The case-book of Sherlock Holmes
"Mr. Holmes?" he asked, glancing from one to the other. "Ah, yes!
Your pictures are not unlike you, sir, if I may say so. I believe you
have had a letter from my namesake, Mr. Nathan Garrideb, have you not?"
"Pray sit down," said Sherlock Holmes. "We shall, I fancy, have a good
deal to discuss." He took up his sheets of foolscap. "You are, of
course, the Mr. John Garrideb mentioned in this document. But surely
you have been in England some time?"
"Why do you say that, Mr. Holmes?" I seemed to read sudden suspicion in
those expressive eyes.
"Your whole outfit is English."
Mr. Garrideb forced a laugh. "I've read of your tricks, Mr. Holmes,
but I never thought I would be the subject of them. Where do you read
that?"
"The shoulder cut of your coat, the toes of your boots--could anyone
doubt it?"
"Well, well, I had no idea I was so obvious a Britisher. But business
brought me over here some time ago, and so, as you say, my outfit is
nearly all London. However, I guess your time is of value, and we did
not meet to talk about the cut of my socks. What about getting down to
that paper you hold in your hand?"
Holmes had in some way ruffled our visitor, whose chubby face had
assumed a far less amiable expression.
"Patience! Patience, Mr. Garrideb!" said my friend in a soothing
voice. "Dr. Watson would tell you that these little digressions of
mine sometimes prove in the end to have some bearing on the matter.
But why did Mr. Nathan Garrideb not come with you?"
"Why did he ever drag you into it at all?" asked our visitor, with a
sudden outflame of anger. "What in thunder had you to do with it?
Here was a bit of professional business between two gentlemen, and one
of them must needs call in a detective! I saw him this morning, and he
told me this fool-trick he had played me, and that's why I am here.
But I feel bad about it, all the same."
"There was no reflection upon you, Mr. Garrideb. It was simply zeal
upon his part to gain your end--an end which is, I understand, equally
vital for both of you. He knew that I had means of getting
information, and, therefore, it was very natural that he should apply
to me."
Our visitor's angry face gradually cleared.
"Well, that puts it different," said he. "When I went to see him this
morning and he told me he had sent to a detective, I just asked for
your address and came right away. I don't want police butting into a
private matter. But if you are content just to help us find the man,
there can be no harm in that."
"Well, that is just how it stands," said Holmes. "And now, sir, since
you are here, we had best have a clear account from your own lips. My
friend here knows nothing of the details."
Mr. Garrideb surveyed me with not too friendly a gaze.
"Need he know?" he asked.
"We usually work together."
"Well, there's no reason it should be kept a secret. I'll give you the
facts as short as I can make them. If you came from Kansas I would not
need to explain to you who Alexander Hamilton Garrideb was. He made
his money in real estate, and afterwards in the wheat pit at Chicago,
but he spent it in buying up as much land as would make one of your
counties, lying along the Arkansas River, west of Fort Dodge. It's
grazing-land and lumber-land and arable-land and mineralized-land, and
just every sort of land that brings dollars to the man that owns it.
"He had no kith nor kin--or, if he had, I never heard of it. But he
took a kind of pride in the queerness of his name. That was what
brought us together. I was in the law at Topeka, and one day I had a
visit from the old man, and he was tickled to death to meet another man
with his own name. It was his pet fad, and he was dead set to find out
if there were any more Garridebs in the world. 'Find me another!' said
he. I told him I was a busy man and could not spend my life hiking
round the world in search of Garridebs. 'None the less,' said he,
'that is just what you will do if things pan out as I planned them.' I
thought he was joking, but there was a powerful lot of meaning in the
words, as I was soon to discover.
"For he died within a year of saying them, and he left a will behind
him. It was the queerest will that has ever been filed in the State of
Kansas. His property was divided into three parts, and I was to have
one on condition that I found two Garridebs who would share the
remainder. It's five million dollars for each if it is a cent, but we
can't lay a finger on it until we all three stand in a row.
"It was so big a chance that I just let my legal practice slide and I
set forth looking for Garridebs. There is not one in the United
States. I went through it, sir, with a fine-toothed comb and never a
Garrideb could I catch. Then I tried the old country. Sure enough
there was the name in the London Telephone Directory. I went after him
two days ago and explained the whole matter to him. But he is a lone
man, like myself, with some women relations, but no men. It says three
adult men in the will. So you see we still have a vacancy, and if you
can help to fill it we will be very ready to pay your charges."
"Well, Watson," said Holmes, with a smile, "I said it was rather
whimsical, did I not? I should have thought, sir, that your obvious
way was to advertise in the agony columns of the papers."
"I have done that, Mr. Holmes. No replies."
"Dear me! Well, it is certainly a most curious little problem. I may
take a glance at it in my leisure. By the way, it is curious that you
should have come from Topeka. I used to have a correspondent--he is
dead now--old Dr. Lysander Starr, who was Mayor in 1890."
"Good old Dr. Starr!" said our visitor. "His name is still honoured.
Well, Mr. Holmes, I suppose all we can do is to report to you and let
you know how we progress. I reckon you will hear within a day or two."
With this assurance our American bowed and departed.
Holmes had lit his pipe, and he sat for some time with a curious smile
upon his face.
"Well?" I asked at last.
"I am wondering, Watson--just wondering!"
"At what?"
Holmes took his pipe from his lips.
"I was wondering, Watson, what on earth could be the object of this man
in telling us such a rigmarole of lies. I nearly asked him so--for
there are times when a brutal frontal attack is the best policy--but I
judged it better to let him think he had fooled us. Here is a man with
an English coat frayed at the elbow and trousers bagged at the knee
with a year's wear, and yet by this document and by his own account he
is a provincial American lately landed in London. There have been no
advertisements in the agony columns. You know that I miss nothing
there. They are my favourite covert for putting up a bird, and I would
never have overlooked such a cock pheasant as that. I never knew a Dr.
Lysander Starr of Topeka. Touch him where you would he was false. I
think the fellow is really an American, but he has worn his accent
smooth with years of London. What is his game, then, and what motive
lies behind this preposterous search for Garridebs? It's worth our
attention, for, granting that the man is a rascal, he is certainly a
complex and ingenious one. We must now find out if our other
correspondent is a fraud also. Just ring him up, Watson."
I did so, and heard a thin, quavering voice at the other end of the
line.
"Yes, yes, I am Mr. Nathan Garrideb. Is Mr. Holmes there? I should
very much like to have a word with Mr. Holmes."
My friend took the instrument and I heard the usual syncopated dialogue.
"Yes, he has been here. I understand that you don't know him.... How
long? ... Only two days! ... Yes, yes, of course, it is a most
captivating prospect. Will you be at home this evening? I suppose
your namesake will not be there? ... Very good, we will come then, for
I would rather have a chat without him.... Dr. Watson will come with
me.... I understood from your note that you did not go out often....
Well, we shall be round about six. You need not mention it to the
American lawyer.... Very good. Good-bye!"
It was twilight of a lovely spring evening, and even Little Ryder
Street, one of the smaller offshoots from the Edgware Road, within a
stone-cast of old Tyburn Tree of evil memory, looked golden and
wonderful in the slanting rays of the setting sun. The particular
house to which we were directed was a large, old-fashioned, Early
Georgian edifice with a flat brick face broken only by two deep bay
windows on the ground floor. It was on this ground floor that our
client lived, and, indeed, the low windows proved to be the front of
the huge room in which he spent his waking hours. Holmes pointed as we
passed to the small brass plate which bore the curious name.
"Up some years, Watson," he remarked, indicating its discoloured
surface. "It's his real name, anyhow, and that is something to note."
The house had a common stair, and there were a number of names painted
in the hall some indicating offices and some private chambers. It was
not a collection of residential flats, but rather the abode of Bohemian
bachelors. Our client opened the door for us himself and apologized by
saying that the woman in charge left at four o'clock. Mr. Nathan
Garrideb proved to be a very tall, loose-jointed, round-backed person,
gaunt and bald, some sixty-odd years of age. He had a cadaverous face,
with the dull dead skin of a man to whom exercise was unknown. Large
round spectacles and a small projecting goat's beard combined with his
stooping attitude to give him an expression of peering curiosity. The
general effect, however, was amiable, though eccentric.
The room was as curious as its occupant. It looked like a small
museum. It was both broad and deep, with cupboards and cabinets all
round, crowded with specimens, geological and anatomical. Cases of
butterflies and moths flanked each side of the entrance. A large table
in the centre was littered with all sorts of debris, while the tall
brass tube of a powerful microscope bristled up amongst them. As I
glanced round I was surprised at the universality of the man's
interests. Here was a case of ancient coins. There was a cabinet of
flint instruments. Behind his central table was a large cupboard of
fossil bones. Above was a line of plaster skulls with such names as
"Neanderthal," "Heidelberg," "Cromagnon" printed beneath them. It was
clear that he was a student of many subjects. As he stood in front of
us now, he held a piece of chamois leather in his right hand with which
he was polishing a coin.
"Syracusan--of the best period," he explained, holding it up. "They
degenerated greatly towards the end. At their best I hold them
supreme, though some prefer the Alexandrian school. You will find a
chair here, Mr. Holmes. Pray allow me to clear these bones. And you,
sir--ah, yes, Dr. Watson--if you would have the goodness to put the
Japanese vase to one side. You see round me my little interests in
life. My doctor lectures me about never going out, but why should I go
out when I have so much to hold me here? I can assure you that the
adequate cataloguing of one of those cabinets would take me three good
months."
Holmes looked round him with curiosity.
"But do you tell me that you _never_ go out?" he said
"Now and again I drive down to Sotheby's or Christie's. Otherwise I
very seldom leave my room. I am not too strong, and my researches are
very absorbing. But you can imagine, Mr. Holmes, what a terrific
shock--pleasant but terrific--it was for me when I heard of this
unparalleled good fortune. It only needs one more Garrideb to complete
the matter, and surely we can find one. I had a brother, but he is