Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

His Last Bow THE RED CIRCLE

"WELL, Mrs. Warren, I cannot see that you have any particular cause foruneasiness, nor do I understand why I, whose time is of some value,should interfere in the matter. I really have other things to engage me." Sospoke Sherlock Holmes and turned back to the great scrapbook in whichhe was arranging and indexing some of his recent material.But the landlady had the pertinacity and also the cunning of her sex.She held her ground firmly."You arranged an affair for a lodger of mine last year," she said-"Mr.Fairdale Hobbs.""Ah, yes-a simple matter.""But he would never cease talking of it-your kindness, sir, and the wayin which you brought light into the darkness. I remembered his wordswhen I was in doubt and darkness myself. I know you could if you onlywould."Holmes was accessible upon the side of flattery, and also, to do himjustice, upon the side of kindliness. The two forces made him lay downhis gum-brush with a sigh of resignation and push back his chair."Well, well, Mrs. Warren, let us hear about it, then. You don't object totobacco, I take it? Thank you, Watson-the matches! You are uneasy, as Iunderstand, because your new lodger remains in his rooms and youcannot see him. Why, bless you, Mrs. Warren, if I were your lodger youoften would not see me for weeks on end.""No doubt, sir; but this is different. It frightens me, Mr. Holmes. I can'tsleep for fright. To hear his quick step moving here and moving therefrom early morning [902] to late at night, and yet never to catch so muchas a glimpse of him-it's more than I can stand. My husband is as nervousover it as I am, but he is out at his work all day, while I get no rest from it.What is he hiding for? What has he done? Except for the girl, I am allalone in the house with him, and it's more than my nerves can stand."Holmes leaned forward and laid his long, thin fingers upon thewoman's shoulder. He had an almost hypnotic power of soothing when hewished. The scared look faded from her eyes, and her agitated featuressmoothed into their usual commonplace. She sat down in the chair whichhe had indicated."If I take it up I must understand every detail," said he. "Take time toconsider. The smallest point may be the most essential. You say that theman came ten days ago and paid you for a fortnight's board and lodging?""He asked my terms, sir. I said fifty shillings a week. There is a smallsitting-room and bedroom, and all complete, at the top of the house.""Well?""He said, 'I'll pay you five pounds a week if I can have it on my own terms.' I'm a poor woman, sir, and Mr. Warren earns little, and the moneymeant much to me. He took out a ten-pound note, and he held it out to methen and there. 'You can have the same every fortnight for a long time tocome if you keep the terms,' he said. 'If not, I'll have no more to do withyou.' ""What were the terms?""Well, sir, they were that he was to have a key of the house. That wasall right. Lodgers often have them. Also, that he was to be left entirely tohimself and never, upon any excuse, to be disturbed.""Nothing wonderful in that, surely?""Not in reason, sir. But this is out of all reason. He has been there forten days, and neither Mr. Warren, nor I, nor the girl has once set eyesupon him. We can hear that quick step of his pacing up and down, up anddown, night, morning, and noon; but except on that first night he hasnever once gone out of the house.""Oh, he went out the first night, did he?""Yes, sir, and returned very late-after we were all in bed. He told meafter he had taken the rooms that he would do so and asked me not to barthe door. I heard him come up the stair after midnight.""But his meals?""It was his particular direction that we should always, when he rang,leave his meal upon a chair, outside his door. Then he rings again whenhe has finished, and we take it down from the same chair. If he wantsanything else he prints it on a slip of paper and leaves it.""Prints it?""Yes, sir; prints it in pencil. Just the word, nothing more. Here's one Ibrought to show you-SOAP. Here's another-MATCH. This is one he leftthe first morning-DAILY GAZETTE. I leave that paper with his breakfastevery morning.""Dear me, Watson," said Holmes, staring with great curiosity at theslips of foolscap which the landlady had handed to him, "this is certainlya little unusual. Seclusion I can understand; but why print? Printing is aclumsy process. Why not write? What would it suggest, Watson?""That he desired to conceal his handwriting.""But why? What can it matter to him that his landlady should have aword of his writing? Still, it may be as you say. Then, again, why suchlaconic messages?"[903] "I cannot imagine.""It opens a pleasing field for intelligent speculation. The words arewritten with a broad-pointed, violet-tinted pencil of a not unusual pattern.You will observe that the paper is torn away at the side here after theprinting was done, so that the 'S' of 'SOAP' is partly gone. Suggestive,Watson, is it not?""Of caution?""Exactly. There was evidently some mark, some thumbprint, somethingwhich might give a clue to the person's identity. Now, Mrs. Warren, yousay that the man was of middle size, dark, and bearded. What age wouldhe be?""Youngish, sir-not over thirty.""Well, can you give me no further indications?""He spoke good English, sir, and yet I thought he was a foreigner byhis accent.""And he was well dressed?""Very smartly dressed, sir-quite the gentleman. Dark clothes-nothingyou would note.""He gave no name?" "No, sir.""And has had no letters or callers?""None.""But surely you or the girl enter his room of a morning?""No, sir; he looks after himself entirely.""Dear me! that is certainly remarkable. What about his luggage?""He had one big brown bag with him-nothing else.""Well, we don't seem to have much material to help us. Do you saynothing has come out of that room-absolutely nothing?"The landlady drew an envelope from her bag; from it she shook out twoburnt matches and a cigarette-end upon the table."They were on his tray this morning. I brought them because I hadheard that you can read great things out of small ones."Holmes shrugged his shoulders."There is nothing here," said he. "The matches have, of course, beenused to light cigarettes. That is obvious from the shortness of the burntend. Half the match is consumed in lighting a pipe or cigar. But, dear me!this cigarette stub is certainly remarkable. The gentleman was beardedand moustached, you say?""Yes, sir.""I don't understand that. I should say that only a clean-shaven mancould have smoked this. Why, Watson, even your modest moustachewould have been singed.""A holder?" I suggested."No, no; the end is matted. I suppose there could not be two people inyour rooms, Mrs. Warren?""No, sir. He eats so little that I often wonder it can keep life in one.""Well, I think we must wait for a little more material. After all, youhave nothing to complain of. You have received your rent, and he is not atroublesome lodger, though he is certainly an unusual one. He pays youwell, and if he chooses to lie concealed it is no direct business of yours.We have no excuse for an intrusion upon his privacy until we have somereason to think that there is a guilty reason for it. I've taken up the matter,and I won't lose sight of it. Report to me if anything fresh occurs, and relyupon my assistance if it should be needed.[904] "There are certainly some points of interest in this case, Watson,"he remarked when the landlady had left us. "It may, of course, be trivial-individual eccentricity; or it may be very much deeper than appears on thesurface. The first thing that strikes one is the obvious possibility that theperson now in the rooms may be entirely different from the one whoengaged them.""Why should you think so?""Well, apart from this cigarette-end, was it not suggestive that the onlytime the lodger went out was immediately after his taking the rooms? Hecame back-or someone came back-when all witnesses were out of theway. We have no proof that the person who came back was the personwho went out. Then, again, the man who took the rooms spoke Englishwell. This other, however, prints 'match' when it should have been'matches.' I can imagine that the word was taken out of a dictionary, which would give the noun but not the plural. The laconic style may be toconceal the absence of knowledge of English. Yes, Watson, there aregood reasons to suspect that there has been a substitution of lodgers.""But for what possible end?""Ah! there lies our problem. There is one rather obvious line ofinvestigation." He took down the great book in which, day by day, hefiled the agony columns of the various London journals. "Dear me!" saidhe, turning over the pages, "what a chorus of groans, cries, and bleatings!What a rag-bag of singular happenings! But surely the most valuablehunting-ground that ever was given to a student of the unusual! Thisperson is alone and cannot be approached by letter without a breach ofthat absolute secrecy which is desired. How is any news or any messageto reach him from without? Obviously by advertisement through anewspaper. There seems no other way, and fortunately we need concernourselves with the one paper only. Here are the Daily Gazette extracts ofthe last fortnight. 'Lady with a black boa at Prince's Skating Club'-thatwe may pass. 'Surely Jimmy will not break his mother's heart'- thatappears to be irrelevant. 'If the lady who fainted in the Brixton bus'- shedoes not interest me. 'Every day my heart longs- -' Bleat, Watson-unmitigated bleat! Ah, this is a little more possible. Listen to this: 'Bepatient. Will find some sure means of communication. Meanwhile, thiscolumn. G.' That is two days after Mrs. Warren's lodger arrived. Itsounds plausible, does it not? The mysterious one could understandEnglish, even if he could not print it. Let us see if we can pick up the traceagain. Yes, here we are- three days later. 'Am making successfularrangements. Patience and prudence. The clouds will pass. G.' Nothingfor a week after that. Then comes something much more definite: 'Thepath is clearing. If I find chance signal message remember codeagreed-one A, two B, and so on. You will hear soon. G.' That was inyesterday's paper, and there is nothing in to-day's. It's all veryappropriate to Mrs. Warren's lodger. If we wait a little, Watson, I don'tdoubt that the affair will grow more intelligible."So it proved; for in the morning I found my friend standing on thehearthrug with his back to the fire and a smile of complete satisfactionupon his face."How's this, Watson?" he cried, picking up the paper from the table. "'High red house with white stone facings. Third floor. Second windowleft. After dusk. G.' That is definite enough. I think after breakfast wemust make a little reconnaissance of Mrs. Warren's neighbourhood. Ah,Mrs. Warren! what news do you bring us this morning?"[905] Our client had suddenly burst into the room with an explosiveenergy which told of some new and momentous development."It's a police matter, Mr. Holmes!" she cried. "I'll have no more of it!He shall pack out of there with his baggage. I would have gone straight upand told him so, only I thought it was but fair to you to take your opinionfirst. But I'm at the end of my patience, and when it comes to knockingmy old man about- -""Knocking Mr. Warren about?""Using him roughly, anyway." "But who used him roughly?""Ah! that's what we want to know! It was this morning, sir. Mr.Warren is a timekeeper at Morton and Waylight's, in Tottenham CourtRoad. He has to be out of the house before seven. Well, this morning hehad not gone ten paces down the road when two men came up behindhim, threw a coat over his head, and bundled him into a cab that wasbeside the curb. They drove him an hour, and then opened the door andshot him out. He lay in the roadway so shaken in his wits that he neversaw what became of the cab. When he picked himself up he found he wason Hampstead Heath; so he took a bus home, and there he lies now on thesofa, while I came straight round to tell you what had happened.""Most interesting," said Holmes. "Did he observe the appearance ofthese men-did he hear them talk?""No; he is clean dazed. He just knows that he was lifted up as if bymagic and dropped as if by magic. Two at least were in it, and maybethree.""And you connect this attack with your lodger?""Well, we've lived there fifteen years and no such happenings evercame before. I've had enough of him. Money's not everything. I'll havehim out of my house before the day is done.""Wait a bit, Mrs. Warren. Do nothing rash. I begin to think that thisaffair may be very much more important than appeared at first sight. It isclear now that some danger is threatening your lodger. It is equally clearthat his enemies, lying in wait for him near your door, mistook yourhusband for him in the foggy morning light. On discovering their mistakethey released him. What they would have done had it not been a mistake,we can only conjecture.""Well, what am I to do, Mr. Holmes?""I have a great fancy to see this lodger of yours, Mrs. Warren.""I don't see how that is to be managed, unless you break in the door. Ialways hear him unlock it as I go down the stair after I leave the tray." "He has to take the tray in. Surely we could conceal ourselves and seehim do it."The landlady thought for a moment."Well, sir, there's the box-room opposite. I could arrange a lookingglass, maybe, and if you were behind the door- -""Excellent!" said Holmes. "When does he lunch?""About one, sir.""Then Dr. Watson and I will come round in time. For the present, Mrs.Warren, good-bye."At half-past twelve we found ourselves upon the steps of Mrs.Warren's house-a high, thin, yellow-brick edifice in Great Orme Street, anarrow thoroughfare at the northeast side of the British Museum.Standing as it does near the corner of the street, it commands a view downHowe Street, with its more pretentious [906] houses. Holmes pointed witha chuckle to one of these, a row of residential flats, which projected sothat they could not fail to catch the eye."See, Watson!" said he. " 'High red house with stone facings.' There isthe signal station all right. We know the place, and we know the code; sosurely our task should be simple. There's a 'to let' card in that window. Itis evidently an empty flat to which the confederate has access. Well, Mrs.Warren, what now?""I have it all ready for you. If you will both come up and leave yourboots below on the landing, I'll put you there now."It was an excellent hiding-place which she had arranged. The mirrorwas so placed that, seated in the dark, we could very plainly see the dooropposite. We had hardly settled down in it, and Mrs. Warren left us, whena distant tinkle announced that our mysterious neighbour had rung.Presently the landlady appeared with the tray, laid it down upon a chairbeside the closed door, and then, treading heavily, departed. Crouchingtogether in the angle of the door, we kept our eyes fixed upon the mirror.Suddenly, as the landlady's footsteps died away, there was the creak of aturning key, the handle revolved, and two thin hands darted out and liftedthe tray from the chair. An instant later it was hurriedly replaced, and Icaught a glimpse of a dark, beautiful, horrified face glaring at the narrowopening of the box-room. Then the door crashed to, the key turned oncemore, and all was silence. Holmes twitched my sleeve, and together westole down the stair."I will call again in the evening," said he to the expectant landlady. "Ithink, Watson, we can discuss this business better in our own quarters.""My surmise, as you saw, proved to be correct," said he, speaking fromthe depths of his easy-chair. "There has been a substitution of lodgers.What I did not foresee is that we should find a woman, and no ordinarywoman, Watson.""She saw us.""Well, she saw something to alarm her. That is certain. The generalsequence of events is pretty clear, is it not? A couple seek refuge inLondon from a very terrible and instant danger. The measure of thatdanger is the rigour of their precautions. The man, who has some workwhich he must do, desires to leave the woman in absolute safety while hedoes it. It is not an easy problem, but he solved it in an original fashion,and so effectively that her presence was not even known to the landladywho supplies her with food. The printed messages, as is now evident,were to prevent her sex being discovered by her writing. The man cannotcome near the woman, or he will guide their enemies to her. Since hecannot communicate with her direct, he has recourse to the agony columnof a paper. So far all is clear.""But what is at the root of it?""Ah, yes, Watson-severely practical, as usual! What is at the root of itall? Mrs. Warren's whimsical problem enlarges somewhat and assumes amore sinister aspect as we proceed. This much we can say: that it is noordinary love escapade. You saw the woman's face at the sign of danger.We have heard, too, of the attack upon the landlord, which was undoubtedly meant for the lodger. These alarms, and the desperate needfor secrecy, argue that the matter is one of life or death. The attack uponMr. Warren further shows that the enemy, whoever they are, arethemselves not aware of the substitution of the female lodger for the male.It is very curious and complex, Watson.""Why should you go further in it? What have you to gain from it?"[907] "What, indeed? It is art for art's sake, Watson. I suppose whenyou doctored you found yourself studying cases without thought of a fee?""For my education, Holmes.""Education never ends, Watson. It is a series of lessons with thegreatest for the last. This is an instructive case. There is neither moneynor credit in it, and yet one would wish to tidy it up. When dusk comeswe should find ourselves one stage advanced in our investigation."When we returned to Mrs. Warren's rooms, the gloom of a Londonwinter evening had thickened into one gray curtain, a dead monotone ofcolour, broken only by the sharp yellow squares of the windows and theblurred haloes of the gas-lamps. As we peered from the darkened sittingroom of the lodging-house, one more dim light glimmered high upthrough the obscurity."Someone is moving in that room," said Holmes in a whisper, his gauntand eager face thrust forward to the window-pane. "Yes, I can see hisshadow. There he is again! He has a candle in his hand. Now he is peeringacross. He wants to be sure that she is on the lookout. Now he begins toflash. Take the message also, Watson, that we may check each other. Asingle flash-that is A, surely. Now, then. How many did you make it?Twenty. So did I. That should mean T. AT-that's intelligible enough!Another T. Surely this is the beginning of a second word. Now,then-TENTA. Dead stop. That can't be all, Watson? ATTENTA gives nosense. Nor is it any better as three words AT, TEN, TA, unless T. A. are aperson's initials. There it goes again! What's that? ATTE-why, it is thesame message over again. Curious, Watson, very curious! Now he is offonce more! AT-why, he is repeating it for the third time. ATTENTA threetimes! How often will he repeat it? No, that seems to be the finish. He haswithdrawn from the window. What do you make of it, Watson?""A cipher message, Holmes."My companion gave a sudden chuckle of comprehension. "And not avery obscure cipher, Watson," said he. "Why, of course, it is Italian! TheA means that it is addressed to a woman. 'Beware! Beware! Beware!'How's that, Watson?""I believe you have hit it.""Not a doubt of it. It is a very urgent message, thrice repeated to makeit more so. But beware of what? Wait a bit; he is coming to the windowonce more."Again we saw the dim silhouette of a crouching man and the whisk ofthe small flame across the window as the signals were renewed. Theycame more rapidly than before-so rapid that it was hard to follow them."PERICOLO-pericolo-eh, what's that, Watson? 'Danger,' isn't it? Yes,by Jove, it's a danger signal. There he goes again! PERI. Halloa, what onearth- -" The light had suddenly gone out, the glimmering square of window haddisappeared, and the third floor formed a dark band round the loftybuilding, with its tiers of shining casements. That last warning cry hadbeen suddenly cut short. How, and by whom? The same thought occurredon the instant to us both. Holmes sprang up from where he crouched bythe window."This is serious, Watson," he cried. "There is some devilry goingforward! Why should such a message stop in such a way? I should putScotland Yard in touch with this business-and yet, it is too pressing for usto leave.""Shall I go for the police?""We must define the situation a little more clearly. It may bear somemore innocent interpretation. Come, Watson, let us go across ourselvesand see what we can make of it."2[908] As we walked rapidly down Howe Street I glanced back at thebuilding which we had left. There, dimly outlined at the top window, Icould see the shadow of a head, a woman's head, gazing tensely, rigidly,out into the night, waiting with breathless suspense for the renewal of thatinterrupted message. At the doorway of the Howe Street flats a man,muffled in a cravat and greatcoat, was leaning against the railing. Hestarted as the hall-light fell upon our faces."Holmes!" he cried."Why, Gregson!" said my companion as he shook hands with theScotland Yard detective. "Journeys end with lovers' meetings. Whatbrings you here?""The same reasons that bring you, I expect," said Gregson. "How yougot on to it I can't imagine.""Different threads, but leading up to the same tangle. I've been takingthe signals.""Signals?""Yes, from that window. They broke off in the middle. We came overto see the reason. But since it is safe in your hands I see no object incontinuing the business.""Wait a bit!" cried Gregson eagerly. "I'll do you this justice, Mr.Holmes, that I was never in a case yet that I didn't feel stronger forhaving you on my side. There's only the one exit to these flats, so wehave him safe.""Who is he?""Well, well, we score over you for once, Mr. Holmes. You must giveus best this time." He struck his stick sharply upon the ground, on which acabman, his whip in his hand, sauntered over from a four-wheeler whichstood on the far side of the street. "May I introduce you to Mr. SherlockHolmes?" he said to the cabman. "This is Mr. Leverton, of Pinkerton'sAmerican Agency.""The hero of the Long Island cave mystery?" said Holmes. "Sir, I ampleased to meet you." The American, a quiet, businesslike young man, with a clean-shaven,hatchet face, flushed up at the words of commendation. "I am on the trailof my life now, Mr. Holmes," said he. "If I can get Gorgiano- -""What! Gorgiano of the Red Circle?""Oh, he has a European fame, has he? Well, we've learned all abouthim in America. We know he is at the bottom of fifty murders, and yet wehave nothing positive we can take him on. I tracked him over from NewYork, and I've been close to him for a week in London, waiting someexcuse to get my hand on his collar. Mr. Gregson and I ran him to groundin that big tenement house, and there's only the one door, so he can't slipus. There's three folk come out since he went in, but I'll swear he wasn'tone of them.""Mr. Holmes talks of signals," said Gregson. "I expect, as usual, heknows a good deal that we don't."In a few clear words Holmes explained the situation as it had appearedto us. The American struck his hands together with vexation."He's on to us!" he cried."Why do you think so?""Well, it figures out that way, does it not? Here he is, sending outmessages to an accomplice-there are several of his gang in London. Thensuddenly, just as by [909] your own account he was telling them that therewas danger, he broke short off. What could it mean except that from thewindow he had suddenly either caught sight of us in the street, or in someway come to understand how close the danger was, and that he must actright away if he was to avoid it? What do you suggest, Mr. Holmes?""That we go up at once and see for ourselves.""But we have no warrant for his arrest.""He is in unoccupied premises under suspicious circumstances," saidGregson. "That is good enough for the moment. When we have him bythe heels we can see if New York can't help us to keep him. I'll take theresponsibility of arresting him now."Our official detectives may blunder in the matter of intelligence, butnever in that of courage. Gregson climbed the stair to arrest this desperatemurderer with the same absolutely quiet and businesslike bearing withwhich he would have ascended the official staircase of Scotland Yard.The Pinkerton man had tried to push past him, but Gregson had firmlyelbowed him back. London dangers were the privilege of the Londonforce.The door of the left-hand flat upon the third landing was standing ajar.Gregson pushed it open. Within all was absolute silence and darkness. Istruck a match and lit the detective's lantern. As I did so, and as theflicker steadied into a flame, we all gave a gasp of surprise. On the dealboards of the carpetless floor there was outlined a fresh track of blood.The red steps pointed towards us and led away from an inner room, thedoor of which was closed. Gregson flung it open and held his light fullblaze in front of him, while we all peered eagerly over his shoulders.In the middle of the floor of the empty room was huddled the figure ofan enormous man, his clean-shaven, swarthy face grotesquely horrible inits contortion and his head encircled by a ghastly crimson halo of blood, lying in a broad wet circle upon the white woodwork. His knees weredrawn up, his hands thrown out in agony, and from the centre of hisbroad, brown, upturned throat there projected the white haft of a knifedriven blade-deep into his body. Giant as he was, the man must have gonedown like a pole-axed ox before that terrific blow. Beside his right hand amost formidable horn-handled, two-edged dagger lay upon the floor, andnear it a black kid glove."By George! it's Black Gorgiano himself!" cried the Americandetective. "Someone has got ahead of us this time.""Here is the candle in the window, Mr. Holmes," said Gregson. "Why,whatever are you doing?"Holmes had stepped across, had lit the candle, and was passing itbackward and forward across the window-panes. Then he peered into thedarkness, blew the candle out, and threw it on the floor."I rather think that will be helpful," said he. He came over and stood indeep thought while the two professionals were examining the body. "Yousay that three people came out from the flat while you were waitingdownstairs," said he at last. "Did you observe them closely?""Yes, I did.""Was there a fellow about thirty, black-bearded, dark, of middle size?""Yes; he was the last to pass me.""That is your man, I fancy. I can give you his description, and we havea very excellent outline of his footmark. That should be enough for you."[910] "Not much, Mr. Holmes, among the millions of London.""Perhaps not. That is why I thought it best to summon this lady to youraid."We all turned round at the words. There, framed in the doorway, was atall and beautiful woman-the mysterious lodger of Bloomsbury. Slowlyshe advanced, her face pale and drawn with a frightful apprehension, hereyes fixed and staring, her terrified gaze riveted upon the dark figure onthe floor."You have killed him!" she muttered. "Oh, Dio mio, you have killedhim!" Then I heard a sudden sharp intake of her breath, and she spranginto the air with a cry of joy. Round and round the room she danced, herhands clapping, her dark eyes gleaming with delighted wonder, and athousand pretty Italian exclamations pouring from her lips. It was terribleand amazing to see such a woman so convulsed with joy at such a sight.Suddenly she stopped and gazed at us all with a questioning stare."But you! You are police, are you not? You have killed GiuseppeGorgiano. Is it not so?""We are police, madam."She looked round into the shadows of the room."But where, then, is Gennaro?" she asked. "He is my husband, GennaroLucca. I am Emilia Lucca, and we are both from New York. Where isGennaro? He called me this moment from this window, and I ran with allmy speed.""It was I who called," said Holmes."You! How could you call?""Your cipher was not difficult, madam. Your presence here wasdesirable. I knew that I had only to flash 'Vieni' and you would surelycome."The beautiful Italian looked with awe at my companion."I do not understand how you know these things," she said. "GiuseppeGorgiano-how did he- -" She paused, and then suddenly her face lit upwith pride and delight. "Now I see it! My Gennaro! My splendid,beautiful Gennaro, who has guarded me safe from all harm, he did it, with his own strong hand he killed the monster! Oh, Gennaro, how wonderfulyou are! What woman could ever be worthy of such a man?""Well, Mrs. Lucca," said the prosaic Gregson, laying his hand upon thelady's sleeve with as little sentiment as if she were a Notting Hillhooligan, "I am not very clear yet who you are or what you are; butyou've said enough to make it very clear that we shall want you at theYard.""One moment, Gregson," said Holmes. "I rather fancy that this ladymay be as anxious to give us information as we can be to get it. Youunderstand, madam, that your husband will be arrested and tried for thedeath of the man who lies before us? What you say may be used inevidence. But if you think that he has acted from motives which are notcriminal, and which he would wish to have known, then you cannot servehim better than by telling us the whole story.""Now that Gorgiano is dead we fear nothing," said the lady. "He was adevil and a monster, and there can be no judge in the world who wouldpunish my husband for having killed him.""In that case," said Holmes, "my suggestion is that we lock this door,leave things as we found them, go with this lady to her room, and formour opinion after we have heard what it is that she has to say to us."Half an hour later we were seated, all four, in the small sitting-room ofSignora Lucca, listening to her remarkable narrative of those sinisterevents, the ending of which we had chanced to witness. She spoke inrapid and fluent but very [911] unconventional English, which, for thesake of clearness, I will make grammatical."I was born in Posilippo, near Naples," said she, "and was the daughterof Augusto Barelli, who was the chief lawyer and once the deputy of thatpart. Gennaro was in my father's employment, and I came to love him, asany woman must. He had neither money nor position-nothing but hisbeauty and strength and energy-so my father forbade the match. We fledtogether, were married at Bari, and sold my jewels to gain the moneywhich would take us to America. This was four years ago, and we havebeen in New York ever since."Fortune was very good to us at first. Gennaro was able to do a serviceto an Italian gentleman-he saved him from some ruffians in the placecalled the Bowery, and so made a powerful friend. His name was TitoCastalotte, and he was the senior partner of the great firm of Castalotteand Zamba, who are the chief fruit importers of New York. Signor Zambais an invalid, and our new friend Castalotte has all power within the firm,which employs more than three hundred men. He took my husband intohis employment, made him head of a department, and showed his goodwill towards him in every way. Signor Castalotte was a bachelor, and Ibelieve that he felt as if Gennaro was his son, and both my husband and Iloved him as if he were our father. We had taken and furnished a littlehouse in Brooklyn, and our whole future seemed assured when that blackcloud appeared which was soon to overspread our sky."One night, when Gennaro returned from his work, he brought a fellowcountryman back with him. His name was Gorgiano, and he had comealso from Posilippo. He was a huge man, as you can testify, for you have looked upon his corpse. Not only was his body that of a giant buteverything about him was grotesque, gigantic, and terrifying. His voicewas like thunder in our little house. There was scarce room for the whirlof his great arms as he talked. His thoughts, his emotions, his passions, allwere exaggerated and monstrous. He talked, or rather roared, with suchenergy that others could but sit and listen, cowed with the mighty streamof words. His eyes blazed at you and held you at his mercy. He was aterrible and wonderful man. I thank God that he is dead!"He came again and again. Yet I was aware that Gennaro was no morehappy than I was in his presence. My poor husband would sit pale andlistless, listening to the endless raving upon politics and upon socialquestions which made up our visitor's conversation. Gennaro saidnothing, but I, who knew him so well, could read in his face someemotion which I had never seen there before. At first I thought that it wasdislike. And then, gradually, I understood that it was more than dislike. Itwas fear-a deep, secret, shrinking fear. That night-the night that I read histerror-I put my arms round him and I implored him by his love for meand by all that he held dear to hold nothing from me, and to tell me whythis huge man overshadowed him so."He told me, and my own heart grew cold as ice as I listened. My poorGennaro, in his wild and fiery days, when all the world seemed againsthim and his mind was driven half mad by the injustices of life, had joineda Neapolitan society, the Red Circle, which was allied to the oldCarbonari. The oaths and secrets of this brotherhood were frightful, butonce within its rule no escape was possible. When we had fled to AmericaGennaro thought that he had cast it all off forever. What was his horrorone evening to meet in the streets the very man who had initiated him inNaples, the giant Gorgiano, a man who had earned the name of 'Death' inthe south of Italy, for he was red to the elbow in murder! He had come toNew [912] York to avoid the Italian police, and he had already planted abranch of this dreadful society in his new home. All this Gennaro told meand showed me a summons which he had received that very day, a RedCircle drawn upon the head of it telling him that a lodge would be heldupon a certain date, and that his presence at it was required and ordered."That was bad enough, but worse was to come. I had noticed for sometime that when Gorgiano came to us, as he constantly did, in the evening,he spoke much to me; and even when his words were to my husbandthose terrible, glaring, wild-beast eyes of his were always turned uponme. One night his secret came out. I had awakened what he called 'love'within him-the love of a brute- a savage. Gennaro had not yet returnedwhen he came. He pushed his way in, seized me in his mighty arms,hugged me in his bear's embrace, covered me with kisses, and imploredme to come away with him. I was struggling and screaming whenGennaro entered and attacked him. He struck Gennaro senseless and fledfrom the house which he was never more to enter. It was a deadly enemythat we made that night."A few days later came the meeting. Gennaro returned from it with aface which told me that something dreadful had occurred. It was worsethan we could have imagined possible. The funds of the society were raised by blackmailing rich Italians and threatening them with violenceshould they refuse the money. It seems that Castalotte, our dear friend andbenefactor, had been approached. He had refused to yield to threats, andhe had handed the notices to the police. It was resolved now that such anexample should be made of him as would prevent any other victim fromrebelling. At the meeting it was arranged that he and his house should beblown up with dynamite. There was a drawing of lots as to who shouldcarry out the deed. Gennaro saw our enemy's cruel face smiling at him ashe dipped his hand in the bag. No doubt it had been prearranged in somefashion, for it was the fatal disc with the Red Circle upon it, the mandatefor murder, which lay upon his palm. He was to kill his best friend, or hewas to expose himself and me to the vengeance of his comrades. It waspart of their fiendish system to punish those whom they feared or hated byinjuring not only their own persons but those whom they loved, and it wasthe knowledge of this which hung as a terror over my poor Gennaro'shead and drove him nearly crazy with apprehension."All that night we sat together, our arms round each other, eachstrengthening each for the troubles that lay before us. The very nextevening had been fixed for the attempt. By midday my husband and Iwere on our way to London, but not before he had given our benefactorfull warning of his danger, and had also left such information for thepolice as would safeguard his life for the future."The rest, gentlemen, you know for yourselves. We were sure that ourenemies would be behind us like our own shadows. Gorgiano had hisprivate reasons for vengeance, but in any case we knew how ruthless,cunning, and untiring he could be. Both Italy and America are full ofstories of his dreadful powers. If ever they were exerted it would be now.My darling made use of the few clear days which our start had given us inarranging for a refuge for me in such a fashion that no possible dangercould reach me. For his own part, he wished to be free that he mightcommunicate both with the American and with the Italian police. I do notmyself know where he lived, or how. All that I learned was through thecolumns of a newspaper. But once as I looked through my window, I sawtwo Italians watching the house, and I understood that in some wayGorgiano had found out our retreat. Finally Gennaro told me, through thepaper, that he would signal to [913] me from a certain window, but whenthe signals came they were nothing but warnings, which were suddenlyinterrupted. It is very clear to me now that he knew Gorgiano to be closeupon him, and that, thank God! he was ready for him when he came. Andnow, gentlemen, I would ask you whether we have anything to fear fromthe law, or whether any judge upon earth would condemn my Gennaro forwhat he has done?""Well, Mr. Gregson," said the American, looking across at the official,"I don't know what your British point of view may be, but I guess that inNew York this lady's husband will receive a pretty general vote ofthanks.""She will have to come with me and see the chief," Gregson answered."If what she says is corroborated, I do not think she or her husband hasmuch to fear. But what I can't make head or tail of, Mr. Holmes, is how on earth you got yourself mixed up in the matter.""Education, Gregson, education. Still seeking knowledge at the olduniversity. Well, Watson, you have one more specimen of the tragic andgrotesque to add to your collection. By the way, it is not eight o'clock,and a Wagner night at Covent Garden! If we hurry, we might be in timefor the second act."