The Return of Sherlock Holmes
world whether that is not the mark of his thumb.”
“It is unquestionably the mark of his thumb.”
“There, that’s enough,” said Lestrade. “I am a practical man, Mr.
Holmes, and when I have got my evidence I come to my conclusions.
If you have anything to say, you will find me writing my report
in the sitting-room.”
Holmes had recovered his equanimity, though I still seemed to
detect gleams of amusement in his expression.
“Dear me, this is a very sad development, Watson, is it not?”
said he. “And yet there are singular points about it which hold
out some hopes for our client.”
“I am delighted to hear it,” said I, heartily. “I was afraid it
was all up with him.”
“I would hardly go so far as to say that, my dear Watson. The
fact is that there is one really serious flaw in this evidence to
which our friend attaches so much importance.”
“Indeed, Holmes! What is it?”
“Only this: that I _know_ that that mark was not there when I
examined the hall yesterday. And now, Watson, let us have a
little stroll round in the sunshine.”
With a confused brain, but with a heart into which some warmth of
hope was returning, I accompanied my friend in a walk round the
garden. Holmes took each face of the house in turn, and examined
it with great interest. He then led the way inside, and went over
the whole building from basement to attic. Most of the rooms were
unfurnished, but none the less Holmes inspected them all
minutely. Finally, on the top corridor, which ran outside three
untenanted bedrooms, he again was seized with a spasm of
merriment.
“There are really some very unique features about this case,
Watson,” said he. “I think it is time now that we took our friend
Lestrade into our confidence. He has had his little smile at our
expense, and perhaps we may do as much by him, if my reading of
this problem proves to be correct. Yes, yes, I think I see how we
should approach it.”
The Scotland Yard inspector was still writing in the parlour when
Holmes interrupted him.
“I understood that you were writing a report of this case,” said
he.
“So I am.”
“Don’t you think it may be a little premature? I can’t help
thinking that your evidence is not complete.”
Lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard his words. He laid
down his pen and looked curiously at him.
“What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?”
“Only that there is an important witness whom you have not seen.”
“Can you produce him?”
“I think I can.”
“Then do so.”
“I will do my best. How many constables have you?”
“There are three within call.”
“Excellent!” said Holmes. “May I ask if they are all large,
able-bodied men with powerful voices?”
“I have no doubt they are, though I fail to see what their voices
have to do with it.”
“Perhaps I can help you to see that and one or two other things
as well,” said Holmes. “Kindly summon your men, and I will try.”
Five minutes later, three policemen had assembled in the hall.
“In the outhouse you will find a considerable quantity of straw,”
said Holmes. “I will ask you to carry in two bundles of it. I
think it will be of the greatest assistance in producing the
witness whom I require. Thank you very much. I believe you have
some matches in your pocket Watson. Now, Mr. Lestrade, I will ask
you all to accompany me to the top landing.”
As I have said, there was a broad corridor there, which ran
outside three empty bedrooms. At one end of the corridor we were
all marshalled by Sherlock Holmes, the constables grinning and
Lestrade staring at my friend with amazement, expectation, and
derision chasing each other across his features. Holmes stood
before us with the air of a conjurer who is performing a trick.
“Would you kindly send one of your constables for two buckets of
water? Put the straw on the floor here, free from the wall on
either side. Now I think that we are all ready.”
Lestrade’s face had begun to grow red and angry. “I don’t know
whether you are playing a game with us, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,”
said he. “If you know anything, you can surely say it without all
this tomfoolery.”
“I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I have an excellent reason
for everything that I do. You may possibly remember that you
chaffed me a little, some hours ago, when the sun seemed on your
side of the hedge, so you must not grudge me a little pomp and
ceremony now. Might I ask you, Watson, to open that window, and
then to put a match to the edge of the straw?”
I did so, and driven by the draught a coil of grey smoke swirled
down the corridor, while the dry straw crackled and flamed.
“Now we must see if we can find this witness for you, Lestrade.
Might I ask you all to join in the cry of ‘Fire!’? Now then; one,
two, three——”
“Fire!” we all yelled.
“Thank you. I will trouble you once again.”
“Fire!”
“Just once more, gentlemen, and all together.”
“Fire!” The shout must have rung over Norwood.
It had hardly died away when an amazing thing happened. A door
suddenly flew open out of what appeared to be solid wall at the
end of the corridor, and a little, wizened man darted out of it,
like a rabbit out of its burrow.
“Capital!” said Holmes, calmly. “Watson, a bucket of water over
the straw. That will do! Lestrade, allow me to present you with
your principal missing witness, Mr. Jonas Oldacre.”
The detective stared at the newcomer with blank amazement. The
latter was blinking in the bright light of the corridor, and
peering at us and at the smouldering fire. It was an odious
face—crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty, light-grey eyes and
white lashes.
“What’s this, then?” said Lestrade, at last. “What have you been
doing all this time, eh?”
Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back from the furious red
face of the angry detective.
“I have done no harm.”
“No harm? You have done your best to get an innocent man hanged.
If it wasn’t for this gentleman here, I am not sure that you
would not have succeeded.”
The wretched creature began to whimper.
“I am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke.”
“Oh! a joke, was it? You won’t find the laugh on your side, I
promise you. Take him down, and keep him in the sitting-room
until I come. Mr. Holmes,” he continued, when they had gone, “I
could not speak before the constables, but I don’t mind saying,
in the presence of Dr. Watson, that this is the brightest thing
that you have done yet, though it is a mystery to me how you did
it. You have saved an innocent man’s life, and you have prevented
a very grave scandal, which would have ruined my reputation in
the Force.”
Holmes smiled, and clapped Lestrade upon the shoulder.
“Instead of being ruined, my good sir, you will find that your
reputation has been enormously enhanced. Just make a few
alterations in that report which you were writing, and they will
understand how hard it is to throw dust in the eyes of Inspector
Lestrade.”
“And you don’t want your name to appear?”
“Not at all. The work is its own reward. Perhaps I shall get the
credit also at some distant day, when I permit my zealous
historian to lay out his foolscap once more—eh, Watson? Well,
now, let us see where this rat has been lurking.”
A lath-and-plaster partition had been run across the passage six
feet from the end, with a door cunningly concealed in it. It was
lit within by slits under the eaves. A few articles of furniture
and a supply of food and water were within, together with a
number of books and papers.
“There’s the advantage of being a builder,” said Holmes, as we
came out. “He was able to fix up his own little hiding-place
without any confederate—save, of course, that precious
housekeeper of his, whom I should lose no time in adding to your
bag, Lestrade.”
“I’ll take your advice. But how did you know of this place, Mr.
Holmes?”
“I made up my mind that the fellow was in hiding in the house.
When I paced one corridor and found it six feet shorter than the
corresponding one below, it was pretty clear where he was. I
thought he had not the nerve to lie quiet before an alarm of
fire. We could, of course, have gone in and taken him, but it
amused me to make him reveal himself. Besides, I owed you a
little mystification, Lestrade, for your chaff in the morning.”
“Well, sir, you certainly got equal with me on that. But how in
the world did you know that he was in the house at all?”
“The thumb-mark, Lestrade. You said it was final; and so it was,
in a very different sense. I knew it had not been there the day
before. I pay a good deal of attention to matters of detail, as
you may have observed, and I had examined the hall, and was sure
that the wall was clear. Therefore, it had been put on during the
night.”
“But how?”
“Very simply. When those packets were sealed up, Jonas Oldacre
got McFarlane to secure one of the seals by putting his thumb
upon the soft wax. It would be done so quickly and so naturally,
that I daresay the young man himself has no recollection of it.
Very likely it just so happened, and Oldacre had himself no
notion of the use he would put it to. Brooding over the case in
that den of his, it suddenly struck him what absolutely damning
evidence he could make against McFarlane by using that
thumb-mark. It was the simplest thing in the world for him to
take a wax impression from the seal, to moisten it in as much
blood as he could get from a pin-prick, and to put the mark upon
the wall during the night, either with his own hand or with that
of his housekeeper. If you examine among those documents which he
took with him into his retreat, I will lay you a wager that you
find the seal with the thumb-mark upon it.”
“Wonderful!” said Lestrade. “Wonderful! It’s all as clear as
crystal, as you put it. But what is the object of this deep
deception, Mr. Holmes?”
It was amusing to me to see how the detective’s overbearing
manner had changed suddenly to that of a child asking questions
of its teacher.
“Well, I don’t think that is very hard to explain. A very deep,
malicious, vindictive person is the gentleman who is now waiting
us downstairs. You know that he was once refused by McFarlane’s
mother? You don’t! I told you that you should go to Blackheath
first and Norwood afterwards. Well, this injury, as he would
consider it, has rankled in his wicked, scheming brain, and all
his life he has longed for vengeance, but never seen his chance.
During the last year or two, things have gone against him—secret
speculation, I think—and he finds himself in a bad way. He
determines to swindle his creditors, and for this purpose he pays
large checks to a certain Mr. Cornelius, who is, I imagine,