The case-book of Sherlock Holmes
Latin. Ferguson was evidently devoted to it, for he took it into his
arms and fondled it most tenderly.
"Fancy anyone having the heart to hurt him," he muttered, as he glanced
down at the small, angry red pucker upon the cherub throat.
It was at this moment that I chanced to glance at Holmes, and saw a
most singular intentness in his expression. His face was as set as if
it had been carved out of old ivory, and his eyes, which had glanced
for a moment at father and child, were now fixed with eager curiosity
upon something at the other side of the room. Following his gaze I
could only guess that he was looking out through the window at the
melancholy, dripping garden. It is true that a shutter had half closed
outside and obstructed the view, but none the less it was certainly at
the window that Holmes was fixing his concentrated attention. Then he
smiled, and his eyes came back to the baby. On its chubby neck there
was this small puckered mark. Without speaking, Holmes examined it
with care. Finally he shook one of the dimpled fists which waved in
front of him.
"Good-bye, little man. You have made a strange start in life. Nurse,
I should wish to have a word with you in private."
He took her aside and spoke earnestly for a few minutes. I only heard
the last words, which were: "Your anxiety will soon, I hope, be set at
rest." The woman, who seemed to be a sour, silent kind of creature,
withdrew with the child.
"What is Mrs. Mason like?" asked Holmes.
"Not very prepossessing externally, as you can see, but a heart of
gold, and devoted to the child."
"Do you like her, Jack?" Holmes turned suddenly upon the boy. His
expressive mobile face shadowed over, and he shook his head.
"Jacky has very strong likes and dislikes," said Ferguson, putting his
arm round the boy. "Luckily I am one of his likes."
The boy cooed and nestled his head upon his father's breast. Ferguson
gently disengaged him.
"Run away, little Jacky," said he, and he watched his son with loving
eyes until he disappeared. "Now, Mr. Holmes," he continued, when the
boy was gone, "I really feel that I have brought you on a fool's
errand, for what can you possibly do, save give me your sympathy? It
must be an exceedingly delicate and complex affair from your point of
view."
"It is certainly delicate," said my friend, with an amused smile, "but
I have not been struck up to now with its complexity. It has been a
case for intellectual deduction, but when this original intellectual
deduction is confirmed point by point by quite a number of independent
incidents, then the subjective becomes objective and we can say
confidently that we have reached our goal. I had, in fact, reached it
before we left Baker Street, and the rest has merely been observation
and confirmation."
Ferguson put his big hand to his furrowed forehead.
"For Heaven's sake, Holmes," he said hoarsely, "if you can see the
truth in this matter, do not keep me in suspense. How do I stand?
What shall I do? I care nothing as to how you have found your facts so
long as you have really got them."
"Certainly I owe you an explanation, and you shall have it. But you
will permit me to handle the matter in my own way? Is the lady capable
of seeing us, Watson?"
"She is ill, but she is quite rational."
"Very good. It is only in her presence that we can clear the matter
up. Let us go up to her."
"She will not see me," cried Ferguson.
"Oh, yes, she will," said Holmes. He scribbled a few lines upon a
sheet of paper. "You at least have the _entrée_, Watson. Will you
have the goodness to give the lady this note?"
I ascended again and handed the note to Dolores, who cautiously opened
the door. A minute later I heard a cry from within, a cry in which joy
and surprise seemed to be blended. Dolores looked out.
"She will see them. She will leesten," said she.
At my summons Ferguson and Holmes came up. As we entered the room
Ferguson took a step or two towards his wife, who had raised herself in
the bed, but she held out her hand to repulse him. He sank into an
arm-chair, while Holmes seated himself beside him, after bowing to the
lady, who looked at him with wide-eyed amazement.
"I think we can dispense with Dolores," said Holmes. "Oh, very well,
madame, if you would rather she stayed I can see no objection. Now,
Mr. Ferguson, I am a busy man with many calls, and my methods have to
be short and direct. The swiftest surgery is the least painful. Let
me first say what will ease your mind. Your wife is a very good, a
very loving, and a very ill-used woman."
Ferguson sat up with a cry of joy.
"Prove that, Mr. Holmes, and I am your debtor for ever."
"I will do so, but in doing so I must wound you deeply in another
direction."
"I care nothing so long as you clear my wife. Everything on earth is
insignificant compared to that."
"Let me tell you, then, the train of reasoning which passed through my
mind in Baker Street. The idea of a vampire was to me absurd. Such
things do not happen in criminal practice in England. And yet your
observation was precise. You had seen the lady rise from beside the
child's cot with the blood upon her lips."
"I did."
"Did it not occur to you that a bleeding wound may be sucked for some
other purpose than to draw the blood from it? Was there not a Queen in
English history who sucked such a wound to draw poison from it?"
"Poison!"
"A South American household. My instinct felt the presence of those
weapons upon the wall before my eyes ever saw them. It might have been
other poison, but that was what occurred to me. When I saw that little
empty quiver beside the small bird-bow, it was just what I expected to
see. If the child were pricked with one of those arrows dipped in
curare or some other devilish drug, it would mean death if the venom
were not sucked out.
"And the dog! If one were to use such a poison, would one not try it
first in order to see that it had not lost its power? I did not
foresee the dog, but at least I understood him and he fitted into my
reconstruction.
"Now do you understand? Your wife feared such an attack. She saw it
made and saved the child's life, and yet she shrank from telling you
all the truth, for she knew how you loved the boy and feared lest it
break your heart."
"Jacky!"
"I watched him as you fondled the child just now. His face was clearly
reflected in the glass of the window where the shutter formed a
background. I saw such jealousy, such cruel hatred, as I have seldom
seen in a human face."
"My Jacky!"
"You have to face it, Mr. Ferguson. It is the more painful because it
is a distorted love, a maniacal exaggerated love for you, and possibly
for his dead mother, which has prompted his action. His very soul is
consumed with hatred for this splendid child, whose health and beauty
are a contrast to his own weakness."
"Good God! It is incredible!"
"Have I spoken the truth, madame?"
The lady was sobbing, with her face buried in the pillows. Now she
turned to her husband.
"How could I tell you, Bob? I felt the blow it would be to you. It
was better that I should wait and that it should come from some other
lips than mine. When this gentleman, who seems to have powers of
magic, wrote that he knew all, I was glad."
"I think a year at sea would be my prescription for Master Jacky," said
Holmes, rising from his chair. "Only one thing is still clouded,
madame. We can quite understand your attacks upon Master Jacky. There
is a limit to a mother's patience. But how did you dare to leave the
child these last two days?"
"I had told Mrs. Mason. She knew."
"Exactly. So I imagined."
Ferguson was standing by the bed, choking, his hands outstretched and
quivering.
"This, I fancy, is the time for our exit, Watson," said Holmes in a
whisper. "If you will take one elbow of the too faithful Dolores, I
will take the other. There, now," he added, as he closed the door
behind him, "I think we may leave them to settle the rest among
themselves."
I have only one further note of this case. It is the letter which
Holmes wrote in final answer to that with which the narrative begins.
It ran thus:
BAKER STREET,
_Nov._ 21st.
_Re_ Vampires.
SIR,--
Referring to your letter of the 19th, I beg to state that I have looked
into the inquiry of your client, Mr. Robert Ferguson, of Ferguson and
Muirhead, tea brokers, of Mincing Lane, and that the matter has been
brought to a satisfactory conclusion. With thanks for your
recommendation,
I am, Sir,
Faithfully yours,
SHERLOCK HOLMES.
VI
THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GARRIDEBS
It may have been a comedy, or it may have been a tragedy. It cost one
man his reason, it cost me a blood-letting, and it cost yet another man
the penalties of the law. Yet there was certainly an element of
comedy. Well, you shall judge for yourselves.
I remember the date very well, for it was in the same month that Holmes
refused a knighthood for services which may perhaps some day be
described. I only refer to the matter in passing, for in my position
of partner and confidant I am obliged to be particularly careful to
avoid any indiscretion. I repeat, however, that this enables me to fix
the date, which was the latter end of June, 1902, shortly after the
conclusion of the South African War. Holmes had spent several days in
bed, as was his habit from time to time, but he emerged that morning
with a long foolscap document in his hand and a twinkle of amusement in
his austere grey eyes.
"There is a chance for you to make some money, friend Watson," said he.
"Have you ever heard the name of Garrideb?"
I admitted that I had not.
"Well, if you can lay your hand upon a Garrideb, there's money in it."
"Why?"
"Ah, that's a long story--rather a whimsical one, too. I don't think
in all our explorations of human complexities we have ever come upon
anything more singular. The fellow will be here presently for
cross-examination, so I won't open the matter up till he comes. But
meanwhile, that's the name we want."
The telephone directory lay on the table beside me, and I turned over
the pages in a rather hopeless quest. But to my amazement there was
this strange name in its due place. I gave a cry of triumph.
"Here you are, Holmes! Here it is!"
Holmes took the book from my hand.
"'Garrideb, N.,'" he read, "'136 Little Ryder Street, W.' Sorry to
disappoint you, my dear Watson, but this is the man himself. That is
the address upon his letter. We want another to match him."
Mrs. Hudson had come in with a card upon a tray. I took it up and
glanced at it.
"Why, here it is!" I cried in amazement. "This is a different initial.
John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, Moorville, Kansas, U.S.A."
Holmes smiled as he looked at the card. "I am afraid you must make yet
another effort, Watson," said he. "This gentleman is also in the plot
already, though I certainly did not expect to see him this morning.
However, he is in a position to tell us a good deal which I want to
know."
A moment later he was in the room. Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor at
Law, was a short, powerful man with the round, fresh, clean-shaven face
characteristic of so many American men of affairs. The general effect
was chubby and rather childlike, so that one received the impression of
quite a young man with a broad set smile upon his face. His eyes,
however, were arresting. Seldom in any human head have I seen a pair
which bespoke a more intense inward life, so bright were they, so
alert, so responsive to every change of thought. His accent was
American, but was not accompanied by any eccentricity of speech.