The Sign of the Four
ready to his hand. Yet, on the other hand, I had myself seen the
evidence, and I had heard the reasons for his deductions. When I looked
back on the long chain of curious circumstances, many of them trivial
in themselves, but all tending in the same direction, I could not
disguise from myself that even if Holmes’s explanation were incorrect
the true theory must be equally _outré_ and startling.
At three o’clock in the afternoon there was a loud peal at the bell, an
authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no less a person
than Mr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Very different was he,
however, from the brusque and masterful professor of common sense who
had taken over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood. His expression
was downcast, and his bearing meek and even apologetic.
“Good-day, sir; good-day,” said he. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes is out, I
understand.”
“Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But perhaps you would
care to wait. Take that chair and try one of these cigars.”
“Thank you; I don’t mind if I do,” said he, mopping his face with a red
bandanna handkerchief.
“And a whiskey-and-soda?”
“Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year; and I have
had a good deal to worry and try me. You know my theory about this
Norwood case?”
“I remember that you expressed one.”
“Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my net drawn tightly
round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole in the middle of
it. He was able to prove an alibi which could not be shaken. From the
time that he left his brother’s room he was never out of sight of some
one or other. So it could not be he who climbed over roofs and through
trap-doors. It’s a very dark case, and my professional credit is at
stake. I should be very glad of a little assistance.”
“We all need help sometimes,” said I.
“Your friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes is a wonderful man, sir,” said he, in
a husky and confidential voice. “He’s a man who is not to be beat. I
have known that young man go into a good many cases, but I never saw
the case yet that he could not throw a light upon. He is irregular in
his methods, and a little quick perhaps in jumping at theories, but, on
the whole, I think he would have made a most promising officer, and I
don’t care who knows it. I have had a wire from him this morning, by
which I understand that he has got some clue to this Sholto business.
Here is the message.”
He took the telegram out of his pocket, and handed it to me. It was
dated from Poplar at twelve o’clock. “Go to Baker Street at once,” it
said. “If I have not returned, wait for me. I am close on the track of
the Sholto gang. You can come with us to-night if you want to be in at
the finish.”
“This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent again,” said I.
“Ah, then he has been at fault too,” exclaimed Jones, with evident
satisfaction. “Even the best of us are thrown off sometimes. Of course
this may prove to be a false alarm; but it is my duty as an officer of
the law to allow no chance to slip. But there is some one at the door.
Perhaps this is he.”
A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great wheezing and
rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for breath. Once or
twice he stopped, as though the climb were too much for him, but at
last he made his way to our door and entered. His appearance
corresponded to the sounds which we had heard. He was an aged man, clad
in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his throat.
His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and his breathing was
painfully asthmatic. As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his
shoulders heaved in the effort to draw the air into his lungs. He had a
coloured scarf round his chin, and I could see little of his face save
a pair of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows, and long grey
side-whiskers. Altogether he gave me the impression of a respectable
master mariner who had fallen into years and poverty.
“What is it, my man?” I asked.
He looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age.
“Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?” said he.
“No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any message you have for
him.”
“It was to him himself I was to tell it,” said he.
“But I tell you that I am acting for him. Was it about Mordecai Smith’s
boat?”
“Yes. I knows well where it is. An’ I knows where the men he is after
are. An’ I knows where the treasure is. I knows all about it.”
“Then tell me, and I shall let him know.”
“It was to him I was to tell it,” he repeated, with the petulant
obstinacy of a very old man.
“Well, you must wait for him.”
“No, no; I ain’t goin’ to lose a whole day to please no one. If Mr.
Holmes ain’t here, then Mr. Holmes must find it all out for himself. I
don’t care about the look of either of you, and I won’t tell a word.”
He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front of him.
“Wait a bit, my friend,” said he. “You have important information, and
you must not walk off. We shall keep you, whether you like or not,
until our friend returns.”
The old man made a little run towards the door, but, as Athelney Jones
put his broad back up against it, he recognised the uselessness of
resistance.
“Pretty sort o’ treatment this!” he cried, stamping his stick. “I come
here to see a gentleman, and you two, who I never saw in my life, seize
me and treat me in this fashion!”
“You will be none the worse,” I said. “We shall recompense you for the
loss of your time. Sit over here on the sofa, and you will not have
long to wait.”
He came across sullenly enough, and seated himself with his face
resting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our cigars and our talk.
Suddenly, however, Holmes’s voice broke in upon us.
“I think that you might offer me a cigar too,” he said.
We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting close to us
with an air of quiet amusement.
“Holmes!” I exclaimed. “You here! But where is the old man?”
“Here is the old man,” said he, holding out a heap of white hair. “Here
he is,—wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought my disguise was
pretty good, but I hardly expected that it would stand that test.”
“Ah, You rogue!” cried Jones, highly delighted. “You would have made an
actor, and a rare one. You had the proper workhouse cough, and those
weak legs of yours are worth ten pounds a week. I thought I knew the
glint of your eye, though. You didn’t get away from us so easily, You
see.”
“I have been working in that get-up all day,” said he, lighting his
cigar. “You see, a good many of the criminal classes begin to know
me,—especially since our friend here took to publishing some of my
cases: so I can only go on the war-path under some simple disguise like
this. You got my wire?”
“Yes; that was what brought me here.”
“How has your case prospered?”
“It has all come to nothing. I have had to release two of my prisoners,
and there is no evidence against the other two.”
“Never mind. We shall give you two others in the place of them. But you
must put yourself under my orders. You are welcome to all the official
credit, but you must act on the line that I point out. Is that agreed?”
“Entirely, if you will help me to the men.”
“Well, then, in the first place I shall want a fast police-boat—a steam
launch—to be at the Westminster Stairs at seven o’clock.”
“That is easily managed. There is always one about there; but I can
step across the road and telephone to make sure.”
“Then I shall want two stanch men, in case of resistance.”
“There will be two or three in the boat. What else?”
“When we secure the men we shall get the treasure. I think that it
would be a pleasure to my friend here to take the box round to the
young lady to whom half of it rightfully belongs. Let her be the first
to open it.—Eh, Watson?”
“It would be a great pleasure to me.”
“Rather an irregular proceeding,” said Jones, shaking his head.
“However, the whole thing is irregular, and I suppose we must wink at
it. The treasure must afterwards be handed over to the authorities
until after the official investigation.”
“Certainly. That is easily managed. One other point. I should much like
to have a few details about this matter from the lips of Jonathan Small
himself. You know I like to work the detail of my cases out. There is
no objection to my having an unofficial interview with him, either here
in my rooms or elsewhere, as long as he is efficiently guarded?”
“Well, you are master of the situation. I have had no proof yet of the
existence of this Jonathan Small. However, if you can catch him I don’t
see how I can refuse you an interview with him.”
“That is understood, then?”
“Perfectly. Is there anything else?”
“Only that I insist upon your dining with us. It will be ready in half
an hour. I have oysters and a brace of grouse, with something a little
choice in white wines.—Watson, you have never yet recognised my merits
as a housekeeper.”
Chapter X
The End of the Islander
Our meal was a merry one. Holmes could talk exceedingly well when he
chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of
nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on a
quick succession of subjects,—on miracle-plays, on mediæval pottery, on
Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the war-ships
of the future,—handling each as though he had made a special study of
it. His bright humour marked the reaction from his black depression of
the preceding days. Athelney Jones proved to be a sociable soul in his
hours of relaxation, and faced his dinner with the air of a _bon
vivant_. For myself, I felt elated at the thought that we were nearing
the end of our task, and I caught something of Holmes’s gaiety. None of
us alluded during dinner to the cause which had brought us together.
When the cloth was cleared, Holmes glanced at his watch, and filled up
three glasses with port. “One bumper,” said he, “to the success of our
little expedition. And now it is high time we were off. Have you a
pistol, Watson?”
“I have my old service-revolver in my desk.”
“You had best take it, then. It is well to be prepared. I see that the
cab is at the door. I ordered it for half-past six.”
It was a little past seven before we reached the Westminster wharf, and
found our launch awaiting us. Holmes eyed it critically.
“Is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?”
“Yes,—that green lamp at the side.”
“Then take it off.”
The small change was made, we stepped on board, and the ropes were cast
off. Jones, Holmes, and I sat in the stern. There was one man at the
rudder, one to tend the engines, and two burly police-inspectors
forward.
“Where to?” asked Jones.
“To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite Jacobson’s Yard.”
Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past the long lines of
loaded barges as though they were stationary. Holmes smiled with
satisfaction as we overhauled a river steamer and left her behind us.
“We ought to be able to catch anything on the river,” he said.
“Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches to beat us.”
“We shall have to catch the _Aurora_, and she has a name for being a
clipper. I will tell you how the land lies, Watson. You recollect how
annoyed I was at being balked by so small a thing?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging into a chemical
analysis. One of our greatest statesmen has said that a change of work
is the best rest. So it is. When I had succeeded in dissolving the
hydrocarbon which I was at work at, I came back to our problem of the
Sholtos, and thought the whole matter out again. My boys had been up
the river and down the river without result. The launch was not at any