dissolved until the work was done. It was my part after we haddiscovered in the transformed Henderson the fallen despot, to attachmyself to his household and keep the others in touch with hismovements. This I was able to do by securing the position of governessin his family. He little knew that the woman who faced him at everymeal was the woman whose husband he had hurried at an hour's noticeinto eternity. I smiled on him, did my duty to his children, and bidedmy time. An attempt was made in Paris and failed. We zig-zaggedswiftly here and there over Europe to throw off the pursuers andfinally returned to this house, which he had taken upon his firstarrival in England.
"But here also the ministers of justice were waiting. Knowing that hewould return there, Garcia, who is the son of the former highestdignitary in San Pedro, was waiting with two trusty companions ofhumble station, all three fired with the same reasons for revenge. Hecould do little during the day, for Murillo took every precaution andnever went out save with his satellite Lucas, or Lopez as he was knownin the days of his greatness. At night, however, he slept alone, andthe avenger might find him. On a certain evening, which had beenprearranged, I sent my friend final instructions, for the man wasforever on the alert and continually changed his room. I was to seethat the doors were open and the signal of a green or white light in awindow which faced the drive was to give notice if all was safe or ifthe attempt had better be postponed.
"But everything went wrong with us. In some way I had excited thesuspicion of Lopez, the secretary. He crept up behind me and sprangupon me just as I had finished the note. He and his master dragged meto my room and held judgment upon me as a convicted traitress. Thenand there they would have plunged their knives into me could they haveseen how to escape the consequences of the deed. Finally, after muchdebate, they concluded that my murder was too dangerous. But theydetermined to get rid forever of Garcia. They had gagged me, andMurillo twisted my arm round until I gave him the address. I swearthat he might have twisted it off had I understood what it would meanto Garcia. Lopez addressed the note which I had written, sealed itwith his sleeve-link, and sent it by the hand of the servant, Jose.How they murdered him I do not know, save that it was Murillo's handwho struck him down, for Lopez had remained to guard me. I believe hemust have waited among the gorse bushes through which the path windsand struck him down as he passed. At first they were of a mind to lethim enter the house and to kill him as a detected burglar; but theyargued that if they were mixed up in an inquiry their own identitywould at once be publicly disclosed and they would be open to furtherattacks. With the death of Garcia, the pursuit might cease, since sucha death might frighten others from the task.
"All would now have been well for them had it not been for my knowledgeof what they had done. I have no doubt that there were times when mylife hung in the balance. I was confined to my room, terrorized by themost horrible threats, cruelly ill-used to break my spirit--see thisstab on my shoulder and the bruises from end to end of my arms--and agag was thrust into my mouth on the one occasion when I tried to callfrom the window. For five days this cruel imprisonment continued, withhardly enough food to hold body and soul together. This afternoon agood lunch was brought me, but the moment after I took it I knew that Ihad been drugged. In a sort of dream I remember being half-led,half-carried to the carriage; in the same state I was conveyed to thetrain. Only then, when the wheels were almost moving, did I suddenlyrealize that my liberty lay in my own hands. I sprang out, they triedto drag me back, and had it not been for the help of this good man, wholed me to the cab, I should never had broken away. Now, thank God, Iam beyond their power forever."
We had all listened intently to this remarkable statement. It wasHolmes who broke the silence.
"Our difficulties are not over," he remarked, shaking his head. "Ourpolice work ends, but our legal work begins."
"Exactly," said I. "A plausible lawyer could make it out as an act ofself-defence. There may be a hundred crimes in the background, but itis only on this one that they can be tried."
"Come, come," said Baynes cheerily, "I think better of the law thanthat. Self-defence is one thing. To entice a man in cold blood withthe object of murdering him is another, whatever danger you may fearfrom him. No, no, we shall all be justified when we see the tenants ofHigh Gable at the next Guildford Assizes."
* * *
It is a matter of history, however, that a little time was still toelapse before the Tiger of San Pedro should meet with his deserts.Wily and bold, he and his companion threw their pursuer off their trackby entering a lodging-house in Edmonton Street and leaving by theback-gate into Curzon Square. From that day they were seen no more inEngland. Some six months afterwards the Marquess of Montalva andSignor Rulli, his secretary, were both murdered in their rooms at theHotel Escurial at Madrid. The crime was ascribed to Nihilism, and themurderers were never arrested. Inspector Baynes visited us at BakerStreet with a printed description of the dark face of the secretary,and of the masterful features, the magnetic black eyes, and the tuftedbrows of his master. We could not doubt that justice, if belated, hadcome at last.
"A chaotic case, my dear Watson," said Holmes over an evening pipe. "Itwill not be possible for you to present in that compact form which isdear to your heart. It covers two continents, concerns two groups ofmysterious persons, and is further complicated by the highlyrespectable presence of our friend, Scott Eccles, whose inclusion showsme that the deceased Garcia had a scheming mind and a well-developedinstinct of self-preservation. It is remarkable only for the fact thatamid a perfect jungle of possibilities we, with our worthycollaborator, the inspector, have kept our close hold on the essentialsand so been guided along the crooked and winding path. Is there anypoint which is not quite clear to you?"
"The object of the mulatto cook's return?"
"I think that the strange creature in the kitchen may account for it.The man was a primitive savage from the backwoods of San Pedro, andthis was his fetish. When his companion and he had fled to someprearranged retreat--already occupied, no doubt by a confederate--thecompanion had persuaded him to leave so compromising an article offurniture. But the mulatto's heart was with it, and he was driven backto it next day, when, on reconnoitering through the window, he foundpoliceman Walters in possession. He waited three days longer, and thenhis piety or his superstition drove him to try once more. InspectorBaynes, who, with his usual astuteness, had minimized the incidentbefore me, had really recognized its importance and had left a trapinto which the creature walked. Any other point, Watson?"
"The torn bird, the pail of blood, the charred bones, all the mysteryof that weird kitchen?"
Holmes smiled as he turned up an entry in his note-book.
"I spent a morning in the British Museum reading up on that and otherpoints. Here is a quotation from Eckermann's Voodooism and the NegroidReligions:
"'The true voodoo-worshipper attempts nothing of importance withoutcertain sacrifices which are intended to propitiate his unclean gods.In extreme cases these rites take the form of human sacrifices followedby cannibalism. The more usual victims are a white cock, which isplucked in pieces alive, or a black goat, whose throat is cut and bodyburned.'
"So you see our savage friend was very orthodox in his ritual. It isgrotesque, Watson," Holmes added, as he slowly fastened his notebook,"but, as I have had occasion to remark, there is but one step from thegrotesque to the horrible."
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