Rensselaer Republican, Volume 27, Number 8, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 October 1894 — A STUDY IN SCARLET. [ARTICLE]

A STUDY IN SCARLET.

BY A. CONAN DOYLE.

PARTI. • " " , ■ '■ (Being * reprint from the reminiscences of-JomrH; Watspjt, M. P., late of the Anny -Medica' Department.] • ~

CHAPTER IV—Continued.

■“There’s a half-sovereign for you,” my companion Said, standing up and taking his hat. “I am afraid, Rance, that you will never rise in the force. That head of yours should be for use as well as ornament. You might have gained your sergeant’s stripes i last night. The man whom you held I in your hands is the man who holds the clue of this mystery, and whom we are seeking. There is no use of arguing. about it now; I tell you that tt isso, Come along, doctor.’* We started off for the cab ’together, leaving our informantincredulous, but obviously uncomfortable. “The blundering fool!" Holmes . said, bitterly, as we drove back to I our lodgings. “Just to think of his ■ having such an incomparable bit of I good luck, and not taking ad vantage I of it.” “I am rather in the dark still. ~Ti| , is true that the description of this' man tallies with your idea of the I second party in this mystery. But I why’ should he come back to the house after leaving it? This is not the way of criminals.” “The ring, man, the ring; that was what he came back for. If we have no other wav of catching him we can always bait our line with the ring. I shall have him, doctor —I’ll lay you two to one that I have him. I must thank you for it all. I might not have gone but for you, and so have missed the finest study I ever came across; a study in scarlet, eh? Why shouldn’t we use a little art —jargon?—Therms the scarlet thread of murder running through the colorless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it. and expose every inch of it. And now for lunch, and then for Norman Neruda. Her attack and her bowing are splendid. What’s that little thing of Chopin’s she plays so magnificently: Tra-ia-la-lira-lira-lay.” Leaning back in the cab, this amateur blood-hound caroled away like a lark, while I meditated upon the many-sidedness of the human mind.

CHAPTER V. OUR ADVERTISEMENT BRINGS A VIS- . ITOR. Our morning’s exertions had been too much for ray weak health, and I iwas tired 01H in the afternoon. After Holmes’s departure for the concert I lay down upon the sofa and ■endeavored to get a couple of hours’ sleep. It was a useless attempt. My mind had been too much excited by all that had occurred, and the strangest fancies and surmises prowded into it. Every time that I closed my eyes I saw before me the distorted, baboon-like countenance of the murdered man. So ■sinister was the impression which that face produced upon me that I found it difficult to feel anything but gratitude for him who had removed its owner from the world. If ever human features bespoke vice of the most maglignant type, they were certainly those of Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland. Still, I recognized that, justice must be done, and that the depravity of the victim was no condonement in the eyes of the law. The more I thought of it the more extraordinary did ray companion’s hypothesis, that the man had been poisoned, appear. I remembered now he had sniffed his lips, and had no doubt that he had detected something which had given rise to the idea. Then, again, if not poison, what had caused the man’s death, since there was neither wound nor marks of strangulation? But, on the other hand, whose bipod was that which lay so thickly upon the ioor? There were no signs of. a Struggle, nor had the victim any weapon with which he might have wounded an antagonist. As long as all these questions were unsolved, I felt that sleep would be no easy matter, either for Holmes or myself. His quiet, self-confident manner convinced me that he had already formed a theory which explained all the facts, though what it was I could not for an instant conjecture. He was very late in returning—so late that I knew that the concert could not have detained him all the time. Dinner was on the table before he appeared. “It was magnificent,” he said, as he took his seat. “Do you remem- ; ber what Darwin says about music? He claims that the,power of producing and appreciating it existed among the human race long before the power of speech was arrived at. Perhaps that is why we are so subtly j influenced by it. There are vague.' memories in our souls of thosb misty centuries when the world was in its childhood.” A ; “That’s rather a broad idea," I| remarked. “One’s ideas must be as broad as Nature if they are to interpret Nature,” he answered. “What’s the matter? You’re not looking quite yourself. This Brixton Road affair has upset you.” “To tell the truth, it has,” I said. •‘I ought to be more case-hardened after my Afghan experiences. I saw my own comrades hacked to pieces at Malwand without teeing my. aerve.” I

“1 can understand. There is a mystery about this which stimulates the imagination; where there is no imagination there is no horror. Have you seen the evening paper?” “No.” “It gives a fairly good account of the affair. It does not mention the fact that when the man was raised up a woman’s wedding ring fell upon the floor. It is just as well it does not.” “Why?” “ “Look at this advertisement,” he answered. “I had one sent to every paper this morning immediately after the affair." He threw the paper across to me, and I glanced at the place indicated. It was the first announcement in the “Found” column. “In Brixton Road,” it ran, “a plain gold wedding ring, found in the roadway between the White Hart Tavern and Holland Grove. Apply Dr. Watson, 221 b Baker Street, between eight and nine this evening.” “Excuse my using your name,” he said. “If 1 used my own some one of these dunderheads would recognize it, and want to meddle in the affair.” “That is all right,” I answered. “But supposing any one applies, I have no ring.” “Oh,yes, you have,” said he, handing me one. “This will do very well. It is almost a sac simile." “And who do you expect will answer this advertisement?”. “Why, the man in the brown coat —our florid friend with the square toes. If he does not come himself he will send an accomplice.” “Would he not consider it as too dangerous?” .: all. If my view of the .1 case is correct, and I have every reason to believe that it is, this man would rather risk anything than lose the ring. According to my notion he dropped it while stooping over Drebber’s body, and did not miss it at the time. After leaving the house he discovered his loss, and hurried back, but found the police already in possession, owing to his : own folly in leaving the candle burning. He bad to pretend to be drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might have been aroused by his appearance at the gate. Now put yourself in that man’s place. On thinking the matter over, it must have occurred to him that it was possible that he had lost the ring in the road after leaving the house. What would he do then? He would look out for the evening papers, in the hope of seeing it among the articles found. His eye, of course, would light upon this. He would be overjoyed. Why should he fear a trap? There would be no reason in his eyes why the finding of the ring should be connected with the murder. He would come. He will come. You shall see him within an hour.” “And then?” I asked. “Oh. you can leave me to deal with him then. Have you any arms?” ___ „ 1 j “I have my old service revolver and a few cartridges." “ You had better clean it and load it. He will be a desperate man, and though I shall take him unawares, it is well to be ready for anything.” I went to my bedroom and followed his advice. When I returned with the pistol the table had been cleared and Holmes was engaged in bis favorite occupation of scraping upon his violin. “The plot thickens,” he said, as I entered. “I have just had an answer to my American telegram. My view of the case is the correct one.” “And that is?” I asked eagerly. “My fiddle would be the better for new strings,” he remarked. “Put your pistol in your pocket. When the fellow comes, speak to him in an ordinary way. Leave the rest to me. Don’t frighten him by looking at him too hard. n “It is eight o’clock now,” I said, glancing at my watch. “Yes. He will probably be here in a few minutes. Open the door slightly. That will do. Now put the key on the inside. Thank you. This is a queer old book I picked up ata stall, yesterday —‘De Jure inter Gentes’ —Published in Latin at Liege in the Lowlands, in 1642. Charles’s head was still firm on his shoulders when this little brownbacked volume was struck off.”® “Who is the printer?” ....... “Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have been. On the fly leaf, in very faded ink, is written ‘Ex libris Guiliolmi Whyte.’./I wonder who William Whyte was? Some pragmatical seventeenth century lawyer, I suppose. His writing has a legal twist about it. Here comes our man, I think.” As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. Sherlock Holmes* rose softly and moved his chair in the direction of the door. We heard the servant pass along the hall, and the sharp click of the latch as she opened it. “Does Dr. Watson live here?” askad a clear but rather harsh voice. We could not hear the servant’s reply, but the door closed and soma one began to ascend the stairs. The

footfall was an uncertain and shuffling one. A look of surprise passed oier the face Of my companion as he listened to it. It came slowly along the passage, and there was a feeble tap at the door. “Come in 1” I cried. At my summons, instead of the man of violence whom we expected, a very old and wrinkled woman hobbled into the apartment. She appeared to be dazzled by the sudden blaze of light, and; after dropping a curtsey, she stood blinking at us with her bleared eyes and fumbling in her pocket with her nervous, shaky fingers,: I glanced at my companion, and his face had assumed such a disconsolate expression that it was all I could do to keep my countenance. The old crone drew out an evening paper, and pointed at our advertisement. “It’s this as has brought me, good gentleman,” she said, dropping another curtsey; “a gold wedding ring in the Brixton Road. It belongs to my girl, Sally, as was married only this time twelvemonth, which her husband is a steward aboard a Union boat, and what he’d say if he come ’ome and found her without her ring is more than I can think, he being short enough at the best o’ times, but more especially when he has the drink. If it please you, she went to the circus last night along with— ’’ “Is that her ring?” I asked. “The Lord be thanked!” cried the old woman. “Sally will be a glad woman this night. That’s the ring.” “And what may your address be?” I inquired, taking up a pencil. “13 Duncan street,. Houndsditch. A weary way from here.” “The Brixton Road does not lie between any circus and Houndsditch,” said Sherlock Holmes, lyThe old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from her little red-rimmed eyes. “The gentleman asked me for my address,” she said. “Sally lives in lodgings at 3 Mayfield Place, Peckham.” . “And your name is—” “Mv name is Sawyer—hers is Dennis, which Tom Dennis married her —and a smart, clean lad, too, as long as he's at sea, and no steward in the country more thought of; but when on shore, what with the women and what with liauor-shops—” “Here is your ring. Mrs. Sawyer," I interrupted, in obedience to a sign from my companion; “it clearly belongs to your daughter, and I am glad to be able to restore it to the rightful owner.”

With manymumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude, the old crone packed it away in her pocket, and shuffled off down the stairs. Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet the moment she was gone and rushed into his room. He returned in a few seconds enveloped in an ulster and a cravat. “I’llfollow her,” he said,hurriedly; “she must be an accomplice, and will lead me to him. Wait up for me.” The hall door had hardly slammed behind our visitor before Holmes, had descended the stair. Looking through the window, I could see her walking feeblv along the other side, her pursuer dogging her some little distance behind. “Either his whole theory is incorrect,” I thought, “or else he will be led now to the heart of the mystery.” There was no need for him to ask me to wait up for him, for I felt that sleep was impossible until I heard the result of his adventure. It was close Upon nine when he set out. I had no idea how long he might be, but I sat stolidly puffing at my pipe and skipping over the pages of Henri Murgher’s “Vie de Boheme.” Ten o’clock passed, and I heard the footsteps of the maids as they pattered off to bed. Eleven, and the more stately tread of the landlady passed by my door, bound for the same destination, It was close upon twelve before I heard the sharp sound of his latch-key. The instant he entered I saw by.his face that he had not been successful. Amusement and chagrin seemed to be struggling for the mastery, until the former suddenly carried the day, and he burst into a hearty laugh. “I wouldn’t have rhe Scotland Yarders know it for the world,” he cried, dropping into his chair; “I have chaffed them so much that they would never let me hear the end of it. I can afford to laugh, because I know that I will be even with them in the long run.” “What is it, then?” “Oh, I don’t mind telling a story against myself. That creature had gone a little way when she began to limp and show every sign of being foot-sore. Presently she came to a halt, and hailed a fourwheeler which was passing. I managed tcTbe close to her so as to hear the address, but I need not have been so anxious, for she sung it out loud enough to be heard at the other side of the street, ‘Drive to 13 Duncan street, Houndsditch,’ she cried. This begins to look genuine, I thought, ancj having s&en her safely inside, I perched myself behind. That’s an art which every detective should be an expert at. Well, away we rattled, and never drew rein until we reached the street in question. I hopped off before we came to the door, and strolled down in uneasy, lounging way. 1 saw the cab pull up. The driver jumped down and I saw him open the door and stand expectantly. Nothing came out. though. When I reached him he was groping about frantically in the empty cab, and giving vent to the finest assorted collection of oaths that ever I listened to. There was no sign or trace of his. passen-

ger, and I fear it will be some time before he gets his fare. On inquiring at No. 13 I found that the house belonged to a respectable paperhanger, named Kes'wick, and that no one of the name either of Sawyer or Den dis had ever been heard of there.” \ “You don't mean to say,” I cried, in amazement, “that that tottering, feebl e old woman was abl e to get out of the cab while it was in motion, without either you or the driver seeing her?” “Old woman be d d!” said Sherlock Holmes, sharply. “We were the old women to be so taken in. It must have been a young man, and an active one, too, besides being an incomparable actor. The get-up was inimitable. He saw that he was followed, mo doubt, and used this means of giving me the slip. It shows that the man we are after is not as lonely as I imagined he was, but has friends who are ready to risk something for him. Now, doctor, you are looking done up. Take my advice and turn in.” I was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyed his injunction. I let| Holmes seated in front of the smob dering fire, and long into the watches of the night I heard the low, melancholy wailings of his violin, and knew that he still pondering over the strange problem which he had set himself to unravel. CHAPTER VI. TOBIAS GREGSON SHOWS WHAT HI CAN DO. The papers next day were full of the “Brixton Mystery” as they termed it. Each had a long account of the affair, and some had leaders upon it in addition. There was some information in them which was new to me. I still retain in my scrap book numerous clippings and extracts bearing upon the case. Here is a condensation of a few of them: The “Daily Telegranh” remarked that in the history of crime there had seldom been a tragedy which presented stranger features. The Ge rman name of the victim, th e absence of all other motive, and the sinister inscription on the wall, all pointed to its perpetration by political refugees and revolutionists. The Socialists had many branches in America, and the deceased had, no doubt, infringed their unwritten laws and been tracked down by them. After alluding airily to the Vehmgericht, aqua tofana, Carbonari, the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, the Darwinian theory, the principles of Malthus, and the Ratcliff highway murders, the article concluded by admonishing the government and advocating a closer watch over foreigners in England. (to be continued. )