Tip:
Highlight text to annotate it
X
Of all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for solution
during the years of our intimacy, there were only two which I was the means of introducing
to his notice—that of Mr. Hatherley’s thumb, and that of Colonel Warburton’s madness.
Of these the latter may have afforded a finer field for an acute and original observer,
but the other was so strange in its inception and so dramatic in its details that it may
be the more worthy of being placed upon record, even if it gave my friend fewer openings for
those deductive methods of reasoning by which he achieved such remarkable results. The story
has, I believe, been told more than once in the newspapers, but, like all such narratives,
its effect is much less striking when set forth en bloc in a single half-column of print
than when the facts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the mystery clears gradually
away as each new discovery furnishes a step which leads on to the complete truth. At the
time the circumstances made a deep impression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly
served to weaken the effect. It was in the summer of ’89, not long after
my marriage, that the events occurred which I am now about to summarise. I had returned
to civil practice and had finally abandoned Holmes in his Baker Street rooms, although
I continually visited him and occasionally even persuaded him to forgo his Bohemian habits
so far as to come and visit us. My practice had steadily increased, and as I happened
to live at no very great distance from Paddington Station, I got a few patients from among the
officials. One of these, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease, was never
weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavouring to send me on every sufferer over whom he
might have any influence. One morning, at a little before seven o’clock,
I was awakened by the maid tapping at the door to announce that two men had come from
Paddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. I dressed hurriedly, for I knew by experience
that railway cases were seldom trivial, and hastened downstairs. As I descended, my old
ally, the guard, came out of the room and closed the door tightly behind him.
“I’ve got him here,” he whispered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder; “he’s all
right.” “What is it, then?” I asked, for his manner
suggested that it was some strange creature which he had caged up in my room.
“It’s a new patient,” he whispered. “I thought I’d bring him round myself;
then he couldn’t slip away. There he is, all safe and sound. I must go now, Doctor;
I have my dooties, just the same as you.” And off he went, this trusty tout, without
even giving me time to thank him. I entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman
seated by the table. He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a soft cloth
cap which he had laid down upon my books. Round one of his hands he had a handkerchief
wrapped, which was mottled all over with bloodstains. He was young, not more than five-and-twenty,
I should say, with a strong, masculine face; but he was exceedingly pale and gave me the
impression of a man who was suffering from some strong agitation, which it took all his
strength of mind to control. “I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor,”
said he, “but I have had a very serious accident during the night. I came in by train
this morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I might find a doctor, a worthy
fellow very kindly escorted me here. I gave the maid a card, but I see that she has left
it upon the side-table.” I took it up and glanced at it. “Mr. Victor
Hatherley, hydraulic engineer, 16A, Victoria Street (3rd floor).” That was the name,
style, and abode of my morning visitor. “I regret that I have kept you waiting,” said
I, sitting down in my library-chair. “You are fresh from a night journey, I understand,
which is in itself a monotonous occupation.” “Oh, my night could not be called monotonous,”
said he, and laughed. He laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note, leaning back in
his chair and shaking his sides. All my medical instincts rose up against that laugh.
“Stop it!” I cried; “pull yourself together!” and I poured out some water from a caraffe.
It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical outbursts which come upon
a strong nature when some great crisis is over and gone. Presently he came to himself
once more, very weary and pale-looking. “I have been making a fool of myself,”
he gasped. “Not at all. Drink this.” I dashed some
brandy into the water, and the colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.
“That’s better!” said he. “And now, Doctor, perhaps you would kindly attend to
my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb used to be.”
He unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave even my hardened nerves a shudder
to look at it. There were four protruding fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where
the thumb should have been. It had been hacked or torn right out from the roots.
“Good heavens!” I cried, “this is a terrible injury. It must have bled considerably.”
“Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and I think that I must have been senseless
for a long time. When I came to I found that it was still bleeding, so I tied one end of
my handkerchief very tightly round the wrist and braced it up with a twig.”
“Excellent! You should have been a surgeon.” “It is a question of hydraulics, you see,
and came within my own province.” “This has been done,” said I, examining
the wound, “by a very heavy and sharp instrument.” “A thing like a cleaver,” said he.
“An accident, I presume?” “By no means.”
“What! a murderous attack?” “Very murderous indeed.”
“You horrify me.” I sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it,
and finally covered it over with cotton wadding and carbolised bandages. He lay back without
wincing, though he bit his lip from time to time.
“How is that?” I asked when I had finished. “Capital! Between your brandy and your bandage,
I feel a new man. I was very weak, but I have had a good deal to go through.”
“Perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. It is evidently trying to your nerves.”
“Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police; but, between ourselves,
if it were not for the convincing evidence of this wound of mine, I should be surprised
if they believed my statement, for it is a very extraordinary one, and I have not much
in the way of proof with which to back it up; and, even if they believe me, the clues
which I can give them are so vague that it is a question whether justice will be done.”
“Ha!” cried I, “if it is anything in the nature of a problem which you desire to
see solved, I should strongly recommend you to come to my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
before you go to the official police.” “Oh, I have heard of that fellow,” answered
my visitor, “and I should be very glad if he would take the matter up, though of course
I must use the official police as well. Would you give me an introduction to him?”
“I’ll do better. I’ll take you round to him myself.”
“I should be immensely obliged to you.” “We’ll call a cab and go together. We
shall just be in time to have a little breakfast with him. Do you feel equal to it?”
“Yes; I shall not feel easy until I have told my story.”
“Then my servant will call a cab, and I shall be with you in an instant.” I rushed
upstairs, explained the matter shortly to my wife, and in five minutes was inside a
hansom, driving with my new acquaintance to Baker Street.
Sherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging about his sitting-room in his dressing-gown,
reading the agony column of The Times and smoking his before-breakfast pipe, which was
composed of all the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day before, all carefully
dried and collected on the corner of the mantelpiece. He received us in his quietly genial fashion,
ordered fresh rashers and eggs, and joined us in a hearty meal. When it was concluded
he settled our new acquaintance upon the sofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid
a glass of brandy and water within his reach. “It is easy to see that your experience
has been no common one, Mr. Hatherley,” said he. “Pray, lie down there and make
yourself absolutely at home. Tell us what you can, but stop when you are tired and keep
up your strength with a little stimulant.” “Thank you,” said my patient, “but I
have felt another man since the doctor bandaged me, and I think that your breakfast has completed
the cure. I shall take up as little of your valuable time as possible, so I shall start
at once upon my peculiar experiences.” Holmes sat in his big armchair with the weary,
heavy-lidded expression which veiled his keen and eager nature, while I sat opposite to
him, and we listened in silence to the strange story which our visitor detailed to us.
“You must know,” said he, “that I am an orphan and a bachelor, residing alone in
lodgings in London. By profession I am a hydraulic engineer, and I have had considerable experience
of my work during the seven years that I was apprenticed to Venner & Matheson, the well-known
firm, of Greenwich. Two years ago, having served my time, and having also come into
a fair sum of money through my poor father’s death, I determined to start in business for
myself and took professional chambers in Victoria Street.
“I suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in business a dreary experience.
To me it has been exceptionally so. During two years I have had three consultations and
one small job, and that is absolutely all that my profession has brought me. My gross
takings amount to £27 10s. Every day, from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon,
I waited in my little den, until at last my heart began to sink, and I came to believe
that I should never have any practice at all. “Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking
of leaving the office, my clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting who wished
to see me upon business. He brought up a card, too, with the name of ‘Colonel Lysander
Stark’ engraved upon it. Close at his heels came the colonel himself, a man rather over
the middle size, but of an exceeding thinness. I do not think that I have ever seen so thin
a man. His whole face sharpened away into nose and chin, and the skin of his cheeks
was drawn quite tense over his outstanding bones. Yet this emaciation seemed to be his
natural habit, and due to no disease, for his eye was bright, his step brisk, and his
bearing assured. He was plainly but neatly dressed, and his age, I should judge, would
be nearer forty than thirty. “ ‘Mr. Hatherley?’ said he, with something
of a German accent. ‘You have been recommended to me, Mr. Hatherley, as being a man who is
not only proficient in his profession but is also discreet and capable of preserving
a secret.’ “I bowed, feeling as flattered as any young
man would at such an address. ‘May I ask who it was who gave me so good a character?’
“ ‘Well, perhaps it is better that I should not tell you that just at this moment. I have
it from the same source that you are both an orphan and a bachelor and are residing
alone in London.’ “ ‘That is quite correct,’ I answered;
‘but you will excuse me if I say that I cannot see how all this bears upon my professional
qualifications. I understand that it was on a professional matter that you wished to speak
to me?’ “ ‘Undoubtedly so. But you will find that
all I say is really to the point. I have a professional commission for you, but absolute
secrecy is quite essential—absolute secrecy, you understand, and of course we may expect
that more from a man who is alone than from one who lives in the *** of his family.’
“ ‘If I promise to keep a secret,’ said I, ‘you may absolutely depend upon my doing
so.’ “He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and
it seemed to me that I had never seen so suspicious and questioning an eye.
“ ‘Do you promise, then?’ said he at last.
“ ‘Yes, I promise.’ “ ‘Absolute and complete silence before,
during, and after? No reference to the matter at all, either in word or writing?’
“ ‘I have already given you my word.’ “ ‘Very good.’ He suddenly sprang up,
and darting like lightning across the room he flung open the door. The passage outside
was empty. “ ‘That’s all right,’ said he, coming
back. ‘I know that clerks are sometimes curious as to their master’s affairs. Now
we can talk in safety.’ He drew up his chair very close to mine and began to stare at me
again with the same questioning and thoughtful look.
“A feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had begun to rise within me at
the strange antics of this fleshless man. Even my dread of losing a client could not
restrain me from showing my impatience. “ ‘I beg that you will state your business,
sir,’ said I; ‘my time is of value.’ Heaven forgive me for that last sentence,
but the words came to my lips. “ ‘How would fifty guineas for a night’s
work suit you?’ he asked. “ ‘Most admirably.’
“ ‘I say a night’s work, but an hour’s would be nearer the mark. I simply want your
opinion about a hydraulic stamping machine which has got out of gear. If you show us
what is wrong we shall soon set it right ourselves. What do you think of such a commission as
that?’ “ ‘The work appears to be light and the
pay munificent.’ “ ‘Precisely so. We shall want you to
come to-night by the last train.’ “ ‘Where to?’
“ ‘To Eyford, in Berkshire. It is a little place near the borders of Oxfordshire, and
within seven miles of Reading. There is a train from Paddington which would bring you
there at about 11:15.’ “ ‘Very good.’
“ ‘I shall come down in a carriage to meet you.’
“ ‘There is a drive, then?’ “ ‘Yes, our little place is quite out
in the country. It is a good seven miles from Eyford Station.’
“ ‘Then we can hardly get there before midnight. I suppose there would be no chance
of a train back. I should be compelled to stop the night.’
“ ‘Yes, we could easily give you a shake-down.’ “ ‘That is very awkward. Could I not come
at some more convenient hour?’ “ ‘We have judged it best that you should
come late. It is to recompense you for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, a
young and unknown man, a fee which would buy an opinion from the very heads of your profession.
Still, of course, if you would like to draw out of the business, there is plenty of time
to do so.’ “I thought of the fifty guineas, and of
how very useful they would be to me. ‘Not at all,’ said I, ‘I shall be very happy
to accommodate myself to your wishes. I should like, however, to understand a little more
clearly what it is that you wish me to do.’ “ ‘Quite so. It is very natural that the
pledge of secrecy which we have exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. I
have no wish to commit you to anything without your having it all laid before you. I suppose
that we are absolutely safe from eavesdroppers?’ “ ‘Entirely.’
“ ‘Then the matter stands thus. You are probably aware that fuller’s-earth is a
valuable product, and that it is only found in one or two places in England?’
“ ‘I have heard so.’ “ ‘Some little time ago I bought a small
place—a very small place—within ten miles of Reading. I was fortunate enough to discover
that there was a deposit of fuller’s-earth in one of my fields. On examining it, however,
I found that this deposit was a comparatively small one, and that it formed a link between
two very much larger ones upon the right and left—both of them, however, in the grounds
of my neighbours. These good people were absolutely ignorant that their land contained that which
was quite as valuable as a gold-mine. Naturally, it was to my interest to buy their land before
they discovered its true value, but unfortunately I had no capital by which I could do this.
I took a few of my friends into the secret, however, and they suggested that we should
quietly and secretly work our own little deposit and that in this way we should earn the money
which would enable us to buy the neighbouring fields. This we have now been doing for some
time, and in order to help us in our operations we erected a hydraulic press. This press,
as I have already explained, has got out of order, and we wish your advice upon the subject.
We guard our secret very jealously, however, and if it once became known that we had hydraulic
engineers coming to our little house, it would soon rouse inquiry, and then, if the facts
came out, it would be good-bye to any chance of getting these fields and carrying out our
plans. That is why I have made you promise me that you will not tell a human being that
you are going to Eyford to-night. I hope that I make it all plain?’
“ ‘I quite follow you,’ said I. ‘The only point which I could not quite understand
was what use you could make of a hydraulic press in excavating fuller’s-earth, which,
as I understand, is dug out like gravel from a pit.’
“ ‘Ah!’ said he carelessly, ‘we have our own process. We compress the earth into
bricks, so as to remove them without revealing what they are. But that is a mere detail.
I have taken you fully into my confidence now, Mr. Hatherley, and I have shown you how
I trust you.’ He rose as he spoke. ‘I shall expect you, then, at Eyford at 11:15.’
“ ‘I shall certainly be there.’ “ ‘And not a word to a soul.’ He looked
at me with a last long, questioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold, dank
grasp, he hurried from the room. “Well, when I came to think it all over
in cool blood I was very much astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commission
which had been intrusted to me. On the one hand, of course, I was glad, for the fee was
at least tenfold what I should have asked had I set a price upon my own services, and
it was possible that this order might lead to other ones. On the other hand, the face
and manner of my patron had made an unpleasant impression upon me, and I could not think
that his explanation of the fuller’s-earth was sufficient to explain the necessity for
my coming at midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest I should tell anyone of my errand. However,
I threw all fears to the winds, ate a hearty supper, drove to Paddington, and started off,
having obeyed to the letter the injunction as to holding my tongue.
“At Reading I had to change not only my carriage but my station. However, I was in
time for the last train to Eyford, and I reached the little dim-lit station after eleven o’clock.
I was the only passenger who got out there, and there was no one upon the platform save
a single sleepy porter with a lantern. As I passed out through the wicket gate, however,
I found my acquaintance of the morning waiting in the shadow upon the other side. Without
a word he grasped my arm and hurried me into a carriage, the door of which was standing
open. He drew up the windows on either side, tapped on the wood-work, and away we went
as fast as the horse could go.” “One horse?” interjected Holmes.
“Yes, only one.” “Did you observe the colour?”
“Yes, I saw it by the side-lights when I was stepping into the carriage. It was a chestnut.”
“Tired-looking or fresh?” “Oh, fresh and glossy.”
“Thank you. I am sorry to have interrupted you. Pray continue your most interesting statement.”
“Away we went then, and we drove for at least an hour. Colonel Lysander Stark had
said that it was only seven miles, but I should think, from the rate that we seemed to go,
and from the time that we took, that it must have been nearer twelve. He sat at my side
in silence all the time, and I was aware, more than once when I glanced in his direction,
that he was looking at me with great intensity. The country roads seem to be not very good
in that part of the world, for we lurched and jolted terribly. I tried to look out of
the windows to see something of where we were, but they were made of frosted glass, and I
could make out nothing save the occasional bright blur of a passing light. Now and then
I hazarded some remark to break the monotony of the journey, but the colonel answered only
in monosyllables, and the conversation soon flagged. At last, however, the bumping of
the road was exchanged for the crisp smoothness of a gravel-drive, and the carriage came to
a stand. Colonel Lysander Stark sprang out, and, as I followed after him, pulled me swiftly
into a porch which gaped in front of us. We stepped, as it were, right out of the carriage
and into the hall, so that I failed to catch the most fleeting glance of the front of the
house. The instant that I had crossed the threshold the door slammed heavily behind
us, and I heard faintly the rattle of the wheels as the carriage drove away.
“It was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbled about looking for matches
and muttering under his breath. Suddenly a door opened at the other end of the passage,
and a long, golden bar of light shot out in our direction. It grew broader, and a woman
appeared with a lamp in her hand, which she held above her head, pushing her face forward
and peering at us. I could see that she was pretty, and from the gloss with which the
light shone upon her dark dress I knew that it was a rich material. She spoke a few words
in a foreign tongue in a tone as though asking a question, and when my companion answered
in a gruff monosyllable she gave such a start that the lamp nearly fell from her hand. Colonel
Stark went up to her, whispered something in her ear, and then, pushing her back into
the room from whence she had come, he walked towards me again with the lamp in his hand.
“ ‘Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for a few minutes,’
said he, throwing open another door. It was a quiet, little, plainly furnished room, with
a round table in the centre, on which several German books were scattered. Colonel Stark
laid down the lamp on the top of a harmonium beside the door. ‘I shall not keep you waiting
an instant,’ said he, and vanished into the darkness.
“I glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my ignorance of German I could
see that two of them were treatises on science, the others being volumes of poetry. Then I
walked across to the window, hoping that I might catch some glimpse of the country-side,
but an oak shutter, heavily barred, was folded across it. It was a wonderfully silent house.
There was an old clock ticking loudly somewhere in the passage, but otherwise everything was
deadly still. A vague feeling of uneasiness began to steal over me. Who were these German
people, and what were they doing living in this strange, out-of-the-way place? And where
was the place? I was ten miles or so from Eyford, that was all I knew, but whether north,
south, east, or west I had no idea. For that matter, Reading, and possibly other large
towns, were within that radius, so the place might not be so secluded, after all. Yet it
was quite certain, from the absolute stillness, that we were in the country. I paced up and
down the room, humming a tune under my breath to keep up my spirits and feeling that I was
thoroughly earning my fifty-guinea fee. “Suddenly, without any preliminary sound
in the midst of the utter stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. The woman was
standing in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind her, the yellow light from
my lamp beating upon her eager and beautiful face. I could see at a glance that she was
sick with fear, and the sight sent a chill to my own heart. She held up one shaking finger
to warn me to be silent, and she shot a few whispered words of broken English at me, her
eyes glancing back, like those of a frightened horse, into the gloom behind her.
“ ‘I would go,’ said she, trying hard, as it seemed to me, to speak calmly; ‘I
would go. I should not stay here. There is no good for you to do.’
“ ‘But, madam,’ said I, ‘I have not yet done what I came for. I cannot possibly
leave until I have seen the machine.’ “ ‘It is not worth your while to wait,’
she went on. ‘You can pass through the door; no one hinders.’ And then, seeing that I
smiled and shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her constraint and made a step forward,
with her hands wrung together. ‘For the love of Heaven!’ she whispered, ‘get away
from here before it is too late!’ “But I am somewhat headstrong by nature,
and the more ready to engage in an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. I
thought of my fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and of the unpleasant night which
seemed to be before me. Was it all to go for nothing? Why should I slink away without having
carried out my commission, and without the payment which was my due? This woman might,
for all I knew, be a monomaniac. With a stout bearing, therefore, though her manner had
shaken me more than I cared to confess, I still shook my head and declared my intention
of remaining where I was. She was about to renew her entreaties when a door slammed overhead,
and the sound of several footsteps was heard upon the stairs. She listened for an instant,
threw up her hands with a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly and as noiselessly
as she had come. “The newcomers were Colonel Lysander Stark
and a short thick man with a chinchilla beard growing out of the creases of his double chin,
who was introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson. “ ‘This is my secretary and manager,’
said the colonel. ‘By the way, I was under the impression that I left this door shut
just now. I fear that you have felt the draught.’ “ ‘On the contrary,’ said I, ‘I opened
the door myself because I felt the room to be a little close.’
“He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. ‘Perhaps we had better proceed to business,
then,’ said he. ‘Mr. Ferguson and I will take you up to see the machine.’
“ ‘I had better put my hat on, I suppose.’ “ ‘Oh, no, it is in the house.’
“ ‘What, you dig fuller’s-earth in the house?’
“ ‘No, no. This is only where we compress it. But never mind that. All we wish you to
do is to examine the machine and to let us know what is wrong with it.’
“We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the fat manager and I
behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house, with corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases,
and little low doors, the thresholds of which were hollowed out by the generations who had
crossed them. There were no carpets and no signs of any furniture above the ground floor,
while the plaster was peeling off the walls, and the damp was breaking through in green,
unhealthy blotches. I tried to put on as unconcerned an air as possible, but I had not forgotten
the warnings of the lady, even though I disregarded them, and I kept a keen eye upon my two companions.
Ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent man, but I could see from the little that
he said that he was at least a fellow-countryman. “Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last
before a low door, which he unlocked. Within was a small, square room, in which the three
of us could hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained outside, and the colonel ushered
me in. “ ‘We are now,’ said he, ‘actually
within the hydraulic press, and it would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if
anyone were to turn it on. The ceiling of this small chamber is really the end of the
descending piston, and it comes down with the force of many tons upon this metal floor.
There are small lateral columns of water outside which receive the force, and which transmit
and multiply it in the manner which is familiar to you. The machine goes readily enough, but
there is some stiffness in the working of it, and it has lost a little of its force.
Perhaps you will have the goodness to look it over and to show us how we can set it right.’
“I took the lamp from him, and I examined the machine very thoroughly. It was indeed
a gigantic one, and capable of exercising enormous pressure. When I passed outside,
however, and pressed down the levers which controlled it, I knew at once by the whishing
sound that there was a slight leakage, which allowed a regurgitation of water through one
of the side cylinders. An examination showed that one of the india-rubber bands which was
round the head of a driving-rod had shrunk so as not quite to fill the socket along which
it worked. This was clearly the cause of the loss of power, and I pointed it out to my
companions, who followed my remarks very carefully and asked several practical questions as to
how they should proceed to set it right. When I had made it clear to them, I returned to
the main chamber of the machine and took a good look at it to satisfy my own curiosity.
It was obvious at a glance that the story of the fuller’s-earth was the merest fabrication,
for it would be absurd to suppose that so powerful an engine could be designed for so
inadequate a purpose. The walls were of wood, but the floor consisted of a large iron trough,
and when I came to examine it I could see a crust of metallic deposit all over it. I
had stooped and was scraping at this to see exactly what it was when I heard a muttered
exclamation in German and saw the cadaverous face of the colonel looking down at me.
“ ‘What are you doing there?’ he asked. “I felt angry at having been tricked by
so elaborate a story as that which he had told me. ‘I was admiring your fuller’s-earth,’
said I; ‘I think that I should be better able to advise you as to your machine if I
knew what the exact purpose was for which it was used.’
“The instant that I uttered the words I regretted the rashness of my speech. His face
set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in his grey eyes.
“ ‘Very well,’ said he, ‘you shall know all about the machine.’ He took a step
backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key in the lock. I rushed towards it and
pulled at the handle, but it was quite secure, and did not give in the least to my kicks
and shoves. ‘Hullo!’ I yelled. ‘Hullo! Colonel! Let me out!’
“And then suddenly in the silence I heard a sound which sent my heart into my mouth.
It was the clank of the levers and the swish of the leaking cylinder. He had set the engine
at work. The lamp still stood upon the floor where I had placed it when examining the trough.
By its light I saw that the black ceiling was coming down upon me, slowly, jerkily,
but, as none knew better than myself, with a force which must within a minute grind me
to a shapeless pulp. I threw myself, screaming, against the door, and dragged with my nails
at the lock. I implored the colonel to let me out, but the remorseless clanking of the
levers drowned my cries. The ceiling was only a foot or two above my head, and with my hand
upraised I could feel its hard, rough surface. Then it flashed through my mind that the pain
of my death would depend very much upon the position in which I met it. If I lay on my
face the weight would come upon my spine, and I shuddered to think of that dreadful
snap. Easier the other way, perhaps; and yet, had I the nerve to lie and look up at that
deadly black shadow wavering down upon me? Already I was unable to stand erect, when
my eye caught something which brought a gush of hope back to my heart.
“I have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the walls were of wood. As I
gave a last hurried glance around, I saw a thin line of yellow light between two of the
boards, which broadened and broadened as a small panel was pushed backward. For an instant
I could hardly believe that here was indeed a door which led away from death. The next
instant I threw myself through, and lay half-fainting upon the other side. The panel had closed
again behind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few moments afterwards the clang of
the two slabs of metal, told me how narrow had been my escape.
“I was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, and I found myself lying upon
the stone floor of a narrow corridor, while a woman bent over me and tugged at me with
her left hand, while she held a candle in her right. It was the same good friend whose
warning I had so foolishly rejected. “ ‘Come! come!’ she cried breathlessly.
‘They will be here in a moment. They will see that you are not there. Oh, do not waste
the so-precious time, but come!’ “This time, at least, I did not scorn her
advice. I staggered to my feet and ran with her along the corridor and down a winding
stair. The latter led to another broad passage, and just as we reached it we heard the sound
of running feet and the shouting of two voices, one answering the other from the floor on
which we were and from the one beneath. My guide stopped and looked about her like one
who is at her wit’s end. Then she threw open a door which led into a bedroom, through
the window of which the moon was shining brightly. “ ‘It is your only chance,’ said she.
‘It is high, but it may be that you can jump it.’
“As she spoke a light sprang into view at the further end of the passage, and I saw
the lean figure of Colonel Lysander Stark rushing forward with a lantern in one hand
and a weapon like a butcher’s cleaver in the other. I rushed across the bedroom, flung
open the window, and looked out. How quiet and sweet and wholesome the garden looked
in the moonlight, and it could not be more than thirty feet down. I clambered out upon
the sill, but I hesitated to jump until I should have heard what passed between my saviour
and the ruffian who pursued me. If she were ill-used, then at any risks I was determined
to go back to her assistance. The thought had hardly flashed through my mind before
he was at the door, pushing his way past her; but she threw her arms round him and tried
to hold him back. “ ‘Fritz! Fritz!’ she cried in English,
‘remember your promise after the last time. You said it should not be again. He will be
silent! Oh, he will be silent!’ “ ‘You are mad, Elise!’ he shouted,
struggling to break away from her. ‘You will be the ruin of us. He has seen too much.
Let me pass, I say!’ He dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the window, cut at me
with his heavy weapon. I had let myself go, and was hanging by the hands to the sill,
when his blow fell. I was conscious of a dull pain, my grip loosened, and I fell into the
garden below. “I was shaken but not hurt by the fall;
so I picked myself up and rushed off among the bushes as hard as I could run, for I understood
that I was far from being out of danger yet. Suddenly, however, as I ran, a deadly dizziness
and sickness came over me. I glanced down at my hand, which was throbbing painfully,
and then, for the first time, saw that my thumb had been cut off and that the blood
was pouring from my wound. I endeavoured to tie my handkerchief round it, but there came
a sudden buzzing in my ears, and next moment I fell in a dead faint among the rose-bushes.
“How long I remained unconscious I cannot tell. It must have been a very long time,
for the moon had sunk, and a bright morning was breaking when I came to myself. My clothes
were all sodden with dew, and my coat-sleeve was drenched with blood from my wounded thumb.
The smarting of it recalled in an instant all the particulars of my night’s adventure,
and I sprang to my feet with the feeling that I might hardly yet be safe from my pursuers.
But to my astonishment, when I came to look round me, neither house nor garden were to
be seen. I had been lying in an angle of the hedge close by the highroad, and just a little
lower down was a long building, which proved, upon my approaching it, to be the very station
at which I had arrived upon the previous night. Were it not for the ugly wound upon my hand,
all that had passed during those dreadful hours might have been an evil dream.
“Half dazed, I went into the station and asked about the morning train. There would
be one to Reading in less than an hour. The same porter was on duty, I found, as had been
there when I arrived. I inquired of him whether he had ever heard of Colonel Lysander Stark.
The name was strange to him. Had he observed a carriage the night before waiting for me?
No, he had not. Was there a police-station anywhere near? There was one about three miles
off. “It was too far for me to go, weak and ill
as I was. I determined to wait until I got back to town before telling my story to the
police. It was a little past six when I arrived, so I went first to have my wound dressed,
and then the doctor was kind enough to bring me along here. I put the case into your hands
and shall do exactly what you advise.” We both sat in silence for some little time
after listening to this extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down from the
shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in which he placed his cuttings.
“Here is an advertisement which will interest you,” said he. “It appeared in all the
papers about a year ago. Listen to this: ‘Lost, on the 9th inst., Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, aged
twenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. Left his lodgings at ten o’clock at night, and has
not been heard of since. Was dressed in,’ etc., etc. Ha! That represents the last time
that the colonel needed to have his machine overhauled, I fancy.”
“Good heavens!” cried my patient. “Then that explains what the girl said.”
“Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and desperate man, who
was absolutely determined that nothing should stand in the way of his little game, like
those out-and-out pirates who will leave no survivor from a captured ship. Well, every
moment now is precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall go down to Scotland Yard at
once as a preliminary to starting for Eyford.” Some three hours or so afterwards we were
all in the train together, bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village. There were
Sherlock Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector Bradstreet, of Scotland Yard, a plain-clothes
man, and myself. Bradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out upon the seat
and was busy with his compasses drawing a circle with Eyford for its centre.
“There you are,” said he. “That circle is drawn at a radius of ten miles from the
village. The place we want must be somewhere near that line. You said ten miles, I think,
sir.” “It was an hour’s good drive.”
“And you think that they brought you back all that way when you were unconscious?”
“They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, of having been lifted and conveyed
somewhere.” “What I cannot understand,” said I, “is
why they should have spared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden. Perhaps
the villain was softened by the woman’s entreaties.”
“I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face in my life.”
“Oh, we shall soon clear up all that,” said Bradstreet. “Well, I have drawn my
circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon it the folk that we are in search of
are to be found.” “I think I could lay my finger on it,”
said Holmes quietly. “Really, now!” cried the inspector, “you
have formed your opinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it is south,
for the country is more deserted there.” “And I say east,” said my patient.
“I am for west,” remarked the plain-clothes man. “There are several quiet little villages
up there.” “And I am for north,” said I, “because
there are no hills there, and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up
any.” “Come,” cried the inspector, laughing;
“it’s a very pretty diversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do
you give your casting vote to?” “You are all wrong.”
“But we can’t all be.” “Oh, yes, you can. This is my point.”
He placed his finger in the centre of the circle. “This is where we shall find them.”
“But the twelve-mile drive?” gasped Hatherley. “Six out and six back. Nothing simpler.
You say yourself that the horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be
that if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?”
“Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough,” observed Bradstreet thoughtfully. “Of course
there can be no doubt as to the nature of this gang.”
“None at all,” said Holmes. “They are coiners on a large scale, and have used the
machine to form the amalgam which has taken the place of silver.”
“We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work,” said the inspector. “They
have been turning out half-crowns by the thousand. We even traced them as far as Reading, but
could get no farther, for they had covered their traces in a way that showed that they
were very old hands. But now, thanks to this lucky chance, I think that we have got them
right enough.” But the inspector was mistaken, for those
criminals were not destined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into Eyford
Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed up from behind a small clump
of trees in the neighbourhood and hung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape.
“A house on fire?” asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off again on its way.
“Yes, sir!” said the station-master. “When did it break out?”
“I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse, and the whole place
is in a blaze.” “Whose house is it?”
“Dr. Becher’s.” “Tell me,” broke in the engineer, “is
Dr. Becher a German, very thin, with a long, sharp nose?”
The station-master laughed heartily. “No, sir, Dr. Becher is an Englishman, and there
isn’t a man in the parish who has a better-lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying
with him, a patient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if a little
good Berkshire beef would do him no harm.” The station-master had not finished his speech
before we were all hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low hill, and
there was a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us, spouting fire at every ***
and window, while in the garden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep
the flames under. “That’s it!” cried Hatherley, in intense
excitement. “There is the gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay.
That second window is the one that I jumped from.”
“Well, at least,” said Holmes, “you have had your revenge upon them. There can
be no question that it was your oil-lamp which, when it was crushed in the press, set fire
to the wooden walls, though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you to
observe it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for your friends of last
night, though I very much fear that they are a good hundred miles off by now.”
And Holmes’ fears came to be realised, for from that day to this no word has ever been
heard either of the beautiful woman, the sinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early that
morning a peasant had met a cart containing several people and some very bulky boxes driving
rapidly in the direction of Reading, but there all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and
even Holmes’ ingenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to their whereabouts.
The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements which they had found
within, and still more so by discovering a newly severed human thumb upon a window-sill
of the second floor. About sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and
they subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in, and the whole place been
reduced to such absolute ruin that, save some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace
remained of the machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so dearly. Large
masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored in an out-house, but no coins were
to be found, which may have explained the presence of those bulky boxes which have been
already referred to. How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed
from the garden to the spot where he recovered his senses might have remained forever a mystery
were it not for the soft mould, which told us a very plain tale. He had evidently been
carried down by two persons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the other unusually
large ones. On the whole, it was most probable that the silent Englishman, being less bold
or less murderous than his companion, had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious
man out of the way of danger. “Well,” said our engineer ruefully as
we took our seats to return once more to London, “it has been a pretty business for me! I
have lost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what have I gained?”
“Experience,” said Holmes, laughing. “Indirectly it may be of value, you know; you have only
to put it into words to gain the reputation of being excellent company for the remainder
of your existence.”