Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 January 1913 — REMINISCENCES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

REMINISCENCES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES

by ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

Illustrations by V. X.. BARNES

C/ic< •ADVENTURE OE IDE RED CIRCLE (Continued.) "This Is serious, Watson,” he cried. "There is some deviltry going forward! Why should such a message stop In such a way? I should put Scotland Yard in-touch with this business —and yet, It is too pressing for us to leave.” “Shall 1 go for the police?” "We must deflnd the situation a little more clearly. It may bear some more innocent interpretation. Come, Watson, let us go across ourselves and see what we can make of it” As we walked rapidly down Howe street I glanced back at the building which we had left There, dimly outlined at the top window, I could see the shadow of a head, a woman’s head, gazing tensely, rigidly, out into w night, waiting with breathless suspense for the renewal of that inter- { rupted message. At the doorway of the Howe street flats a man, muffled In a cravat and great-coat, was leaning against the railing. He started as the hall-light fell upon our faces. "Holmes!” he cried. "Why, Gregson!” said my companion, as he shook hands with the Scotland Yard detective. “Journeys end with lovers’ meetings. What brings you here?” I "The same reasons that bring you, I expect,” said Gregson. “How you got on to it I can’t imagine.” “Different threads, but leading up to the same tangle. I’ve been taking the signals.” “Signals?” “Yes, from that window. They broke off in ’ the middle. We came over to see the reason. But since it is safe in your hands I see no object in continuing the business.” “Wait a bit!” cried Gregson, eagerly. “I’ll do you this justice, Mr. Holmes, that I was never in a case that I didn’t feel stronger 'for having you on my side. There's only the one exit to these flats, so we have him safe.” “Who is he?” “Well, well, we score over you for onoe, Mr. Holmes. You must give us best this time.” He struck his stick sharply upon ground, on which a cabman, his whip in his hand, sauntered over from a four-wheeler which stood on the far side of the street. “May I introduce you to Mr. Sherlock Holmes?” he said to the cabman. “This is Mr. Leverton of Pinkerton’s American agency.” “The hero of the Long Island Cave mystery?” said Holmes. "Sir, I am pleased 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 trail of my life now, Mr. Holmes,” said he. “If I can get Gorglano—” “What! Gorglano of the Red Circle?" “Oh, he has a European fame, has he? Well, we’ve learned all about him in America. We know he is at the bottom of fifty murders, and yet we have nothing positive we can take him on. I tracked him over from New York, and I’ve been close to him for a week in London, waiting some excuse to get my hand on his collar. Mr. Gregson and I ran him to ground in that big tenement house, and there’s enly the one door, so he can’t slip us. There’s three folk come out since he

wwnt Id, but I’ll swear he wasn't one of them.” ; ‘•Mr. Holmes talks of signals," said Gregson. "I expect, as usual, be knows n <1 deal thaWwe don’t.*

la a few clear words Holmes explained the situation ag ft had appeared to us. The American struck his hands together with vexation, i "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 out messages to an accomplice—there are several of his gang In London. Then suddenly, just as by your own account he was telling them that there was danger, he broke short off. What could it mean except that from the window he had suddenly either caught sight of us In the street, or in some way come to understand how close the danger was, and that he must act right 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,” said Gregson. “That is good enough for the moment When we have him by the heels we can see if New York can’t help us to keep him. I’ll take the responsibility of arresting him now.” Opr official detectives may blunder in the matter of intelligence, but never in that of courage. Gregson climbed the. stair to arrest this desperate murderer with the same absolutely quiet and businesslike bearing with which he would have ascended the official staircase of Scotland Yard. The Pinkerton man had tried to push past him, but Gregson had firmly elbowed him back. London dangers were the privilege of the London force. 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. I struck a match, and lit the detective’s lantern. As I did so, and as the flicker steadied into a flame, we all gave a gasp of surprise. On the deal boards, 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, the door of which was closed. Gregson flung it open and held his light full blaze in front of him, whilst we all peered eagerly over his shoulders. In the middle qf the floor of the empty room was huddled the figure of an enormous man, his clean-shaven, swarthy face grotesquely horrible in its contortion, and his head encircled by a ghastly crimson halo of blood, lying in a broad wet circle upon the white woodwork. His knees were drawn up, his hands thrown out In

agony, and from the center of his broad, brown, upturned throat there projected the white haft of a knife driven 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 a most formidable horn-handled, twoedged dagger lay upon the floor, and near it a black kid glove. "By George! it’s Black Gorgiano himself!’’ cried the American detective. "Some one 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 wards and forwards across the win-dow-panes. Then he peered into the

darkness, blew the candle out, and threw it on the floor. “I rather think that win be helpful,** said he. He came over and stood In deep thought, while thetwo professionals were examining the body. “You say that three people came out from the flat while you were waiting downstairs,” said he, at last “Did you observe them closely?" "Yes, J 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 have a very! excellent outline of his footmark. That should be enough for you.” “Not much, Mr. Holmes, among the millions of London.” "Perhaps not. That is why I thought it best to summon this lady to your aid.” We all turned round at the words. There, framed In the doorway, was a tall and beautiful woman—the mysterious lodger of Bloomsbury. Slowly she advanced, her 4 face pale and drawn with a frightful apprehension, her eyes fixed and staring, her terrified gaze riveted upon the dark figure on the floor. “You have killed him!” she muttered. “Oh, Dio mlo, you have killed him!” Then I heard a sudden sharp intake of her breath, and she sprang into the air with a cry of joy. Round and round the room she danced, her hands clapping, her dark eyes gleaming with delighted wonder, and a thousand pretty Italian exqjamations pouring from her lips. It was terrible and 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 Giuseppe Gorgiano. Is ft 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, Gennaro Lucca. I am Emilia Lucca, and we are both from New York. Where Is Gennaro? He called me this moment from this window, and I ran with all my speed.” "It was I who called,” said Holmes. "You! How could you call?” “Your cipher was not difficult, madam. Your presence here was desirable. I knew that I had only to flash ’Vienl’ and you would surely come.” The beautiful Italian looked with awe at my companion. “I do not understand how you know these things,” she sal*. "Giuseppe Gorgiano—how did he —" She paused, and then suddenly her face lit up with 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 wonderful you are! What woman could ever be worthy of such a man?" “Well, Mrs. Lucca,” said the prosaic Gregson, laying his hand upon the lady’s sleeve with as little sentiment as If she were a Notting Hill hooligan, “1 am not very clear yet who you are or what you are; but you’ve ajBL ugh ioaMduUA-ilasi His* 'inr%ha]i want you at the Yard.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

“What Brings You Hero?"

The Red Steps Pointed Toward Us.

"By George, It's Black Gorgiano Himself,” Cried the American Detective.