The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
Upon my word, Watson, there is something very attractive about
that livid face at the window, and I would not have missed the
case for worlds.”
“You have a theory?”
“Yes, a provisional one. But I shall be surprised if it does not
turn out to be correct. This woman’s first husband is in that
cottage.”
“Why do you think so?”
“How else can we explain her frenzied anxiety that her second one
should not enter it? The facts, as I read them, are something
like this: This woman was married in America. Her husband
developed some hateful qualities; or shall we say that he
contracted some loathsome disease, and became a leper or an
imbecile? She flies from him at last, returns to England, changes
her name, and starts her life, as she thinks, afresh. She has
been married three years, and believes that her position is quite
secure, having shown her husband the death certificate of some
man whose name she has assumed, when suddenly her whereabouts is
discovered by her first husband; or, we may suppose, by some
unscrupulous woman who has attached herself to the invalid. They
write to the wife, and threaten to come and expose her. She asks
for a hundred pounds, and endeavours to buy them off. They come
in spite of it, and when the husband mentions casually to the
wife that there are new-comers in the cottage, she knows in some
way that they are her pursuers. She waits until her husband is
asleep, and then she rushes down to endeavour to persuade them to
leave her in peace. Having no success, she goes again next
morning, and her husband meets her, as he has told us, as she
comes out. She promises him then not to go there again, but two
days afterwards the hope of getting rid of those dreadful
neighbours was too strong for her, and she made another attempt,
taking down with her the photograph which had probably been
demanded from her. In the midst of this interview the maid rushed
in to say that the master had come home, on which the wife,
knowing that he would come straight down to the cottage, hurried
the inmates out at the back door, into the grove of fir-trees,
probably, which was mentioned as standing near. In this way he
found the place deserted. I shall be very much surprised,
however, if it is still so when he reconnoitres it this evening.
What do you think of my theory?”
“It is all surmise.”
“But at least it covers all the facts. When new facts come to our
knowledge which cannot be covered by it, it will be time enough
to reconsider it. We can do nothing more until we have a message
from our friend at Norbury.”
But we had not a very long time to wait for that. It came just as
we had finished our tea. “The cottage is still tenanted,” it
said. “Have seen the face again at the window. Will meet the
seven o’clock train, and will take no steps until you arrive.”
He was waiting on the platform when we stepped out, and we could
see in the light of the station lamps that he was very pale, and
quivering with agitation.
“They are still there, Mr. Holmes,” said he, laying his hand hard
upon my friend’s sleeve. “I saw lights in the cottage as I came
down. We shall settle it now once and for all.”
“What is your plan, then?” asked Holmes, as he walked down the
dark tree-lined road.
“I am going to force my way in and see for myself who is in the
house. I wish you both to be there as witnesses.”
“You are quite determined to do this, in spite of your wife’s
warning that it is better that you should not solve the mystery?”
“Yes, I am determined.”
“Well, I think that you are in the right. Any truth is better
than indefinite doubt. We had better go up at once. Of course,
legally, we are putting ourselves hopelessly in the wrong; but I
think that it is worth it.”
It was a very dark night, and a thin rain began to fall as we
turned from the high road into a narrow lane, deeply rutted, with
hedges on either side. Mr. Grant Munro pushed impatiently
forward, however, and we stumbled after him as best we could.
“There are the lights of my house,” he murmured, pointing to a
glimmer among the trees. “And here is the cottage which I am
going to enter.”
We turned a corner in the lane as he spoke, and there was the
building close beside us. A yellow bar falling across the black
foreground showed that the door was not quite closed, and one
window in the upper story was brightly illuminated. As we looked,
we saw a dark blur moving across the blind.
“There is that creature!” cried Grant Munro. “You can see for
yourselves that some one is there. Now follow me, and we shall
soon know all.”
We approached the door; but suddenly a woman appeared out of the
shadow and stood in the golden track of the lamp-light. I could
not see her face in the darkness, but her arms were thrown out in
an attitude of entreaty.
“For God’s sake, don’t Jack!” she cried. “I had a presentiment
that you would come this evening. Think better of it, dear! Trust
me again, and you will never have cause to regret it.”
“I have trusted you too long, Effie,” he cried, sternly. “Leave
go of me! I must pass you. My friends and I are going to settle
this matter once and forever!” He pushed her to one side, and we
followed closely after him. As he threw the door open an old
woman ran out in front of him and tried to bar his passage, but
he thrust her back, and an instant afterwards we were all upon
the stairs. Grant Munro rushed into the lighted room at the top,
and we entered at his heels.
It was a cosey, well-furnished apartment, with two candles
burning upon the table and two upon the mantelpiece. In the
corner, stooping over a desk, there sat what appeared to be a
little girl. Her face was turned away as we entered, but we could
see that she was dressed in a red frock, and that she had long
white gloves on. As she whisked round to us, I gave a cry of
surprise and horror. The face which she turned towards us was of
the strangest livid tint, and the features were absolutely devoid
of any expression. An instant later the mystery was explained.
Holmes, with a laugh, passed his hand behind the child’s ear, a
mask peeled off from her countenance, and there was a little coal
black negress, with all her white teeth flashing in amusement at
our amazed faces. I burst out laughing, out of sympathy with her
merriment; but Grant Munro stood staring, with his hand clutching
his throat.
“My God!” he cried. “What can be the meaning of this?”
“I will tell you the meaning of it,” cried the lady, sweeping
into the room with a proud, set face. “You have forced me,
against my own judgment, to tell you, and now we must both make
the best of it. My husband died at Atlanta. My child survived.”
“Your child?”
She drew a large silver locket from her bosom. “You have never
seen this open.”
“I understood that it did not open.”
She touched a spring, and the front hinged back. There was a
portrait within of a man strikingly handsome and
intelligent-looking, but bearing unmistakable signs upon his
features of his African descent.
“That is John Hebron, of Atlanta,” said the lady, “and a nobler
man never walked the earth. I cut myself off from my race in
order to wed him, but never once while he lived did I for an
instant regret it. It was our misfortune that our only child took
after his people rather than mine. It is often so in such
matches, and little Lucy is darker far than ever her father was.
But dark or fair, she is my own dear little girlie, and her
mother’s pet.” The little creature ran across at the words and
nestled up against the lady’s dress. “When I left her in
America,” she continued, “it was only because her health was
weak, and the change might have done her harm. She was given to
the care of a faithful Scotch woman who had once been our
servant. Never for an instant did I dream of disowning her as my
child. But when chance threw you in my way, Jack, and I learned
to love you, I feared to tell you about my child. God forgive me,
I feared that I should lose you, and I had not the courage to
tell you. I had to choose between you, and in my weakness I
turned away from my own little girl. For three years I have kept
her existence a secret from you, but I heard from the nurse, and
I knew that all was well with her. At last, however, there came
an overwhelming desire to see the child once more. I struggled
against it, but in vain. Though I knew the danger, I determined
to have the child over, if it were but for a few weeks. I sent a
hundred pounds to the nurse, and I gave her instructions about
this cottage, so that she might come as a neighbour, without my
appearing to be in any way connected with her. I pushed my
precautions so far as to order her to keep the child in the house
during the daytime, and to cover up her little face and hands so
that even those who might see her at the window should not gossip
about there being a black child in the neighbourhood. If I had
been less cautious I might have been more wise, but I was half
crazy with fear that you should learn the truth.
“It was you who told me first that the cottage was occupied. I
should have waited for the morning, but I could not sleep for
excitement, and so at last I slipped out, knowing how difficult
it is to awake you. But you saw me go, and that was the beginning
of my troubles. Next day you had my secret at your mercy, but you
nobly refrained from pursuing your advantage. Three days later,
however, the nurse and child only just escaped from the back door
as you rushed in at the front one. And now to-night you at last
know all, and I ask you what is to become of us, my child and
me?” She clasped her hands and waited for an answer.
It was a long ten minutes before Grant Munro broke the silence,
and when his answer came it was one of which I love to think. He
lifted the little child, kissed her, and then, still carrying
her, he held his other hand out to his wife and turned towards
the door.
“We can talk it over more comfortably at home,” said he. “I am
not a very good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one
than you have given me credit for being.”
Holmes and I followed them down the lane, and my friend plucked
at my sleeve as we came out.
“I think,” said he, “that we shall be of more use in London than
in Norbury.”
Not another word did he say of the case until late that night,
when he was turning away, with his lighted candle, for his
bedroom.
“Watson,” said he, “if it should ever strike you that I am
getting a little over-confident in my powers, or giving less
pains to a case than it deserves, kindly whisper ‘Norbury’ in my
ear, and I shall be infinitely obliged to you.”
IV. The Stockbroker’s Clerk