The Return of Sherlock Holmes
the Adelaide-Southampton line, which stands at the end of Pall
Mall, if I remember right. There is a second line of steamers
which connect South Australia with England, but we will draw the
larger cover first.”
Holmes’s card sent in to the manager ensured instant attention,
and he was not long in acquiring all the information he needed.
In June of ’95, only one of their line had reached a home port.
It was the _Rock of Gibraltar_, their largest and best boat. A
reference to the passenger list showed that Miss Fraser, of
Adelaide, with her maid had made the voyage in her. The boat was
now somewhere south of the Suez Canal on her way to Australia.
Her officers were the same as in ’95, with one exception. The
first officer, Mr. Jack Crocker, had been made a captain and was
to take charge of their new ship, the _Bass Rock_, sailing in two
days’ time from Southampton. He lived at Sydenham, but he was
likely to be in that morning for instructions, if we cared to
wait for him.
No, Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but would be glad to
know more about his record and character.
His record was magnificent. There was not an officer in the fleet
to touch him. As to his character, he was reliable on duty, but a
wild, desperate fellow off the deck of his ship—hot-headed,
excitable, but loyal, honest, and kind-hearted. That was the pith
of the information with which Holmes left the office of the
Adelaide-Southampton company. Thence he drove to Scotland Yard,
but, instead of entering, he sat in his cab with his brows drawn
down, lost in profound thought. Finally he drove round to the
Charing Cross telegraph office, sent off a message, and then, at
last, we made for Baker Street once more.
“No, I couldn’t do it, Watson,” said he, as we reentered our
room. “Once that warrant was made out, nothing on earth would
save him. Once or twice in my career I feel that I have done more
real harm by my discovery of the criminal than ever he had done
by his crime. I have learned caution now, and I had rather play
tricks with the law of England than with my own conscience. Let
us know a little more before we act.”
Before evening, we had a visit from Inspector Stanley Hopkins.
Things were not going very well with him.
“I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes. I really do
sometimes think that you have powers that are not human. Now, how
on earth could you know that the stolen silver was at the bottom
of that pond?”
“I didn’t know it.”
“But you told me to examine it.”
“You got it, then?”
“Yes, I got it.”
“I am very glad if I have helped you.”
“But you haven’t helped me. You have made the affair far more
difficult. What sort of burglars are they who steal silver and
then throw it into the nearest pond?”
“It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. I was merely going
on the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons who did
not want it—who merely took it for a blind, as it were—then they
would naturally be anxious to get rid of it.”
“But why should such an idea cross your mind?”
“Well, I thought it was possible. When they came out through the
French window, there was the pond with one tempting little hole
in the ice, right in front of their noses. Could there be a
better hiding-place?”
“Ah, a hiding-place—that is better!” cried Stanley Hopkins. “Yes,
yes, I see it all now! It was early, there were folk upon the
roads, they were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they
sank it in the pond, intending to return for it when the coast
was clear. Excellent, Mr. Holmes—that is better than your idea of
a blind.”
“Quite so, you have got an admirable theory. I have no doubt that
my own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that they have
ended in discovering the silver.”
“Yes, sir—yes. It was all your doing. But I have had a bad
setback.”
“A setback?”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were arrested in New York this
morning.”
“Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against your theory
that they committed a murder in Kent last night.”
“It is fatal, Mr. Holmes—absolutely fatal. Still, there are other
gangs of three besides the Randalls, or it may be some new gang
of which the police have never heard.”
“Quite so, it is perfectly possible. What, are you off?”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes, there is no rest for me until I have got to the
bottom of the business. I suppose you have no hint to give me?”
“I have given you one.”
“Which?”
“Well, I suggested a blind.”
“But why, Mr. Holmes, why?”
“Ah, that’s the question, of course. But I commend the idea to
your mind. You might possibly find that there was something in
it. You won’t stop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us know
how you get on.”
Dinner was over, and the table cleared before Holmes alluded to
the matter again. He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet
to the cheerful blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at his
watch.
“I expect developments, Watson.”
“When?”
“Now—within a few minutes. I dare say you thought I acted rather
badly to Stanley Hopkins just now?”
“I trust your judgment.”
“A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look at it this way:
what I know is unofficial, what he knows is official. I have the
right to private judgment, but he has none. He must disclose all,
or he is a traitor to his service. In a doubtful case I would not
put him in so painful a position, and so I reserve my information
until my own mind is clear upon the matter.”
“But when will that be?”
“The time has come. You will now be present at the last scene of
a remarkable little drama.”
There was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened to
admit as fine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through it. He
was a very tall young man, golden-moustached, blue-eyed, with a
skin which had been burned by tropical suns, and a springy step,
which showed that the huge frame was as active as it was strong.
He closed the door behind him, and then he stood with clenched
hands and heaving breast, choking down some overmastering
emotion.
“Sit down, Captain Crocker. You got my telegram?”
Our visitor sank into an armchair and looked from one to the
other of us with questioning eyes.
“I got your telegram, and I came at the hour you said. I heard
that you had been down to the office. There was no getting away
from you. Let’s hear the worst. What are you going to do with me?
Arrest me? Speak out, man! You can’t sit there and play with me
like a cat with a mouse.”
“Give him a cigar,” said Holmes. “Bite on that, Captain Crocker,
and don’t let your nerves run away with you. I should not sit
here smoking with you if I thought that you were a common
criminal, you may be sure of that. Be frank with me and we may do
some good. Play tricks with me, and I’ll crush you.”
“What do you wish me to do?”
“To give me a true account of all that happened at the Abbey
Grange last night—a _true_ account, mind you, with nothing added
and nothing taken off. I know so much already that if you go one
inch off the straight, I’ll blow this police whistle from my
window and the affair goes out of my hands forever.”
The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck his leg with his
great sunburned hand.
“I’ll chance it,” he cried. “I believe you are a man of your
word, and a white man, and I’ll tell you the whole story. But one
thing I will say first. So far as I am concerned, I regret
nothing and I fear nothing, and I would do it all again and be
proud of the job. Damn the beast, if he had as many lives as a
cat, he would owe them all to me! But it’s the lady, Mary—Mary
Fraser—for never will I call her by that accursed name. When I
think of getting her into trouble, I who would give my life just
to bring one smile to her dear face, it’s that that turns my soul
into water. And yet—and yet—what less could I do? I’ll tell you
my story, gentlemen, and then I’ll ask you, as man to man, what
less could I do?
“I must go back a bit. You seem to know everything, so I expect
that you know that I met her when she was a passenger and I was
first officer of the _Rock of Gibraltar_. From the first day I
met her, she was the only woman to me. Every day of that voyage I
loved her more, and many a time since have I kneeled down in the
darkness of the night watch and kissed the deck of that ship
because I knew her dear feet had trod it. She was never engaged
to me. She treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated a man. I
have no complaint to make. It was all love on my side, and all
good comradeship and friendship on hers. When we parted she was a
free woman, but I could never again be a free man.
“Next time I came back from sea, I heard of her marriage. Well,
why shouldn’t she marry whom she liked? Title and money—who could
carry them better than she? She was born for all that is
beautiful and dainty. I didn’t grieve over her marriage. I was
not such a selfish hound as that. I just rejoiced that good luck
had come her way, and that she had not thrown herself away on a
penniless sailor. That’s how I loved Mary Fraser.
“Well, I never thought to see her again, but last voyage I was
promoted, and the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to wait
for a couple of months with my people at Sydenham. One day out in
a country lane I met Theresa Wright, her old maid. She told me
all about her, about him, about everything. I tell you,
gentlemen, it nearly drove me mad. This drunken hound, that he
should dare to raise his hand to her, whose boots he was not
worthy to lick! I met Theresa again. Then I met Mary herself—and
met her again. Then she would meet me no more. But the other day
I had a notice that I was to start on my voyage within a week,
and I determined that I would see her once before I left. Theresa
was always my friend, for she loved Mary and hated this villain
almost as much as I did. From her I learned the ways of the
house. Mary used to sit up reading in her own little room
downstairs. I crept round there last night and scratched at the
window. At first she would not open to me, but in her heart I
know that now she loves me, and she could not leave me in the
frosty night. She whispered to me to come round to the big front
window, and I found it open before me, so as to let me into the
dining-room. Again I heard from her own lips things that made my
blood boil, and again I cursed this brute who mishandled the
woman I loved. Well, gentlemen, I was standing with her just
inside the window, in all innocence, as God is my judge, when he
rushed like a madman into the room, called her the vilest name
that a man could use to a woman, and welted her across the face