A Study in Scarlet
lonely mountain gorges. Once a bullet whistled through Stangerson’s
window and flattened itself upon the wall within a foot of him. On
another occasion, as Drebber passed under a cliff a great boulder
crashed down on him, and he only escaped a terrible death by throwing
himself upon his face. The two young Mormons were not long in
discovering the reason of these attempts upon their lives, and led
repeated expeditions into the mountains in the hope of capturing or
killing their enemy, but always without success. Then they adopted the
precaution of never going out alone or after nightfall, and of having
their houses guarded. After a time they were able to relax these
measures, for nothing was either heard or seen of their opponent, and
they hoped that time had cooled his vindictiveness.
Far from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented it. The hunter’s mind
was of a hard, unyielding nature, and the predominant idea of revenge
had taken such complete possession of it that there was no room for any
other emotion. He was, however, above all things practical. He soon
realized that even his iron constitution could not stand the incessant
strain which he was putting upon it. Exposure and want of wholesome
food were wearing him out. If he died like a dog among the mountains,
what was to become of his revenge then? And yet such a death was sure
to overtake him if he persisted. He felt that that was to play his
enemy’s game, so he reluctantly returned to the old Nevada mines, there
to recruit his health and to amass money enough to allow him to pursue
his object without privation.
His intention had been to be absent a year at the most, but a
combination of unforeseen circumstances prevented his leaving the mines
for nearly five. At the end of that time, however, his memory of his
wrongs and his craving for revenge were quite as keen as on that
memorable night when he had stood by John Ferrier’s grave. Disguised,
and under an assumed name, he returned to Salt Lake City, careless what
became of his own life, as long as he obtained what he knew to be
justice. There he found evil tidings awaiting him. There had been a
schism among the Chosen People a few months before, some of the younger
members of the Church having rebelled against the authority of the
Elders, and the result had been the secession of a certain number of
the malcontents, who had left Utah and become Gentiles. Among these had
been Drebber and Stangerson; and no one knew whither they had gone.
Rumour reported that Drebber had managed to convert a large part of his
property into money, and that he had departed a wealthy man, while his
companion, Stangerson, was comparatively poor. There was no clue at
all, however, as to their whereabouts.
Many a man, however vindictive, would have abandoned all thought of
revenge in the face of such a difficulty, but Jefferson Hope never
faltered for a moment. With the small competence he possessed, eked out
by such employment as he could pick up, he travelled from town to town
through the United States in quest of his enemies. Year passed into
year, his black hair turned grizzled, but still he wandered on, a human
bloodhound, with his mind wholly set upon the one object upon which he
had devoted his life. At last his perseverance was rewarded. It was but
a glance of a face in a window, but that one glance told him that
Cleveland in Ohio possessed the men whom he was in pursuit of. He
returned to his miserable lodgings with his plan of vengeance all
arranged. It chanced, however, that Drebber, looking from his window,
had recognized the vagrant in the street, and had read murder in his
eyes. He hurried before a justice of the peace, accompanied by
Stangerson, who had become his private secretary, and represented to
him that they were in danger of their lives from the jealousy and
hatred of an old rival. That evening Jefferson Hope was taken into
custody, and not being able to find sureties, was detained for some
weeks. When at last he was liberated, it was only to find that
Drebber’s house was deserted, and that he and his secretary had
departed for Europe.
Again the avenger had been foiled, and again his concentrated hatred
urged him to continue the pursuit. Funds were wanting, however, and for
some time he had to return to work, saving every dollar for his
approaching journey. At last, having collected enough to keep life in
him, he departed for Europe, and tracked his enemies from city to city,
working his way in any menial capacity, but never overtaking the
fugitives. When he reached St. Petersburg they had departed for Paris;
and when he followed them there he learned that they had just set off
for Copenhagen. At the Danish capital he was again a few days late, for
they had journeyed on to London, where he at last succeeded in running
them to earth. As to what occurred there, we cannot do better than
quote the old hunter’s own account, as duly recorded in Dr. Watson’s
Journal, to which we are already under such obligations.
CHAPTER VI.
A CONTINUATION OF THE REMINISCENCES OF JOHN WATSON, M.D.
Our prisoner’s furious resistance did not apparently indicate any
ferocity in his disposition towards ourselves, for on finding himself
powerless, he smiled in an affable manner, and expressed his hopes that
he had not hurt any of us in the scuffle. “I guess you’re going to take
me to the police-station,” he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. “My cab’s at
the door. If you’ll loose my legs I’ll walk down to it. I’m not so
light to lift as I used to be.”
Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if they thought this
proposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once took the prisoner at
his word, and loosened the towel which we had bound round his ankles.
He rose and stretched his legs, as though to assure himself that they
were free once more. I remember that I thought to myself, as I eyed
him, that I had seldom seen a more powerfully built man; and his dark
sunburned face bore an expression of determination and energy which was
as formidable as his personal strength.
“If there’s a vacant place for a chief of the police, I reckon you are
the man for it,” he said, gazing with undisguised admiration at my
fellow-lodger. “The way you kept on my trail was a caution.”
“You had better come with me,” said Holmes to the two detectives.
“I can drive you,” said Lestrade.
“Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. You too, Doctor, you have
taken an interest in the case and may as well stick to us.”
I assented gladly, and we all descended together. Our prisoner made no
attempt at escape, but stepped calmly into the cab which had been his,
and we followed him. Lestrade mounted the box, whipped up the horse,
and brought us in a very short time to our destination. We were ushered
into a small chamber where a police Inspector noted down our prisoner’s
name and the names of the men with whose murder he had been charged.
The official was a white-faced unemotional man, who went through his
duties in a dull mechanical way. “The prisoner will be put before the
magistrates in the course of the week,” he said; “in the mean time, Mr.
Jefferson Hope, have you anything that you wish to say? I must warn you
that your words will be taken down, and may be used against you.”
“I’ve got a good deal to say,” our prisoner said slowly. “I want to
tell you gentlemen all about it.”
“Hadn’t you better reserve that for your trial?” asked the Inspector.
“I may never be tried,” he answered. “You needn’t look startled. It
isn’t suicide I am thinking of. Are you a Doctor?” He turned his fierce
dark eyes upon me as he asked this last question.
“Yes; I am,” I answered.
“Then put your hand here,” he said, with a smile, motioning with his
manacled wrists towards his chest.
I did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinary throbbing
and commotion which was going on inside. The walls of his chest seemed
to thrill and quiver as a frail building would do inside when some
powerful engine was at work. In the silence of the room I could hear a
dull humming and buzzing noise which proceeded from the same source.
“Why,” I cried, “you have an aortic aneurism!”
“That’s what they call it,” he said, placidly. “I went to a doctor last
week about it, and he told me that it is bound to burst before many
days passed. It has been getting worse for years. I got it from
over-exposure and under-feeding among the Salt Lake Mountains. I’ve
done my work now, and I don’t care how soon I go, but I should like to
leave some account of the business behind me. I don’t want to be
remembered as a common cut-throat.”
The Inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion as to the
advisability of allowing him to tell his story.
“Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immediate danger?” the former
asked.
“Most certainly there is,” I answered.
“In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests of justice, to
take his statement,” said the Inspector. “You are at liberty, sir, to
give your account, which I again warn you will be taken down.”
“I’ll sit down, with your leave,” the prisoner said, suiting the action
to the word. “This aneurism of mine makes me easily tired, and the
tussle we had half an hour ago has not mended matters. I’m on the brink
of the grave, and I am not likely to lie to you. Every word I say is
the absolute truth, and how you use it is a matter of no consequence to
me.”
With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back in his chair and began the
following remarkable statement. He spoke in a calm and methodical
manner, as though the events which he narrated were commonplace enough.
I can vouch for the accuracy of the subjoined account, for I have had
access to Lestrade’s note-book, in which the prisoner’s words were
taken down exactly as they were uttered.
“It don’t much matter to you why I hated these men,” he said; “it’s
enough that they were guilty of the death of two human beings—a father
and a daughter—and that they had, therefore, forfeited their own lives.
After the lapse of time that has passed since their crime, it was
impossible for me to secure a conviction against them in any court. I
knew of their guilt though, and I determined that I should be judge,
jury, and executioner all rolled into one. You’d have done the same, if
you have any manhood in you, if you had been in my place.
“That girl that I spoke of was to have married me twenty years ago. She
was forced into marrying that same Drebber, and broke her heart over
it. I took the marriage ring from her dead finger, and I vowed that his
dying eyes should rest upon that very ring, and that his last thoughts
should be of the crime for which he was punished. I have carried it
about with me, and have followed him and his accomplice over two
continents until I caught them. They thought to tire me out, but they
could not do it. If I die to-morrow, as is likely enough, I die knowing
that my work in this world is done, and well done. They have perished,
and by my hand. There is nothing left for me to hope for, or to desire.
“They were rich and I was poor, so that it was no easy matter for me to
follow them. When I got to London my pocket was about empty, and I
found that I must turn my hand to something for my living. Driving and
riding are as natural to me as walking, so I applied at a cabowner’s
office, and soon got employment. I was to bring a certain sum a week to
the owner, and whatever was over that I might keep for myself. There
was seldom much over, but I managed to scrape along somehow. The
hardest job was to learn my way about, for I reckon that of all the
mazes that ever were contrived, this city is the most confusing. I had
a map beside me though, and when once I had spotted the principal
hotels and stations, I got on pretty well.