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THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by
SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
ADVENTURE III.
A CASE OF IDENTITY
"My dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes as
we sat on either side of the fire in his
lodgings at Baker Street, "life is
infinitely stranger than anything which the
mind of man could invent.
We would not dare to conceive the things
which are really mere commonplaces of
existence.
If we could fly out of that window hand in
hand, hover over this great city, gently
remove the roofs, and peep in at the ***
things which are going on, the strange
coincidences, the plannings, the cross-
purposes, the wonderful chains of events,
working through generations, and leading to
the most outré results, it would make all
fiction with its conventionalities and
foreseen conclusions most stale and
unprofitable."
"And yet I am not convinced of it," I
answered.
"The cases which come to light in the
papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and
vulgar enough.
We have in our police reports realism
pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the
result is, it must be confessed, neither
fascinating nor artistic."
"A certain selection and discretion must be
used in producing a realistic effect,"
remarked Holmes.
"This is wanting in the police report,
where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon
the platitudes of the magistrate than upon
the details, which to an observer contain
the vital essence of the whole matter.
Depend upon it, there is nothing so
unnatural as the commonplace."
I smiled and shook my head.
"I can quite understand your thinking so,"
I said.
"Of course, in your position of unofficial
adviser and helper to everybody who is
absolutely puzzled, throughout three
continents, you are brought in contact with
all that is strange and bizarre.
But here"--I picked up the morning paper
from the ground--"let us put it to a
practical test.
Here is the first heading upon which I
come.
'A husband's cruelty to his wife.'
There is half a column of print, but I know
without reading it that it is all perfectly
familiar to me.
There is, of course, the other woman, the
drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the
sympathetic sister or landlady.
The crudest of writers could invent nothing
more crude."
"Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one
for your argument," said Holmes, taking the
paper and glancing his eye down it.
"This is the Dundas separation case, and,
as it happens, I was engaged in clearing up
some small points in connection with it.
The husband was a teetotaler, there was no
other woman, and the conduct complained of
was that he had drifted into the habit of
winding up every meal by taking out his
false teeth and hurling them at his wife,
which, you will allow, is not an action
likely to occur to the imagination of the
average story-teller.
Take a pinch of snuff, Doctor, and
acknowledge that I have scored over you in
your example."
He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with
a great amethyst in the centre of the lid.
Its splendour was in such contrast to his
homely ways and simple life that I could
not help commenting upon it.
"Ah," said he, "I forgot that I had not
seen you for some weeks.
It is a little souvenir from the King of
Bohemia in return for my assistance in the
case of the Irene Adler papers."
"And the ring?"
I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant
which sparkled upon his finger.
"It was from the reigning family of
Holland, though the matter in which I
served them was of such delicacy that I
cannot confide it even to you, who have
been good enough to chronicle one or two of
my little problems."
"And have you any on hand just now?"
I asked with interest.
"Some ten or twelve, but none which present
any feature of interest.
They are important, you understand, without
being interesting.
Indeed, I have found that it is usually in
unimportant matters that there is a field
for the observation, and for the quick
analysis of cause and effect which gives
the charm to an investigation.
The larger crimes are apt to be the
simpler, for the bigger the crime the more
obvious, as a rule, is the motive.
In these cases, save for one rather
intricate matter which has been referred to
me from Marseilles, there is nothing which
presents any features of interest.
It is possible, however, that I may have
something better before very many minutes
are over, for this is one of my clients, or
I am much mistaken."
He had risen from his chair and was
standing between the parted blinds gazing
down into the dull neutral-tinted London
street.
Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on
the pavement opposite there stood a large
woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck,
and a large curling red feather in a broad-
brimmed hat which was tilted in a
coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion
over her ear.
From under this great panoply she peeped up
in a nervous, hesitating fashion at our
windows, while her body oscillated backward
and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with
her glove buttons.
Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer
who leaves the bank, she hurried across the
road, and we heard the sharp clang of the
bell.
"I have seen those symptoms before," said
Holmes, throwing his cigarette into the
fire.
"Oscillation upon the pavement always means
an affaire de coeur.
She would like advice, but is not sure that
the matter is not too delicate for
communication.
And yet even here we may discriminate.
When a woman has been seriously wronged by
a man she no longer oscillates, and the
usual symptom is a broken bell wire.
Here we may take it that there is a love
matter, but that the maiden is not so much
angry as perplexed, or grieved.
But here she comes in person to resolve our
doubts."
As he spoke there was a tap at the door,
and the boy in buttons entered to announce
Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady
herself loomed behind his small black
figure like a full-sailed merchant-man
behind a tiny pilot boat.
Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with the easy
courtesy for which he was remarkable, and,
having closed the door and bowed her into
an armchair, he looked her over in the
minute and yet abstracted fashion which was
peculiar to him.
"Do you not find," he said, "that with your
short sight it is a little trying to do so
much typewriting?"
"I did at first," she answered, "but now I
know where the letters are without
looking."
Then, suddenly realising the full purport
of his words, she gave a violent start and
looked up, with fear and astonishment upon
her broad, good-humoured face.
"You've heard about me, Mr. Holmes," she
cried, "else how could you know all that?"
"Never mind," said Holmes, laughing; "it is
my business to know things.
Perhaps I have trained myself to see what
others overlook.
If not, why should you come to consult me?"
"I came to you, sir, because I heard of you
from Mrs. Etherege, whose husband you found
so easy when the police and everyone had
given him up for dead.
Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as much
for me.
I'm not rich, but still I have a hundred a
year in my own right, besides the little
that I make by the machine, and I would
give it all to know what has become of Mr.
Hosmer Angel."
"Why did you come away to consult me in
such a hurry?" asked Sherlock Holmes, with
his finger-tips together and his eyes to
the ceiling.
Again a startled look came over the
somewhat vacuous face of Miss Mary
Sutherland.
"Yes, I did *** out of the house," she
said, "for it made me angry to see the easy
way in which Mr. Windibank--that is, my
father--took it all.
He would not go to the police, and he would
not go to you, and so at last, as he would
do nothing and kept on saying that there
was no harm done, it made me mad, and I
just on with my things and came right away
to you."
"Your father," said Holmes, "your
stepfather, surely, since the name is
different."
"Yes, my stepfather.
I call him father, though it sounds funny,
too, for he is only five years and two
months older than myself."
"And your mother is alive?"
"Oh, yes, mother is alive and well.
I wasn't best pleased, Mr. Holmes, when she
married again so soon after father's death,
and a man who was nearly fifteen years
younger than herself.
Father was a plumber in the Tottenham Court
Road, and he left a tidy business behind
him, which mother carried on with Mr.
Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr. Windibank
came he made her sell the business, for he
was very superior, being a traveller in
wines.
They got 4700 pounds for the goodwill and
interest, which wasn't near as much as
father could have got if he had been
alive."
I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes
impatient under this rambling and
inconsequential narrative, but, on the
contrary, he had listened with the greatest
concentration of attention.
"Your own little income," he asked, "does
it come out of the business?"
"Oh, no, sir.
It is quite separate and was left me by my
uncle Ned in Auckland.
It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4 1/2
per cent.
Two thousand five hundred pounds was the
amount, but I can only touch the interest."
"You interest me extremely," said Holmes.
"And since you draw so large a sum as a
hundred a year, with what you earn into the
bargain, you no doubt travel a little and
indulge yourself in every way.
I believe that a single lady can get on
very nicely upon an income of about 60
pounds."
"I could do with much less than that, Mr.
Holmes, but you understand that as long as
I live at home I don't wish to be a burden
to them, and so they have the use of the
money just while I am staying with them.
Of course, that is only just for the time.
Mr. Windibank draws my interest every
quarter and pays it over to mother, and I
find that I can do pretty well with what I
earn at typewriting.
It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can
often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a
day."
"You have made your position very clear to
me," said Holmes.
"This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom
you can speak as freely as before myself.
Kindly tell us now all about your
connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel."
A flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face,
and she picked nervously at the fringe of
her jacket.
"I met him first at the gasfitters' ball,"
she said.
"They used to send father tickets when he
was alive, and then afterwards they
remembered us, and sent them to mother.
Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go.
He never did wish us to go anywhere.
He would get quite mad if I wanted so much
as to join a Sunday-school treat.
But this time I was set on going, and I
would go; for what right had he to prevent?
He said the folk were not fit for us to
know, when all father's friends were to be
there.
And he said that I had nothing fit to wear,
when I had my purple plush that I had never
so much as taken out of the drawer.
At last, when nothing else would do, he
went off to France upon the business of the
firm, but we went, mother and I, with Mr.
Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it
was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel."
"I suppose," said Holmes, "that when Mr.
Windibank came back from France he was very
annoyed at your having gone to the ball."
"Oh, well, he was very good about it.
He laughed, I remember, and shrugged his
shoulders, and said there was no use
denying anything to a woman, for she would
have her way."
"I see.
Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I
understand, a gentleman called Mr. Hosmer
Angel."
"Yes, sir.
I met him that night, and he called next
day to ask if we had got home all safe, and
after that we met him--that is to say, Mr.
Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but
after that father came back again, and Mr.
Hosmer Angel could not come to the house
any more."
"No?"
"Well, you know father didn't like anything
of the sort.
He wouldn't have any visitors if he could
help it, and he used to say that a woman
should be happy in her own family circle.
But then, as I used to say to mother, a
woman wants her own circle to begin with,
and I had not got mine yet."
"But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel?
Did he make no attempt to see you?"
"Well, father was going off to France again
in a week, and Hosmer wrote and said that
it would be safer and better not to see
each other until he had gone.
We could write in the meantime, and he used
to write every day.
I took the letters in in the morning, so
there was no need for father to know."
"Were you engaged to the gentleman at this
time?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes.
We were engaged after the first walk that
we took.
Hosmer--Mr. Angel--was a cashier in an
office in Leadenhall Street--and--"
"What office?"
"That's the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I
don't know."
"Where did he live, then?"
"He slept on the premises."
"And you don't know his address?"
"No--except that it was Leadenhall Street."
"Where did you address your letters, then?"
"To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to
be left till called for.
He said that if they were sent to the
office he would be chaffed by all the other
clerks about having letters from a lady, so
I offered to typewrite them, like he did
his, but he wouldn't have that, for he said
that when I wrote them they seemed to come
from me, but when they were typewritten he
always felt that the machine had come
between us.
That will just show you how fond he was of
me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that
he would think of."
"It was most suggestive," said Holmes.
"It has long been an axiom of mine that the
little things are infinitely the most
important.
Can you remember any other little things
about Mr. Hosmer Angel?"
"He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes.
He would rather walk with me in the evening
than in the daylight, for he said that he
hated to be conspicuous.
Very retiring and gentlemanly he was.
Even his voice was gentle.
He'd had the quinsy and swollen glands when
he was young, he told me, and it had left
him with a weak throat, and a hesitating,
whispering fashion of speech.
He was always well dressed, very neat and
plain, but his eyes were weak, just as mine
are, and he wore tinted glasses against the
glare."
"Well, and what happened when Mr.
Windibank, your stepfather, returned to
France?"
"Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again
and proposed that we should marry before
father came back.
He was in dreadful earnest and made me
swear, with my hands on the Testament, that
whatever happened I would always be true to
him.
Mother said he was quite right to make me
swear, and that it was a sign of his
passion.
Mother was all in his favour from the first
and was even fonder of him than I was.
Then, when they talked of marrying within
the week, I began to ask about father; but
they both said never to mind about father,
but just to tell him afterwards, and mother
said she would make it all right with him.
I didn't quite like that, Mr. Holmes.
It seemed funny that I should ask his
leave, as he was only a few years older
than me; but I didn't want to do anything
on the sly, so I wrote to father at
Bordeaux, where the company has its French
offices, but the letter came back to me on
the very morning of the wedding."
"It missed him, then?"
"Yes, sir; for he had started to England
just before it arrived."
"Ha! that was unfortunate.
Your wedding was arranged, then, for the
Friday.
Was it to be in church?"
"Yes, sir, but very quietly.
It was to be at St. Saviour's, near King's
Cross, and we were to have breakfast
afterwards at the St. Pancras Hotel.
Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as
there were two of us he put us both into it
and stepped himself into a four-wheeler,
which happened to be the only other cab in
the street.
We got to the church first, and when the
four-wheeler drove up we waited for him to
step out, but he never did, and when the
cabman got down from the box and looked
there was no one there!
The cabman said that he could not imagine
what had become of him, for he had seen him
get in with his own eyes.
That was last Friday, Mr. Holmes, and I
have never seen or heard anything since
then to throw any light upon what became of
him."
"It seems to me that you have been very
shamefully treated," said Holmes.
"Oh, no, sir!
He was too good and kind to leave me so.
Why, all the morning he was saying to me
that, whatever happened, I was to be true;
and that even if something quite unforeseen
occurred to separate us, I was always to
remember that I was pledged to him, and
that he would claim his pledge sooner or
later.
It seemed strange talk for a wedding-
morning, but what has happened since gives
a meaning to it."
"Most certainly it does.
Your own opinion is, then, that some
unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to
him?"
"Yes, sir.
I believe that he foresaw some danger, or
else he would not have talked so.
And then I think that what he foresaw
happened."
"But you have no notion as to what it could
have been?"
"None."
"One more question.
How did your mother take the matter?"
"She was angry, and said that I was never
to speak of the matter again."
"And your father?
Did you tell him?"
"Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that
something had happened, and that I should
hear of Hosmer again.
As he said, what interest could anyone have
in bringing me to the doors of the church,
and then leaving me?
Now, if he had borrowed my money, or if he
had married me and got my money settled on
him, there might be some reason, but Hosmer
was very independent about money and never
would look at a shilling of mine.
And yet, what could have happened?
And why could he not write?
Oh, it drives me half-mad to think of it,
and I can't sleep a wink at night."
She pulled a little handkerchief out of her
*** and began to sob heavily into it.
"I shall glance into the case for you,"
said Holmes, rising, "and I have no doubt
that we shall reach some definite result.
Let the weight of the matter rest upon me
now, and do not let your mind dwell upon it
further.
Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel
vanish from your memory, as he has done
from your life."
"Then you don't think I'll see him again?"
"I fear not."
"Then what has happened to him?"
"You will leave that question in my hands.
I should like an accurate description of
him and any letters of his which you can
spare."
"I advertised for him in last Saturday's
Chronicle," said she.
"Here is the slip and here are four letters
from him."
"Thank you.
And your address?"
"No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell."
"Mr. Angel's address you never had, I
understand.
Where is your father's place of business?"
"He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the
great claret importers of Fenchurch
"Thank you.
You have made your statement very clearly.
You will leave the papers here, and
remember the advice which I have given you.
Let the whole incident be a sealed book,
and do not allow it to affect your life."
"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I
cannot do that.
I shall be true to Hosmer.
He shall find me ready when he comes back."
For all the preposterous hat and the
vacuous face, there was something noble in
the simple faith of our visitor which
compelled our respect.
She laid her little bundle of papers upon
the table and went her way, with a promise
to come again whenever she might be
summoned.
Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few
minutes with his fingertips still pressed
together, his legs stretched out in front
of him, and his gaze directed upward to the
ceiling.
Then he took down from the rack the old and
oily clay pipe, which was to him as a
counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned
back in his chair, with the thick blue
cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a
look of infinite languor in his face.
"Quite an interesting study, that maiden,"
he observed.
"I found her more interesting than her
little problem, which, by the way, is
rather a trite one.
You will find parallel cases, if you
consult my index, in Andover in '77, and
there was something of the sort at The
Hague last year.
Old as is the idea, however, there were one
or two details which were new to me.
But the maiden herself was most
instructive."
"You appeared to read a good deal upon her
which was quite invisible to me," I
remarked.
"Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson.
You did not know where to look, and so you
missed all that was important.
I can never bring you to realise the
importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness
of thumb-nails, or the great issues that
may hang from a boot-lace.
Now, what did you gather from that woman's
appearance?
Describe it."
"Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-
brimmed straw hat, with a feather of a
brickish red.
Her jacket was black, with black beads sewn
upon it, and a fringe of little black jet
ornaments.
Her dress was brown, rather darker than
coffee colour, with a little purple plush
at the neck and sleeves.
Her gloves were greyish and were worn
through at the right forefinger.
Her boots I didn't observe.
She had small round, hanging gold earrings,
and a general air of being fairly well-to-
do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going
way."
Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly
together and chuckled.
"'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along
wonderfully.
You have really done very well indeed.
It is true that you have missed everything
of importance, but you have hit upon the
method, and you have a quick eye for
colour.
Never trust to general impressions, my boy,
but concentrate yourself upon details.
My first glance is always at a woman's
sleeve.
In a man it is perhaps better first to take
the knee of the trouser.
As you observe, this woman had plush upon
her sleeves, which is a most useful
material for showing traces.
The double line a little above the wrist,
where the typewritist presses against the
table, was beautifully defined.
The sewing-machine, of the hand type,
leaves a similar mark, but only on the left
arm, and on the side of it farthest from
the thumb, instead of being right across
the broadest part, as this was.
I then glanced at her face, and, observing
the dint of a pince-nez at either side of
her nose, I ventured a remark upon short
sight and typewriting, which seemed to
surprise her."
"It surprised me."
"But, surely, it was obvious.
I was then much surprised and interested on
glancing down to observe that, though the
boots which she was wearing were not unlike
each other, they were really odd ones; the
one having a slightly decorated toe-cap,
and the other a plain one.
One was buttoned only in the two lower
buttons out of five, and the other at the
first, third, and fifth.
Now, when you see that a young lady,
otherwise neatly dressed, has come away
from home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it
is no great deduction to say that she came
away in a hurry."
"And what else?"
I asked, keenly interested, as I always
was, by my friend's incisive reasoning.
"I noted, in passing, that she had written
a note before leaving home but after being
fully dressed.
You observed that her right glove was torn
at the forefinger, but you did not
apparently see that both glove and finger
were stained with violet ink.
She had written in a hurry and dipped her
pen too deep.
It must have been this morning, or the mark
would not remain clear upon the finger.
All this is amusing, though rather
elementary, but I must go back to business,
Watson.
Would you mind reading me the advertised
description of Mr. Hosmer Angel?"
I held the little printed slip to the
light.
"Missing," it said, "on the morning of the
fourteenth, a gentleman named Hosmer Angel.
About five ft. seven in. in height;
strongly built, sallow complexion, black
hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy,
black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted
glasses, slight infirmity of speech.
Was dressed, when last seen, in black
frock-coat faced with silk, black
waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and grey
Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters
over elastic-sided boots.
Known to have been employed in an office in
Leadenhall Street.
Anybody bringing--"
"That will do," said Holmes.
"As to the letters," he continued, glancing
over them, "they are very commonplace.
Absolutely no clue in them to Mr. Angel,
save that he quotes Balzac once.
There is one remarkable point, however,
which will no doubt strike you."
"They are typewritten," I remarked.
"Not only that, but the signature is
typewritten.
Look at the neat little 'Hosmer Angel' at
the bottom.
There is a date, you see, but no
superscription except Leadenhall Street,
which is rather vague.
The point about the signature is very
suggestive--in fact, we may call it
conclusive."
"Of what?"
"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not
see how strongly it bears upon the case?"
"I cannot say that I do unless it were that
he wished to be able to deny his signature
if an action for breach of promise were
instituted."
"No, that was not the point.
However, I shall write two letters, which
should settle the matter.
One is to a firm in the City, the other is
to the young lady's stepfather, Mr.
Windibank, asking him whether he could meet
us here at six o'clock tomorrow evening.
It is just as well that we should do
business with the male relatives.
And now, Doctor, we can do nothing until
the answers to those letters come, so we
may put our little problem upon the shelf
for the interim."
I had had so many reasons to believe in my
friend's subtle powers of reasoning and
extraordinary energy in action that I felt
that he must have some solid grounds for
the assured and easy demeanour with which
he treated the singular mystery which he
had been called upon to fathom.
Once only had I known him to fail, in the
case of the King of Bohemia and of the
Irene Adler photograph; but when I looked
back to the weird business of the Sign of
Four, and the extraordinary circumstances
connected with the Study in Scarlet, I felt
that it would be a strange tangle indeed
which he could not unravel.
I left him then, still puffing at his black
clay pipe, with the conviction that when I
came again on the next evening I would find
that he held in his hands all the clues
which would lead up to the identity of the
disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary
A professional case of great gravity was
engaging my own attention at the time, and
the whole of next day I was busy at the
bedside of the sufferer.
It was not until close upon six o'clock
that I found myself free and was able to
spring into a hansom and drive to Baker
Street, half afraid that I might be too
late to assist at the dénouement of the
little mystery.
I found Sherlock Holmes alone, however,
half asleep, with his long, thin form
curled up in the recesses of his armchair.
A formidable array of bottles and test-
tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of
hydrochloric acid, told me that he had
spent his day in the chemical work which
was so dear to him.
"Well, have you solved it?"
I asked as I entered.
"Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta."
"No, no, the mystery!"
I cried.
"Oh, that!
I thought of the salt that I have been
working upon.
There was never any mystery in the matter,
though, as I said yesterday, some of the
details are of interest.
The only drawback is that there is no law,
I fear, that can touch the scoundrel."
"Who was he, then, and what was his object
in deserting Miss Sutherland?"
The question was hardly out of my mouth,
and Holmes had not yet opened his lips to
reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in
the passage and a tap at the door.
"This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James
Windibank," said Holmes.
"He has written to me to say that he would
be here at six.
Come in!"
The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-
sized fellow, some thirty years of age,
clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a
bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of
wonderfully sharp and penetrating grey
eyes.
He shot a questioning glance at each of us,
placed his shiny top-hat upon the
sideboard, and with a slight bow sidled
down into the nearest chair.
"Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank," said
Holmes.
"I think that this typewritten letter is
from you, in which you made an appointment
with me for six o'clock?"
"Yes, sir.
I am afraid that I am a little late, but I
am not quite my own master, you know.
I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has
troubled you about this little matter, for
I think it is far better not to wash linen
of the sort in public.
It was quite against my wishes that she
came, but she is a very excitable,
impulsive girl, as you may have noticed,
and she is not easily controlled when she
has made up her mind on a point.
Of course, I did not mind you so much, as
you are not connected with the official
police, but it is not pleasant to have a
family misfortune like this noised abroad.
Besides, it is a useless expense, for how
could you possibly find this Hosmer Angel?"
"On the contrary," said Holmes quietly; "I
have every reason to believe that I will
succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel."
Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and
dropped his gloves.
"I am delighted to hear it," he said.
"It is a curious thing," remarked Holmes,
"that a typewriter has really quite as much
individuality as a man's handwriting.
Unless they are quite new, no two of them
write exactly alike.
Some letters get more worn than others, and
some wear only on one side.
Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr.
Windibank, that in every case there is some
little slurring over of the 'e,' and a
slight defect in the tail of the 'r.'
There are fourteen other characteristics,
but those are the more obvious."
"We do all our correspondence with this
machine at the office, and no doubt it is a
little worn," our visitor answered,
glancing keenly at Holmes with his bright
little eyes.
"And now I will show you what is really a
very interesting study, Mr. Windibank,"
Holmes continued.
"I think of writing another little
monograph some of these days on the
typewriter and its relation to crime.
It is a subject to which I have devoted
some little attention.
I have here four letters which purport to
come from the missing man.
They are all typewritten.
In each case, not only are the 'e's'
slurred and the 'r's' tailless, but you
will observe, if you care to use my
magnifying lens, that the fourteen other
characteristics to which I have alluded are
there as well."
Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and
picked up his hat.
"I cannot waste time over this sort of
fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes," he said.
"If you can catch the man, catch him, and
let me know when you have done it."
"Certainly," said Holmes, stepping over and
turning the key in the door.
"I let you know, then, that I have caught
him!"
"What! where?" shouted Mr. Windibank,
turning white to his lips and glancing
about him like a rat in a trap.
"Oh, it won't do--really it won't," said
Holmes suavely.
"There is no possible getting out of it,
Mr. Windibank.
It is quite too transparent, and it was a
very bad compliment when you said that it
was impossible for me to solve so simple a
question.
That's right!
Sit down and let us talk it over."
Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a
ghastly face and a glitter of moisture on
his brow.
"It--it's not actionable," he stammered.
"I am very much afraid that it is not.
But between ourselves, Windibank, it was as
cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in
a petty way as ever came before me.
Now, let me just run over the course of
events, and you will contradict me if I go
wrong."
The man sat huddled up in his chair, with
his head sunk upon his breast, like one who
is utterly crushed.
Holmes stuck his feet up on the corner of
the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his
hands in his pockets, began talking, rather
to himself, as it seemed, than to us.
"The man married a woman very much older
than himself for her money," said he, "and
he enjoyed the use of the money of the
daughter as long as she lived with them.
It was a considerable sum, for people in
their position, and the loss of it would
have made a serious difference.
It was worth an effort to preserve it.
The daughter was of a good, amiable
disposition, but affectionate and warm-
hearted in her ways, so that it was evident
that with her fair personal advantages, and
her little income, she would not be allowed
to remain single long.
Now her marriage would mean, of course, the
loss of a hundred a year, so what does her
stepfather do to prevent it?
He takes the obvious course of keeping her
at home and forbidding her to seek the
company of people of her own age.
But soon he found that that would not
answer forever.
She became restive, insisted upon her
rights, and finally announced her positive
intention of going to a certain ball.
What does her clever stepfather do then?
He conceives an idea more creditable to his
head than to his heart.
With the connivance and assistance of his
wife he disguised himself, covered those
keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the
face with a moustache and a pair of bushy
whiskers, sunk that clear voice into an
insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on
account of the girl's short sight, he
appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off
other lovers by making love himself."
"It was only a joke at first," groaned our
visitor.
"We never thought that she would have been
so carried away."
"Very likely not.
However that may be, the young lady was
very decidedly carried away, and, having
quite made up her mind that her stepfather
was in France, the suspicion of treachery
never for an instant entered her mind.
She was flattered by the gentleman's
attentions, and the effect was increased by
the loudly expressed admiration of her
mother.
Then Mr. Angel began to call, for it was
obvious that the matter should be pushed as
far as it would go if a real effect were to
be produced.
There were meetings, and an engagement,
which would finally secure the girl's
affections from turning towards anyone
else.
But the deception could not be kept up
forever.
These pretended journeys to France were
rather cumbrous.
The thing to do was clearly to bring the
business to an end in such a dramatic
manner that it would leave a permanent
impression upon the young lady's mind and
prevent her from looking upon any other
suitor for some time to come.
Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a
Testament, and hence also the allusions to
a possibility of something happening on the
very morning of the wedding.
James Windibank wished Miss Sutherland to
be so bound to Hosmer Angel, and so
uncertain as to his fate, that for ten
years to come, at any rate, she would not
listen to another man.
As far as the church door he brought her,
and then, as he could go no farther, he
conveniently vanished away by the old trick
of stepping in at one door of a four-
wheeler and out at the other.
I think that was the chain of events, Mr.
Windibank!"
Our visitor had recovered something of his
assurance while Holmes had been talking,
and he rose from his chair now with a cold
sneer upon his pale face.
"It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes,"
said he, "but if you are so very sharp you
ought to be sharp enough to know that it is
you who are breaking the law now, and not
me.
I have done nothing actionable from the
first, but as long as you keep that door
locked you lay yourself open to an action
for assault and illegal constraint."
"The law cannot, as you say, touch you,"
said Holmes, unlocking and throwing open
the door, "yet there never was a man who
deserved punishment more.
If the young lady has a brother or a
friend, he ought to lay a whip across your
shoulders.
By Jove!" he continued, flushing up at the
sight of the bitter sneer upon the man's
face, "it is not part of my duties to my
client, but here's a hunting crop handy,
and I think I shall just treat myself to--"
He took two swift steps to the whip, but
before he could grasp it there was a wild
clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavy
hall door banged, and from the window we
could see Mr. James Windibank running at
the top of his speed down the road.
"There's a cold-blooded scoundrel!" said
Holmes, laughing, as he threw himself down
into his chair once more.
"That fellow will rise from crime to crime
until he does something very bad, and ends
on a gallows.
The case has, in some respects, been not
entirely devoid of interest."
"I cannot now entirely see all the steps of
your reasoning," I remarked.
"Well, of course it was obvious from the
first that this Mr. Hosmer Angel must have
some strong object for his curious conduct,
and it was equally clear that the only man
who really profited by the incident, as far
as we could see, was the stepfather.
Then the fact that the two men were never
together, but that the one always appeared
when the other was away, was suggestive.
So were the tinted spectacles and the
curious voice, which both hinted at a
disguise, as did the bushy whiskers.
My suspicions were all confirmed by his
peculiar action in typewriting his
signature, which, of course, inferred that
his handwriting was so familiar to her that
she would recognise even the smallest
sample of it.
You see all these isolated facts, together
with many minor ones, all pointed in the
same direction."
"And how did you verify them?"
"Having once spotted my man, it was easy to
get corroboration.
I knew the firm for which this man worked.
Having taken the printed description.
I eliminated everything from it which could
be the result of a disguise--the whiskers,
the glasses, the voice, and I sent it to
the firm, with a request that they would
inform me whether it answered to the
description of any of their travellers.
I had already noticed the peculiarities of
the typewriter, and I wrote to the man
himself at his business address asking him
if he would come here.
As I expected, his reply was typewritten
and revealed the same trivial but
characteristic defects.
The same post brought me a letter from
Westhouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street,
to say that the description tallied in
every respect with that of their employé,
James Windibank.
Voilà tout!"
"And Miss Sutherland?"
"If I tell her she will not believe me.
You may remember the old Persian saying,
'There is danger for him who taketh the
tiger cub, and danger also for whoso
snatches a delusion from a woman.'
There is as much sense in Hafiz as in
Horace, and as much knowledge of the
world."