The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
“Quite so. And she was afterwards seen walking into Hyde Park in
company with Flora Millar, a woman who is now in custody, and who had
already made a disturbance at Mr. Doran’s house that morning.”
“Ah, yes. I should like a few particulars as to this young lady, and
your relations to her.”
Lord St. Simon shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. “We have
been on a friendly footing for some years—I may say on a _very_
friendly footing. She used to be at the Allegro. I have not treated her
ungenerously, and she had no just cause of complaint against me, but
you know what women are, Mr. Holmes. Flora was a dear little thing, but
exceedingly hot-headed and devotedly attached to me. She wrote me
dreadful letters when she heard that I was about to be married, and, to
tell the truth, the reason why I had the marriage celebrated so quietly
was that I feared lest there might be a scandal in the church. She came
to Mr. Doran’s door just after we returned, and she endeavoured to push
her way in, uttering very abusive expressions towards my wife, and even
threatening her, but I had foreseen the possibility of something of the
sort, and I had two police fellows there in private clothes, who soon
pushed her out again. She was quiet when she saw that there was no good
in making a row.”
“Did your wife hear all this?”
“No, thank goodness, she did not.”
“And she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards?”
“Yes. That is what Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, looks upon as so
serious. It is thought that Flora decoyed my wife out and laid some
terrible trap for her.”
“Well, it is a possible supposition.”
“You think so, too?”
“I did not say a probable one. But you do not yourself look upon this
as likely?”
“I do not think Flora would hurt a fly.”
“Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. Pray what is
your own theory as to what took place?”
“Well, really, I came to seek a theory, not to propound one. I have
given you all the facts. Since you ask me, however, I may say that it
has occurred to me as possible that the excitement of this affair, the
consciousness that she had made so immense a social stride, had the
effect of causing some little nervous disturbance in my wife.”
“In short, that she had become suddenly deranged?”
“Well, really, when I consider that she has turned her back—I will not
say upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired to without
success—I can hardly explain it in any other fashion.”
“Well, certainly that is also a conceivable hypothesis,” said Holmes,
smiling. “And now, Lord St. Simon, I think that I have nearly all my
data. May I ask whether you were seated at the breakfast-table so that
you could see out of the window?”
“We could see the other side of the road and the Park.”
“Quite so. Then I do not think that I need to detain you longer. I
shall communicate with you.”
“Should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem,” said our
client, rising.
“I have solved it.”
“Eh? What was that?”
“I say that I have solved it.”
“Where, then, is my wife?”
“That is a detail which I shall speedily supply.”
Lord St. Simon shook his head. “I am afraid that it will take wiser
heads than yours or mine,” he remarked, and bowing in a stately,
old-fashioned manner he departed.
“It is very good of Lord St. Simon to honour my head by putting it on a
level with his own,” said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. “I think that I
shall have a whisky and soda and a cigar after all this
cross-questioning. I had formed my conclusions as to the case before
our client came into the room.”
“My dear Holmes!”
“I have notes of several similar cases, though none, as I remarked
before, which were quite as prompt. My whole examination served to turn
my conjecture into a certainty. Circumstantial evidence is occasionally
very convincing, as when you find a trout in the milk, to quote
Thoreau’s example.”
“But I have heard all that you have heard.”
“Without, however, the knowledge of pre-existing cases which serves me
so well. There was a parallel instance in Aberdeen some years back, and
something on very much the same lines at Munich the year after the
Franco-Prussian War. It is one of these cases—but, hullo, here is
Lestrade! Good-afternoon, Lestrade! You will find an extra tumbler upon
the sideboard, and there are cigars in the box.”
The official detective was attired in a pea-jacket and cravat, which
gave him a decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a black canvas
bag in his hand. With a short greeting he seated himself and lit the
cigar which had been offered to him.
“What’s up, then?” asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye. “You look
dissatisfied.”
“And I feel dissatisfied. It is this infernal St. Simon marriage case.
I can make neither head nor tail of the business.”
“Really! You surprise me.”
“Who ever heard of such a mixed affair? Every clue seems to slip
through my fingers. I have been at work upon it all day.”
“And very wet it seems to have made you,” said Holmes laying his hand
upon the arm of the pea-jacket.
“Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine.”
“In Heaven’s name, what for?”
“In search of the body of Lady St. Simon.”
Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.
“Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar Square fountain?” he asked.
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady in the one
as in the other.”
Lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. “I suppose you know all
about it,” he snarled.
“Well, I have only just heard the facts, but my mind is made up.”
“Oh, indeed! Then you think that the Serpentine plays no part in the
matter?”
“I think it very unlikely.”
“Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found this in
it?” He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto the floor a
wedding-dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin shoes and a
bride’s wreath and veil, all discoloured and soaked in water. “There,”
said he, putting a new wedding-ring upon the top of the pile. “There is
a little nut for you to crack, Master Holmes.”
“Oh, indeed!” said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air. “You
dragged them from the Serpentine?”
“No. They were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper. They
have been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me that if the
clothes were there the body would not be far off.”
“By the same brilliant reasoning, every man’s body is to be found in
the neighbourhood of his wardrobe. And pray what did you hope to arrive
at through this?”
“At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in the disappearance.”
“I am afraid that you will find it difficult.”
“Are you, indeed, now?” cried Lestrade with some bitterness. “I am
afraid, Holmes, that you are not very practical with your deductions
and your inferences. You have made two blunders in as many minutes.
This dress does implicate Miss Flora Millar.”
“And how?”
“In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card-case. In the
card-case is a note. And here is the very note.” He slapped it down
upon the table in front of him. “Listen to this: ‘You will see me when
all is ready. Come at once. F. H. M.’ Now my theory all along has been
that Lady St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora Millar, and that she,
with confederates, no doubt, was responsible for her disappearance.
Here, signed with her initials, is the very note which was no doubt
quietly slipped into her hand at the door and which lured her within
their reach.”
“Very good, Lestrade,” said Holmes, laughing. “You really are very fine
indeed. Let me see it.” He took up the paper in a listless way, but his
attention instantly became riveted, and he gave a little cry of
satisfaction. “This is indeed important,” said he.
“Ha! you find it so?”
“Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly.”
Lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. “Why,” he
shrieked, “you’re looking at the wrong side!”
“On the contrary, this is the right side.”
“The right side? You’re mad! Here is the note written in pencil over
here.”
“And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel bill,
which interests me deeply.”
“There’s nothing in it. I looked at it before,” said Lestrade. “‘Oct.
4th, rooms 8_s_., breakfast 2_s_. 6_d_., cocktail 1_s_., lunch 2_s_.
6_d_., glass sherry, 8_d_.’ I see nothing in that.”
“Very likely not. It is most important, all the same. As to the note,
it is important also, or at least the initials are, so I congratulate
you again.”
“I’ve wasted time enough,” said Lestrade, rising. “I believe in hard
work and not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories. Good-day,
Mr. Holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom of the matter
first.” He gathered up the garments, thrust them into the bag, and made
for the door.
“Just one hint to you, Lestrade,” drawled Holmes before his rival
vanished; “I will tell you the true solution of the matter. Lady St.
Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never has been, any such
person.”
Lestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then he turned to me, tapped his
forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and hurried away.
He had hardly shut the door behind him when Holmes rose to put on his
overcoat. “There is something in what the fellow says about outdoor
work,” he remarked, “so I think, Watson, that I must leave you to your
papers for a little.”
It was after five o’clock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but I had no
time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a confectioner’s
man with a very large flat box. This he unpacked with the help of a
youth whom he had brought with him, and presently, to my very great
astonishment, a quite epicurean little cold supper began to be laid out
upon our humble lodging-house mahogany. There were a couple of brace of
cold woodcock, a pheasant, a _pâté de foie gras_ pie with a group of
ancient and cobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries, my
two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the Arabian Nights, with
no explanation save that the things had been paid for and were ordered
to this address.
Just before nine o’clock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly into the room.
His features were gravely set, but there was a light in his eye which
made me think that he had not been disappointed in his conclusions.
“They have laid the supper, then,” he said, rubbing his hands.
“You seem to expect company. They have laid for five.”
“Yes, I fancy we may have some company dropping in,” said he. “I am
surprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I fancy that
I hear his step now upon the stairs.”
It was indeed our visitor of the afternoon who came bustling in,
dangling his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very
perturbed expression upon his aristocratic features.
“My messenger reached you, then?” asked Holmes.
“Yes, and I confess that the contents startled me beyond measure. Have
you good authority for what you say?”
“The best possible.”
Lord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over his forehead.
“What will the Duke say,” he murmured, “when he hears that one of the
family has been subjected to such humiliation?”
“It is the purest accident. I cannot allow that there is any
humiliation.”
“Ah, you look on these things from another standpoint.”
“I fail to see that anyone is to blame. I can hardly see how the lady
could have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of doing it was
undoubtedly to be regretted. Having no mother, she had no one to advise
her at such a crisis.”
“It was a slight, sir, a public slight,” said Lord St. Simon, tapping
his fingers upon the table.
“You must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in so unprecedented
a position.”