overcoat. “There is something in what the fellow says about out-door
work,” he remarked, “so I think, Watson, that I must leave you to your
papers for a little.”
It was after five o’clock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but I had no
time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a confectioner’s
man with a very large flat box. This he unpacked with the help of a
youth whom he had brought with him, and presently, to my very great
astonishment, a quite epicurean little cold supper began to be laid out
upon our humble lodging-house mahogany. There were a couple of brace of
cold woodcock, a pheasant, a _pâté de foie gras_ pie, with a group of
ancient and cobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries, my
two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the Arabian Nights, with
no explanation save that the things had been paid for and were ordered
to this address.
Just before nine o’clock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly into the room.
His features were gravely set, but there was a light in his eye which
made me think that he had not been disappointed in his conclusions.
“They have laid the supper, then,” he said, rubbing his hands.
“You seem to expect company. They have laid for five.”
“Yes, I fancy we may have some company dropping in,” said he. “I am
surprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I fancy that
I hear his step now upon the stairs.”
It was indeed our visitor of the morning who came bustling in, dangling
his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very perturbed
expression upon his aristocratic features.
“My messenger reached you, then?” asked Holmes.
“Yes, and I confess that the contents startled me beyond measure. Have
you good authority for what you say?”
“The best possible.”
Lord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over his forehead.
“What will the duke say,” he murmured, “when he hears that one of the
family has been subjected to such humiliation?”
“It is the purest accident. I cannot allow that there is any
humiliation.”
“Ah, you look on these things from another stand-point.”
“I fail to see that any one is to blame. I can hardly see how the lady
could have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of doing it was
undoubtedly to be regretted. Having no mother, she had no one to advise
her at such a crisis.”
“It was a slight, sir, a public slight,” said Lord St. Simon, tapping
his fingers upon the table.
“You must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in so unprecedented
a position.”
“I will make no allowance. I am very angry indeed, and I have been
shamefully used.”
“I think that I heard a ring,” said Holmes. “Yes, there are steps on
the landing. If I cannot persuade you to take a lenient view of the
matter, Lord St. Simon, I have brought an advocate here who may be more
successful.” He opened the door and ushered in a lady and gentleman.
“Lord St. Simon,” said he, “allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs.
Francis Hay Moulton. The lady, I think, you have already met.”
At the sight of these new-comers our client had sprung from his seat
and stood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand thrust into
the breast of his frock-coat, a picture of offended dignity. The lady
had taken a quick step forward and had held out her hand to him, but
he still refused to raise his eyes. It was as well for his resolution,
perhaps, for her pleading face was one which it was hard to resist.
“You’re angry, Robert,” said she. “Well, I guess you have every cause
to be.”
“Pray make no apology to me,” said Lord St. Simon, bitterly.
“Oh yes, I know that I have treated you real bad, and that I should
have spoken to you before I went; but I was kind of rattled, and from
the time when I saw Frank here again I just didn’t know what I was
doing or saying. I only wonder I didn’t fall down and do a faint right
there before the altar.”
“Perhaps, Mrs. Moulton, you would like my friend and me to leave the
room while you explain this matter?”
“If I may give an opinion,” remarked the strange gentleman, “we’ve had
just a little too much secrecy over this business already. For my part,
I should like all Europe and America to hear the rights of it.” He was
a small, wiry, sunburnt man, clean shaven, with a sharp face and alert
manner.
“Then I’ll tell our story right away,” said the lady. “Frank here and I
met in ’84, in McQuire’s camp, near the Rockies, where pa was working
a claim. We were engaged to each other, Frank and I; but then one day
father struck a rich pocket and made a pile, while poor Frank here had
a claim that petered out and came to nothing. The richer pa grew, the
poorer was Frank; so at last pa wouldn’t hear of our engagement lasting
any longer, and he took me away to ’Frisco. Frank wouldn’t throw up
his hand, though; so he followed me there, and he saw me without pa
knowing anything about it. It would only have made him mad to know, so
we just fixed it all up for ourselves. Frank said that he would go and
make his pile, too, and never come back to claim me until he had as
much as pa. So then I promised to wait for him to the end of time, and
pledged myself not to marry any one else while he lived. ‘Why shouldn’t
we be married right away, then,’ said he, ‘and then I will feel sure of
you; and I won’t claim to be your husband until I come back?’ Well, we
talked it over, and he had fixed it all up so nicely, with a clergyman
all ready in waiting, that we just did it right there; and then Frank
went off to seek his fortune, and I went back to pa.
“The next I heard of Frank was that he was in Montana, and then he went
prospecting in Arizona, and then I heard of him from New Mexico. After
that came a long newspaper story about how a miners’ camp had been
attacked by Apache Indians, and there was my Frank’s name among the
killed. I fainted dead away, and I was very sick for months after. Pa
thought I had a decline, and took me to half the doctors in ’Frisco.
Not a word of news came for a year and more, so that I never doubted
that Frank was really dead. Then Lord St. Simon came to ’Frisco, and we
came to London, and a marriage was arranged, and pa was very pleased,
but I felt all the time that no man on this earth would ever take the
place in my heart that had been given to my poor Frank.
“Still, if I had married Lord St. Simon, of course I’d have done my
duty by him. We can’t command our love, but we can our actions. I went
to the altar with him with the intention to make him just as good a
wife as it was in me to be. But you may imagine what I felt when, just
as I came to the altar rails, I glanced back and saw Frank standing
and looking at me out of the first pew. I thought it was his ghost at
first; but when I looked again, there he was still, with a kind of
question in his eyes as if to ask me whether I were glad or sorry to
see him. I wonder I didn’t drop. I know that everything was turning
round, and the words of the clergyman were just like the buzz of a bee
in my ear. I didn’t know what to do. Should I stop the service and make
a scene in the church? I glanced at him again, and he seemed to know
what I was thinking, for he raised his finger to his lips to tell me to
be still. Then I saw him scribble on a piece of paper, and I knew that
he was writing me a note. As I passed his pew on the way out I dropped
my bouquet over to him, and he slipped the note into my hand when he
returned me the flowers. It was only a line asking me to join him when
he made the sign to me to do so. Of course I never doubted for a moment
that my first duty was now to him, and I determined to do just whatever
he might direct.
“When I got back I told my maid, who had known him in California, and
had always been his friend. I ordered her to say nothing, but to get a
few things packed and my ulster ready. I know I ought to have spoken
to Lord St. Simon, but it was dreadful hard before his mother and all
those great people. I just made up my mind to run away and explain
afterwards. I hadn’t been at the table ten minutes before I saw Frank
out of the window at the other side of the road. He beckoned to me, and
then began walking into the Park. I slipped out, put on my things, and
followed him. Some woman came talking something or other about Lord
St. Simon to me—seemed to me from the little I heard as if he had a
little secret of his own before marriage also—but I managed to get
away from her, and soon overtook Frank. We got into a cab together, and
away we drove to some lodgings he had taken in Gordon Square, and that
was my true wedding after all those years of waiting. Frank had been a
prisoner among the Apaches, had escaped, came on to ’Frisco, found that
I had given him up for dead and had gone to England, followed me there,
and had come upon me at last on the very morning of my second wedding.”
“I saw it in a paper,” explained the American. “It gave the name and
the church, but not where the lady lived.”
“Then we had a talk as to what we should do, and Frank was all for
openness, but I was so ashamed of it all that I felt as if I should
like to vanish away and never see any of them again—just sending
a line to pa, perhaps, to show him that I was alive. It was awful
to me to think of all those lords and ladies sitting round that
breakfast-table and waiting for me to come back. So Frank took my
wedding-clothes and things and made a bundle of them, so that I should
not be traced, and dropped them away somewhere where no one could find
them. It is likely that we should have gone on to Paris to-morrow, only
that this good gentleman, Mr. Holmes, came round to us this evening,
though how he found us is more than I can think, and he showed us very
clearly and kindly that I was wrong and that Frank was right, and that
we should be putting ourselves in the wrong if we were so secret. Then
he offered to give us a chance of talking to Lord St. Simon alone, and
so we came right away round to his rooms at once. Now, Robert, you have
heard it all, and I am very sorry if I have given you pain, and I hope
that you do not think very meanly of me.”
Lord St. Simon had by no means relaxed his rigid attitude, but had
listened with a frowning brow and a compressed lip to this long
narrative.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but it is not my custom to discuss my most
intimate personal affairs in this public manner.”
“Then you won’t forgive me? You won’t shake hands before I go?”
“Oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure.” He put out his hand
and coldly grasped that which she extended to him.
“I had hoped,” suggested Holmes, “that you would have joined us in a
friendly supper.”
“I think that there you ask a little too much,” responded his lordship.
“I may be forced to acquiesce in these recent developments, but I can
hardly be expected to make merry over them. I think that, with your
permission, I will now wish you all a very good-night.” He included us
all in a sweeping bow and stalked out of the room.
“Then I trust that you at least will honor me with your company,” said
Sherlock Holmes. “It is always a joy to meet an American, Mr. Moulton,
for I am one of those who believe that the folly of a monarch and
the blundering of a minister in far-gone years will not prevent our
children from being some day citizens of the same world-wide country
under a flag which shall be a quartering of the Union Jack with the
Stars and Stripes.”
* * * * *
“The case has been an interesting one,” remarked Holmes, when our
visitors had left us, “because it serves to show very clearly how
simple the explanation may be of an affair which at first sight seems
to be almost inexplicable. Nothing could be more natural than the
sequence of events as narrated by this lady, and nothing stranger than
the result when viewed, for instance, by Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland
Yard.”
[Illustration: “‘I WILL WISH YOU ALL A VERY GOOD NIGHT.’”]
“You were not yourself at fault at all, then?”
“From the first, two facts were very obvious to me, the one that the
lady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony, the other
that she had repented of it within a few minutes of returning home.
Obviously something had occurred during the morning, then, to cause her
to change her mind. What could that something be? She could not have
spoken to any one when she was out, for she had been in the company
of the bridegroom. Had she seen some one, then? If she had, it must
be some one from America, because she had spent so short a time in
this country that she could hardly have allowed any one to acquire so
deep an influence over her that the mere sight of him would induce her
to change her plans so completely. You see we have already arrived,
by a process of exclusion, at the idea that she might have seen an
American. Then who could this American be, and why should he possess so
much influence over her? It might be a lover; it might be a husband.
Her young womanhood had, I knew, been spent in rough scenes and under
strange conditions. So far I had got before I ever heard Lord St.
Simon’s narrative. When he told us of a man in a pew, of the change in
the bride’s manner, of so transparent a device for obtaining a note as
the dropping of a bouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, and
of her very significant allusion to claim-jumping—which in miners’
parlance means taking possession of that which another person has a
prior claim to—the whole situation became absolutely clear. She had
gone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a previous
husband—the chances being in favor of the latter.”
“And how in the world did you find them?”
“It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade held information in
his hands the value of which he did not himself know. The initials were
of course of the highest importance, but more valuable still was it
to know that within a week he had settled his bill at one of the most
select London hotels.”
“How did you deduce the select?”
“By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eight-pence for a
glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels. There are
not many in London which charge at that rate. In the second one which
I visited in Northumberland Avenue, I learned by an inspection of the
book that Francis H. Moulton, an American gentleman, had left only the
day before, and on looking over the entries against him, I came upon
the very items which I had seen in the duplicate bill. His letters
were to be forwarded to 226 Gordon Square; so thither I travelled, and
being fortunate enough to find the loving couple at home, I ventured to
give them some paternal advice, and to point out to them that it would
be better in every way that they should make their position a little
clearer both to the general public and to Lord St. Simon in particular.
I invited them to meet him here, and, as you see, I made him keep the
appointment.”
“But with no very good result,” I remarked. “His conduct was certainly
not very gracious.”
“Ah, Watson,” said Holmes, smiling, “perhaps you would not be very
gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you
found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. I think
that we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully, and thank our stars
that we are never likely to find ourselves in the same position. Draw
your chair up, and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have
still to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.”
Adventure XI
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYL CORONET
“Holmes,” said I, as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking down
the street, “here is a madman coming along. It seems rather sad that
his relatives should allow him to come out alone.”
My friend rose lazily from his arm-chair and stood with his hands in
the pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. It was a
bright, crisp February morning, and the snow of the day before still
lay deep upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the wintry sun. Down
the centre of Baker Street it had been ploughed into a brown crumbly
band by the traffic, but at either side and on the heaped-up edges of
the foot-paths it still lay as white as when it fell. The gray pavement
had been cleaned and scraped, but was still dangerously slippery, so
that there were fewer passengers than usual. Indeed, from the direction
of the Metropolitan Station no one was coming save the single gentleman
whose eccentric conduct had drawn my attention.
He was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a
massive, strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He was dressed
in a sombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat, shining hat, neat
brown gaiters, and well-cut pearl-gray trousers. Yet his actions were
in absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress and features, for he
was running hard, with occasional little springs, such as a weary man
gives who is little accustomed to set any tax upon his legs. As he ran
he jerked his hands up and down, waggled his head, and writhed his face
into the most extraordinary contortions.
“What on earth can be the matter with him?” I asked. “He is looking up
at the numbers of the houses.”
“I believe that he is coming here,” said Holmes, rubbing his hands.
“Here?”
“Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult me professionally. I think
that I recognize the symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you?” As he spoke,
the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door and pulled at our bell
until the whole house resounded with the clanging.
A few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, still
gesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in his
eyes that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and pity. For
a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his body and plucked
at his hair like one who has been driven to the extreme limits of his
reason. Then, suddenly springing to his feet, he beat his head against
the wall with such force that we both rushed upon him and tore him away
to the centre of the room. Sherlock Holmes pushed him down into the
easy-chair, and, sitting beside him, patted his hand, and chatted with
him in the easy, soothing tones which he knew so well how to employ.
“You have come to me to tell your story, have you not?” said he. “You
are fatigued with your haste. Pray wait until you have recovered
yourself, and then I shall be most happy to look into any little
problem which you may submit to me.”
The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting against
his emotion. Then he passed his handkerchief over his brow, set his
lips tight, and turned his face towards us.
“No doubt you think me mad?” said he.
“I see that you have had some great trouble,” responded Holmes.
“God knows I have!—a trouble which is enough to unseat my reason,
so sudden and so terrible is it. Public disgrace I might have faced,
although I am a man whose character has never yet borne a stain.
Private affliction also is the lot of every man; but the two coming
together, and in so frightful a form, have been enough to shake my very
soul. Besides, it is not I alone. The very noblest in the land may
suffer, unless some way be found out of this horrible affair.”
“Pray compose yourself, sir,” said Holmes, “and let me have a clear
account of who you are, and what it is that has befallen you.”
“My name,” answered our visitor, “is probably familiar to your ears.
I am Alexander Holder, of the banking firm of Holder & Stevenson, of
Threadneedle Street.”
The name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the senior partner
in the second largest private banking concern in the City of London.
What could have happened, then, to bring one of the foremost citizens
of London to this most pitiable pass? We waited, all curiosity, until
with another effort he braced himself to tell his story.
“I feel that time is of value,” said he; “that is why I hastened
here when the police inspector suggested that I should secure your
co-operation. I came to Baker Street by the Underground, and hurried
from there on foot, for the cabs go slowly through this snow. That
is why I was so out of breath, for I am a man who takes very little
exercise. I feel better now, and I will put the facts before you as
shortly and yet as clearly as I can.
“It is, of course, well known to you that in a successful banking
business as much depends upon our being able to find remunerative
investments for our funds as upon our increasing our connection and the
number of our depositors. One of our most lucrative means of laying out
money is in the shape of loans, where the security is unimpeachable. We
have done a good deal in this direction during the last few years, and
there are many noble families to whom we have advanced large sums upon
the security of their pictures, libraries, or plate.
“Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank when a card
was brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started when I saw the
name, for it was that of none other than—well, perhaps even to you I
had better say no more than that it was a name which is a household
word all over the earth—one of the highest, noblest, most exalted
names in England. I was overwhelmed by the honor, and attempted, when
he entered, to say so, but he plunged at once into business with the
air of a man who wishes to hurry quickly through a disagreeable task.
“‘Mr. Holder,’ said he, ‘I have been informed that you are in the habit
of advancing money.’
“‘The firm do so when the security is good,’ I answered.
“‘It is absolutely essential to me,’ said he, ‘that I should have
£50,000 at once. I could of course borrow so trifling a sum ten
times over from my friends, but I much prefer to make it a matter of
business, and to carry out that business myself. In my position you
can readily understand that it is unwise to place one’s self under
obligations.’
“‘For how long, may I ask, do you want this sum?’ I asked.
“‘Next Monday I have a large sum due to me, and I shall then most
certainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest you think it
right to charge. But it is very essential to me that the money should
be paid at once.’
“‘I should be happy to advance it without further parley from my own
private purse,’ said I, ‘were it not that the strain would be rather
more than it could bear. If, on the other hand, I am to do it in the
name of the firm, then in justice to my partner I must insist that,
even in your case, every business-like precaution should be taken.’
“‘I should much prefer to have it so,’ said he, raising up a square,
black morocco case which he had laid beside his chair. ‘You have
doubtless heard of the Beryl Coronet?’
“‘One of the most precious public possessions of the empire,’ said I.
“‘Precisely.’ He opened the case, and there, imbedded in soft,
flesh-colored velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewelry which he
had named. ‘There are thirty-nine enormous beryls,’ said he, ‘and the
price of the gold chasing is incalculable. The lowest estimate would
put the worth of the coronet at double the sum which I have asked. I am
prepared to leave it with you as my security.’
“I took the precious case into my hands and looked in some perplexity
from it to my illustrious client.
“‘You doubt its value?’ he asked.
“‘Not at all. I only doubt—’
“‘The propriety of my leaving it. You may set your mind at rest about
that. I should not dream of doing so were it not absolutely certain
that I should be able in four days to reclaim it. It is a pure matter
of form. Is the security sufficient?’
“‘Ample.’
“‘You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am giving you a strong proof of
the confidence which I have in you, founded upon all that I have heard
of you. I rely upon you not only to be discreet and to refrain from all
gossip upon the matter, but, above all, to preserve this coronet with
every possible precaution, because I need not say that a great public
scandal would be caused if any harm were to befall it. Any injury to
it would be almost as serious as its complete loss, for there are no
beryls in the world to match these, and it would be impossible to
replace them. I leave it with you, however, with every confidence, and
I shall call for it in person on Monday morning.’