Books at bedtime by Calmingg Anxiert the sign of the four chapter six Sherlock Holmes
gives a demonstration.
"Now Watson," said Holmes, rubbing his hands, "we have half an hour to ourselves.
Let us make good use of it.
My case is, as I have told you, almost complete, but we must not err on the side of over
confidence.
Simple as the case seems now.
There may be something deeper underlying it."
"Simple?"
I ejaculated.
"Surely," said he.
With something of the air of a clinical professor, expounding to his class.
Just sit in the corner there, that your footprints may not complicate matters.
Now to work.
In the first place, how did these folks come and how did they go?
The door has not been opened since last night.
How of the window?
He carried the lamp across to it, muttering his observations allowed the while, but addressing
them to himself rather than to me.
Window is snubbed on the inner side.
Framework is solid.
No hinges at the side.
Better say, "Open it."
I walked pipe near, roofed quite out of reach, yet a man has mounted by the window.
It rained a little last night.
Here is the print of a foot emolled upon the cell.
And here is a circular muddy mark.
And here again upon the floor, and here again by the table.
See here, Watson?
This is rarely a very pretty demonstration.
I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs.
"That is not a footprint," said I.
"It is something much more valuable to us.
It is the impression of a wooden stump."
You see here on the cell is the bootmark, a heavy boot, with the broad metal heel, and
the side at the mark of a timber shoe.
It is the wooden-legged man.
Quite so, but there has been someone else, a very able and efficient ally.
Could you scale that wall, Doctor?
I looked out at the open window.
The moon still shone brightly on the angle of the house.
You are a good 60 feet above the ground, and look where I would, I could see no foot hold,
nor is much as a crevice in the brickwork.
It is absolutely impossible, I answered.
Without aid, it is so.
But suppose you had a friend up here who lowered you this good stout rope, which I see in the
corner, securing one end of it to the great hook in the wall.
Then, I think, if you were an active man, you might swarm up wooden leg and all.
You would depart, of course, in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up the rope,
untie it from the hook, shut the window, snip it on the inside, and get away in the way
here it really came in.
As a minor point, it may be noted, he continued, fingering the rope, that our wooden-legged friend,
though a fair climber, was not a professional sailor.
His hands were far from horny.
My lens discloses more than one bloodmark, especially towards the end of the rope, from which
I gather that he slipped down with such velocity that he took the skin off his hand.
"This is all very well," said I, "but the thing becomes more unintelligible than ever.
How about this mysterious ally?
How came he into the room?"
"Yes, the ally," repeated Holmes, pensively.
"There are features of interest about this ally.
He lifts the case from the regions of the commonplace."
"I fancy that this ally breaks fresh ground in the aniles of crime in this country, though
parallel cases suggest themselves from India, and if my memory serves me, from Senengambia."
"He came in, then," I reiterated.
The door is locked, the window is in accessible.
Was it through the chimney?
The grate is much too small, he answered.
I had already considered that possibility.
"How then?" I persisted.
"You will not apply my precept," he said, shaking his head.
"How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains,
however imporable must be the truth?"
We know that he did not come through the door.
The window or the chimney.
We also know that he could not have been concealed in the room, as there is no concealment
possible.
Went slain, did he?
He came through the hole in the roof, I cried.
Of course he did, he must have done so.
If you will have the kindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall now extend our researchers
to the room above, the secret room in which the treasure was found.
He mounted the steps, and seizing a rafter with either hand, he swung himself up into
the garret, then lying on his face, he reached down for the lamp and held it a while as I followed
him.
The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet, one way and six the other.
The floor was formed by the rafters, within last and plaster between them, so that in
walking one had to step from beam to beam.
The roof ran up to an apex, and was evidently the inner shell of the true roof of the house.
There was no third of any sort, and the accumulated dust of the ears lay thick upon the floor.
"Here you are," you see.
The Sherlock Holmes putting his hand against the sloping wall.
This is a trap door which leads out onto the roof.
I can press it back, and here is the roof itself, sloping at a gentle angle.
This then is the way by which number one entered.
Let us see if we can find any other traces of his individuality.
He held down the lamp to the floor.
And as he did so, I saw for the second time that night a startled surprise look came of
over his face.
For myself, as I followed his gaze, my skin was cold under my clothes.
The floor was covered thickly with the prints of a naked foot, clear, well-defined, perfectly
formed, but scarce half the size of those of an ordinary man.
"Homes," I said in a whisper.
A child has done this horrid thing.
He had recovered his self-possession in an instant.
"I was slagged for the moment," he said.
"But the thing is quite natural.
My memory failed me, or I should have been able to foretell it.
There is nothing more to be learned here.
Let us go down."
What is your theory then? as to those footmarks I asked, ealy, when we had regained the
lower room once more.
My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself," said he, with a touch of impatience.
"You know my methods.
Apply them, and it will be instructive to compare results.
I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts I answered.
It will be clear enough to you soon," he said in an offhand way.
"I think that there is nothing else of importance here, but I will look."
He whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and hurried about the room on his knees, measuring,
comparing, examining, with his long, thin nose only a few inches from the planks, and his
BDI's gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird.
So swift, silent, and furtive were his movements, like those of a trained bloodhound picking up
a scent that I could not but think what a terrible criminal he would have made had he turned
his energy and sagacity against the law, instead of exerting them in its defense.
As he hunted about, he kept muttering to himself, and finally he broke out into a loud crow
of delight.
"We are certainly in luck," said he.
"We ought to have very little trouble now."
Number one, has had the misfortune to tread in creasod.
You can see the outline of the edge of his small foot here at the side of this evil smelling
mess.
"Carboy has been cracked."
You see, that's the stuff that is leaked out.
What then I asked?
"Why?"
"We have got him, that's all," said he.
"I know a dog that would follow that scent to the world's end."
"If a pack can track a trailed herring across a shire, how far can a specially trained
hound follow so pungent to smell as this?"
It sounds like a sum in a rule of three.
The answers should give us, but halah, here are the accredited representatives of the law.
Heavy steps, and the clamor of loud voices were audible from below, and the hall door shut
with a loud crash.
"Before they come," said Holmes, "just put your hand here on this poor fellow's arm, and
here on his leg, what do you feel?"
The muscles are as hard as a board, I answered, quite so.
They are in a state of extreme contraction, far exceeding the usual rigour mortis.
Coupled with this distortion of the face, this hypocritic smile, or recessed sardinicus,
as the old rite is called it, "What conclusion could you suggest in your mind?"
Death, from some very powerful vegetable alkaloid, I answered, "Some strict mean-like substance,
which would produce tetanus."
That was the idea which occurred to me.
The instant I saw the drawn muscles on the face, on getting into the room, I at once looked
for the means by which the poison had entered the system.
As you saw, I discovered a thorn which had been driven or shot with no great force into
the scalp.
You observe that the parts struck was that which could be turned towards the hole in the ceiling
if a man were erect in his chair.
Now examine the thorn.
I took it up gingerly and held it to the light of the lantern.
It was long, sharp and black, with a glazed look near the point as though some gummy substances
had dried upon it.
The blunt end had been trimmed and rounded off with a knife.
"Is that an English thorn?" he asked.
"No, it certainly is not.
With all these daties, you should be able to draw just some inference, but here are the
regulars, so the auxiliary forces may beat or treat."
As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded loudly on the passage, and a
very stout, portly man in a grey suit, rode heavily into the room.
He was red-faced, burly and plathoric, with a pair of small twinkling eyes which looked
keenly out from between swollen and puffy pouches.
He was closely followed by an Inspectoran uniform, and by the still palpating, Theodor's
shoulder.
"Here's a business," he cried, in a muffled husky voice.
"Here's a pretty business."
"But who are all these? Why? The house seems to be as full as a rabbit wearing."
"I think you must recollect me," Mr. Atty Jones said home quietly.
"Why, of course, I do," he weased.
"It's Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the theorist."
"Remember you, I'll never forget, how you lectured us all on causes and inferences,
and the effects in the Bishop's Scale Jewel case."
"It's true. You set us on the right track.
But you're alone now, that it would be as more of good luck than good guidance."
"It was a piece of very simple reasoning."
"Oh, come now, come. Never be ashamed to own up. But what is all this? Bad business, bad
business. Stirn facts here. No room for theories. How lucky that I happened to be out at Norwood
over another case. I was at the station when the message arrived.
What do you think the man died of?"
"Oh, Mrs. Hardley, a case for me to theorise over," said Holmes dryly.
"No, no, still. We can't deny that you hit the nail on the head sometimes."
"Dear me, door locked, I understand. Jewels worth half a million missing. How was the
window?"
"Far-send. But there are steps on the cell."
"Well, well. If it was a far-send, the steps could have done nothing to do with the matter.
That's common sense. Man might have died in a fit, but then the jewels are missing.
Ha, I have a theory."
These flashes come to me at times. Just step outside, Sergeant, and you, Mr. Sholto, your friend
can remain.
"What do you think of this, Holmes?" Sholto was, on his own confession, was his brother
last night. The brother died in a fit on which Sholto walked off for the Trevor. How's that?
On which the dead man very considerably got up and locked the door on the inside.
Hmm, there's a floor there. Let us apply common sense to the manor. This, thaddy, is Sholto,
was with his brother. There was a quarrel, so much we know. The brother is dead, and the jewels
are gone. So much also we know. Now, no one saw the brother from the time Thaddeus left him.
His bed had not been slept in. Thaddeus is evidently in a most disturbed state of mind.
His appearance is, well, not attractive. You see that I'm weaving my web around Thaddeus.
The net begins to close upon him.
"You are not quite in possession of the faxia,," said Holmes. "This splinter of wood, which I've
every reason to believe to be poisoned, was in the man's scalp where you still see them out.
This card, inscribed as you see it, was on the table, and beside it lay the rather curious,
stone-headed instrument."
"How does all that fit into your theory?"
Confirms it in every respect said the fact detective pomposely.
"How's his full of indian curiosity?"
Thaddeus brought this up, and if this splinter be poisonous,
Thaddeus may well have made murderous use of it as any other man.
The card is some hocus-pocus, a blind, as light is not.
The only question is, how did he depart?
"Ah, of course. Here is the hole in the roof."
With great activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up the steps and squeezed through into the
carrot, and immediately afterwards, we heard his ex-tling voice proclaiming that he had found the
trap door. He can find something remarked home shrugging his shoulders. He has occasional glimmers of reason.
"You see," said at our felony, James, reappearing down the steps again, faxia better than me a
theory's after all. "My view of the case is confirmed. There is a trap door communicating with
the roof, and it is partly open. It was I who opened it."
"Oh indeed, you did notice it then. He seemed a little crestful and at this discovery."
"Well, whoever noticed it, it shows how our gentleman got away."
"Inspector?"
"Yes sir, from the passage."
"Ask Mr. Shalto to step this way."
"Mr. Shalto, it is my duty to inform you that you are anything, which you say may
you will be used against you. I arrest you in the queen's name as being concerned in the death of
your brother." "There, now."
"Didn't I tell you?" cried the poor little man, throwing out his hands and looking from one of us
to the other. "Don't trouble yourself about it, Mr. Shalto," said Holmes, "I think I can engage
to clear you of the charge." "Don't promise too much, Mr. Thearest. Don't promise too much."
"Snap the detective. You may find it harder matter than you think."
"Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will make you a free present to the name and
description of the one of the two people who were here in this room last night. His name,
I have every reason to believe, is Jonathan Small. He is a poorly educated man,
small, active, with his right leg off and wearing a wooden stump which is worn
away upon the inner side. His left boot has a coarse, square toad sole, with an iron band round
the heel. He is a middle-aged man, much sunburned, and has been a convict. These few indications may be
of some assistance to you. Coupled with the fact there is a good deal of skin missing from the palm of
his hand. The other man are, the other man asked a felony Jones in a sneering voice, but impressed
nonetheless as I could easily see, by the precision of the other's manner. "Is a rather curious
person," said Sherlock Holmes, turning upon his heel, "I hope that before very long to be able to
introduce you to the pair of them. A word with you, Watson." He led me out of the head of the stairs.
"There's unexpected occurrence," he said, "has caused us rather to lose sight of the original
purpose of our journey." "I have just been thinking so," I answered. "It is not right that Miss
Morston should remain in the stricken house." "No, you must escort her home."
She lives with Mrs. Cecil Forrester in Lower Campbellwell, so it is not very far.
"I will wait for you here, if you will drive out again, or perhaps you are too tired."
By no means, I don't think I could rest until I know more of this fantastic business.
I have seen something of the rough side of life, but I give you my word that this quick
succession of strange surprises tonight has shaken my nerve completely. I should like,
however, to see the matter through with you, now that I have got so far."
"Your presence will be of great service to me," he answered.
"We shall work the case out independently, and leave this fellow Jones to exalt over any
mayorsness which he may choose to construct."
"When you have dropped Miss Morston off, I wish you to go on to number three, Pinch and Lane,
down near the water's edge at Lambarth."
The third house on the right hand side is a bird's stuff, Sherman is the name.
"You will see a weasel holding a young rabbit in the window."
"Knock, old Sherman up, and tell him with my compliments that I want Toby at once."
"You will bring Toby back in the cap with you."
"A dog, I suppose?"
"Yes, a queer mongrel with the most amazing paracent.
I would rather have Toby's help than that of the whole detective force of London."
"I shall bring him here then," said I. "It is one now. I ought to be back before three if I can get
a fresh horse, and I said homes. She'll see what I can learn from Mrs Bernstun, and from the
Indian servant who, Mr Faddeus, tells me, sleeps in the next carrot."
"Then I shall study the great Jones methods, and listen to his not too delicate sarcasm."
"The sinned gewon to dimass machen overhormen visinnecht verstehen."
"Goth is always pity."