The Sign of the Four
with, although I had got it out with the design of sending it to her.
You, my sons, will give her a fair share of the Agra treasure. But send
her nothing—not even the chaplet—until I am gone. After all, men have
been as bad as this and have recovered.
“‘I will tell you how Morstan died,’ he continued. ‘He had suffered for
years from a weak heart, but he concealed it from every one. I alone
knew it. When in India, he and I, through a remarkable chain of
circumstances, came into possession of a considerable treasure. I
brought it over to England, and on the night of Morstan’s arrival he
came straight over here to claim his share. He walked over from the
station, and was admitted by my faithful old Lal Chowdar, who is now
dead. Morstan and I had a difference of opinion as to the division of
the treasure, and we came to heated words. Morstan had sprung out of
his chair in a paroxysm of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand to
his side, his face turned a dusky hue, and he fell backwards, cutting
his head against the corner of the treasure-chest. When I stooped over
him I found, to my horror, that he was dead.
“‘For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what I should do. My
first impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but I could not
but recognise that there was every chance that I would be accused of
his murder. His death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in his
head, would be black against me. Again, an official inquiry could not
be made without bringing out some facts about the treasure, which I was
particularly anxious to keep secret. He had told me that no soul upon
earth knew where he had gone. There seemed to be no necessity why any
soul ever should know.
“‘I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking up, I saw my
servant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He stole in and bolted the door
behind him. “Do not fear, Sahib,” he said. “No one need know that you
have killed him. Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?” “I did
not kill him,” said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head and smiled. “I heard
it all, Sahib,” said he. “I heard you quarrel, and I heard the blow.
But my lips are sealed. All are asleep in the house. Let us put him
away together.” That was enough to decide me. If my own servant could
not believe my innocence, how could I hope to make it good before
twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and I disposed of
the body that night, and within a few days the London papers were full
of the mysterious disappearance of Captain Morstan. You will see from
what I say that I can hardly be blamed in the matter. My fault lies in
the fact that we concealed not only the body, but also the treasure,
and that I have clung to Morstan’s share as well as to my own. I wish
you, therefore, to make restitution. Put your ears down to my mouth.
The treasure is hidden in—’
“At this instant a horrible change came over his expression; his eyes
stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled, in a voice which I can
never forget, ‘Keep him out! For Christ’s sake keep him out!’ We both
stared round at the window behind us upon which his gaze was fixed. A
face was looking in at us out of the darkness. We could see the
whitening of the nose where it was pressed against the glass. It was a
bearded, hairy face, with wild cruel eyes and an expression of
concentrated malevolence. My brother and I rushed towards the window,
but the man was gone. When we returned to my father his head had
dropped and his pulse had ceased to beat.
“We searched the garden that night, but found no sign of the intruder,
save that just under the window a single footmark was visible in the
flower-bed. But for that one trace, we might have thought that our
imaginations had conjured up that wild, fierce face. We soon, however,
had another and a more striking proof that there were secret agencies
at work all round us. The window of my father’s room was found open in
the morning, his cupboards and boxes had been rifled, and upon his
chest was fixed a torn piece of paper, with the words ‘The sign of the
four’ scrawled across it. What the phrase meant, or who our secret
visitor may have been, we never knew. As far as we can judge, none of
my father’s property had been actually stolen, though everything had
been turned out. My brother and I naturally associated this peculiar
incident with the fear which haunted my father during his life; but it
is still a complete mystery to us.”
The little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffed thoughtfully
for a few moments. We had all sat absorbed, listening to his
extraordinary narrative. At the short account of her father’s death
Miss Morstan had turned deadly white, and for a moment I feared that
she was about to faint. She rallied however, on drinking a glass of
water which I quietly poured out for her from a Venetian carafe upon
the side-table. Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair with an
abstracted expression and the lids drawn low over his glittering eyes.
As I glanced at him I could not but think how on that very day he had
complained bitterly of the commonplaceness of life. Here at least was a
problem which would tax his sagacity to the utmost. Mr. Thaddeus Sholto
looked from one to the other of us with an obvious pride at the effect
which his story had produced, and then continued between the puffs of
his overgrown pipe.
“My brother and I,” said he, “were, as you may imagine, much excited as
to the treasure which my father had spoken of. For weeks and for months
we dug and delved in every part of the garden, without discovering its
whereabouts. It was maddening to think that the hiding-place was on his
very lips at the moment that he died. We could judge the splendour of
the missing riches by the chaplet which he had taken out. Over this
chaplet my brother Bartholomew and I had some little discussion. The
pearls were evidently of great value, and he was averse to part with
them, for, between friends, my brother was himself a little inclined to
my father’s fault. He thought, too, that if we parted with the chaplet
it might give rise to gossip and finally bring us into trouble. It was
all that I could do to persuade him to let me find out Miss Morstan’s
address and send her a detached pearl at fixed intervals, so that at
least she might never feel destitute.”
“It was a kindly thought,” said our companion, earnestly. “It was
extremely good of you.”
The little man waved his hand deprecatingly. “We were your trustees,”
he said. “That was the view which I took of it, though Brother
Bartholomew could not altogether see it in that light. We had plenty of
money ourselves. I desired no more. Besides, it would have been such
bad taste to have treated a young lady in so scurvy a fashion. ‘Le
mauvais goût mène au crime.’ The French have a very neat way of putting
these things. Our difference of opinion on this subject went so far
that I thought it best to set up rooms for myself: so I left
Pondicherry Lodge, taking the old khitmutgar and Williams with me.
Yesterday, however, I learn that an event of extreme importance has
occurred. The treasure has been discovered. I instantly communicated
with Miss Morstan, and it only remains for us to drive out to Norwood
and demand our share. I explained my views last night to Brother
Bartholomew: so we shall be expected, if not welcome, visitors.”
Mr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased, and sat twitching on his luxurious settee.
We all remained silent, with our thoughts upon the new development
which the mysterious business had taken. Holmes was the first to spring
to his feet.
“You have done well, sir, from first to last,” said he. “It is possible
that we may be able to make you some small return by throwing some
light upon that which is still dark to you. But, as Miss Morstan
remarked just now, it is late, and we had best put the matter through
without delay.”
Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube of his
hookah, and produced from behind a curtain a very long befrogged
topcoat with Astrakhan collar and cuffs. This he buttoned tightly up,
in spite of the extreme closeness of the night, and finished his attire
by putting on a rabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which covered the
ears, so that no part of him was visible save his mobile and peaky
face. “My health is somewhat fragile,” he remarked, as he led the way
down the passage. “I am compelled to be a valetudinarian.”
Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme was evidently
prearranged, for the driver started off at once at a rapid pace.
Thaddeus Sholto talked incessantly, in a voice which rose high above
the rattle of the wheels.
“Bartholomew is a clever fellow,” said he. “How do you think he found
out where the treasure was? He had come to the conclusion that it was
somewhere indoors: so he worked out all the cubic space of the house,
and made measurements everywhere, so that not one inch should be
unaccounted for. Among other things, he found that the height of the
building was seventy-four feet, but on adding together the heights of
all the separate rooms, and making every allowance for the space
between, which he ascertained by borings, he could not bring the total
to more than seventy feet. There were four feet unaccounted for. These
could only be at the top of the building. He knocked a hole, therefore,
in the lath-and-plaster ceiling of the highest room, and there, sure
enough, he came upon another little garret above it, which had been
sealed up and was known to no one. In the centre stood the
treasure-chest, resting upon two rafters. He lowered it through the
hole, and there it lies. He computes the value of the jewels at not
less than half a million sterling.”
At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one another
open-eyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure her rights, would change from
a needy governess to the richest heiress in England. Surely it was the
place of a loyal friend to rejoice at such news; yet I am ashamed to
say that selfishness took me by the soul, and that my heart turned as
heavy as lead within me. I stammered out some few halting words of
congratulation, and then sat downcast, with my head drooped, deaf to
the babble of our new acquaintance. He was clearly a confirmed
hypochondriac, and I was dreamily conscious that he was pouring forth
interminable trains of symptoms, and imploring information as to the
composition and action of innumerable quack nostrums, some of which he
bore about in a leather case in his pocket. I trust that he may not
remember any of the answers which I gave him that night. Holmes
declares that he overheard me caution him against the great danger of
taking more than two drops of castor oil, while I recommended
strychnine in large doses as a sedative. However that may be, I was
certainly relieved when our cab pulled up with a jerk and the coachman
sprang down to open the door.
“This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge,” said Mr. Thaddeus Sholto,
as he handed her out.
Chapter V
The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge
It was nearly eleven o’clock when we reached this final stage of our
night’s adventures. We had left the damp fog of the great city behind
us, and the night was fairly fine. A warm wind blew from the westward,
and heavy clouds moved slowly across the sky, with half a moon peeping
occasionally through the rifts. It was clear enough to see for some
distance, but Thaddeus Sholto took down one of the side-lamps from the
carriage to give us a better light upon our way.
Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds, and was girt round with a
very high stone wall topped with broken glass. A single narrow
iron-clamped door formed the only means of entrance. On this our guide
knocked with a peculiar postman-like rat-tat.