A Study in Scarlet
“‘At eight o’clock,’ she said, gulping in her throat to keep down her
agitation. ‘His secretary, Mr. Stangerson, said that there were two
trains—one at 9.15 and one at 11. He was to catch the first.’
“‘And was that the last which you saw of him?’
“A terrible change came over the woman’s face as I asked the question.
Her features turned perfectly livid. It was some seconds before she
could get out the single word ‘Yes’—and when it did come it was in a
husky unnatural tone.
“There was silence for a moment, and then the daughter spoke in a calm
clear voice.
“‘No good can ever come of falsehood, mother,’ she said. ‘Let us be
frank with this gentleman. We _did_ see Mr. Drebber again.’
“‘God forgive you!’ cried Madame Charpentier, throwing up her hands and
sinking back in her chair. ‘You have murdered your brother.’
“‘Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth,’ the girl answered
firmly.
“‘You had best tell me all about it now,’ I said. ‘Half-confidences are
worse than none. Besides, you do not know how much we know of it.’
“‘On your head be it, Alice!’ cried her mother; and then, turning to
me, ‘I will tell you all, sir. Do not imagine that my agitation on
behalf of my son arises from any fear lest he should have had a hand in
this terrible affair. He is utterly innocent of it. My dread is,
however, that in your eyes and in the eyes of others he may appear to
be compromised. That however is surely impossible. His high character,
his profession, his antecedents would all forbid it.’
“‘Your best way is to make a clean breast of the facts,’ I answered.
‘Depend upon it, if your son is innocent he will be none the worse.’
“‘Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us together,’ she said, and her
daughter withdrew. ‘Now, sir,’ she continued, ‘I had no intention of
telling you all this, but since my poor daughter has disclosed it I
have no alternative. Having once decided to speak, I will tell you all
without omitting any particular.’
“‘It is your wisest course,’ said I.
“‘Mr. Drebber has been with us nearly three weeks. He and his
secretary, Mr. Stangerson, had been travelling on the Continent. I
noticed a “Copenhagen” label upon each of their trunks, showing that
that had been their last stopping place. Stangerson was a quiet
reserved man, but his employer, I am sorry to say, was far otherwise.
He was coarse in his habits and brutish in his ways. The very night of
his arrival he became very much the worse for drink, and, indeed, after
twelve o’clock in the day he could hardly ever be said to be sober. His
manners towards the maid-servants were disgustingly free and familiar.
Worst of all, he speedily assumed the same attitude towards my
daughter, Alice, and spoke to her more than once in a way which,
fortunately, she is too innocent to understand. On one occasion he
actually seized her in his arms and embraced her—an outrage which
caused his own secretary to reproach him for his unmanly conduct.’
“‘But why did you stand all this?’ I asked. ‘I suppose that you can get
rid of your boarders when you wish.’
“Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. ‘Would to God that
I had given him notice on the very day that he came,’ she said. ‘But it
was a sore temptation. They were paying a pound a day each—fourteen
pounds a week, and this is the slack season. I am a widow, and my boy
in the Navy has cost me much. I grudged to lose the money. I acted for
the best. This last was too much, however, and I gave him notice to
leave on account of it. That was the reason of his going.’
“‘Well?’
“‘My heart grew light when I saw him drive away. My son is on leave
just now, but I did not tell him anything of all this, for his temper
is violent, and he is passionately fond of his sister. When I closed
the door behind them a load seemed to be lifted from my mind. Alas, in
less than an hour there was a ring at the bell, and I learned that Mr.
Drebber had returned. He was much excited, and evidently the worse for
drink. He forced his way into the room, where I was sitting with my
daughter, and made some incoherent remark about having missed his
train. He then turned to Alice, and before my very face, proposed to
her that she should fly with him. “You are of age,” he said, “and there
is no law to stop you. I have money enough and to spare. Never mind the
old girl here, but come along with me now straight away. You shall live
like a princess.” Poor Alice was so frightened that she shrunk away
from him, but he caught her by the wrist and endeavoured to draw her
towards the door. I screamed, and at that moment my son Arthur came
into the room. What happened then I do not know. I heard oaths and the
confused sounds of a scuffle. I was too terrified to raise my head.
When I did look up I saw Arthur standing in the doorway laughing, with
a stick in his hand. “I don’t think that fine fellow will trouble us
again,” he said. “I will just go after him and see what he does with
himself.” With those words he took his hat and started off down the
street. The next morning we heard of Mr. Drebber’s mysterious death.’
“This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier’s lips with many gasps and
pauses. At times she spoke so low that I could hardly catch the words.
I made shorthand notes of all that she said, however, so that there
should be no possibility of a mistake.”
“It’s quite exciting,” said Sherlock Holmes, with a yawn. “What
happened next?”
“When Mrs. Charpentier paused,” the detective continued, “I saw that
the whole case hung upon one point. Fixing her with my eye in a way
which I always found effective with women, I asked her at what hour her
son returned.
“‘I do not know,’ she answered.
“‘Not know?’
“‘No; he has a latch-key, and he let himself in.’
“‘After you went to bed?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘When did you go to bed?’
“‘About eleven.’
“‘So your son was gone at least two hours?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘Possibly four or five?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘What was he doing during that time?’
“‘I do not know,’ she answered, turning white to her very lips.
“Of course after that there was nothing more to be done. I found out
where Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers with me, and
arrested him. When I touched him on the shoulder and warned him to come
quietly with us, he answered us as bold as brass, ‘I suppose you are
arresting me for being concerned in the death of that scoundrel
Drebber,’ he said. We had said nothing to him about it, so that his
alluding to it had a most suspicious aspect.”
“Very,” said Holmes.
“He still carried the heavy stick which the mother described him as
having with him when he followed Drebber. It was a stout oak cudgel.”
“What is your theory, then?”
“Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as far as the Brixton
Road. When there, a fresh altercation arose between them, in the course
of which Drebber received a blow from the stick, in the pit of the
stomach, perhaps, which killed him without leaving any mark. The night
was so wet that no one was about, so Charpentier dragged the body of
his victim into the empty house. As to the candle, and the blood, and
the writing on the wall, and the ring, they may all be so many tricks
to throw the police on to the wrong scent.”
“Well done!” said Holmes in an encouraging voice. “Really, Gregson, you
are getting along. We shall make something of you yet.”
“I flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly,” the detective
answered proudly. “The young man volunteered a statement, in which he
said that after following Drebber some time, the latter perceived him,
and took a cab in order to get away from him. On his way home he met an
old shipmate, and took a long walk with him. On being asked where this
old shipmate lived, he was unable to give any satisfactory reply. I
think the whole case fits together uncommonly well. What amuses me is
to think of Lestrade, who had started off upon the wrong scent. I am
afraid he won’t make much of it. Why, by Jove, here’s the very man
himself!”
It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we were
talking, and who now entered the room. The assurance and jauntiness
which generally marked his demeanour and dress were, however, wanting.
His face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were disarranged
and untidy. He had evidently come with the intention of consulting with
Sherlock Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague he appeared to be
embarrassed and put out. He stood in the centre of the room, fumbling
nervously with his hat and uncertain what to do. “This is a most
extraordinary case,” he said at last—“a most incomprehensible affair.”
“Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!” cried Gregson, triumphantly. “I
thought you would come to that conclusion. Have you managed to find the
Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?”
“The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson,” said Lestrade gravely, “was
murdered at Halliday’s Private Hotel about six o’clock this morning.”
CHAPTER VII.
LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS.
The intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so momentous and so
unexpected, that we were all three fairly dumfoundered. Gregson sprang
out of his chair and upset the remainder of his whiskey and water. I
stared in silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were compressed and
his brows drawn down over his eyes.
“Stangerson too!” he muttered. “The plot thickens.”
“It was quite thick enough before,” grumbled Lestrade, taking a chair.
“I seem to have dropped into a sort of council of war.”
“Are you—are you sure of this piece of intelligence?” stammered
Gregson.
“I have just come from his room,” said Lestrade. “I was the first to
discover what had occurred.”
“We have been hearing Gregson’s view of the matter,” Holmes observed.
“Would you mind letting us know what you have seen and done?”
“I have no objection,” Lestrade answered, seating himself. “I freely
confess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson was concerned in the
death of Drebber. This fresh development has shown me that I was
completely mistaken. Full of the one idea, I set myself to find out
what had become of the Secretary. They had been seen together at Euston
Station about half-past eight on the evening of the third. At two in
the morning Drebber had been found in the Brixton Road. The question
which confronted me was to find out how Stangerson had been employed
between 8.30 and the time of the crime, and what had become of him
afterwards. I telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description of the
man, and warning them to keep a watch upon the American boats. I then
set to work calling upon all the hotels and lodging-houses in the
vicinity of Euston. You see, I argued that if Drebber and his companion
had become separated, the natural course for the latter would be to put
up somewhere in the vicinity for the night, and then to hang about the
station again next morning.”
“They would be likely to agree on some meeting-place beforehand,”
remarked Holmes.
“So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterday evening in making
enquiries entirely without avail. This morning I began very early, and
at eight o’clock I reached Halliday’s Private Hotel, in Little George
Street. On my enquiry as to whether a Mr. Stangerson was living there,
they at once answered me in the affirmative.
“‘No doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting,’ they said. ‘He
has been waiting for a gentleman for two days.’
“‘Where is he now?’ I asked.
“‘He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be called at nine.’
“‘I will go up and see him at once,’ I said.
“It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake his nerves and
lead him to say something unguarded. The Boots volunteered to show me
the room: it was on the second floor, and there was a small corridor