The Sign of the Four
“I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and I have heard
good reports of the—Let me see, what is her name?”
“The _Aurora_, sir.”
“Ah! She’s not that old green launch with a yellow line, very broad in
the beam?”
“No, indeed. She’s as trim a little thing as any on the river. She’s
been fresh painted, black with two red streaks.”
“Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith. I am going down
the river; and if I should see anything of the _Aurora_ I shall let him
know that you are uneasy. A black funnel, you say?”
“No, sir. Black with a white band.”
“Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good-morning, Mrs.
Smith.—There is a boatman here with a wherry, Watson. We shall take it
and cross the river.
“The main thing with people of that sort,” said Holmes, as we sat in
the sheets of the wherry, “is never to let them think that their
information can be of the slightest importance to you. If you do, they
will instantly shut up like an oyster. If you listen to them under
protest, as it were, you are very likely to get what you want.”
“Our course now seems pretty clear,” said I.
“What would you do, then?”
“I would engage a launch and go down the river on the track of the
_Aurora_.”
“My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may have touched at
any wharf on either side of the stream between here and Greenwich.
Below the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth of landing-places for
miles. It would take you days and days to exhaust them, if you set
about it alone.”
“Employ the police, then.”
“No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last moment. He is
not a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything which would
injure him professionally. But I have a fancy for working it out
myself, now that we have gone so far.”
“Could we advertise, then, asking for information from wharfingers?”
“Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase was hot at their
heels, and they would be off out of the country. As it is, they are
likely enough to leave, but as long as they think they are perfectly
safe they will be in no hurry. Jones’s energy will be of use to us
there, for his view of the case is sure to push itself into the daily
press, and the runaways will think that every one is off on the wrong
scent.”
“What are we to do, then?” I asked, as we landed near Millbank
Penitentiary.
“Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get an hour’s
sleep. It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot to-night again.
Stop at a telegraph-office, cabby! We will keep Toby, for he may be of
use to us yet.”
We pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office, and Holmes
despatched his wire. “Whom do you think that is to?” he asked, as we
resumed our journey.
“I am sure I don’t know.”
“You remember the Baker Street division of the detective police force
whom I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?”
“Well,” said I, laughing.
“This is just the case where they might be invaluable. If they fail, I
have other resources; but I shall try them first. That wire was to my
dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and his gang
will be with us before we have finished our breakfast.”
It was between eight and nine o’clock now, and I was conscious of a
strong reaction after the successive excitements of the night. I was
limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I had not the
professional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I look
at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. As far as the
death of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard little good of him, and
could feel no intense antipathy to his murderers. The treasure,
however, was a different matter. That, or part of it, belonged
rightfully to Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it I
was ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I found it it
would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it would be a petty
and selfish love which would be influenced by such a thought as that.
If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I had a tenfold stronger
reason to urge me on to find the treasure.
A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me up
wonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfast laid
and Holmes pouring out the coffee.
“Here it is,” said he, laughing, and pointing to an open newspaper.
“The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous reporter have fixed it up
between them. But you have had enough of the case. Better have your ham
and eggs first.”
I took the paper from him and read the short notice, which was headed
“Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood.”
“About twelve o’clock last night,” said the _Standard_, “Mr.
Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, was found dead
in his room under circumstances which point to foul play. As far as we
can learn, no actual traces of violence were found upon Mr. Sholto’s
person, but a valuable collection of Indian gems which the deceased
gentleman had inherited from his father has been carried off. The
discovery was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, who had
called at the house with Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother of the deceased.
By a singular piece of good fortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the well-known
member of the detective police force, happened to be at the Norwood
Police Station, and was on the ground within half an hour of the first
alarm. His trained and experienced faculties were at once directed
towards the detection of the criminals, with the gratifying result that
the brother, Thaddeus Sholto, has already been arrested, together with
the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal Rao, and a
porter, or gatekeeper, named McMurdo. It is quite certain that the
thief or thieves were well acquainted with the house, for Mr. Jones’s
well-known technical knowledge and his powers of minute observation
have enabled him to prove conclusively that the miscreants could not
have entered by the door or by the window, but must have made their way
across the roof of the building, and so through a trap-door into a room
which communicated with that in which the body was found. This fact,
which has been very clearly made out, proves conclusively that it was
no mere haphazard burglary. The prompt and energetic action of the
officers of the law shows the great advantage of the presence on such
occasions of a single vigorous and masterful mind. We cannot but think
that it supplies an argument to those who would wish to see our
detectives more decentralised, and so brought into closer and more
effective touch with the cases which it is their duty to investigate.”
“Isn’t it gorgeous!” said Holmes, grinning over his coffee-cup. “What
do you think of it?”
“I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being arrested for
the crime.”
“So do I. I wouldn’t answer for our safety now, if he should happen to
have another of his attacks of energy.”
At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could hear Mrs.
Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of expostulation and
dismay.
“By heaven, Holmes,” I said, half rising, “I believe that they are
really after us.”
“No, it’s not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial force,—the
Baker Street irregulars.”
As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon the
stairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and
ragged little street-Arabs. There was some show of discipline among
them, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew up in
line and stood facing us with expectant faces. One of their number,
taller and older than the others, stood forward with an air of lounging
superiority which was very funny in such a disreputable little
scarecrow.
“Got your message, sir,” said he, “and brought ’em on sharp. Three bob
and a tanner for tickets.”
“Here you are,” said Holmes, producing some silver. “In future they can
report to you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the house invaded
in this way. However, it is just as well that you should all hear the
instructions. I want to find the whereabouts of a steam launch called
the _Aurora_, owner Mordecai Smith, black with two red streaks, funnel
black with a white band. She is down the river somewhere. I want one
boy to be at Mordecai Smith’s landing-stage opposite Millbank to say if
the boat comes back. You must divide it out among yourselves, and do
both banks thoroughly. Let me know the moment you have news. Is that
all clear?”
“Yes, guv’nor,” said Wiggins.
“The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds the boat.
Here’s a day in advance. Now off you go!” He handed them a shilling
each, and away they buzzed down the stairs, and I saw them a moment
later streaming down the street.
“If the launch is above water they will find her,” said Holmes, as he
rose from the table and lit his pipe. “They can go everywhere, see
everything, overhear every one. I expect to hear before evening that
they have spotted her. In the meanwhile, we can do nothing but await
results. We cannot pick up the broken trail until we find either the
_Aurora_ or Mr. Mordecai Smith.”
“Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going to bed,
Holmes?”
“No; I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I never remember
feeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts me completely. I am
going to smoke and to think over this queer business to which my fair
client has introduced us. If ever man had an easy task, this of ours
ought to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the other man
must, I should think, be absolutely unique.”
“That other man again!”
“I have no wish to make a mystery of him,—to you, anyway. But you must
have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the data. Diminutive
footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked feet, stone-headed
wooden mace, great agility, small poisoned darts. What do you make of
all this?”
“A savage!” I exclaimed. “Perhaps one of those Indians who were the
associates of Jonathan Small.”
“Hardly that,” said he. “When first I saw signs of strange weapons I
was inclined to think so; but the remarkable character of the footmarks
caused me to reconsider my views. Some of the inhabitants of the Indian
Peninsula are small men, but none could have left such marks as that.
The Hindoo proper has long and thin feet. The sandal-wearing Mohammedan
has the great toe well separated from the others, because the thong is
commonly passed between. These little darts, too, could only be shot in
one way. They are from a blow-pipe. Now, then, where are we to find our
savage?”
“South American,” I hazarded.
He stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky volume from the shelf.
“This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now being published.
It may be looked upon as the very latest authority. What have we here?
‘Andaman Islands, situated 340 miles to the north of Sumatra, in the
Bay of Bengal.’ Hum! hum! What’s all this? Moist climate, coral reefs,
sharks, Port Blair, convict-barracks, Rutland Island, cottonwoods—Ah,
here we are. ‘The aborigines of the Andaman Islands may perhaps claim
the distinction of being the smallest race upon this earth, though some
anthropologists prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the Digger Indians of
America, and the Terra del Fuegians. The average height is rather below
four feet, although many full-grown adults may be found who are very
much smaller than this. They are a fierce, morose, and intractable
people, though capable of forming most devoted friendships when their
confidence has once been gained.’ Mark that, Watson. Now, then, listen
to this. ‘They are naturally hideous, having large, misshapen heads,
small, fierce eyes, and distorted features. Their feet and hands,