The Return of Sherlock Holmes
with the stick he had in his hand. I had sprung for the poker,
and it was a fair fight between us. See here, on my arm, where
his first blow fell. Then it was my turn, and I went through him
as if he had been a rotten pumpkin. Do you think I was sorry? Not
I! It was his life or mine, but far more than that, it was his
life or hers, for how could I leave her in the power of this
madman? That was how I killed him. Was I wrong? Well, then, what
would either of you gentlemen have done, if you had been in my
position?
“She had screamed when he struck her, and that brought old
Theresa down from the room above. There was a bottle of wine on
the sideboard, and I opened it and poured a little between Mary’s
lips, for she was half dead with shock. Then I took a drop
myself. Theresa was as cool as ice, and it was her plot as much
as mine. We must make it appear that burglars had done the thing.
Theresa kept on repeating our story to her mistress, while I
swarmed up and cut the rope of the bell. Then I lashed her in her
chair, and frayed out the end of the rope to make it look
natural, else they would wonder how in the world a burglar could
have got up there to cut it. Then I gathered up a few plates and
pots of silver, to carry out the idea of the robbery, and there I
left them, with orders to give the alarm when I had a quarter of
an hour’s start. I dropped the silver into the pond, and made off
for Sydenham, feeling that for once in my life I had done a real
good night’s work. And that’s the truth and the whole truth, Mr.
Holmes, if it costs me my neck.”
Holmes smoked for some time in silence. Then he crossed the room,
and shook our visitor by the hand.
“That’s what I think,” said he. “I know that every word is true,
for you have hardly said a word which I did not know. No one but
an acrobat or a sailor could have got up to that bell-rope from
the bracket, and no one but a sailor could have made the knots
with which the cord was fastened to the chair. Only once had this
lady been brought into contact with sailors, and that was on her
voyage, and it was someone of her own class of life, since she
was trying hard to shield him, and so showing that she loved him.
You see how easy it was for me to lay my hands upon you when once
I had started upon the right trail.”
“I thought the police never could have seen through our dodge.”
“And the police haven’t, nor will they, to the best of my belief.
Now, look here, Captain Crocker, this is a very serious matter,
though I am willing to admit that you acted under the most
extreme provocation to which any man could be subjected. I am not
sure that in defence of your own life your action will not be
pronounced legitimate. However, that is for a British jury to
decide. Meanwhile I have so much sympathy for you that, if you
choose to disappear in the next twenty-four hours, I will promise
you that no one will hinder you.”
“And then it will all come out?”
“Certainly it will come out.”
The sailor flushed with anger.
“What sort of proposal is that to make a man? I know enough of
law to understand that Mary would be held as accomplice. Do you
think I would leave her alone to face the music while I slunk
away? No, sir, let them do their worst upon me, but for heaven’s
sake, Mr. Holmes, find some way of keeping my poor Mary out of
the courts.”
Holmes for a second time held out his hand to the sailor.
“I was only testing you, and you ring true every time. Well, it
is a great responsibility that I take upon myself, but I have
given Hopkins an excellent hint and if he can’t avail himself of
it I can do no more. See here, Captain Crocker, we’ll do this in
due form of law. You are the prisoner. Watson, you are a British
jury, and I never met a man who was more eminently fitted to
represent one. I am the judge. Now, gentleman of the jury, you
have heard the evidence. Do you find the prisoner guilty or not
guilty?”
“Not guilty, my lord,” said I.
“_Vox populi, vox Dei_. You are acquitted, Captain Crocker. So
long as the law does not find some other victim you are safe from
me. Come back to this lady in a year, and may her future and
yours justify us in the judgment which we have pronounced this
night!”
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND STAIN
I had intended “The Adventure of the Abbey Grange” to be the last
of those exploits of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, which I
should ever communicate to the public. This resolution of mine
was not due to any lack of material, since I have notes of many
hundreds of cases to which I have never alluded, nor was it
caused by any waning interest on the part of my readers in the
singular personality and unique methods of this remarkable man.
The real reason lay in the reluctance which Mr. Holmes has shown
to the continued publication of his experiences. So long as he
was in actual professional practice the records of his successes
were of some practical value to him, but since he has definitely
retired from London and betaken himself to study and bee-farming
on the Sussex Downs, notoriety has become hateful to him, and he
has peremptorily requested that his wishes in this matter should
be strictly observed. It was only upon my representing to him
that I had given a promise that “The Adventure of the Second
Stain” should be published when the times were ripe, and pointing
out to him that it is only appropriate that this long series of
episodes should culminate in the most important international
case which he has ever been called upon to handle, that I at last
succeeded in obtaining his consent that a carefully guarded
account of the incident should at last be laid before the public.
If in telling the story I seem to be somewhat vague in certain
details, the public will readily understand that there is an
excellent reason for my reticence.
It was, then, in a year, and even in a decade, that shall be
nameless, that upon one Tuesday morning in autumn we found two
visitors of European fame within the walls of our humble room in
Baker Street. The one, austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed, and
dominant, was none other than the illustrious Lord Bellinger,
twice Premier of Britain. The other, dark, clear-cut, and
elegant, hardly yet of middle age, and endowed with every beauty
of body and of mind, was the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope,
Secretary for European Affairs, and the most rising statesman in
the country. They sat side by side upon our paper-littered
settee, and it was easy to see from their worn and anxious faces
that it was business of the most pressing importance which had
brought them. The Premier’s thin, blue-veined hands were clasped
tightly over the ivory head of his umbrella, and his gaunt,
ascetic face looked gloomily from Holmes to me. The European
Secretary pulled nervously at his moustache and fidgeted with the
seals of his watch-chain.
“When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which was at eight
o’clock this morning, I at once informed the Prime Minister. It
was at his suggestion that we have both come to you.”
“Have you informed the police?”
“No, sir,” said the Prime Minister, with the quick, decisive
manner for which he was famous. “We have not done so, nor is it
possible that we should do so. To inform the police must, in the
long run, mean to inform the public. This is what we particularly
desire to avoid.”
“And why, sir?”
“Because the document in question is of such immense importance
that its publication might very easily—I might almost say
probably—lead to European complications of the utmost moment. It
is not too much to say that peace or war may hang upon the issue.
Unless its recovery can be attended with the utmost secrecy, then
it may as well not be recovered at all, for all that is aimed at
by those who have taken it is that its contents should be
generally known.”
“I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I should be much obliged
if you would tell me exactly the circumstances under which this
document disappeared.”
“That can be done in a very few words, Mr. Holmes. The letter—for
it was a letter from a foreign potentate—was received six days
ago. It was of such importance that I have never left it in my
safe, but have taken it across each evening to my house in
Whitehall Terrace, and kept it in my bedroom in a locked
despatch-box. It was there last night. Of that I am certain. I
actually opened the box while I was dressing for dinner and saw
the document inside. This morning it was gone. The despatch-box
had stood beside the glass upon my dressing-table all night. I am
a light sleeper, and so is my wife. We are both prepared to swear
that no one could have entered the room during the night. And yet
I repeat that the paper is gone.”
“What time did you dine?”
“Half-past seven.”
“How long was it before you went to bed?”
“My wife had gone to the theatre. I waited up for her. It was
half-past eleven before we went to our room.”
“Then for four hours the despatch-box had lain unguarded?”
“No one is ever permitted to enter that room save the house-maid
in the morning, and my valet, or my wife’s maid, during the rest
of the day. They are both trusty servants who have been with us
for some time. Besides, neither of them could possibly have known
that there was anything more valuable than the ordinary
departmental papers in my despatch-box.”
“Who did know of the existence of that letter?”
“No one in the house.”
“Surely your wife knew?”
“No, sir. I had said nothing to my wife until I missed the paper
this morning.”
The Premier nodded approvingly.
“I have long known, sir, how high is your sense of public duty,”
said he. “I am convinced that in the case of a secret of this
importance it would rise superior to the most intimate domestic
ties.”
The European Secretary bowed.
“You do me no more than justice, sir. Until this morning I have
never breathed one word to my wife upon this matter.”
“Could she have guessed?”
“No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessed—nor could anyone have
guessed.”
“Have you lost any documents before?”
“No, sir.”
“Who is there in England who did know of the existence of this
letter?”
“Each member of the Cabinet was informed of it yesterday, but the
pledge of secrecy which attends every Cabinet meeting was
increased by the solemn warning which was given by the Prime
Minister. Good heavens, to think that within a few hours I should
myself have lost it!” His handsome face was distorted with a
spasm of despair, and his hands tore at his hair. For a moment we
caught a glimpse of the natural man, impulsive, ardent, keenly
sensitive. The next the aristocratic mask was replaced, and the