Read A Study in Scarlet Page 5

he continued, turning to the two detectives. "There has been

  murder done, and the murderer was a man. He was more than

  six feet high, was in the prime of life, had small feet for

  his height, wore coarse, square-toed boots and smoked a

  Trichinopoly cigar. He came here with his victim in a

  four-wheeled cab, which was drawn by a horse with three old shoes

  and one new one on his off fore leg. In all probability the

  murderer had a florid face, and the finger-nails of his right

  hand were remarkably long. These are only a few indications,

  but they may assist you."

  Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each other with an incredulous

  smile.

  "If this man was murdered, how was it done?" asked the former.

  "Poison," said Sherlock Holmes curtly, and strode off.

  "One other thing, Lestrade," he added, turning round at the door:

  "`Rache,' is the German for `revenge;' so don't lose your

  time looking for Miss Rachel."

  With which Parthian shot he walked away, leaving the two

  rivals open-mouthed behind him.

  CHAPTER IV.

  WHAT JOHN RANCE HAD TO TELL.

  IT was one o'clock when we left No. 3, Lauriston Gardens.

  Sherlock Holmes led me to the nearest telegraph office,

  whence he dispatched a long telegram. He then hailed a cab,

  and ordered the driver to take us to the address given us by

  Lestrade.

  "There is nothing like first hand evidence," he remarked;

  "as a matter of fact, my mind is entirely made up upon the case,

  but still we may as well learn all that is to be learned."

  "You amaze me, Holmes," said I. "Surely you are not as sure

  as you pretend to be of all those particulars which you gave."

  "There's no room for a mistake," he answered. "The very

  first thing which I observed on arriving there was that a cab

  had made two ruts with its wheels close to the curb. Now, up

  to last night, we have had no rain for a week, so that those

  wheels which left such a deep impression must have been there

  during the night. There were the marks of the horse's hoofs,

  too, the outline of one of which was far more clearly cut

  than that of the other three, showing that that was a new

  shoe. Since the cab was there after the rain began, and was

  not there at any time during the morning -- I have Gregson's

  word for that -- it follows that it must have been there

  during the night, and, therefore, that it brought those two

  individuals to the house."

  "That seems simple enough," said I; "but how about the other

  man's height?"

  "Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out of ten,

  can be told from the length of his stride. It is a simple

  calculation enough, though there is no use my boring you with

  figures. I had this fellow's stride both on the clay outside

  and on the dust within. Then I had a way of checking my

  calculation. When a man writes on a wall, his instinct leads

  him to write about the level of his own eyes. Now that writing

  was just over six feet from the ground. It was child's play."

  "And his age?" I asked.

  "Well, if a man can stride four and a-half feet without the

  smallest effort, he can't be quite in the sere and yellow.

  That was the breadth of a puddle on the garden walk which he

  had evidently walked across. Patent-leather boots had gone

  round, and Square-toes had hopped over. There is no mystery

  about it at all. I am simply applying to ordinary life a few

  of those precepts of observation and deduction which I

  advocated in that article. Is there anything else that

  puzzles you?"

  "The finger nails and the Trichinopoly," I suggested.

  "The writing on the wall was done with a man's forefinger

  dipped in blood. My glass allowed me to observe that the

  plaster was slightly scratched in doing it, which would not

  have been the case if the man's nail had been trimmed.

  I gathered up some scattered ash from the floor. It was dark

  in colour and flakey -- such an ash as is only made by a

  Trichinopoly. I have made a special study of cigar ashes --

  in fact, I have written a monograph upon the subject.

  I flatter myself that I can distinguish at a glance the ash of

  any known brand, either of cigar or of tobacco. It is just

  in such details that the skilled detective differs from the

  Gregson and Lestrade type."

  "And the florid face?" I asked.

  "Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I have no doubt that

  I was right. You must not ask me that at the present state

  of the affair."

  I passed my hand over my brow. "My head is in a whirl,"

  I remarked; "the more one thinks of it the more mysterious it

  grows. How came these two men -- if there were two men --

  into an empty house? What has become of the cabman who drove

  them? How could one man compel another to take poison?

  Where did the blood come from? What was the object of the

  murderer, since robbery had no part in it? How came the

  woman's ring there? Above all, why should the second man write

  up the German word RACHE before decamping? I confess that I

  cannot see any possible way of reconciling all these facts."

  My companion smiled approvingly.

  "You sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly and

  well," he said. "There is much that is still obscure, though

  I have quite made up my mind on the main facts. As to poor

  Lestrade's discovery it was simply a blind intended to put

  the police upon a wrong track, by suggesting Socialism and

  secret societies. It was not done by a German. The A, if

  you noticed, was printed somewhat after the German fashion.

  Now, a real German invariably prints in the Latin character,

  so that we may safely say that this was not written by one,

  but by a clumsy imitator who overdid his part. It was simply

  a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong channel. I'm not going

  to tell you much more of the case, Doctor. You know a

  conjuror gets no credit when once he has explained his trick,

  and if I show you too much of my method of working, you will

  come to the conclusion that I am a very ordinary individual

  after all."

  "I shall never do that," I answered; "you have brought

  detection as near an exact science as it ever will be brought

  in this world."

  My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the

  earnest way in which I uttered them. I had already observed

  that he was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art

  as any girl could be of her beauty.

  "I'll tell you one other thing," he said. "Patent leathers {10}

  and Square-toes came in the same cab, and they walked down

  the pathway together as friendly as possible -- arm-in-arm,

  in all probability. When they got inside they walked up and

  down the room -- or rather, Patent-leathers stood still while

  Square-toes walked up and down. I could read all that in the

  dust; and I could read that as he walked he grew more and

  more excited. That is shown by the increased l
ength of his

  strides. He was talking all the while, and working himself

  up, no doubt, into a fury. Then the tragedy occurred.

  I've told you all I know myself now, for the rest is mere

  surmise and conjecture. We have a good working basis, however,

  on which to start. We must hurry up, for I want to go to

  Halle's concert to hear Norman Neruda this afternoon."

  This conversation had occurred while our cab had been

  threading its way through a long succession of dingy streets

  and dreary by-ways. In the dingiest and dreariest of them

  our driver suddenly came to a stand. "That's Audley Court

  in there," he said, pointing to a narrow slit in the line of

  dead-coloured brick. "You'll find me here when you come back."

  Audley Court was not an attractive locality. The narrow

  passage led us into a quadrangle paved with flags and lined

  by sordid dwellings. We picked our way among groups of dirty

  children, and through lines of discoloured linen, until we

  came to Number 46, the door of which was decorated with a

  small slip of brass on which the name Rance was engraved.

  On enquiry we found that the constable was in bed, and we

  were shown into a little front parlour to await his coming.

  He appeared presently, looking a little irritable at being

  disturbed in his slumbers. "I made my report at the office,"

  he said.

  Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and played with

  it pensively. "We thought that we should like to hear it all

  from your own lips," he said.

  "I shall be most happy to tell you anything I can," the

  constable answered with his eyes upon the little golden disk.

  "Just let us hear it all in your own way as it occurred."

  Rance sat down on the horsehair sofa, and knitted his brows

  as though determined not to omit anything in his narrative.

  "I'll tell it ye from the beginning," he said. "My time is

  from ten at night to six in the morning. At eleven there was

  a fight at the `White Hart'; but bar that all was quiet

  enough on the beat. At one o'clock it began to rain, and I

  met Harry Murcher -- him who has the Holland Grove beat --

  and we stood together at the corner of Henrietta Street a-talkin'.

  Presently -- maybe about two or a little after -- I thought

  I would take a look round and see that all was right

  down the Brixton Road. It was precious dirty and lonely.

  Not a soul did I meet all the way down, though a cab or two

  went past me. I was a strollin' down, thinkin' between

  ourselves how uncommon handy a four of gin hot would be,

  when suddenly the glint of a light caught my eye in the window

  of that same house. Now, I knew that them two houses in

  Lauriston Gardens was empty on account of him that owns them

  who won't have the drains seed to, though the very last

  tenant what lived in one of them died o' typhoid fever.

  I was knocked all in a heap therefore at seeing a light

  in the window, and I suspected as something was wrong.

  When I got to the door ----"

  "You stopped, and then walked back to the garden gate,"

  my companion interrupted. "What did you do that for?"

  Rance gave a violent jump, and stared at Sherlock Holmes

  with the utmost amazement upon his features.

  "Why, that's true, sir," he said; "though how you come to

  know it, Heaven only knows. Ye see, when I got up to the door

  it was so still and so lonesome, that I thought I'd be none

  the worse for some one with me. I ain't afeared of anything

  on this side o' the grave; but I thought that maybe it was him

  that died o' the typhoid inspecting the drains what killed him.

  The thought gave me a kind o' turn, and I walked back to the

  gate to see if I could see Murcher's lantern, but there

  wasn't no sign of him nor of anyone else."

  "There was no one in the street?"

  "Not a livin' soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then I pulled

  myself together and went back and pushed the door open. All

  was quiet inside, so I went into the room where the light was

  a-burnin'. There was a candle flickerin' on the mantelpiece

  -- a red wax one -- and by its light I saw ----"

  "Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked round the room

  several times, and you knelt down by the body, and then you

  walked through and tried the kitchen door, and then ----"

  John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and

  suspicion in his eyes. "Where was you hid to see all that?"

  he cried. "It seems to me that you knows a deal more than

  you should."

  Holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the

  constable. "Don't get arresting me for the murder," he said.

  "I am one of the hounds and not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or

  Mr. Lestrade will answer for that. Go on, though. What did

  you do next?"

  Rance resumed his seat, without however losing his mystified

  expression. "I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle.

  That brought Murcher and two more to the spot."

  "Was the street empty then?"

  "Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any good goes."

  "What do you mean?"

  The constable's features broadened into a grin. "I've seen

  many a drunk chap in my time," he said, "but never anyone so

  cryin' drunk as that cove. He was at the gate when I came

  out, a-leanin' up agin the railings, and a-singin' at the

  pitch o' his lungs about Columbine's New-fangled Banner, or

  some such stuff. He couldn't stand, far less help."

  "What sort of a man was he?" asked Sherlock Holmes.

  John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression.

  "He was an uncommon drunk sort o' man," he said. "He'd ha'

  found hisself in the station if we hadn't been so took up."

  "His face -- his dress -- didn't you notice them?" Holmes

  broke in impatiently.

  "I should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop

  him up -- me and Murcher between us. He was a long chap,

  with a red face, the lower part muffled round ----"

  "That will do," cried Holmes. "What became of him?"

  "We'd enough to do without lookin' after him," the policeman

  said, in an aggrieved voice. "I'll wager he found his way

  home all right."

  "How was he dressed?"

  "A brown overcoat."

  "Had he a whip in his hand?"

  "A whip -- no."

  "He must have left it behind," muttered my companion.

  "You didn't happen to see or hear a cab after that?"

  "No."

  "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 last night. The man whom you held 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 it is so. Come along, Doctor."

  We started off for the cab together, leaving our informant

  inc
redulous, but obviously uncomfortable.

  "The blundering fool," Holmes said, bitterly, as we drove

  back to our lodgings. "Just to think of his having such an

  incomparable bit of good luck, and not taking advantage of it."

  "I am rather in the dark still. It is true that the

  description of this man tallies with your idea of the second

  party in this mystery. But why should he come back to the

  house after leaving it? That is not the way of criminals."

  "The ring, man, the ring: that was what he came back for.

  If we have no other way 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. There's the

  scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless 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-la-la-lira-lira-lay."

  Leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound carolled

  away like a lark while I meditated upon the many-sidedness

  of the human mind.

  CHAPTER V.

  OUR ADVERTISEMENT BRINGS A VISITOR.

  OUR morning's exertions had been too much for my weak health,

  and I was tired out in the afternoon. After Holmes'

  departure for the concert, I lay down upon the sofa and

  endeavoured 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

  crowded 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

  had 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

  malignant 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 condonment {11} in

  the eyes of the law.

  The more I thought of it the more extraordinary did my

  companion's hypothesis, that the man had been poisoned,

  appear. I remembered how 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 blood was that

  which lay so thickly upon the floor? 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

  remember 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.