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 develop 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 in 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.
“‘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.
“To smoke,” he answered. “It is quite a three-pipe problem, and I
beg that you won’t speak to me for fifty minutes.” He curled himself
up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose,
and there he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe
thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird. I had come to the
conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding
myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of
a man who has made up his mind, and put his pipe down upon the
mantel-piece.
“Sarasate plays at the St. James’s Hall this afternoon,” he
remarked. “What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you
for a few hours?”
“I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing.”
“Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the city first,
and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a
good deal of German music on the program which is rather more to my
taste than Italian or French. It is introspective, and I want to
introspect. Come along!”
We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short
walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story
which we had listened to in the morning. It was a pokey, little,
shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick
houses looked out into a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of
weedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard
fight against a smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt
balls and a brown board with “JABEZ WILSON” in white letters, upon a
corner house, announced the place where our red-headed client
carried on his business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with
his head on one side, and looked it all over, with his eyes shining
brightly between puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street,
and then down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the
houses. Finally he returned to the pawnbroker’s, and, having thumped
vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he
went up to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a
bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step in.
“Thank you,” said Holmes, “I only wished to ask you how you would go
from here to the Strand.”
“Third right, fourth left,” answered the assistant, promptly,
closing the door.
“Smart fellow, that,” observed Holmes, as we walked away. “He is, in
my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am
not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something
of him before.”
“Evidently,” said I, “Mr. Wilson’s assistant counts for a good deal
in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you
inquired your way merely in order that you might see him.”
“Not him.”
“What then?”
“The knees of his trousers.”
“And what did you see?”
“What I expected to see.”
“Why did you beat the pavement?”
“My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We
are spies in an enemy’s country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg
Square. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it.”
The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner
from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to
it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the
main arteries which convey the traffic of the city to the north and
west. The roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce
flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while the foot-paths
were black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult
to realize as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately
business premises that they really abutted on the other side upon
the faded and stagnant square which we had just quitted.
“Let me see,” said Holmes, standing at the corner, and glancing
along the line, “I should like just to remember the order of the
houses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of
London. There is Mortimer’s, the tobacconist, the little newspaper
shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the
Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane’s carriage-building depot. That
carries us right on to the other block. And now, doctor, we’ve done
our work, so it’s time we had some play. A sandwich and a cup of
coffee, and then off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and
delicacy and harmony, and there are no red-headed clients to vex us
with their conundrums.”
My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a
very capable performer, but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the
afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect
happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the
music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes
were as unlike those of Holmes, the sleuth-hound, Holmes the
relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was
possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature
alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and
astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction
against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally
predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from extreme
languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was never so
truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging in
his arm-chair amid his improvisations and his black-letter editions.
Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come upon him,
and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the level of
intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methods would
look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that of
other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the
music at St. James’s Hall I felt that an evil time might be coming
upon those whom he had set himself to hunt down.
“You want to go home, no doubt, doctor,” he remarked, as we emerged.
“Yes, it would be as well.”
“And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This
business at Coburg Square is serious.”
“Why serious?”
“A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to
believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being
Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help
to-night.”
“At what time?”
“Ten will be early enough.”
“I shall be at Baker Street at ten.”
“Very well. And, I say, doctor, there may be some little danger, so
kindly put your army revolver in your pocket.” He waved his hand,
turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.