us.

  It was nearly two o'clock when we reached Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. Theservants had retired hours ago, but Mrs. Forrester had been sointerested by the strange message which Miss Morstan had received thatshe had sat up in the hope of her return. She opened the door herself,a middle-aged, graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see how tenderlyher arm stole round the other's waist and how motherly was the voice inwhich she greeted her. She was clearly no mere paid dependant, but anhonored friend. I was introduced, and Mrs. Forrester earnestly beggedme to step in and tell her our adventures. I explained, however, theimportance of my errand, and promised faithfully to call and report anyprogress which we might make with the case. As we drove away I stole aglance back, and I still seem to see that little group on the step, thetwo graceful, clinging figures, the half-opened door, the hall lightshining through stained glass, the barometer, and the brightstair-rods. It was soothing to catch even that passing glimpse of atranquil English home in the midst of the wild, dark business which hadabsorbed us.

  And the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder and darker itgrew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence of events as Irattled on through the silent gas-lit streets. There was the originalproblem: that at least was pretty clear now. The death of CaptainMorstan, the sending of the pearls, the advertisement, the letter,--wehad had light upon all those events. They had only led us, however, toa deeper and far more tragic mystery. The Indian treasure, the curiousplan found among Morstan's baggage, the strange scene at Major Sholto'sdeath, the rediscovery of the treasure immediately followed by themurder of the discoverer, the very singular accompaniments to thecrime, the footsteps, the remarkable weapons, the words upon the card,corresponding with those upon Captain Morstan's chart,--here was indeeda labyrinth in which a man less singularly endowed than myfellow-lodger might well despair of ever finding the clue.

  Pinchin Lane was a row of shabby two-storied brick houses in the lowerquarter of Lambeth. I had to knock for some time at No. 3 before Icould make my impression. At last, however, there was the glint of acandle behind the blind, and a face looked out at the upper window.

  "Go on, you drunken vagabone," said the face. "If you kick up any morerow I'll open the kennels and let out forty-three dogs upon you."

  "If you'll let one out it's just what I have come for," said I.

  "Go on!" yelled the voice. "So help me gracious, I have a wiper in thebag, an' I'll drop it on your 'ead if you don't hook it."

  "But I want a dog," I cried.

  "I won't be argued with!" shouted Mr. Sherman. "Now stand clear, forwhen I say 'three,' down goes the wiper."

  "Mr. Sherlock Holmes--" I began, but the words had a most magicaleffect, for the window instantly slammed down, and within a minute thedoor was unbarred and open. Mr. Sherman was a lanky, lean old man,with stooping shoulders, a stringy neck, and blue-tinted glasses.

  "A friend of Mr. Sherlock is always welcome," said he. "Step in, sir.Keep clear of the badger; for he bites. Ah, naughty, naughty, wouldyou take a nip at the gentleman?" This to a stoat which thrust itswicked head and red eyes between the bars of its cage. "Don't mindthat, sir: it's only a slow-worm. It hain't got no fangs, so I givesit the run o' the room, for it keeps the beetles down. You must notmind my bein' just a little short wi' you at first, for I'm guyed at bythe children, and there's many a one just comes down this lane to knockme up. What was it that Mr. Sherlock Holmes wanted, sir?"

  "He wanted a dog of yours."

  "Ah! that would be Toby."

  "Yes, Toby was the name."

  "Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here." He moved slowly forward withhis candle among the queer animal family which he had gathered roundhim. In the uncertain, shadowy light I could see dimly that there wereglancing, glimmering eyes peeping down at us from every cranny andcorner. Even the rafters above our heads were lined by solemn fowls,who lazily shifted their weight from one leg to the other as our voicesdisturbed their slumbers.

  Toby proved to be an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature, half spanieland half lurcher, brown-and-white in color, with a very clumsy waddlinggait. It accepted after some hesitation a lump of sugar which the oldnaturalist handed to me, and, having thus sealed an alliance, itfollowed me to the cab, and made no difficulties about accompanying me.It had just struck three on the Palace clock when I found myself backonce more at Pondicherry Lodge. The ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, Ifound, been arrested as an accessory, and both he and Mr. Sholto hadbeen marched off to the station. Two constables guarded the narrowgate, but they allowed me to pass with the dog on my mentioning thedetective's name.

  Holmes was standing on the door-step, with his hands in his pockets,smoking his pipe.

  "Ah, you have him there!" said he. "Good dog, then! Atheney Jones hasgone. We have had an immense display of energy since you left. He hasarrested not only friend Thaddeus, but the gatekeeper, the housekeeper,and the Indian servant. We have the place to ourselves, but for asergeant up-stairs. Leave the dog here, and come up."

  We tied Toby to the hall table, and reascended the stairs. The roomwas as he had left it, save that a sheet had been draped over thecentral figure. A weary-looking police-sergeant reclined in the corner.

  "Lend me your bull's-eye, sergeant," said my companion. "Now tie thisbit of card round my neck, so as to hang it in front of me. Thank you.Now I must kick off my boots and stockings.--Just you carry them downwith you, Watson. I am going to do a little climbing. And dip myhandkerchief into the creasote. That will do. Now come up into thegarret with me for a moment."

  We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his light once moreupon the footsteps in the dust.

  "I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks," he said. "Do youobserve anything noteworthy about them?"

  "They belong," I said, "to a child or a small woman."

  "Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing else?"

  "They appear to be much as other footmarks."

  "Not at all. Look here! This is the print of a right foot in thedust. Now I make one with my naked foot beside it. What is the chiefdifference?"

  "Your toes are all cramped together. The other print has each toedistinctly divided."

  "Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind. Now, would youkindly step over to that flap-window and smell the edge of thewood-work? I shall stay here, as I have this handkerchief in my hand."

  I did as he directed, and was instantly conscious of a strong tarrysmell.

  "That is where he put his foot in getting out. If YOU can trace him, Ishould think that T
oby will have no difficulty. Now run down-stairs,loose the dog, and look out for Blondin."

  By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes was on theroof, and I could see him like an enormous glow-worm crawling veryslowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind a stack ofchimneys, but he presently reappeared, and then vanished once more uponthe opposite side. When I made my way round there I found him seatedat one of the corner eaves.

  "That you, Watson?" he cried.

  "Yes."

  "This is the place. What is that black thing down there?"

  "A water-barrel."

  "Top on it?"

  "Yes."

  "No sign of a ladder?"

  "No."

  "Confound the fellow! It's a most break-neck place. I ought to beable to come down where he could climb up. The water-pipe feels prettyfirm. Here goes, anyhow."

  There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to come steadilydown the side of the wall. Then with a light spring he came on to thebarrel, and from there to the earth.

  "It was easy to follow him," he said, drawing on his stockings andboots. "Tiles were loosened the whole way along, and in his hurry hehad dropped this. It confirms my diagnosis, as you doctors express it."

  The object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouch woven outof colored grasses and with a few tawdry beads strung round it. Inshape and size it was not unlike a cigarette-case. Inside were half adozen spines of dark wood, sharp at one end and rounded at the other,like that which had struck Bartholomew Sholto.

  "They are hellish things," said he. "Look out that you don't prickyourself. I'm delighted to have them, for the chances are that theyare all he has. There is the less fear of you or me finding one in ourskin before long. I would sooner face a Martini bullet, myself. Areyou game for a six-mile trudge, Watson?"

  "Certainly," I answered.

  "Your leg will stand it?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby, smell it!" Hepushed the creasote handkerchief under the dog's nose, while thecreature stood with its fluffy legs separated, and with a most comicalcock to its head, like a connoisseur sniffing the bouquet of a famousvintage. Holmes then threw the handkerchief to a distance, fastened astout cord to the mongrel's collar, and led him to the foot of thewater-barrel. The creature instantly broke into a succession of high,tremulous yelps, and, with his nose on the ground, and his tail in theair, pattered off upon the trail at a pace which strained his leash andkept us at the top of our speed.

  The east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see somedistance in the cold gray light. The square, massive house, with itsblack, empty windows and high, bare walls, towered up, sad and forlorn,behind us. Our course led right across the grounds, in and out amongthe trenches and pits with which they were scarred and intersected.The whole place, with its scattered dirt-heaps and ill-grown shrubs,had a blighted, ill-omened look which harmonized with the black tragedywhich hung over it.

  On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whining eagerly,underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a corner screened by ayoung beech. Where the two walls joined, several bricks had beenloosened, and the crevices left were worn down and rounded upon thelower side, as though they had frequently been used as a ladder.Holmes clambered up, and, taking the dog from me, he dropped it overupon the other side.

  "There's the print of wooden-leg's hand," he remarked, as I mounted upbeside him. "You see the slight smudge of blood upon the whiteplaster. What a lucky thing it is that we have had no very heavy rainsince yesterday! The scent will lie upon the road in spite of theireight-and-twenty hours' start."

  I confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected upon the greattraffic which had passed along the London road in the interval. Myfears were soon appeased, however. Toby never hesitated or swerved,but waddled on in his peculiar rolling fashion. Clearly, the pungentsmell of the creasote rose high above all other contending scents.

  "Do not imagine," said Holmes, "that I depend for my success in thiscase upon the mere chance of one of these fellows having put his footin the chemical. I have knowledge now which would enable me to tracethem in many different ways. This, however, is the readiest and, sincefortune has put it into our hands, I should be culpable if I neglectedit. It has, however, prevented the case from becoming the prettylittle intellectual problem which it at one time promised to be. Theremight have been some credit to be gained out of it, but for this toopalpable clue."

  "There is credit, and to spare," said I. "I assure you, Holmes, that Imarvel at the means by which you obtain your results in this case, evenmore than I did in the Jefferson Hope Murder. The thing seems to me tobe deeper and more inexplicable. How, for example, could you describewith such confidence the wooden-legged man?"

  "Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I don't wish to betheatrical. It is all patent and above-board. Two officers who are incommand of a convict-guard learn an important secret as to buriedtreasure. A map is drawn for them by an Englishman named JonathanSmall. You remember that we saw the name upon the chart in CaptainMorstan's possession. He had signed it in behalf of himself and hisassociates,--the sign of the four, as he somewhat dramatically calledit. Aided by this chart, the officers--or one of them--gets thetreasure and brings it to England, leaving, we will suppose, somecondition under which he received it unfulfilled. Now, then, why didnot Jonathan Small get the treasure himself? The answer is obvious.The chart is dated at a time when Morstan was brought into closeassociation with convicts. Jonathan Small did not get the treasurebecause he and his associates were themselves convicts and could notget away."

  "But that is mere speculation," said I.

  "It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis which covers thefacts. Let us see how it fits in with the sequel. Major Sholtoremains at peace for some years, happy in the possession of histreasure. Then he receives a letter from India which gives him a greatfright. What was that?"

  "A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had been set free."

  "Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he would have knownwhat their term of imprisonment was. It would not have been a surpriseto him. What does he do then? He guards himself against awooden-legged man,--a white man, mark you, for he mistakes a whitetradesman for him, and actually fires a pistol at him. Now, only onewhite man's name is on the chart. The others are Hindoos orMohammedans. There is no other white man. Therefore we may say withconfidence that the wooden-legged man is identical with Jonathan Small.Does the reasoning strike you as being faulty?"

  "No: it is clear and concise."

  "Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of Jonathan Small. Let uslook at it from his point of view. He comes to England with the doubleidea of regaining what he would consider to be his rights and of havinghis revenge upon the man who had wronged him. He found out whereSholto lived, and very possibly he established communications with someone inside the house. There is this butler, Lal Rao, whom we have notseen. Mrs. Bernstone gives him far from a good character. Small couldnot find out, however, where the treasure was hid, for no one everknew, save the major and one faithful servant who had died. SuddenlySmall learns that the major is on his death-bed. In a frenzy lest thesecret of the treasure die with him, he runs the gauntlet of theguards, makes his way to the dying man's window, and is only deterredfrom entering by the presence of his two sons. Mad with hate, however,against the dead man, he enters the room that night, searches hisprivate papers in the hope of discovering some memorandum relating tothe treasure, and finally leaves a momento of his visit in the shortinscription upon the card. He had doubtless planned beforehand thatshould he slay the major he would leave some such record upon the bodyas a sign that it was not a common murder, but, from the point of viewof the four associates, something in the nature of an act of justice.Whimsical and bizarre conceits of this kind are common enough in theannals of crime, and usually afford
valuable indications as to thecriminal. Do you follow all this?"

  "Very clearly."

  "Now, what could Jonathan Small do? He could only continue to keep asecret watch upon the efforts made to find the treasure. Possibly heleaves England and only comes back at intervals. Then comes thediscovery of the garret, and he is instantly informed of it. We againtrace the presence of some confederate in the household. Jonathan,with his wooden leg, is utterly unable to reach the lofty room ofBartholomew Sholto. He takes with him, however, a rather curiousassociate, who gets over this difficulty, but dips his naked foot intocreasote, whence comes Toby, and a six-mile limp for a half-pay officerwith a damaged tendo Achillis."

  "But it was the associate, and not Jonathan, who committed the crime."

  "Quite so. And rather to Jonathan's disgust, to judge by the way hestamped about when he got into the room. He bore no grudge againstBartholomew Sholto, and would have preferred if he could have beensimply bound and gagged. He did not wish to put his head in a halter.There was no help for it, however: the savage instincts of hiscompanion had broken out, and the poison had done its work: soJonathan Small left his record, lowered the treasure-box to the ground,and followed it himself. That was the train of events as far as I candecipher them. Of course as to his personal appearance he must bemiddle-aged, and must be sunburned after serving his time in such anoven as the Andamans. His height is readily calculated from the lengthof his stride, and we know that he was bearded. His hairiness was theone point which impressed itself upon Thaddeus Sholto when he saw himat the window. I don't know that there is anything else."

  "The associate?"

  "Ah, well, there is no great mystery in that. But you will know allabout it soon enough. How sweet the morning air is! See how that onelittle cloud floats like a pink feather from some gigantic flamingo.Now the red rim of the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank.It shines on a good many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who are on astranger errand than you and I. How small we feel with our pettyambitions and strivings in the presence of the great elemental forcesof nature! Are you well up in your Jean Paul?"

  "Fairly so. I worked back to him through Carlyle."

  "That was like following the brook to the parent lake. He makes onecurious but profound remark. It is that the chief proof of man's realgreatness lies in his perception of his own smallness. It argues, yousee, a power of comparison and of appreciation which is in itself aproof of nobility. There is much food for thought in Richter. Youhave not a pistol, have you?"

  "I have my stick."

  "It is just possible that we may need something of the sort if we getto their lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you, but if the other turnsnasty I shall shoot him dead." He took out his revolver as he spoke,and, having loaded two of the chambers, he put it back into theright-hand pocket of his jacket.

  We had during this time been following the guidance of Toby down thehalf-rural villa-lined roads which lead to the metropolis. Now,however, we were beginning to come among continuous streets, wherelaborers and dockmen were already astir, and slatternly women weretaking down shutters and brushing door-steps. At the square-toppedcorner public houses business was just beginning, and rough-looking menwere emerging, rubbing their sleeves across their beards after theirmorning wet. Strange dogs sauntered up and stared wonderingly at us aswe passed, but our inimitable Toby looked neither to the right nor tothe left, but trotted onwards with his nose to the ground and anoccasional eager whine which spoke of a hot scent.

  We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and now foundourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne away through theside-streets to the east of the Oval. The men whom we pursued seemedto have taken a curiously zigzag road, with the idea probably ofescaping observation. They had never kept to the main road if aparallel side-street would serve their turn. At the foot of KenningtonLane they had edged away to the left through Bond Street and MilesStreet. Where the latter street turns into Knight's Place, Toby ceasedto advance, but began to run backwards and forwards with one ear cockedand the other drooping, the very picture of canine indecision. Then hewaddled round in circles, looking up to us from time to time, as if toask for sympathy in his embarrassment.

  "What the deuce is the matter with the dog?" growled Holmes. "Theysurely would not take a cab, or go off in a balloon."

  "Perhaps they stood here for some time," I suggested.

  "Ah! it's all right. He's off again," said my companion, in a tone ofrelief.

  He was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he suddenly made uphis mind, and darted away with an energy and determination such as hehad not yet shown. The scent appeared to be much hotter than before,for he had not even to put his nose on the ground, but tugged at hisleash and tried to break into a run. I cold see by the gleam inHolmes's eyes that he thought we were nearing the end of our journey.

  Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to Broderick andNelson's large timber-yard, just past the White Eagle tavern. Here thedog, frantic with excitement, turned down through the side-gate intothe enclosure, where the sawyers were already at work. On the dograced through sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round a passage,between two wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphant yelp, sprangupon a large barrel which still stood upon the hand-trolley on which ithad been brought. With lolling tongue and blinking eyes, Toby stoodupon the cask, looking from one to the other of us for some sign ofappreciation. The staves of the barrel and the wheels of the trolleywere smeared with a dark liquid, and the whole air was heavy with thesmell of creasote.

  Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other, and then burstsimultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.