observed.
“You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went
into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that
for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to
life itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of the
imagination.”
“A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting.”
“You did, doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view,
for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you, until your
reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. Now, Mr.
Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this morning,
and to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most singular
which I have listened to for some time. You have heard me remark that
the strangest and most unique things are very often connected not with
the larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where
there is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been committed.
As far as I have heard it is impossible for me to say whether the
present case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events
is certainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to.
Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to recommence
your narrative. I ask you, not merely because my friend Dr. Watson has
not heard the opening part, but also because the peculiar nature of the
story makes me anxious to have every possible detail from your lips.
As a rule, when I have heard some slight indication of the course of
events, I am able to guide myself by the thousands of other similar
cases which occur to my memory. In the present instance I am forced to
admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief, unique.”
The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some
little pride, and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside
pocket of his great-coat. As he glanced down the advertisement column,
with his head thrust forward, and the paper flattened out upon his
knee, I took a good look at the man, and endeavored, after the fashion
of my companion, to read the indications which might be presented by
his dress or appearance.
I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore
every mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese,
pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy gray shepherd’s check trousers,
a not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab
waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of
metal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown
overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him.
Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man
save his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and
discontent upon his features.
Sherlock Holmes’s quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his
head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. “Beyond the
obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labor, that he takes
snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and that he
has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing
else.”
Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the
paper, but his eyes upon my companion.
“How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?”
he asked. “How did you know, for example, that I did manual labor. It’s
as true as gospel, for I began as a ship’s carpenter.”
“Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than
your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more developed.”
“Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?”
“I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,
especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use
an arc-and-compass breastpin.”
“Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?”
“What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five
inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where you
rest it upon the desk.”
“Well, but China?”
“The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist
could only have been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoo
marks, and have even contributed to the literature of the subject.
That trick of staining the fishes’ scales of a delicate pink is quite
peculiar to China. When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin hanging from
your watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple.”
Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. “Well, I never!” said he. “I thought
at first that you had done something clever, but I see that there was
nothing in it, after all.”
“I begin to think, Watson,” said Holmes, “that I make a mistake in
explaining. ‘Omne ignotum pro magnifico,’ you know, and my poor little
reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid. Can
you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?”
“Yes, I have got it now,” he answered, with his thick, red finger
planted half-way down the column. “Here it is. This is what began it
all. You just read it for yourself, sir.”
I took the paper from him, and read as follows:
“TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the
late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pa., U.S.A., there is now
another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League
to a salary of £4 a week for purely nominal services. All
red-headed men who are sound in body and mind, and above
the age of twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on
Monday, at eleven o’clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of
the League, 7 Pope’s Court, Fleet Street.”
“What on earth does this mean?” I ejaculated, after I had twice read
over the extraordinary announcement.
Holmes chuckled, and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in
high spirits. “It is a little off the beaten track, isn’t it?” said
he. “And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch, and tell us all about
yourself, your household, and the effect which this advertisement had
upon your fortunes. You will first make a note, doctor, of the paper
and the date.”
“It is _The Morning Chronicle_, of April 27, 1890. Just two months ago.”
“Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?”
“Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,”
said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; “I have a small pawnbroker’s
business at Coburg Square, near the city. It’s not a very large affair,
and of late years it has not done more than just give me a living. I
used to be able to keep two assistants, but now I only keep one; and I
would have a job to pay him, but that he is willing to come for half
wages, so as to learn the business.”
“What is the name of this obliging youth?” asked Sherlock Holmes.
“His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he’s not such a youth, either. It’s
hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. Holmes;
and I know very well that he could better himself, and earn twice what
I am able to give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should I
put ideas in his head?”
“Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an _employé_ who
comes under the full market price. It is not a common experience among
employers in this age. I don’t know that your assistant is not as
remarkable as your advertisement.”
“Oh, he has his faults, too,” said Mr. Wilson. “Never was such a fellow
for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to be
improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit
into its hole to develope his pictures. That is his main fault; but, on
the whole, he’s a good worker. There’s no vice in him.”
“He is still with you, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking,
and keeps the place clean—that’s all I have in the house, for I am a
widower, and never had any family. We live very quietly, sir, the three
of us; and we keep a roof over our heads, and pay our debts, if we do
nothing more.
“The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, he
came down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very
paper in his hand, and he says:
“‘I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.’
“‘Why that?’ I asks.
“‘Why,’ says he, ‘here’s another vacancy on the League of the
Red-headed Men. It’s worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets
it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than there are men,
so that the trustees are at their wits’ end what to do with the money.
If my hair would only change color, here’s a nice little crib all ready
for me to step into.’
“‘Why, what is it, then?’ I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very
stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my having
to go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting my foot over the
door-mat. In that way I didn’t know much of what was going on outside,
and I was always glad of a bit of news.
“‘Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?’ he asked,
with his eyes open.
“‘Never.’
“‘Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of the
vacancies.’
“‘And what are they worth?’ I asked.
“‘Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and it
need not interfere very much with one’s other occupations.’
“Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for the
business has not been over-good for some years, and an extra couple of
hundred would have been very handy.
“‘Tell me all about it,’ said I.
“‘Well,’ said he, showing me the advertisement, ‘you can see for
yourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address
where you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out, the
League was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who
was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself red-headed, and he had a
great sympathy for all red-headed men; so, when he died, it was found
that he had left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with
instructions to apply the interest to the providing of easy berths to
men whose hair is of that color. From all I hear it is splendid pay,
and very little to do.’
“‘But,’ said I, ‘there would be millions of red-headed men who would
apply.’
“‘Not so many as you might think,’ he answered. ‘You see it is really
confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had started from
London when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town a good turn.
Then, again, I have heard it is no use your applying if your hair is
light red, or dark red, or anything but real bright, blazing, fiery
red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson, you would just walk in;
but perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put yourself out of
the way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.’
“Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my
hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that, if
there was to be any competition in the matter, I stood as good a chance
as any man that I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so
much about it that I thought he might prove useful, so I just ordered
him to put up the shutters for the day, and to come right away with me.
He was very willing to have a holiday, so we shut the business up, and
started off for the address that was given us in the advertisement.
“I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From
north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his
hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. Fleet
Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope’s Court looked
like a coster’s orange barrow. I should not have thought there were
so many in the whole country as were brought together by that single
advertisement. Every shade of color they were—straw, lemon, orange,
brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were
not many who had the real vivid flame-colored tint. When I saw how many
were waiting, I would have given it up in despair; but Spaulding would
not hear of it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed and
pulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up to
the steps which led to the office. There was a double stream upon the
stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back dejected; but we
wedged in as well as we could, and soon found ourselves in the office.”
“Your experience has been a most entertaining one,” remarked Holmes, as
his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff.
“Pray continue your very interesting statement.”
“There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a
deal table, behind which sat a small man, with a head that was even
redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he came
up, and then he always managed to find some fault in them which would
disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy
matter, after all. However, when our turn came, the little man was much
more favorable to me than to any of the others, and he closed the door
as we entered, so that he might have a private word with us.
“‘This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,’ said my assistant, ‘and he is willing to
fill a vacancy in the League.’
“‘And he is admirably suited for it,’ the other answered. ‘He has every
requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so fine.’ He
took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my hair
until I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he plunged forward, wrung my
hand, and congratulated me warmly on my success.
“‘It would be injustice to hesitate,’ said he. ‘You will, however, I am
sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.’ With that he seized
my hair in both his hands, and tugged until I yelled with the pain.
‘There is water in your eyes,’ said he, as he released me. ‘I perceive
that all is as it should be. But we have to be careful, for we have
twice been deceived by wigs and once by paint. I could tell you tales
of cobbler’s wax which would disgust you with human nature.’ He stepped
over to the window, and shouted through it at the top of his voice that
the vacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came up from below,
and the folk all trooped away in different directions, until there was
not a red head to be seen except my own and that of the manager.
“‘My name,’ said he, ‘is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of the
pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a
married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?’
“I answered that I had not.
“His face fell immediately.
“‘Dear me!’ he said, gravely, ‘that is very serious indeed! I am sorry
to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the propagation
and spread of the red-heads as well as for their maintenance. It is
exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a bachelor.’
“My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was not
to have the vacancy after all; but, after thinking it over for a few
minutes, he said that it would be all right.
“‘In the case of another,’ said he, ‘the objection might be fatal, but
we must stretch a point in favor of a man with such a head of hair as
yours. When shall you be able to enter upon your new duties?’
“‘Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,’ said I.
“‘Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!’ said Vincent Spaulding. ‘I
shall be able to look after that for you.’
“‘What would be the hours?’ I asked.
“‘Ten to two.’
“Now a pawnbroker’s business is mostly done of an evening, Mr. Holmes,
especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just before pay-day;
so it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings.
Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would see
to anything that turned up.
“‘That would suit me very well,’ said I. ‘And the pay?’
“‘Is £4 a week.’
“‘And the work?’
“‘Is purely nominal.’
“‘What do you call purely nominal?’
“‘Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the
whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever.
The will is very clear upon that point. You don’t comply with the
conditions if you budge from the office during that time.’
“‘It’s only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,’ said
I.
“‘No excuse will avail,’ said Mr. Duncan Ross, ‘neither sickness nor
business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your
billet.’
“‘And the work?’
“‘Is to copy out the “Encyclopædia Britannica.” There is the first
volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and
blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be ready
to-morrow?’
“‘Certainly,’ I answered.
“‘Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you once
more on the important position which you have been fortunate enough to
gain.’ He bowed me out of the room, and I went home with my assistant,
hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my own good
fortune.
“Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in
low spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole
affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might
be I could not imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that any one
could make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing
anything so simple as copying out the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica.’
Vincent Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime I
had reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morning
I determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle
of ink, and with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I
started off for Pope’s Court.
“Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as possible.
The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was there to
see that I got fairly to work. He started me off upon the letter A, and
then he left me; but he would drop in from time to time to see that all
was right with me. At two o’clock he bade me good-day, complimented me
upon the amount that I had written, and locked the door of the office
after me.
“This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager
came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week’s work.
It was the same next week, and the same the week after. Every morning
I was there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr.
Duncan Ross took to coming in only once of a morning, and then, after
a time, he did not come in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to
leave the room for an instant, for I was not sure when he might come,
and the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I would
not risk the loss of it.
“Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots and
Archery and Armor and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with diligence
that I might get on to the B’s before very long. It cost me something
in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my writings.
And then suddenly the whole business came to an end.”
“To an end?”
“Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as usual
at ten o’clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little square
of card-board hammered on to the middle of the panel with a tack. Here
it is, and you can read for yourself.”
He held up a piece of white card-board about the size of a sheet of
note-paper. It read in this fashion:
“THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
IS
DISSOLVED.
_October 9, 1890._”
Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful
face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely
overtopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a roar
of laughter.
“I cannot see that there is anything very funny,” cried our client,
flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. “If you can do nothing
better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere.”
“No, no,” cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he
had half risen. “I really wouldn’t miss your case for the world. It is
most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my saying
so, something just a little funny about it. Pray what steps did you
take when you found the card upon the door?”
“I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at
the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it.
Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the
ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of
the Red-headed League. He said that he had never heard of any such
body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the
name was new to him.
[Illustration: “THE DOOR WAS SHUT AND LOCKED”]
“‘Well,’ said I, ‘the gentleman at No. 4.’
“‘What, the red-headed man?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘Oh,’ said he, ‘his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor, and
was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises
were ready. He moved out yesterday.’
“‘Where could I find him?’
“‘Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King
Edward Street, near St. Paul’s.’
“I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was a
manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard of
either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.”
“And what did you do then?” asked Holmes.
“I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my
assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that
if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite good enough,
Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place without a struggle, so,
as I had heard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folk
who were in need of it, I came right away to you.”
“And you did very wisely,” said Holmes. “Your case is an exceedingly
remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you
have told me I think that it is possible that graver issues hang from
it than might at first sight appear.”
“Grave enough!” said Mr. Jabez Wilson. “Why, I have lost four pound a
week.”
“As far as you are personally concerned,” remarked Holmes, “I do not
see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. On
the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some £30, to say
nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject
which comes under the letter A. You have lost nothing by them.”
“No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and what
their object was in playing this prank—if it was a prank—upon me. It
was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two and thirty
pounds.”
“We shall endeavor to clear up these points for you. And, first, one
or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first called
your attention to the advertisement—how long had he been with you?”
“About a month then.”
“How did he come?”
“In answer to an advertisement.”
“Was he the only applicant?”
“No, I had a dozen.”
“Why did you pick him?”
“Because he was handy, and would come cheap.”
“At half-wages, in fact.”
“Yes.”
“What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?”
“Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face,
though he’s not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his
forehead.”
Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. “I thought as
much,” said he. “Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced for
earrings?”
“Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy had done it for him when he was a
lad.”
“Hum!” said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. “He is still with
you?”
“Oh yes, sir; I have only just left him.”
“And has your business been attended to in your absence?”
“Nothing to complain of, sir. There’s never very much to do of a
morning.”
“That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion upon
the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, and I
hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion.”
“Well, Watson,” said Holmes, when our visitor had left us, “what do you
make of it all?”
“I make nothing of it,” I answered, frankly. “It is a most mysterious
business.”
“As a rule,” said Holmes, “the more bizarre a thing is the less
mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes
which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most
difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter.”
“What are you going to do, then?” I asked.