Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Return of Sherlock Holmes THE NORWOOD BUILDER

"FROM the point of view of the criminal expert," said Mr. SherlockHolmes, "London has become a singularly uninteresting city since thedeath of the late lamented Professor Moriarty.""I can hardly think that you would find many decent citizens to agreewith you," I answered."Well, well, I must not be selfish," said he, with a smile, as he pushedback his chair from the breakfast-table. "The community is certainly thegainer, and no one the loser, save the poor out-of-work specialist, whoseoccupation has gone. With that man in the field, one's morning paperpresented infinite possibilities. Often it was only the smallest trace,Watson, the faintest indication, and yet it was enough to tell me that thegreat malignant brain was there, as the gentlest tremors of the edges of theweb remind one of the foul spider which lurks in the centre. Petty thefts,wanton assaults, purposeless outrage-to the man who held the clue allcould be worked into one connected whole. To the scientific student ofthe higher criminal world, no capital in Europe offered the advantageswhich London then possessed. But now- -" He shrugged his shoulders inhumorous deprecation of the state of things which he had himself done somuch to produce.At the time of which I speak, Holmes had been back for some months,and I at his request had sold my practice and returned to share the oldquarters in Baker Street. A young doctor, named Verner, had purchased my small Kensington practice, and given with astonishingly little demurthe highest price that I ventured to ask-an incident which only explaineditself some years later, when I found that Verner was a distant relation ofHolmes, and that it was my friend who had really found the money.Our months of partnership had not been so uneventful as he had stated,for I find, on looking over my notes, that this period includes the case ofthe papers of ex-President Murillo, and also the shocking affair of theDutch steamship Friesland, which so nearly cost us both our lives. Hiscold and proud nature was always averse, however, from anything in theshape of public applause, and he bound me in the most stringent terms tosay no further word of himself, his methods, or his successes-aprohibition which, as I have explained, has only now been removed.Mr. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his chair after his whimsicalprotest, and was unfolding his morning paper in a leisurely fashion, whenour attention was arrested by a tremendous ring at the bell, followedimmediately by a hollow drumming sound, as if someone were beating onthe outer door with his fist. As it opened there came a tumultuous rushinto the hall, rapid feet clattered up the stair, and an instant later a wildeyed and frantic young man, pale, dishevelled, and palpitating, burst intothe room. He looked from one to the other of us, and under [497] our gazeof inquiry he became conscious that some apology was needed for thisunceremonious entry."I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes," he cried. "You mustn't blame me. I amnearly mad. Mr. Holmes, I am the unhappy John Hector McFarlane."He made the announcement as if the name alone would explain both hisvisit and its manner, but I could see, by my companion's unresponsiveface, that it meant no more to him than to me."Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane," said he, pushing his case across. "I am sure that, with your symptoms, my friend Dr. Watson here wouldprescribe a sedative. The weather has been so very warm these last fewdays. Now, if you feel a little more composed, I should be glad if youwould sit down in that chair, and tell us very slowly and quietly who youare, and what it is that you want. You mentioned your name, as if I shouldrecognize it, but I assure you that, beyond the obvious facts that you are abachelor, a solicitor, a Freemason, and an asthmatic, I know nothingwhatever about you."Familiar as I was with my friend's methods, it was not difficult for meto follow his deductions, and to observe the untidiness of attire, the sheafof legal papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing which had promptedthem. Our client, however, stared in amazement."Yes, I am all that, Mr. Holmes; and, in addition, I am the mostunfortunate man at this moment in London. For heaven's sake, don'tabandon me, Mr. Holmes! If they come to arrest me before I havefinished my story, make them give me time, so that I may tell you thewhole truth. I could go to jail happy if I knew that you were working forme outside.""Arrest you!" said Holmes. "This is really most grati-most interesting.On what charge do you expect to be arrested?""Upon the charge of murdering Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of LowerNorwood."My companion's expressive face showed a sympathy which was not, Iam afraid, entirely unmixed with satisfaction."Dear me," said he, "it was only this moment at breakfast that I wassaying to my friend, Dr. Watson, that sensational cases had disappearedout of our papers."Our visitor stretched forward a quivering hand and picked up the DailyTelegraph, which still lay upon Holmes's knee."If you had looked at it, sir, you would have seen at a glance what theerrand is on which I have come to you this morning. I feel as if my nameand my misfortune must be in every man's mouth." He turned it over toexpose the central page. "Here it is, and with your permission I will readit to you. Listen to this, Mr. Holmes. The headlines are: 'MysteriousAffair at Lower Norwood. Disappearance of a Well Known Builder.Suspicion of Murder and Arson. A Clue to the Criminal.' That is the cluewhich they are already following, Mr. Holmes, and I know that it leadsinfallibly to me. I have been followed from London Bridge Station, and Iam sure that they are only waiting for the warrant to arrest me. It willbreak my mother's heart-it will break her heart!" He wrung his hands inan agony of apprehension, and swayed backward and forward in his chair.I looked with interest upon this man, who was accused of being theperpetrator of a crime of violence. He was flaxen-haired and handsome, ina washed-out negative fashion, with frightened blue eyes, and a cleanshaven face, with a weak, sensitive mouth. His age may have been abouttwenty-seven, his dress and bearing that of [498] a gentleman. From thepocket of his light summer overcoat protruded the bundle of indorsedpapers which proclaimed his profession."We must use what time we have," said Holmes. "Watson, would you have the kindness to take the paper and to read the paragraph in question?"Underneath the vigorous headlines which our client had quoted, I readthe following suggestive narrative:"Late last night, or early this morning, an incident occurred atLower Norwood which points, it is feared, to a serious crime. Mr.Jonas Oldacre is a well known resident of that suburb, where hehas carried on his business as a builder for many years. Mr.Oldacre is a bachelor, fifty-two years of age, and lives in DeepDene House, at the Sydenham end of the road of that name. He hashad the reputation of being a man of eccentric habits, secretive andretiring. For some years he has practically withdrawn from thebusiness, in which he is said to have massed considerable wealth.A small timber-yard still exists, however, at the back of the house,and last night, about twelve o'clock, an alarm was given that oneof the stacks was on fire. The engines were soon upon the spot, butthe dry wood burned with great fury, and it was impossible toarrest the conflagration until the stack had been entirely consumed.Up to this point the incident bore the appearance of an ordinaryaccident, but fresh indications seem to point to serious crime.Surprise was expressed at the absence of the master of theestablishment from the scene of the fire, and an inquiry followed,which showed that he had disappeared from the house. Anexamination of his room revealed that the bed had not been sleptin, that a safe which stood in it was open, that a number ofimportant papers were scattered about the room, and finally, thatthere were signs of a murderous struggle, slight traces of bloodbeing found within the room, and an oaken walking-stick, whichalso showed stains of blood upon the handle. It is known that Mr.Jonas Oldacre had received a late visitor in his bedroom upon thatnight, and the stick found has been identified as the property ofthis person, who is a young London solicitor named John HectorMcFarlane, junior partner of Graham and McFarlane, of 426Gresham Buildings, E. C. The police believe that they haveevidence in their possession which supplies a very convincingmotive for the crime, and altogether it cannot be doubted thatsensational developments will follow."LATER.-It is rumoured as we go to press that Mr. John HectorMcFarlane has actually been arrested on the charge of the murderof Mr. Jonas Oldacre. It is at least certain that a warrant has beenissued. There have been further and sinister developments in theinvestigation at Norwood. Besides the signs of a struggle in theroom of the unfortunate builder it is now known that the Frenchwindows of his bedroom (which is on the ground floor) werefound to be open, that there were marks as if some bulky objecthad been dragged across to the wood-pile, and, finally, it isasserted that charred remains have been found among the charcoalashes of the fire. The police theory is that a most sensational crimehas been committed, that the victim was clubbed to death in his own bedroom, his papers rifled, and his dead body dragged acrossto the wood-stack, which was then ignited so as to hide all tracesof the crime. The conduct of the criminal investigation has beenleft in the experienced hands of Inspector Lestrade, of ScotlandYard, who is following up the clues with his accustomed energyand sagacity."[499] Sherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes and fingertips togetherto this remarkable account."The case has certainly some points of interest," said he, in his languidfashion. "May I ask, in the first place, Mr. McFarlane, how it is that youare still at liberty, since there appears to be enough evidence to justifyyour arrest?""I live at Torrington Lodge, Blackheath, with my parents, Mr. Holmes,but last night, having to do business very late with Mr. Jonas Oldacre, Istayed at an hotel in Norwood, and came to my business from there. Iknew nothing of this affair until I was in the train, when I read what youhave just heard. I at once saw the horrible danger of my position, and Ihurried to put the case into your hands. I have no doubt that I should havebeen arrested either at my city office or at my home. A man followed mefrom London Bridge Station, and I have no doubt- - Great heaven! whatis that?"It was a clang of the bell, followed instantly by heavy steps upon thestair. A moment later, our old friend Lestrade appeared in the doorway.Over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of one or two uniformed policemenoutside."Mr. John Hector McFarlane?" said Lestrade.Our unfortunate client rose with a ghastly face."I arrest you for the wilful murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of LowerNorwood."McFarlane turned to us with a gesture of despair, and sank into hischair once more like one who is crushed."One moment, Lestrade," said Holmes. "Half an hour more or less canmake no difference to you, and the gentleman was about to give us anaccount of this very interesting affair, which might aid us in clearing itup.""I think there will be no difficulty in clearing it up," said Lestrade,grimly."None the less, with your permission, I should be much interested tohear his account.""Well, Mr. Holmes, it is difficult for me to refuse you anything, for youhave been of use to the force once or twice in the past, and we owe you agood turn at Scotland Yard," said Lestrade. "At the same time I mustremain with my prisoner, and I am bound to warn him that anything hemay say will appear in evidence against him.""I wish nothing better," said our client. "All I ask is that you shouldhear and recognize the absolute truth."Lestrade looked at his watch. "I'll give you half an hour," said he. "I must explain first," said McFarlane, "that I knew nothing of Mr.Jonas Oldacre. His name was familiar to me, for many years ago myparents were acquainted with him, but they drifted apart. I was very muchsurprised, therefore, when yesterday, about three o'clock in the afternoon,he walked into my office in the city. But I was still more astonished whenhe told me the object of his visit. He had in his hand several sheets of anotebook, covered with scribbled writing-here they are-and he laid themon my table." 'Here is my will,' said he. 'I want you, Mr. McFarlane, to cast it intoproper legal shape. I will sit here while you do so.'"I set myself to copy it, and you can imagine my astonishment when Ifound that, with some reservations, he had left all his property to me. Hewas a strange little ferret-like man, with white eyelashes, and when Ilooked up at him I found his keen gray eyes fixed upon me with anamused expression. I could hardly believe my own senses as I read theterms of the will; but he explained that he was a [500] bachelor withhardly any living relation, that he had known my parents in his youth, andthat he had always heard of me as a very deserving young man, and wasassured that his money would be in worthy hands. Of course, I could onlystammer out my thanks. The will was duly finished, signed, andwitnessed by my clerk. This is it on the blue paper, and these slips, as Ihave explained, are the rough draft. Mr. Jonas Oldacre then informed methat there were a number of documents-building leases, title-deeds,mortgages, scrip, and so forth-which it was necessary that I should seeand understand. He said that his mind would not be easy until the wholething was settled, and he begged me to come out to his house at Norwoodthat night, bringing the will with me, and to arrange matters. 'Remember,my boy, not one word to your parents about the affair until everything issettled. We will keep it as a little surprise for them.' He was very insistentupon this point, and made me promise it faithfully."You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not in a humour to refusehim anything that he might ask. He was my benefactor, and all my desirewas to carry out his wishes in every particular. I sent a telegram home,therefore, to say that I had important business on hand, and that it wasimpossible for me to say how late I might be. Mr. Oldacre had told methat he would like me to have supper with him at nine, as he might not behome before that hour. I had some difficulty in finding his house,however, and it was nearly half-past before I reached it. I found him- -""One moment!" said Holmes. "Who opened the door?""A middle-aged woman, who was, I suppose, his housekeeper.""And it was she, I presume, who mentioned your name?""Exactly," said McFarlane."Pray proceed."McFarlane wiped his damp brow, and then continued his narrative:"I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room, where a frugal supperwas laid out. Afterwards, Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me into his bedroom, inwhich there stood a heavy safe. This he opened and took out a mass ofdocuments, which we went over together. It was between eleven andtwelve when we finished. He remarked that we must not disturb the housekeeper. He showed me out through his own French window, whichhad been open all this time.""Was the blind down?" asked Holmes."I will not be sure, but I believe that it was only half down. Yes, Iremember how he pulled it up in order to swing open the window. I couldnot find my stick, and he said, 'Never mind, my boy, I shall see a gooddeal of you now, I hope, and I will keep your stick until you come back toclaim it.' I left him there, the safe open, and the papers made up inpackets upon the table. It was so late that I could not get back toBlackheath, so I spent the night at the Anerley Arms, and I knew nothingmore until I read of this horrible affair in the morning.""Anything more that you would like to ask, Mr. Holmes?" saidLestrade, whose eyebrows had gone up once or twice during thisremarkable explanation."Not until I have been to Blackheath.""You mean to Norwood," said Lestrade."Oh, yes, no doubt that is what I must have meant," said Holmes, withhis enigmatical smile. Lestrade had learned by more experiences than hewould care to acknowledge that that razor-like brain could cut throughthat which was impenetrable to him. I saw him look curiously at mycompanion."I think I should like to have a word with you presently, Mr. SherlockHolmes," [501] said he. "Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of my constables areat the door, and there is a four-wheeler waiting." The wretched youngman arose, and with a last beseeching glance at us walked from the room.The officers conducted him to the cab, but Lestrade remained.Holmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft of the will, and was looking at them with the keenest interest upon his face."There are some points about that document, Lestrade, are there not?"said he, pushing them over.The official looked at them with a puzzled expression."I can read the first few lines, and these in the middle of the secondpage, and one or two at the end. Those are as clear as print," said he, "butthe writing in between is very bad, and there are three places where Icannot read it at all.""What do you make of that?" said Holmes."Well, what do you make of it?""That it was written in a train. The good writing represents stations, thebad writing movement, and the very bad writing passing over points. Ascientific expert would pronounce at once that this was drawn up on asuburban line, since nowhere save in the immediate vicinity of a great citycould there be so quick a succession of points. Granting that his wholejourney was occupied in drawing up the will, then the train was anexpress, only stopping once between Norwood and London Bridge."Lestrade began to laugh."You are too many for me when you begin to get on your theories, Mr.Holmes," said he. "How does this bear on the case?""Well, it corroborates the young man's story to the extent that the willwas drawn up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey yesterday. It is curious-is itnot?-that a man should draw up so important a document in so haphazarda fashion. It suggests that he did not think it was going to be of muchpractical importance. If a man drew up a will which he did not intend everto be effective, he might do it so.""Well, he drew up his own death warrant at the same time," saidLestrade."Oh, you think so?""Don't you?""Well, it is quite possible, but the case is not clear to me yet.""Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what could be clear? Here is ayoung man who learns suddenly that, if a certain older man dies, he willsucceed to a fortune. What does he do? He says nothing to anyone, but hearranges that he shall go out on some pretext to see his client that night.He waits until the only other person in the house is in bed, and then in thesolitude of a man's room he murders him, burns his body in the woodpile, and departs to a neighbouring hotel. The blood-stains in the roomand also on the stick are very slight. It is probable that he imagined hiscrime to be a bloodless one, and hoped that if the body were consumed itwould hide all traces of the method of his death-traces which, for somereason, must have pointed to him. Is not all this obvious?""It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as being just a trifle too obvious,"said Holmes. "You do not add imagination to your other great qualities,but if you could for one moment put yourself in the place of this youngman, would you choose the very night after the will had been made tocommit your crime? Would it not seem dangerous to you to make so veryclose a relation between the two incidents? Again, would you choose anoccasion when you are known to be in the house, when a servant has let you in? And, finally, would you take the great pains to conceal the body,[502] and yet leave your own stick as a sign that you were the criminal?Confess, Lestrade, that all this is very unlikely.""As to the stick, Mr. Holmes, you know as well as I do that a criminalis often flurried, and does such things, which a cool man would avoid. Hewas very likely afraid to go back to the room. Give me another theory thatwould fit the facts.""I could very easily give you half a dozen," said Holmes. "Here, forexample, is a very possible and even probable one. I make you a freepresent of it. The older man is showing documents which are of evidentvalue. A passing tramp sees them through the window, the blind of whichis only half down. Exit the solicitor. Enter the tramp! He seizes a stick,which he observes there, kills Oldacre, and departs after burning thebody.""Why should the tramp burn the body?""For the matter of that, why should McFarlane?""To hide some evidence.""Possibly the tramp wanted to hide that any murder at all had beencommitted.""And why did the tramp take nothing?""Because they were papers that he could not negotiate."Lestrade shook his head, though it seemed to me that his manner wasless absolutely assured than before."Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look for your tramp, and whileyou are finding him we will hold on to our man. The future will showwhich is right. Just notice this point, Mr. Holmes: that so far as we know,none of the papers were removed, and that the prisoner is the one man inthe world who had no reason for removing them, since he was heir-atlaw, and would come into them in any case."My friend seemed struck by this remark."I don't mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways very stronglyin favour of your theory," said he. "I only wish to point out that there areother theories possible. As you say, the future will decide. Good-morning!I dare say that in the course of the day I shall drop in at Norwood and seehow you are getting on."When the detective departed, my friend rose and made his preparationsfor the day's work with the alert air of a man who has a congenial taskbefore him."My first movement, Watson," said he, as he bustled into his frockcoat,"must, as I said, be in the direction of Blackheath.""And why not Norwood?""Because we have in this case one singular incident coming close to theheels of another singular incident. The police are making the mistake ofconcentrating their attention upon the second, because it happens to be theone which is actually criminal. But it is evident to me that the logical wayto approach the case is to begin by trying to throw some light upon thefirst incident-the curious will, so suddenly made, and to so unexpected anheir. It may do something to simplify what followed. No, my dear fellow,I don't think you can help me. There is no prospect of danger, or I shouldnot dream of stirring out without you. I trust that when I see you in theevening, I will be able to report that I have been able to do something forthis unfortunate youngster, who has thrown himself upon my protection."It was late when my friend returned, and I could see, by a glance at hishaggard and anxious face, that the high hopes with which he had startedhad not been fulfilled. For an hour he droned away upon his violin,endeavouring to soothe his own ruffled spirits. At last he flung down theinstrument, and plunged into a detailed account of his misadventures.[503] "It's all going wrong, Watson-all as wrong as it can go. I kept abold face before Lestrade, but, upon my soul, I believe that for once thefellow is on the right track and we are on the wrong. All my instincts areone way, and all the facts are the other, and I much fear that British jurieshave not yet attained that pitch of intelligence when they will give thepreference to my theories over Lestrade's facts.""Did you go to Blackheath?""Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very quickly that the latelamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable blackguard. The father wasaway in search of his son. The mother was at home-a little, fluffy, blue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear and indignation. Of course, she would notadmit even the possibility of his guilt. But she would not express eithersurprise or regret over the fate of Oldacre. On the contrary, she spoke ofhim with such bitterness that she was unconsciously considerablystrengthening the case of the police for, of course, if her son had heard herspeak of the man in this fashion, it would predispose him towards hatredand violence. 'He was more like a malignant and cunning ape than ahuman being,' said she, 'and he always was, ever since he was a youngman.'" 'You knew him at that time?' said I." 'Yes, I knew him well, in fact, he was an old suitor of mine. Thankheaven that I had the sense to turn away from him and to marry a better, ifpoorer, man. I was engaged to him, Mr. Holmes, when I heard a shockingstory of how he had turned a cat loose in an aviary, and I was so horrifiedat his brutal cruelty that I would have nothing more to do with him.' Sherummaged in a bureau, and presently she produced a photograph of awoman, shamefully defaced and mutilated with a knife. 'That is my ownphotograph,' she said. 'He sent it to me in that state, with his curse, uponmy wedding morning.'" 'Well,' said I, 'at least he has forgiven you now, since he has left allhis property to your son.'" 'Neither my son nor I want anything from Jonas Oldacre, dead oralive!' she cried, with a proper spirit. 'There is a God in heaven, Mr.Holmes, and that same God who has punished that wicked man willshow, in His own good time, that my son's hands are guiltless of his blood.'"Well, I tried one or two leads, but could get at nothing which wouldhelp our hypothesis, and several points which would make against it. Igave it up at last, and off I went to Norwood."This place, Deep Dene House, is a big modern villa of staring brick,standing back in its own grounds, with a laurel-clumped lawn in front ofit. To the right and some distance back from the road was the timber-yardwhich had been the scene of the fire. Here's a rough plan on a leaf of mynotebook. This window on the left is the one which opens into Oldacre'sroom. You can look into it from the road, you see. That is about the onlybit of consolation I have had to-day. Lestrade was not there, but his headconstable did the honours. They had just found a great treasure-trove.They had spent the morning raking among the ashes of the burned woodpile, and besides the charred organic remains they had secured severaldiscoloured metal discs. I examined them with care, and there was nodoubt that they were trouser buttons. I even distinguished that one of themwas marked with the name of 'Hyams,' who was Oldacre's tailor. I thenworked the lawn very carefully for signs and traces, but this drought hasmade everything as hard as iron. Nothing was to be seen save that somebody or bundle had been dragged through a low privet hedge which is in aline with the wood-pile. All that, of course, fits in with the official [504]theory. I crawled about the lawn with an August sun on my back, but I gotup at the end of an hour no wiser than before."Well, after this fiasco I went into the bedroom and examined that also.The blood-stains were very slight, mere smears and discolourations, butundoubtedly fresh. The stick had been removed, but there also the markswere slight. There is no doubt about the stick belonging to our client. Headmits it. Footmarks of both men could be made out on the carpet, butnone of any third person, which again is a trick for the other side. Theywere piling up their score all the time and we were at a standstill."Only one little gleam of hope did I get-and yet it amounted to nothing.I examined the contents of the safe, most of which had been taken out andleft on the table. The papers had been made up into sealed envelopes, oneor two of which had been opened by the police. They were not, so far as Icould judge, of any great value, nor did the bank-book show that Mr.Oldacre was in such very affluent circumstances. But it seemed to me thatall the papers were not there. There were allusions to somedeeds-possibly the more valuable-which I could not find. This, of course,if we could definitely prove it, would turn Lestrade's argument againsthimself; for who would steal a thing if he knew that he would shortlyinherit it?"Finally, having drawn every other cover and picked up no scent, Itried my luck with the housekeeper. Mrs. Lexington is her name-a little,dark, silent person, with suspicious and sidelong eyes. She could tell ussomething if she would-I am convinced of it. But she was as close aswax. Yes, she had let Mr. McFarlane in at half-past nine. She wished herhand had withered before she had done so. She had gone to bed at halfpast ten. Her room was at the other end of the house, and she could hearnothing of what passed. Mr. McFarlane had left his hat, and to the best of her belief his stick, in the hall. She had been awakened by the alarm offire. Her poor, dear master had certainly been murdered. Had he anyenemies? Well, every man had enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept himselfvery much to himself, and only met people in the way of business. Shehad seen the buttons, and was sure that they belonged to the clothes whichhe had worn last night. The wood-pile was very dry, for it had not rainedfor a month. It burned like tinder, and by the time she reached the spot,nothing could be seen but flames. She and all the firemen smelled theburned flesh from inside it. She knew nothing of the papers, nor of Mr.Oldacre's private affairs."So, my dear Watson, there's my report of a failure. And yet-and yet-"he clenched his thin hands in a paroxysm of conviction-"I know it's allwrong. I feel it in my bones. There is something that has not come out,and that housekeeper knows it. There was a sort of sulky defiance in hereyes, which only goes with guilty knowledge. However, there's no goodtalking any more about it, Watson; but unless some lucky chance comesour way I fear that the Norwood Disappearance Case will not figure inthat chronicle of our successes which I foresee that a patient public willsooner or later have to endure.""Surely," said I, "the man's appearance would go far with any jury?""That is a dangerous argument, my dear Watson. You remember thatterrible murderer, Bert Stevens, who wanted us to get him off in '87? Wasthere ever a more mild-mannered, Sunday-school young man?""It is true.""Unless we succeed in establishing an alternative theory, this man islost. You can hardly find a flaw in the case which can now be presentedagainst him, and all [505] further investigation has served to strengthen it.By the way, there is one curious little point about those papers which mayserve us as the starting-point for an inquiry. On looking over the bankbook I found that the low state of the balance was principally due to largechecks which have been made out during the last year to Mr. Cornelius. Iconfess that I should be interested to know who this Mr. Cornelius maybe with whom a retired builder has had such very large transactions. Is itpossible that he has had a hand in the affair? Cornelius might be a broker,but we have found no scrip to correspond with these large payments.Failing any other indication, my researches must now take the direction ofan inquiry at the bank for the gentleman who has cashed these checks.But I fear, my dear fellow, that our case will end ingloriously by Lestradehanging our client, which will certainly be a triumph for Scotland Yard."I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night, butwhen I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his brighteyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them. The carpet round hischair was littered with cigarette-ends and with the early editions of themorning papers. An open telegram lay upon the table."What do you think of this, Watson?" he asked, tossing it across.It was from Norwood, and ran as follows:Important fresh evidence to hand. McFarlane's guilt definitelyestablished. Advise you to abandon case.LESTRADE."This sounds serious," said I."It is Lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory," Holmes answered,with a bitter smile. "And yet it may be premature to abandon the case.After all, important fresh evidence is a two-edged thing, and may possiblycut in a very different direction to that which Lestrade imagines. Takeyour breakfast, Watson, and we will go out together and see what we cando. I feel as if I shall need your company and your moral support to-day."My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiaritiesthat in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and Ihave known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted frompure inanition. "At present I cannot spare energy and nerve force fordigestion," he would say in answer to my medical remonstrances. I wasnot surprised, therefore, when this morning he left his untouched mealbehind him, and started with me for Norwood. A crowd of morbidsightseers were still gathered round Deep Dene House, which was justsuch a suburban villa as I had pictured. Within the gates Lestrade met us,his face flushed with victory, his manner grossly triumphant."Well, Mr. Holmes, have you proved us to be wrong yet? Have youfound your tramp?" he cried."I have formed no conclusion whatever," my companion answered."But we formed ours yesterday, and now it proves to be correct, so youmust acknowledge that we have been a little in front of you this time, Mr.Holmes.""You certainly have the air of something unusual having occurred,"said Holmes.Lestrade laughed loudly."You don't like being beaten any more than the rest of us do," said he."A man can't expect always to have it his own way, can he, Dr. Watson?Step this way, if you please, gentlemen, and I think I can convince youonce for all that it was John McFarlane who did this crime."[506] He led us through the passage and out into a dark hall beyond."This is where young McFarlane must have come out to get his hatafter the crime was done," said he. "Now look at this." With dramaticsuddenness he struck a match, and by its light exposed a stain of bloodupon the whitewashed wall. As he held the match nearer, I saw that it wasmore than a stain. It was the well-marked print of a thumb."Look at that with your magnifying glass, Mr. Holmes.""Yes, I am doing so.""You are aware that no two thumb-marks are alike?""I have heard something of the kind.""Well, then, will you please compare that print with this waximpression of young McFarlane's right thumb, taken by my orders thismorning?"As he held the waxen print close to the blood-stain, it did not take amagnifying glass to see that the two were undoubtedly from the samethumb. It was evident to me that our unfortunate client was lost."That is final," said Lestrade."Yes, that is final," I involuntarily echoed."It is final," said Holmes.Something in his tone caught my ear, and I turned to look at him. Anextraordinary change had come over his face. It was writhing with inwardmerriment. His two eyes were shining like stars. It seemed to me that hewas making desperate efforts to restrain a convulsive attack of laughter."Dear me! Dear me!" he said at last. "Well, now, who would havethought it? And how deceptive appearances may be, to be sure! Such anice young man to look at! It is a lesson to us not to trust our ownjudgment, is it not, Lestrade?""Yes, some of us are a little too much inclined to be cock-sure, Mr.Holmes," said Lestrade. The man's insolence was maddening, but we could not resent it."What a providential thing that this young man should press his rightthumb against the wall in taking his hat from the peg! Such a very naturalaction, too, if you come to think if it." Holmes was outwardly calm, buthis whole body gave a wriggle of suppressed excitement as he spoke."By the way, Lestrade, who made this remarkable discovery?""It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Lexington, who drew the nightconstable's attention to it.""Where was the night constable?""He remained on guard in the bedroom where the crime wascommitted, so as to see that nothing was touched.""But why didn't the police see this mark yesterday?""Well, we had no particular reason to make a careful examination ofthe hall. Besides, it's not in a very prominent place, as you see.""No, no-of course not. I suppose there is no doubt that the mark wasthere yesterday?"Lestrade looked at Holmes as if he thought he was going out of hismind. I confess that I was myself surprised both at his hilarious mannerand at his rather wild observation."I don't know whether you think that McFarlane came out of jail in thedead of the night in order to strengthen the evidence against himself," saidLestrade. "I leave it to any expert in the world whether that is not themark of his thumb.""It is unquestionably the mark of his thumb."[507] "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. Ifyou have anything to say, you will find me writing my report in thesitting-room."Holmes had recovered his equanimity, though I still seemed to detectgleams 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 forour client.""I am delighted to hear it," said I, heartily. "I was afraid it was all upwith him.""I would hardly go so far as to say that, my dear Watson. The fact isthat there is one really serious flaw in this evidence to which our friendattaches so much importance.""Indeed, Holmes! What is it?""Only this: that I know that that mark was not there when I examinedthe hall yesterday. And now, Watson, let us have a little stroll round in thesunshine."With a confused brain, but with a heart into which some warmth ofhope 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 greatinterest. He then led the way inside, and went over the whole buildingfrom basement to attic. Most of the rooms were unfurnished, but none theless 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 ourconfidence. He has had his little smile at our expense, and perhaps wemay do as much by him, if my reading of this problem proves to becorrect. Yes, yes, I think I see how we should approach it."The Scotland Yard inspector was still writing in the parlour whenHolmes 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 thatyour evidence is not complete."Lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard his words. He laid downhis 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-bodiedmen with powerful voices?""I have no doubt they are, though I fail to see what their voices have todo 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," saidHolmes. [508] "I will ask you to carry in two bundles of it. I think it willbe 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 toplanding."As I have said, there was a broad corridor there, which ran outside threeempty bedrooms. At one end of the corridor we were all marshalled bySherlock Holmes, the constables grinning and Lestrade staring at myfriend with amazement, expectation, and derision chasing each otheracross his features. Holmes stood before us with the air of a conjurer whois performing a trick."Would you kindly send one of your constables for two buckets ofwater? 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. SherlockHolmes," said he. "If you know anything, you can surely say it without allthis tomfoolery.""I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I have an excellent reason foreverything 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, soyou must not grudge me a little pomp and ceremony now. Might I askyou, Watson, to open that window, and then to put a match to the edge ofthe straw?"I did so, and driven by the draught, a coil of gray smoke swirled downthe corridor, while the dry straw crackled and flamed."Now we must see if we can find this witness for you, Lestrade. MightI 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 doorsuddenly flew open out of what appeared to be solid wall at the end of thecorridor, and a little, wizened man darted out of it, like a rabbit out of itsburrow."Capital!" said Holmes, calmly. "Watson, a bucket of water over thestraw. That will do! Lestrade, allow me to present you with your principalmissing witness, Mr. Jonas Oldacre."The detective stared at the newcomer with blank amazement. The latterwas blinking in the bright light of the corridor, and peering at us and atthe smouldering fire. It was an odious face-crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty, light-gray eyes and white lashes."What's this, then?" said Lestrade, at last. "What have you been doingall this time, eh?"Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back from the furious red faceof the angry detective."I have done no harm.""No harm? You have done your best to get an innocent man hanged. Ifit wasn't for this gentleman here, I am not sure that you would not havesucceeded."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 promiseyou. Take [509] him down, and keep him in the sitting-room until I come.Mr. Holmes," he continued, when they had gone, "I could not speakbefore 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 isa 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 ruinedmy reputation in the Force."Holmes smiled, and clapped Lestrade upon the shoulder."Instead of being ruined, my good sir, you will find that your reputationhas been enormously enhanced. Just make a few alterations in that reportwhich you were writing, and they will understand how hard it is to throwdust 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 creditalso at some distant day, when I permit my zealous historian to lay out hisfoolscap once more-eh, Watson? Well, now, let us see where this rat hasbeen lurking."A lath-and-plaster partition had been run across the passage six feetfrom the end, with a door cunningly concealed in it. It was lit within byslits under the eaves. A few articles of furniture and a supply of food andwater were within, together with a number of books and papers."There's the advantage of being a builder," said Holmes, as we cameout. "He was able to fix up his own little hiding-place without anyconfederate- save, of course, that precious housekeeper of his, whom Ishould 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 Ipaced one corridor and found it six feet shorter than the correspondingone below, it was pretty clear where he was. I thought he had not thenerve to lie quiet before an alarm of fire. We could, of course, have gonein and taken him, but it amused me to make him reveal himself. Besides, Iowed you a little mystification, Lestrade, for your chaff in the morning.""Well, sir, you certainly got equal with me on that. But how in theworld 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 avery different sense. I knew it had not been there the day before. I pay agood deal of attention to matters of detail, as you may have observed, andI had examined the hall, and was sure that the wall was clear. Therefore, ithad been put on during the night.""But how?""Very simply. When those packets were sealed up, Jonas Oldacre gotMcFarlane to secure one of the seals by putting his thumb upon the softwax. It would be done so quickly and so naturally, that I daresay theyoung man himself has no recollection of it. Very likely it just sohappened, and Oldacre had himself no notion of the use he would put itto. Brooding over the case in that den of his, it suddenly struck him whatabsolutely damning evidence he could make against McFarlane by usingthat thumb-mark. It was the simplest thing in the world for him to take awax impression from the seal, to moisten it in as much blood as he couldget 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 examineamong those documents which he took with him into his retreat, I will layyou a wager that you find the seal with the thumb-mark upon it."[510] "Wonderful!" said Lestrade. "Wonderful! It's all as clear ascrystal, 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 mannerhad 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 usdownstairs. 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 Norwoodafterwards. Well, this injury, as he would consider it, has rankled in hiswicked, scheming brain, and all his life he has longed for vengeance, butnever seen his chance. During the last year or two, things have goneagainst 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 largechecks to a certain Mr. Cornelius, who is, I imagine, himself underanother name. I have not traced these checks yet, but I have no doubt thatthey were banked under that name at some provincial town where Oldacrefrom time to time led a double existence. He intended to change his namealtogether, draw this money, and vanish, starting life again elsewhere.""Well, that's likely enough.""It would strike him that in disappearing he might throw all pursuit offhis track, and at the same time have an ample and crushing revenge uponhis old sweetheart, if he could give the impression that he had beenmurdered by her only child. It was a masterpiece of villainy, and hecarried it out like a master. The idea of the will, which would give anobvious motive for the crime, the secret visit unknown to his own parents,the retention of the stick, the blood, and the animal remains and buttons inthe wood-pile, all were admirable. It was a net from which it seemed tome, a few hours ago, that there was no possible escape. But he had notthat supreme gift of the artist, the knowledge of when to stop. He wishedto improve that which was already perfect-to draw the rope tighter yetround the neck of his unfortunate victim-and so he ruined all. Let usdescend, Lestrade. There are just one or two questions that I would askhim."The malignant creature was seated in his own parlour, with a policemanupon each side of him."It was a joke, my good sir-a practical joke, nothing more," he whinedincessantly. "I assure you, sir, that I simply concealed myself in order tosee the effect of my disappearance, and I am sure that you would not beso unjust as to imagine that I would have allowed any harm to befall pooryoung Mr. McFarlane.""That's for a jury to decide," said Lestrade. "Anyhow, we shall haveyou on a charge of conspiracy, if not for attempted murder.""And you'll probably find that your creditors will impound the bankingaccount of Mr. Cornelius," said Holmes.The little man started, and turned his malignant eyes upon my friend."I have to thank you for a good deal," said he. "Perhaps I'll pay mydebt some day."Holmes smiled indulgently."I fancy that, for some few years, you will find your time very fullyoccupied," said he. "By the way, what was it you put into the wood-pilebesides your old trousers? A dead dog, or rabbits, or what? You won'ttell? Dear me, how very unkind of you! Well, well, I daresay that a coupleof rabbits would account both for the blood and for the charred ashes. Ifever you write an account, Watson, you can make rabbits serve your turn."