The case-book of Sherlock Holmes
heartless manner. She would not tell you, sir, of our relations lest
you should disapprove and I might suffer. But with your leave I must
try to get back to The Gables, for my bed will be very welcome."
Stackhurst held out his hand. "Our nerves have all been at
concert-pitch," said he. "Forgive what is past, Murdoch. We shall
understand each other better in the future." They passed out together
with their arms linked in friendly fashion. The Inspector remained,
staring at me in silence with his ox-like eyes.
"Well, you've done it!" he cried at last. "I had read of you, but I
never believed it. It's wonderful!"
I was forced to shake my head. To accept such praise was to lower
one's own standards.
"I was slow at the outset--culpably slow. Had the body been found in
the water I could hardly have missed it. It was the towel which misled
me. The poor fellow had never thought to dry himself, and so I in turn
was led to believe that he had never been in the water. Why, then,
should the attack of any water creature suggest itself to me? That was
where I went astray. Well, well, Inspector, I often ventured to chaff
you gentlemen of the police force, but _Cyanea Capillata_ very nearly
avenged Scotland Yard."
X
THE ADVENTURE OF THE VEILED LODGER
When one considers that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was in active practice for
twenty-three years, and that during seventeen of these I was allowed to
co-operate with him and to keep notes of his doings, it will be clear
that I have a mass of material at my command. The problem has always
been, not to find, but to choose. There is the long row of year-books
which fill a shelf, and there are the dispatch-cases filled with
documents, a perfect quarry for the student, not only of crime, but of
the social and official scandals of the late Victorian era. Concerning
these latter, I may say that the writers of agonized letters, who beg
that the honour of their families or the reputation of famous forbears
may not be touched, have nothing to fear. The discretion and high
sense of professional honour which have always distinguished my friend
are still at work in the choice of these memoirs, and no confidence
will be abused. I deprecate, however, in the strongest way the
attempts which have been made lately to get at and to destroy these
papers. The source of these outrages is known, and if they are
repeated I have Mr. Holmes's authority for saying that the whole story
concerning the politician, the lighthouse and the trained cormorant
will be given to the public. There is at least one reader who will
understand.
It is not reasonable to suppose that every one of these cases gave
Holmes the opportunity of showing those curious gifts of instinct and
observation which I have endeavoured to set forth in these memoirs.
Sometimes he had with much effort to pick the fruit, sometimes it fell
easily into his lap. But the most terrible human tragedies were often
involved in these cases which brought him the fewest personal
opportunities, and it is one of these which I now desire to record. In
telling it, I have made a slight change of name and place, but
otherwise the facts are as stated.
One forenoon--it was late in 1896--I received a hurried note from
Holmes asking for my attendance. When I arrived, I found him seated in
a smoke-laden atmosphere, with an elderly, motherly woman of the buxom
landlady type in the corresponding chair in front of him.
"This is Mrs. Merrilow, of South Brixton," said my friend, with a wave
of the hand. "Mrs. Merrilow does not object to tobacco, Watson, if you
wish to indulge your filthy habits. Mrs. Merrilow has an interesting
story to tell which may well lead to further developments in which your
presence may be useful."
"Anything I can do----"
"You will understand, Mrs. Merrilow, that if I come to Mrs. Ronder I
should prefer to have a witness. You will make her understand that
before we arrive."
"Lord bless you, Mr. Holmes," said our visitor, "she is that anxious to
see you that you might bring the whole parish at your heels!"
"Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let us see that we have
our facts correct before we start. If we go over them it will help Dr.
Watson to understand the situation. You say that Mrs. Ronder has been
your lodger for seven years and that you have only once seen her face."
"And I wish to God I had not!" said Mrs. Merrilow.
"It was, I understand, terribly mutilated."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, you would hardly say it was a face at all. That's
how it looked. Our milkman got a glimpse of her once peeping out of
the upper window, and he dropped his tin and the milk all over the
front garden. That is the kind of face it is. When I saw her--I
happened on her unawares--she covered up quick, and then she said,
'Now, Mrs. Merrilow, you know at last why it is that I never raise my
veil.'"
"Do you know anything about her history?"
"Nothing at all."
"Did she give references when she came?"
"No, sir, but she gave hard cash, and plenty of it. A quarter's rent
right down on the table in advance and no arguing about terms. In
these times a poor woman like me can't afford to turn down a chance
like that."
"Did she give any reason for choosing your house?"
"Mine stands well back from the road and is more private than most.
Then, again, I only take the one, and I have no family of my own. I
reckon she had tried others and found that mine suited her best. It's
privacy she is after, and she is ready to pay for it."
"You say that she never showed her face from first to last save on the
one accidental occasion. Well, it is a very remarkable story, most
remarkable, and I don't wonder that you want it examined."
"I don't, Mr. Holmes. I am quite satisfied so long as I get my rent.
You could not have a quieter lodger, or one who gives less trouble."
"Then what has brought matters to a head?"
"Her health, Mr. Holmes. She seems to be wasting away. And there's
something terrible on her mind. 'Murder!' she cries. 'Murder!' And
once I heard her, 'You cruel beast! You monster!' she cried. It was
in the night, and it fair rang through the house and sent the shivers
through me. So I went to her in the morning. 'Mrs. Ronder,' I says,
'if you have anything that is troubling your soul, there's the clergy,'
I says, 'and there's the police. Between them you should get some
help.' 'For God's sake, not the police!' says she, 'and the clergy
can't change what is past. And yet,' she says, 'it would ease my mind
if someone knew the truth before I died.' 'Well,' says I, 'if you
won't have the regulars, there is this detective man what we read
about'--beggin' your pardon, Mr. Holmes. And she, she fair jumped at
it. 'That's the man,' says she. 'I wonder I never thought of it
before. Bring him here, Mrs. Merrilow, and if he won't come, tell him
I am the wife of Ronder's wild beast show. Say that, and give him the
name Abbas Parva.' Here it is as she wrote it, Abbas Parva. 'That will
bring him, if he's the man I think he is.'"
"And it will, too," remarked Holmes. "Very good, Mrs. Merrilow. I
should like to have a little chat with Dr. Watson. That will carry us
till lunch-time. About three o'clock you may expect to see us at your
house in Brixton."
Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the room--no other verb can
describe Mrs. Merrilow's method of progression--than Sherlock Holmes
threw himself with fierce energy upon the pile of commonplace books in
the corner. For a few minutes there was a constant swish of the
leaves, and then with a grunt of satisfaction he came upon what he
sought. So excited was he that he did not rise, but sat upon the floor
like some strange Buddha, with crossed legs, the huge books all round
him, and one open upon his knees.
"The case worried me at the time, Watson. Here are my marginal notes
to prove it. I confess that I could make nothing of it. And yet I was
convinced that the coroner was wrong. Have you no recollection of the
Abbas Parva tragedy?"
"None, Holmes."
"And yet you were with me then. But certainly my own impression was
very superficial, for there was nothing to go by, and none of the
parties had engaged my services. Perhaps you would care to read the
papers?"
"Could you not give me the points?"
"That is very easily done. It will probably come back to your memory
as I talk. Ronder, of course, was a household word. He was the rival
of Wombwell, and of Sanger, one of the greatest showmen of his day.
There is evidence, however, that he took to drink, and that both he and
his show were on the down grade at the time of the great tragedy. The
caravan had halted for the night at Abbas Parva, which is a small
village in Berkshire, when this horror occurred. They were on their
way to Wimbledon, travelling by road, and they were simply camping, and
not exhibiting, as the place is so small a one that it would not have
paid them to open.
"They had among their exhibits a very fine North African lion. Sahara
King was its name, and it was the habit, both of Ronder and his wife,
to give exhibitions inside its cage. Here, you see, is a photograph of
the performance, by which you will perceive that Ronder was a huge
porcine person and that his wife was a very magnificent woman. It was
deposed at the inquest that there had been some signs that the lion was
dangerous, but, as usual, familiarity begat contempt, and no notice was
taken of the fact.
"It was usual for either Ronder or his wife to feed the lion at night.
Sometimes one went, sometimes both, but they never allowed anyone else
to do it, for they believed that so long as they were the food-carriers
he would regard them as benefactors, and would never molest them. On
this particular night, seven years ago, they both went, and a very
terrible happening followed, the details of which have never been made
clear.
"It seems that the whole camp was roused near midnight by the roars of
the animal and the screams of the woman. The different grooms and
_employés_ rushed from their tents, carrying lanterns, and by their
light an awful sight was revealed. Ronder lay, with the back of his
head crushed in and deep claw-marks across his scalp, some ten yards
from the cage, which was open. Close to the door of the cage lay Mrs.
Ronder, upon her back, with the creature squatting and snarling above
her. It had torn her face in such a fashion that it was never thought
that she could live. Several of the circus men, headed by Leonardo,
the strongman, and Griggs, the clown, drove the creature off with
poles, upon which it sprang back into the cage, and was at once locked
in. How it had got loose was a mystery. It was conjectured that the
pair intended to enter the cage, but that when the door was loosed the
creature bounded out upon them. There was no other point of interest
in the evidence, save that the woman in a delirium of agony kept
screaming, 'Coward! Coward!' as she was carried back to the van in
which they lived. It was six months before she was fit to give
evidence, but the inquest was duly held, with the obvious verdict of
death from misadventure."
"What alternative could be conceived?" said I.
"You may well say so. And yet there were one or two points which
worried young Edmunds, of the Berkshire Constabulary. A smart lad
that! He was sent later to Allahabad. That was how I came into the
matter, for he dropped in and smoked a pipe or two over it."
"A thin, yellow-haired man?"
"Exactly. I was sure you would pick up the trail presently."
"But what worried him?"
"Well, we were both worried. It was so deucedly difficult to
reconstruct the affair. Look at it from the lion's point of view. He