The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
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 I
not 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.”