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X
THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by
SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
Adventure X.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR
The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its
curious termination, have long ceased to be
a subject of interest in those exalted
circles in which the unfortunate bridegroom
moves.
Fresh scandals have eclipsed it, and their
more piquant details have drawn the gossips
away from this four-year-old drama.
As I have reason to believe, however, that
the full facts have never been revealed to
the general public, and as my friend
Sherlock Holmes had a considerable share in
clearing the matter up, I feel that no
memoir of him would be complete without
some little sketch of this remarkable
episode.
It was a few weeks before my own marriage,
during the days when I was still sharing
rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he
came home from an afternoon stroll to find
a letter on the table waiting for him.
I had remained indoors all day, for the
weather had taken a sudden turn to rain,
with high autumnal winds, and the Jezail
bullet which I had brought back in one of
my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign
throbbed with dull persistence.
With my body in one easy-chair and my legs
upon another, I had surrounded myself with
a cloud of newspapers until at last,
saturated with the news of the day, I
tossed them all aside and lay listless,
watching the huge crest and monogram upon
the envelope upon the table and wondering
lazily who my friend's noble correspondent
could be.
"Here is a very fashionable epistle," I
remarked as he entered.
"Your morning letters, if I remember right,
were from a fish-monger and a tide-waiter."
"Yes, my correspondence has certainly the
charm of variety," he answered, smiling,
"and the humbler are usually the more
interesting.
This looks like one of those unwelcome
social summonses which call upon a man
either to be bored or to lie."
He broke the seal and glanced over the
contents.
"Oh, come, it may prove to be something of
interest, after all."
"Not social, then?"
"No, distinctly professional."
"And from a noble client?"
"One of the highest in England."
"My dear fellow, I congratulate you."
"I assure you, Watson, without affectation,
that the status of my client is a matter of
less moment to me than the interest of his
case.
It is just possible, however, that that
also may not be wanting in this new
investigation.
You have been reading the papers diligently
of late, have you not?"
"It looks like it," said I ruefully,
pointing to a huge bundle in the corner.
"I have had nothing else to do."
"It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be
able to post me up.
I read nothing except the criminal news and
the agony column.
The latter is always instructive.
But if you have followed recent events so
closely you must have read about Lord St.
Simon and his wedding?"
"Oh, yes, with the deepest interest."
"That is well.
The letter which I hold in my hand is from
Lord St. Simon.
I will read it to you, and in return you
must turn over these papers and let me have
whatever bears upon the matter.
This is what he says:
"'MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:--Lord
Backwater tells me that I may place
implicit reliance upon your judgment and
discretion.
I have determined, therefore, to call upon
you and to consult you in reference to the
very painful event which has occurred in
connection with my wedding.
Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is acting
already in the matter, but he assures me
that he sees no objection to your co-
operation, and that he even thinks that it
might be of some assistance.
I will call at four o'clock in the
afternoon, and, should you have any other
engagement at that time, I hope that you
will postpone it, as this matter is of
paramount importance.
Yours faithfully, ST. SIMON.'
"It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions,
written with a quill pen, and the noble
lord has had the misfortune to get a smear
of ink upon the outer side of his right
little finger," remarked Holmes as he
folded up the epistle.
"He says four o'clock.
It is three now.
He will be here in an hour."
"Then I have just time, with your
assistance, to get clear upon the subject.
Turn over those papers and arrange the
extracts in their order of time, while I
take a glance as to who our client is."
He picked a red-covered volume from a line
of books of reference beside the
mantelpiece.
"Here he is," said he, sitting down and
flattening it out upon his knee.
"'Lord Robert Walsingham de Vere St. Simon,
second son of the Duke of Balmoral.'
Hum!
'Arms: Azure, three caltrops in chief over
a fess sable.
Born in 1846.'
He's forty-one years of age, which is
mature for marriage.
Was Under-Secretary for the colonies in a
late administration.
The Duke, his father, was at one time
Secretary for Foreign Affairs.
They inherit Plantagenet blood by direct
descent, and Tudor on the distaff side.
Ha!
Well, there is nothing very instructive in
all this.
I think that I must turn to you Watson, for
something more solid."
"I have very little difficulty in finding
what I want," said I, "for the facts are
quite recent, and the matter struck me as
remarkable.
I feared to refer them to you, however, as
I knew that you had an inquiry on hand and
that you disliked the intrusion of other
matters."
"Oh, you mean the little problem of the
Grosvenor Square furniture van.
That is quite cleared up now--though,
indeed, it was obvious from the first.
Pray give me the results of your newspaper
selections."
"Here is the first notice which I can find.
It is in the personal column of the Morning
Post, and dates, as you see, some weeks
back: 'A marriage has been arranged,' it
says, 'and will, if rumour is correct, very
shortly take place, between Lord Robert St.
Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral,
and Miss Hatty Doran, the only daughter of
Aloysius Doran.
Esq., of San Francisco, Cal., U.S.A.'
That is all."
"Terse and to the point," remarked Holmes,
stretching his long, thin legs towards the
fire.
"There was a paragraph amplifying this in
one of the society papers of the same week.
Ah, here it is: 'There will soon be a call
for protection in the marriage market, for
the present free-trade principle appears to
tell heavily against our home product.
One by one the management of the noble
houses of Great Britain is passing into the
hands of our fair cousins from across the
Atlantic.
An important addition has been made during
the last week to the list of the prizes
which have been borne away by these
charming invaders.
Lord St. Simon, who has shown himself for
over twenty years proof against the little
god's arrows, has now definitely announced
his approaching marriage with Miss Hatty
Doran, the fascinating daughter of a
California millionaire.
Miss Doran, whose graceful figure and
striking face attracted much attention at
the Westbury House festivities, is an only
child, and it is currently reported that
her dowry will run to considerably over the
six figures, with expectancies for the
future.
As it is an open secret that the Duke of
Balmoral has been compelled to sell his
pictures within the last few years, and as
Lord St. Simon has no property of his own
save the small estate of Birchmoor, it is
obvious that the Californian heiress is not
the only gainer by an alliance which will
enable her to make the easy and common
transition from a Republican lady to a
British peeress.'"
"Anything else?" asked Holmes, yawning.
"Oh, yes; plenty.
Then there is another note in the Morning
Post to say that the marriage would be an
absolutely quiet one, that it would be at
St. George's, Hanover Square, that only
half a dozen intimate friends would be
invited, and that the party would return to
the furnished house at Lancaster Gate which
has been taken by Mr. Aloysius Doran.
Two days later--that is, on Wednesday last-
-there is a curt announcement that the
wedding had taken place, and that the
honeymoon would be passed at Lord
Backwater's place, near Petersfield.
Those are all the notices which appeared
before the disappearance of the bride."
"Before the what?" asked Holmes with a
start.
"The vanishing of the lady."
"When did she vanish, then?"
"At the wedding breakfast."
"Indeed.
This is more interesting than it promised
to be; quite dramatic, in fact."
"Yes; it struck me as being a little out of
the common."
"They often vanish before the ceremony, and
occasionally during the honeymoon; but I
cannot call to mind anything quite so
prompt as this.
Pray let me have the details."
"I warn you that they are very incomplete."
"Perhaps we may make them less so."
"Such as they are, they are set forth in a
single article of a morning paper of
yesterday, which I will read to you.
It is headed, 'Singular Occurrence at a
Fashionable Wedding':
"'The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has
been thrown into the greatest consternation
by the strange and painful episodes which
have taken place in connection with his
wedding.
The ceremony, as shortly announced in the
papers of yesterday, occurred on the
previous morning; but it is only now that
it has been possible to confirm the strange
rumours which have been so persistently
floating about.
In spite of the attempts of the friends to
hush the matter up, so much public
attention has now been drawn to it that no
good purpose can be served by affecting to
disregard what is a common subject for
conversation.
"'The ceremony, which was performed at St.
George's, Hanover Square, was a very quiet
one, no one being present save the father
of the bride, Mr. Aloysius Doran, the
Duchess of Balmoral, Lord Backwater, Lord
Eustace and Lady Clara St. Simon (the
younger brother and sister of the
bridegroom), and Lady Alicia Whittington.
The whole party proceeded afterwards to the
house of Mr. Aloysius Doran, at Lancaster
Gate, where breakfast had been prepared.
It appears that some little trouble was
caused by a woman, whose name has not been
ascertained, who endeavoured to force her
way into the house after the bridal party,
alleging that she had some claim upon Lord
St. Simon.
It was only after a painful and prolonged
scene that she was ejected by the butler
and the footman.
The bride, who had fortunately entered the
house before this unpleasant interruption,
had sat down to breakfast with the rest,
when she complained of a sudden
indisposition and retired to her room.
Her prolonged absence having caused some
comment, her father followed her, but
learned from her maid that she had only
come up to her chamber for an instant,
caught up an ulster and bonnet, and hurried
down to the passage.
One of the footmen declared that he had
seen a lady leave the house thus
apparelled, but had refused to credit that
it was his mistress, believing her to be
with the company.
On ascertaining that his daughter had
disappeared, Mr. Aloysius Doran, in
conjunction with the bridegroom, instantly
put themselves in communication with the
police, and very energetic inquiries are
being made, which will probably result in a
speedy clearing up of this very singular
business.
Up to a late hour last night, however,
nothing had transpired as to the
whereabouts of the missing lady.
There are rumours of foul play in the
matter, and it is said that the police have
caused the arrest of the woman who had
caused the original disturbance, in the
belief that, from jealousy or some other
motive, she may have been concerned in the
strange disappearance of the bride.'"
"And is that all?"
"Only one little item in another of the
morning papers, but it is a suggestive
one."
"And it is--"
"That Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had
caused the disturbance, has actually been
arrested.
It appears that she was formerly a danseuse
at the Allegro, and that she has known the
bridegroom for some years.
There are no further particulars, and the
whole case is in your hands now--so far as
it has been set forth in the public press."
"And an exceedingly interesting case it
appears to be.
I would not have missed it for worlds.
But there is a ring at the bell, Watson,
and as the clock makes it a few minutes
after four, I have no doubt that this will
prove to be our noble client.
Do not dream of going, Watson, for I very
much prefer having a witness, if only as a
check to my own memory."
"Lord Robert St. Simon," announced our
page-boy, throwing open the door.
A gentleman entered, with a pleasant,
cultured face, high-nosed and pale, with
something perhaps of petulance about the
mouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye
of a man whose pleasant lot it had ever
been to command and to be obeyed.
His manner was brisk, and yet his general
appearance gave an undue impression of age,
for he had a slight forward stoop and a
little bend of the knees as he walked.
His hair, too, as he swept off his very
curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the
edges and thin upon the top.
As to his dress, it was careful to the
verge of foppishness, with high collar,
black frock-coat, white waistcoat, yellow
gloves, patent-leather shoes, and light-
coloured gaiters.
He advanced slowly into the room, turning
his head from left to right, and swinging
in his right hand the cord which held his
golden eyeglasses.
"Good-day, Lord St. Simon," said Holmes,
rising and bowing.
"Pray take the basket-chair.
This is my friend and colleague, Dr.
Watson.
Draw up a little to the fire, and we will
talk this matter over."
"A most painful matter to me, as you can
most readily imagine, Mr. Holmes.
I have been cut to the quick.
I understand that you have already managed
several delicate cases of this sort, sir,
though I presume that they were hardly from
the same class of society."
"No, I am descending."
"I beg pardon."
"My last client of the sort was a king."
"Oh, really!
I had no idea.
And which king?"
"The King of Scandinavia."
"What!
Had he lost his wife?"
"You can understand," said Holmes suavely,
"that I extend to the affairs of my other
clients the same secrecy which I promise to
you in yours."
"Of course!
Very right! very right!
I'm sure I beg pardon.
As to my own case, I am ready to give you
any information which may assist you in
forming an opinion."
"Thank you.
I have already learned all that is in the
public prints, nothing more.
I presume that I may take it as correct--
this article, for example, as to the
disappearance of the bride."
Lord St. Simon glanced over it.
"Yes, it is correct, as far as it goes."
"But it needs a great deal of supplementing
before anyone could offer an opinion.
I think that I may arrive at my facts most
directly by questioning you."
"Pray do so."
"When did you first meet Miss Hatty Doran?"
"In San Francisco, a year ago."
"You were travelling in the States?"
"Yes."
"Did you become engaged then?"
"No."
"But you were on a friendly footing?"
"I was amused by her society, and she could
see that I was amused."
"Her father is very rich?"
"He is said to be the richest man on the
Pacific slope."
"And how did he make his money?"
"In mining.
He had nothing a few years ago.
Then he struck gold, invested it, and came
up by leaps and bounds."
"Now, what is your own impression as to the
young lady's--your wife's character?"
The nobleman swung his glasses a little
faster and stared down into the fire.
"You see, Mr. Holmes," said he, "my wife
was twenty before her father became a rich
man.
During that time she ran free in a mining
camp and wandered through woods or
mountains, so that her education has come
from Nature rather than from the
schoolmaster.
She is what we call in England a tomboy,
with a strong nature, wild and free,
unfettered by any sort of traditions.
She is impetuous--volcanic, I was about to
say.
She is swift in making up her mind and
fearless in carrying out her resolutions.
On the other hand, I would not have given
her the name which I have the honour to
bear"--he gave a little stately cough--"had
not I thought her to be at bottom a noble
woman.
I believe that she is capable of heroic
self-sacrifice and that anything
dishonourable would be repugnant to her."
"Have you her photograph?"
"I brought this with me."
He opened a locket and showed us the full
face of a very lovely woman.
It was not a photograph but an ivory
miniature, and the artist had brought out
the full effect of the lustrous black hair,
the large dark eyes, and the exquisite
mouth.
Holmes gazed long and earnestly at it.
Then he closed the locket and handed it
back to Lord St. Simon.
"The young lady came to London, then, and
you renewed your acquaintance?"
"Yes, her father brought her over for this
last London season.
I met her several times, became engaged to
her, and have now married her."
"She brought, I understand, a considerable
dowry?"
"A fair dowry.
Not more than is usual in my family."
"And this, of course, remains to you, since
the marriage is a fait accompli?"
"I really have made no inquiries on the
subject."
"Very naturally not.
Did you see Miss Doran on the day before
the wedding?"
"Yes."
"Was she in good spirits?"
"Never better.
She kept talking of what we should do in
our future lives."
"Indeed!
That is very interesting.
And on the morning of the wedding?"
"She was as bright as possible--at least
until after the ceremony."
"And did you observe any change in her
then?"
"Well, to tell the truth, I saw then the
first signs that I had ever seen that her
temper was just a little sharp.
The incident however, was too trivial to
relate and can have no possible bearing
upon the case."
"Pray let us have it, for all that."
"Oh, it is childish.
She dropped her bouquet as we went towards
the vestry.
She was passing the front pew at the time,
and it fell over into the pew.
There was a moment's delay, but the
gentleman in the pew handed it up to her
again, and it did not appear to be the
worse for the fall.
Yet when I spoke to her of the matter, she
answered me abruptly; and in the carriage,
on our way home, she seemed absurdly
agitated over this trifling cause."
"Indeed!
You say that there was a gentleman in the
pew.
Some of the general public were present,
then?"
"Oh, yes.
It is impossible to exclude them when the
church is open."
"This gentleman was not one of your wife's
friends?"
"No, no; I call him a gentleman by
courtesy, but he was quite a common-looking
person.
I hardly noticed his appearance.
But really I think that we are wandering
rather far from the point."
"Lady St. Simon, then, returned from the
wedding in a less cheerful frame of mind
than she had gone to it.
What did she do on re-entering her father's
house?"
"I saw her in conversation with her maid."
"And who is her maid?"
"Alice is her name.
She is an American and came from California
with her."
"A confidential servant?"
"A little too much so.
It seemed to me that her mistress allowed
her to take great liberties.
Still, of course, in America they look upon
these things in a different way."
"How long did she speak to this Alice?"
"Oh, a few minutes.
I had something else to think of."
"You did not overhear what they said?"
"Lady St. Simon said something about
'jumping a claim.'
She was accustomed to use slang of the
kind.
I have no idea what she meant."
"American slang is very expressive
sometimes.
And what did your wife do when she finished
speaking to her maid?"
"She walked into the breakfast-room."
"On your arm?"
"No, alone.
She was very independent in little matters
like that.
Then, after we had sat down for ten minutes
or so, she rose hurriedly, muttered some
words of apology, and left the room.
She never came back."
"But this maid, Alice, as I understand,
deposes that she went to her room, covered
her bride's dress with a long ulster, put
on a bonnet, and went out."
"Quite so.
And she was afterwards seen walking into
Hyde Park in company with Flora Millar, a
woman who is now in custody, and who had
already made a disturbance at Mr. Doran's
house that morning."
"Ah, yes.
I should like a few particulars as to this
young lady, and your relations to her."
Lord St. Simon shrugged his shoulders and
raised his eyebrows.
"We have been on a friendly footing for
some years--I may say on a very friendly
footing.
She used to be at the Allegro.
I have not treated her ungenerously, and
she had no just cause of complaint against
me, but you know what women are, Mr.
Holmes.
Flora was a dear little thing, but
exceedingly hot-headed and devotedly
attached to me.
She wrote me dreadful letters when she
heard that I was about to be married, and,
to tell the truth, the reason why I had the
marriage celebrated so quietly was that I
feared lest there might be a scandal in the
church.
She came to Mr. Doran's door just after we
returned, and she endeavoured to push her
way in, uttering very abusive expressions
towards my wife, and even threatening her,
but I had foreseen the possibility of
something of the sort, and I had two police
fellows there in private clothes, who soon
pushed her out again.
She was quiet when she saw that there was
no good in making a row."
"Did your wife hear all this?"
"No, thank goodness, she did not."
"And she was seen walking with this very
woman afterwards?"
"Yes. That is what Mr. Lestrade, of
Scotland Yard, looks upon as so serious.
It is thought that Flora decoyed my wife
out and laid some terrible trap for her."
"Well, it is a possible supposition."
"You think so, too?"
"I did not say a probable one.
But you do not yourself look upon this as
likely?"
"I do not think Flora would hurt a fly."
"Still, jealousy is a strange transformer
of characters.
Pray what is your own theory as to what
took place?"
"Well, really, I came to seek a theory, not
to propound one.
I have given you all the facts.
Since you ask me, however, I may say that
it has occurred to me as possible that the
excitement of this affair, the
consciousness that she had made so immense
a social stride, had the effect of causing
some little nervous disturbance in my
wife."
"In short, that she had become suddenly
deranged?"
"Well, really, when I consider that she has
turned her back--I will not say upon me,
but upon so much that many have aspired to
without success--I can hardly explain it in
any other fashion."
"Well, certainly that is also a conceivable
hypothesis," said Holmes, smiling.
"And now, Lord St. Simon, I think that I
have nearly all my data.
May I ask whether you were seated at the
breakfast-table so that you could see out
of the window?"
"We could see the other side of the road
and the Park."
"Quite so.
Then I do not think that I need to detain
you longer.
I shall communicate with you."
"Should you be fortunate enough to solve
this problem," said our client, rising.
"I have solved it."
"Eh?
What was that?"
"I say that I have solved it."
"Where, then, is my wife?"
"That is a detail which I shall speedily
supply."
Lord St. Simon shook his head.
"I am afraid that it will take wiser heads
than yours or mine," he remarked, and
bowing in a stately, old-fashioned manner
he departed.
"It is very good of Lord St. Simon to
honour my head by putting it on a level
with his own," said Sherlock Holmes,
laughing.
"I think that I shall have a whisky and
soda and a cigar after all this cross-
questioning.
I had formed my conclusions as to the case
before our client came into the room."
"My dear Holmes!"
"I have notes of several similar cases,
though none, as I remarked before, which
were quite as prompt.
My whole examination served to turn my
conjecture into a certainty.
Circumstantial evidence is occasionally
very convincing, as when you find a trout
in the milk, to quote Thoreau's example."
"But I have heard all that you have heard."
"Without, however, the knowledge of pre-
existing cases which serves me so well.
There was a parallel instance in Aberdeen
some years back, and something on very much
the same lines at Munich the year after the
Franco-Prussian War.
It is one of these cases--but, hullo, here
is Lestrade!
Good-afternoon, Lestrade!
You will find an extra tumbler upon the
sideboard, and there are cigars in the
box."
The official detective was attired in a
pea-jacket and cravat, which gave him a
decidedly nautical appearance, and he
carried a black canvas bag in his hand.
With a short greeting he seated himself and
lit the cigar which had been offered to
him.
"What's up, then?" asked Holmes with a
twinkle in his eye.
"You look dissatisfied."
"And I feel dissatisfied.
It is this infernal St. Simon marriage
case.
I can make neither head nor tail of the
business."
"Really!
You surprise me."
"Who ever heard of such a mixed affair?
Every clue seems to slip through my
fingers.
I have been at work upon it all day."
"And very wet it seems to have made you,"
said Holmes laying his hand upon the arm of
the pea-jacket.
"Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine."
"In heaven's name, what for?"
"In search of the body of Lady St. Simon."
Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair
and laughed heartily.
"Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar
Square fountain?" he asked.
"Why?
What do you mean?"
"Because you have just as good a chance of
finding this lady in the one as in the
Lestrade shot an angry glance at my
companion.
"I suppose you know all about it," he
snarled.
"Well, I have only just heard the facts,
but my mind is made up."
"Oh, indeed!
Then you think that the Serpentine plays no
part in the matter?"
"I think it very unlikely."
"Then perhaps you will kindly explain how
it is that we found this in it?"
He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled
onto the floor a wedding-dress of watered
silk, a pair of white satin shoes and a
bride's wreath and veil, all discoloured
and soaked in water.
"There," said he, putting a new wedding-
ring upon the top of the pile.
"There is a little nut for you to crack,
Master Holmes."
"Oh, indeed!" said my friend, blowing blue
rings into the air.
"You dragged them from the Serpentine?"
"No. They were found floating near the
margin by a park-keeper.
They have been identified as her clothes,
and it seemed to me that if the clothes
were there the body would not be far off."
"By the same brilliant reasoning, every
man's body is to be found in the
neighbourhood of his wardrobe.
And pray what did you hope to arrive at
through this?"
"At some evidence implicating Flora Millar
in the disappearance."
"I am afraid that you will find it
difficult."
"Are you, indeed, now?" cried Lestrade with
some bitterness.
"I am afraid, Holmes, that you are not very
practical with your deductions and your
inferences.
You have made two blunders in as many
minutes.
This dress does implicate Miss Flora
Millar."
"And how?"
"In the dress is a pocket.
In the pocket is a card-case.
In the card-case is a note.
And here is the very note."
He slapped it down upon the table in front
of him.
"Listen to this: 'You will see me when all
is ready.
Come at once.
F.H.M.'
Now my theory all along has been that Lady
St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora Millar,
and that she, with confederates, no doubt,
was responsible for her disappearance.
Here, signed with her initials, is the very
note which was no doubt quietly slipped
into her hand at the door and which lured
her within their reach."
"Very good, Lestrade," said Holmes,
laughing.
"You really are very fine indeed.
Let me see it."
He took up the paper in a listless way, but
his attention instantly became riveted, and
he gave a little cry of satisfaction.
"This is indeed important," said he.
"Ha! you find it so?"
"Extremely so.
I congratulate you warmly."
Lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his
head to look.
"Why," he shrieked, "you're looking at the
wrong side!"
"On the contrary, this is the right side."
"The right side?
You're mad!
Here is the note written in pencil over
here."
"And over here is what appears to be the
fragment of a hotel bill, which interests
me deeply."
"There's nothing in it.
I looked at it before," said Lestrade.
"'Oct. 4th, rooms 8s., breakfast 2s.
6d., cocktail 1s., lunch 2s.
6d., glass sherry, 8d.'
I see nothing in that."
"Very likely not.
It is most important, all the same.
As to the note, it is important also, or at
least the initials are, so I congratulate
you again."
"I've wasted time enough," said Lestrade,
rising.
"I believe in hard work and not in sitting
by the fire spinning fine theories.
Good-day, Mr. Holmes, and we shall see
which gets to the bottom of the matter
first."
He gathered up the garments, thrust them
into the bag, and made for the door.
"Just one hint to you, Lestrade," drawled
Holmes before his rival vanished; "I will
tell you the true solution of the matter.
Lady St. Simon is a myth.
There is not, and there never has been, any
such person."
Lestrade looked sadly at my companion.
Then he turned to me, tapped his forehead
three times, shook his head solemnly, and
hurried away.
He had hardly shut the door behind him when
Holmes rose to put on his overcoat.
"There is something in what the fellow says
about outdoor work," he remarked, "so I
think, Watson, that I must leave you to
your papers for a little."
It was after five o'clock when Sherlock
Holmes left me, but I had no time to be
lonely, for within an hour there arrived a
confectioner's man with a very large flat
box.
This he unpacked with the help of a youth
whom he had brought with him, and
presently, to my very great astonishment, a
quite epicurean little cold supper began to
be laid out upon our humble lodging-house
mahogany.
There were a couple of brace of cold
woodcock, a pheasant, a pâté de foie gras
pie with a group of ancient and cobwebby
bottles.
Having laid out all these luxuries, my two
visitors vanished away, like the genii of
the Arabian Nights, with no explanation
save that the things had been paid for and
were ordered to this address.
Just before nine o'clock Sherlock Holmes
stepped briskly into the room.
His features were gravely set, but there
was a light in his eye which made me think
that he had not been disappointed in his
conclusions.
"They have laid the supper, then," he said,
rubbing his hands.
"You seem to expect company.
They have laid for five."
"Yes, I fancy we may have some company
dropping in," said he.
"I am surprised that Lord St. Simon has not
already arrived.
Ha!
I fancy that I hear his step now upon the
stairs."
It was indeed our visitor of the afternoon
who came bustling in, dangling his glasses
more vigorously than ever, and with a very
perturbed expression upon his aristocratic
features.
"My messenger reached you, then?" asked
Holmes.
"Yes, and I confess that the contents
startled me beyond measure.
Have you good authority for what you say?"
"The best possible."
Lord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed
his hand over his forehead.
"What will the Duke say," he murmured,
"when he hears that one of the family has
been subjected to such humiliation?"
"It is the purest accident.
I cannot allow that there is any
humiliation."
"Ah, you look on these things from another
standpoint."
"I fail to see that anyone is to blame.
I can hardly see how the lady could have
acted otherwise, though her abrupt method
of doing it was undoubtedly to be
regretted.
Having no mother, she had no one to advise
her at such a crisis."
"It was a slight, sir, a public slight,"
said Lord St. Simon, tapping his fingers
upon the table.
"You must make allowance for this poor
girl, placed in so unprecedented a
position."
"I will make no allowance.
I am very angry indeed, and I have been
shamefully used."
"I think that I heard a ring," said Holmes.
"Yes, there are steps on the landing.
If I cannot persuade you to take a lenient
view of the matter, Lord St. Simon, I have
brought an advocate here who may be more
successful."
He opened the door and ushered in a lady
and gentleman.
"Lord St. Simon," said he "allow me to
introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Francis Hay
Moulton.
The lady, I think, you have already met."
At the sight of these newcomers our client
had sprung from his seat and stood very
erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand
thrust into the breast of his frock-coat, a
picture of offended dignity.
The lady had taken a quick step forward and
had held out her hand to him, but he still
refused to raise his eyes.
It was as well for his resolution, perhaps,
for her pleading face was one which it was
hard to resist.
"You're angry, Robert," said she.
"Well, I guess you have every cause to be."
"Pray make no apology to me," said Lord St.
Simon bitterly.
"Oh, yes, I know that I have treated you
real bad and that I should have spoken to
you before I went; but I was kind of
rattled, and from the time when I saw Frank
here again I just didn't know what I was
doing or saying.
I only wonder I didn't fall down and do a
faint right there before the altar."
"Perhaps, Mrs. Moulton, you would like my
friend and me to leave the room while you
explain this matter?"
"If I may give an opinion," remarked the
strange gentleman, "we've had just a little
too much secrecy over this business
already.
For my part, I should like all Europe and
America to hear the rights of it."
He was a small, wiry, sunburnt man, clean-
shaven, with a sharp face and alert manner.
"Then I'll tell our story right away," said
the lady.
"Frank here and I met in '84, in McQuire's
camp, near the Rockies, where pa was
working a claim.
We were engaged to each other, Frank and I;
but then one day father struck a rich
pocket and made a pile, while poor Frank
here had a claim that petered out and came
to nothing.
The richer pa grew the poorer was Frank; so
at last pa wouldn't hear of our engagement
lasting any longer, and he took me away to
'Frisco.
Frank wouldn't throw up his hand, though;
so he followed me there, and he saw me
without pa knowing anything about it.
It would only have made him mad to know, so
we just fixed it all up for ourselves.
Frank said that he would go and make his
pile, too, and never come back to claim me
until he had as much as pa.
So then I promised to wait for him to the
end of time and pledged myself not to marry
anyone else while he lived.
'Why shouldn't we be married right away,
then,' said he, 'and then I will feel sure
of you; and I won't claim to be your
husband until I come back?'
Well, we talked it over, and he had fixed
it all up so nicely, with a clergyman all
ready in waiting, that we just did it right
there; and then Frank went off to seek his
fortune, and I went back to pa.
"The next I heard of Frank was that he was
in Montana, and then he went prospecting in
Arizona, and then I heard of him from New
Mexico.
After that came a long newspaper story
about how a miners' camp had been attacked
by Apache Indians, and there was my Frank's
name among the killed.
I fainted dead away, and I was very sick
for months after.
Pa thought I had a decline and took me to
half the doctors in 'Frisco.
Not a word of news came for a year and
more, so that I never doubted that Frank
was really dead.
Then Lord St. Simon came to 'Frisco, and we
came to London, and a marriage was
arranged, and pa was very pleased, but I
felt all the time that no man on this earth
would ever take the place in my heart that
had been given to my poor Frank.
"Still, if I had married Lord St. Simon, of
course I'd have done my duty by him.
We can't command our love, but we can our
actions.
I went to the altar with him with the
intention to make him just as good a wife
as it was in me to be.
But you may imagine what I felt when, just
as I came to the altar rails, I glanced
back and saw Frank standing and looking at
me out of the first pew.
I thought it was his ghost at first; but
when I looked again there he was still,
with a kind of question in his eyes, as if
to ask me whether I were glad or sorry to
see him.
I wonder I didn't drop.
I know that everything was turning round,
and the words of the clergyman were just
like the buzz of a bee in my ear.
I didn't know what to do.
Should I stop the service and make a scene
in the church?
I glanced at him again, and he seemed to
know what I was thinking, for he raised his
finger to his lips to tell me to be still.
Then I saw him scribble on a piece of
paper, and I knew that he was writing me a
As I passed his pew on the way out I
dropped my bouquet over to him, and he
slipped the note into my hand when he
returned me the flowers.
It was only a line asking me to join him
when he made the sign to me to do so.
Of course I never doubted for a moment that
my first duty was now to him, and I
determined to do just whatever he might
direct.
"When I got back I told my maid, who had
known him in California, and had always
been his friend.
I ordered her to say nothing, but to get a
few things packed and my ulster ready.
I know I ought to have spoken to Lord St.
Simon, but it was dreadful hard before his
mother and all those great people.
I just made up my mind to run away and
explain afterwards.
I hadn't been at the table ten minutes
before I saw Frank out of the window at the
other side of the road.
He beckoned to me and then began walking
into the Park.
I slipped out, put on my things, and
followed him.
Some woman came talking something or other
about Lord St. Simon to me--seemed to me
from the little I heard as if he had a
little secret of his own before marriage
also--but I managed to get away from her
and soon overtook Frank.
We got into a cab together, and away we
drove to some lodgings he had taken in
Gordon Square, and that was my true wedding
after all those years of waiting.
Frank had been a prisoner among the
Apaches, had escaped, came on to 'Frisco,
found that I had given him up for dead and
had gone to England, followed me there, and
had come upon me at last on the very
morning of my second wedding."
"I saw it in a paper," explained the
American.
"It gave the name and the church but not
where the lady lived."
"Then we had a talk as to what we should
do, and Frank was all for openness, but I
was so ashamed of it all that I felt as if
I should like to vanish away and never see
any of them again--just sending a line to
pa, perhaps, to show him that I was alive.
It was awful to me to think of all those
lords and ladies sitting round that
breakfast-table and waiting for me to come
back.
So Frank took my wedding-clothes and things
and made a bundle of them, so that I should
not be traced, and dropped them away
somewhere where no one could find them.
It is likely that we should have gone on to
Paris to-morrow, only that this good
gentleman, Mr. Holmes, came round to us
this evening, though how he found us is
more than I can think, and he showed us
very clearly and kindly that I was wrong
and that Frank was right, and that we
should be putting ourselves in the wrong if
we were so secret.
Then he offered to give us a chance of
talking to Lord St. Simon alone, and so we
came right away round to his rooms at once.
Now, Robert, you have heard it all, and I
am very sorry if I have given you pain, and
I hope that you do not think very meanly of
me."
Lord St. Simon had by no means relaxed his
rigid attitude, but had listened with a
frowning brow and a compressed lip to this
long narrative.
"Excuse me," he said, "but it is not my
custom to discuss my most intimate personal
affairs in this public manner."
"Then you won't forgive me?
You won't shake hands before I go?"
"Oh, certainly, if it would give you any
pleasure."
He put out his hand and coldly grasped that
which she extended to him.
"I had hoped," suggested Holmes, "that you
would have joined us in a friendly supper."
"I think that there you ask a little too
much," responded his Lordship.
"I may be forced to acquiesce in these
recent developments, but I can hardly be
expected to make merry over them.
I think that with your permission I will
now wish you all a very good-night."
He included us all in a sweeping bow and
stalked out of the room.
"Then I trust that you at least will honour
me with your company," said Sherlock
Holmes.
"It is always a joy to meet an American,
Mr. Moulton, for I am one of those who
believe that the folly of a monarch and the
blundering of a minister in far-gone years
will not prevent our children from being
some day citizens of the same world-wide
country under a flag which shall be a
quartering of the Union Jack with the Stars
and Stripes."
"The case has been an interesting one,"
remarked Holmes when our visitors had left
us, "because it serves to show very clearly
how simple the explanation may be of an
affair which at first sight seems to be
almost inexplicable.
Nothing could be more natural than the
sequence of events as narrated by this
lady, and nothing stranger than the result
when viewed, for instance, by Mr. Lestrade
of Scotland Yard."
"You were not yourself at fault at all,
then?"
"From the first, two facts were very
obvious to me, the one that the lady had
been quite willing to undergo the wedding
ceremony, the other that she had repented
of it within a few minutes of returning
home.
Obviously something had occurred during the
morning, then, to cause her to change her
mind.
What could that something be?
She could not have spoken to anyone when
she was out, for she had been in the
company of the bridegroom.
Had she seen someone, then?
If she had, it must be someone from America
because she had spent so short a time in
this country that she could hardly have
allowed anyone to acquire so deep an
influence over her that the mere sight of
him would induce her to change her plans so
completely.
You see we have already arrived, by a
process of exclusion, at the idea that she
might have seen an American.
Then who could this American be, and why
should he possess so much influence over
her?
It might be a lover; it might be a husband.
Her young womanhood had, I knew, been spent
in rough scenes and under strange
conditions.
So far I had got before I ever heard Lord
St. Simon's narrative.
When he told us of a man in a pew, of the
change in the bride's manner, of so
transparent a device for obtaining a note
as the dropping of a bouquet, of her resort
to her confidential maid, and of her very
significant allusion to claim-jumping--
which in miners' parlance means taking
possession of that which another person has
a prior claim to--the whole situation
became absolutely clear.
She had gone off with a man, and the man
was either a lover or was a previous
husband--the chances being in favour of the
latter."
"And how in the world did you find them?"
"It might have been difficult, but friend
Lestrade held information in his hands the
value of which he did not himself know.
The initials were, of course, of the
highest importance, but more valuable still
was it to know that within a week he had
settled his bill at one of the most select
London hotels."
"How did you deduce the select?"
"By the select prices.
Eight shillings for a bed and eightpence
for a glass of sherry pointed to one of the
most expensive hotels.
There are not many in London which charge
at that rate.
In the second one which I visited in
Northumberland Avenue, I learned by an
inspection of the book that Francis H.
Moulton, an American gentleman, had left
only the day before, and on looking over
the entries against him, I came upon the
very items which I had seen in the
duplicate bill.
His letters were to be forwarded to 226
Gordon Square; so thither I travelled, and
being fortunate enough to find the loving
couple at home, I ventured to give them
some paternal advice and to point out to
them that it would be better in every way
that they should make their position a
little clearer both to the general public
and to Lord St. Simon in particular.
I invited them to meet him here, and, as
you see, I made him keep the appointment."
"But with no very good result," I remarked.
"His conduct was certainly not very
gracious."
"Ah, Watson," said Holmes, smiling,
"perhaps you would not be very gracious
either, if, after all the trouble of wooing
and wedding, you found yourself deprived in
an instant of wife and of fortune.
I think that we may judge Lord St. Simon
very mercifully and thank our stars that we
are never likely to find ourselves in the
same position.
Draw your chair up and hand me my violin,
for the only problem we have still to solve
is how to while away these bleak autumnal
evenings."