The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle

“Excuse me,” he said, “but it is not my custom to discuss my most intimate
personal affairs in this public manner.”

“Then you won’t forgive me? You won’t shake hands before I go?”

“Oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure.” He put out his hand and
coldly grasped that which she extended to him.

“I had hoped,” suggested Holmes, “that you would have joined us in a
friendly supper.”

“I think that there you ask a little too much,” responded his Lordship. “I may
be forced to acquiesce in these recent developments, but I can hardly be
expected to make merry over them. I think that with your permission I will now
wish you all a very good-night.” He included us all in a sweeping bow and
stalked out of the room.

“Then I trust that you at least will honour me with your company,” said
Sherlock Holmes. “It is always a joy to meet an American, Mr. Moulton, for I
am one of those who believe that the folly of a monarch and the blundering of a
minister in far-gone years will not prevent our children from being some day
citizens of the same world-wide country under a flag which shall be a quartering
of the Union Jack with the Stars and Stripes.”

“The case has been an interesting one,” remarked Holmes when our visitors
had left us, “because it serves to show very clearly how simple the explanation
may be of an affair which at first sight seems to be almost inexplicable. Nothing
could be more natural than the sequence of events as narrated by this lady, and
nothing stranger than the result when viewed, for instance, by Mr. Lestrade of
Scotland Yard.”

“You were not yourself at fault at all, then?”

“From the first, two facts were very obvious to me, the one that the lady had
been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony, the other that she had
repented of it within a few minutes of returning home. Obviously something had
occurred during the morning, then, to cause her to change her mind. What could
that something be? She could not have spoken to anyone when she was out, for
she had been in the company of the bridegroom. Had she seen someone, then? If
she had, it must be someone from America because she had spent so short a time
in this country that she could hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep an
influence over her that the mere sight of him would induce her to change her
plans so completely. You see we have already arrived, by a process of exclusion,

at the idea that she might have seen an American. Then who could this American
be, and why should he possess so much influence over her? It might be a lover;
it might be a husband. Her young womanhood had, I knew, been spent in rough
scenes and under strange conditions. So far I had got before I ever heard Lord St.
Simon’s narrative. When he told us of a man in a pew, of the change in the
bride’s manner, of so transparent a device for obtaining a note as the dropping of
a bouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, and of her very significant
allusion to claim-jumping—which in miners’ parlance means taking possession
of that which another person has a prior claim to—the whole situation became
absolutely clear. She had gone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or
was a previous husband—the chances being in favour of the latter.”

“And how in the world did you find them?”

“It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade held information in his hands
the value of which he did not himself know. The initials were, of course, of the
highest importance, but more valuable still was it to know that within a week he
had settled his bill at one of the most select London hotels.”

“How did you deduce the select?”

“By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eightpence for a glass of
sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels. There are not many in
London which charge at that rate. In the second one which I visited in
Northumberland Avenue, I learned by an inspection of the book that Francis H.
Moulton, an American gentleman, had left only the day before, and on looking
over the entries against him, I came upon the very items which I had seen in the
duplicate bill. His letters were to be forwarded to 226 Gordon Square; so thither
I travelled, and being fortunate enough to find the loving couple at home, I
ventured to give them some paternal advice and to point out to them that it
would be better in every way that they should make their position a little clearer
both to the general public and to Lord St. Simon in particular. I invited them to
meet him here, and, as you see, I made him keep the appointment.”

“But with no very good result,” I remarked. “His conduct was certainly not
very gracious.”

“Ah, Watson,” said Holmes, smiling, “perhaps you would not be very gracious
either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you found yourself
deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. I think that we may judge Lord St.
Simon very mercifully and thank our stars that we are never likely to find
ourselves in the same position. Draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for
the only problem we have still to solve is how to while away these bleak

autumnal evenings.”

XI.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYL CORONET

“Holmes,” said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking down

the street, “here is a madman coming along. It seems rather sad that his relatives
should allow him to come out alone.”

My friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his hands in the
pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. It was a bright, crisp
February morning, and the snow of the day before still lay deep upon the ground,
shimmering brightly in the wintry sun. Down the centre of Baker Street it had
been ploughed into a brown crumbly band by the traffic, but at either side and on
the heaped-up edges of the footpaths it still lay as white as when it fell. The grey
pavement had been cleaned and scraped, but was still dangerously slippery, so
that there were fewer passengers than usual. Indeed, from the direction of the
Metropolitan Station no one was coming save the single gentleman whose
eccentric conduct had drawn my attention.

He was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a massive,
strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He was dressed in a sombre yet
rich style, in black frock-coat, shining hat, neat brown gaiters, and well-cut
pearl-grey trousers. Yet his actions were in absurd contrast to the dignity of his
dress and features, for he was running hard, with occasional little springs, such
as a weary man gives who is little accustomed to set any tax upon his legs. As he
ran he jerked his hands up and down, waggled his head, and writhed his face into
the most extraordinary contortions.

“What on earth can be the matter with him?” I asked. “He is looking up at the
numbers of the houses.”

“I believe that he is coming here,” said Holmes, rubbing his hands.

“Here?”

“Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult me professionally. I think that I
recognise the symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you?” As he spoke, the man, puffing
and blowing, rushed at our door and pulled at our bell until the whole house
resounded with the clanging.

A few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, still gesticulating, but
with so fixed a look of grief and despair in his eyes that our smiles were turned
in an instant to horror and pity. For a while he could not get his words out, but
swayed his body and plucked at his hair like one who has been driven to the
extreme limits of his reason. Then, suddenly springing to his feet, he beat his
head against the wall with such force that we both rushed upon him and tore him
away to the centre of the room. Sherlock Holmes pushed him down into the
easy-chair and, sitting beside him, patted his hand and chatted with him in the
easy, soothing tones which he knew so well how to employ.

“You have come to me to tell your story, have you not?” said he. “You are
fatigued with your haste. Pray wait until you have recovered yourself, and then I
shall be most happy to look into any little problem which you may submit to
me.”

The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting against his
emotion. Then he passed his handkerchief over his brow, set his lips tight, and
turned his face towards us.

“No doubt you think me mad?” said he.

“I see that you have had some great trouble,” responded Holmes.

“God knows I have!—a trouble which is enough to unseat my reason, so
sudden and so terrible is it. Public disgrace I might have faced, although I am a
man whose character has never yet borne a stain. Private affliction also is the lot
of every man; but the two coming together, and in so frightful a form, have been
enough to shake my very soul. Besides, it is not I alone. The very noblest in the
land may suffer unless some way be found out of this horrible affair.”

“Pray compose yourself, sir,” said Holmes, “and let me have a clear account
of who you are and what it is that has befallen you.”

“My name,” answered our visitor, “is probably familiar to your ears. I am
Alexander Holder, of the banking firm of Holder & Stevenson, of Threadneedle
Street.”

The name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the senior partner in
the second largest private banking concern in the City of London. What could
have happened, then, to bring one of the foremost citizens of London to this
most pitiable pass? We waited, all curiosity, until with another effort he braced
himself to tell his story.

“I feel that time is of value,” said he; “that is why I hastened here when the
police inspector suggested that I should secure your co-operation. I came to
Baker Street by the Underground and hurried from there on foot, for the cabs go

slowly through this snow. That is why I was so out of breath, for I am a man who
takes very little exercise. I feel better now, and I will put the facts before you as
shortly and yet as clearly as I can.

“It is, of course, well known to you that in a successful banking business as
much depends upon our being able to find remunerative investments for our
funds as upon our increasing our connection and the number of our depositors.
One of our most lucrative means of laying out money is in the shape of loans,
where the security is unimpeachable. We have done a good deal in this direction
during the last few years, and there are many noble families to whom we have
advanced large sums upon the security of their pictures, libraries, or plate.

“Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank when a card was
brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started when I saw the name, for it was
that of none other than—well, perhaps even to you I had better say no more than
that it was a name which is a household word all over the earth—one of the
highest, noblest, most exalted names in England. I was overwhelmed by the
honour and attempted, when he entered, to say so, but he plunged at once into
business with the air of a man who wishes to hurry quickly through a
disagreeable task.

“‘Mr. Holder,’ said he, ‘I have been informed that you are in the habit of
advancing money.’

“‘The firm does so when the security is good.’ I answered.

“‘It is absolutely essential to me,’ said he, ‘that I should have £ 50,000 at once.
I could, of course, borrow so trifling a sum ten times over from my friends, but I
much prefer to make it a matter of business and to carry out that business myself.
In my position you can readily understand that it is unwise to place one’s self
under obligations.’

“‘For how long, may I ask, do you want this sum?’ I asked.

“‘Next Monday I have a large sum due to me, and I shall then most certainly
repay what you advance, with whatever interest you think it right to charge. But
it is very essential to me that the money should be paid at once.’

“‘I should be happy to advance it without further parley from my own private
purse,’ said I, ‘were it not that the strain would be rather more than it could bear.
If, on the other hand, I am to do it in the name of the firm, then in justice to my
partner I must insist that, even in your case, every businesslike precaution should
be taken.’

“‘I should much prefer to have it so,’ said he, raising up a square, black
morocco case which he had laid beside his chair. ‘You have doubtless heard of

the Beryl Coronet?’

“‘One of the most precious public possessions of the empire,’ said I.

“‘Precisely.’ He opened the case, and there, imbedded in soft, flesh-coloured
velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery which he had named. ‘There are
thirty-nine enormous beryls,’ said he, ‘and the price of the gold chasing is
incalculable. The lowest estimate would put the worth of the coronet at double
the sum which I have asked. I am prepared to leave it with you as my security.’

“I took the precious case into my hands and looked in some perplexity from it
to my illustrious client.

“‘You doubt its value?’ he asked.

“‘Not at all. I only doubt—’

“‘The propriety of my leaving it. You may set your mind at rest about that. I
should not dream of doing so were it not absolutely certain that I should be able
in four days to reclaim it. It is a pure matter of form. Is the security sufficient?’

“‘Ample.’

“‘You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am giving you a strong proof of the
confidence which I have in you, founded upon all that I have heard of you. I rely
upon you not only to be discreet and to refrain from all gossip upon the matter
but, above all, to preserve this coronet with every possible precaution because I
need not say that a great public scandal would be caused if any harm were to
befall it. Any injury to it would be almost as serious as its complete loss, for
there are no beryls in the world to match these, and it would be impossible to
replace them. I leave it with you, however, with every confidence, and I shall
call for it in person on Monday morning.’

“Seeing that my client was anxious to leave, I said no more but, calling for my
cashier, I ordered him to pay over fifty £ 1000 notes. When I was alone once
more, however, with the precious case lying upon the table in front of me, I
could not but think with some misgivings of the immense responsibility which it
entailed upon me. There could be no doubt that, as it was a national possession, a
horrible scandal would ensue if any misfortune should occur to it. I already
regretted having ever consented to take charge of it. However, it was too late to
alter the matter now, so I locked it up in my private safe and turned once more to
my work.

“When evening came I felt that it would be an imprudence to leave so
precious a thing in the office behind me. Bankers’ safes had been forced before
now, and why should not mine be? If so, how terrible would be the position in

which I should find myself! I determined, therefore, that for the next few days I
would always carry the case backward and forward with me, so that it might
never be really out of my reach. With this intention, I called a cab and drove out
to my house at Streatham, carrying the jewel with me. I did not breathe freely
until I had taken it upstairs and locked it in the bureau of my dressing-room.

“And now a word as to my household, Mr. Holmes, for I wish you to
thoroughly understand the situation. My groom and my page sleep out of the
house, and may be set aside altogether. I have three maid-servants who have
been with me a number of years and whose absolute reliability is quite above
suspicion. Another, Lucy Parr, the second waiting-maid, has only been in my
service a few months. She came with an excellent character, however, and has
always given me satisfaction. She is a very pretty girl and has attracted admirers
who have occasionally hung about the place. That is the only drawback which
we have found to her, but we believe her to be a thoroughly good girl in every
way.

“So much for the servants. My family itself is so small that it will not take me
long to describe it. I am a widower and have an only son, Arthur. He has been a
disappointment to me, Mr. Holmes—a grievous disappointment. I have no doubt
that I am myself to blame. People tell me that I have spoiled him. Very likely I
have. When my dear wife died I felt that he was all I had to love. I could not
bear to see the smile fade even for a moment from his face. I have never denied
him a wish. Perhaps it would have been better for both of us had I been sterner,
but I meant it for the best.

“It was naturally my intention that he should succeed me in my business, but
he was not of a business turn. He was wild, wayward, and, to speak the truth, I
could not trust him in the handling of large sums of money. When he was young
he became a member of an aristocratic club, and there, having charming
manners, he was soon the intimate of a number of men with long purses and
expensive habits. He learned to play heavily at cards and to squander money on
the turf, until he had again and again to come to me and implore me to give him
an advance upon his allowance, that he might settle his debts of honour. He tried
more than once to break away from the dangerous company which he was
keeping, but each time the influence of his friend, Sir George Burnwell, was
enough to draw him back again.

“And, indeed, I could not wonder that such a man as Sir George Burnwell
should gain an influence over him, for he has frequently brought him to my
house, and I have found myself that I could hardly resist the fascination of his
manner. He is older than Arthur, a man of the world to his finger-tips, one who

had been everywhere, seen everything, a brilliant talker, and a man of great
personal beauty. Yet when I think of him in cold blood, far away from the
glamour of his presence, I am convinced from his cynical speech and the look
which I have caught in his eyes that he is one who should be deeply distrusted.
So I think, and so, too, thinks my little Mary, who has a woman’s quick insight
into character.

“And now there is only she to be described. She is my niece; but when my
brother died five years ago and left her alone in the world I adopted her, and
have looked upon her ever since as my daughter. She is a sunbeam in my house
—sweet, loving, beautiful, a wonderful manager and housekeeper, yet as tender
and quiet and gentle as a woman could be. She is my right hand. I do not know
what I could do without her. In only one matter has she ever gone against my
wishes. Twice my boy has asked her to marry him, for he loves her devotedly,
but each time she has refused him. I think that if anyone could have drawn him
into the right path it would have been she, and that his marriage might have
changed his whole life; but now, alas! it is too late—forever too late!

“Now, Mr. Holmes, you know the people who live under my roof, and I shall
continue with my miserable story.

“When we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night after dinner, I
told Arthur and Mary my experience, and of the precious treasure which we had
under our roof, suppressing only the name of my client. Lucy Parr, who had
brought in the coffee, had, I am sure, left the room; but I cannot swear that the
door was closed. Mary and Arthur were much interested and wished to see the
famous coronet, but I thought it better not to disturb it.

“‘Where have you put it?’ asked Arthur.

“‘In my own bureau.’

“‘Well, I hope to goodness the house won’t be burgled during the night.’ said
he.

“‘It is locked up,’ I answered.

“‘Oh, any old key will fit that bureau. When I was a youngster I have opened
it myself with the key of the box-room cupboard.’

“He often had a wild way of talking, so that I thought little of what he said. He
followed me to my room, however, that night with a very grave face.

“‘Look here, dad,’ said he with his eyes cast down, ‘can you let me have £
200?’

“‘No, I cannot!’ I answered sharply. ‘I have been far too generous with you in

money matters.’

“‘You have been very kind,’ said he, ‘but I must have this money, or else I can
never show my face inside the club again.’

“‘And a very good thing, too!’ I cried.

“‘Yes, but you would not have me leave it a dishonoured man,’ said he. ‘I
could not bear the disgrace. I must raise the money in some way, and if you will
not let me have it, then I must try other means.’

“I was very angry, for this was the third demand during the month. ‘You shall
not have a farthing from me,’ I cried, on which he bowed and left the room
without another word.

“When he was gone I unlocked my bureau, made sure that my treasure was
safe, and locked it again. Then I started to go round the house to see that all was
secure—a duty which I usually leave to Mary but which I thought it well to
perform myself that night. As I came down the stairs I saw Mary herself at the
side window of the hall, which she closed and fastened as I approached.

“‘Tell me, dad,’ said she, looking, I thought, a little disturbed, ‘did you give
Lucy, the maid, leave to go out to-night?’

“‘Certainly not.’

“‘She came in just now by the back door. I have no doubt that she has only
been to the side gate to see someone, but I think that it is hardly safe and should
be stopped.’

“‘You must speak to her in the morning, or I will if you prefer it. Are you sure
that everything is fastened?’

“‘Quite sure, dad.’

“‘Then, good-night.’ I kissed her and went up to my bedroom again, where I
was soon asleep.

“I am endeavouring to tell you everything, Mr. Holmes, which may have any
bearing upon the case, but I beg that you will question me upon any point which
I do not make clear.”

“On the contrary, your statement is singularly lucid.”

“I come to a part of my story now in which I should wish to be particularly so.
I am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety in my mind tended, no doubt, to
make me even less so than usual. About two in the morning, then, I was
awakened by some sound in the house. It had ceased ere I was wide awake, but it
had left an impression behind it as though a window had gently closed
somewhere. I lay listening with all my ears. Suddenly, to my horror, there was a

distinct sound of footsteps moving softly in the next room. I slipped out of bed,
all palpitating with fear, and peeped round the corner of my dressing-room door.

“‘Arthur!’ I screamed, ‘you villain! you thief! How dare you touch that
coronet?’

“The gas was half up, as I had left it, and my unhappy boy, dressed only in his
shirt and trousers, was standing beside the light, holding the coronet in his hands.
He appeared to be wrenching at it, or bending it with all his strength. At my cry
he dropped it from his grasp and turned as pale as death. I snatched it up and
examined it. One of the gold corners, with three of the beryls in it, was missing.

“‘You blackguard!’ I shouted, beside myself with rage. ‘You have destroyed
it! You have dishonoured me forever! Where are the jewels which you have
stolen?’

“‘Stolen!’ he cried.

“‘Yes, thief!’ I roared, shaking him by the shoulder.

“‘There are none missing. There cannot be any missing,’ said he.

“‘There are three missing. And you know where they are. Must I call you a
liar as well as a thief? Did I not see you trying to tear off another piece?’

“‘You have called me names enough,’ said he, ‘I will not stand it any longer. I
shall not say another word about this business, since you have chosen to insult
me. I will leave your house in the morning and make my own way in the world.’

“‘You shall leave it in the hands of the police!’ I cried half-mad with grief and
rage. ‘I shall have this matter probed to the bottom.’

“‘You shall learn nothing from me,’ said he with a passion such as I should not
have thought was in his nature. ‘If you choose to call the police, let the police
find what they can.’

“By this time the whole house was astir, for I had raised my voice in my
anger. Mary was the first to rush into my room, and, at the sight of the coronet
and of Arthur’s face, she read the whole story and, with a scream, fell down
senseless on the ground. I sent the housemaid for the police and put the
investigation into their hands at once. When the inspector and a constable
entered the house, Arthur, who had stood sullenly with his arms folded, asked
me whether it was my intention to charge him with theft. I answered that it had
ceased to be a private matter, but had become a public one, since the ruined
coronet was national property. I was determined that the law should have its way
in everything.

“‘At least,’ said he, ‘you will not have me arrested at once. It would be to your

advantage as well as mine if I might leave the house for five minutes.’

“‘That you may get away, or perhaps that you may conceal what you have
stolen,’ said I. And then, realising the dreadful position in which I was placed, I
implored him to remember that not only my honour but that of one who was far
greater than I was at stake; and that he threatened to raise a scandal which would
convulse the nation. He might avert it all if he would but tell me what he had
done with the three missing stones.

“‘You may as well face the matter,’ said I; ‘you have been caught in the act,
and no confession could make your guilt more heinous. If you but make such
reparation as is in your power, by telling us where the beryls are, all shall be
forgiven and forgotten.’

“‘Keep your forgiveness for those who ask for it,’ he answered, turning away
from me with a sneer. I saw that he was too hardened for any words of mine to
influence him. There was but one way for it. I called in the inspector and gave
him into custody. A search was made at once not only of his person but of his
room and of every portion of the house where he could possibly have concealed
the gems; but no trace of them could be found, nor would the wretched boy open
his mouth for all our persuasions and our threats. This morning he was removed
to a cell, and I, after going through all the police formalities, have hurried round
to you to implore you to use your skill in unravelling the matter. The police have
openly confessed that they can at present make nothing of it. You may go to any
expense which you think necessary. I have already offered a reward of £ 1000.
My God, what shall I do! I have lost my honour, my gems, and my son in one
night. Oh, what shall I do!”

He put a hand on either side of his head and rocked himself to and fro,
droning to himself like a child whose grief has got beyond words.

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for some few minutes, with his brows knitted and
his eyes fixed upon the fire.

“Do you receive much company?” he asked.

“None save my partner with his family and an occasional friend of Arthur’s.
Sir George Burnwell has been several times lately. No one else, I think.”

“Do you go out much in society?”

“Arthur does. Mary and I stay at home. We neither of us care for it.”

“That is unusual in a young girl.”

“She is of a quiet nature. Besides, she is not so very young. She is four-and-
twenty.”

“This matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock to her also.”

“Terrible! She is even more affected than I.”

“You have neither of you any doubt as to your son’s guilt?”

“How can we have when I saw him with my own eyes with the coronet in his
hands.”

“I hardly consider that a conclusive proof. Was the remainder of the coronet at
all injured?”

“Yes, it was twisted.”

“Do you not think, then, that he might have been trying to straighten it?”

“God bless you! You are doing what you can for him and for me. But it is too
heavy a task. What was he doing there at all? If his purpose were innocent, why
did he not say so?”

“Precisely. And if it were guilty, why did he not invent a lie? His silence
appears to me to cut both ways. There are several singular points about the case.
What did the police think of the noise which awoke you from your sleep?”

“They considered that it might be caused by Arthur’s closing his bedroom
door.”

“A likely story! As if a man bent on felony would slam his door so as to wake
a household. What did they say, then, of the disappearance of these gems?”

“They are still sounding the planking and probing the furniture in the hope of
finding them.”

“Have they thought of looking outside the house?”

“Yes, they have shown extraordinary energy. The whole garden has already
been minutely examined.”

“Now, my dear sir,” said Holmes, “is it not obvious to you now that this
matter really strikes very much deeper than either you or the police were at first
inclined to think? It appeared to you to be a simple case; to me it seems
exceedingly complex. Consider what is involved by your theory. You suppose
that your son came down from his bed, went, at great risk, to your dressing-
room, opened your bureau, took out your coronet, broke off by main force a
small portion of it, went off to some other place, concealed three gems out of the
thirty-nine, with such skill that nobody can find them, and then returned with the
other thirty-six into the room in which he exposed himself to the greatest danger
of being discovered. I ask you now, is such a theory tenable?”

“But what other is there?” cried the banker with a gesture of despair. “If his

motives were innocent, why does he not explain them?”

“It is our task to find that out,” replied Holmes; “so now, if you please, Mr.
Holder, we will set off for Streatham together, and devote an hour to glancing a
little more closely into details.”

My friend insisted upon my accompanying them in their expedition, which I
was eager enough to do, for my curiosity and sympathy were deeply stirred by
the story to which we had listened. I confess that the guilt of the banker’s son
appeared to me to be as obvious as it did to his unhappy father, but still I had
such faith in Holmes’ judgment that I felt that there must be some grounds for
hope as long as he was dissatisfied with the accepted explanation. He hardly
spoke a word the whole way out to the southern suburb, but sat with his chin
upon his breast and his hat drawn over his eyes, sunk in the deepest thought. Our
client appeared to have taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of hope which had
been presented to him, and he even broke into a desultory chat with me over his
business affairs. A short railway journey and a shorter walk brought us to
Fairbank, the modest residence of the great financier.

Fairbank was a good-sized square house of white stone, standing back a little
from the road. A double carriage-sweep, with a snow-clad lawn, stretched down
in front to two large iron gates which closed the entrance. On the right side was a
small wooden thicket, which led into a narrow path between two neat hedges
stretching from the road to the kitchen door, and forming the tradesmen’s
entrance. On the left ran a lane which led to the stables, and was not itself within
the grounds at all, being a public, though little used, thoroughfare. Holmes left
us standing at the door and walked slowly all round the house, across the front,
down the tradesmen’s path, and so round by the garden behind into the stable
lane. So long was he that Mr. Holder and I went into the dining-room and waited
by the fire until he should return. We were sitting there in silence when the door
opened and a young lady came in. She was rather above the middle height, slim,
with dark hair and eyes, which seemed the darker against the absolute pallor of
her skin. I do not think that I have ever seen such deadly paleness in a woman’s
face. Her lips, too, were bloodless, but her eyes were flushed with crying. As she
swept silently into the room she impressed me with a greater sense of grief than
the banker had done in the morning, and it was the more striking in her as she
was evidently a woman of strong character, with immense capacity for self-
restraint. Disregarding my presence, she went straight to her uncle and passed
her hand over his head with a sweet womanly caress.

“You have given orders that Arthur should be liberated, have you not, dad?”
she asked.

“No, no, my girl, the matter must be probed to the bottom.”

“But I am so sure that he is innocent. You know what woman’s instincts are. I
know that he has done no harm and that you will be sorry for having acted so
harshly.”

“Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?”

“Who knows? Perhaps because he was so angry that you should suspect him.”

“How could I help suspecting him, when I actually saw him with the coronet
in his hand?”

“Oh, but he had only picked it up to look at it. Oh, do, do take my word for it
that he is innocent. Let the matter drop and say no more. It is so dreadful to think
of our dear Arthur in prison!”

“I shall never let it drop until the gems are found—never, Mary! Your
affection for Arthur blinds you as to the awful consequences to me. Far from
hushing the thing up, I have brought a gentleman down from London to inquire
more deeply into it.”

“This gentleman?” she asked, facing round to me.

“No, his friend. He wished us to leave him alone. He is round in the stable
lane now.”

“The stable lane?” She raised her dark eyebrows. “What can he hope to find
there? Ah! this, I suppose, is he. I trust, sir, that you will succeed in proving,
what I feel sure is the truth, that my cousin Arthur is innocent of this crime.”

“I fully share your opinion, and I trust, with you, that we may prove it,”
returned Holmes, going back to the mat to knock the snow from his shoes. “I
believe I have the honour of addressing Miss Mary Holder. Might I ask you a
question or two?”

“Pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this horrible affair up.”

“You heard nothing yourself last night?”

“Nothing, until my uncle here began to speak loudly. I heard that, and I came
down.”

“You shut up the windows and doors the night before. Did you fasten all the
windows?”

“Yes.”

“Were they all fastened this morning?”

“Yes.”

“You have a maid who has a sweetheart? I think that you remarked to your

uncle last night that she had been out to see him?”

“Yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room, and who may
have heard uncle’s remarks about the coronet.”

“I see. You infer that she may have gone out to tell her sweetheart, and that the
two may have planned the robbery.”

“But what is the good of all these vague theories,” cried the banker
impatiently, “when I have told you that I saw Arthur with the coronet in his
hands?”

“Wait a little, Mr. Holder. We must come back to that. About this girl, Miss
Holder. You saw her return by the kitchen door, I presume?”

“Yes; when I went to see if the door was fastened for the night I met her
slipping in. I saw the man, too, in the gloom.”

“Do you know him?”

“Oh, yes! he is the greengrocer who brings our vegetables round. His name is
Francis Prosper.”

“He stood,” said Holmes, “to the left of the door—that is to say, farther up the
path than is necessary to reach the door?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And he is a man with a wooden leg?”

Something like fear sprang up in the young lady’s expressive black eyes.
“Why, you are like a magician,” said she. “How do you know that?” She smiled,
but there was no answering smile in Holmes’ thin, eager face.

“I should be very glad now to go upstairs,” said he. “I shall probably wish to
go over the outside of the house again. Perhaps I had better take a look at the
lower windows before I go up.”

He walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only at the large one
which looked from the hall onto the stable lane. This he opened and made a very
careful examination of the sill with his powerful magnifying lens. “Now we shall
go upstairs,” said he at last.

The banker’s dressing-room was a plainly furnished little chamber, with a
grey carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror. Holmes went to the bureau first
and looked hard at the lock.

“Which key was used to open it?” he asked.

“That which my son himself indicated—that of the cupboard of the lumber-
room.”

“Have you it here?”

“That is it on the dressing-table.”

Sherlock Holmes took it up and opened the bureau.

“It is a noiseless lock,” said he. “It is no wonder that it did not wake you. This
case, I presume, contains the coronet. We must have a look at it.” He opened the
case, and taking out the diadem he laid it upon the table. It was a magnificent
specimen of the jeweller’s art, and the thirty-six stones were the finest that I have
ever seen. At one side of the coronet was a cracked edge, where a corner holding
three gems had been torn away.

“Now, Mr. Holder,” said Holmes, “here is the corner which corresponds to
that which has been so unfortunately lost. Might I beg that you will break it off.”

The banker recoiled in horror. “I should not dream of trying,” said he.

“Then I will.” Holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it, but without result.
“I feel it give a little,” said he; “but, though I am exceptionally strong in the
fingers, it would take me all my time to break it. An ordinary man could not do
it. Now, what do you think would happen if I did break it, Mr. Holder? There
would be a noise like a pistol shot. Do you tell me that all this happened within a
few yards of your bed and that you heard nothing of it?”

“I do not know what to think. It is all dark to me.”

“But perhaps it may grow lighter as we go. What do you think, Miss Holder?”

“I confess that I still share my uncle’s perplexity.”

“Your son had no shoes or slippers on when you saw him?”

“He had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt.”

“Thank you. We have certainly been favoured with extraordinary luck during
this inquiry, and it will be entirely our own fault if we do not succeed in clearing
the matter up. With your permission, Mr. Holder, I shall now continue my
investigations outside.”

He went alone, at his own request, for he explained that any unnecessary
footmarks might make his task more difficult. For an hour or more he was at
work, returning at last with his feet heavy with snow and his features as
inscrutable as ever.

“I think that I have seen now all that there is to see, Mr. Holder,” said he; “I
can serve you best by returning to my rooms.”

“But the gems, Mr. Holmes. Where are they?”

“I cannot tell.”

The banker wrung his hands. “I shall never see them again!” he cried. “And
my son? You give me hopes?”

“My opinion is in no way altered.”

“Then, for God’s sake, what was this dark business which was acted in my
house last night?”

“If you can call upon me at my Baker Street rooms to-morrow morning
between nine and ten I shall be happy to do what I can to make it clearer. I
understand that you give me carte blanche to act for you, provided only that I
get back the gems, and that you place no limit on the sum I may draw.”

“I would give my fortune to have them back.”

“Very good. I shall look into the matter between this and then. Good-bye; it is
just possible that I may have to come over here again before evening.”

It was obvious to me that my companion’s mind was now made up about the
case, although what his conclusions were was more than I could even dimly
imagine. Several times during our homeward journey I endeavoured to sound
him upon the point, but he always glided away to some other topic, until at last I
gave it over in despair. It was not yet three when we found ourselves in our
rooms once more. He hurried to his chamber and was down again in a few
minutes dressed as a common loafer. With his collar turned up, his shiny, seedy
coat, his red cravat, and his worn boots, he was a perfect sample of the class.

“I think that this should do,” said he, glancing into the glass above the
fireplace. “I only wish that you could come with me, Watson, but I fear that it
won’t do. I may be on the trail in this matter, or I may be following a will-o’-the-
wisp, but I shall soon know which it is. I hope that I may be back in a few
hours.” He cut a slice of beef from the joint upon the sideboard, sandwiched it
between two rounds of bread, and thrusting this rude meal into his pocket he
started off upon his expedition.

I had just finished my tea when he returned, evidently in excellent spirits,
swinging an old elastic-sided boot in his hand. He chucked it down into a corner
and helped himself to a cup of tea.

“I only looked in as I passed,” said he. “I am going right on.”

“Where to?”

“Oh, to the other side of the West End. It may be some time before I get back.
Don’t wait up for me in case I should be late.”

“How are you getting on?”

“Oh, so so. Nothing to complain of. I have been out to Streatham since I saw

you last, but I did not call at the house. It is a very sweet little problem, and I
would not have missed it for a good deal. However, I must not sit gossiping here,
but must get these disreputable clothes off and return to my highly respectable
self.”

I could see by his manner that he had stronger reasons for satisfaction than his
words alone would imply. His eyes twinkled, and there was even a touch of
colour upon his sallow cheeks. He hastened upstairs, and a few minutes later I
heard the slam of the hall door, which told me that he was off once more upon
his congenial hunt.

I waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, so I retired to my
room. It was no uncommon thing for him to be away for days and nights on end
when he was hot upon a scent, so that his lateness caused me no surprise. I do
not know at what hour he came in, but when I came down to breakfast in the
morning there he was with a cup of coffee in one hand and the paper in the other,
as fresh and trim as possible.

“You will excuse my beginning without you, Watson,” said he, “but you
remember that our client has rather an early appointment this morning.”

“Why, it is after nine now,” I answered. “I should not be surprised if that were
he. I thought I heard a ring.”

It was, indeed, our friend the financier. I was shocked by the change which
had come over him, for his face which was naturally of a broad and massive
mould, was now pinched and fallen in, while his hair seemed to me at least a
shade whiter. He entered with a weariness and lethargy which was even more
painful than his violence of the morning before, and he dropped heavily into the
armchair which I pushed forward for him.

“I do not know what I have done to be so severely tried,” said he. “Only two
days ago I was a happy and prosperous man, without a care in the world. Now I
am left to a lonely and dishonoured age. One sorrow comes close upon the heels
of another. My niece, Mary, has deserted me.”

“Deserted you?”

“Yes. Her bed this morning had not been slept in, her room was empty, and a
note for me lay upon the hall table. I had said to her last night, in sorrow and not
in anger, that if she had married my boy all might have been well with him.
Perhaps it was thoughtless of me to say so. It is to that remark that she refers in
this note:

“‘MY DEAREST UNCLE,—I feel that I have brought trouble

upon you, and that if I had acted differently this terrible
misfortune might never have occurred. I cannot, with this
thought in my mind, ever again be happy under your roof, and I
feel that I must leave you forever. Do not worry about my future,
for that is provided for; and, above all, do not search for me, for
it will be fruitless labour and an ill-service to me. In life or in
death, I am ever your loving,

“‘MARY.’

“What could she mean by that note, Mr. Holmes? Do you think it points to
suicide?”

“No, no, nothing of the kind. It is perhaps the best possible solution. I trust,
Mr. Holder, that you are nearing the end of your troubles.”

“Ha! You say so! You have heard something, Mr. Holmes; you have learned
something! Where are the gems?”

“You would not think £ 1000 apiece an excessive sum for them?”
“I would pay ten.”
“That would be unnecessary. Three thousand will cover the matter. And there
is a little reward, I fancy. Have you your cheque-book? Here is a pen. Better
make it out for £ 4000.”
With a dazed face the banker made out the required check. Holmes walked
over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece of gold with three gems in it,
and threw it down upon the table.
With a shriek of joy our client clutched it up.
“You have it!” he gasped. “I am saved! I am saved!”
The reaction of joy was as passionate as his grief had been, and he hugged his
recovered gems to his bosom.
“There is one other thing you owe, Mr. Holder,” said Sherlock Holmes rather
sternly.
“Owe!” He caught up a pen. “Name the sum, and I will pay it.”
“No, the debt is not to me. You owe a very humble apology to that noble lad,
your son, who has carried himself in this matter as I should be proud to see my
own son do, should I ever chance to have one.”
“Then it was not Arthur who took them?”

“I told you yesterday, and I repeat to-day, that it was not.”

“You are sure of it! Then let us hurry to him at once to let him know that the
truth is known.”

“He knows it already. When I had cleared it all up I had an interview with
him, and finding that he would not tell me the story, I told it to him, on which he
had to confess that I was right and to add the very few details which were not yet
quite clear to me. Your news of this morning, however, may open his lips.”

“For Heaven’s sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinary mystery!”

“I will do so, and I will show you the steps by which I reached it. And let me
say to you, first, that which it is hardest for me to say and for you to hear: there
has been an understanding between Sir George Burnwell and your niece Mary.
They have now fled together.”

“My Mary? Impossible!”

“It is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. Neither you nor your son
knew the true character of this man when you admitted him into your family
circle. He is one of the most dangerous men in England—a ruined gambler, an
absolutely desperate villain, a man without heart or conscience. Your niece knew
nothing of such men. When he breathed his vows to her, as he had done to a
hundred before her, she flattered herself that she alone had touched his heart.
The devil knows best what he said, but at least she became his tool and was in
the habit of seeing him nearly every evening.”

“I cannot, and I will not, believe it!” cried the banker with an ashen face.

“I will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night. Your niece, when
you had, as she thought, gone to your room, slipped down and talked to her lover
through the window which leads into the stable lane. His footmarks had pressed
right through the snow, so long had he stood there. She told him of the coronet.
His wicked lust for gold kindled at the news, and he bent her to his will. I have
no doubt that she loved you, but there are women in whom the love of a lover
extinguishes all other loves, and I think that she must have been one. She had
hardly listened to his instructions when she saw you coming downstairs, on
which she closed the window rapidly and told you about one of the servants’
escapade with her wooden-legged lover, which was all perfectly true.

“Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his interview with you but he slept badly
on account of his uneasiness about his club debts. In the middle of the night he
heard a soft tread pass his door, so he rose and, looking out, was surprised to see
his cousin walking very stealthily along the passage until she disappeared into
your dressing-room. Petrified with astonishment, the lad slipped on some clothes

and waited there in the dark to see what would come of this strange affair.
Presently she emerged from the room again, and in the light of the passage-lamp
your son saw that she carried the precious coronet in her hands. She passed
down the stairs, and he, thrilling with horror, ran along and slipped behind the
curtain near your door, whence he could see what passed in the hall beneath. He
saw her stealthily open the window, hand out the coronet to someone in the
gloom, and then closing it once more hurry back to her room, passing quite close
to where he stood hid behind the curtain.

“As long as she was on the scene he could not take any action without a
horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. But the instant that she was
gone he realised how crushing a misfortune this would be for you, and how all-
important it was to set it right. He rushed down, just as he was, in his bare feet,
opened the window, sprang out into the snow, and ran down the lane, where he
could see a dark figure in the moonlight. Sir George Burnwell tried to get away,
but Arthur caught him, and there was a struggle between them, your lad tugging
at one side of the coronet, and his opponent at the other. In the scuffle, your son
struck Sir George and cut him over the eye. Then something suddenly snapped,
and your son, finding that he had the coronet in his hands, rushed back, closed
the window, ascended to your room, and had just observed that the coronet had
been twisted in the struggle and was endeavouring to straighten it when you
appeared upon the scene.”

“Is it possible?” gasped the banker.

“You then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment when he felt
that he had deserved your warmest thanks. He could not explain the true state of
affairs without betraying one who certainly deserved little enough consideration
at his hands. He took the more chivalrous view, however, and preserved her
secret.”

“And that was why she shrieked and fainted when she saw the coronet,” cried
Mr. Holder. “Oh, my God! what a blind fool I have been! And his asking to be
allowed to go out for five minutes! The dear fellow wanted to see if the missing
piece were at the scene of the struggle. How cruelly I have misjudged him!”

“When I arrived at the house,” continued Holmes, “I at once went very
carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in the snow which might
help me. I knew that none had fallen since the evening before, and also that there
had been a strong frost to preserve impressions. I passed along the tradesmen’s
path, but found it all trampled down and indistinguishable. Just beyond it,
however, at the far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood and talked with a
man, whose round impressions on one side showed that he had a wooden leg. I

could even tell that they had been disturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly
to the door, as was shown by the deep toe and light heel marks, while Wooden-
leg had waited a little, and then had gone away. I thought at the time that this
might be the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had already spoken to me,
and inquiry showed it was so. I passed round the garden without seeing anything
more than random tracks, which I took to be the police; but when I got into the
stable lane a very long and complex story was written in the snow in front of me.

“There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a second double line
which I saw with delight belonged to a man with naked feet. I was at once
convinced from what you had told me that the latter was your son. The first had
walked both ways, but the other had run swiftly, and as his tread was marked in
places over the depression of the boot, it was obvious that he had passed after the
other. I followed them up and found they led to the hall window, where Boots
had worn all the snow away while waiting. Then I walked to the other end,
which was a hundred yards or more down the lane. I saw where Boots had faced
round, where the snow was cut up as though there had been a struggle, and,
finally, where a few drops of blood had fallen, to show me that I was not
mistaken. Boots had then run down the lane, and another little smudge of blood
showed that it was he who had been hurt. When he came to the highroad at the
other end, I found that the pavement had been cleared, so there was an end to
that clue.

“On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remember, the sill and
framework of the hall window with my lens, and I could at once see that
someone had passed out. I could distinguish the outline of an instep where the
wet foot had been placed in coming in. I was then beginning to be able to form
an opinion as to what had occurred. A man had waited outside the window;
someone had brought the gems; the deed had been overseen by your son; he had
pursued the thief; had struggled with him; they had each tugged at the coronet,
their united strength causing injuries which neither alone could have effected. He
had returned with the prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of his opponent.
So far I was clear. The question now was, who was the man and who was it
brought him the coronet?

“It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible,
whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Now, I knew that it
was not you who had brought it down, so there only remained your niece and the
maids. But if it were the maids, why should your son allow himself to be
accused in their place? There could be no possible reason. As he loved his
cousin, however, there was an excellent explanation why he should retain her

secret—the more so as the secret was a disgraceful one. When I remembered that
you had seen her at that window, and how she had fainted on seeing the coronet
again, my conjecture became a certainty.

“And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently, for who
else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must feel to you? I knew
that you went out little, and that your circle of friends was a very limited one.
But among them was Sir George Burnwell. I had heard of him before as being a
man of evil reputation among women. It must have been he who wore those
boots and retained the missing gems. Even though he knew that Arthur had
discovered him, he might still flatter himself that he was safe, for the lad could
not say a word without compromising his own family.

“Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took next. I went in
the shape of a loafer to Sir George’s house, managed to pick up an acquaintance
with his valet, learned that his master had cut his head the night before, and,
finally, at the expense of six shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of his cast-
off shoes. With these I journeyed down to Streatham and saw that they exactly
fitted the tracks.”

“I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening,” said Mr.
Holder.

“Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home and changed
my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to play then, for I saw that a
prosecution must be avoided to avert scandal, and I knew that so astute a villain
would see that our hands were tied in the matter. I went and saw him. At first, of
course, he denied everything. But when I gave him every particular that had
occurred, he tried to bluster and took down a life-preserver from the wall. I knew
my man, however, and I clapped a pistol to his head before he could strike. Then
he became a little more reasonable. I told him that we would give him a price for
the stones he held—£ 1000 apiece. That brought out the first signs of grief that
he had shown. ‘Why, dash it all!’ said he, ‘I’ve let them go at six hundred for the
three!’ I soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had them, on
promising him that there would be no prosecution. Off I set to him, and after
much chaffering I got our stones at £ 1000 apiece. Then I looked in upon your
son, told him that all was right, and eventually got to my bed about two o’clock,
after what I may call a really hard day’s work.”

“A day which has saved England from a great public scandal,” said the
banker, rising. “Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but you shall not find me
ungrateful for what you have done. Your skill has indeed exceeded all that I have
heard of it. And now I must fly to my dear boy to apologise to him for the wrong

which I have done him. As to what you tell me of poor Mary, it goes to my very
heart. Not even your skill can inform me where she is now.”

“I think that we may safely say,” returned Holmes, “that she is wherever Sir
George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that whatever her sins are, they
will soon receive a more than sufficient punishment.”

XII.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER BEECHES

“To the man who loves art for its own sake,” remarked Sherlock Holmes,

tossing aside the advertisement sheet of The Daily Telegraph, “it is frequently in
its least important and lowliest manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be
derived. It is pleasant to me to observe, Watson, that you have so far grasped this
truth that in these little records of our cases which you have been good enough to
draw up, and, I am bound to say, occasionally to embellish, you have given
prominence not so much to the many causes célèbres and sensational trials in
which I have figured but rather to those incidents which may have been trivial in
themselves, but which have given room for those faculties of deduction and of
logical synthesis which I have made my special province.”

“And yet,” said I, smiling, “I cannot quite hold myself absolved from the
charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my records.”

“You have erred, perhaps,” he observed, taking up a glowing cinder with the
tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood pipe which was wont to replace
his clay when he was in a disputatious rather than a meditative mood—“you
have erred perhaps in attempting to put colour and life into each of your
statements instead of confining yourself to the task of placing upon record that
severe reasoning from cause to effect which is really the only notable feature
about the thing.”

“It seems to me that I have done you full justice in the matter,” I remarked
with some coldness, for I was repelled by the egotism which I had more than
once observed to be a strong factor in my friend’s singular character.

“No, it is not selfishness or conceit,” said he, answering, as was his wont, my
thoughts rather than my words. “If I claim full justice for my art, it is because it
is an impersonal thing—a thing beyond myself. Crime is common. Logic is rare.
Therefore it is upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should dwell.
You have degraded what should have been a course of lectures into a series of
tales.”

It was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after breakfast on either

side of a cheery fire in the old room at Baker Street. A thick fog rolled down
between the lines of dun-coloured houses, and the opposing windows loomed
like dark, shapeless blurs through the heavy yellow wreaths. Our gas was lit and
shone on the white cloth and glimmer of china and metal, for the table had not
been cleared yet. Sherlock Holmes had been silent all the morning, dipping
continuously into the advertisement columns of a succession of papers until at
last, having apparently given up his search, he had emerged in no very sweet
temper to lecture me upon my literary shortcomings.

“At the same time,” he remarked after a pause, during which he had sat
puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire, “you can hardly be open
to a charge of sensationalism, for out of these cases which you have been so kind
as to interest yourself in, a fair proportion do not treat of crime, in its legal sense,
at all. The small matter in which I endeavoured to help the King of Bohemia, the
singular experience of Miss Mary Sutherland, the problem connected with the
man with the twisted lip, and the incident of the noble bachelor, were all matters
which are outside the pale of the law. But in avoiding the sensational, I fear that
you may have bordered on the trivial.”

“The end may have been so,” I answered, “but the methods I hold to have
been novel and of interest.”

“Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unobservant public, who
could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a compositor by his left thumb, care
about the finer shades of analysis and deduction! But, indeed, if you are trivial, I
cannot blame you, for the days of the great cases are past. Man, or at least
criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As to my own little practice,
it seems to be degenerating into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils and
giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools. I think that I have touched
bottom at last, however. This note I had this morning marks my zero-point, I
fancy. Read it!” He tossed a crumpled letter across to me.

It was dated from Montague Place upon the preceding evening, and ran thus:

“DEAR MR. HOLMES,—I am very anxious to consult you as
to whether I should or should not accept a situation which has
been offered to me as governess. I shall call at half-past ten to-
morrow if I do not inconvenience you. Yours faithfully,

“VIOLET HUNTER.”

“Do you know the young lady?” I asked.

“Not I.”

“It is half-past ten now.”

“Yes, and I have no doubt that is her ring.”

“It may turn out to be of more interest than you think. You remember that the
affair of the blue carbuncle, which appeared to be a mere whim at first,
developed into a serious investigation. It may be so in this case, also.”

“Well, let us hope so. But our doubts will very soon be solved, for here, unless
I am much mistaken, is the person in question.”

As he spoke the door opened and a young lady entered the room. She was
plainly but neatly dressed, with a bright, quick face, freckled like a plover’s egg,
and with the brisk manner of a woman who has had her own way to make in the
world.

“You will excuse my troubling you, I am sure,” said she, as my companion
rose to greet her, “but I have had a very strange experience, and as I have no
parents or relations of any sort from whom I could ask advice, I thought that
perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what I should do.”

“Pray take a seat, Miss Hunter. I shall be happy to do anything that I can to
serve you.”

I could see that Holmes was favourably impressed by the manner and speech
of his new client. He looked her over in his searching fashion, and then
composed himself, with his lids drooping and his finger-tips together, to listen to
her story.

“I have been a governess for five years,” said she, “in the family of Colonel
Spence Munro, but two months ago the colonel received an appointment at
Halifax, in Nova Scotia, and took his children over to America with him, so that
I found myself without a situation. I advertised, and I answered advertisements,
but without success. At last the little money which I had saved began to run
short, and I was at my wit’s end as to what I should do.

“There is a well-known agency for governesses in the West End called
Westaway’s, and there I used to call about once a week in order to see whether
anything had turned up which might suit me. Westaway was the name of the
founder of the business, but it is really managed by Miss Stoper. She sits in her
own little office, and the ladies who are seeking employment wait in an
anteroom, and are then shown in one by one, when she consults her ledgers and
sees whether she has anything which would suit them.

“Well, when I called last week I was shown into the little office as usual, but I
found that Miss Stoper was not alone. A prodigiously stout man with a very
smiling face and a great heavy chin which rolled down in fold upon fold over his
throat sat at her elbow with a pair of glasses on his nose, looking very earnestly
at the ladies who entered. As I came in he gave quite a jump in his chair and
turned quickly to Miss Stoper.

“‘That will do,’ said he; ‘I could not ask for anything better. Capital! capital!’
He seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed his hands together in the most genial
fashion. He was such a comfortable-looking man that it was quite a pleasure to
look at him.

“‘You are looking for a situation, miss?’ he asked.

“‘Yes, sir.’

“‘As governess?’

“‘Yes, sir.’

“‘And what salary do you ask?’

“‘I had £ 4 a month in my last place with Colonel Spence Munro.’

“‘Oh, tut, tut! sweating—rank sweating!’ he cried, throwing his fat hands out
into the air like a man who is in a boiling passion. ‘How could anyone offer so
pitiful a sum to a lady with such attractions and accomplishments?’

“‘My accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,’ said I. ‘A little
French, a little German, music, and drawing—’

“‘Tut, tut!’ he cried. ‘This is all quite beside the question. The point is, have
you or have you not the bearing and deportment of a lady? There it is in a
nutshell. If you have not, you are not fitted for the rearing of a child who may
some day play a considerable part in the history of the country. But if you have
why, then, how could any gentleman ask you to condescend to accept anything
under the three figures? Your salary with me, madam, would commence at £ 100
a year.’

“You may imagine, Mr. Holmes, that to me, destitute as I was, such an offer
seemed almost too good to be true. The gentleman, however, seeing perhaps the
look of incredulity upon my face, opened a pocket-book and took out a note.

“‘It is also my custom,’ said he, smiling in the most pleasant fashion until his
eyes were just two little shining slits amid the white creases of his face, ‘to
advance to my young ladies half their salary beforehand, so that they may meet
any little expenses of their journey and their wardrobe.’

“It seemed to me that I had never met so fascinating and so thoughtful a man.

As I was already in debt to my tradesmen, the advance was a great convenience,
and yet there was something unnatural about the whole transaction which made
me wish to know a little more before I quite committed myself.

“‘May I ask where you live, sir?’ said I.

“‘Hampshire. Charming rural place. The Copper Beeches, five miles on the
far side of Winchester. It is the most lovely country, my dear young lady, and the
dearest old country-house.’

“‘And my duties, sir? I should be glad to know what they would be.’

“‘One child—one dear little romper just six years old. Oh, if you could see
him killing cockroaches with a slipper! Smack! smack! smack! Three gone
before you could wink!’ He leaned back in his chair and laughed his eyes into his
head again.

“I was a little startled at the nature of the child’s amusement, but the father’s
laughter made me think that perhaps he was joking.

“‘My sole duties, then,’ I asked, ‘are to take charge of a single child?’

“‘No, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear young lady,’ he cried. ‘Your duty
would be, as I am sure your good sense would suggest, to obey any little
commands my wife might give, provided always that they were such commands
as a lady might with propriety obey. You see no difficulty, heh?’

“‘I should be happy to make myself useful.’

“‘Quite so. In dress now, for example. We are faddy people, you know—faddy
but kind-hearted. If you were asked to wear any dress which we might give you,
you would not object to our little whim. Heh?’

“‘No,’ said I, considerably astonished at his words.

“‘Or to sit here, or sit there, that would not be offensive to you?’

“‘Oh, no.’

“‘Or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?’

“I could hardly believe my ears. As you may observe, Mr. Holmes, my hair is
somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint of chestnut. It has been
considered artistic. I could not dream of sacrificing it in this offhand fashion.

“‘I am afraid that that is quite impossible,’ said I. He had been watching me
eagerly out of his small eyes, and I could see a shadow pass over his face as I
spoke.

“‘I am afraid that it is quite essential,’ said he. ‘It is a little fancy of my wife’s,
and ladies’ fancies, you know, madam, ladies’ fancies must be consulted. And so

you won’t cut your hair?’

“‘No, sir, I really could not,’ I answered firmly.

“‘Ah, very well; then that quite settles the matter. It is a pity, because in other
respects you would really have done very nicely. In that case, Miss Stoper, I had
best inspect a few more of your young ladies.’

“The manageress had sat all this while busy with her papers without a word to
either of us, but she glanced at me now with so much annoyance upon her face
that I could not help suspecting that she had lost a handsome commission
through my refusal.

“‘Do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?’ she asked.

“‘If you please, Miss Stoper.’

“‘Well, really, it seems rather useless, since you refuse the most excellent
offers in this fashion,’ said she sharply. ‘You can hardly expect us to exert
ourselves to find another such opening for you. Good-day to you, Miss Hunter.’
She struck a gong upon the table, and I was shown out by the page.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, when I got back to my lodgings and found little enough in
the cupboard, and two or three bills upon the table, I began to ask myself
whether I had not done a very foolish thing. After all, if these people had strange
fads and expected obedience on the most extraordinary matters, they were at
least ready to pay for their eccentricity. Very few governesses in England are
getting £ 100 a year. Besides, what use was my hair to me? Many people are
improved by wearing it short and perhaps I should be among the number. Next
day I was inclined to think that I had made a mistake, and by the day after I was
sure of it. I had almost overcome my pride so far as to go back to the agency and
inquire whether the place was still open when I received this letter from the
gentleman himself. I have it here and I will read it to you:

“‘The Copper Beeches, near Winchester.
“‘DEAR MISS HUNTER,—Miss Stoper has very kindly given
me your address, and I write from here to ask you whether you
have reconsidered your decision. My wife is very anxious that
you should come, for she has been much attracted by my
description of you. We are willing to give £ 30 a quarter, or £
120 a year, so as to recompense you for any little inconvenience
which our fads may cause you. They are not very exacting, after
all. My wife is fond of a particular shade of electric blue and
would like you to wear such a dress indoors in the morning. You

need not, however, go to the expense of purchasing one, as we
have one belonging to my dear daughter Alice (now in
Philadelphia), which would, I should think, fit you very well.
Then, as to sitting here or there, or amusing yourself in any
manner indicated, that need cause you no inconvenience. As
regards your hair, it is no doubt a pity, especially as I could not
help remarking its beauty during our short interview, but I am
afraid that I must remain firm upon this point, and I only hope
that the increased salary may recompense you for the loss. Your
duties, as far as the child is concerned, are very light. Now do
try to come, and I shall meet you with the dog-cart at
Winchester. Let me know your train. Yours faithfully,

“‘JEPHRO RUCASTLE.’

“That is the letter which I have just received, Mr. Holmes, and my mind is
made up that I will accept it. I thought, however, that before taking the final step
I should like to submit the whole matter to your consideration.”

“Well, Miss Hunter, if your mind is made up, that settles the question,” said
Holmes, smiling.

“But you would not advise me to refuse?”

“I confess that it is not the situation which I should like to see a sister of mine
apply for.”

“What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?”

“Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps you have yourself formed some
opinion?”

“Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. Mr. Rucastle
seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. Is it not possible that his wife is a
lunatic, that he desires to keep the matter quiet for fear she should be taken to an
asylum, and that he humours her fancies in every way in order to prevent an
outbreak?”

“That is a possible solution—in fact, as matters stand, it is the most probable
one. But in any case it does not seem to be a nice household for a young lady.”

“But the money, Mr. Holmes, the money!”

“Well, yes, of course the pay is good—too good. That is what makes me
uneasy. Why should they give you £ 120 a year, when they could have their pick

for £ 40? There must be some strong reason behind.”

“I thought that if I told you the circumstances you would understand
afterwards if I wanted your help. I should feel so much stronger if I felt that you
were at the back of me.”

“Oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. I assure you that your little
problem promises to be the most interesting which has come my way for some
months. There is something distinctly novel about some of the features. If you
should find yourself in doubt or in danger—”

“Danger! What danger do you foresee?”

Holmes shook his head gravely. “It would cease to be a danger if we could
define it,” said he. “But at any time, day or night, a telegram would bring me
down to your help.”

“That is enough.” She rose briskly from her chair with the anxiety all swept
from her face. “I shall go down to Hampshire quite easy in my mind now. I shall
write to Mr. Rucastle at once, sacrifice my poor hair to-night, and start for
Winchester to-morrow.” With a few grateful words to Holmes she bade us both
good-night and bustled off upon her way.

“At least,” said I as we heard her quick, firm steps descending the stairs, “she
seems to be a young lady who is very well able to take care of herself.”

“And she would need to be,” said Holmes gravely. “I am much mistaken if we
do not hear from her before many days are past.”

It was not very long before my friend’s prediction was fulfilled. A fortnight
went by, during which I frequently found my thoughts turning in her direction
and wondering what strange side-alley of human experience this lonely woman
had strayed into. The unusual salary, the curious conditions, the light duties, all
pointed to something abnormal, though whether a fad or a plot, or whether the
man were a philanthropist or a villain, it was quite beyond my powers to
determine. As to Holmes, I observed that he sat frequently for half an hour on
end, with knitted brows and an abstracted air, but he swept the matter away with
a wave of his hand when I mentioned it. “Data! data! data!” he cried impatiently.
“I can’t make bricks without clay.” And yet he would always wind up by
muttering that no sister of his should ever have accepted such a situation.

The telegram which we eventually received came late one night just as I was
thinking of turning in and Holmes was settling down to one of those all-night
chemical researches which he frequently indulged in, when I would leave him
stooping over a retort and a test-tube at night and find him in the same position
when I came down to breakfast in the morning. He opened the yellow envelope,

and then, glancing at the message, threw it across to me.
“Just look up the trains in Bradshaw,” said he, and turned back to his chemical

studies.
The summons was a brief and urgent one.

“Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at Winchester at midday to-
morrow,” it said. “Do come! I am at my wit’s end.

“HUNTER.”

“Will you come with me?” asked Holmes, glancing up.
“I should wish to.”
“Just look it up, then.”
“There is a train at half-past nine,” said I, glancing over my Bradshaw. “It is
due at Winchester at 11:30.”
“That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had better postpone my analysis of
the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the morning.”

By eleven o’clock the next day we were well upon our way to the old English
capital. Holmes had been buried in the morning papers all the way down, but
after we had passed the Hampshire border he threw them down and began to
admire the scenery. It was an ideal spring day, a light blue sky, flecked with little
fleecy white clouds drifting across from west to east. The sun was shining very
brightly, and yet there was an exhilarating nip in the air, which set an edge to a
man’s energy. All over the countryside, away to the rolling hills around
Aldershot, the little red and grey roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from
amid the light green of the new foliage.

“Are they not fresh and beautiful?” I cried with all the enthusiasm of a man
fresh from the fogs of Baker Street.

But Holmes shook his head gravely.
“Do you know, Watson,” said he, “that it is one of the curses of a mind with a
turn like mine that I must look at everything with reference to my own special
subject. You look at these scattered houses, and you are impressed by their
beauty. I look at them, and the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of
their isolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed there.”

“Good heavens!” I cried. “Who would associate crime with these dear old
homesteads?”

“They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief, Watson, founded
upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a
more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.”

“You horrify me!”

“But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion can do in the
town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no lane so vile that the scream of
a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkard’s blow, does not beget sympathy and
indignation among the neighbours, and then the whole machinery of justice is
ever so close that a word of complaint can set it going, and there is but a step
between the crime and the dock. But look at these lonely houses, each in its own
fields, filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law.
Think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on,
year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser. Had this lady who appeals
to us for help gone to live in Winchester, I should never have had a fear for her.
It is the five miles of country which makes the danger. Still, it is clear that she is
not personally threatened.”

“No. If she can come to Winchester to meet us she can get away.”

“Quite so. She has her freedom.”

“What can be the matter, then? Can you suggest no explanation?”

“I have devised seven separate explanations, each of which would cover the
facts as far as we know them. But which of these is correct can only be
determined by the fresh information which we shall no doubt find waiting for us.
Well, there is the tower of the cathedral, and we shall soon learn all that Miss
Hunter has to tell.”

The Black Swan is an inn of repute in the High Street, at no distance from the
station, and there we found the young lady waiting for us. She had engaged a
sitting-room, and our lunch awaited us upon the table.

“I am so delighted that you have come,” she said earnestly. “It is so very kind
of you both; but indeed I do not know what I should do. Your advice will be
altogether invaluable to me.”

“Pray tell us what has happened to you.”

“I will do so, and I must be quick, for I have promised Mr. Rucastle to be back
before three. I got his leave to come into town this morning, though he little
knew for what purpose.”

“Let us have everything in its due order.” Holmes thrust his long thin legs out
towards the fire and composed himself to listen.

“In the first place, I may say that I have met, on the whole, with no actual ill-
treatment from Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle. It is only fair to them to say that. But I
cannot understand them, and I am not easy in my mind about them.”

“What can you not understand?”

“Their reasons for their conduct. But you shall have it all just as it occurred.
When I came down, Mr. Rucastle met me here and drove me in his dog-cart to
the Copper Beeches. It is, as he said, beautifully situated, but it is not beautiful in
itself, for it is a large square block of a house, whitewashed, but all stained and
streaked with damp and bad weather. There are grounds round it, woods on three
sides, and on the fourth a field which slopes down to the Southampton highroad,
which curves past about a hundred yards from the front door. This ground in
front belongs to the house, but the woods all round are part of Lord Southerton’s
preserves. A clump of copper beeches immediately in front of the hall door has
given its name to the place.

“I was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as ever, and was
introduced by him that evening to his wife and the child. There was no truth, Mr.
Holmes, in the conjecture which seemed to us to be probable in your rooms at
Baker Street. Mrs. Rucastle is not mad. I found her to be a silent, pale-faced
woman, much younger than her husband, not more than thirty, I should think,
while he can hardly be less than forty-five. From their conversation I have
gathered that they have been married about seven years, that he was a widower,
and that his only child by the first wife was the daughter who has gone to
Philadelphia. Mr. Rucastle told me in private that the reason why she had left
them was that she had an unreasoning aversion to her stepmother. As the
daughter could not have been less than twenty, I can quite imagine that her
position must have been uncomfortable with her father’s young wife.

“Mrs. Rucastle seemed to me to be colourless in mind as well as in feature.
She impressed me neither favourably nor the reverse. She was a nonentity. It was
easy to see that she was passionately devoted both to her husband and to her
little son. Her light grey eyes wandered continually from one to the other, noting
every little want and forestalling it if possible. He was kind to her also in his
bluff, boisterous fashion, and on the whole they seemed to be a happy couple.
And yet she had some secret sorrow, this woman. She would often be lost in
deep thought, with the saddest look upon her face. More than once I have
surprised her in tears. I have thought sometimes that it was the disposition of her
child which weighed upon her mind, for I have never met so utterly spoiled and

so ill-natured a little creature. He is small for his age, with a head which is quite
disproportionately large. His whole life appears to be spent in an alternation
between savage fits of passion and gloomy intervals of sulking. Giving pain to
any creature weaker than himself seems to be his one idea of amusement, and he
shows quite remarkable talent in planning the capture of mice, little birds, and
insects. But I would rather not talk about the creature, Mr. Holmes, and, indeed,
he has little to do with my story.”

“I am glad of all details,” remarked my friend, “whether they seem to you to
be relevant or not.”

“I shall try not to miss anything of importance. The one unpleasant thing
about the house, which struck me at once, was the appearance and conduct of the
servants. There are only two, a man and his wife. Toller, for that is his name, is a
rough, uncouth man, with grizzled hair and whiskers, and a perpetual smell of
drink. Twice since I have been with them he has been quite drunk, and yet Mr.
Rucastle seemed to take no notice of it. His wife is a very tall and strong woman
with a sour face, as silent as Mrs. Rucastle and much less amiable. They are a
most unpleasant couple, but fortunately I spend most of my time in the nursery
and my own room, which are next to each other in one corner of the building.

“For two days after my arrival at the Copper Beeches my life was very quiet;
on the third, Mrs. Rucastle came down just after breakfast and whispered
something to her husband.

“‘Oh, yes,’ said he, turning to me, ‘we are very much obliged to you, Miss
Hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to cut your hair. I assure you that
it has not detracted in the tiniest iota from your appearance. We shall now see
how the electric-blue dress will become you. You will find it laid out upon the
bed in your room, and if you would be so good as to put it on we should both be
extremely obliged.’

“The dress which I found waiting for me was of a peculiar shade of blue. It
was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it bore unmistakable signs of
having been worn before. It could not have been a better fit if I had been
measured for it. Both Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle expressed a delight at the look of it,
which seemed quite exaggerated in its vehemence. They were waiting for me in
the drawing-room, which is a very large room, stretching along the entire front
of the house, with three long windows reaching down to the floor. A chair had
been placed close to the central window, with its back turned towards it. In this I
was asked to sit, and then Mr. Rucastle, walking up and down on the other side
of the room, began to tell me a series of the funniest stories that I have ever
listened to. You cannot imagine how comical he was, and I laughed until I was

quite weary. Mrs. Rucastle, however, who has evidently no sense of humour,
never so much as smiled, but sat with her hands in her lap, and a sad, anxious
look upon her face. After an hour or so, Mr. Rucastle suddenly remarked that it
was time to commence the duties of the day, and that I might change my dress
and go to little Edward in the nursery.

“Two days later this same performance was gone through under exactly
similar circumstances. Again I changed my dress, again I sat in the window, and
again I laughed very heartily at the funny stories of which my employer had an
immense répertoire, and which he told inimitably. Then he handed me a yellow-
backed novel, and moving my chair a little sideways, that my own shadow might
not fall upon the page, he begged me to read aloud to him. I read for about ten
minutes, beginning in the heart of a chapter, and then suddenly, in the middle of
a sentence, he ordered me to cease and to change my dress.

“You can easily imagine, Mr. Holmes, how curious I became as to what the
meaning of this extraordinary performance could possibly be. They were always
very careful, I observed, to turn my face away from the window, so that I
became consumed with the desire to see what was going on behind my back. At
first it seemed to be impossible, but I soon devised a means. My hand-mirror had
been broken, so a happy thought seized me, and I concealed a piece of the glass
in my handkerchief. On the next occasion, in the midst of my laughter, I put my
handkerchief up to my eyes, and was able with a little management to see all that
there was behind me. I confess that I was disappointed. There was nothing. At
least that was my first impression. At the second glance, however, I perceived
that there was a man standing in the Southampton Road, a small bearded man in
a grey suit, who seemed to be looking in my direction. The road is an important
highway, and there are usually people there. This man, however, was leaning
against the railings which bordered our field and was looking earnestly up. I
lowered my handkerchief and glanced at Mrs. Rucastle to find her eyes fixed
upon me with a most searching gaze. She said nothing, but I am convinced that
she had divined that I had a mirror in my hand and had seen what was behind
me. She rose at once.

“‘Jephro,’ said she, ‘there is an impertinent fellow upon the road there who
stares up at Miss Hunter.’

“‘No friend of yours, Miss Hunter?’ he asked.

“‘No, I know no one in these parts.’

“‘Dear me! How very impertinent! Kindly turn round and motion to him to go
away.’

“‘Surely it would be better to take no notice.’

“‘No, no, we should have him loitering here always. Kindly turn round and
wave him away like that.’

“I did as I was told, and at the same instant Mrs. Rucastle drew down the
blind. That was a week ago, and from that time I have not sat again in the
window, nor have I worn the blue dress, nor seen the man in the road.”

“Pray continue,” said Holmes. “Your narrative promises to be a most
interesting one.”

“You will find it rather disconnected, I fear, and there may prove to be little
relation between the different incidents of which I speak. On the very first day
that I was at the Copper Beeches, Mr. Rucastle took me to a small outhouse
which stands near the kitchen door. As we approached it I heard the sharp
rattling of a chain, and the sound as of a large animal moving about.

“‘Look in here!’ said Mr. Rucastle, showing me a slit between two planks. ‘Is
he not a beauty?’

“I looked through and was conscious of two glowing eyes, and of a vague
figure huddled up in the darkness.

“‘Don’t be frightened,’ said my employer, laughing at the start which I had
given. ‘It’s only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him mine, but really old Toller, my
groom, is the only man who can do anything with him. We feed him once a day,
and not too much then, so that he is always as keen as mustard. Toller lets him
loose every night, and God help the trespasser whom he lays his fangs upon. For
goodness’ sake don’t you ever on any pretext set your foot over the threshold at
night, for it’s as much as your life is worth.’

“The warning was no idle one, for two nights later I happened to look out of
my bedroom window about two o’clock in the morning. It was a beautiful
moonlight night, and the lawn in front of the house was silvered over and almost
as bright as day. I was standing, rapt in the peaceful beauty of the scene, when I
was aware that something was moving under the shadow of the copper beeches.
As it emerged into the moonshine I saw what it was. It was a giant dog, as large
as a calf, tawny tinted, with hanging jowl, black muzzle, and huge projecting
bones. It walked slowly across the lawn and vanished into the shadow upon the
other side. That dreadful sentinel sent a chill to my heart which I do not think
that any burglar could have done.

“And now I have a very strange experience to tell you. I had, as you know, cut
off my hair in London, and I had placed it in a great coil at the bottom of my
trunk. One evening, after the child was in bed, I began to amuse myself by

examining the furniture of my room and by rearranging my own little things.
There was an old chest of drawers in the room, the two upper ones empty and
open, the lower one locked. I had filled the first two with my linen, and as I had
still much to pack away I was naturally annoyed at not having the use of the
third drawer. It struck me that it might have been fastened by a mere oversight,
so I took out my bunch of keys and tried to open it. The very first key fitted to
perfection, and I drew the drawer open. There was only one thing in it, but I am
sure that you would never guess what it was. It was my coil of hair.

“I took it up and examined it. It was of the same peculiar tint, and the same
thickness. But then the impossibility of the thing obtruded itself upon me. How
could my hair have been locked in the drawer? With trembling hands I undid my
trunk, turned out the contents, and drew from the bottom my own hair. I laid the
two tresses together, and I assure you that they were identical. Was it not
extraordinary? Puzzle as I would, I could make nothing at all of what it meant. I
returned the strange hair to the drawer, and I said nothing of the matter to the
Rucastles as I felt that I had put myself in the wrong by opening a drawer which
they had locked.

“I am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, Mr. Holmes, and I soon
had a pretty good plan of the whole house in my head. There was one wing,
however, which appeared not to be inhabited at all. A door which faced that
which led into the quarters of the Tollers opened into this suite, but it was
invariably locked. One day, however, as I ascended the stair, I met Mr. Rucastle
coming out through this door, his keys in his hand, and a look on his face which
made him a very different person to the round, jovial man to whom I was
accustomed. His cheeks were red, his brow was all crinkled with anger, and the
veins stood out at his temples with passion. He locked the door and hurried past
me without a word or a look.

“This aroused my curiosity, so when I went out for a walk in the grounds with
my charge, I strolled round to the side from which I could see the windows of
this part of the house. There were four of them in a row, three of which were
simply dirty, while the fourth was shuttered up. They were evidently all deserted.
As I strolled up and down, glancing at them occasionally, Mr. Rucastle came out
to me, looking as merry and jovial as ever.

“‘Ah!’ said he, ‘you must not think me rude if I passed you without a word,
my dear young lady. I was preoccupied with business matters.’

“I assured him that I was not offended. ‘By the way,’ said I, ‘you seem to have
quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and one of them has the shutters up.’

“He looked surprised and, as it seemed to me, a little startled at my remark.

“‘Photography is one of my hobbies,’ said he. ‘I have made my dark room up
there. But, dear me! what an observant young lady we have come upon. Who
would have believed it? Who would have ever believed it?’ He spoke in a jesting
tone, but there was no jest in his eyes as he looked at me. I read suspicion there
and annoyance, but no jest.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, from the moment that I understood that there was
something about that suite of rooms which I was not to know, I was all on fire to
go over them. It was not mere curiosity, though I have my share of that. It was
more a feeling of duty—a feeling that some good might come from my
penetrating to this place. They talk of woman’s instinct; perhaps it was woman’s
instinct which gave me that feeling. At any rate, it was there, and I was keenly
on the lookout for any chance to pass the forbidden door.

“It was only yesterday that the chance came. I may tell you that, besides Mr.
Rucastle, both Toller and his wife find something to do in these deserted rooms,
and I once saw him carrying a large black linen bag with him through the door.
Recently he has been drinking hard, and yesterday evening he was very drunk;
and when I came upstairs there was the key in the door. I have no doubt at all
that he had left it there. Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle were both downstairs, and the
child was with them, so that I had an admirable opportunity. I turned the key
gently in the lock, opened the door, and slipped through.

“There was a little passage in front of me, unpapered and uncarpeted, which
turned at a right angle at the farther end. Round this corner were three doors in a
line, the first and third of which were open. They each led into an empty room,
dusty and cheerless, with two windows in the one and one in the other, so thick
with dirt that the evening light glimmered dimly through them. The centre door
was closed, and across the outside of it had been fastened one of the broad bars
of an iron bed, padlocked at one end to a ring in the wall, and fastened at the
other with stout cord. The door itself was locked as well, and the key was not
there. This barricaded door corresponded clearly with the shuttered window
outside, and yet I could see by the glimmer from beneath it that the room was
not in darkness. Evidently there was a skylight which let in light from above. As
I stood in the passage gazing at the sinister door and wondering what secret it
might veil, I suddenly heard the sound of steps within the room and saw a
shadow pass backward and forward against the little slit of dim light which
shone out from under the door. A mad, unreasoning terror rose up in me at the
sight, Mr. Holmes. My overstrung nerves failed me suddenly, and I turned and
ran—ran as though some dreadful hand were behind me clutching at the skirt of

my dress. I rushed down the passage, through the door, and straight into the arms
of Mr. Rucastle, who was waiting outside.

“‘So,’ said he, smiling, ‘it was you, then. I thought that it must be when I saw
the door open.’

“‘Oh, I am so frightened!’ I panted.

“‘My dear young lady! my dear young lady!’—you cannot think how
caressing and soothing his manner was—‘and what has frightened you, my dear
young lady?’

“But his voice was just a little too coaxing. He overdid it. I was keenly on my
guard against him.

“‘I was foolish enough to go into the empty wing,’ I answered. ‘But it is so
lonely and eerie in this dim light that I was frightened and ran out again. Oh, it is
so dreadfully still in there!’

“‘Only that?’ said he, looking at me keenly.

“‘Why, what did you think?’ I asked.

“‘Why do you think that I lock this door?’

“‘I am sure that I do not know.’

“‘It is to keep people out who have no business there. Do you see?’ He was
still smiling in the most amiable manner.

“‘I am sure if I had known—’

“‘Well, then, you know now. And if you ever put your foot over that threshold
again’—here in an instant the smile hardened into a grin of rage, and he glared
down at me with the face of a demon—‘I’ll throw you to the mastiff.’

“I was so terrified that I do not know what I did. I suppose that I must have
rushed past him into my room. I remember nothing until I found myself lying on
my bed trembling all over. Then I thought of you, Mr. Holmes. I could not live
there longer without some advice. I was frightened of the house, of the man, of
the woman, of the servants, even of the child. They were all horrible to me. If I
could only bring you down all would be well. Of course I might have fled from
the house, but my curiosity was almost as strong as my fears. My mind was soon
made up. I would send you a wire. I put on my hat and cloak, went down to the
office, which is about half a mile from the house, and then returned, feeling very
much easier. A horrible doubt came into my mind as I approached the door lest
the dog might be loose, but I remembered that Toller had drunk himself into a
state of insensibility that evening, and I knew that he was the only one in the
household who had any influence with the savage creature, or who would

venture to set him free. I slipped in in safety and lay awake half the night in my
joy at the thought of seeing you. I had no difficulty in getting leave to come into
Winchester this morning, but I must be back before three o’clock, for Mr. and
Mrs. Rucastle are going on a visit, and will be away all the evening, so that I
must look after the child. Now I have told you all my adventures, Mr. Holmes,
and I should be very glad if you could tell me what it all means, and, above all,
what I should do.”

Holmes and I had listened spellbound to this extraordinary story. My friend
rose now and paced up and down the room, his hands in his pockets, and an
expression of the most profound gravity upon his face.

“Is Toller still drunk?” he asked.

“Yes. I heard his wife tell Mrs. Rucastle that she could do nothing with him.”

“That is well. And the Rucastles go out to-night?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a cellar with a good strong lock?”

“Yes, the wine-cellar.”

“You seem to me to have acted all through this matter like a very brave and
sensible girl, Miss Hunter. Do you think that you could perform one more feat? I
should not ask it of you if I did not think you a quite exceptional woman.”

“I will try. What is it?”

“We shall be at the Copper Beeches by seven o’clock, my friend and I. The
Rucastles will be gone by that time, and Toller will, we hope, be incapable.
There only remains Mrs. Toller, who might give the alarm. If you could send her
into the cellar on some errand, and then turn the key upon her, you would
facilitate matters immensely.”

“I will do it.”

“Excellent! We shall then look thoroughly into the affair. Of course there is
only one feasible explanation. You have been brought there to personate
someone, and the real person is imprisoned in this chamber. That is obvious. As
to who this prisoner is, I have no doubt that it is the daughter, Miss Alice
Rucastle, if I remember right, who was said to have gone to America. You were
chosen, doubtless, as resembling her in height, figure, and the colour of your
hair. Hers had been cut off, very possibly in some illness through which she has
passed, and so, of course, yours had to be sacrificed also. By a curious chance
you came upon her tresses. The man in the road was undoubtedly some friend of
hers—possibly her fiancé—and no doubt, as you wore the girl’s dress and were

so like her, he was convinced from your laughter, whenever he saw you, and
afterwards from your gesture, that Miss Rucastle was perfectly happy, and that
she no longer desired his attentions. The dog is let loose at night to prevent him
from endeavouring to communicate with her. So much is fairly clear. The most
serious point in the case is the disposition of the child.”

“What on earth has that to do with it?” I ejaculated.

“My dear Watson, you as a medical man are continually gaining light as to the
tendencies of a child by the study of the parents. Don’t you see that the converse
is equally valid. I have frequently gained my first real insight into the character
of parents by studying their children. This child’s disposition is abnormally
cruel, merely for cruelty’s sake, and whether he derives this from his smiling
father, as I should suspect, or from his mother, it bodes evil for the poor girl who
is in their power.”

“I am sure that you are right, Mr. Holmes,” cried our client. “A thousand
things come back to me which make me certain that you have hit it. Oh, let us
lose not an instant in bringing help to this poor creature.”

“We must be circumspect, for we are dealing with a very cunning man. We
can do nothing until seven o’clock. At that hour we shall be with you, and it will
not be long before we solve the mystery.”

We were as good as our word, for it was just seven when we reached the
Copper Beeches, having put up our trap at a wayside public-house. The group of
trees, with their dark leaves shining like burnished metal in the light of the
setting sun, were sufficient to mark the house even had Miss Hunter not been
standing smiling on the door-step.

“Have you managed it?” asked Holmes.

A loud thudding noise came from somewhere downstairs. “That is Mrs. Toller
in the cellar,” said she. “Her husband lies snoring on the kitchen rug. Here are
his keys, which are the duplicates of Mr. Rucastle’s.”

“You have done well indeed!” cried Holmes with enthusiasm. “Now lead the
way, and we shall soon see the end of this black business.”

We passed up the stair, unlocked the door, followed on down a passage, and
found ourselves in front of the barricade which Miss Hunter had described.
Holmes cut the cord and removed the transverse bar. Then he tried the various
keys in the lock, but without success. No sound came from within, and at the
silence Holmes’ face clouded over.

“I trust that we are not too late,” said he. “I think, Miss Hunter, that we had

better go in without you. Now, Watson, put your shoulder to it, and we shall see
whether we cannot make our way in.”

It was an old rickety door and gave at once before our united strength.
Together we rushed into the room. It was empty. There was no furniture save a
little pallet bed, a small table, and a basketful of linen. The skylight above was
open, and the prisoner gone.

“There has been some villainy here,” said Holmes; “this beauty has guessed
Miss Hunter’s intentions and has carried his victim off.”

“But how?”

“Through the skylight. We shall soon see how he managed it.” He swung
himself up onto the roof. “Ah, yes,” he cried, “here’s the end of a long light
ladder against the eaves. That is how he did it.”

“But it is impossible,” said Miss Hunter; “the ladder was not there when the
Rucastles went away.”

“He has come back and done it. I tell you that he is a clever and dangerous
man. I should not be very much surprised if this were he whose step I hear now
upon the stair. I think, Watson, that it would be as well for you to have your
pistol ready.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth before a man appeared at the door of
the room, a very fat and burly man, with a heavy stick in his hand. Miss Hunter
screamed and shrunk against the wall at the sight of him, but Sherlock Holmes
sprang forward and confronted him.

“You villain!” said he, “where’s your daughter?”

The fat man cast his eyes round, and then up at the open skylight.

“It is for me to ask you that,” he shrieked, “you thieves! Spies and thieves! I
have caught you, have I? You are in my power. I’ll serve you!” He turned and
clattered down the stairs as hard as he could go.

“He’s gone for the dog!” cried Miss Hunter.

“I have my revolver,” said I.

“Better close the front door,” cried Holmes, and we all rushed down the stairs
together. We had hardly reached the hall when we heard the baying of a hound,
and then a scream of agony, with a horrible worrying sound which it was
dreadful to listen to. An elderly man with a red face and shaking limbs came
staggering out at a side door.

“My God!” he cried. “Someone has loosed the dog. It’s not been fed for two
days. Quick, quick, or it’ll be too late!”

Holmes and I rushed out and round the angle of the house, with Toller
hurrying behind us. There was the huge famished brute, its black muzzle buried
in Rucastle’s throat, while he writhed and screamed upon the ground. Running
up, I blew its brains out, and it fell over with its keen white teeth still meeting in
the great creases of his neck. With much labour we separated them and carried
him, living but horribly mangled, into the house. We laid him upon the drawing-
room sofa, and having dispatched the sobered Toller to bear the news to his wife,
I did what I could to relieve his pain. We were all assembled round him when the
door opened, and a tall, gaunt woman entered the room.

“Mrs. Toller!” cried Miss Hunter.

“Yes, miss. Mr. Rucastle let me out when he came back before he went up to
you. Ah, miss, it is a pity you didn’t let me know what you were planning, for I
would have told you that your pains were wasted.”

“Ha!” said Holmes, looking keenly at her. “It is clear that Mrs. Toller knows
more about this matter than anyone else.”

“Yes, sir, I do, and I am ready enough to tell what I know.”

“Then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it for there are several points on which I
must confess that I am still in the dark.”

“I will soon make it clear to you,” said she; “and I’d have done so before now
if I could ha’ got out from the cellar. If there’s police-court business over this,
you’ll remember that I was the one that stood your friend, and that I was Miss
Alice’s friend too.

“She was never happy at home, Miss Alice wasn’t, from the time that her
father married again. She was slighted like and had no say in anything, but it
never really became bad for her until after she met Mr. Fowler at a friend’s
house. As well as I could learn, Miss Alice had rights of her own by will, but she
was so quiet and patient, she was, that she never said a word about them but just
left everything in Mr. Rucastle’s hands. He knew he was safe with her; but when
there was a chance of a husband coming forward, who would ask for all that the
law would give him, then her father thought it time to put a stop on it. He wanted
her to sign a paper, so that whether she married or not, he could use her money.
When she wouldn’t do it, he kept on worrying her until she got brain-fever, and
for six weeks was at death’s door. Then she got better at last, all worn to a
shadow, and with her beautiful hair cut off; but that didn’t make no change in her
young man, and he stuck to her as true as man could be.”

“Ah,” said Holmes, “I think that what you have been good enough to tell us
makes the matter fairly clear, and that I can deduce all that remains. Mr. Rucastle

then, I presume, took to this system of imprisonment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And brought Miss Hunter down from London in order to get rid of the
disagreeable persistence of Mr. Fowler.”

“That was it, sir.”

“But Mr. Fowler being a persevering man, as a good seaman should be,
blockaded the house, and having met you succeeded by certain arguments,
metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that your interests were the same as
his.”

“Mr. Fowler was a very kind-spoken, free-handed gentleman,” said Mrs.
Toller serenely.

“And in this way he managed that your good man should have no want of
drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the moment when your master had
gone out.”

“You have it, sir, just as it happened.”

“I am sure we owe you an apology, Mrs. Toller,” said Holmes, “for you have
certainly cleared up everything which puzzled us. And here comes the country
surgeon and Mrs. Rucastle, so I think, Watson, that we had best escort Miss
Hunter back to Winchester, as it seems to me that our locus standi now is rather
a questionable one.”

And thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the copper beeches
in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but was always a broken man, kept
alive solely through the care of his devoted wife. They still live with their old
servants, who probably know so much of Rucastle’s past life that he finds it
difficult to part from them. Mr. Fowler and Miss Rucastle were married, by
special license, in Southampton the day after their flight, and he is now the
holder of a government appointment in the island of Mauritius. As to Miss Violet
Hunter, my friend Holmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no further
interest in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of one of his problems,
and she is now the head of a private school at Walsall, where I believe that she
has met with considerable success.

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