“Well,” said I, slowly, “I of course can see how a bit of swan's-down
and a lock of yellow hair backed up by a pair of silver-tinsel tights
might constitute reasonable evidence in a suit for separation, but
wouldn't it--ah--be more to your purpose if I should use these data as
establishing the identity of--er--somebody else?”
“How very dense you are,” she replied, impatiently. “That's precisely
what I want you to do.”
“But you told me it was your identity you wished proven,” I put in,
irritably.
“Precisely,” said she.
“Then these bits of evidence are--yours?” I asked, hesitatingly. One
does not like to accuse a lady of an undue liking for tinsel.
“They are all I have left of my husband,” she answered with a sob.
“Hum!” said I, my perplexity increasing. “Was the--ah--the gentleman
blown up by dynamite?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Holmes,” she retorted, rising and running the scales.
“I think, after all, I have come to the wrong shop. Have you Hawkshaw's
address handy? You are too obtuse for a detective.”
My reputation was at stake, so I said, significantly:
“Good! Good! I was merely trying one of my disguises on you, madame, and
you were completely taken in. Of course no one would ever know me for
Sherlock Holmes if I manifested such dullness.”
“Ah!” she said, her face lighting up. “You were merely deceiving me by
appearing to be obtuse?”
“Of course,” said I. “I see the whole thing in a nutshell. You married
an adventurer; he told you who he was, but you've never been able to
prove it; and suddenly you are deserted by him, and on going over his
wardrobe you find he has left nothing but these articles: and now you
wish to sue him for a separation on the ground of desertion, and secure
alimony if possible.”
It was a magnificent guess.
“That is it precisely,” said the lady. “Except as to the extent of his
'leavings.' In addition to the things you have he gave my small brother
a brass bugle and a tin sword.”
“We may need to see them later,” said I. “At present I will do all I can
for you on the evidence in hand. I have got my eye on a gentleman who
wears silver-tinsel tights now, but I am afraid he is not the man we
are after, because his hair is black, and, as far as I have been able to
learn from his valet, he is utterly unacquainted with swan's-down.”
We separated again and I went to the club to think. Never in my life
before had I had so baffling a case. As I sat in the cafe sipping a
cocaine cobbler, who should walk in but Hamlet, strangely enough picking
particles of swan's-down from his black doublet, which was literally
covered with it.
“Hello, Sherlock!” he said, drawing up a chair and sitting down beside
me. “What you up to?”
“Trying to make out where you have been,” I replied. “I judge from the
swan's-down on your doublet that you have been escorting Ophelia to the
opera in the regulation cloak.”
“You're mistaken for once,” he laughed. “I've been driving with
Lohengrin. He's got a pair of swans that can do a mile in 2.10--but it
makes them moult like the devil.”
“Pair of what?” I cried.
“Swans,” said Hamlet. “He's an eccentric sort of a duffer, that
Lohengrin. Afraid of horses, I fancy.”
“And so drives swans instead?” said I, incredulously.
“The same,” replied Hamlet. “Do I look as if he drove squab?”
“He must be queer,” said I. “I'd like to meet him. He'd make quite an
addition to my collection of freaks.”
“Very well,” observed Hamlet. “He'll be here to-morrow to take
luncheon with me, and if you'll come, too, you'll be most welcome. He's
collecting freaks, too, and I haven't a doubt would be pleased to know
you.”
We parted and I sauntered homeward, cogitating over my strange client,
and now and then laughing over the idiosyncrasies of Hamlet's friend the
swan-driver. It never occurred to me at the moment however to connect
the two, in spite of the link of swan's-down. I regarded it merely as
a coincidence. The next day, however, on going to the club and meeting
Hamlet's strange guest, I was struck by the further coincidence that his
hair was of precisely the same shade of yellow as that in my possession.
It was of a hue that I had never seen before except at performances of
grand opera, or on the heads of fool detectives in musical burlesques.
Here, however, was the real thing growing luxuriantly from the man's
head.
“Ho-ho!” thought I to myself. “Here is a fortunate encounter; there may
be something in it,” and then I tried to lead him on.
“I understand, Mr. Lohengrin,” I said, “that you have a fine span of
swans.”
“Yes,” he said, and I was astonished to note that he, like my client,
spoke in musical numbers. “Very. They're much finer than horses, in my
opinion. More peaceful, quite as rapid, and amphibious. If I go out for
a drive and come to a lake they trot quite as well across its surface as
on the highways.”
“How interesting!” said I. “And so gentle, the swan. Your wife, I
presume--”
Hamlet kicked my shins under the table.
“I think it will rain to-morrow,” he said, giving me a glance which if
it said anything said shut up.
“I think so, too,” said Lohengrin, a lowering look on his face. “If
it doesn't, it will either snow, or hail, or be clear.” And he gazed
abstractedly out of the window.
The kick and the man's confusion were sufficient proof. I was on the
right track at last. Yet the evidence was unsatisfactory because merely
circumstantial. My piece of down might have come from an opera cloak and
not from a well-broken swan, the hair might equally clearly have come
from some other head than Lohengrin's, and other men have had trouble
with their wives. The circumstantial evidence lying in the coincidences
was strong but not conclusive, so I resolved to pursue the matter and
invite the strange individual to a luncheon with me, at which I
proposed to wear the tinsel tights. Seeing them, he might be forced into
betraying himself.
This I did, and while my impressions were confirmed by his demeanor, no
positive evidence grew out of it.
“I'm hungry as a bear!” he said, as I entered the club, clad in a long,
heavy ulster, reaching from my shoulders to the ground, so that the
tights were not visible.
“Good,” said I. “I like a hearty eater,” and I ordered a luncheon of ten
courses before removing my overcoat; but not one morsel could the man
eat, for on the removal of my coat his eye fell upon my silver garments,
and with a gasp he wellnigh fainted. It was clear. He recognized them
and was afraid, and in consequence lost his appetite. But he was game,
and tried to laugh it off.
“Silver man, I see,” he said, nervously, smiling.
“No,” said I, taking the lock of golden hair from my pocket and dangling
it before him. “Bimetallist.”
His jaw dropped in dismay, but recovering himself instantly he put up a
fairly good fight.
“It is strange, Mr. Lohengrin,” said I, “that in the three years I have
been here I've never seen you before.”
“I've been very quiet,” he said. “Fact is, I have had my reasons, Mr.
Holmes, for preferring the life of a hermit. A youthful indiscretion,
sir, has made me fear to face the world. There was nothing wrong about
it, save that it was a folly, and I have been anxious in these days of
newspapers to avoid any possible revival of what might in some eyes seem
scandalous.”
I felt sorry for him, but my duty was clear. Here was my man--but how
to gain direct proof was still beyond me. No further admissions could be
got out of him, and we soon parted.
Two days later the lady called and again I reported progress.
“It needs but one thing, madame, to convince me that I have found
your husband,” said I. “I have found a man who might be connected with
swan's-down, from whose luxuriant curls might have come this tow-colored
lock, and who might have worn the silver-tinsel tights--yet it is all
MIGHT and no certainty.”
“I will bring my small brother's bugle and the tin sword,” said she.
“The sword has certain properties which may induce him to confess. My
brother tells me that if he simply shakes it at a cat the cat falls
dead.”
“Do so,” said I, “and I will try it on him. If he recognizes the sword
and remembers its properties when I attempt to brandish it at him, he'll
be forced to confess, though it would be awkward if he is the wrong man
and the sword should work on him as it does on the cat.”
The next day I was in possession of the famous toy. It was not very
long, and rather more suggestive of a pancake-turner than a sword, but
it was a terror. I tested its qualities on a swarm of gnats in my room,
and the moment I shook it at them they fluttered to the ground as dead
as door-nails.
“I'll have to be careful of this weapon,” I thought. “It would be
terrible if I should brandish it at a motor-man trying to get one of the
Gehenna Traction Company's cable-cars to stop and he should drop dead at
his post.”
All was now ready for the demonstration. Fortunately the following
Saturday night was club night at the House-Boat, and we were all
expected to come in costume. For dramatic effect I wore a yellow wig, a
helmet, the silver-tinsel tights, and a doublet to match, with the
brass bugle and the tin sword properly slung about my person. I looked
stunning, even if I do say it, and much to my surprise several people
mistook me for the man I was after. Another link in the chain! EVEN THE
PUBLIC UNCONSCIOUSLY RECOGNIZED THE VALUE OF MY DEDUCTIONS. THEY CALLED
ME LOHENGRIN!
And of course it all happened as I expected. It always does. Lohengrin
came into the assembly-room five minutes after I did and was visibly
annoyed at my make-up.
“This is a great liberty,” said he, grasping the hilt of his sword; but
I answered by blowing the bugle at him, at which he turned livid and
fell back. He had recognized its soft cadence. I then hauled the sword
from my belt, shook it at a fly on the wall, which immediately died, and
made as if to do the same at Lohengrin, whereupon he cried for mercy and
fell upon his knees.
“Turn that infernal thing the other way!” he shrieked.
“Ah!” said I, lowering my arm. “Then you know its properties?”
“I do--I do!” he cried. “It used to be mine--I confess it!”
“Then,” said I, calmly putting the horrid bit of zinc back into my
belt, “that's all I wanted to know. If you'll come up to my office some
morning next week I'll introduce you to your wife,” and I turned from
him.
My mission accomplished, I left the festivities and returned to my
quarters where my fair client was awaiting me.
“Well?” she said.
“It's all right, Mrs. Lohengrin,” I said, and the lady cried aloud with
joy at the name, for it was the very one she had hoped it would be. “My
man turns out to be your man, and I turn him over therefore to you, only
deal gently with him. He's a pretty decent chap and sings like a bird.”
Whereon I presented her with my bill for 5000 oboli, which she paid
without a murmur, as was entirely proper that she should, for upon
the evidence which I had secured the fair plaintiff, in the suit
for separation of Elsa vs. Lohengrin on the ground of desertion and
non-support, obtained her decree, with back alimony of twenty-five per
cent. of Lohengrin's income for a trifle over fifteen hundred years.
How much that amounted to I really do not know, but that it was a large
sum I am sure, for Lohengrin must have been very wealthy. He couldn't
have afforded to dress in solid silver-tinsel tights if he had been
otherwise. I had the tights assayed before returning them to their
owner, and even in a country where free coinage of tights is looked upon
askance they could not be duplicated for less than $850 at a ratio of 32
to 1.