The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
accomplishment. It is not so impossible, however, that a man should
possess all knowledge which is likely to be useful to him in his work,
and this I have endeavoured in my case to do. If I remember rightly,
you on one occasion, in the early days of our friendship, defined my
limits in a very precise fashion.”
“Yes,” I answered, laughing. “It was a singular document. Philosophy,
astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, I remember. Botany
variable, geology profound as regards the mud-stains from any region
within fifty miles of town, chemistry eccentric, anatomy unsystematic,
sensational literature and crime records unique, violin-player, boxer,
swordsman, lawyer, and self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. Those, I
think, were the main points of my analysis.”
Holmes grinned at the last item. “Well,” he said, “I say now, as I said
then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic stocked with all
the furniture that he is likely to use, and the rest he can put away in
the lumber-room of his library, where he can get it if he wants it.
Now, for such a case as the one which has been submitted to us
to-night, we need certainly to muster all our resources. Kindly hand me
down the letter K of the _American Encyclopædia_ which stands upon the
shelf beside you. Thank you. Now let us consider the situation and see
what may be deduced from it. In the first place, we may start with a
strong presumption that Colonel Openshaw had some very strong reason
for leaving America. Men at his time of life do not change all their
habits and exchange willingly the charming climate of Florida for the
lonely life of an English provincial town. His extreme love of solitude
in England suggests the idea that he was in fear of someone or
something, so we may assume as a working hypothesis that it was fear of
someone or something which drove him from America. As to what it was he
feared, we can only deduce that by considering the formidable letters
which were received by himself and his successors. Did you remark the
postmarks of those letters?”
“The first was from Pondicherry, the second from Dundee, and the third
from London.”
“From East London. What do you deduce from that?”
“They are all seaports. That the writer was on board of a ship.”
“Excellent. We have already a clue. There can be no doubt that the
probability—the strong probability—is that the writer was on board of a
ship. And now let us consider another point. In the case of
Pondicherry, seven weeks elapsed between the threat and its fulfilment,
in Dundee it was only some three or four days. Does that suggest
anything?”
“A greater distance to travel.”
“But the letter had also a greater distance to come.”
“Then I do not see the point.”
“There is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man or
men are is a sailing-ship. It looks as if they always send their
singular warning or token before them when starting upon their mission.
You see how quickly the deed followed the sign when it came from
Dundee. If they had come from Pondicherry in a steamer they would have
arrived almost as soon as their letter. But, as a matter of fact, seven
weeks elapsed. I think that those seven weeks represented the
difference between the mail-boat which brought the letter and the
sailing vessel which brought the writer.”
“It is possible.”
“More than that. It is probable. And now you see the deadly urgency of
this new case, and why I urged young Openshaw to caution. The blow has
always fallen at the end of the time which it would take the senders to
travel the distance. But this one comes from London, and therefore we
cannot count upon delay.”
“Good God!” I cried. “What can it mean, this relentless persecution?”
“The papers which Openshaw carried are obviously of vital importance to
the person or persons in the sailing-ship. I think that it is quite
clear that there must be more than one of them. A single man could not
have carried out two deaths in such a way as to deceive a coroner’s
jury. There must have been several in it, and they must have been men
of resource and determination. Their papers they mean to have, be the
holder of them who it may. In this way you see K. K. K. ceases to be
the initials of an individual and becomes the badge of a society.”
“But of what society?”
“Have you never—” said Sherlock Holmes, bending forward and sinking his
voice—“have you never heard of the Ku Klux Klan?”
“I never have.”
Holmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee. “Here it is,”
said he presently:
“‘Ku Klux Klan. A name derived from the fanciful resemblance to the
sound produced by cocking a rifle. This terrible secret society was
formed by some ex-Confederate soldiers in the Southern states after the
Civil War, and it rapidly formed local branches in different parts of
the country, notably in Tennessee, Louisiana, the Carolinas, Georgia,
and Florida. Its power was used for political purposes, principally for
the terrorising of the negro voters and the murdering and driving from
the country of those who were opposed to its views. Its outrages were
usually preceded by a warning sent to the marked man in some fantastic
but generally recognised shape—a sprig of oak-leaves in some parts,
melon seeds or orange pips in others. On receiving this the victim
might either openly abjure his former ways, or might fly from the
country. If he braved the matter out, death would unfailingly come upon
him, and usually in some strange and unforeseen manner. So perfect was
the organisation of the society, and so systematic its methods, that
there is hardly a case upon record where any man succeeded in braving
it with impunity, or in which any of its outrages were traced home to
the perpetrators. For some years the organisation flourished in spite
of the efforts of the United States government and of the better
classes of the community in the South. Eventually, in the year 1869,
the movement rather suddenly collapsed, although there have been
sporadic outbreaks of the same sort since that date.’
“You will observe,” said Holmes, laying down the volume, “that the
sudden breaking up of the society was coincident with the disappearance
of Openshaw from America with their papers. It may well have been cause
and effect. It is no wonder that he and his family have some of the
more implacable spirits upon their track. You can understand that this
register and diary may implicate some of the first men in the South,
and that there may be many who will not sleep easy at night until it is
recovered.”
“Then the page we have seen—”
“Is such as we might expect. It ran, if I remember right, ‘sent the
pips to A, B, and C’—that is, sent the society’s warning to them. Then
there are successive entries that A and B cleared, or left the country,
and finally that C was visited, with, I fear, a sinister result for C.
Well, I think, Doctor, that we may let some light into this dark place,
and I believe that the only chance young Openshaw has in the meantime
is to do what I have told him. There is nothing more to be said or to
be done to-night, so hand me over my violin and let us try to forget
for half an hour the miserable weather and the still more miserable
ways of our fellow men.”
It had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a subdued
brightness through the dim veil which hangs over the great city.
Sherlock Holmes was already at breakfast when I came down.
“You will excuse me for not waiting for you,” said he; “I have, I
foresee, a very busy day before me in looking into this case of young
Openshaw’s.”
“What steps will you take?” I asked.
“It will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries. I may
have to go down to Horsham, after all.”
“You will not go there first?”
“No, I shall commence with the City. Just ring the bell and the maid
will bring up your coffee.”
As I waited, I lifted the unopened newspaper from the table and glanced
my eye over it. It rested upon a heading which sent a chill to my
heart.
“Holmes,” I cried, “you are too late.”
“Ah!” said he, laying down his cup, “I feared as much. How was it
done?” He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was deeply moved.
“My eye caught the name of Openshaw, and the heading ‘Tragedy Near
Waterloo Bridge.’ Here is the account:
“‘Between nine and ten last night Police-Constable Cook, of the H
Division, on duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help and a
splash in the water. The night, however, was extremely dark and stormy,
so that, in spite of the help of several passers-by, it was quite
impossible to effect a rescue. The alarm, however, was given, and, by
the aid of the water-police, the body was eventually recovered. It
proved to be that of a young gentleman whose name, as it appears from
an envelope which was found in his pocket, was John Openshaw, and whose
residence is near Horsham. It is conjectured that he may have been
hurrying down to catch the last train from Waterloo Station, and that
in his haste and the extreme darkness he missed his path and walked
over the edge of one of the small landing-places for river steamboats.
The body exhibited no traces of violence, and there can be no doubt
that the deceased had been the victim of an unfortunate accident, which
should have the effect of calling the attention of the authorities to
the condition of the riverside landing-stages.’”
We sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes more depressed and shaken
than I had ever seen him.
“That hurts my pride, Watson,” he said at last. “It is a petty feeling,
no doubt, but it hurts my pride. It becomes a personal matter with me
now, and, if God sends me health, I shall set my hand upon this gang.
That he should come to me for help, and that I should send him away to
his death—!” He sprang from his chair and paced about the room in
uncontrollable agitation, with a flush upon his sallow cheeks and a
nervous clasping and unclasping of his long thin hands.
“They must be cunning devils,” he exclaimed at last. “How could they
have decoyed him down there? The Embankment is not on the direct line
to the station. The bridge, no doubt, was too crowded, even on such a
night, for their purpose. Well, Watson, we shall see who will win in
the long run. I am going out now!”
“To the police?”
“No; I shall be my own police. When I have spun the web they may take
the flies, but not before.”
All day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in the
evening before I returned to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes had not come
back yet. It was nearly ten o’clock before he entered, looking pale and
worn. He walked up to the sideboard, and tearing a piece from the loaf
he devoured it voraciously, washing it down with a long draught of
water.
“You are hungry,” I remarked.
“Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since
breakfast.”
“Nothing?”
“Not a bite. I had no time to think of it.”
“And how have you succeeded?”
“Well.”
“You have a clue?”
“I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young Openshaw shall not long
remain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put their own devilish trade-mark
upon them. It is well thought of!”
“What do you mean?”
He took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces he
squeezed out the pips upon the table. Of these he took five and thrust
them into an envelope. On the inside of the flap he wrote “S. H. for J.
O.” Then he sealed it and addressed it to “Captain James Calhoun,
Barque _Lone Star_, Savannah, Georgia.”
“That will await him when he enters port,” said he, chuckling. “It may
give him a sleepless night. He will find it as sure a precursor of his
fate as Openshaw did before him.”
“And who is this Captain Calhoun?”
“The leader of the gang. I shall have the others, but he first.”