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(_Being a reprint from the reminiscences of_ JOHN H. WATSONM.D.
_late of the Army Medical Department._) {2}



IN the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine
of the University of Londonand proceeded to Netley to go
through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army.
Having completed my studies thereI was duly attached
to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon.
The regiment was stationed in India at the timeand before
I could join itthe second Afghan war had broken out.
On landing at BombayI learned that my corps had advanced
through the passesand was already deep in the enemy's
country. I followedhoweverwith many other officers
who were in the same situation as myselfand succeeded
in reaching Candahar in safetywhere I found my regiment
and at once entered upon my new duties.

The campaign brought honours and promotion to manybut for
me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed
from my brigade and attached to the Berkshireswith whom I
served at the fatal battle of Maiwand. There I was struck on
the shoulder by a Jezail bulletwhich shattered the bone and
grazed the subclavian artery. I should have fallen into the
hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the
devotion and courage shown by Murraymy orderlywho threw
me across a pack-horseand succeeded in bringing me safely
to the British lines.

Worn with painand weak from the prolonged hardships which
I had undergoneI was removedwith a great train of wounded
sufferersto the base hospital at Peshawar. Here I rallied
and had already improved so far as to be able to walk about
the wardsand even to bask a little upon the verandah
when I was struck down by enteric feverthat curse of our
Indian possessions. For months my life was despaired of
and when at last I came to myself and became convalescent
I was so weak and emaciated that a medical board determined
that not a day should be lost in sending me back to England.
I was dispatchedaccordinglyin the troopship "Orontes
and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with my health
irretrievably ruined, but with permission from a paternal
government to spend the next nine months in attempting to

improve it.

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as
free as air -- or as free as an income of eleven shillings
and sixpence a day will permit a man to be. Under such
circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great
cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire
are irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at a
private hotel in the Strand, leading a comfortless,
meaningless existence, and spending such money as I had,
considerably more freely than I ought. So alarming did the
state of my finances become, that I soon realized that I must
either leave the metropolis and rusticate somewhere in the
country, or that I must make a complete alteration in my
style of living. Choosing the latter alternative, I began
by making up my mind to leave the hotel, and to take up my
quarters in some less pretentious and less expensive domicile.

On the very day that I had come to this conclusion,
I was standing at the Criterion Bar, when some one tapped me
on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized young Stamford,
who had been a dresser under me at Barts. The sight of a
friendly face in the great wilderness of London is a pleasant
thing indeed to a lonely man. In old days Stamford had never
been a particular crony of mine, but now I hailed him with
enthusiasm, and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to
see me. In the exuberance of my joy, I asked him to lunch with
me at the Holborn, and we started off together in a hansom.

Whatever have you been doing with yourselfWatson?"
he asked in undisguised wonderas we rattled through
the crowded London streets. "You are as thin as a lath
and as brown as a nut."

I gave him a short sketch of my adventuresand had hardly
concluded it by the time that we reached our destination.

Poor devil!he saidcommiseratinglyafter he had listened
to my misfortunes. "What are you up to now?"

Looking for lodgings.{3} I answered. "Trying to solve the
problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms
at a reasonable price."

That's a strange thing,remarked my companion; "you are
the second man to-day that has used that expression to me."

And who was the first?I asked.

A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the
hospital. He was bemoaning himself this morning because he
could not get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms
which he had found, and which were too much for his purse.

By Jove!I criedif he really wants someone to share the
rooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should
prefer having a partner to being alone.

Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wine-glass.
You don't know Sherlock Holmes yet,he said; "perhaps you would
not care for him as a constant companion."

Why, what is there against him?

Oh, I didn't say there was anything against him. He is a
little queer in his ideas -- an enthusiast in some branches
of science. As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough.

A medical student, I suppose?said I.

No -- I have no idea what he intends to go in for.
I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first-class
chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken out any
systematic medical classes. His studies are very desultory
and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the way
knowledge which would astonish his professors.

Did you never ask him what he was going in for?I asked.

No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he
can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him.

I should like to meet him,I said. "If I am to lodge with
anyoneI should prefer a man of studious and quiet habits.
I am not strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement.
I had enough of both in Afghanistan to last me for the
remainder of my natural existence. How could I meet this
friend of yours?"

He is sure to be at the laboratory,returned my companion.
He either avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there
from morning to night. If you like, we shall drive round
together after luncheon.

Certainly,I answeredand the conversation drifted away
into other channels.

As we made our way to the hospital after leaving the Holborn
Stamford gave me a few more particulars about the gentleman
whom I proposed to take as a fellow-lodger.

You mustn't blame me if you don't get on with him,he said;
I know nothing more of him than I have learned from meeting
him occasionally in the laboratory. You proposed this
arrangement, so you must not hold me responsible.

If we don't get on it will be easy to part company,I answered.
It seems to me, Stamford,I addedlooking hard at my companion
that you have some reason for washing your hands of the matter.
Is this fellow's temper so formidable, or what is it?
Don't be mealy-mouthed about it.

It is not easy to express the inexpressible,he answered
with a laugh. "Holmes is a little too scientific for my
tastes -- it approaches to cold-bloodedness. I could imagine
his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vegetable
alkaloidnot out of malevolenceyou understandbut simply
out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea
of the effects. To do him justiceI think that he would
take it himself with the same readiness. He appears to have
a passion for definite and exact knowledge."

Very right too.

Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes to
beating the subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick,
it is certainly taking rather a bizarre shape.

Beating the subjects!

Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death.
I saw him at it with my own eyes.

And yet you say he is not a medical student?

No. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies are.
But here we are, and you must form your own impressions about
him.As he spokewe turned down a narrow lane and passed
through a small side-doorwhich opened into a wing of the
great hospital. It was familiar ground to meand I needed
no guiding as we ascended the bleak stone staircase and made
our way down the long corridor with its vista of whitewashed
wall and dun-coloured doors. Near the further end a low
arched passage branched away from it and led to the chemical

This was a lofty chamberlined and littered with countless
bottles. Broadlow tables were scattered aboutwhich
bristled with retortstest-tubesand little Bunsen lamps
with their blue flickering flames. There was only one
student in the roomwho was bending over a distant table
absorbed in his work. At the sound of our steps he glanced
round and sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure.
I've found it! I've found it,he shouted to my companion
running towards us with a test-tube in his hand. "I have
found a re-agent which is precipitated by hoemoglobin{4}
and by nothing else." Had he discovered a gold minegreater
delight could not have shone upon his features.

Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,said Stamfordintroducing us.

How are you?he said cordiallygripping my hand with a
strength for which I should hardly have given him credit.
You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive.

How on earth did you know that?I asked in astonishment.

Never mind,said hechuckling to himself. "The question
now is about hoemoglobin. No doubt you see the significance
of this discovery of mine?"

It is interesting, chemically, no doubt,I answered
but practically ----

Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery
for years. Don't you see that it gives us an infallible test
for blood stains. Come over here now!He seized me by the
coat-sleeve in his eagernessand drew me over to the table
at which he had been working. "Let us have some fresh blood
he said, digging a long bodkin into his finger, and drawing off
the resulting drop of blood in a chemical pipette. NowI add
this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive
that the resulting mixture has the appearance of pure water.
The proportion of blood cannot be more than one in a million.
I have no doubthoweverthat we shall be able to obtain the
characteristic reaction." As he spokehe threw into the vessel
a few white crystalsand then added some drops of a transparent
fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a dull mahogany colour
and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottom of the glass jar.

Ha! ha!he criedclapping his handsand looking as delighted
as a child with a new toy. "What do you think of that?"

It seems to be a very delicate test,I remarked.

Beautiful! beautiful! The old Guiacum test was very clumsy
and uncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood
corpuscles. The latter is valueless if the stains are a few
hours old. Now, this appears to act as well whether the
blood is old or new. Had this test been invented, there are
hundreds of men now walking the earth who would long ago have
paid the penalty of their crimes.

Indeed!I murmured.

Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point.
A man is suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has
been committed. His linen or clothes are examined, and
brownish stains discovered upon them. Are they blood stains,
or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains, or what are
they? That is a question which has puzzled many an expert,
and why? Because there was no reliable test. Now we have
the Sherlock Holmes' test, and there will no longer be any

His eyes fairly glittered as he spokeand he put his hand
over his heart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd
conjured up by his imagination.

You are to be congratulated,I remarkedconsiderably
surprised at his enthusiasm.

There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort last year.
He would certainly have been hung had this test been in
existence. Then there was Mason of Bradford, and the
notorious Muller, and Lefevre of Montpellier, and Samson of
new Orleans. I could name a score of cases in which it would
have been decisive.

You seem to be a walking calendar of crime,said Stamford
with a laugh. "You might start a paper on those lines.
Call it the `Police News of the Past.'"

Very interesting reading it might be made, too,remarked
Sherlock Holmessticking a small piece of plaster over the
prick on his finger. "I have to be careful he continued,
turning to me with a smile, for I dabble with poisons a good
deal." He held out his hand as he spokeand I noticed that
it was all mottled over with similar pieces of plasterand
discoloured with strong acids.

We came here on business,said Stamfordsitting down on a
high three-legged stooland pushing another one in my direction
with his foot. "My friend here wants to take diggingsand as
you were complaining that you could get no one to go halves with
youI thought that I had better bring you together."

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his
rooms with me. "I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street
he said, which would suit us down to the ground. You don't
mind the smell of strong tobaccoI hope?"

I always smoke `ship's' myself,I answered.

That's good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and
occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?

By no means.

Let me see -- what are my other shortcomings. I get in the
dumps at times, and don't open my mouth for days on end.
You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone,
and I'll soon be right. What have you to confess now? It's
just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another
before they begin to live together.

I laughed at this cross-examination. "I keep a bull pup
I said, and I object to rows because my nerves are shaken
and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hoursand I am extremely
lazy. I have another set of vices when I'm wellbut those
are the principal ones at present."

Do you include violin-playing in your category of rows?
he askedanxiously.

It depends on the player,I answered. "A well-played violin
is a treat for the gods -- a badly-played one ----"

Oh, that's all right,he criedwith a merry laugh.
I think we may consider the thing as settled -- that is,
if the rooms are agreeable to you.

When shall we see them?

Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'll go together
and settle everything,he answered.

All right -- noon exactly,said Ishaking his hand.

We left him working among his chemicalsand we walked
together towards my hotel.

By the way,I asked suddenlystopping and turning upon
Stamfordhow the deuce did he know that I had come from

My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. "That's just his
little peculiarity he said. A good many people have
wanted to know how he finds things out."

Oh! a mystery is it?I criedrubbing my hands.
This is very piquant. I am much obliged to you for bringing
us together. `The proper study of mankind is man,' you know.

You must study him, then,Stamford saidas he bade me good-bye.
You'll find him a knotty problem, though. I'll wager he learns
more about you than you about him. Good-bye.

Good-bye,I answeredand strolled on to my hotel
considerably interested in my new acquaintance.



WE met next day as he had arrangedand inspected the rooms
at No. 221B{5} Baker Streetof which he had spoken at our

meeting. They consisted of a couple of comfortable bed-rooms
and a single large airy sitting-roomcheerfully furnished
and illuminated by two broad windows. So desirable in every
way were the apartmentsand so moderate did the terms seem
when divided between usthat the bargain was concluded upon
the spotand we at once entered into possession. That very
evening I moved my things round from the hoteland on the
following morning Sherlock Holmes followed me with several
boxes and portmanteaus. For a day or two we were busily
employed in unpacking and laying out our property to the best
advantage. That donewe gradually began to settle down and
to accommodate ourselves to our new surroundings.

Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with.
He was quiet in his waysand his habits were regular.
It was rare for him to be up after ten at nightand he had
invariably breakfasted and gone out before I rose in the
morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the chemical
laboratorysometimes in the dissecting-roomsand
occasionally in long walkswhich appeared to take him into
the lowest portions of the City. Nothing could exceed his
energy when the working fit was upon him; but now and again
a reaction would seize himand for days on end he would lie
upon the sofa in the sitting-roomhardly uttering a word or
moving a muscle from morning to night. On these occasions
I have noticed such a dreamyvacant expression in his eyes
that I might have suspected him of being addicted to the use
of some narcotichad not the temperance and cleanliness of
his whole life forbidden such a notion.

As the weeks went bymy interest in him and my curiosity
as to his aims in lifegradually deepened and increased.
His very person and appearance were such as to strike the
attention of the most casual observer. In height he was
rather over six feetand so excessively lean that he seemed
to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing
save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded;
and his thinhawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air
of alertness and decision. His chintoohad the prominence
and squareness which mark the man of determination. His hands
were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals
yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch
as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him
manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments.

The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody
when I confess how much this man stimulated my curiosity
and how often I endeavoured to break through the reticence
which he showed on all that concerned himself. Before
pronouncing judgmenthoweverbe it rememberedhow objectless
was my lifeand how little there was to engage my attention.
My health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather
was exceptionally genialand I had no friends who would call
upon me and break the monotony of my daily existence.
Under these circumstancesI eagerly hailed the little mystery
which hung around my companionand spent much of my time in
endeavouring to unravel it.

He was not studying medicine. He had himselfin reply
to a questionconfirmed Stamford's opinion upon that point.
Neither did he appear to have pursued any course of reading
which might fit him for a degree in science or any other
recognized portal which would give him an entrance into the
learned world. Yet his zeal for certain studies was

remarkableand within eccentric limits his knowledge was so
extraordinarily ample and minute that his observations have
fairly astounded me. Surely no man would work so hard or
attain such precise information unless he had some definite
end in view. Desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the
exactness of their learning. No man burdens his mind with
small matters unless he has some very good reason for doing so.

His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge.
Of contemporary literaturephilosophy and politics he appeared
to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle
he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had
done. My surprise reached a climaxhoweverwhen I found
incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory
and of the composition of the Solar System. That any
civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not
be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to
be to me such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly
realize it.

You appear to be astonished,he saidsmiling at my
expression of surprise. "Now that I do know it I shall do my
best to forget it."

To forget it!

You see,he explainedI consider that a man's brain
originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to
stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in
all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that
the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out,
or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that
he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the
skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes
into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools
which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has
a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order.
It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic
walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes
a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something
that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore,
not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.

But the Solar System!I protested.

What the deuce is it to me?he interrupted impatiently;
you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it
would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.

I was on the point of asking him what that work might be
but something in his manner showed me that the question would
be an unwelcome one. I pondered over our short conversation
howeverand endeavoured to draw my deductions from it.
He said that he would acquire no knowledge which did not bear
upon his object. Therefore all the knowledge which he
possessed was such as would be useful to him. I enumerated
in my own mind all the various points upon which he had shown
me that he was exceptionally well-informed. I even took a
pencil and jotted them down. I could not help smiling at the
document when I had completed it. It ran in this way -

SHERLOCK HOLMES -- his limits.

1. Knowledge of Literature. -- Nil.
2. Philosophy. -- Nil.
3. Astronomy. -- Nil.
4. Politics. -- Feeble.
5. Botany. -- Variable. Well up in belladonna
opiumand poisons generally.
Knows nothing of practical gardening.
6. Geology. -- Practicalbut limited.
Tells at a glance different soils
from each other. After walks has
shown me splashes upon his trousers
and told me by their colour and
consistence in what part of London
he had received them.
7. Chemistry. -- Profound.
8. Anatomy. -- Accuratebut unsystematic.
9. Sensational Literature. -- Immense. He appears
to know every detail of every horror
perpetrated in the century.
10. Plays the violin well.
11. Is an expert singlestick playerboxerand swordsman.
12. Has a good practical knowledge of British law.
When I had got so far in my list I threw it into the fire in
despair. "If I can only find what the fellow is driving at
by reconciling all these accomplishmentsand discovering a
calling which needs them all I said to myself, I may as
well give up the attempt at once."

I see that I have alluded above to his powers upon the violin.
These were very remarkablebut as eccentric as all his other
accomplishments. That he could play piecesand difficult pieces
I knew wellbecause at my request he has played me some of
Mendelssohn's Liederand other favourites.
When left to himselfhoweverhe would seldom produce any
music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his
arm-chair of an eveninghe would close his eyes and scrape
carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee.
Sometimes the chords were sonorous and melancholy.
Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they
reflected the thoughts which possessed himbut whether the
music aided those thoughtsor whether the playing was simply
the result of a whim or fancy was more than I could determine.
I might have rebelled against these exasperating solos had it
not been that he usually terminated them by playing in quick
succession a whole series of my favourite airs as a slight
compensation for the trial upon my patience.

During the first week or so we had no callersand I had
begun to think that my companion was as friendless a man as
I was myself. PresentlyhoweverI found that he had many
acquaintancesand those in the most different classes of
society. There was one little sallow rat-faceddark-eyed
fellow who was introduced to me as Mr. Lestradeand who came
three or four times in a single week. One morning a young
girl calledfashionably dressedand stayed for half an hour
or more. The same afternoon brought a grey-headedseedy
visitorlooking like a Jew pedlarwho appeared to me to be
much excitedand who was closely followed by a slip-shod
elderly woman. On another occasion an old white-haired
gentleman had an interview with my companion; and on another
a railway porter in his velveteen uniform. When any of these
nondescript individuals put in an appearanceSherlock Holmes

used to beg for the use of the sitting-roomand I would
retire to my bed-room. He always apologized to me for
putting me to this inconvenience. "I have to use this room
as a place of business he said, and these people are my
clients." Again I had an opportunity of asking him a point
blank questionand again my delicacy prevented me from
forcing another man to confide in me. I imagined at the time
that he had some strong reason for not alluding to itbut he
soon dispelled the idea by coming round to the subject of his
own accord.

It was upon the 4th of Marchas I have good reason to remember
that I rose somewhat earlier than usualand found that Sherlock
Holmes had not yet finished his breakfast. The landlady had
become so accustomed to my late habits that my place had not been
laid nor my coffee prepared. With the unreasonable petulance
of mankind I rang the bell and gave a curt intimation that I was
ready. Then I picked up a magazine from the table and attempted
to while away the time with itwhile my companion munched
silently at his toast. One of the articles had a pencil mark
at the headingand I naturally began to run my eye through it.

Its somewhat ambitious title was "The Book of Life and it
attempted to show how much an observant man might learn by an
accurate and systematic examination of all that came in his
way. It struck me as being a remarkable mixture of
shrewdness and of absurdity. The reasoning was close and
intense, but the deductions appeared to me to be far-fetched
and exaggerated. The writer claimed by a momentary expression,
a twitch of a muscle or a glance of an eye, to fathom a man's
inmost thoughts. Deceit, according to him, was an impossibility
in the case of one trained to observation and analysis.
His conclusions were as infallible as so many propositions
of Euclid. So startling would his results appear to the
uninitiated that until they learned the processes by which he had
arrived at them they might well consider him as a necromancer.

From a drop of water said the writer, a logician could
infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara without
having seen or heard of one or the other. So all life is
a great chainthe nature of which is known whenever we are
shown a single link of it. Like all other artsthe Science
of Deduction and Analysis is one which can only be acquired
by long and patient study nor is life long enough to allow
any mortal to attain the highest possible perfection in it.
Before turning to those moral and mental aspects of the
matter which present the greatest difficultieslet the
enquirer begin by mastering more elementary problems.
Let himon meeting a fellow-mortallearn at a glance to
distinguish the history of the manand the trade or
profession to which he belongs. Puerile as such an exercise
may seemit sharpens the faculties of observationand
teaches one where to look and what to look for. By a man's
finger nailsby his coat-sleeveby his bootby his trouser
kneesby the callosities of his forefinger and thumbby his
expressionby his shirt cuffs -- by each of these things a
man's calling is plainly revealed. That all united should
fail to enlighten the competent enquirer in any case is
almost inconceivable."

What ineffable twaddle!I criedslapping the magazine down
on the tableI never read such rubbish in my life.

What is it?asked Sherlock Holmes.

Why, this article,I saidpointing at it with my egg spoon
as I sat down to my breakfast. "I see that you have read it
since you have marked it. I don't deny that it is smartly
written. It irritates me though. It is evidently the theory
of some arm-chair lounger who evolves all these neat little
paradoxes in the seclusion of his own study. It is not
practical. I should like to see him clapped down in a third
class carriage on the Undergroundand asked to give the
trades of all his fellow-travellers. I would lay a thousand
to one against him."

You would lose your money,Sherlock Holmes remarked calmly.
As for the article I wrote it myself.


Yes, I have a turn both for observation and for deduction.
The theories which I have expressed there, and which appear
to you to be so chimerical are really extremely practical --
so practical that I depend upon them for my bread and cheese.

And how?I asked involuntarily.

Well, I have a trade of my own. I suppose I am the only one
in the world. I'm a consulting detective, if you can
understand what that is. Here in London we have lots of
Government detectives and lots of private ones. When these
fellows are at fault they come to me, and I manage to put
them on the right scent. They lay all the evidence before
me, and I am generally able, by the help of my knowledge of
the history of crime, to set them straight. There is a
strong family resemblance about misdeeds, and if you have all
the details of a thousand at your finger ends, it is odd if
you can't unravel the thousand and first. Lestrade is a
well-known detective. He got himself into a fog recently
over a forgery case, and that was what brought him here.

And these other people?

They are mostly sent on by private inquiry agencies.
They are all people who are in trouble about something,
and want a little enlightening. I listen to their story,
they listen to my comments, and then I pocket my fee.

But do you mean to say,I saidthat without leaving your
room you can unravel some knot which other men can make nothing
of, although they have seen every detail for themselves?

Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that way.
Now and again a case turns up which is a little more complex.
Then I have to bustle about and see things with my own eyes.
You see I have a lot of special knowledge which I apply to
the problem, and which facilitates matters wonderfully.
Those rules of deduction laid down in that article which
aroused your scorn, are invaluable to me in practical work.
Observation with me is second nature. You appeared to be
surprised when I told you, on our first meeting, that you had
come from Afghanistan.

You were told, no doubt.

Nothing of the sort. I _knew_ you came from Afghanistan.
From long habit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through

my mind, that I arrived at the conclusion without being
conscious of intermediate steps. There were such steps,
however. The train of reasoning ran, `Here is a gentleman of
a medical type, but with the air of a military man. Clearly
an army doctor, then. He has just come from the tropics,
for his face is dark, and that is not the natural tint of his
skin, for his wrists are fair. He has undergone hardship and
sickness, as his haggard face says clearly. His left arm has
been injured. He holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner.
Where in the tropics could an English army doctor have seen
much hardship and got his arm wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan.'
The whole train of thought did not occupy a second. I then
remarked that you came from Afghanistan, and you were astonished.

It is simple enough as you explain it,I saidsmiling.
You remind me of Edgar Allen Poe's Dupin. I had no idea
that such individuals did exist outside of stories.

Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. "No doubt you think
that you are complimenting me in comparing me to Dupin
he observed. Nowin my opinionDupin was a very inferior
fellow. That trick of his of breaking in on his friends'
thoughts with an apropos remark after a quarter of an hour's
silence is really very showy and superficial. He had some
analytical geniusno doubt; but he was by no means such
a phenomenon as Poe appeared to imagine."

Have you read Gaboriau's works?I asked.
Does Lecoq come up to your idea of a detective?

Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically. "Lecoq was a miserable
bungler he said, in an angry voice; he had only one thing
to recommend himand that was his energy. That book made me
positively ill. The question was how to identify an unknown
prisoner. I could have done it in twenty-four hours. Lecoq
took six months or so. It might be made a text-book for
detectives to teach them what to avoid."

I felt rather indignant at having two characters whom I had
admired treated in this cavalier style. I walked over to the
windowand stood looking out into the busy street.
This fellow may be very clever,I said to myselfbut he
is certainly very conceited.

There are no crimes and no criminals in these days,he said
querulously. "What is the use of having brains in our
profession. I know well that I have it in me to make my name
famous. No man lives or has ever lived who has brought the
same amount of study and of natural talent to the detection
of crime which I have done. And what is the result? There
is no crime to detectorat mostsome bungling villany
with a motive so transparent that even a Scotland Yard
official can see through it."

I was still annoyed at his bumptious style of conversation.
I thought it best to change the topic.

I wonder what that fellow is looking for?I askedpointing
to a stalwartplainly-dressed individual who was walking
slowly down the other side of the streetlooking anxiously
at the numbers. He had a large blue envelope in his hand
and was evidently the bearer of a message.

You mean the retired sergeant of Marines,said Sherlock Holmes.

Brag and bounce!thought I to myself. "He knows that I
cannot verify his guess."

The thought had hardly passed through my mind when the man
whom we were watching caught sight of the number on our door
and ran rapidly across the roadway. We heard a loud knock
a deep voice belowand heavy steps ascending the stair.

For Mr. Sherlock Holmes,he saidstepping into the room
and handing my friend the letter.

Here was an opportunity of taking the conceit out of him.
He little thought of this when he made that random shot.
May I ask, my lad,I saidin the blandest voice
what your trade may be?

Commissionaire, sir,he saidgruffly.
Uniform away for repairs.

And you were?I askedwith a slightly malicious glance
at my companion.

A sergeant, sir, Royal Marine Light Infantry, sir.
No answer? Right, sir.

He clicked his heels togetherraised his hand in a salute
and was gone.



I CONFESS that I was considerably startled by this fresh
proof of the practical nature of my companion's theories.
My respect for his powers of analysis increased wondrously.
There still remained some lurking suspicion in my mind
howeverthat the whole thing was a pre-arranged episode
intended to dazzle methough what earthly object he could
have in taking me in was past my comprehension.
When I looked at him he had finished reading the note
and his eyes had assumed the vacantlack-lustre expression
which showed mental abstraction.

How in the world did you deduce that?I asked.

Deduce what?said hepetulantly.

Why, that he was a retired sergeant of Marines.

I have no time for trifles,he answeredbrusquely;
then with a smileExcuse my rudeness. You broke the thread
of my thoughts; but perhaps it is as well. So you actually were
not able to see that that man was a sergeant of Marines?

No, indeed.

It was easier to know it than to explain why I knew it.
If you were asked to prove that two and two made four, you might
find some difficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact.
Even across the street I could see a great blue anchor

tattooed on the back of the fellow's hand. That smacked of
the sea. He had a military carriage, however, and regulation
side whiskers. There we have the marine. He was a man with
some amount of self-importance and a certain air of command.
You must have observed the way in which he held his head and
swung his cane. A steady, respectable, middle-aged man, too,
on the face of him -- all facts which led me to believe that
he had been a sergeant.

Wonderful!I ejaculated.

Commonplace,said Holmesthough I thought from his
expression that he was pleased at my evident surprise and
admiration. "I said just now that there were no criminals.
It appears that I am wrong -- look at this!" He threw me
over the note which the commissionaire had brought." {7}

Why,I criedas I cast my eye over itthis is terrible!

It does seem to be a little out of the common,he remarked
calmly. "Would you mind reading it to me aloud?"

This is the letter which I read to him ----

MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES, -- There has been a bad
business during the night at 3Lauriston Gardensoff the
Brixton Road. Our man on the beat saw a light there about
two in the morningand as the house was an empty one
suspected that something was amiss. He found the door open
and in the front roomwhich is bare of furniturediscovered
the body of a gentlemanwell dressedand having cards in
his pocket bearing the name of `Enoch J. DrebberCleveland
OhioU.S.A.' There had been no robberynor is there any
evidence as to how the man met his death. There are marks
of blood in the roombut there is no wound upon his person.
We are at a loss as to how he came into the empty house;
indeedthe whole affair is a puzzler. If you can come round
to the house any time before twelveyou will find me there.
I have left everything _in statu quo_ until I hear from you.
If you are unable to come I shall give you fuller details
and would esteem it a great kindness if you would favour me
with your opinion. Yours faithfullyTOBIAS GREGSON.

Gregson is the smartest of the Scotland Yarders,
my friend remarked; "he and Lestrade are the pick of a bad lot.
They are both quick and energeticbut conventional -- shockingly
so. They have their knives into one anothertoo. They are
as jealous as a pair of professional beauties. There will be
some fun over this case if they are both put upon the scent."

I was amazed at the calm way in which he rippled on.
Surely there is not a moment to be lost,I cried
shall I go and order you a cab?

I'm not sure about whether I shall go. I am the most
incurably lazy devil that ever stood in shoe leather -- that is,
when the fit is on me, for I can be spry enough at times.

Why, it is just such a chance as you have been longing for.

My dear fellow, what does it matter to me.
Supposing I unravel the whole matter, you may be sure that

Gregson, Lestrade, and Co. will pocket all the credit.
That comes of being an unofficial personage.

But he begs you to help him.

Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and acknowledges it
to me; but he would cut his tongue out before he would own it
to any third person. However, we may as well go and have a
look. I shall work it out on my own hook. I may have a
laugh at them if I have nothing else. Come on!

He hustled on his overcoatand bustled about in a way that
showed that an energetic fit had superseded the apathetic one.

Get your hat,he said.

You wish me to come?

Yes, if you have nothing better to do.A minute later we
were both in a hansomdriving furiously for the Brixton Road.

It was a foggycloudy morningand a dun-coloured veil hung
over the house-topslooking like the reflection of the
mud-coloured streets beneath. My companion was in the best
of spiritsand prattled away about Cremona fiddlesand the
difference between a Stradivarius and an Amati. As for
myselfI was silentfor the dull weather and the melancholy
business upon which we were engageddepressed my spirits.

You don't seem to give much thought to the matter in hand,
I said at lastinterrupting Holmes' musical disquisition.

No data yet,he answered. "It is a capital mistake to theorize
before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment."

You will have your data soon,I remarkedpointing with
my finger; "this is the Brixton Roadand that is the house
if I am not very much mistaken."

So it is. Stop, driver, stop!We were still a hundred yards
or so from itbut he insisted upon our alightingand we
finished our journey upon foot.

Number 3Lauriston Gardens wore an ill-omened and minatory look.
It was one of four which stood back some little way from the
streettwo being occupied and two empty. The latter looked
out with three tiers of vacant melancholy windowswhich were
blank and drearysave that here and there a "To Let" card had
developed like a cataract upon the bleared panes. A small garden
sprinkled over with a scattered eruption of sickly plants
separated each of these houses from the streetand was traversed
by a narrow pathwayyellowish in colourand consisting
apparently of a mixture of clay and of gravel. The whole place
was very sloppy from the rain which had fallen through the night.
The garden was bounded by a three-foot brick wall with a fringe
of wood rails upon the topand against this wall was leaning a
stalwart police constablesurrounded by a small knot of loafers
who craned their necks and strained their eyes in the vain hope
of catching some glimpse of the proceedings within.

I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would at once have
hurried into the house and plunged into a study of the
mystery. Nothing appeared to be further from his intention.
With an air of nonchalance whichunder the circumstances

seemed to me to border upon affectationhe lounged up and
down the pavementand gazed vacantly at the groundthe sky
the opposite houses and the line of railings. Having
finished his scrutinyhe proceeded slowly down the path
or rather down the fringe of grass which flanked the path
keeping his eyes riveted upon the ground. Twice he stopped
and once I saw him smileand heard him utter an exclamation
of satisfaction. There were many marks of footsteps upon the
wet clayey soilbut since the police had been coming and
going over itI was unable to see how my companion could
hope to learn anything from it. Still I had had such
extraordinary evidence of the quickness of his perceptive
facultiesthat I had no doubt that he could see a great deal
which was hidden from me.

At the door of the house we were met by a tallwhite-faced
flaxen-haired manwith a notebook in his handwho rushed
forward and wrung my companion's hand with effusion.
It is indeed kind of you to come,he saidI have had
everything left untouched.

Except that!my friend answeredpointing at the pathway.
If a herd of buffaloes had passed along there could not be
a greater mess. No doubt, however, you had drawn your own
conclusions, Gregson, before you permitted this.

I have had so much to do inside the house,the detective
said evasively. "My colleagueMr. Lestradeis here.
I had relied upon him to look after this."

Holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrows sardonically.
With two such men as yourself and Lestrade upon the ground,
there will not be much for a third party to find out,he said.

Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way.
I think we have done all that can be done,he answered;
it's a queer case though, and I knew your taste for such things.

You did not come here in a cab?asked Sherlock Holmes.

No, sir.

Nor Lestrade?

No, sir.

Then let us go and look at the room.With which
inconsequent remark he strode on into the housefollowed by
Gregsonwhose features expressed his astonishment.

A short passagebare planked and dustyled to the kitchen
and offices. Two doors opened out of it to the left and to
the right. One of these had obviously been closed for many
weeks. The other belonged to the dining-roomwhich was the
apartment in which the mysterious affair had occurred.
Holmes walked inand I followed him with that subdued
feeling at my heart which the presence of death inspires.

It was a large square roomlooking all the larger from the
absence of all furniture. A vulgar flaring paper adorned the
wallsbut it was blotched in places with mildewand here
and there great strips had become detached and hung down
exposing the yellow plaster beneath. Opposite the door was
a showy fireplacesurmounted by a mantelpiece of imitation

white marble. On one corner of this was stuck the stump of
a red wax candle. The solitary window was so dirty that the
light was hazy and uncertaingiving a dull grey tinge to
everythingwhich was intensified by the thick layer of dust
which coated the whole apartment.

All these details I observed afterwards. At present my
attention was centred upon the single grim motionless figure
which lay stretched upon the boardswith vacant sightless
eyes staring up at the discoloured ceiling. It was that of a
man about forty-three or forty-four years of agemiddle-sized
broad shoulderedwith crisp curling black hairand a
short stubbly beard. He was dressed in a heavy broadcloth
frock coat and waistcoatwith light-coloured trousersand
immaculate collar and cuffs. A top hatwell brushed and
trimwas placed upon the floor beside him. His hands were
clenched and his arms thrown abroadwhile his lower limbs
were interlocked as though his death struggle had been a
grievous one. On his rigid face there stood an expression
of horrorand as it seemed to meof hatredsuch as I have
never seen upon human features. This malignant and terrible
contortioncombined with the low foreheadblunt noseand
prognathous jaw gave the dead man a singularly simious and
ape-like appearancewhich was increased by his writhing
unnatural posture. I have seen death in many formsbut
never has it appeared to me in a more fearsome aspect than
in that dark grimy apartmentwhich looked out upon one of
the main arteries of suburban London.

Lestradelean and ferret-like as everwas standing by the
doorwayand greeted my companion and myself.

This case will make a stir, sir,he remarked.
It beats anything I have seen, and I am no chicken.

There is no clue?said Gregson.

None at all,chimed in Lestrade.

Sherlock Holmes approached the bodyandkneeling down
examined it intently. "You are sure that there is no wound?"
he askedpointing to numerous gouts and splashes of blood
which lay all round.

Positive!cried both detectives.

Then, of course, this blood belongs to a second individual -- {8}
presumably the murderer, if murder has been committed.
It reminds me of the circumstances attendant on the death
of Van Jansen, in Utrecht, in the year '34. Do you remember
the case, Gregson?

No, sir.

Read it up -- you really should. There is nothing new under
the sun. It has all been done before.

As he spokehis nimble fingers were flying herethere
and everywherefeelingpressingunbuttoningexamining
while his eyes wore the same far-away expression which I have
already remarked upon. So swiftly was the examination made
that one would hardly have guessed the minuteness with which
it was conducted. Finallyhe sniffed the dead man's lips
and then glanced at the soles of his patent leather boots.

He has not been moved at all?he asked.

No more than was necessary for the purposes of our examination.

You can take him to the mortuary now,he said.
There is nothing more to be learned.

Gregson had a stretcher and four men at hand. At his call
they entered the roomand the stranger was lifted and
carried out. As they raised hima ring tinkled down and
rolled across the floor. Lestrade grabbed it up and stared
at it with mystified eyes.

There's been a woman here,he cried. "It's a woman's

He held it outas he spokeupon the palm of his hand.
We all gathered round him and gazed at it. There could be no
doubt that that circlet of plain gold had once adorned the
finger of a bride.

This complicates matters,said Gregson. "Heaven knows
they were complicated enough before."

You're sure it doesn't simplify them?observed Holmes.
There's nothing to be learned by staring at it.
What did you find in his pockets?

We have it all here,said Gregsonpointing to a litter
of objects upon one of the bottom steps of the stairs.
A gold watch, No. 97163, by Barraud, of London. Gold Albert
chain, very heavy and solid. Gold ring, with masonic device.
Gold pin -- bull-dog's head, with rubies as eyes.
Russian leather card-case, with cards of Enoch J. Drebber
of Cleveland, corresponding with the E. J. D. upon the linen.
No purse, but loose money to the extent of seven pounds thirteen.
Pocket edition of Boccaccio's `Decameron,' with name of
Joseph Stangerson upon the fly-leaf. Two letters -- one
addressed to E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph Stangerson.

At what address?

American Exchange, Strand -- to be left till called for.
They are both from the Guion Steamship Company, and refer to
the sailing of their boats from Liverpool. It is clear that
this unfortunate man was about to return to New York.

Have you made any inquiries as to this man, Stangerson?

I did it at once, sir,said Gregson. "I have had advertisements
sent to all the newspapersand one of my men has gone to the
American Exchangebut he has not returned yet."

Have you sent to Cleveland?

We telegraphed this morning.

How did you word your inquiries?

We simply detailed the circumstances, and said that we
should be glad of any information which could help us.

You did not ask for particulars on any point which appeared

to you to be crucial?

I asked about Stangerson.

Nothing else? Is there no circumstance on which this whole
case appears to hinge? Will you not telegraph again?

I have said all I have to say,said Gregson
in an offended voice.

Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himselfand appeared to be about
to make some remarkwhen Lestradewho had been in the front
room while we were holding this conversation in the hall
reappeared upon the scenerubbing his hands in a pompous and
self-satisfied manner.

Mr. Gregson,he saidI have just made a discovery of the
highest importance, and one which would have been overlooked
had I not made a careful examination of the walls.

The little man's eyes sparkled as he spokeand he was
evidently in a state of suppressed exultation at having
scored a point against his colleague.

Come here,he saidbustling back into the room
the atmosphere of which felt clearer since the removal
of its ghastly inmate. "Nowstand there!"

He struck a match on his boot and held it up against the wall.

Look at that!he saidtriumphantly.

I have remarked that the paper had fallen away in parts.
In this particular corner of the room a large piece had peeled
offleaving a yellow square of coarse plastering. Across
this bare space there was scrawled in blood-red letters a
single word -


What do you think of that?cried the detectivewith the
air of a showman exhibiting his show. "This was overlooked
because it was in the darkest corner of the roomand no one
thought of looking there. The murderer has written it with
his or her own blood. See this smear where it has trickled
down the wall! That disposes of the idea of suicide anyhow.
Why was that corner chosen to write it on? I will tell you.
See that candle on the mantelpiece. It was lit at the time
and if it was lit this corner would be the brightest instead
of the darkest portion of the wall."

And what does it mean now that you _have_ found it?asked
Gregson in a depreciatory voice.

Mean? Why, it means that the writer was going to put the
female name Rachel, but was disturbed before he or she had
time to finish. You mark my words, when this case comes to
be cleared up you will find that a woman named Rachel has
something to do with it. It's all very well for you to laugh,
Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You may be very smart and clever,
but the old hound is the best, when all is said and done.

I really beg your pardon!said my companionwho had
ruffled the little man's temper by bursting into an explosion
of laughter. "You certainly have the credit of being the
first of us to find this outandas you sayit bears every
mark of having been written by the other participant in last
night's mystery. I have not had time to examine this room
yetbut with your permission I shall do so now."

As he spokehe whipped a tape measure and a large round
magnifying glass from his pocket. With these two implements
he trotted noiselessly about the roomsometimes stopping
occasionally kneelingand once lying flat upon his face.
So engrossed was he with his occupation that he appeared to
have forgotten our presencefor he chattered away to himself
under his breath the whole timekeeping up a running fire of
exclamationsgroanswhistlesand little cries suggestive
of encouragement and of hope. As I watched him I was
irresistibly reminded of a pure-blooded well-trained foxhound
as it dashes backwards and forwards through the covert
whining in its eagernessuntil it comes across the lost
scent. For twenty minutes or more he continued his
researchesmeasuring with the most exact care the distance
between marks which were entirely invisible to meand
occasionally applying his tape to the walls in an equally
incomprehensible manner. In one place he gathered up very
carefully a little pile of grey dust from the floorand
packed it away in an envelope. Finallyhe examined with his
glass the word upon the wallgoing over every letter of it
with the most minute exactness. This donehe appeared to be
satisfiedfor he replaced his tape and his glass in his pocket.

They say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking
pains,he remarked with a smile. "It's a very bad
definitionbut it does apply to detective work."

Gregson and Lestrade had watched the manoeuvres {9} of their
amateur companion with considerable curiosity and some
contempt. They evidently failed to appreciate the factwhich
I had begun to realizethat Sherlock Holmes' smallest actions
were all directed towards some definite and practical end.

What do you think of it, sir?they both asked.

It would be robbing you of the credit of the case if I was
to presume to help you,remarked my friend. "You are doing
so well now that it would be a pity for anyone to interfere."
There was a world of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke.
If you will let me know how your investigations go,
he continuedI shall be happy to give you any help I can.
In the meantime I should like to speak to the constable who
found the body. Can you give me his name and address?

Lestrade glanced at his note-book. "John Rance he said.
He is off duty now. You will find him at 46Audley Court
Kennington Park Gate."

Holmes took a note of the address.

Come along, Doctor,he said; "we shall go and look him up.
I'll tell you one thing which may help you in the case
he continued, turning to the two detectives. There has been
murder doneand the murderer was a man. He was more than
six feet highwas in the prime of lifehad small feet for
his heightwore coarsesquare-toed boots and smoked a

Trichinopoly cigar. He came here with his victim in a
four-wheeled cabwhich was drawn by a horse with three old shoes
and one new one on his off fore leg. In all probability the
murderer had a florid faceand the finger-nails of his right
hand were remarkably long. These are only a few indications
but they may assist you."

Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each other with an incredulous

If this man was murdered, how was it done?asked the former.

Poison,said Sherlock Holmes curtlyand strode off.
One other thing, Lestrade,he addedturning round at the door:
`Rache,' is the German for `revenge;' so don't lose your
time looking for Miss Rachel.

With which Parthian shot he walked awayleaving the two
rivals open-mouthed behind him.



IT was one o'clock when we left No. 3Lauriston Gardens.
Sherlock Holmes led me to the nearest telegraph office
whence he dispatched a long telegram. He then hailed a cab
and ordered the driver to take us to the address given us by

There is nothing like first hand evidence,he remarked;
as a matter of fact, my mind is entirely made up upon the case,
but still we may as well learn all that is to be learned.

You amaze me, Holmes,said I. "Surely you are not as sure
as you pretend to be of all those particulars which you gave."

There's no room for a mistake,he answered. "The very
first thing which I observed on arriving there was that a cab
had made two ruts with its wheels close to the curb. Nowup
to last nightwe have had no rain for a weekso that those
wheels which left such a deep impression must have been there
during the night. There were the marks of the horse's hoofs
toothe outline of one of which was far more clearly cut
than that of the other threeshowing that that was a new
shoe. Since the cab was there after the rain beganand was
not there at any time during the morning -- I have Gregson's
word for that -- it follows that it must have been there
during the nightandthereforethat it brought those two
individuals to the house."

That seems simple enough,said I; "but how about the other
man's height?"

Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out of ten,
can be told from the length of his stride. It is a simple
calculation enough, though there is no use my boring you with
figures. I had this fellow's stride both on the clay outside
and on the dust within. Then I had a way of checking my
calculation. When a man writes on a wall, his instinct leads
him to write about the level of his own eyes. Now that writing

was just over six feet from the ground. It was child's play.

And his age?I asked.

Well, if a man can stride four and a-half feet without the
smallest effort, he can't be quite in the sere and yellow.
That was the breadth of a puddle on the garden walk which he
had evidently walked across. Patent-leather boots had gone
round, and Square-toes had hopped over. There is no mystery
about it at all. I am simply applying to ordinary life a few
of those precepts of observation and deduction which I
advocated in that article. Is there anything else that
puzzles you?

The finger nails and the Trichinopoly,I suggested.

The writing on the wall was done with a man's forefinger
dipped in blood. My glass allowed me to observe that the
plaster was slightly scratched in doing it, which would not
have been the case if the man's nail had been trimmed.
I gathered up some scattered ash from the floor. It was dark
in colour and flakey -- such an ash as is only made by a
Trichinopoly. I have made a special study of cigar ashes --
in fact, I have written a monograph upon the subject.
I flatter myself that I can distinguish at a glance the ash of
any known brand, either of cigar or of tobacco. It is just
in such details that the skilled detective differs from the
Gregson and Lestrade type.

And the florid face?I asked.

Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I have no doubt that
I was right. You must not ask me that at the present state
of the affair.

I passed my hand over my brow. "My head is in a whirl
I remarked; the more one thinks of it the more mysterious it
grows. How came these two men -- if there were two men --
into an empty house? What has become of the cabman who drove
them? How could one man compel another to take poison?
Where did the blood come from? What was the object of the
murderersince robbery had no part in it? How came the
woman's ring there? Above allwhy should the second man write
up the German word RACHE before decamping? I confess that I
cannot see any possible way of reconciling all these facts."

My companion smiled approvingly.

You sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly and
well,he said. "There is much that is still obscurethough
I have quite made up my mind on the main facts. As to poor
Lestrade's discovery it was simply a blind intended to put
the police upon a wrong trackby suggesting Socialism and
secret societies. It was not done by a German. The Aif
you noticedwas printed somewhat after the German fashion.
Nowa real German invariably prints in the Latin character
so that we may safely say that this was not written by one
but by a clumsy imitator who overdid his part. It was simply
a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong channel. I'm not going
to tell you much more of the caseDoctor. You know a
conjuror gets no credit when once he has explained his trick
and if I show you too much of my method of workingyou will
come to the conclusion that I am a very ordinary individual
after all."

I shall never do that,I answered; "you have brought
detection as near an exact science as it ever will be brought
in this world."

My companion flushed up with pleasure at my wordsand the
earnest way in which I uttered them. I had already observed
that he was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art
as any girl could be of her beauty.

I'll tell you one other thing,he said. "Patent leathers {10}
and Square-toes came in the same caband they walked down
the pathway together as friendly as possible -- arm-in-arm
in all probability. When they got inside they walked up and
down the room -- or ratherPatent-leathers stood still while
Square-toes walked up and down. I could read all that in the
dust; and I could read that as he walked he grew more and
more excited. That is shown by the increased length of his
strides. He was talking all the whileand working himself
upno doubtinto a fury. Then the tragedy occurred.
I've told you all I know myself nowfor the rest is mere
surmise and conjecture. We have a good working basishowever
on which to start. We must hurry upfor I want to go to
Halle's concert to hear Norman Neruda this afternoon."

This conversation had occurred while our cab had been
threading its way through a long succession of dingy streets
and dreary by-ways. In the dingiest and dreariest of them
our driver suddenly came to a stand. "That's Audley Court
in there he said, pointing to a narrow slit in the line of
dead-coloured brick. You'll find me here when you come back."

Audley Court was not an attractive locality. The narrow
passage led us into a quadrangle paved with flags and lined
by sordid dwellings. We picked our way among groups of dirty
childrenand through lines of discoloured linenuntil we
came to Number 46the door of which was decorated with a
small slip of brass on which the name Rance was engraved.
On enquiry we found that the constable was in bedand we
were shown into a little front parlour to await his coming.

He appeared presentlylooking a little irritable at being
disturbed in his slumbers. "I made my report at the office
he said.

Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and played with
it pensively. We thought that we should like to hear it all
from your own lips he said.

I shall be most happy to tell you anything I can the
constable answered with his eyes upon the little golden disk.

Just let us hear it all in your own way as it occurred."

Rance sat down on the horsehair sofaand knitted his brows
as though determined not to omit anything in his narrative.

I'll tell it ye from the beginning,he said. "My time is
from ten at night to six in the morning. At eleven there was
a fight at the `White Hart'; but bar that all was quiet
enough on the beat. At one o'clock it began to rainand I
met Harry Murcher -- him who has the Holland Grove beat --
and we stood together at the corner of Henrietta Street a-talkin'.
Presently -- maybe about two or a little after -- I thought

I would take a look round and see that all was right
down the Brixton Road. It was precious dirty and lonely.
Not a soul did I meet all the way downthough a cab or two
went past me. I was a strollin' downthinkin' between
ourselves how uncommon handy a four of gin hot would be
when suddenly the glint of a light caught my eye in the window
of that same house. NowI knew that them two houses in
Lauriston Gardens was empty on account of him that owns them
who won't have the drains seed tothough the very last
tenant what lived in one of them died o' typhoid fever.
I was knocked all in a heap therefore at seeing a light
in the windowand I suspected as something was wrong.
When I got to the door ----"

You stopped, and then walked back to the garden gate,
my companion interrupted. "What did you do that for?"

Rance gave a violent jumpand stared at Sherlock Holmes
with the utmost amazement upon his features.

Why, that's true, sir,he said; "though how you come to
know itHeaven only knows. Ye seewhen I got up to the door
it was so still and so lonesomethat I thought I'd be none
the worse for some one with me. I ain't afeared of anything
on this side o' the grave; but I thought that maybe it was him
that died o' the typhoid inspecting the drains what killed him.
The thought gave me a kind o' turnand I walked back to the
gate to see if I could see Murcher's lanternbut there
wasn't no sign of him nor of anyone else."

There was no one in the street?

Not a livin' soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then I pulled
myself together and went back and pushed the door open. All
was quiet inside, so I went into the room where the light was
a-burnin'. There was a candle flickerin' on the mantelpiece
-- a red wax one -- and by its light I saw ----

Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked round the room
several times, and you knelt down by the body, and then you
walked through and tried the kitchen door, and then ----

John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and
suspicion in his eyes. "Where was you hid to see all that?"
he cried. "It seems to me that you knows a deal more than
you should."

Holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the
constable. "Don't get arresting me for the murder he said.
I am one of the hounds and not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or
Mr. Lestrade will answer for that. Go onthough. What did
you do next?"

Rance resumed his seatwithout however losing his mystified
expression. "I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle.
That brought Murcher and two more to the spot."

Was the street empty then?

Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any good goes.

What do you mean?

The constable's features broadened into a grin. "I've seen

many a drunk chap in my time he said, but never anyone so
cryin' drunk as that cove. He was at the gate when I came
outa-leanin' up agin the railingsand a-singin' at the
pitch o' his lungs about Columbine's New-fangled Banneror
some such stuff. He couldn't standfar less help."

What sort of a man was he?asked Sherlock Holmes.

John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression.
He was an uncommon drunk sort o' man,he said. "He'd ha'
found hisself in the station if we hadn't been so took up."

His face -- his dress -- didn't you notice them?Holmes
broke in impatiently.

I should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop
him up -- me and Murcher between us. He was a long chap,
with a red face, the lower part muffled round ----

That will do,cried Holmes. "What became of him?"

We'd enough to do without lookin' after him,the policeman
saidin an aggrieved voice. "I'll wager he found his way
home all right."

How was he dressed?

A brown overcoat.

Had he a whip in his hand?

A whip -- no.

He must have left it behind,muttered my companion.
You didn't happen to see or hear a cab after that?


There's a half-sovereign for you,my companion said
standing up and taking his hat. "I am afraidRancethat
you will never rise in the force. That head of yours should
be for use as well as ornament. You might have gained your
sergeant's stripes last night. The man whom you held in your
hands is the man who holds the clue of this mysteryand whom
we are seeking. There is no use of arguing about it now;
I tell you that it is so. Come alongDoctor."

We started off for the cab togetherleaving our informant
incredulousbut obviously uncomfortable.

The blundering fool,Holmes saidbitterlyas we drove
back to our lodgings. "Just to think of his having such an
incomparable bit of good luckand not taking advantage of it."

I am rather in the dark still. It is true that the
description of this man tallies with your idea of the second
party in this mystery. But why should he come back to the
house after leaving it? That is not the way of criminals.

The ring, man, the ring: that was what he came back for.
If we have no other way of catching him, we can always bait
our line with the ring. I shall have him, Doctor -- I'll lay
you two to one that I have him. I must thank you for it all.
I might not have gone but for you, and so have missed the

finest study I ever came across: a study in scarlet, eh?
Why shouldn't we use a little art jargon. There's the
scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein
of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and
expose every inch of it. And now for lunch, and then for
Norman Neruda. Her attack and her bowing are splendid.
What's that little thing of Chopin's she plays so
magnificently: Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay.

Leaning back in the cabthis amateur bloodhound carolled
away like a lark while I meditated upon the many-sidedness
of the human mind.



OUR morning's exertions had been too much for my weak health
and I was tired out in the afternoon. After Holmes'
departure for the concertI lay down upon the sofa and
endeavoured to get a couple of hours' sleep. It was a
useless attempt. My mind had been too much excited by all
that had occurredand the strangest fancies and surmises
crowded into it. Every time that I closed my eyes I saw
before me the distorted baboon-like countenance of the
murdered man. So sinister was the impression which that face
had produced upon me that I found it difficult to feel
anything but gratitude for him who had removed its owner from
the world. If ever human features bespoke vice of the most
malignant typethey were certainly those of Enoch J. Drebber
of Cleveland. Still I recognized that justice must be done
and that the depravity of the victim was no condonment {11} in
the eyes of the law.

The more I thought of it the more extraordinary did my
companion's hypothesisthat the man had been poisoned
appear. I remembered how he had sniffed his lipsand had no
doubt that he had detected something which had given rise to
the idea. Thenagainif not poisonwhat had caused the
man's deathsince there was neither wound nor marks of
strangulation? Buton the other handwhose blood was that
which lay so thickly upon the floor? There were no signs of
a strugglenor had the victim any weapon with which he might
have wounded an antagonist. As long as all these questions
were unsolvedI felt that sleep would be no easy matter
either for Holmes or myself. His quiet self-confident manner
convinced me that he had already formed a theory which
explained all the factsthough what it was I could not for
an instant conjecture.

He was very late in returning -- so latethat I knew
that the concert could not have detained him all the time.
Dinner was on the table before he appeared.

It was magnificent,he saidas he took his seat. "Do you
remember what Darwin says about music? He claims that the
power of producing and appreciating it existed among the
human race long before the power of speech was arrived at.
Perhaps that is why we are so subtly influenced by it.
There are vague memories in our souls of those misty centuries
when the world was in its childhood."

That's rather a broad idea,I remarked.

One's ideas must be as broad as Nature if they are to
interpret Nature,he answered. "What's the matter?
You're not looking quite yourself. This Brixton Road affair
has upset you."

To tell the truth, it has,I said. "I ought to be more
case-hardened after my Afghan experiences. I saw my own
comrades hacked to pieces at Maiwand without losing my

I can understand. There is a mystery about this which
stimulates the imagination; where there is no imagination
there is no horror. Have you seen the evening paper?


It gives a fairly good account of the affair. It does not
mention the fact that when the man was raised up, a woman's
wedding ring fell upon the floor. It is just as well it does not.


Look at this advertisement,he answered. "I had one sent
to every paper this morning immediately after the affair."

He threw the paper across to me and I glanced at the place
indicated. It was the first announcement in the "Found" column.
In Brixton Road, this morning,it rana plain gold wedding
ring, found in the roadway between the `White Hart' Tavern
and Holland Grove. Apply Dr. Watson, 221B, Baker Street,
between eight and nine this evening.

Excuse my using your name,he said. "If I used my own some
of these dunderheads would recognize itand want to meddle
in the affair."

That is all right,I answered. "But supposing anyone
appliesI have no ring."

Oh yes, you have,said hehanding me one. "This will do
very well. It is almost a facsimile."

And who do you expect will answer this advertisement.

Why, the man in the brown coat -- our florid friend with the
square toes. If he does not come himself he will send an

Would he not consider it as too dangerous?

Not at all. If my view of the case is correct, and I have
every reason to believe that it is, this man would rather
risk anything than lose the ring. According to my notion he
dropped it while stooping over Drebber's body, and did not
miss it at the time. After leaving the house he discovered
his loss and hurried back, but found the police already in
possession, owing to his own folly in leaving the candle
burning. He had to pretend to be drunk in order to allay the
suspicions which might have been aroused by his appearance at
the gate. Now put yourself in that man's place. On thinking
the matter over, it must have occurred to him that it was

possible that he had lost the ring in the road after leaving
the house. What would he do, then? He would eagerly look
out for the evening papers in the hope of seeing it among the
articles found. His eye, of course, would light upon this.
He would be overjoyed. Why should he fear a trap?
There would be no reason in his eyes why the finding of the
ring should be connected with the murder. He would come.
He will come. You shall see him within an hour?

And then?I asked.

Oh, you can leave me to deal with him then. Have you any arms?

I have my old service revolver and a few cartridges.

You had better clean it and load it. He will be a desperate
man, and though I shall take him unawares, it is as well to
be ready for anything.

I went to my bedroom and followed his advice. When I
returned with the pistol the table had been clearedand
Holmes was engaged in his favourite occupation of scraping
upon his violin.

The plot thickens,he saidas I entered; "I have just had
an answer to my American telegram. My view of the case is
the correct one."

And that is?I asked eagerly.

My fiddle would be the better for new strings,he remarked.
Put your pistol in your pocket. When the fellow comes speak
to him in an ordinary way. Leave the rest to me.
Don't frighten him by looking at him too hard.

It is eight o'clock now,I saidglancing at my watch.

Yes. He will probably be here in a few minutes. Open the
door slightly. That will do. Now put the key on the inside.
Thank you! This is a queer old book I picked up at a stall
yesterday -- `De Jure inter Gentes' -- published in Latin at
Liege in the Lowlands, in 1642. Charles' head was still firm
on his shoulders when this little brown-backed volume was
struck off.

Who is the printer?

Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have been. On the fly-leaf,
in very faded ink, is written `Ex libris Guliolmi Whyte.'
I wonder who William Whyte was. Some pragmatical seventeenth
century lawyer, I suppose. His writing has a legal twist
about it. Here comes our man, I think.

As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. Sherlock Holmes
rose softly and moved his chair in the direction of the door.
We heard the servant pass along the halland the sharp click
of the latch as she opened it.

Does Dr. Watson live here?asked a clear but rather harsh
voice. We could not hear the servant's replybut the door
closedand some one began to ascend the stairs.
The footfall was an uncertain and shuffling one. A look of
surprise passed over the face of my companion as he listened
to it. It came slowly along the passageand there was a

feeble tap at the door.

Come in,I cried.

At my summonsinstead of the man of violence whom we
expecteda very old and wrinkled woman hobbled into the
apartment. She appeared to be dazzled by the sudden blaze of
lightand after dropping a curtseyshe stood blinking at us
with her bleared eyes and fumbling in her pocket with nervous
shaky fingers. I glanced at my companionand his face had
assumed such a disconsolate expression that it was all I could
do to keep my countenance.

The old crone drew out an evening paperand pointed at our
advertisement. "It's this as has brought megood gentlemen
she said, dropping another curtsey; a gold wedding ring in the
Brixton Road. It belongs to my girl Sallyas was married only
this time twelvemonthwhich her husband is steward aboard
a Union boatand what he'd say if he come 'ome and found her
without her ring is more than I can thinkhe being short enough
at the best o' timesbut more especially when he has the drink.
If it please youshe went to the circus last night along with ----"

Is that her ring?I asked.

The Lord be thanked!cried the old woman; "Sally will be a
glad woman this night. That's the ring."

And what may your address be?I inquiredtaking up a pencil.

13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A weary way from here.

The Brixton Road does not lie between any circus and
Houndsditch,said Sherlock Holmes sharply.

The old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from her little
red-rimmed eyes. "The gentleman asked me for _my_ address she
said. Sally lives in lodgings at 3Mayfield PlacePeckham."

And your name is ----?

My name is Sawyer -- her's is Dennis, which Tom Dennis married
her -- and a smart, clean lad, too, as long as he's at sea,
and no steward in the company more thought of; but when on shore,
what with the women and what with liquor shops ----

Here is your ring, Mrs. Sawyer,I interruptedin obedience
to a sign from my companion; "it clearly belongs to your daughter
and I am glad to be able to restore it to the rightful owner."

With many mumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude
the old crone packed it away in her pocketand shuffled off
down the stairs. Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet the
moment that she was gone and rushed into his room.
He returned in a few seconds enveloped in an ulster and a
cravat. "I'll follow her he said, hurriedly; she must be
an accompliceand will lead me to him. Wait up for me."
The hall door had hardly slammed behind our visitor before
Holmes had descended the stair. Looking through the window
I could see her walking feebly along the other sidewhile her
pursuer dogged her some little distance behind. "Either his
whole theory is incorrect I thought to myself, or else he
will be led now to the heart of the mystery." There was no
need for him to ask me to wait up for himfor I felt that

sleep was impossible until I heard the result of his adventure.

It was close upon nine when he set out. I had no idea how
long he might bebut I sat stolidly puffing at my pipe and
skipping over the pages of Henri Murger's "Vie de Boheme." {12}
Ten o'clock passedand I heard the footsteps of the maid as
they pattered off to bed. Elevenand the more stately tread
of the landlady passed my doorbound for the same destination.
It was close upon twelve before I heard the sharp sound of his
latch-key. The instant he entered I saw by his face that he
had not been successful. Amusement and chagrin seemed to be
struggling for the masteryuntil the former suddenly carried
the dayand he burst into a hearty laugh.

I wouldn't have the Scotland Yarders know it for the world,
he crieddropping into his chair; "I have chaffed them so
much that they would never have let me hear the end of it.
I can afford to laughbecause I know that I will be even with
them in the long run."

What is it then?I asked.

Oh, I don't mind telling a story against myself. That
creature had gone a little way when she began to limp and
show every sign of being foot-sore. Presently she came to a
halt, and hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. I managed
to be close to her so as to hear the address, but I need not
have been so anxious, for she sang it out loud enough to be
heard at the other side of the street, `Drive to 13, Duncan
Street, Houndsditch,' she cried. This begins to look
genuine, I thought, and having seen her safely inside,
I perched myself behind. That's an art which every detective
should be an expert at. Well, away we rattled, and never
drew rein until we reached the street in question. I hopped
off before we came to the door, and strolled down the street
in an easy, lounging way. I saw the cab pull up. The driver
jumped down, and I saw him open the door and stand
expectantly. Nothing came out though. When I reached him he
was groping about frantically in the empty cab, and giving
vent to the finest assorted collection of oaths that ever
I listened to. There was no sign or trace of his passenger,
and I fear it will be some time before he gets his fare.
On inquiring at Number 13 we found that the house belonged to
a respectable paperhanger, named Keswick, and that no one of
the name either of Sawyer or Dennis had ever been heard of

You don't mean to say,I criedin amazementthat that
tottering, feeble old woman was able to get out of the cab
while it was in motion, without either you or the driver
seeing her?

Old woman be damned!said Sherlock Holmessharply.
We were the old women to be so taken in. It must have been
a young man, and an active one, too, besides being an
incomparable actor. The get-up was inimitable. He saw that
he was followed, no doubt, and used this means of giving me
the slip. It shows that the man we are after is not as
lonely as I imagined he was, but has friends who are ready to
risk something for him. Now, Doctor, you are looking done-up.
Take my advice and turn in.

I was certainly feeling very wearyso I obeyed his injunction.
I left Holmes seated in front of the smouldering fireand long

into the watches of the night I heard the lowmelancholy
wailings of his violinand knew that he was still pondering
over the strange problem which he had set himself to unravel.



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

The _Daily Telegraph_ remarked that in the history of crime
there had seldom been a tragedy which presented stranger
features. The German name of the victim, the absence of
all other motive, and the sinister inscription on the wall,
all pointed to its perpetration by political refugees and
revolutionists. The Socialists had many branches in America,
and the deceased had, no doubt, infringed their unwritten
laws, and been tracked down by them. After alluding airily
to the Vehmgericht, aqua tofana, Carbonari, the Marchioness
de Brinvilliers, the Darwinian theory, the principles of
Malthus, and the Ratcliff Highway murders, the article
concluded by admonishing the Government and advocating
a closer watch over foreigners in England.

The _Standard_ commented upon the fact that lawless outrages
of the sort usually occurred under a Liberal Administration.
They arose from the unsettling of the minds of the masses,
and the consequent weakening of all authority. The deceased
was an American gentleman who had been residing for some
weeks in the Metropolis. He had stayed at the boarding-house
of Madame Charpentier, in Torquay Terrace, Camberwell.
He was accompanied in his travels by his private secretary,
Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The two bade adieu to their landlady
upon Tuesday, the 4th inst., and departed to Euston Station
with the avowed intention of catching the Liverpool express.
They were afterwards seen together upon the platform.
Nothing more is known of them until Mr. Drebber's body was,
as recorded, discovered in an empty house in the Brixton Road,
many miles from Euston. How he came there, or how he met his
fate, are questions which are still involved in mystery.
Nothing is known of the whereabouts of Stangerson. We are
glad to learn that Mr. Lestrade and Mr. Gregson, of Scotland
Yard, are both engaged upon the case, and it is confidently
anticipated that these well-known officers will speedily
throw light upon the matter.

The _Daily News_ observed that there was no doubt as to the
crime being a political one. The despotism and hatred of
Liberalism which animated the Continental Governments had had
the effect of driving to our shores a number of men who might
have made excellent citizens were they not soured by the
recollection of all that they had undergone. Among these men
there was a stringent code of honour, any infringement of
which was punished by death. Every effort should be made to
find the secretary, Stangerson, and to ascertain some
particulars of the habits of the deceased. A great step had

been gained by the discovery of the address of the house at
which he had boarded -- a result which was entirely due to
the acuteness and energy of Mr. Gregson of Scotland Yard.

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

I told you thatwhatever happenedLestrade and Gregson
would be sure to score."

That depends on how it turns out.

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

What on earth is this?I criedfor at this moment there
came the pattering of many steps in the hall and on the
stairsaccompanied by audible expressions of disgust upon
the part of our landlady.

It's the Baker Street division of the detective police
force,said my companiongravely; and as he spoke there
rushed into the room half a dozen of the dirtiest and most
ragged street Arabs that ever I clapped eyes on.

'Tention!cried Holmesin a sharp toneand the six dirty
little scoundrels stood in a line like so many disreputable
statuettes. "In future you shall send up Wiggins alone to
reportand the rest of you must wait in the street.
Have you found itWiggins?"

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

I hardly expected you would. You must keep on until you do.
Here are your wages. {13} He handed each of them a shilling.
Nowoff you goand come back with a better report next time."

He waved his handand they scampered away downstairs like so
many ratsand we heard their shrill voices next moment in
the street.

There's more work to be got out of one of those little
beggars than out of a dozen of the force,Holmes remarked.
The mere sight of an official-looking person seals men's
lips. These youngsters, however, go everywhere and hear
everything. They are as sharp as needles, too; all they want
is organisation.

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

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

There was a violent peal at the belland in a few seconds
the fair-haired detective came up the stairsthree steps
at a timeand burst into our sitting-room.

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

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

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

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

And his name is?

Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in Her Majesty's navy,
cried Gregsonpompouslyrubbing his fat hands and inflating
his chest.

Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of reliefand relaxed into a smile.

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

I don't mind if I do,the detective answered.
The tremendous exertions which I have gone through during
the last day or two have worn me out. Not so much bodily
exertion, you understand, as the strain upon the mind.
You will appreciate that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for we are both

You do me too much honour,said Holmesgravely.
Let us hear how you arrived at this most gratifying result.

The detective seated himself in the arm-chairand puffed
complacently at his cigar. Then suddenly he slapped his
thigh in a paroxysm of amusement.

The fun of it is,he criedthat that fool Lestrade,
who thinks himself so smart, has gone off upon the wrong track
altogether. He is after the secretary Stangerson, who had no
more to do with the crime than the babe unborn. I have no
doubt that he has caught him by this time.

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

And how did you get your clue?

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

Yes,said Holmes; "by John Underwood and Sons129
Camberwell Road."

Gregson looked quite crest-fallen.

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


Ha!cried Gregsonin a relieved voice; "you should never
neglect a chancehowever small it may seem."

To a great mind, nothing is little,remarked Holmes

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

Smart -- very smart!murmured Sherlock Holmes.

I next called upon Madame Charpentier,continued the
detective. "I found her very pale and distressed. Her
daughter was in the roomtoo -- an uncommonly fine girl she
istoo; she was looking red about the eyes and her lips
trembled as I spoke to her. That didn't escape my notice.
I began to smell a rat. You know the feelingMr. Sherlock
Holmeswhen you come upon the right scent -- a kind of
thrill in your nerves. `Have you heard of the mysterious
death of your late boarder Mr. Enoch J. Drebberof
Cleveland?' I asked.

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

`At what o'clock did Mr. Drebber leave your house for the
train?' I asked.

`At eight o'clock,' she said, gulping in her throat to keep
down her agitation. `His secretary, Mr. Stangerson, said
that there were two trains -- one at 9.15 and one at 11.
He was to catch the first. {14}

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

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

There was silence for a momentand then the daughter spoke
in a calm clear voice.

`No good can ever come of falsehood, mother,' she said.
`Let us be frank with this gentleman. We _did_ see Mr. Drebber

`God forgive you!' cried Madame Charpentierthrowing up her
hands and sinking back in her chair. `You have murdered your

`Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth,' the girl
answered firmly.

`You had best tell me all about it now' I said.
`Half-confidences are worse than none. Besidesyou do not
know how much we know of it.'

`On your head be it, Alice!' cried her mother; and then,

turning to me, `I will tell you all, sir. Do not imagine
that my agitation on behalf of my son arises from any fear
lest he should have had a hand in this terrible affair.
He is utterly innocent of it. My dread is, however, that in
your eyes and in the eyes of others he may appear to be
compromised. That however is surely impossible. His high
character, his profession, his antecedents would all forbid it.'

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

`Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us together,' she said,
and her daughter withdrew. `Now, sir,' she continued,
`I had no intention of telling you all this, but since my
poor daughter has disclosed it I have no alternative. Having
once decided to speak, I will tell you all without omitting
any particular.'

`It is your wisest course' said I.

`Mr. Drebber has been with us nearly three weeks. He and
his secretary, Mr. Stangerson, had been travelling on the
Continent. I noticed a Copenhagen" label upon each of their
trunksshowing that that had been their last stopping place.
Stangerson was a quiet reserved manbut his employerI am
sorry to saywas far otherwise. He was coarse in his habits
and brutish in his ways. The very night of his arrival he
became very much the worse for drinkandindeedafter
twelve o'clock in the day he could hardly ever be said to be
sober. His manners towards the maid-servants were
disgustingly free and familiar. Worst of allhe speedily
assumed the same attitude towards my daughterAliceand
spoke to her more than once in a way whichfortunatelyshe
is too innocent to understand. On one occasion he actually
seized her in his arms and embraced her -- an outrage which
caused his own secretary to reproach him for his unmanly conduct.'

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

Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. `Would
to God that I had given him notice on the very day that he
came' she said. `But it was a sore temptation. They were
paying a pound a day each -- fourteen pounds a weekand this
is the slack season. I am a widowand my boy in the Navy has
cost me much. I grudged to lose the money. I acted for the
best. This last was too muchhoweverand I gave him notice
to leave on account of it. That was the reason of his going.'


`My heart grew light when I saw him drive away. My son is
on leave just nowbut I did not tell him anything of all
thisfor his temper is violentand he is passionately fond
of his sister. When I closed the door behind them a load
seemed to be lifted from my mind. Alasin less than an hour
there was a ring at the belland I learned that Mr. Drebber
had returned. He was much excitedand evidently the worse
for drink. He forced his way into the roomwhere I was
sitting with my daughterand made some incoherent remark
about having missed his train. He then turned to Aliceand
before my very faceproposed to her that she should fly with
him. "You are of age he said, and there is no law to stop

you. I have money enough and to spare. Never mind the old
girl herebut come along with me now straight away. You
shall live like a princess." Poor Alice was so frightened
that she shrunk away from himbut he caught her by the wrist
and endeavoured to draw her towards the door. I screamed
and at that moment my son Arthur came into the room. What
happened then I do not know. I heard oaths and the confused
sounds of a scuffle. I was too terrified to raise my head.
When I did look up I saw Arthur standing in the doorway
laughingwith a stick in his hand. "I don't think that fine
fellow will trouble us again he said. I will just go
after him and see what he does with himself." With those
words he took his hat and started off down the street.
The next morning we heard of Mr. Drebber's mysterious death.'

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

It's quite exciting,said Sherlock Holmeswith a yawn.
What happened next?

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

`I do not know' she answered.

`Not know?'

`No; he has a latch-keyand he let himself in.'

`After you went to bed?'


`When did you go to bed?'

`About eleven.'

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


`Possibly four or five?'


`What was he doing during that time?'

`I do not know' she answeredturning white to her very lips.

Of course after that there was nothing more to be done.
I found out where Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers
with me, and arrested him. When I touched him on the
shoulder and warned him to come quietly with us, he answered
us as bold as brass, `I suppose you are arresting me for
being concerned in the death of that scoundrel Drebber,'
he said. We had said nothing to him about it, so that his
alluding to it had a most suspicious aspect.

Very,said Holmes.

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

What is your theory, then?

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

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

I flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly,
the detective answered proudly. "The young man volunteered a
statementin which he said that after following Drebber some
timethe latter perceived himand took a cab in order to
get away from him. On his way home he met an old shipmate
and took a long walk with him. On being asked where this old
shipmate livedhe was unable to give any satisfactory reply.
I think the whole case fits together uncommonly well. What
amuses me is to think of Lestradewho had started off upon
the wrong scent. I am afraid he won't make much of {15}
Whyby Jovehere's the very man himself!"

It was indeed Lestradewho had ascended the stairs while we
were talkingand who now entered the room. The assurance
and jauntiness which generally marked his demeanour and dress
werehoweverwanting. His face was disturbed and troubled
while his clothes were disarranged and untidy. He had
evidently come with the intention of consulting with Sherlock
Holmesfor on perceiving his colleague he appeared to be
embarrassed and put out. He stood in the centre of the room
fumbling nervously with his hat and uncertain what to do.
This is a most extraordinary case,he said at last --
a most incomprehensible affair.

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

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



THE intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so
momentous and so unexpectedthat we were all three fairly
dumfoundered. Gregson sprang out of his chair and upset the

remainder of his whiskey and water. I stared in silence at
Sherlock Holmeswhose lips were compressed and his brows
drawn down over his eyes.

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

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

Are you -- are you sure of this piece of intelligence?
stammered Gregson.

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

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

I have no objection,Lestrade answeredseating himself.
I freely confess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson
was concerned in the death of Drebber. This fresh
development has shown me that I was completely mistaken.
Full of the one idea, I set myself to find out what had
become of the Secretary. They had been seen together at
Euston Station about half-past eight on the evening of the
third. At two in the morning Drebber had been found in the
Brixton Road. The question which confronted me was to find
out how Stangerson had been employed between 8.30 and the
time of the crime, and what had become of him afterwards.
I telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description of the man,
and warning them to keep a watch upon the American boats.
I then set to work calling upon all the hotels and
lodging-houses in the vicinity of Euston. You see, I argued
that if Drebber and his companion had become separated,
the natural course for the latter would be to put up somewhere
in the vicinity for the night, and then to hang about the
station again next morning.

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

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

`No doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting'
they said. `He has been waiting for a gentleman for two days.'

`Where is he now?' I asked.

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

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

It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake his
nerves and lead him to say something unguarded. The Boots
volunteered to show me the room: it was on the second floor
and there was a small corridor leading up to it. The Boots
pointed out the door to meand was about to go downstairs

again when I saw something that made me feel sickishin
spite of my twenty years' experience. From under the door
there curled a little red ribbon of bloodwhich had
meandered across the passage and formed a little pool along
the skirting at the other side. I gave a crywhich brought
the Boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The door
was locked on the insidebut we put our shoulders to itand
knocked it in. The window of the room was openand beside
the windowall huddled uplay the body of a man in his
nightdress. He was quite deadand had been for some time
for his limbs were rigid and cold. When we turned him over
the Boots recognized him at once as being the same gentleman
who had engaged the room under the name of Joseph Stangerson.
The cause of death was a deep stab in the left sidewhich
must have penetrated the heart. And now comes the strangest
part of the affair. What do you suppose was above the
murdered man?"

I felt a creeping of the fleshand a presentiment of coming
horroreven before Sherlock Holmes answered.

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

That was it,said Lestradein an awe-struck voice;
and we were all silent for a while.

There was something so methodical and so incomprehensible
about the deeds of this unknown assassinthat it imparted a
fresh ghastliness to his crimes. My nerveswhich were steady
enough on the field of battle tingled as I thought of it.

The man was seen,continued Lestrade. "A milk boypassing
on his way to the dairyhappened to walk down the lane which
leads from the mews at the back of the hotel. He noticed
that a ladderwhich usually lay therewas raised against
one of the windows of the second floorwhich was wide open.
After passinghe looked back and saw a man descend the
ladder. He came down so quietly and openly that the boy
imagined him to be some carpenter or joiner at work in the
hotel. He took no particular notice of himbeyond thinking
in his own mind that it was early for him to be at work. He
has an impression that the man was tallhad a reddish face
and was dressed in a longbrownish coat. He must have
stayed in the room some little time after the murderfor we
found blood-stained water in the basinwhere he had washed
his handsand marks on the sheets where he had deliberately
wiped his knife."

I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the murderer
which tallied so exactly with his own. There washowever
no trace of exultation or satisfaction upon his face.

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

Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber's purse in his pocket,
but it seems that this was usual, as he did all the paying.
There was eighty odd pounds in it, but nothing had been
taken. Whatever the motives of these extraordinary crimes,
robbery is certainly not one of them. There were no papers
or memoranda in the murdered man's pocket, except a single
telegram, dated from Cleveland about a month ago, and
containing the words, `J. H. is in Europe.' There was no
name appended to this message.

And there was nothing else?Holmes asked.

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

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

The last link,he criedexultantly. "My case is complete."

The two detectives stared at him in amazement.

I have now in my hands,my companion saidconfidently
all the threads which have formed such a tangle. There are,
of course, details to be filled in, but I am as certain of
all the main facts, from the time that Drebber parted from
Stangerson at the station, up to the discovery of the body of
the latter, as if I had seen them with my own eyes. I will
give you a proof of my knowledge. Could you lay your hand
upon those pills?

I have them,said Lestradeproducing a small white box;
I took them and the purse and the telegram, intending to have
them put in a place of safety at the Police Station. It was
the merest chance my taking these pills, for I am bound to
say that I do not attach any importance to them.

Give them here,said Holmes. "NowDoctor turning to me,
are those ordinary pills?"

They certainly were not. They were of a pearly grey colour
smallroundand almost transparent against the light.
From their lightness and transparency, I should imagine that
they are soluble in water,I remarked.

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

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

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

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

Patience, my friend, patience! You will find in time that
it has everything to do with it. I shall now add a little

milk to make the mixture palatable, and on presenting it to
the dog we find that he laps it up readily enough.

As he spoke he turned the contents of the wine glass into a
saucer and placed it in front of the terrierwho speedily
licked it dry. Sherlock Holmes' earnest demeanour had so far
convinced us that we all sat in silencewatching the animal
intentlyand expecting some startling effect. None such
appearedhowever. The dog continued to lie stretched upon
tho {16} cushionbreathing in a laboured waybut apparently
neither the better nor the worse for its draught.

Holmes had taken out his watchand as minute followed minute
without resultan expression of the utmost chagrin and
disappointment appeared upon his features. He gnawed his lip
drummed his fingers upon the tableand showed every
other symptom of acute impatience. So great was his emotion
that I felt sincerely sorry for himwhile the two detectives
smiled derisivelyby no means displeased at this check which
he had met.

It can't be a coincidence,he criedat last springing from
his chair and pacing wildly up and down the room; "it is
impossible that it should be a mere coincidence. The very
pills which I suspected in the case of Drebber are actually
found after the death of Stangerson. And yet they are inert.
What can it mean? Surely my whole chain of reasoning cannot
have been false. It is impossible! And yet this wretched
dog is none the worse. AhI have it! I have it!" With a
perfect shriek of delight he rushed to the boxcut the other
pill in twodissolved itadded milkand presented it to
the terrier. The unfortunate creature's tongue seemed hardly
to have been moistened in it before it gave a convulsive
shiver in every limband lay as rigid and lifeless as if it
had been struck by lightning.

Sherlock Holmes drew a long breathand wiped the
perspiration from his forehead. "I should have more faith
he said; I ought to know by this time that when a fact
appears to be opposed to a long train of deductions
it invariably proves to be capable of bearing some other
interpretation. Of the two pills in that box one was of the
most deadly poisonand the other was entirely harmless.
I ought to have known that before ever I saw the box at all."

This last statement appeared to me to be so startling
that I could hardly believe that he was in his sober senses.
There was the dead doghoweverto prove that his conjecture
had been correct. It seemed to me that the mists in my own
mind were gradually clearing awayand I began to have a dim
vague perception of the truth.

All this seems strange to you,continued Holmes
because you failed at the beginning of the inquiry to grasp
the importance of the single real clue which was presented
to you. I had the good fortune to seize upon that, and
everything which has occurred since then has served to
confirm my original supposition, and, indeed, was the logical
sequence of it. Hence things which have perplexed you and
made the case more obscure, have served to enlighten me and
to strengthen my conclusions. It is a mistake to confound
strangeness with mystery. The most commonplace crime is
often the most mysterious because it presents no new or
special features from which deductions may be drawn.

This murder would have been infinitely more difficult to
unravel had the body of the victim been simply found lying
in the roadway without any of those _outre_ {17} and sensational
accompaniments which have rendered it remarkable. These
strange details, far from making the case more difficult,
have really had the effect of making it less so.

Mr. Gregsonwho had listened to this address with
considerable impatiencecould contain himself no longer.
Look here, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,he saidwe are all ready
to acknowledge that you are a smart man, and that you have
your own methods of working. We want something more than
mere theory and preaching now, though. It is a case of
taking the man. I have made my case out, and it seems I was
wrong. Young Charpentier could not have been engaged in this
second affair. Lestrade went after his man, Stangerson, and
it appears that he was wrong too. You have thrown out hints
here, and hints there, and seem to know more than we do, but
the time has come when we feel that we have a right to ask
you straight how much you do know of the business. Can you
name the man who did it?

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

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

Thus pressed by us allHolmes showed signs of irresolution.
He continued to walk up and down the room with his head sunk
on his chest and his brows drawn downas was his habit when
lost in thought.

There will be no more murders,he said at laststopping
abruptly and facing us. "You can put that consideration out
of the question. You have asked me if I know the name of the
assassin. I do. The mere knowing of his name is a small
thinghowevercompared with the power of laying our hands
upon him. This I expect very shortly to do. I have good
hopes of managing it through my own arrangements; but it is a
thing which needs delicate handlingfor we have a shrewd and
desperate man to deal withwho is supportedas I have had
occasion to proveby another who is as clever as himself.
As long as this man has no idea that anyone can have a clue
there is some chance of securing him; but if he had the
slightest suspicionhe would change his nameand vanish in
an instant among the four million inhabitants of this great
city. Without meaning to hurt either of your feelingsI am
bound to say that I consider these men to be more than a
match for the official forceand that is why I have not
asked your assistance. If I fail I shallof courseincur
all the blame due to this omission; but that I am prepared
for. At present I am ready to promise that the instant that
I can communicate with you without endangering my own
combinationsI shall do so."

Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be far from satisfied by this
assuranceor by the depreciating allusion to the detective
police. The former had flushed up to the roots of his flaxen
hairwhile the other's beady eyes glistened with curiosity
and resentment. Neither of them had time to speakhowever

before there was a tap at the doorand the spokesman of the
street Arabsyoung Wigginsintroduced his insignificant and
unsavoury person.

Please, sir,he saidtouching his forelockI have the
cab downstairs.

Good boy,said Holmesblandly. "Why don't you introduce
this pattern at Scotland Yard?" he continuedtaking a pair
of steel handcuffs from a drawer. "See how beautifully the
spring works. They fasten in an instant."

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

Very good, very good,said Holmessmiling. "The cabman may
as well help me with my boxes. Just ask him to step upWiggins."

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

Just give me a help with this buckle, cabman,he said
kneeling over his taskand never turning his head.

The fellow came forward with a somewhat sullendefiant air
and put down his hands to assist. At that instant there was
a sharp clickthe jangling of metaland Sherlock Holmes
sprang to his feet again.

Gentlemen,he criedwith flashing eyeslet me introduce
you to Mr. Jefferson Hope, the murderer of Enoch Drebber and
of Joseph Stangerson.

The whole thing occurred in a moment -- so quickly that I had
no time to realize it. I have a vivid recollection of that
instantof Holmes' triumphant expression and the ring of his
voiceof the cabman's dazedsavage faceas he glared at
the glittering handcuffswhich had appeared as if by magic
upon his wrists. For a second or two we might have been a
group of statues. Thenwith an inarticulate roar of fury
the prisoner wrenched himself free from Holmes's graspand
hurled himself through the window. Woodwork and glass gave
way before him; but before he got quite throughGregson
Lestradeand Holmes sprang upon him like so many staghounds.
He was dragged back into the roomand then commenced a
terrific conflict. So powerful and so fierce was hethat
the four of us were shaken off again and again. He appeared
to have the convulsive strength of a man in an epileptic fit.
His face and hands were terribly mangled by his passage
through the glassbut loss of blood had no effect in
diminishing his resistance. It was not until Lestrade
succeeded in getting his hand inside his neckcloth and
half-strangling him that we made him realize that his struggles
were of no avail; and even then we felt no security until we
had pinioned his feet as well as his hands. That done
we rose to our feet breathless and panting.

We have his cab,said Sherlock Holmes. "It will serve
to take him to Scotland Yard. And nowgentlemen
he continued, with a pleasant smile, we have reached
the end of our little mystery. You are very welcome to put

any questions that you like to me nowand there is no danger
that I will refuse to answer them."


_The Country of the Saints._



IN the central portion of the great North American Continent
there lies an arid and repulsive desertwhich for many a
long year served as a barrier against the advance of
civilisation. From the Sierra Nevada to Nebraskaand from
the Yellowstone River in the north to the Colorado upon the
southis a region of desolation and silence.
Nor is Nature always in one mood throughout this grim district.
It comprises snow-capped and lofty mountainsand dark and
gloomy valleys. There are swift-flowing rivers which dash
through jagged canons; {18} and there are enormous plainswhich
in winter are white with snowand in summer are grey with
the saline alkali dust. They all preservehowever
the common characteristics of barrennessinhospitality
and misery.

There are no inhabitants of this land of despair. A band of
Pawnees or of Blackfeet may occasionally traverse it in order
to reach other hunting-groundsbut the hardiest of the
braves are glad to lose sight of those awesome plainsand to
find themselves once more upon their prairies. The coyote
skulks among the scrubthe buzzard flaps heavily through the
airand the clumsy grizzly bear lumbers through the dark
ravinesand picks up such sustenance as it can amongst the
rocks. These are the sole dwellers in the wilderness.

In the whole world there can be no more dreary view than that
from the northern slope of the Sierra Blanco. As far as the
eye can reach stretches the great flat plain-landall dusted
over with patches of alkaliand intersected by clumps of the
dwarfish chaparral bushes. On the extreme verge of the
horizon lie a long chain of mountain peakswith their rugged
summits flecked with snow. In this great stretch of country
there is no sign of lifenor of anything appertaining to
life. There is no bird in the steel-blue heavenno movement
upon the dullgrey earth -- above allthere is absolute
silence. Listen as one maythere is no shadow of a sound in
all that mighty wilderness; nothing but silence -- complete
and heart-subduing silence.

It has been said there is nothing appertaining to life upon
the broad plain. That is hardly true. Looking down from the
Sierra Blancoone sees a pathway traced out across the
desertwhich winds away and is lost in the extreme distance.
It is rutted with wheels and trodden down by the feet of many
adventurers. Here and there there are scattered white
objects which glisten in the sunand stand out against the
dull deposit of alkali. Approachand examine them! They
are bones: some large and coarseothers smaller and more

delicate. The former have belonged to oxenand the latter
to men. For fifteen hundred miles one may trace this ghastly
caravan route by these scattered remains of those who had
fallen by the wayside.

Looking down on this very scenethere stood upon the fourth
of Mayeighteen hundred and forty-sevena solitary
traveller. His appearance was such that he might have been
the very genius or demon of the region. An observer would
have found it difficult to say whether he was nearer to forty
or to sixty. His face was lean and haggardand the brown
parchment-like skin was drawn tightly over the projecting
bones; his longbrown hair and beard were all flecked and
dashed with white; his eyes were sunken in his headand
burned with an unnatural lustre; while the hand which grasped
his rifle was hardly more fleshy than that of a skeleton.
As he stoodhe leaned upon his weapon for supportand yet his
tall figure and the massive framework of his bones suggested
a wiry and vigorous constitution. His gaunt facehowever
and his clotheswhich hung so baggily over his shrivelled
limbsproclaimed what it was that gave him that senile and
decrepit appearance. The man was dying -- dying from hunger
and from thirst.

He had toiled painfully down the ravineand on to this
little elevationin the vain hope of seeing some signs of
water. Now the great salt plain stretched before his eyes
and the distant belt of savage mountainswithout a sign
anywhere of plant or treewhich might indicate the presence
of moisture. In all that broad landscape there was no gleam
of hope. Northand eastand west he looked with wild
questioning eyesand then he realised that his wanderings
had come to an endand that thereon that barren crag
he was about to die. "Why not hereas well as in a feather
bedtwenty years hence he muttered, as he seated himself
in the shelter of a boulder.

Before sitting down, he had deposited upon the ground his
useless rifle, and also a large bundle tied up in a grey
shawl, which he had carried slung over his right shoulder.
It appeared to be somewhat too heavy for his strength, for
in lowering it, it came down on the ground with some little
violence. Instantly there broke from the grey parcel a
little moaning cry, and from it there protruded a small,
scared face, with very bright brown eyes, and two little
speckled, dimpled fists.

You've hurt me!" said a childish voice reproachfully.

Have I though,the man answered penitentlyI didn't go
for to do it.As he spoke he unwrapped the grey shawl and
extricated a pretty little girl of about five years of age
whose dainty shoes and smart pink frock with its little linen
apron all bespoke a mother's care. The child was pale and
wanbut her healthy arms and legs showed that she had
suffered less than her companion.

How is it now?he answered anxiouslyfor she was still rubbing
the towsy golden curls which covered the back of her head.

Kiss it and make it well,she saidwith perfect gravity
shoving {19} the injured part up to him. "That's what mother
used to do. Where's mother?"

Mother's gone. I guess you'll see her before long.

Gone, eh!said the little girl. "Funnyshe didn't say
good-bye; she 'most always did if she was just goin' over
to Auntie's for teaand now she's been away three days.
Sayit's awful dryain't it? Ain't there no water
nor nothing to eat?"

No, there ain't nothing, dearie. You'll just need to be
patient awhile, and then you'll be all right. Put your head
up agin me like that, and then you'll feel bullier. It ain't
easy to talk when your lips is like leather, but I guess I'd
best let you know how the cards lie. What's that you've got?

Pretty things! fine things!cried the little girl
enthusiasticallyholding up two glittering fragments of mica.
When we goes back to home I'll give them to brother Bob.

You'll see prettier things than them soon,said the man
confidently. "You just wait a bit. I was going to tell you
though -- you remember when we left the river?"

Oh, yes.

Well, we reckoned we'd strike another river soon, d'ye see.
But there was somethin' wrong; compasses, or map, or somethin',
and it didn't turn up. Water ran out. Just except a little
drop for the likes of you and -- and ----

And you couldn't wash yourself,interrupted his companion
gravelystaring up at his grimy visage.

No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he was the fust to go,
and then Indian Pete, and then Mrs. McGregor, and then
Johnny Hones, and then, dearie, your mother.

Then mother's a deader too,cried the little girl dropping
her face in her pinafore and sobbing bitterly.

Yes, they all went except you and me. Then I thought there
was some chance of water in this direction, so I heaved you
over my shoulder and we tramped it together. It don't seem
as though we've improved matters. There's an almighty small
chance for us now!

Do you mean that we are going to die too?asked the child
checking her sobsand raising her tear-stained face.

I guess that's about the size of it.

Why didn't you say so before?she saidlaughing gleefully.
You gave me such a fright. Why, of course, now as long as
we die we'll be with mother again.

Yes, you will, dearie.

And you too. I'll tell her how awful good you've been.
I'll bet she meets us at the door of Heaven with a big
pitcher of water, and a lot of buckwheat cakes, hot,
and toasted on both sides, like Bob and me was fond of.
How long will it be first?

I don't know -- not very long.The man's eyes were fixed
upon the northern horizon. In the blue vault of the heaven

there had appeared three little specks which increased in
size every momentso rapidly did they approach. They
speedily resolved themselves into three large brown birds
which circled over the heads of the two wanderersand then
settled upon some rocks which overlooked them. They were
buzzardsthe vultures of the westwhose coming is the
forerunner of death.

Cocks and hens,cried the little girl gleefullypointing
at their ill-omened formsand clapping her hands to make
them rise. "Saydid God make this country?"

In course He did,said her companionrather startled by
this unexpected question.

He made the country down in Illinois, and He made the Missouri,
the little girl continued. "I guess somebody else made the
country in these parts. It's not nearly so well done.
They forgot the water and the trees."

What would ye think of offering up prayer?the man asked

It ain't night yet,she answered.

It don't matter. It ain't quite regular, but He won't mind
that, you bet. You say over them ones that you used to say
every night in the waggon when we was on the Plains.

Why don't you say some yourself?the child asked
with wondering eyes.

I disremember them,he answered. "I hain't said none since
I was half the height o' that gun. I guess it's never too late.
You say them outand I'll stand by and come in on the choruses."

Then you'll need to kneel down, and me too,she said
laying the shawl out for that purpose. "You've got to put
your hands up like this. It makes you feel kind o' good."

It was a strange sight had there been anything but the
buzzards to see it. Side by side on the narrow shawl knelt
the two wanderersthe little prattling child and the
recklesshardened adventurer. Her chubby faceand his
haggardangular visage were both turned up to the cloudless
heaven in heartfelt entreaty to that dread being with whom
they were face to facewhile the two voices -- the one thin
and clearthe other deep and harsh -- united in the entreaty
for mercy and forgiveness. The prayer finishedthey resumed
their seat in the shadow of the boulder until the child fell
asleepnestling upon the broad breast of her protector.
He watched over her slumber for some timebut Nature proved
to be too strong for him. For three days and three nights
he had allowed himself neither rest nor repose. Slowly the
eyelids drooped over the tired eyesand the head sunk lower
and lower upon the breastuntil the man's grizzled beard was
mixed with the gold tresses of his companionand both slept
the same deep and dreamless slumber.

Had the wanderer remained awake for another half hour a
strange sight would have met his eyes. Far away on the
extreme verge of the alkali plain there rose up a little
spray of dustvery slight at firstand hardly to be
distinguished from the mists of the distancebut gradually

growing higher and broader until it formed a solid
well-defined cloud. This cloud continued to increase in size
until it became evident that it could only be raised by a
great multitude of moving creatures. In more fertile spots
the observer would have come to the conclusion that one of
those great herds of bisons which graze upon the prairie land
was approaching him. This was obviously impossible in these
arid wilds. As the whirl of dust drew nearer to the solitary
bluff upon which the two castaways were reposingthe
canvas-covered tilts of waggons and the figures of armed
horsemen began to show up through the hazeand the apparition
revealed itself as being a great caravan upon its journey for
the West. But what a caravan! When the head of it had
reached the base of the mountainsthe rear was not yet
visible on the horizon. Right across the enormous plain
stretched the straggling arraywaggons and cartsmen on
horsebackand men on foot. Innumerable women who staggered
along under burdensand children who toddled beside the
waggons or peeped out from under the white coverings.
This was evidently no ordinary party of immigrantsbut rather
some nomad people who had been compelled from stress of
circumstances to seek themselves a new country. There rose
through the clear air a confused clattering and rumbling from
this great mass of humanitywith the creaking of wheels and
the neighing of horses. Loud as it wasit was not
sufficient to rouse the two tired wayfarers above them.

At the head of the column there rode a score or more of grave
ironfaced menclad in sombre homespun garments and armed
with rifles. On reaching the base of the bluff they halted
and held a short council among themselves.

The wells are to the right, my brothers,said one
a hard-lippedclean-shaven man with grizzly hair.

To the right of the Sierra Blanco -- so we shall reach the
Rio Grande,said another.

Fear not for water,cried a third. "He who could draw it
from the rocks will not now abandon His own chosen people."

Amen! Amen!responded the whole party.

They were about to resume their journey when one of the
youngest and keenest-eyed uttered an exclamation and pointed
up at the rugged crag above them. From its summit there
fluttered a little wisp of pinkshowing up hard and bright
against the grey rocks behind. At the sight there was a
general reining up of horses and unslinging of gunswhile
fresh horsemen came galloping up to reinforce the vanguard.
The word `Redskins' was on every lip.

There can't be any number of Injuns here,said the elderly
man who appeared to be in command. "We have passed the Pawnees
and there are no other tribes until we cross the great mountains."

Shall I go forward and see, Brother Stangerson,
asked one of the band.

And I,and I,cried a dozen voices.

Leave your horses below and we will await you here,
the Elder answered. In a moment the young fellows had
dismountedfastened their horsesand were ascending the

precipitous slope which led up to the object which had
excited their curiosity. They advanced rapidly and
noiselesslywith the confidence and dexterity of practised
scouts. The watchers from the plain below could see them
flit from rock to rock until their figures stood out against
the skyline. The young man who had first given the alarm was
leading them. Suddenly his followers saw him throw up his
handsas though overcome with astonishmentand on joining
him they were affected in the same way by the sight which met
their eyes.

On the little plateau which crowned the barren hill there
stood a single giant boulderand against this boulder there
lay a tall manlong-bearded and hard-featuredbut of an
excessive thinness. His placid face and regular breathing
showed that he was fast asleep. Beside him lay a little
childwith her round white arms encircling his brown sinewy
neckand her golden haired head resting upon the breast of
his velveteen tunic. Her rosy lips were partedshowing the
regular line of snow-white teeth withinand a playful smile
played over her infantile features. Her plump little white
legs terminating in white socks and neat shoes with shining
bucklesoffered a strange contrast to the long shrivelled
members of her companion. On the ledge of rock above this
strange couple there stood three solemn buzzardswho
at the sight of the new comers uttered raucous screams
of disappointment and flapped sullenly away.

The cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers who stared
about {20} them in bewilderment. The man staggered to his feet
and looked down upon the plain which had been so desolate
when sleep had overtaken himand which was now traversed by
this enormous body of men and of beasts. His face assumed an
expression of incredulity as he gazedand he passed his
boney hand over his eyes. "This is what they call delirium
I guess he muttered. The child stood beside him, holding
on to the skirt of his coat, and said nothing but looked all
round her with the wondering questioning gaze of childhood.

The rescuing party were speedily able to convince the two
castaways that their appearance was no delusion. One of them
seized the little girl, and hoisted her upon his shoulder,
while two others supported her gaunt companion, and assisted
him towards the waggons.

My name is John Ferrier the wanderer explained; me and
that little un are all that's left o' twenty-one people.
The rest is all dead o' thirst and hunger away down in the south."

Is she your child?asked someone.

I guess she is now,the other crieddefiantly;
she's mine 'cause I saved her. No man will take her from me.
She's Lucy Ferrier from this day on. Who are you, though?
he continuedglancing with curiosity at his stalwart
sunburned rescuers; "there seems to be a powerful lot of ye."

Nigh upon ten thousand,said one of the young men;
we are the persecuted children of God -- the chosen
of the Angel Merona.

I never heard tell on him,said the wanderer.
He appears to have chosen a fair crowd of ye.

Do not jest at that which is sacred,said the other
sternly. "We are of those who believe in those sacred
writingsdrawn in Egyptian letters on plates of beaten gold
which were handed unto the holy Joseph Smith at Palmyra.
We have come from Nauvooin the State of Illinoiswhere
we had founded our temple. We have come to seek a refuge
from the violent man and from the godlesseven though it
be the heart of the desert."

The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recollections to John
Ferrier. "I see he said, you are the Mormons."

We are the Mormons,answered his companions with one voice.

And where are you going?

We do not know. The hand of God is leading us under
the person of our Prophet. You must come before him.
He shall say what is to be done with you.

They had reached the base of the hill by this timeand were
surrounded by crowds of the pilgrims -- pale-faced meek-looking
womenstrong laughing childrenand anxious earnest-eyed men.
Many were the cries of astonishment and of commiseration which
arose from them when they perceived the youth of one of the
strangers and the destitution of the other. Their escort did
not halthoweverbut pushed onfollowed by a great crowd
of Mormonsuntil they reached a waggonwhich was conspicuous
for its great size and for the gaudiness and smartness of its
appearance. Six horses were yoked to itwhereas the others
were furnished with twoorat mostfour a-piece.
Beside the driver there sat a man who could not have been more
than thirty years of agebut whose massive head and resolute
expression marked him as a leader. He was reading a brown-backed
volumebut as the crowd approached he laid it aside
and listened attentively to an account of the episode.
Then he turned to the two castaways.

If we take you with us,he saidin solemn wordsit can
only be as believers in our own creed. We shall have no
wolves in our fold. Better far that your bones should bleach
in this wilderness than that you should prove to be that
little speck of decay which in time corrupts the whole fruit.
Will you come with us on these terms?

Guess I'll come with you on any terms,said Ferrier
with such emphasis that the grave Elders could not restrain
a smile. The leader alone retained his sternimpressive

Take him, Brother Stangerson,he saidgive him food and
drink, and the child likewise. Let it be your task also to
teach him our holy creed. We have delayed long enough.
Forward! On, on to Zion!

On, on to Zion!cried the crowd of Mormonsand the words
rippled down the long caravanpassing from mouth to mouth
until they died away in a dull murmur in the far distance.
With a cracking of whips and a creaking of wheels the great
waggons got into motionand soon the whole caravan was
winding along once more. The Elder to whose care the two
waifs had been committedled them to his waggonwhere a
meal was already awaiting them.

You shall remain here,he said. "In a few days you will
have recovered from your fatigues. In the meantimeremember
that now and for ever you are of our religion. Brigham Young
has said itand he has spoken with the voice of Joseph
Smithwhich is the voice of God."



THIS is not the place to commemorate the trials and
privations endured by the immigrant Mormons before they came
to their final haven. From the shores of the Mississippi to
the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains they had struggled
on with a constancy almost unparalleled in history. The
savage manand the savage beasthungerthirstfatigue
and disease -- every impediment which Nature could place in
the wayhad all been overcome with Anglo-Saxon tenacity.
Yet the long journey and the accumulated terrors had shaken
the hearts of the stoutest among them. There was not one who
did not sink upon his knees in heartfelt prayer when they saw
the broad valley of Utah bathed in the sunlight beneath them
and learned from the lips of their leader that this was the
promised landand that these virgin acres were to be theirs
for evermore.

Young speedily proved himself to be a skilful administrator
as well as a resolute chief. Maps were drawn and charts
preparedin which the future city was sketched out. All
around farms were apportioned and allotted in proportion to
the standing of each individual. The tradesman was put to
his trade and the artisan to his calling. In the town
streets and squares sprang upas if by magic. In the
country there was draining and hedgingplanting and
clearinguntil the next summer saw the whole country golden
with the wheat crop. Everything prospered in the strange
settlement. Above allthe great temple which they had
erected in the centre of the city grew ever taller and
larger. From the first blush of dawn until the closing of
the twilightthe clatter of the hammer and the rasp of the
saw was never absent from the monument which the immigrants
erected to Him who had led them safe through many dangers.

The two castawaysJohn Ferrier and the little girl who had
shared his fortunes and had been adopted as his daughter
accompanied the Mormons to the end of their great pilgrimage.
Little Lucy Ferrier was borne along pleasantly enough in
Elder Stangerson's waggona retreat which she shared with
the Mormon's three wives and with his sona headstrong
forward boy of twelve. Having ralliedwith the elasticity
of childhoodfrom the shock caused by her mother's death
she soon became a pet with the womenand reconciled herself
to this new life in her moving canvas-covered home. In the
meantime Ferrier having recovered from his privations
distinguished himself as a useful guide and an indefatigable
hunter. So rapidly did he gain the esteem of his new
companionsthat when they reached the end of their wanderings
it was unanimously agreed that he should be provided with as
large and as fertile a tract of land as any of the settlers
with the exception of Young himselfand of StangersonKemball
Johnstonand Drebberwho were the four principal Elders.

On the farm thus acquired John Ferrier built himself a
substantial log-housewhich received so many additions in
succeeding years that it grew into a roomy villa. He was a
man of a practical turn of mindkeen in his dealings and
skilful with his hands. His iron constitution enabled him to
work morning and evening at improving and tilling his lands.
Hence it came about that his farm and all that belonged to
him prospered exceedingly. In three years he was better off
than his neighboursin six he was well-to-doin nine he was
richand in twelve there were not half a dozen men in the
whole of Salt Lake City who could compare with him. From the
great inland sea to the distant Wahsatch Mountains there was
no name better known than that of John Ferrier.

There was one way and only one in which he offended the
susceptibilities of his co-religionists. No argument or
persuasion could ever induce him to set up a female
establishment after the manner of his companions. He never
gave reasons for this persistent refusalbut contented
himself by resolutely and inflexibly adhering to his
determination. There were some who accused him of
lukewarmness in his adopted religionand others who put it
down to greed of wealth and reluctance to incur expense.
Othersagainspoke of some early love affairand of a
fair-haired girl who had pined away on the shores of the
Atlantic. Whatever the reasonFerrier remained strictly
celibate. In every other respect he conformed to the
religion of the young settlementand gained the name of
being an orthodox and straight-walking man.

Lucy Ferrier grew up within the log-houseand assisted her
adopted father in all his undertakings. The keen air of the
mountains and the balsamic odour of the pine trees took the
place of nurse and mother to the young girl. As year
succeeded to year she grew taller and strongerher cheek
more rudyand her step more elastic. Many a wayfarer upon
the high road which ran by Ferrier's farm felt long-forgotten
thoughts revive in their mind as they watched her lithe
girlish figure tripping through the wheatfieldsor met her
mounted upon her father's mustangand managing it with all
the ease and grace of a true child of the West. So the bud
blossomed into a flowerand the year which saw her father
the richest of the farmers left her as fair a specimen of
American girlhood as could be found in the whole Pacific slope.

It was not the fatherhoweverwho first discovered that the
child had developed into the woman. It seldom is in such
cases. That mysterious change is too subtle and too gradual
to be measured by dates. Least of all does the maiden
herself know it until the tone of a voice or the touch of a
hand sets her heart thrilling within herand she learns
with a mixture of pride and of fearthat a new and a larger
nature has awoken within her. There are few who cannot
recall that day and remember the one little incident which
heralded the dawn of a new life. In the case of Lucy Ferrier
the occasion was serious enough in itselfapart from its
future influence on her destiny and that of many besides.

It was a warm June morningand the Latter Day Saints were
as busy as the bees whose hive they have chosen for their
emblem. In the fields and in the streets rose the same hum
of human industry. Down the dusty high roads defiled long
streams of heavily-laden mulesall heading to the westfor

the gold fever had broken out in Californiaand the Overland
Route lay through the City of the Elect. Theretoowere
droves of sheep and bullocks coming in from the outlying
pasture landsand trains of tired immigrantsmen and horses
equally weary of their interminable journey. Through all
this motley assemblagethreading her way with the skill of
an accomplished riderthere galloped Lucy Ferrierher fair
face flushed with the exercise and her long chestnut hair
floating out behind her. She had a commission from her
father in the Cityand was dashing in as she had done many
a time beforewith all the fearlessness of youththinking
only of her task and how it was to be performed.
The travel-stained adventurers gazed after her in astonishment
and even the unemotional Indiansjourneying in with their
peltiesrelaxed their accustomed stoicism as they marvelled
at the beauty of the pale-faced maiden.

She had reached the outskirts of the city when she found the
road blocked by a great drove of cattledriven by a half-dozen
wild-looking herdsmen from the plains. In her
impatience she endeavoured to pass this obstacle by pushing
her horse into what appeared to be a gap. Scarcely had she
got fairly into ithoweverbefore the beasts closed in
behind herand she found herself completely imbedded in the
moving stream of fierce-eyedlong-horned bullocks.
Accustomed as she was to deal with cattleshe was not
alarmed at her situationbut took advantage of every
opportunity to urge her horse on in the hopes of pushing her
way through the cavalcade. Unfortunately the horns of one of
the creatureseither by accident or designcame in violent
contact with the flank of the mustangand excited it to
madness. In an instant it reared up upon its hind legs with
a snort of rageand pranced and tossed in a way that would
have unseated any but a most skilful rider. The situation
was full of peril. Every plunge of the excited horse brought
it against the horns againand goaded it to fresh madness.
It was all that the girl could do to keep herself in the
saddleyet a slip would mean a terrible death under the
hoofs of the unwieldy and terrified animals. Unaccustomed to
sudden emergenciesher head began to swimand her grip upon
the bridle to relax. Choked by the rising cloud of dust and
by the steam from the struggling creaturesshe might have
abandoned her efforts in despairbut for a kindly voice at
her elbow which assured her of assistance. At the same
moment a sinewy brown hand caught the frightened horse by the
curband forcing a way through the drovesoon brought her
to the outskirts.

You're not hurt, I hope, miss,said her preserverrespectfully.

She looked up at his darkfierce faceand laughed saucily.
I'm awful frightened,she saidnaively; "whoever would
have thought that Poncho would have been so scared by a lot
of cows?"

Thank God you kept your seat,the other said earnestly.
He was a tallsavage-looking young fellowmounted on a
powerful roan horseand clad in the rough dress of a hunter
with a long rifle slung over his shoulders. "I guess you are
the daughter of John Ferrier he remarked, I saw you ride
down from his house. When you see himask him if he remembers
the Jefferson Hopes of St. Louis. If he's the same Ferrier
my father and he were pretty thick."

Hadn't you better come and ask yourself?she askeddemurely.

The young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestionand his dark
eyes sparkled with pleasure. "I'll do so he said, we've been
in the mountains for two monthsand are not over and above in
visiting condition. He must take us as he finds us."

He has a good deal to thank you for, and so have I,she answered
he's awful fond of me. If those cows had jumped on me he'd have
never got over it.

Neither would I,said her companion.

You! Well, I don't see that it would make much matter
to you, anyhow. You ain't even a friend of ours.

The young hunter's dark face grew so gloomy over this remark
that Lucy Ferrier laughed aloud.

There, I didn't mean that,she said; "of courseyou are a
friend now. You must come and see us. Now I must push along
or father won't trust me with his business any more. Good-bye!"

Good-bye,he answeredraising his broad sombreroand
bending over her little hand. She wheeled her mustang round
gave it a cut with her riding-whipand darted away down the
broad road in a rolling cloud of dust.

Young Jefferson Hope rode on with his companionsgloomy and
taciturn. He and they had been among the Nevada Mountains
prospecting for silverand were returning to Salt Lake City
in the hope of raising capital enough to work some lodes
which they had discovered. He had been as keen as any of
them upon the business until this sudden incident had drawn
his thoughts into another channel. The sight of the fair
young girlas frank and wholesome as the Sierra breezes
had stirred his volcanicuntamed heart to its very depths.
When she had vanished from his sighthe realized that a crisis
had come in his lifeand that neither silver speculations
nor any other questions could ever be of such importance to
him as this new and all-absorbing one. The love which had
sprung up in his heart was not the suddenchangeable fancy
of a boybut rather the wildfierce passion of a man of
strong will and imperious temper. He had been accustomed
to succeed in all that he undertook. He swore in his heart
that he would not fail in this if human effort and human
perseverance could render him successful.

He called on John Ferrier that nightand many times again
until his face was a familiar one at the farm-house.
Johncooped up in the valleyand absorbed in his work
had had little chance of learning the news of the outside world
during the last twelve years. All this Jefferson Hope was
able to tell himand in a style which interested Lucy as
well as her father. He had been a pioneer in California
and could narrate many a strange tale of fortunes made and
fortunes lost in those wildhalcyon days. He had been a
scout tooand a trappera silver explorerand a ranchman.
Wherever stirring adventures were to be hadJefferson Hope
had been there in search of them. He soon became a favourite
with the old farmerwho spoke eloquently of his virtues.
On such occasionsLucy was silentbut her blushing cheek
and her brighthappy eyesshowed only too clearly that her
young heart was no longer her own. Her honest father may not

have observed these symptomsbut they were assuredly not
thrown away upon the man who had won her affections.

It was a summer evening when he came galloping down the road
and pulled up at the gate. She was at the doorwayand came
down to meet him. He threw the bridle over the fence and
strode up the pathway.

I am off, Lucy,he saidtaking her two hands in his
and gazing tenderly down into her face; "I won't ask you
to come with me nowbut will you be ready to come when
I am here again?"

And when will that be?she askedblushing and laughing.

A couple of months at the outside. I will come and claim
you then, my darling. There's no one who can stand between us.

And how about father?she asked.

He has given his consent, provided we get these mines
working all right. I have no fear on that head.

Oh, well; of course, if you and father have arranged it all,
there's no more to be said,she whisperedwith her cheek
against his broad breast.

Thank God!he saidhoarselystooping and kissing her.
It is settled, then. The longer I stay, the harder it will
be to go. They are waiting for me at the canon. Good-bye,
my own darling -- good-bye. In two months you shall see me.

He tore himself from her as he spokeandflinging himself
upon his horsegalloped furiously awaynever even looking
roundas though afraid that his resolution might fail him if
he took one glance at what he was leaving. She stood at the
gategazing after him until he vanished from her sight. Then
she walked back into the housethe happiest girl in all Utah.



THREE weeks had passed since Jefferson Hope and his comrades
had departed from Salt Lake City. John Ferrier's heart was
sore within him when he thought of the young man's return
and of the impending loss of his adopted child. Yet her
bright and happy face reconciled him to the arrangement more
than any argument could have done. He had always determined
deep down in his resolute heartthat nothing would ever
induce him to allow his daughter to wed a Mormon. Such a
marriage he regarded as no marriage at allbut as a shame
and a disgrace. Whatever he might think of the Mormon
doctrinesupon that one point he was inflexible. He had to
seal his mouth on the subjecthoweverfor to express an
unorthodox opinion was a dangerous matter in those days in
the Land of the Saints.

Yesa dangerous matter -- so dangerous that even the most
saintly dared only whisper their religious opinions with
bated breathlest something which fell from their lips might

be misconstruedand bring down a swift retribution upon
them. The victims of persecution had now turned persecutors
on their own accountand persecutors of the most terrible
description. Not the Inquisition of Sevillenor the German
Vehm-gerichtnor the Secret Societies of Italywere ever
able to put a more formidable machinery in motion than that
which cast a cloud over the State of Utah.

Its invisibilityand the mystery which was attached to it
made this organization doubly terrible. It appeared to be
omniscient and omnipotentand yet was neither seen nor
heard. The man who held out against the Church vanished
awayand none knew whither he had gone or what had befallen
him. His wife and his children awaited him at homebut no
father ever returned to tell them how he had fared at the
hands of his secret judges. A rash word or a hasty act was
followed by annihilationand yet none knew what the nature
might be of this terrible power which was suspended over
them. No wonder that men went about in fear and trembling
and that even in the heart of the wilderness they dared not
whisper the doubts which oppressed them.

At first this vague and terrible power was exercised only
upon the recalcitrants whohaving embraced the Mormon faith
wished afterwards to pervert or to abandon it. Soon
howeverit took a wider range. The supply of adult women
was running shortand polygamy without a female population
on which to draw was a barren doctrine indeed. Strange
rumours began to be bandied about -- rumours of murdered
immigrants and rifled camps in regions where Indians had
never been seen. Fresh women appeared in the harems of the
Elders -- women who pined and weptand bore upon their faces
the traces of an unextinguishable horror. Belated wanderers
upon the mountains spoke of gangs of armed menmasked
stealthyand noiselesswho flitted by them in the darkness.
These tales and rumours took substance and shapeand were
corroborated and re-corroborateduntil they resolved
themselves into a definite name. To this dayin the lonely
ranches of the Westthe name of the Danite Bandor the
Avenging Angelsis a sinister and an ill-omened one.

Fuller knowledge of the organization which produced such
terrible results served to increase rather than to lessen the
horror which it inspired in the minds of men. None knew who
belonged to this ruthless society. The names of the
participators in the deeds of blood and violence done under
the name of religion were kept profoundly secret. The very
friend to whom you communicated your misgivings as to the
Prophet and his missionmight be one of those who would come
forth at night with fire and sword to exact a terrible
reparation. Hence every man feared his neighbourand none
spoke of the things which were nearest his heart.

One fine morningJohn Ferrier was about to set out to his
wheatfieldswhen he heard the click of the latchand
looking through the windowsaw a stoutsandy-haired
middle-aged man coming up the pathway. His heart leapt to
his mouthfor this was none other than the great Brigham
Young himself. Full of trepidation -- for he knew that such
a visit boded him little good -- Ferrier ran to the door to
greet the Mormon chief. The latterhoweverreceived his
salutations coldlyand followed him with a stern face into
the sitting-room.

Brother Ferrier,he saidtaking a seatand eyeing the
farmer keenly from under his light-coloured eyelashes
the true believers have been good friends to you. We picked
you up when you were starving in the desert, we shared our
food with you, led you safe to the Chosen Valley, gave you
a goodly share of land, and allowed you to wax rich under our
protection. Is not this so?

It is so,answered John Ferrier.

In return for all this we asked but one condition: that was,
that you should embrace the true faith, and conform in every
way to its usages. This you promised to do, and this,
if common report says truly, you have neglected.

And how have I neglected it?asked Ferrierthrowing out
his hands in expostulation. "Have I not given to the common
fund? Have I not attended at the Temple? Have I not ----?"

Where are your wives?asked Younglooking round him.
Call them in, that I may greet them.

It is true that I have not married,Ferrier answered.
But women were few, and there were many who had better claims
than I. I was not a lonely man: I had my daughter to attend
to my wants.

It is of that daughter that I would speak to you,said the
leader of the Mormons. "She has grown to be the flower of
Utahand has found favour in the eyes of many who are high
in the land."

John Ferrier groaned internally.

There are stories of her which I would fain disbelieve --
stories that she is sealed to some Gentile. This must be the
gossip of idle tongues. What is the thirteenth rule in the
code of the sainted Joseph Smith? `Let every maiden of the
true faith marry one of the elect; for if she wed a Gentile,
she commits a grievous sin.' This being so, it is impossible
that you, who profess the holy creed, should suffer your
daughter to violate it.

John Ferrier made no answerbut he played nervously with his

Upon this one point your whole faith shall be tested -- so
it has been decided in the Sacred Council of Four. The girl
is young, and we would not have her wed grey hairs, neither
would we deprive her of all choice. We Elders have many
heifers, * but our children must also be provided. Stangerson
has a son, and Drebber has a son, and either of them would
gladly welcome your daughter to their house. Let her choose
between them. They are young and rich, and of the true faith.
What say you to that?

Ferrier remained silent for some little time with his brows knitted.

You will give us time,he said at last. "My daughter is
very young -- she is scarce of an age to marry."

She shall have a month to choose,said Youngrising from
his seat. "At the end of that time she shall give her answer."

He was passing through the doorwhen he turnedwith flushed
face and flashing eyes. "It were better for youJohn Ferrier
he thundered, that you and she were now lying blanched
skeletons upon the Sierra Blancothan that you should
put your weak wills against the orders of the Holy Four!"

With a threatening gesture of his handhe turned from the door
and Ferrier heard his heavy step scrunching along the shingly path.

He was still sitting with his elbows upon his knees
considering how he should broach the matter to his daughter
when a soft hand was laid upon hisand looking uphe saw
her standing beside him. One glance at her palefrightened
face showed him that she had heard what had passed.

I could not help it,she saidin answer to his look.
His voice rang through the house. Oh, father, father,
what shall we do?

Don't you scare yourself,he answereddrawing her to him
and passing his broadrough hand caressingly over her
chestnut hair. "We'll fix it up somehow or another.
You don't find your fancy kind o' lessening for this chap
do you?"

A sob and a squeeze of his hand was her only answer.

No; of course not. I shouldn't care to hear you say you
did. He's a likely lad, and he's a Christian, which is more
than these folk here, in spite o' all their praying and
preaching. There's a party starting for Nevada to-morrow,
and I'll manage to send him a message letting him know the
hole we are in. If I know anything o' that young man, he'll
be back here with a speed that would whip electro-telegraphs.

Lucy laughed through her tears at her father's description.

When he comes, he will advise us for the best. But it is
for you that I am frightened, dear. One hears -- one hears
such dreadful stories about those who oppose the Prophet:
something terrible always happens to them.

But we haven't opposed him yet,her father answered.
It will be time to look out for squalls when we do.
We have a clear month before us; at the end of that,
I guess we had best shin out of Utah.

Leave Utah!

That's about the size of it.

But the farm?

We will raise as much as we can in money, and let the rest go.
To tell the truth, Lucy, it isn't the first time I have
thought of doing it. I don't care about knuckling under to
any man, as these folk do to their darned prophet. I'm a
free-born American, and it's all new to me. Guess I'm too
old to learn. If he comes browsing about this farm, he might
chance to run up against a charge of buckshot travelling in
the opposite direction.

But they won't let us leave,his daughter objected.

Wait till Jefferson comes, and we'll soon manage that.
In the meantime, don't you fret yourself, my dearie,
and don't get your eyes swelled up, else he'll be walking into
me when he sees you. There's nothing to be afeared about,
and there's no danger at all.

John Ferrier uttered these consoling remarks in a very
confident tonebut she could not help observing that he paid
unusual care to the fastening of the doors that nightand
that he carefully cleaned and loaded the rusty old shotgun
which hung upon the wall of his bedroom.



ON the morning which followed his interview with the Mormon
ProphetJohn Ferrier went in to Salt Lake Cityand having
found his acquaintancewho was bound for the Nevada
Mountainshe entrusted him with his message to Jefferson
Hope. In it he told the young man of the imminent danger
which threatened themand how necessary it was that he
should return. Having done thus he felt easier in his mind
and returned home with a lighter heart.

As he approached his farmhe was surprised to see a horse
hitched to each of the posts of the gate. Still more
surprised was he on entering to find two young men in
possession of his sitting-room. Onewith a long pale face
was leaning back in the rocking-chairwith his feet cocked
up upon the stove. The othera bull-necked youth with
coarse bloated featureswas standing in front of the window
with his hands in his pocketwhistling a popular hymn.
Both of them nodded to Ferrier as he enteredand the one
in the rocking-chair commenced the conversation.

Maybe you don't know us,he said. "This here is the son of
Elder Drebberand I'm Joseph Stangersonwho travelled with
you in the desert when the Lord stretched out His hand and
gathered you into the true fold."

As He will all the nations in His own good time,said the
other in a nasal voice; "He grindeth slowly but exceeding small."

John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessed who his visitors were.

We have come,continued Stangersonat the advice of our
fathers to solicit the hand of your daughter for whichever of
us may seem good to you and to her. As I have but four wives
and Brother Drebber here has seven, it appears to me that my
claim is the stronger one.

Nay, nay, Brother Stangerson,cried the other; "the question
is not how many wives we havebut how many we can keep.
My father has now given over his mills to meand I am the
richer man."

But my prospects are better,said the otherwarmly.
When the Lord removes my father, I shall have his tanning yard
and his leather factory. Then I am your elder, and am higher
in the Church.

It will be for the maiden to decide,rejoined young Drebber
smirking at his own reflection in the glass. "We will leave
it all to her decision."

During this dialogueJohn Ferrier had stood fuming in the
doorwayhardly able to keep his riding-whip from the backs
of his two visitors.

Look here,he said at laststriding up to themwhen my
daughter summons you, you can come, but until then I don't
want to see your faces again.

The two young Mormons stared at him in amazement.
In their eyes this competition between them for the maiden's
hand was the highest of honours both to her and her father.

There are two ways out of the room,cried Ferrier; "there is
the doorand there is the window. Which do you care to use?"

His brown face looked so savageand his gaunt hands so
threateningthat his visitors sprang to their feet and beat
a hurried retreat. The old farmer followed them to the door.

Let me know when you have settled which it is to be,
he saidsardonically.

You shall smart for this!Stangerson criedwhite with rage.
You have defied the Prophet and the Council of Four.
You shall rue it to the end of your days.

The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you,cried young
Drebber; "He will arise and smite you!"

Then I'll start the smiting,exclaimed Ferrier furiously
and would have rushed upstairs for his gun had not Lucy
seized him by the arm and restrained him. Before he could
escape from herthe clatter of horses' hoofs told him that
they were beyond his reach.

The young canting rascals!he exclaimedwiping the
perspiration from his forehead; "I would sooner see you in
your gravemy girlthan the wife of either of them."

And so should I, father,she answeredwith spirit;
but Jefferson will soon be here.

Yes. It will not be long before he comes. The sooner the
better, for we do not know what their next move may be.

It wasindeedhigh time that someone capable of giving
advice and help should come to the aid of the sturdy old
farmer and his adopted daughter. In the whole history of the
settlement there had never been such a case of rank
disobedience to the authority of the Elders. If minor errors
were punished so sternlywhat would be the fate of this arch
rebel. Ferrier knew that his wealth and position would be of
no avail to him. Others as well known and as rich as himself
had been spirited away before nowand their goods given over
to the Church. He was a brave manbut he trembled at the
vagueshadowy terrors which hung over him. Any known danger
he could face with a firm lipbut this suspense was
unnerving. He concealed his fears from his daughter
howeverand affected to make light of the whole matter

though shewith the keen eye of lovesaw plainly that he
was ill at ease.

He expected that he would receive some message or
remonstrance from Young as to his conductand he was not
mistakenthough it came in an unlooked-for manner. Upon
rising next morning he foundto his surprisea small square
of paper pinned on to the coverlet of his bed just over his
chest. On it was printedin bold straggling letters:-

Twenty-nine days are given you for amendment, and then ----

The dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat could have
been. How this warning came into his room puzzled John
Ferrier sorelyfor his servants slept in an outhouseand
the doors and windows had all been secured. He crumpled the
paper up and said nothing to his daughterbut the incident
struck a chill into his heart. The twenty-nine days were
evidently the balance of the month which Young had promised.
What strength or courage could avail against an enemy armed
with such mysterious powers? The hand which fastened that
pin might have struck him to the heartand he could never
have known who had slain him.

Still more shaken was he next morning. They had sat down to
their breakfast when Lucy with a cry of surprise pointed
upwards. In the centre of the ceiling was scrawledwith a
burned stick apparentlythe number 28. To his daughter it
was unintelligibleand he did not enlighten her. That night
he sat up with his gun and kept watch and ward. He saw and
he heard nothingand yet in the morning a great 27 had been
painted upon the outside of his door.

Thus day followed day; and as sure as morning came he found
that his unseen enemies had kept their registerand had
marked up in some conspicuous position how many days were
still left to him out of the month of grace. Sometimes the
fatal numbers appeared upon the wallssometimes upon the
floorsoccasionally they were on small placards stuck upon
the garden gate or the railings. With all his vigilance John
Ferrier could not discover whence these daily warnings
proceeded. A horror which was almost superstitious came upon
him at the sight of them. He became haggard and restless
and his eyes had the troubled look of some hunted creature.
He had but one hope in life nowand that was for the arrival
of the young hunter from Nevada.

Twenty had changed to fifteen and fifteen to tenbut there
was no news of the absentee. One by one the numbers dwindled
downand still there came no sign of him. Whenever a
horseman clattered down the roador a driver shouted at his
teamthe old farmer hurried to the gate thinking that help
had arrived at last. At lastwhen he saw five give way to
four and that again to threehe lost heartand abandoned
all hope of escape. Single-handedand with his limited
knowledge of the mountains which surrounded the settlement
he knew that he was powerless. The more-frequented roads
were strictly watched and guardedand none could pass along
them without an order from the Council. Turn which way he
wouldthere appeared to be no avoiding the blow which hung
over him. Yet the old man never wavered in his resolution to
part with life itself before he consented to what he regarded
as his daughter's dishonour.

He was sitting alone one evening pondering deeply over his
troublesand searching vainly for some way out of them.
That morning had shown the figure 2 upon the wall of his
houseand the next day would be the last of the allotted
time. What was to happen then? All manner of vague and
terrible fancies filled his imagination. And his daughter --
what was to become of her after he was gone? Was there no
escape from the invisible network which was drawn all round
them. He sank his head upon the table and sobbed at the
thought of his own impotence.

What was that? In the silence he heard a gentle scratching
sound -- lowbut very distinct in the quiet of the night.
It came from the door of the house. Ferrier crept into the
hall and listened intently. There was a pause for a few
momentsand then the low insidious sound was repeated.
Someone was evidently tapping very gently upon one of the
panels of the door. Was it some midnight assassin who had
come to carry out the murderous orders of the secret
tribunal? Or was it some agent who was marking up that the
last day of grace had arrived. John Ferrier felt that
instant death would be better than the suspense which shook
his nerves and chilled his heart. Springing forward he drew
the bolt and threw the door open.

Outside all was calm and quiet. The night was fineand the
stars were twinkling brightly overhead. The little front
garden lay before the farmer's eyes bounded by the fence and
gatebut neither there nor on the road was any human being
to be seen. With a sigh of reliefFerrier looked to right
and to leftuntil happening to glance straight down at his
own feet he saw to his astonishment a man lying flat upon his
face upon the groundwith arms and legs all asprawl.

So unnerved was he at the sight that he leaned up against the
wall with his hand to his throat to stifle his inclination to
call out. His first thought was that the prostrate figure
was that of some wounded or dying manbut as he watched it
he saw it writhe along the ground and into the hall with the
rapidity and noiselessness of a serpent. Once within the
house the man sprang to his feetclosed the doorand
revealed to the astonished farmer the fierce face and
resolute expression of Jefferson Hope.

Good God!gasped John Ferrier. "How you scared me!
Whatever made you come in like that."

Give me food,the other saidhoarsely. "I have had no
time for bite or sup for eight-and-forty hours." He flung
himself upon the {21} cold meat and bread which were still lying
upon the table from his host's supperand devoured it
voraciously. "Does Lucy bear up well?" he askedwhen he had
satisfied his hunger.

Yes. She does not know the danger,her father answered.

That is well. The house is watched on every side.
That is why I crawled my way up to it. They may be darned sharp,
but they're not quite sharp enough to catch a Washoe hunter.

John Ferrier felt a different man now that he realized that
he had a devoted ally. He seized the young man's leathery
hand and wrung it cordially. "You're a man to be proud of
he said. There are not many who would come to share our

danger and our troubles."

You've hit it there, pard,the young hunter answered.
I have a respect for you, but if you were alone in this
business I'd think twice before I put my head into such a
hornet's nest. It's Lucy that brings me here, and before
harm comes on her I guess there will be one less o' the Hope
family in Utah.

What are we to do?

To-morrow is your last day, and unless you act to-night you
are lost. I have a mule and two horses waiting in the Eagle
Ravine. How much money have you?

Two thousand dollars in gold, and five in notes.

That will do. I have as much more to add to it. We must
push for Carson City through the mountains. You had best
wake Lucy. It is as well that the servants do not sleep in
the house.

While Ferrier was absentpreparing his daughter for the
approaching journeyJefferson Hope packed all the eatables
that he could find into a small parceland filled a
stoneware jar with waterfor he knew by experience that the
mountain wells were few and far between. He had hardly
completed his arrangements before the farmer returned with
his daughter all dressed and ready for a start. The greeting
between the lovers was warmbut brieffor minutes were
preciousand there was much to be done.

We must make our start at once,said Jefferson Hope
speaking in a low but resolute voicelike one who realizes
the greatness of the perilbut has steeled his heart to meet
it. "The front and back entrances are watchedbut with
caution we may get away through the side window and across
the fields. Once on the road we are only two miles from the
Ravine where the horses are waiting. By daybreak we should
be half-way through the mountains."

What if we are stopped,asked Ferrier.

Hope slapped the revolver butt which protruded from the front
of his tunic. "If they are too many for us we shall take two
or three of them with us he said with a sinister smile.

The lights inside the house had all been extinguished, and
from the darkened window Ferrier peered over the fields which
had been his own, and which he was now about to abandon for
ever. He had long nerved himself to the sacrifice, however,
and the thought of the honour and happiness of his daughter
outweighed any regret at his ruined fortunes. All looked so
peaceful and happy, the rustling trees and the broad silent
stretch of grain-land, that it was difficult to realize that
the spirit of murder lurked through it all. Yet the white
face and set expression of the young hunter showed that in
his approach to the house he had seen enough to satisfy him
upon that head.

Ferrier carried the bag of gold and notes, Jefferson Hope had
the scanty provisions and water, while Lucy had a small
bundle containing a few of her more valued possessions.
Opening the window very slowly and carefully, they waited

until a dark cloud had somewhat obscured the night, and then
one by one passed through into the little garden. With bated
breath and crouching figures they stumbled across it, and
gained the shelter of the hedge, which they skirted until
they came to the gap which opened into the cornfields. They
had just reached this point when the young man seized his two
companions and dragged them down into the shadow, where they
lay silent and trembling.

It was as well that his prairie training had given Jefferson
Hope the ears of a lynx. He and his friends had hardly
crouched down before the melancholy hooting of a mountain owl
was heard within a few yards of them, which was immediately
answered by another hoot at a small distance. At the same
moment a vague shadowy figure emerged from the gap for which
they had been making, and uttered the plaintive signal cry
again, on which a second man appeared out of the obscurity.

To-morrow at midnight said the first who appeared to be in
authority. When the Whip-poor-Will calls three times."

It is well,returned the other. "Shall I tell Brother Drebber?"

Pass it on to him, and from him to the others. Nine to seven!

Seven to five!repeated the otherand the two figures
flitted away in different directions. Their concluding words
had evidently been some form of sign and countersign. The
instant that their footsteps had died away in the distance
Jefferson Hope sprang to his feetand helping his companions
through the gapled the way across the fields at the top of
his speedsupporting and half-carrying the girl when her
strength appeared to fail her.

Hurry on! hurry on!he gasped from time to time. "We are
through the line of sentinels. Everything depends on speed.
Hurry on!"

Once on the high road they made rapid progress. Only once
did they meet anyoneand then they managed to slip into a
fieldand so avoid recognition. Before reaching the town
the hunter branched away into a rugged and narrow footpath
which led to the mountains. Two dark jagged peaks loomed
above them through the darknessand the defile which led
between them was the Eagle Canon in which the horses were
awaiting them. With unerring instinct Jefferson Hope picked
his way among the great boulders and along the bed of a
dried-up watercourseuntil he came to the retired corner
screened with rockswhere the faithful animals had been
picketed. The girl was placed upon the muleand old Ferrier
upon one of the horseswith his money-bagwhile Jefferson
Hope led the other along the precipitous and dangerous path.

It was a bewildering route for anyone who was not accustomed
to face Nature in her wildest moods. On the one side a great
crag towered up a thousand feet or moreblacksternand
menacingwith long basaltic columns upon its rugged surface
like the ribs of some petrified monster. On the other hand a
wild chaos of boulders and debris made all advance
impossible. Between the two ran the irregular trackso
narrow in places that they had to travel in Indian fileand
so rough that only practised riders could have traversed it
at all. Yet in spite of all dangers and difficultiesthe
hearts of the fugitives were light within themfor every

step increased the distance between them and the terrible
despotism from which they were flying.

They soon had a proofhoweverthat they were still within
the jurisdiction of the Saints. They had reached the very
wildest and most desolate portion of the pass when the girl
gave a startled cryand pointed upwards. On a rock which
overlooked the trackshowing out dark and plain against the
skythere stood a solitary sentinel. He saw them as soon as
they perceived himand his military challenge of "Who goes
there?" rang through the silent ravine.

Travellers for Nevada,said Jefferson Hopewith his hand
upon the rifle which hung by his saddle.

They could see the lonely watcher fingering his gunand
peering down at them as if dissatisfied at their reply.

By whose permission?he asked.

The Holy Four,answered Ferrier. His Mormon experiences
had taught him that that was the highest authority to which
he could refer.

Nine from seven,cried the sentinel.

Seven from five,returned Jefferson Hope promptly
remembering the countersign which he had heard in the garden.

Pass, and the Lord go with you,said the voice from above.
Beyond his post the path broadened outand the horses were
able to break into a trot. Looking backthey could see the
solitary watcher leaning upon his gunand knew that they had
passed the outlying post of the chosen peopleand that
freedom lay before them.



ALL night their course lay through intricate defiles and over
irregular and rock-strewn paths. More than once they lost
their waybut Hope's intimate knowledge of the mountains
enabled them to regain the track once more. When morning
brokea scene of marvellous though savage beauty lay before
them. In every direction the great snow-capped peaks hemmed
them inpeeping over each other's shoulders to the far
horizon. So steep were the rocky banks on either side of
themthat the larch and the pine seemed to be suspended over
their headsand to need only a gust of wind to come hurtling
down upon them. Nor was the fear entirely an illusionfor
the barren valley was thickly strewn with trees and boulders
which had fallen in a similar manner. Even as they passeda
great rock came thundering down with a hoarse rattle which
woke the echoes in the silent gorgesand startled the weary
horses into a gallop.

As the sun rose slowly above the eastern horizonthe caps of
the great mountains lit up one after the otherlike lamps at
a festivaluntil they were all ruddy and glowing. The
magnificent spectacle cheered the hearts of the three

fugitives and gave them fresh energy. At a wild torrent
which swept out of a ravine they called a halt and watered
their horseswhile they partook of a hasty breakfast. Lucy
and her father would fain have rested longerbut Jefferson
Hope was inexorable. "They will be upon our track by this
time he said. Everything depends upon our speed. Once
safe in Carson we may rest for the remainder of our lives."

During the whole of that day they struggled on through the
defilesand by evening they calculated that they were more
than thirty miles from their enemies. At night-time they
chose the base of a beetling cragwhere the rocks offered
some protection from the chill windand there huddled
together for warmththey enjoyed a few hours' sleep. Before
daybreakhoweverthey were up and on their way once more.
They had seen no signs of any pursuersand Jefferson Hope
began to think that they were fairly out of the reach of the
terrible organization whose enmity they had incurred. He
little knew how far that iron grasp could reachor how soon
it was to close upon them and crush them.

About the middle of the second day of their flight their
scanty store of provisions began to run out. This gave the
hunter little uneasinesshoweverfor there was game to be
had among the mountainsand he had frequently before had to
depend upon his rifle for the needs of life. Choosing a
sheltered nookhe piled together a few dried branches and
made a blazing fireat which his companions might warm
themselvesfor they were now nearly five thousand feet above
the sea leveland the air was bitter and keen. Having
tethered the horsesand bade Lucy adieuhe threw his gun
over his shoulderand set out in search of whatever chance
might throw in his way. Looking back he saw the old man and
the young girl crouching over the blazing firewhile the
three animals stood motionless in the back-ground. Then the
intervening rocks hid them from his view.

He walked for a couple of miles through one ravine after
another without successthough from the marks upon the bark
of the treesand other indicationshe judged that there
were numerous bears in the vicinity. At lastafter two or
three hours' fruitless searchhe was thinking of turning
back in despairwhen casting his eyes upwards he saw a sight
which sent a thrill of pleasure through his heart. On the
edge of a jutting pinnaclethree or four hundred feet above
himthere stood a creature somewhat resembling a sheep in
appearancebut armed with a pair of gigantic horns.
The big-horn -- for so it is called -- was actingprobably
as a guardian over a flock which were invisible to the hunter;
but fortunately it was heading in the opposite direction
and had not perceived him. Lying on his facehe rested his
rifle upon a rockand took a long and steady aim before drawing
the trigger. The animal sprang into the airtottered for a
moment upon the edge of the precipiceand then came crashing
down into the valley beneath.

The creature was too unwieldy to liftso the hunter
contented himself with cutting away one haunch and part of
the flank. With this trophy over his shoulderhe hastened
to retrace his stepsfor the evening was already drawing in.
He had hardly startedhoweverbefore he realized the
difficulty which faced him. In his eagerness he had wandered
far past the ravines which were known to himand it was no
easy matter to pick out the path which he had taken.

The valley in which he found himself divided and sub-divided
into many gorgeswhich were so like each other that it was
impossible to distinguish one from the other. He followed
one for a mile or more until he came to a mountain torrent
which he was sure that he had never seen before. Convinced
that he had taken the wrong turnhe tried anotherbut with
the same result. Night was coming on rapidlyand it was
almost dark before he at last found himself in a defile which
was familiar to him. Even then it was no easy matter to keep
to the right trackfor the moon had not yet risenand the
high cliffs on either side made the obscurity more profound.
Weighed down with his burdenand weary from his exertions
he stumbled alongkeeping up his heart by the reflection
that every step brought him nearer to Lucyand that he
carried with him enough to ensure them food for the remainder
of their journey.

He had now come to the mouth of the very defile in which he
had left them. Even in the darkness he could recognize the
outline of the cliffs which bounded it. They musthe
reflectedbe awaiting him anxiouslyfor he had been absent
nearly five hours. In the gladness of his heart he put his
hands to his mouth and made the glen re-echo to a loud halloo
as a signal that he was coming. He paused and listened for
an answer. None came save his own crywhich clattered up
the dreary silent ravinesand was borne back to his ears in
countless repetitions. Again he shoutedeven louder than
beforeand again no whisper came back from the friends whom
he had left such a short time ago. A vaguenameless dread
came over himand he hurried onwards franticallydropping
the precious food in his agitation.

When he turned the cornerhe came full in sight of the spot
where the fire had been lit. There was still a glowing pile
of wood ashes therebut it had evidently not been tended
since his departure. The same dead silence still reigned all
round. With his fears all changed to convictionshe hurried
on. There was no living creature near the remains of the
fire: animalsmanmaidenall were gone. It was only too
clear that some sudden and terrible disaster had occurred
during his absence -- a disaster which had embraced them all
and yet had left no traces behind it.

Bewildered and stunned by this blowJefferson Hope felt his
head spin roundand had to lean upon his rifle to save
himself from falling. He was essentially a man of action
howeverand speedily recovered from his temporary impotence.
Seizing a half-consumed piece of wood from the smouldering
firehe blew it into a flameand proceeded with its help to
examine the little camp. The ground was all stamped down by
the feet of horsesshowing that a large party of mounted men
had overtaken the fugitivesand the direction of their
tracks proved that they had afterwards turned back to Salt
Lake City. Had they carried back both of his companions with
them? Jefferson Hope had almost persuaded himself that they
must have done sowhen his eye fell upon an object which
made every nerve of his body tingle within him. A little way
on one side of the camp was a low-lying heap of reddish soil
which had assuredly not been there before. There was no
mistaking it for anything but a newly-dug grave. As the
young hunter approached ithe perceived that a stick had
been planted on itwith a sheet of paper stuck in the cleft
fork of it. The inscription upon the paper was briefbut to
the point:

Died August 4th1860.

The sturdy old manwhom he had left so short a time before
was gonethenand this was all his epitaph. Jefferson Hope
looked wildly round to see if there was a second gravebut
there was no sign of one. Lucy had been carried back by
their terrible pursuers to fulfil her original destinyby
becoming one of the harem of the Elder's son. As the young
fellow realized the certainty of her fateand his own
powerlessness to prevent ithe wished that hetoowas
lying with the old farmer in his last silent resting-place.

Againhoweverhis active spirit shook off the lethargy
which springs from despair. If there was nothing else left
to himhe could at least devote his life to revenge.
With indomitable patience and perseveranceJefferson Hope
possessed also a power of sustained vindictivenesswhich he
may have learned from the Indians amongst whom he had lived.
As he stood by the desolate firehe felt that the only one
thing which could assuage his grief would be thorough and
complete retributionbrought by his own hand upon his
enemies. His strong will and untiring energy shouldhe
determinedbe devoted to that one end. With a grimwhite
facehe retraced his steps to where he had dropped the food
and having stirred up the smouldering firehe cooked enough
to last him for a few days. This he made up into a bundle
andtired as he washe set himself to walk back through the
mountains upon the track of the avenging angels.

For five days he toiled footsore and weary through the
defiles which he had already traversed on horseback.
At night he flung himself down among the rocksand snatched a
few hours of sleep; but before daybreak he was always well on
his way. On the sixth dayhe reached the Eagle Canonfrom
which they had commenced their ill-fated flight. Thence he
could look down upon the home of the saints. Worn and
exhaustedhe leaned upon his rifle and shook his gaunt hand
fiercely at the silent widespread city beneath him. As he
looked at ithe observed that there were flags in some of
the principal streetsand other signs of festivity. He was
still speculating as to what this might mean when he heard
the clatter of horse's hoofsand saw a mounted man riding
towards him. As he approachedhe recognized him as a Mormon
named Cowperto whom he had rendered services at different
times. He therefore accosted him when he got up to himwith
the object of finding out what Lucy Ferrier's fate had been.

I am Jefferson Hope,he said. "You remember me."

The Mormon looked at him with undisguised astonishment --
indeedit was difficult to recognize in this tattered
unkempt wandererwith ghastly white face and fierce
wild eyesthe spruce young hunter of former days.
Havinghoweverat lastsatisfied himself as to his identity
the man's surprise changed to consternation.

You are mad to come here,he cried. "It is as much as my
own life is worth to be seen talking with you. There is a
warrant against you from the Holy Four for assisting the
Ferriers away."

I don't fear them, or their warrant,Hope saidearnestly.
You must know something of this matter, Cowper. I conjure
you by everything you hold dear to answer a few questions.
We have always been friends. For God's sake, don't refuse
to answer me.

What is it?the Mormon asked uneasily. "Be quick.
The very rocks have ears and the trees eyes."

What has become of Lucy Ferrier?

She was married yesterday to young Drebber. Hold up, man,
hold up, you have no life left in you.

Don't mind me,said Hope faintly. He was white to the very
lipsand had sunk down on the stone against which he had
been leaning. "Marriedyou say?"

Married yesterday -- that's what those flags are for on the
Endowment House. There was some words between young Drebber
and young Stangerson as to which was to have her. They'd
both been in the party that followed them, and Stangerson had
shot her father, which seemed to give him the best claim; but
when they argued it out in council, Drebber's party was the
stronger, so the Prophet gave her over to him. No one won't
have her very long though, for I saw death in her face yesterday.
She is more like a ghost than a woman. Are you off, then?

Yes, I am off,said Jefferson Hopewho had risen from his
seat. His face might have been chiselled out of marble
so hard and set was its expressionwhile its eyes glowed with
a baleful light.

Where are you going?

Never mind,he answered; andslinging his weapon over his
shoulderstrode off down the gorge and so away into the
heart of the mountains to the haunts of the wild beasts.
Amongst them all there was none so fierce and so dangerous as

The prediction of the Mormon was only too well fulfilled.
Whether it was the terrible death of her father or the
effects of the hateful marriage into which she had been
forcedpoor Lucy never held up her head againbut pined
away and died within a month. Her sottish husbandwho had
married her principally for the sake of John Ferrier's
propertydid not affect any great grief at his bereavement;
but his other wives mourned over herand sat up with her the
night before the burialas is the Mormon custom. They were
grouped round the bier in the early hours of the morning
whento their inexpressible fear and astonishmentthe door
was flung openand a savage-lookingweather-beaten man in
tattered garments strode into the room. Without a glance or
a word to the cowering womenhe walked up to the white
silent figure which had once contained the pure soul of Lucy
Ferrier. Stooping over herhe pressed his lips reverently
to her cold foreheadand thensnatching up her handhe
took the wedding-ring from her finger. "She shall not be
buried in that he cried with a fierce snarl, and before an
alarm could be raised sprang down the stairs and was gone.
So strange and so brief was the episode, that the watchers
might have found it hard to believe it themselves or persuade
other people of it, had it not been for the undeniable fact

that the circlet of gold which marked her as having been a
bride had disappeared.

For some months Jefferson Hope lingered among the mountains,
leading a strange wild life, and nursing in his heart the
fierce desire for vengeance which possessed him. Tales were
told in the City of the weird figure which was seen prowling
about the suburbs, and which haunted the lonely mountain
gorges. Once a bullet whistled through Stangerson's window
and flattened itself upon the wall within a foot of him. On
another occasion, as Drebber passed under a cliff a great
boulder crashed down on him, and he only escaped a terrible
death by throwing himself upon his face. The two young
Mormons were not long in discovering the reason of these
attempts upon their lives, and led repeated expeditions into
the mountains in the hope of capturing or killing their
enemy, but always without success. Then they adopted the
precaution of never going out alone or after nightfall, and
of having their houses guarded. After a time they were able
to relax these measures, for nothing was either heard or seen
of their opponent, and they hoped that time had cooled his

Far from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented it.
The hunter's mind was of a hard, unyielding nature, and the
predominant idea of revenge had taken such complete
possession of it that there was no room for any other
emotion. He was, however, above all things practical. He
soon realized that even his iron constitution could not stand
the incessant strain which he was putting upon it. Exposure
and want of wholesome food were wearing him out. If he died
like a dog among the mountains, what was to become of his
revenge then? And yet such a death was sure to overtake him
if he persisted. He felt that that was to play his enemy's
game, so he reluctantly returned to the old Nevada mines,
there to recruit his health and to amass money enough to
allow him to pursue his object without privation.

His intention had been to be absent a year at the most, but a
combination of unforeseen circumstances prevented his leaving
the mines for nearly five. At the end of that time, however,
his memory of his wrongs and his craving for revenge were
quite as keen as on that memorable night when he had stood by
John Ferrier's grave. Disguised, and under an assumed name,
he returned to Salt Lake City, careless what became of his
own life, as long as he obtained what he knew to be justice.
There he found evil tidings awaiting him. There had been a
schism among the Chosen People a few months before, some of
the younger members of the Church having rebelled against the
authority of the Elders, and the result had been the
secession of a certain number of the malcontents, who had
left Utah and become Gentiles. Among these had been Drebber
and Stangerson; and no one knew whither they had gone.
Rumour reported that Drebber had managed to convert a large
part of his property into money, and that he had departed a
wealthy man, while his companion, Stangerson, was
comparatively poor. There was no clue at all, however,
as to their whereabouts.

Many a man, however vindictive, would have abandoned all
thought of revenge in the face of such a difficulty, but
Jefferson Hope never faltered for a moment. With the small
competence he possessed, eked out by such employment as he
could pick up, he travelled from town to town through the

United States in quest of his enemies. Year passed into
year, his black hair turned grizzled, but still he wandered
on, a human bloodhound, with his mind wholly set upon the one
object upon which he had devoted his life. At last his
perseverance was rewarded. It was but a glance of a face in
a window, but that one glance told him that Cleveland in Ohio
possessed the men whom he was in pursuit of. He returned to
his miserable lodgings with his plan of vengeance all
arranged. It chanced, however, that Drebber, looking from
his window, had recognized the vagrant in the street, and had
read murder in his eyes. He hurried before a justice of the
peace, accompanied by Stangerson, who had become his private
secretary, and represented to him that they were in danger of
their lives from the jealousy and hatred of an old rival.
That evening Jefferson Hope was taken into custody, and not
being able to find sureties, was detained for some weeks.
When at last he was liberated, it was only to find that
Drebber's house was deserted, and that he and his secretary
had departed for Europe.

Again the avenger had been foiled, and again his concentrated
hatred urged him to continue the pursuit. Funds were
wanting, however, and for some time he had to return to work,
saving every dollar for his approaching journey. At last,
having collected enough to keep life in him, he departed for
Europe, and tracked his enemies from city to city, working
his way in any menial capacity, but never overtaking the
fugitives. When he reached St. Petersburg they had departed
for Paris; and when he followed them there he learned that
they had just set off for Copenhagen. At the Danish capital
he was again a few days late, for they had journeyed on to
London, where he at last succeeded in running them to earth.
As to what occurred there, we cannot do better than quote the
old hunter's own account, as duly recorded in Dr. Watson's
Journal, to which we are already under such obligations.



OUR prisoner's furious resistance did not apparently indicate
any ferocity in his disposition towards ourselves, for on
finding himself powerless, he smiled in an affable manner,
and expressed his hopes that he had not hurt any of us in the
scuffle. I guess you're going to take me to the police-station
he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. My cab's at the door.
If you'll loose my legs I'll walk down to it. I'm not so light
to lift as I used to be."

Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if they thought
this proposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once took
the prisoner at his wordand loosened the towel which we had
bound round his ancles. {23} He rose and stretched his legs
as though to assure himself that they were free once more.
I remember that I thought to myselfas I eyed himthat I had
seldom seen a more powerfully built man; and his dark
sunburned face bore an expression of determination and energy
which was as formidable as his personal strength.

If there's a vacant place for a chief of the police,
I reckon you are the man for it,he saidgazing with

undisguised admiration at my fellow-lodger. "The way you
kept on my trail was a caution."

You had better come with me,said Holmes to the two detectives.

I can drive you,said Lestrade.

Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. You too, Doctor,
you have taken an interest in the case and may as well stick
to us.

I assented gladlyand we all descended together. Our
prisoner made no attempt at escapebut stepped calmly into
the cab which had been hisand we followed him. Lestrade
mounted the boxwhipped up the horseand brought us in a
very short time to our destination. We were ushered into a
small chamber where a police Inspector noted down our
prisoner's name and the names of the men with whose murder he
had been charged. The official was a white-faced unemotional
manwho went through his duties in a dull mechanical way.
The prisoner will be put before the magistrates in the
course of the week,he said; "in the mean timeMr.
Jefferson Hopehave you anything that you wish to say?
I must warn you that your words will be taken downand may
be used against you."

I've got a good deal to say,our prisoner said slowly.
I want to tell you gentlemen all about it.

Hadn't you better reserve that for your trial?asked the

I may never be tried,he answered. "You needn't look
startled. It isn't suicide I am thinking of. Are you a
Doctor?" He turned his fierce dark eyes upon me as he asked
this last question.

Yes; I am,I answered.

Then put your hand here,he saidwith a smilemotioning
with his manacled wrists towards his chest.

I did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinary
throbbing and commotion which was going on inside. The walls
of his chest seemed to thrill and quiver as a frail building
would do inside when some powerful engine was at work. In
the silence of the room I could hear a dull humming and
buzzing noise which proceeded from the same source.

Why,I criedyou have an aortic aneurism!

That's what they call it,he saidplacidly. "I went to a
Doctor last week about itand he told me that it is bound to
burst before many days passed. It has been getting worse for
years. I got it from over-exposure and under-feeding among
the Salt Lake Mountains. I've done my work nowand I don't
care how soon I gobut I should like to leave some account
of the business behind me. I don't want to be remembered as
a common cut-throat."

The Inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion
as to the advisability of allowing him to tell his story.

Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immediate danger?

the former asked{24}

Most certainly there is,I answered.

In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests
of justice, to take his statement,said the Inspector.
You are at liberty, sir, to give your account, which I again
warn you will be taken down.

I'll sit down, with your leave,the prisoner saidsuiting
the action to the word. "This aneurism of mine makes me
easily tiredand the tussle we had half an hour ago has not
mended matters. I'm on the brink of the graveand I am not
likely to lie to you. Every word I say is the absolute truth
and how you use it is a matter of no consequence to me."

With these wordsJefferson Hope leaned back in his chair and
began the following remarkable statement. He spoke in a calm
and methodical manneras though the events which he narrated
were commonplace enough. I can vouch for the accuracy of the
subjoined accountfor I have had access to Lestrade's note-book
in which the prisoner's words were taken down exactly as they
were uttered.

It don't much matter to you why I hated these men,he said;
it's enough that they were guilty of the death of two human
beings -- a father and a daughter -- and that they had,
therefore, forfeited their own lives. After the lapse of
time that has passed since their crime, it was impossible for
me to secure a conviction against them in any court. I knew
of their guilt though, and I determined that I should be
judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one. You'd have
done the same, if you have any manhood in you, if you had
been in my place.

That girl that I spoke of was to have married me twenty
years ago. She was forced into marrying that same Drebber
and broke her heart over it. I took the marriage ring from
her dead fingerand I vowed that his dying eyes should rest
upon that very ringand that his last thoughts should be of
the crime for which he was punished. I have carried it about
with meand have followed him and his accomplice over two
continents until I caught them. They thought to tire me out
but they could not do it. If I die to-morrowas is likely
enoughI die knowing that my work in this world is done
and well done. They have perishedand by my hand.
There is nothing left for me to hope foror to desire.

They were rich and I was poor, so that it was no easy matter
for me to follow them. When I got to London my pocket was
about empty, and I found that I must turn my hand to
something for my living. Driving and riding are as natural
to me as walking, so I applied at a cabowner's office, and
soon got employment. I was to bring a certain sum a week to
the owner, and whatever was over that I might keep for
myself. There was seldom much over, but I managed to scrape
along somehow. The hardest job was to learn my way about,
for I reckon that of all the mazes that ever were contrived,
this city is the most confusing. I had a map beside me
though, and when once I had spotted the principal hotels and
stations, I got on pretty well.

It was some time before I found out where my two gentlemen
were living; but I inquired and inquired until at last I

dropped across them. They were at a boarding-house at
Camberwellover on the other side of the river. When once I
found them out I knew that I had them at my mercy. I had
grown my beardand there was no chance of their recognizing
me. I would dog them and follow them until I saw my opportunity.
I was determined that they should not escape me again.

They were very near doing it for all that. Go where they
would about London, I was always at their heels. Sometimes I
followed them on my cab, and sometimes on foot, but the
former was the best, for then they could not get away from
me. It was only early in the morning or late at night that I
could earn anything, so that I began to get behind hand with
my employer. I did not mind that, however, as long as I
could lay my hand upon the men I wanted.

They were very cunningthough. They must have thought that
there was some chance of their being followedfor they would
never go out aloneand never after nightfall. During two
weeks I drove behind them every dayand never once saw them
separate. Drebber himself was drunk half the timebut
Stangerson was not to be caught napping. I watched them late
and earlybut never saw the ghost of a chance; but I was not
discouragedfor something told me that the hour had almost
come. My only fear was that this thing in my chest might
burst a little too soon and leave my work undone.

At last, one evening I was driving up and down Torquay
Terrace, as the street was called in which they boarded, when
I saw a cab drive up to their door. Presently some luggage
was brought out, and after a time Drebber and Stangerson
followed it, and drove off. I whipped up my horse and kept
within sight of them, feeling very ill at ease, for I feared
that they were going to shift their quarters. At Euston
Station they got out, and I left a boy to hold my horse, and
followed them on to the platform. I heard them ask for the
Liverpool train, and the guard answer that one had just gone
and there would not be another for some hours. Stangerson
seemed to be put out at that, but Drebber was rather pleased
than otherwise. I got so close to them in the bustle that I
could hear every word that passed between them. Drebber said
that he had a little business of his own to do, and that if
the other would wait for him he would soon rejoin him. His
companion remonstrated with him, and reminded him that they
had resolved to stick together. Drebber answered that the
matter was a delicate one, and that he must go alone.
I could not catch what Stangerson said to that, but the other
burst out swearing, and reminded him that he was nothing more
than his paid servant, and that he must not presume to
dictate to him. On that the Secretary gave it up as a bad
job, and simply bargained with him that if he missed the last
train he should rejoin him at Halliday's Private Hotel;
to which Drebber answered that he would be back on the platform
before eleven, and made his way out of the station.

The moment for which I had waited so long had at last come.
I had my enemies within my power. Together they could
protect each otherbut singly they were at my mercy. I did
not acthoweverwith undue precipitation. My plans were
already formed. There is no satisfaction in vengeance unless
the offender has time to realize who it is that strikes him
and why retribution has come upon him. I had my plans
arranged by which I should have the opportunity of making the
man who had wronged me understand that his old sin had found

him out. It chanced that some days before a gentleman who
had been engaged in looking over some houses in the Brixton
Road had dropped the key of one of them in my carriage.
It was claimed that same eveningand returned; but in the
interval I had taken a moulding of itand had a duplicate
constructed. By means of this I had access to at least one
spot in this great city where I could rely upon being free
from interruption. How to get Drebber to that house was the
difficult problem which I had now to solve.

He walked down the road and went into one or two liquor
shops, staying for nearly half-an-hour in the last of them.
When he came out he staggered in his walk, and was evidently
pretty well on. There was a hansom just in front of me,
and he hailed it. I followed it so close that the nose of my
horse was within a yard of his driver the whole way.
We rattled across Waterloo Bridge and through miles of streets,
until, to my astonishment, we found ourselves back in the
Terrace in which he had boarded. I could not imagine what
his intention was in returning there; but I went on and
pulled up my cab a hundred yards or so from the house.
He entered it, and his hansom drove away. Give me a glass
of water, if you please. My mouth gets dry with the talking.

I handed him the glassand he drank it down.

That's better,he said. "WellI waited for a quarter of
an houror morewhen suddenly there came a noise like
people struggling inside the house. Next moment the door was
flung open and two men appearedone of whom was Drebberand
the other was a young chap whom I had never seen before.
This fellow had Drebber by the collarand when they came to
the head of the steps he gave him a shove and a kick which
sent him half across the road. `You hound' he cried
shaking his stick at him; `I'll teach you to insult an honest
girl!' He was so hot that I think he would have thrashed
Drebber with his cudgelonly that the cur staggered away
down the road as fast as his legs would carry him. He ran as
far as the cornerand thenseeing my cabhe hailed me and
jumped in. `Drive me to Halliday's Private Hotel' said he.

When I had him fairly inside my cab, my heart jumped so with
joy that I feared lest at this last moment my aneurism might
go wrong. I drove along slowly, weighing in my own mind what
it was best to do. I might take him right out into the
country, and there in some deserted lane have my last
interview with him. I had almost decided upon this, when he
solved the problem for me. The craze for drink had seized
him again, and he ordered me to pull up outside a gin palace.
He went in, leaving word that I should wait for him. There
he remained until closing time, and when he came out he was
so far gone that I knew the game was in my own hands.

Don't imagine that I intended to kill him in cold blood.
It would only have been rigid justice if I had done so
but I could not bring myself to do it. I had long determined
that he should have a show for his life if he chose to take
advantage of it. Among the many billets which I have filled
in America during my wandering lifeI was once janitor and
sweeper out of the laboratory at York College. One day the
professor was lecturing on poisions{25} and he showed his
students some alkaloidas he called itwhich he had
extracted from some South American arrow poisonand which
was so powerful that the least grain meant instant death.

I spotted the bottle in which this preparation was keptand
when they were all goneI helped myself to a little of it.
I was a fairly good dispenserso I worked this alkaloid into
smallsoluble pillsand each pill I put in a box with a
similar pill made without the poison. I determined at the
time that when I had my chancemy gentlemen should each have
a draw out of one of these boxeswhile I ate the pill that
remained. It would be quite as deadlyand a good deal less
noisy than firing across a handkerchief. From that day I had
always my pill boxes about with meand the time had now come
when I was to use them.

It was nearer one than twelve, and a wild, bleak night,
blowing hard and raining in torrents. Dismal as it was
outside, I was glad within -- so glad that I could have
shouted out from pure exultation. If any of you gentlemen
have ever pined for a thing, and longed for it during twenty
long years, and then suddenly found it within your reach, you
would understand my feelings. I lit a cigar, and puffed at
it to steady my nerves, but my hands were trembling, and my
temples throbbing with excitement. As I drove, I could see
old John Ferrier and sweet Lucy looking at me out of the
darkness and smiling at me, just as plain as I see you all in
this room. All the way they were ahead of me, one on each
side of the horse until I pulled up at the house in the
Brixton Road.

There was not a soul to be seennor a sound to be heard
except the dripping of the rain. When I looked in at the window
I found Drebber all huddled together in a drunken sleep.
I shook him by the arm`It's time to get out' I said.

`All right, cabby,' said he.

I suppose he thought we had come to the hotel that he had
mentionedfor he got out without another wordand followed
me down the garden. I had to walk beside him to keep him
steadyfor he was still a little top-heavy. When we came
to the doorI opened itand led him into the front room.
I give you my word that all the waythe father and the
daughter were walking in front of us.

`It's infernally dark,' said he, stamping about.

`We'll soon have a light' I saidstriking a match and
putting it to a wax candle which I had brought with me.
`NowEnoch Drebber' I continuedturning to himand
holding the light to my own face`who am I?'

He gazed at me with bleared, drunken eyes for a moment, and
then I saw a horror spring up in them, and convulse his whole
features, which showed me that he knew me. He staggered back
with a livid face, and I saw the perspiration break out upon
his brow, while his teeth chattered in his head. At the
sight, I leaned my back against the door and laughed loud and
long. I had always known that vengeance would be sweet, but
I had never hoped for the contentment of soul which now
possessed me.

`You dog!' I said; `I have hunted you from Salt Lake City to
St. Petersburgand you have always escaped me. Nowat last
your wanderings have come to an endfor either you or I
shall never see to-morrow's sun rise.' He shrunk still
further away as I spokeand I could see on his face that he

thought I was mad. So I was for the time. The pulses in my
temples beat like sledge-hammersand I believe I would have
had a fit of some sort if the blood had not gushed from my
nose and relieved me.

`What do you think of Lucy Ferrier now?' I cried, locking
the door, and shaking the key in his face. `Punishment has
been slow in coming, but it has overtaken you at last.'
I saw his coward lips tremble as I spoke. He would have begged
for his life, but he knew well that it was useless.

`Would you murder me?' he stammered.

`There is no murder,' I answered. `Who talks of murdering
a mad dog? What mercy had you upon my poor darling, when you
dragged her from her slaughtered father, and bore her away to
your accursed and shameless harem.'

`It was not I who killed her father' he cried.

`But it was you who broke her innocent heart,' I shrieked,
thrusting the box before him. `Let the high God judge
between us. Choose and eat. There is death in one and life
in the other. I shall take what you leave. Let us see if
there is justice upon the earth, or if we are ruled by chance.'

He cowered away with wild cries and prayers for mercybut I
drew my knife and held it to his throat until he had obeyed
me. Then I swallowed the otherand we stood facing one
another in silence for a minute or morewaiting to see which
was to live and which was to die. Shall I ever forget the
look which came over his face when the first warning pangs
told him that the poison was in his system? I laughed as I
saw itand held Lucy's marriage ring in front of his eyes.
It was but for a momentfor the action of the alkaloid is
rapid. A spasm of pain contorted his features; he threw his
hands out in front of himstaggeredand thenwith a hoarse
cryfell heavily upon the floor. I turned him over with my
footand placed my hand upon his heart. There was no
movement. He was dead!

The blood had been streaming from my nose, but I had taken
no notice of it. I don't know what it was that put it into
my head to write upon the wall with it. Perhaps it was some
mischievous idea of setting the police upon a wrong track,
for I felt light-hearted and cheerful. I remembered a German
being found in New York with RACHE written up above him, and
it was argued at the time in the newspapers that the secret
societies must have done it. I guessed that what puzzled the
New Yorkers would puzzle the Londoners, so I dipped my finger
in my own blood and printed it on a convenient place on the
wall. Then I walked down to my cab and found that there was
nobody about, and that the night was still very wild. I had
driven some distance when I put my hand into the pocket in
which I usually kept Lucy's ring, and found that it was not
there. I was thunderstruck at this, for it was the only
memento that I had of her. Thinking that I might have
dropped it when I stooped over Drebber's body, I drove back,
and leaving my cab in a side street, I went boldly up to the
house -- for I was ready to dare anything rather than lose
the ring. When I arrived there, I walked right into the arms
of a police-officer who was coming out, and only managed to
disarm his suspicions by pretending to be hopelessly drunk.

That was how Enoch Drebber came to his end. All I had to do
then was to do as much for Stangersonand so pay off John
Ferrier's debt. I knew that he was staying at Halliday's
Private Hoteland I hung about all daybut he never came
out. {26} fancy that he suspected something when Drebber
failed to put in an appearance. He was cunningwas
Stangersonand always on his guard. If he thought he could
keep me off by staying indoors he was very much mistaken.
I soon found out which was the window of his bedroomand early
next morning I took advantage of some ladders which were
lying in the lane behind the hoteland so made my way into
his room in the grey of the dawn. I woke him up and told him
that the hour had come when he was to answer for the life he
had taken so long before. I described Drebber's death to
himand I gave him the same choice of the poisoned pills.
Instead of grasping at the chance of safety which that
offered himhe sprang from his bed and flew at my throat.
In self-defence I stabbed him to the heart. It would have
been the same in any casefor Providence would never have
allowed his guilty hand to pick out anything but the poison.

I have little more to say, and it's as well, for I am about
done up. I went on cabbing it for a day or so, intending to
keep at it until I could save enough to take me back to
America. I was standing in the yard when a ragged youngster
asked if there was a cabby there called Jefferson Hope, and
said that his cab was wanted by a gentleman at 221B, Baker
Street. I went round, suspecting no harm, and the next thing
I knew, this young man here had the bracelets on my wrists,
and as neatly snackled {27} as ever I saw in my life. That's
the whole of my story, gentlemen. You may consider me to be
a murderer; but I hold that I am just as much an officer of
justice as you are.

So thrilling had the man's narrative beenand his manner was
so impressive that we had sat silent and absorbed. Even the
professional detectives_blase_ {28} as they were in every detail
of crimeappeared to be keenly interested in the man's story.
When he finished we sat for some minutes in a stillness which
was only broken by the scratching of Lestrade's pencil as he
gave the finishing touches to his shorthand account.

There is only one point on which I should like a little more
information,Sherlock Holmes said at last. "Who was your
accomplice who came for the ring which I advertised?"

The prisoner winked at my friend jocosely. "I can tell my own
secrets he said, but I don't get other people into trouble.
I saw your advertisementand I thought it might be a plant
or it might be the ring which I wanted. My friend volunteered
to go and see. I think you'll own he did it smartly."

Not a doubt of that,said Holmes heartily.

Now, gentlemen,the Inspector remarked gravelythe forms
of the law must be complied with. On Thursday the prisoner
will be brought before the magistrates, and your attendance
will be required. Until then I will be responsible for him.
He rang the bell as he spokeand Jefferson Hope was led off
by a couple of warderswhile my friend and I made our way
out of the Station and took a cab back to Baker Street.



WE had all been warned to appear before the magistrates
upon the Thursday; but when the Thursday came there was no
occasion for our testimony. A higher Judge had taken the
matter in handand Jefferson Hope had been summoned before
a tribunal where strict justice would be meted out to him.
On the very night after his capture the aneurism burst
and he was found in the morning stretched upon the floor
of the cellwith a placid smile upon his faceas though
he had been able in his dying moments to look back upon
a useful lifeand on work well done.

Gregson and Lestrade will be wild about his death,
Holmes remarkedas we chatted it over next evening.
Where will their grand advertisement be now?

I don't see that they had very much to do with his capture,
I answered.

What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence,
returned my companionbitterly. "The question iswhat can
you make people believe that you have done. Never mind
he continued, more brightly, after a pause. I would not have
missed the investigation for anything. There has been no
better case within my recollection. Simple as it wasthere
were several most instructive points about it."

Simple!I ejaculated.

Well, really, it can hardly be described as otherwise,said
Sherlock Holmessmiling at my surprise. "The proof of its
intrinsic simplicity isthat without any help save a few
very ordinary deductions I was able to lay my hand upon the
criminal within three days."

That is true,said I.

I have already explained to you that what is out of the
common is usually a guide rather than a hindrance.
In solving a problem of this sort, the grand thing is to be able
to reason backwards. That is a very useful accomplishment,
and a very easy one, but people do not practise it much.
In the every-day affairs of life it is more useful to
reason forwards, and so the other comes to be neglected.
There are fifty who can reason synthetically for one who can
reason analytically.

I confess,said Ithat I do not quite follow you.

I hardly expected that you would. Let me see if I can make
it clearer. Most people, if you describe a train of events
to them, will tell you what the result would be. They can
put those events together in their minds, and argue from them
that something will come to pass. There are few people,
however, who, if you told them a result, would be able to
evolve from their own inner consciousness what the steps were
which led up to that result. This power is what I mean when
I talk of reasoning backwards, or analytically.

I understand,said I.

Now this was a case in which you were given the result and
had to find everything else for yourself. Now let me
endeavour to show you the different steps in my reasoning.
To begin at the beginning. I approached the house, as you
know, on foot, and with my mind entirely free from all
impressions. I naturally began by examining the roadway, and
there, as I have already explained to you, I saw clearly the
marks of a cab, which, I ascertained by inquiry, must have
been there during the night. I satisfied myself that it was
a cab and not a private carriage by the narrow gauge of the
wheels. The ordinary London growler is considerably less
wide than a gentleman's brougham.

This was the first point gained. I then walked slowly down
the garden pathwhich happened to be composed of a clay
soilpeculiarly suitable for taking impressions. No doubt
it appeared to you to be a mere trampled line of slushbut
to my trained eyes every mark upon its surface had a meaning.
There is no branch of detective science which is so important
and so much neglected as the art of tracing footsteps.
HappilyI have always laid great stress upon itand much
practice has made it second nature to me. I saw the heavy
footmarks of the constablesbut I saw also the track of the
two men who had first passed through the garden. It was easy
to tell that they had been before the othersbecause in
places their marks had been entirely obliterated by the
others coming upon the top of them. In this way my second
link was formedwhich told me that the nocturnal visitors
were two in numberone remarkable for his height (as I
calculated from the length of his stride)and the other
fashionably dressedto judge from the small and elegant
impression left by his boots.

On entering the house this last inference was confirmed.
My well-booted man lay before me. The tall one, then, had done
the murder, if murder there was. There was no wound upon the
dead man's person, but the agitated expression upon his face
assured me that he had foreseen his fate before it came upon
him. Men who die from heart disease, or any sudden natural
cause, never by any chance exhibit agitation upon their
features. Having sniffed the dead man's lips I detected a
slightly sour smell, and I came to the conclusion that he had
had poison forced upon him. Again, I argued that it had been
forced upon him from the hatred and fear expressed upon his
face. By the method of exclusion, I had arrived at this
result, for no other hypothesis would meet the facts. Do not
imagine that it was a very unheard of idea. The forcible
administration of poison is by no means a new thing in
criminal annals. The cases of Dolsky in Odessa, and of
Leturier in Montpellier, will occur at once to any toxicologist.

And now came the great question as to the reason why.
Robbery had not been the object of the murderfor nothing
was taken. Was it politicsthenor was it a woman? That
was the question which confronted me. I was inclined from
the first to the latter supposition. Political assassins are
only too glad to do their work and to fly. This murder had
on the contrarybeen done most deliberatelyand the
perpetrator had left his tracks all over the roomshowing
that he had been there all the time. It must have been a
private wrongand not a political onewhich called for such
a methodical revenge. When the inscription was discovered
upon the wall I was more inclined than ever to my opinion.

The thing was too evidently a blind. When the ring was
foundhoweverit settled the question. Clearly the
murderer had used it to remind his victim of some dead or
absent woman. It was at this point that I asked Gregson
whether he had enquired in his telegram to Cleveland as
to any particular point in Mr. Drebber's former career.
He answeredyou rememberin the negative.

I then proceeded to make a careful examination of the room,
which confirmed me in my opinion as to the murderer's height,
and furnished me with the additional details as to the
Trichinopoly cigar and the length of his nails. I had
already come to the conclusion, since there were no signs of
a struggle, that the blood which covered the floor had burst
from the murderer's nose in his excitement. I could perceive
that the track of blood coincided with the track of his feet.
It is seldom that any man, unless he is very full-blooded,
breaks out in this way through emotion, so I hazarded the opinion
that the criminal was probably a robust and ruddy-faced man.
Events proved that I had judged correctly.

Having left the houseI proceeded to do what Gregson had
neglected. I telegraphed to the head of the police at Cleveland
limiting my enquiry to the circumstances connected with the
marriage of Enoch Drebber. The answer was conclusive.
It told me that Drebber had already applied for the protection
of the law against an old rival in lovenamed Jefferson Hope
and that this same Hope was at present in Europe.
I knew now that I held the clue to the mystery in my hand
and all that remained was to secure the murderer.

I had already determined in my own mind that the man who had
walked into the house with Drebber, was none other than the
man who had driven the cab. The marks in the road showed me
that the horse had wandered on in a way which would have been
impossible had there been anyone in charge of it. Where,
then, could the driver be, unless he were inside the house?
Again, it is absurd to suppose that any sane man would carry
out a deliberate crime under the very eyes, as it were, of a
third person, who was sure to betray him. Lastly, supposing
one man wished to dog another through London, what better
means could he adopt than to turn cabdriver. All these
considerations led me to the irresistible conclusion that
Jefferson Hope was to be found among the jarveys of the

If he had been one there was no reason to believe that he
had ceased to be. On the contraryfrom his point of view
any sudden chance would be likely to draw attention to
himself. He wouldprobablyfor a time at leastcontinue
to perform his duties. There was no reason to suppose that
he was going under an assumed name. Why should he change his
name in a country where no one knew his original one? I
therefore organized my Street Arab detective corpsand sent
them systematically to every cab proprietor in London until
they ferreted out the man that I wanted. How well they
succeededand how quickly I took advantage of itare still
fresh in your recollection. The murder of Stangerson was an
incident which was entirely unexpectedbut which could
hardly in any case have been prevented. Through itas you
knowI came into possession of the pillsthe existence of
which I had already surmised. You see the whole thing is a
chain of logical sequences without a break or flaw."

It is wonderful!I cried. "Your merits should be publicly
recognized. You should publish an account of the case.
If you won'tI will for you."

You may do what you like, Doctor,he answered. "See here!"
he continuedhanding a paper over to melook at this!

It was the _Echo_ for the dayand the paragraph to which he
pointed was devoted to the case in question.

The public,it saidhave lost a sensational treat through
the sudden death of the man Hope, who was suspected of the
murder of Mr. Enoch Drebber and of Mr. Joseph Stangerson.
The details of the case will probably be never known now,
though we are informed upon good authority that the crime was
the result of an old standing and romantic feud, in which
love and Mormonism bore a part. It seems that both the
victims belonged, in their younger days, to the Latter Day
Saints, and Hope, the deceased prisoner, hails also from Salt
Lake City. If the case has had no other effect, it, at
least, brings out in the most striking manner the efficiency
of our detective police force, and will serve as a lesson to
all foreigners that they will do wisely to settle their feuds
at home, and not to carry them on to British soil. It is an
open secret that the credit of this smart capture belongs
entirely to the well-known Scotland Yard officials, Messrs.
Lestrade and Gregson. The man was apprehended, it appears,
in the rooms of a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who has
himself, as an amateur, shown some talent in the detective
line, and who, with such instructors, may hope in time to
attain to some degree of their skill. It is expected that
a testimonial of some sort will be presented to the two
officers as a fitting recognition of their services.

Didn't I tell you so when we started?cried Sherlock Holmes
with a laugh. "That's the result of all our Study in Scarlet:
to get them a testimonial!"

Never mind,I answeredI have all the facts in my journal,
and the public shall know them. In the meantime you must make
yourself contented by the consciousness of success,
like the Roman miser --

`Populus me sibilatat mihi plaudo
Ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplar in arca.'"

* Heber C. Kemballin one of his sermonsalludes
to his hundred wives under this endearing epithet.
-----------------------End of Text --------------------------------

----------------------------Textual notes-----------------------------

{1} {Frontispiecewith the caption: "He examined with his glass
the word upon the wallgoing over every letter of it with
the most minute exactness." (_Page_ 23.)}
{2} {"JOHN H. WATSONM.D.": the initial letters in the name are
capitalizedthe other letters in small caps. All chapter
titles are in small caps. The initial words of chapters are
in small caps with first letter capitalized.}
{3} {"lodgings.": the period should be a commaas in later editions.}

{4} {"hoemoglobin": should be haemoglobin. The o&e are concatenated.}
{5} {"221B": the B is in small caps}
{6} {"THE LAURISTON GARDEN MYSTERY": the table-of-contents lists
this chapter as "...GARDENS MYSTERY" -- pluraland probably
more correct.}
{7} {"brought."": the text has an extra double-quote mark}
{8} {"individual --": illustration this pagewith the caption:
As he spoke, his nimble fingers were flying here, there,
and everywhere.}
{9} {"manoeuvres": the o&e are concatenated.}
{10} {"Patent leathers": the hyphen is missing.}
{11} {"condonment": should be condonement.}
{12} {"Boheme": the first "e" has a backward accent (\) above it.}
{13} {"wages.": ending quote is missing.}
{14} {"the first.": ending quote is missing.}
{15} {"make much of...": Other editions complete this sentence with
an "it." But there is a gap in the text at this pointand
given the contextit may have actually been an interjection
a dash. The gap is just the right size for the characters
it.and the start of a new sentenceor for a "----"}
{16} {"tho cushion": "tho" should be "the"}
{17} {"_outre_": the e has a forward accent (/) above it.}
{18} {"canons": the first n has a tilde above itas do all other
occurrences of this word.}
{19} {"shoving": later editions have "showing". The original is
clearly superior.}
{20} {"stared about...": illustrationwith the caption: "One of them
seized the little girland hoisted her upon his shoulder."}
{21} {"upon the": illustrationwith the caption: "As he watched
it he saw it writhe along the ground."}
{22} {"FORMERLY...": FSLC in capsother letters in this line
in small caps.}
{23} {"ancles": ankles.}
{24} {"asked: should be asked."}
{25} {"poisions": should be "poisons"}
{26} {"...fancy": should be "I fancy". There is a gap in the text.}
{27} {"snackled": "shackled" in later texts.}
{28} {"_blase_": the e has a forward accent (/) above it.}
------------------------End Textual Notes ---------------------------