The Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes (52 page)

BOOK: The Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
11.66Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

It is customary at Mawson's for the clerks to leave at midday on Saturday. Sergeant Tuson, of the City Police, was somewhat surprised therefore to see a gentleman with a carpet-bag come down the steps at twenty minutes past one. His suspicions being aroused, the sergeant followed the man, and with the aid of Constable Pollock succeeded, after a most desperate resistance, in arresting him. It was at once clear that a daring and gigantic robbery had been committed. Nearly a hundred thousand pounds' worth of American railway bonds, with a large amount of scrip in other mines and companies, were discovered in the bag. On examining the premises the body of the unfortunate watchman was found doubled up and thrust into the largest of the safes, where it would not have been discovered until Monday morning had it not been for the prompt action of Sergeant Tuson. The man's skull had been shattered by a blow from a poker, delivered from behind. There could be no doubt that Beddington had obtained entrance by pretending that he had left something behind him, and having murdered the watchman, rapidly rifled the large safe, and then made off with his booty. His brother, who usually works with him, has not appeared in this job, as far as can at present be ascertained, although the police are making energetic inquiries as to his whereabouts.

‘Well, we may save the police some little trouble in that direction,' said Holmes, glancing at the haggard figure huddled up by the window. ‘Human nature is a strange mixture, Watson. You see that even a villain and a murderer can inspire such affection that his brother turns to suicide when he learns that his neck is forfeited. However, we have no choice as to our action. The doctor and I will remain on guard, Mr Pycroft, if you will have the kindness to step out for the police.'

THE
GLORIA SCOTT

‘I have some papers here,' said my friend, Sherlock Holmes, as we sat one winter's night on either side of the fire, ‘which I really think, Watson, it would be worth your while to glance over. These are the documents in the extraordinary case of the
Gloria Scott
, and this is the message which struck Justice of the Peace Trevor dead with horror when he read it.'

He had picked from a drawer a little tarnished cylinder, and, undoing the tape, he handed me a short note scrawled upon a half-sheet of slate-grey paper.

‘The supply of game for London is going steadily up,' it ran. ‘Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for fly-paper, and for preservation of your hen pheasant's life.'

As I glanced up from reading this enigmatical message I saw Holmes chuckling at the expression upon my face.

‘You look a little bewildered,' said he.

‘I cannot see how such a message as this could inspire horror. It seems to me to be rather grotesque than otherwise.'

‘Very likely. Yet the fact remains that the reader, who was a fine, robust old man, was knocked clean down by it, as if it had been the butt-end of a pistol.'

‘You arouse my curiosity,' said I. ‘But why did you say just now that there were very particular reasons why I should study this case?'

‘Because it was the first in which I was ever engaged.'

I had often endeavoured to elicit from my companion what had first turned his mind in the direction of criminal research, but I had never caught him before in a communicative humour. Now he sat
forward in his armchair, and spread out the documents upon his knees. Then he lit his pipe and sat for some time smoking and turning them over.

‘You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor?' he asked. ‘He was the only friend I made during the two years that I was at college.
1
I was never a very sociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and working out my own little methods of thought, so that I never mixed much with the men of my year. Bar fencing and boxing
2
I had few athletic tastes, and then my line of study was quite distinct from that of the other fellows, so that we had no points of contact at all. Trevor was the only man I knew, and that only through the accident of his bull-terrier freezing on to my ankle one morning as I went down to chapel.

‘It was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it was effective. I was laid by the heels for ten days, and Trevor used to come in to inquire after me. At first it was only a minute's chat, but soon his visits lengthened, and before the end of the term we were close friends. He was a hearty, full-blooded fellow, full of spirit and energy, the very opposite to me in most respects; but we found we had some subjects in common, and it was a bond of union when I learned that he was as friendless as I. Finally, he invited me down to his father's place at Donnithorpe,
3
in Norfolk, and I accepted his hospitality for a month of the long vacation.
4

‘Old Trevor was evidently a man of some wealth and consideration, a J.P. and a landed proprietor. Donnithorpe is a little hamlet just to the north of Langmere,
5
in the country of the Broads. The house was an old-fashioned, wide-spread, oak-beamed, brick building, with a fine lime-lined avenue leading up to it. There was excellent wild-duck shooting in the fens, remarkably good fishing, a small but select library, taken over, as I understood, from a former occupant, and a tolerable cook, so that it would be a fastidious man who could not put in a pleasant month there.

‘Trevor senior was a widower, and my friend was his only son. There had been a daughter, I heard, but she had died of diphtheria while on a visit to Birmingham. The father interested me extremely. He was a man of little culture, but with a considerable amount of rude
strength both physically and mentally. He knew hardly any books, but he had travelled far, had seen much of the world, and had remembered all that he had learned. In person he was a thick-set, burly man with a shock of grizzled hair, a brown, weather-beaten face, and blue eyes which were keen to the verge of fierceness. Yet he had a reputation for kindness and charity in the countryside, and was noted for the leniency of his sentences from the bench.

‘One evening, shortly after my arrival, we were sitting over a glass of port after dinner, when young Trevor began to talk about those habits of observation and inference which I had already formed into a system, although I had not yet appreciated the part which they were to play in my life. The old man evidently thought that his son was exaggerating in his description of one or two trivial feats which I had performed.

‘ “Come now, Mr Holmes,” said he, laughing good-humouredly, “I'm an excellent subject, if you can deduce anything from me.”

‘ “I fear there is not very much,” I answered. “I might suggest that you have gone about in fear of some personal attack within the last twelve months.”

‘The laugh faded from his lips, and he stared at me in great surprise.

‘ “Well, that's true enough,” said he. “You know, Victor,” turning to his son, “when we broke up that poaching gang, they swore to knife us; and Sir Edward Hoby has actually been attacked. I've always been on my guard since then, though I have no idea how you know it.”

‘ “You have a very handsome stick,” I answered. “By the inscription, I observed that you had not had it more than a year. But you have taken some pains to bore the head of it and pour melted lead into the hole, so as to make it a formidable weapon. I argued that you would not take such precautions unless you had some danger to fear.”

‘ “Anything else?” he asked, smiling.

‘ “You have boxed a good deal in your youth.”

‘ “Right again. How did you know it? Is my nose knocked a little out of the straight?”

‘ “No,” said I. “It is your ears. They have the peculiar flattening and thickening which marks the boxing man.”

‘ “Anything else?”

‘ “You have done a great deal of digging, by your callosities.”
6

‘ “Made all my money at the gold-fields.”

‘ “You have been in New Zealand.”

‘ “Right again.”

‘ “You have visited Japan.”

‘ “Quite true.”

‘ “And you have been most intimately associated with someone whose initials were J.A., and whom you afterwards were eager to entirely forget.”

‘Mr Trevor stood slowly up, fixed his large blue eyes on me with a strange, wild stare, and then pitched forward on his face among the nutshells which strewed the cloth, in a dead faint.

‘You can imagine, Watson, how shocked both his son and I were. His attack did not last long, however, for when we undid his collar and sprinkled the water from one of the finger glasses over his face, he gave a gasp or two and sat up.

‘ “Ah, boys!” said he, forcing a smile. “I hope I haven't frightened you. Strong as I look, there is a weak place in my heart, and it does not take much to knock me over. I don't know how you manage this, Mr Holmes, but it seems to me that all the detectives of fact and of fancy would be children in your hands. That's your line of life, sir, and you may take the word of a man who has seen something of the world.”

‘And that recommendation, with the exaggerated estimate of my ability with which he prefaced it, was, if you will believe me, Watson, the very first thing which ever made me feel that a profession might be made out of what had up to that time been the merest hobby. At the moment, however, I was too much concerned at the sudden illness of my host to think of anything else.

‘ “I hope that I have said nothing to pain you,” said I.

‘ “Well, you certainly touched upon rather a tender point. Might I ask how you know and how much you know?” He spoke now in a half-jesting fashion, but a look of terror still lurked at the back of his eyes.

‘ “It is simplicity itself,” said I. “When you bared your arm to draw that fish into the boat, I saw that ‘J.A.' had been tattooed in the bend
of the elbow.
7
The letters were still legible, but it was perfectly clear from their blurred appearance, and from the staining of the skin round them, that efforts had been made to obliterate them. It was obvious, then, that those initials had once been very familiar to you, and that you had afterwards wished to forget them.”

‘ “What an eye you have!” he cried, with a sigh of relief. “It is just as you say. But we won't talk of it. Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old loves are the worst. Come into the billiard-room and have a quiet cigar.”

‘From that day, amid all his cordiality, there was always a touch of suspicion in Mr Trevor's manner towards me. Even his son remarked it. “You've given the governor such a turn,” said he, “that he'll never be sure again of what you know and what you don't know.” He did not mean to show it, I am sure, but it was so strongly in his mind that it peeped out at every action. At last I became so convinced that I was causing him uneasiness, that I drew my visit to a close. On the very day, however, before I left, an incident occurred which proved in the sequel to be of importance.

‘We were sitting upon the lawn on garden chairs, the three of us, basking in the sun and admiring the view across the Broads, when the maid came out to say that there was a man at the door who wanted to see Mr Trevor.

‘ “What is his name?” asked my host.

‘ “He would not give any.”

‘ “What does he want, then?”

‘ “He says that you know him, and that he only wants a moment's conversation.”

‘ “Show him round here.” An instant afterwards there appeared a little weazened fellow, with a cringing manner and a shambling style of walking. He wore an open jacket, with a splotch of tar on the sleeve, a red and black check shirt, dungaree trousers, and heavy boots badly worn. His face was thin and brown and crafty, with a perpetual smile upon it, which showed an irregular line of yellow teeth, and his crinkled hands were half closed in a way that is distinctive of sailors. As he came slouching across the lawn I heard Mr Trevor make a sort of hiccuping noise in his throat, and, jumping out of his chair, he ran
into the house. He was back in a moment, and I smelt a strong reek of brandy as he passed me.

‘ “Well, my man,” said he, “what can I do for you?”

‘The sailor stood looking at him with puckered eyes, and with the same loose-lipped smile upon his face.

‘ “You don't know me?” he asked.

‘ “Why, dear me, it is surely Hudson!”
8
said Mr Trevor, in a tone of surprise.

‘ “Hudson it is, sir,” said the seaman. “Why, it's thirty year and more since I saw you last. Here you are in your house, and me still picking my salt meat out of the harness cask.”

‘ “Tut, you will find that I have not forgotten old times,” cried Mr Trevor, and, walking towards the sailor, he said something in a low voice. “Go into the kitchen,” he continued out loud, “and you will get food and drink. I have no doubt that I shall find you a situation.”

‘ “Thank you, sir,” said the seaman, touching his forelock. “I'm just off a two-yearer in an eight-knot tramp,
9
short-handed at that, and I wants a rest. I thought I'd get it either with Mr Beddoes or with you.”

‘ “Ah!” cried Mr Trevor, “you know where Mr Beddoes is?”

‘ “Bless you, sir, I know where all my old friends are,” said the fellow, with a sinister smile, and slouched off after the maid to the kitchen. Mr Trevor mumbled something to us about having been shipmates with the man when he was going back to the diggings, and then, leaving us on the lawn, he went indoors. An hour later, when we entered the house we found him stretched dead drunk upon the dining-room sofa. The whole incident left a most ugly impression upon my mind, and I was not sorry next day to leave Donnithorpe behind me, for I felt that my presence must be a source of embarrassment to my friend.

‘All this occurred during the first month of the long vacation. I went up to my London rooms, where I spent seven weeks working out a few experiments in organic chemistry.
10
One day, however, when the autumn was far advanced and the vacation drawing to a close, I received a telegram from my friend imploring me to return to Donnithorpe, and saying that he was in great need of my advice and
assistance. Of course I dropped everything and set out for the north
11
once more.

Other books

The Devil’s Share by Wallace Stroby
The Deceit by Tom Knox
Strange Music by Malcolm Macdonald
Chasing the North Star by Robert Morgan
Agent Storm: My Life Inside al-Qaeda by Morten Storm, Paul Cruickshank, Tim Lister
The Stand Off by Stefani, Z
Dirty South - v4 by Ace Atkins