The case-book of Sherlock Holmes
papers as that. Does it suggest anything to you, Inspector?"
"Yes, sir; it suggests that in their hurry the rascals just grabbed at
what came first to hand. I wish them joy of what they got."
"Why should they go to my son's things?" asked Mrs. Maberley.
"Well, they found nothing valuable downstairs, so they tried their luck
upstairs. That is how I read it. What do you make of it, Mr. Holmes?"
"I must think it over, Inspector. Come to the window, Watson." Then,
as we stood together, he read over the fragment of paper. It began in
the middle of a sentence and ran like this:
"... face bled considerably from the cuts and blows, but it was nothing
to the bleeding of his heart as he saw that lovely face, the face for
which he had been prepared to sacrifice his very life, looking out at
his agony and humiliation. She smiled--yes, by Heaven! she smiled,
like the heartless fiend she was, as he looked up at her. It was at
that moment that love died and hate was born. Man must live for
something. If it is not for your embrace, my lady, then it shall
surely be for your undoing and my complete revenge."
"Queer grammar!" said Holmes, with a smile, as he handed the paper back
to the Inspector. "Did you notice how the 'he' suddenly changed to
'my.' The writer was so carried away by his own story that he imagined
himself at the supreme moment to be the hero."
"It seemed mighty poor stuff," said the Inspector, as he replaced it in
his book. "What! are you off, Mr. Holmes?"
"I don't think there is anything more for me to do now that the case is
in such capable hands. By the way, Mrs. Maberley, did you say you
wished to travel?"
"It has always been my dream, Mr. Holmes."
"Where would you like to go--Cairo, Madeira, the Riviera?"
"Oh! if I had the money I would go round the world."
"Quite so. Round the world. Well, good morning. I may drop you a
line in the evening." As we passed the window I caught a glimpse of
the Inspector's smile and shake of the head. "These clever fellows
have always a touch of madness." That was what I read in the
Inspector's smile.
"Now, Watson, we are at the last lap of our little journey," said
Holmes, when we were back in the roar of Central London once more. "I
think we had best clear the matter up at once, and it would be well
that you should come with me, for it is safer to have a witness when
you are dealing with such a lady as Isadora Klein."
We had taken a cab and were speeding to some address in Grosvenor
Square. Holmes had been sunk in thought, but he roused himself
suddenly.
"By the way, Watson, I suppose you see it all clearly?"
"No, I can't say that I do. I only gather that we are going to see the
lady who is behind all this mischief."
"Exactly! But does the name Isadora Klein convey nothing to you? She
was, of course, the celebrated beauty. There was never a woman to
touch her. She is pure Spanish, the real blood of the masterful
Conquistadors, and her people have been leaders in Pernambuco for
generations. She married the aged German sugar king, Klein, and
presently found herself the richest as well as the most lovely widow
upon earth. Then there was an interval of adventure when she pleased
her own tastes. She had several lovers, and Douglas Maberley, one of
the most striking men in London, was one of them. It was by all
accounts more than an adventure with him. He was not a Society
butterfly, but a strong, proud man who gave and expected all. But she
is the '_belle dame sans merci_' of fiction. When her caprice is
satisfied, the matter is ended, and if the other party in the matter
can't take her word for it, she knows how to bring it home to him."
"Then that was his own story----"
"Ah! you are piecing it together now. I hear that she is about to
marry the young Duke of Lomond, who might almost be her son. His
Grace's ma might overlook the age, but a big scandal would be a
different matter, so it is imperative---- Ah! here we are."
It was one of the finest corner-houses of the West End. A machine-like
footman took up our cards and returned with word that the lady was not
at home. "Then we shall wait until she is," said Holmes cheerfully.
The machine broke down.
"Not at home means not at home to _you_," said the footman.
"Good," Holmes answered. "That means that we shall not have to wait.
Kindly give this note to your mistress."
He scribbled three or four words upon a sheet of his notebook, folded
it, and handed it to the man.
"What did you say, Holmes?" I asked.
"I simply wrote 'Shall it be the police, then?' I think that should
pass us in."
It did--with amazing celerity. A minute later we were in an
Arabian-nights' drawing-room, vast and wonderful, in a half gloom,
picked out with an occasional pink electric light. The lady had come,
I felt, to that time of life when even the proudest beauty finds the
half-light more welcome. She rose from a settee as we entered: tall,
queenly, a perfect figure, a lovely mask-like face, with two wonderful
Spanish eyes which looked murder at us both.
"What is this intrusion--and this insulting message?" she asked,
holding up the slip of paper.
"I need not explain, madame. I have too much respect for your
intelligence to do so--though I confess that intelligence has been
surprisingly at fault of late."
"How so, sir?"
"By supposing that your hired bullies could frighten me from my work.
Surely no man would take up my profession if it were not that danger
attracts him. It was you, then, who forced me to examine the case of
young Maberley."
"I have no idea what you are talking about. What have I to do with
hired bullies?"
Holmes turned away wearily.
"Yes, I have underrated your intelligence. Well, good afternoon!"
"Stop! Where are you going?"
"To Scotland Yard."
We had not got half-way to the door before she had overtaken us and was
holding his arm. She had turned in a moment from steel to velvet.
"Come and sit down, gentlemen. Let us talk this matter over. I feel
that I may be frank with you, Mr. Holmes. You have the feelings of a
gentleman. How quick a woman's instinct is to find it out. I will
treat you as a friend."
"I cannot promise to reciprocate, madame. I am not the law, but I
represent justice so far as my feeble powers go. I am ready to listen,
and then I will tell you how I will act."
"No doubt it was foolish of me to threaten a brave man like yourself."
"What was really foolish, madame, is that you have placed yourself in
the power of a band of rascals who may blackmail or give you away."
"No, no! I am not so simple. Since I have promised to be frank, I may
say that no one, save Barney Stockdale and Susan, his wife, have the
least idea who their employer is. As to them, well, it is not the
first----" She smiled and nodded, with a charming coquettish intimacy.
"I see. You've tested them before."
"They are good hounds who run silent."
"Such hounds have a way sooner or later of biting the hand that feeds
them. They will be arrested for this burglary. The police are already
after them."
"They will take what comes to them. That is what they are paid for. I
shall not appear in the matter."
"Unless I bring you into it."
"No, no; you would not. You are a gentleman. It is a woman's secret."
"In the first place you must give back this manuscript."
She broke into a ripple of laughter, and walked to the fireplace.
There was a calcined mass which she broke up with the poker. "Shall I
give this back?" she asked. So roguish and exquisite did she look as
she stood before us with a challenging smile that I felt of all
Holmes's criminals this was the one whom he would find it hardest to
face. However, he was immune from sentiment.
"That seals your fate," he said coldly. "You are very prompt in your
actions, madame, but you have overdone it on this occasion."
She threw the poker down with a clatter.
"How hard you are!" she cried. "May I tell you the whole story?"
"I fancy I could tell it to you."
"But you must look at it with my eyes, Mr. Holmes. You must realize it
from the point of view of a woman who sees all her life's ambition
about to be ruined at the last moment. Is such a woman to be blamed if
she protects herself?"
"The original sin was yours."
"Yes, yes! I admit it. He was a dear boy, Douglas, but it so chanced
that he could not fit into my plans. He wanted marriage--marriage, Mr.
Holmes--with a penniless commoner. Nothing less would serve him. Then
he became pertinacious. Because I had given he seemed to think that I
still must give, and to him only. It was intolerable. At last I had
to make him realize it."
"By hiring ruffians to beat him under your own window."
"You do indeed seem to know everything. Well, it is true. Barney and
the boys drove him away, and were, I admit, a little rough in doing so.
But what did he do then? Could I have believed that a gentleman would
do such an act? He wrote a book in which he described his own story.
I, of course, was the wolf; he the lamb. It was all there, under
different names, of course; but who in all London would have failed to
recognize it? What do you say to that, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, he was within his rights."
"It was as if the air of Italy had got into his blood and brought with
it the old cruel Italian spirit. He wrote to me and sent me a copy of
his book that I might have the torture of anticipation. There were two
copies, he said--one for me, one for his publisher."
"How did you know the publisher's had not reached him?"
"I knew who his publisher was. It is not his only novel, you know. I
found out that he had not heard from Italy. Then came Douglas's sudden
death. So long as that other manuscript was in the world there was no
safety for me. Of course, it must be among his effects, and these
would be returned to his mother. I set the gang at work. One of them
got into the house as servant. I wanted to do the thing honestly. I
really and truly did. I was ready to buy the house and everything in
it. I offered any price she cared to ask. I only tried the other way
when everything else had failed. Now, Mr. Holmes, granting that I was
too hard on Douglas--and, God knows, I am sorry for it!--what else
could I do with my whole future at stake?"
Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, well," said he, "I suppose I shall have to compound a felony as
usual. How much does it cost to go round the world in first-class
style?"
The lady stared in amazement.
"Could it be done on five thousand pounds?"
"Well, I should think so, indeed!"
"Very good. I think you will sign me a cheque for that, and I will see
that it comes to Mrs. Maberley. You owe her a little change of air.
Meantime, lady"--he wagged a cautionary forefinger--"have a care! Have
a care! You can't play with edged tools for ever without cutting those
dainty hands."
V
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUSSEX VAMPIRE
Holmes had read carefully a note which the last post had brought him.
Then, with the dry chuckle which was his nearest approach to a laugh,
he tossed it over to me.
"For a mixture of the modern and the mediæval, of the practical and of
the wildly fanciful, I think this is surely the limit," said he. "What
do you make of it, Watson?"
I read as follows:
46, OLD JEWRY,
_Nov._ 19_th._
_Re_ Vampires.
SIR,--
Our client, Mr. Robert Ferguson, of Ferguson and Muirhead, tea brokers,
of Mincing Lane, has made some inquiry from us in a communication of
even date concerning vampires. As our firm specializes entirely upon
the assessment of machinery the matter hardly comes within our purview,