"So that's that!" said Holmes. "And now, if you can spare the time,
Watson, we will get upon our way."
A short railway journey, and a shorter drive, brought us to the house,
a brick and timber villa, standing in its own acre of undeveloped
grassland. Three small projections above the upper windows made a
feeble attempt to justify its name. Behind was a grove of melancholy,
half-grown pines, and the whole aspect of the place was poor and
depressing. None the less, we found the house to be well furnished,
and the lady who received us was a most engaging elderly person, who
bore every mark of refinement and culture.
"I remember your husband well, madam," said Holmes, "though it is some
years since he used my services in some trifling matter."
"Probably you would be more familiar with the name of my son Douglas."
Holmes looked at her with great interest.
"Dear me! Are you the mother of Douglas Maberley? I knew him
slightly. But, of course, all London knew him. What a magnificent
creature he was! Where is he now?"
"Dead, Mr. Holmes, dead! He was Attaché at Rome, and he died there of
pneumonia last month."
"I am sorry. One could not connect death with such a man. I have
never known anyone so vitally alive. He lived intensely--every fibre
of him!"
"Too intensely, Mr. Holmes. That was the ruin of him. You remember
him as he was--debonair and splendid. You did not see the moody,
morose, brooding creature into which he developed. His heart was
broken. In a single month I seemed to see my gallant boy turn into a
worn-out cynical man."
"A love affair--a woman?"
"Or a fiend. Well, it was not to talk of my poor lad that I asked you
to come, Mr. Holmes."
"Dr. Watson and I are at your service."
"There have been some very strange happenings. I have been in this
house more than a year now, and as I wished to lead a retired life I
have seen little of my neighbours. Three days ago I had a call from a
man who said that he was a house agent. He said that this house would
exactly suit a client of his and that if I would part with it money
would be no object. It seemed to me very strange, as there are several
empty houses on the market which appear to be equally eligible, but
naturally I was interested in what he said. I therefore named a price
which was five hundred pounds more than I gave. He at once closed with
the offer, but added that his client desired to buy the furniture as
well and would I put a price upon it. Some of this furniture is from
my old home, and it is, as you see, very good, so that I named a good
round sum. To this also he at once agreed. I had always wanted to
travel, and the bargain was so good a one that it really seemed that I
should be my own mistress for the rest of my life.
"Yesterday the man arrived with the agreement all drawn out. Luckily I
showed it to Mr. Sutro, my lawyer, who lives in Harrow. He said to me,
'This is a very strange document. Are you aware that if you sign it
you could not legally take _anything_ out of the house--not even your
own private possessions?' When the man came again in the evening I
pointed this out, and I said that I meant only to sell the furniture.
"'No, no; everything,' said he.
"'But my clothes? My jewels?'
"'Well, well, some concession might be made for your personal effects.
But nothing shall go out of the house unchecked. My client is a very
liberal man, but he has his fads and his own way of doing things. It
is everything or nothing with him.'
"'Then it must be nothing,' said I. And there the matter was left, but
the whole thing seemed to me to be so unusual that I thought----"
Here we had a very extraordinary interruption.
Holmes raised his hand for silence. Then he strode across the room,
flung open the door, and dragged in a great gaunt woman whom he had
seized by the shoulder. She entered with ungainly struggles, like some
huge awkward chicken, torn squawking out of its coop.
"Leave me alone! What are you a-doin' of?" she screeched.
"Why, Susan, what is this?"
"Well, ma'am, I was comin' in to ask if the visitors was stayin' for
lunch when this man jumped out at me."
"I have been listening to her for the last five minutes, but did not
wish to interrupt your most interesting narrative. Just a little
wheezy, Susan, are you not? You breathe too heavily for that kind of
work."
Susan turned a sulky but amazed face upon her captor. "Who be you,
anyhow, and what right have you a-pullin' me about like this?"
"It was merely that I wished to ask a question in your presence. Did
you, Mrs. Maberley, mention to anyone that you were going to write to
me and consult me?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, I did not."
"Who posted your letter?"
"Susan did."
"Exactly. Now, Susan, to whom was it that you wrote or sent a message
to say that your mistress was asking advice from me?"
"It's a lie. I sent no message."
"Now, Susan, wheezy people may not live long, you know. It's a wicked
thing to tell fibs. Whom did you tell?"
"Susan!" cried her mistress, "I believe you are a bad, treacherous
woman. I remember now that I saw you speaking to someone over the
hedge."
"That was my own business," said the woman sullenly.
"Suppose I tell you that it was Barney Stockdale to whom you spoke?"
said Holmes.
"Well, if you know, what do you want to ask for?"
"I was not sure, but I know now. Well now, Susan, it will be worth ten
pounds to you if you will tell me who is at the back of Barney."
"Someone that could lay down a thousand pounds for every ten you have
in the world."
"So, a rich man? No; you smiled--a rich woman. Now we have got so
far, you may as well give the name and earn the tenner."
"I'll see you in hell first."
"Oh, Susan! Language!"
"I am clearing out of here. I've had enough of you all. I'll send for
my box to-morrow." She flounced for the door.
"Good-bye, Susan. Paregoric is the stuff.... Now," he continued,
turning suddenly from lively to severe when the door had closed behind
the flushed and angry woman, "this gang means business. Look how close
they play the game. Your letter to me had the 10 p.m. postmark. And
yet Susan passes the word to Barney. Barney has time to go to his
employer and get instructions; he or she--I incline to the latter from
Susan's grin when she thought I had blundered--forms a plan. Black
Steve is called in, and I am warned off by eleven o'clock next morning.
That's quick work, you know."
"But what do they want?"
"Yes, that's the question. Who had the house before you?"
"A retired sea captain, called Ferguson."
"Anything remarkable about him?"
"Not that ever I heard of."
"I was wondering whether he could have buried something. Of course,
when people bury treasure nowadays they do it in the Post Office bank.
But there are always some lunatics about. It would be a dull world
without them. At first I thought of some buried valuable. But why, in
that case, should they want your furniture? You don't happen to have a
Raphael or a first folio Shakespeare without knowing it?"
"No, I don't think I have anything rarer than a Crown Derby tea-set."
"That would hardly justify all this mystery. Besides, why should they
not openly state what they want? If they covet your tea-set, they can
surely offer a price for it without buying you out, lock, stock, and
barrel. No, as I read it, there is something which you do not know
that you have, and which you would not give up if you did know."
"That is how I read it," said I.
"Dr. Watson agrees, so that settles it."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, what can it be?"
"Let us see whether by this purely mental analysis we can get it to a
finer point. You have been in this house a year."
"Nearly two."
"All the better. During this long period no one wants anything from
you. Now suddenly within three or four days you have urgent demands.
What would you gather from that?"
"It can only mean," said I, "that the object, whatever it may be, has
only just come into the house."
"Settled once again," said Holmes. "Now, Mrs. Maberley, has any object
just arrived?"
"No; I have bought nothing new this year."
"Indeed! That is very remarkable. Well, I think we had best let
matters develop a little further until we have clearer data. Is that
lawyer of yours a capable man?"
"Mr. Sutro is most capable."
"Have you another maid, or was the fair Susan, who has just banged your
front door, alone?"
"I have a young girl."
"Try and get Sutro to spend a night or two in the house. You might
possibly want protection."
"Against whom?"
"Who knows? The matter is certainly obscure. If I can't find what
they are after, I must approach the matter from the other end, and try
to get at the principal. Did this house-agent man give any address?"
"Simply his card and occupation. Haines-Johnson, Auctioneer and
Valuer."
"I don't think we shall find him in the Directory. Honest business men
don't conceal their place of business. Well, you will let me know any
fresh development. I have taken up your case, and you may rely upon it
that I shall see it through."
As we passed through the hall Holmes's eyes, which missed nothing,
lighted upon several trunks and cases which were piled in the corner.
The labels shone out upon them.
"'Milano.' 'Lucerne.' These are from Italy."
"They are poor Douglas's things."
"You have not unpacked them? How long have you had them?"
"They arrived last week."
"But you said--why, surely this might be the missing link. How do we
know that there is not something of value there?"
"There could not possibly be, Mr. Holmes. Poor Douglas had only his
pay and a small annuity. What could he have of value?"
Holmes was lost in thought.
"Delay no longer, Mrs. Maberley," he said at last. "Have these things
taken upstairs to your bedroom. Examine them as soon as possible and
see what they contain. I will come to-morrow and hear your report."
It was quite evident that The Three Gables was under very close
surveillance, for as we came round the high hedge at the end of the
lane there was the negro prize-fighter standing in the shadow. We came
on him quite suddenly, and a grim and menacing figure he looked in that
lonely place. Holmes clapped his hand to his pocket.
"Lookin' for your gun, Masser Holmes?"
"No; for my scent-bottle, Steve."
"You are funny, Masser Holmes, ain't you?"
"It won't be funny for you, Steve, if I get after you. I gave you fair
warning this morning."
"Well, Masser Holmes, I done gone think over what you said, and I don't
want no more talk about that affair of Masser Perkins. S'pose I can
help you, Masser Holmes, I will."
"Well, then, tell me who is behind you on this job?"
"So help me the Lord! Masser Holmes, I told you the truth before. I
don't know. My boss Barney gives me orders and that's all."
"Well, just bear in mind, Steve, that the lady in that house, and
everything under that roof, is under my protection. Don't you forget
it."
"All right, Masser Holmes. I'll remember.'
"I've got him thoroughly frightened for his own skin, Watson," Holmes
remarked as we walked on. "I think he would double-cross his employer
if he knew who he was. It was lucky I had some knowledge of the
Spencer John crowd, and that Steve was one of them. Now, Watson, this
is a case for Langdale Pike, and I am going to see him now. When I get
back I may be clearer in the matter."
I saw no more of Holmes during the day, but I could well imagine how he
spent it, for Langdale Pike was his human book of reference upon all
matters of social scandal. This strange, languid creature spent his
waking hours in the bow window of a St. James's Street club, and was
the receiving-station, as well as the transmitter, for all the gossip
of the Metropolis. He made, it was said, a four-figure income by the
paragraphs which he contributed every week to the garbage papers which
cater for an inquisitive public. If ever, far down in the turbid
depths of London life, there was some strange swirl or eddy, it was
marked with automatic exactness by this human dial upon the surface.
Holmes discreetly helped Langdale to knowledge, and on occasion was
helped in turn.
When I met my friend in his room early next morning, I was conscious
from his bearing that all was well, but none the less a most unpleasant
surprise was awaiting us. It took the shape of the following telegram:
"Please come out at once. Client's house burgled in the night. Police
in possession.
"SUTRO."
Holmes whistled. "The drama has come to a crisis, and quicker than I
had expected. There is a great driving-power at the back of this
business, Watson, which does not surprise me after what I have heard.
This Sutro, of course, is her lawyer. I made a mistake, I fear, in not
asking you to spend the night on guard. This fellow has clearly proved
a broken reed. Well, there is nothing for it but another journey to
Harrow Weald."
We found The Three Gables a very different establishment to the orderly
household of the previous day. A small group of idlers had assembled
at the garden gate, while a couple of constables were examining the
windows and the geranium beds. Within we met a grey old gentleman, who
introduced himself as the lawyer, together with a bustling, rubicund
Inspector, who greeted Holmes as an old friend.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, no chance for you in this case, I'm afraid. Just a
common, ordinary burglary, and well within the capacity of the poor old
police. No experts need apply."
"I am sure the case is in very good hands," said Holmes. "Merely a
common burglary, you say?"
"Quite so. We know pretty well who the men are and where to find them.
It is that gang of Barney Stockdale, with the big nigger in it--they've
been seen about here."
"Excellent! What did they get?"
"Well, they don't seem to have got much. Mrs. Maberley was
chloroformed and the house was---- Ah! here is the lady herself."
Our friend of yesterday, looking very pale and ill, had entered the
room, leaning upon a little maid-servant.
"You gave me good advice, Mr. Holmes," said she, smiling ruefully.
"Alas, I did not take it! I did not wish to trouble Mr. Sutro, and so
I was unprotected."
"I only heard of it this morning," the lawyer explained.
"Mr. Holmes advised me to have some friend in the house. I neglected
his advice, and I have paid for it."
"You look wretchedly ill," said Holmes. "Perhaps you are hardly equal
to telling me what occurred."
"It is all here," said the Inspector, tapping a bulky notebook.
"Still, if the lady is not too exhausted----"
"There is really so little to tell. I have no doubt that wicked Susan
had planned an entrance for them. They must have known the house to an
inch. I was conscious for a moment of the chloroform rag which was
thrust over my mouth, but I have no notion how long I may have been
senseless. When I woke, one man was at the bedside and another was
rising with a bundle in his hand from among my son's baggage, which was
partially opened and littered over the floor. Before he could get away
I sprang up and seized him."
"You took a big risk," said the Inspector.
"I clung to him, but he shook me off, and the other may have struck me,
for I can remember no more. Mary the maid heard the noise and began
screaming out of the window. That brought the police, but the rascals
had got away."
"What did they take?"
"Well, I don't think there is anything of value missing. I am sure
there was nothing in my son's trunks."
"Did the men leave no clue?"
"There was one sheet of paper which I may have torn from the man that I
grasped. It was lying all crumpled on the floor. It is in my son's
handwriting."
"Which means that it is not of much use," said the Inspector. "Now if
it had been in the burglar's----"
"Exactly," said Holmes. "What rugged common sense! None the less, I
should be curious to see it."
The Inspector drew a folded sheet of foolscap from his pocket-book.
"I never pass anything, however trifling," said he, with some
pomposity. "That is my advice to you, Mr. Holmes. In twenty-five
years' experience I have learned my lesson. There is always the chance
of finger-marks or something."
Holmes inspected the sheet of paper.
"What do you make of it, Inspector?"
"Seems to be the end of some queer novel, so far as I can see."
"It may certainly prove to be the end of a queer tale," said Holmes.
"You have noticed the number on the top of the page. It is two hundred
and forty-five. Where are the odd two hundred and forty-four pages?"
"Well, I suppose the burglars got those. Much good may it do them!"
"It seems a queer thing to break into a house in order to steal such
papers as that. Does it suggest anything to you, Inspector?"
"Yes, sir; it suggests that in their hurry the rascals just grabbed at
what came first to hand. I wish them joy of what they got."
"Why should they go to my son's things?" asked Mrs. Maberley.
"Well, they found nothing valuable downstairs, so they tried their luck
upstairs. That is how I read it. What do you make of it, Mr. Holmes?"
"I must think it over, Inspector. Come to the window, Watson." Then,
as we stood together, he read over the fragment of paper. It began in
the middle of a sentence and ran like this:
"... face bled considerably from the cuts and blows, but it was nothing
to the bleeding of his heart as he saw that lovely face, the face for
which he had been prepared to sacrifice his very life, looking out at
his agony and humiliation. She smiled--yes, by Heaven! she smiled,
like the heartless fiend she was, as he looked up at her. It was at
that moment that love died and hate was born. Man must live for
something. If it is not for your embrace, my lady, then it shall
surely be for your undoing and my complete revenge."
"Queer grammar!" said Holmes, with a smile, as he handed the paper back
to the Inspector. "Did you notice how the 'he' suddenly changed to
'my.' The writer was so carried away by his own story that he imagined
himself at the supreme moment to be the hero."
"It seemed mighty poor stuff," said the Inspector, as he replaced it in
his book. "What! are you off, Mr. Holmes?"
"I don't think there is anything more for me to do now that the case is
in such capable hands. By the way, Mrs. Maberley, did you say you
wished to travel?"
"It has always been my dream, Mr. Holmes."
"Where would you like to go--Cairo, Madeira, the Riviera?"
"Oh! if I had the money I would go round the world."
"Quite so. Round the world. Well, good morning. I may drop you a
line in the evening." As we passed the window I caught a glimpse of
the Inspector's smile and shake of the head. "These clever fellows
have always a touch of madness." That was what I read in the
Inspector's smile.
"Now, Watson, we are at the last lap of our little journey," said
Holmes, when we were back in the roar of Central London once more. "I
think we had best clear the matter up at once, and it would be well
that you should come with me, for it is safer to have a witness when
you are dealing with such a lady as Isadora Klein."
We had taken a cab and were speeding to some address in Grosvenor
Square. Holmes had been sunk in thought, but he roused himself
suddenly.
"By the way, Watson, I suppose you see it all clearly?"
"No, I can't say that I do. I only gather that we are going to see the
lady who is behind all this mischief."
"Exactly! But does the name Isadora Klein convey nothing to you? She
was, of course, the celebrated beauty. There was never a woman to
touch her. She is pure Spanish, the real blood of the masterful
Conquistadors, and her people have been leaders in Pernambuco for
generations. She married the aged German sugar king, Klein, and
presently found herself the richest as well as the most lovely widow
upon earth. Then there was an interval of adventure when she pleased
her own tastes. She had several lovers, and Douglas Maberley, one of
the most striking men in London, was one of them. It was by all
accounts more than an adventure with him. He was not a Society
butterfly, but a strong, proud man who gave and expected all. But she
is the '_belle dame sans merci_' of fiction. When her caprice is
satisfied, the matter is ended, and if the other party in the matter
can't take her word for it, she knows how to bring it home to him."
"Then that was his own story----"
"Ah! you are piecing it together now. I hear that she is about to
marry the young Duke of Lomond, who might almost be her son. His
Grace's ma might overlook the age, but a big scandal would be a
different matter, so it is imperative---- Ah! here we are."
It was one of the finest corner-houses of the West End. A machine-like
footman took up our cards and returned with word that the lady was not
at home. "Then we shall wait until she is," said Holmes cheerfully.
The machine broke down.
"Not at home means not at home to _you_," said the footman.
"Good," Holmes answered. "That means that we shall not have to wait.
Kindly give this note to your mistress."
He scribbled three or four words upon a sheet of his notebook, folded
it, and handed it to the man.
"What did you say, Holmes?" I asked.
"I simply wrote 'Shall it be the police, then?' I think that should
pass us in."
It did--with amazing celerity. A minute later we were in an
Arabian-nights' drawing-room, vast and wonderful, in a half gloom,
picked out with an occasional pink electric light. The lady had come,
I felt, to that time of life when even the proudest beauty finds the
half-light more welcome. She rose from a settee as we entered: tall,
queenly, a perfect figure, a lovely mask-like face, with two wonderful
Spanish eyes which looked murder at us both.
"What is this intrusion--and this insulting message?" she asked,
holding up the slip of paper.
"I need not explain, madame. I have too much respect for your
intelligence to do so--though I confess that intelligence has been
surprisingly at fault of late."
"How so, sir?"
"By supposing that your hired bullies could frighten me from my work.
Surely no man would take up my profession if it were not that danger
attracts him. It was you, then, who forced me to examine the case of
young Maberley."
"I have no idea what you are talking about. What have I to do with
hired bullies?"
Holmes turned away wearily.
"Yes, I have underrated your intelligence. Well, good afternoon!"
"Stop! Where are you going?"
"To Scotland Yard."
We had not got half-way to the door before she had overtaken us and was
holding his arm. She had turned in a moment from steel to velvet.
"Come and sit down, gentlemen. Let us talk this matter over. I feel
that I may be frank with you, Mr. Holmes. You have the feelings of a
gentleman. How quick a woman's instinct is to find it out. I will
treat you as a friend."
"I cannot promise to reciprocate, madame. I am not the law, but I
represent justice so far as my feeble powers go. I am ready to listen,
and then I will tell you how I will act."
"No doubt it was foolish of me to threaten a brave man like yourself."
"What was really foolish, madame, is that you have placed yourself in
the power of a band of rascals who may blackmail or give you away."
"No, no! I am not so simple. Since I have promised to be frank, I may
say that no one, save Barney Stockdale and Susan, his wife, have the
least idea who their employer is. As to them, well, it is not the
first----" She smiled and nodded, with a charming coquettish intimacy.
"I see. You've tested them before."
"They are good hounds who run silent."
"Such hounds have a way sooner or later of biting the hand that feeds
them. They will be arrested for this burglary. The police are already
after them."
"They will take what comes to them. That is what they are paid for. I
shall not appear in the matter."
"Unless I bring you into it."
"No, no; you would not. You are a gentleman. It is a woman's secret."
"In the first place you must give back this manuscript."
She broke into a ripple of laughter, and walked to the fireplace.
There was a calcined mass which she broke up with the poker. "Shall I
give this back?" she asked. So roguish and exquisite did she look as
she stood before us with a challenging smile that I felt of all
Holmes's criminals this was the one whom he would find it hardest to
face. However, he was immune from sentiment.
"That seals your fate," he said coldly. "You are very prompt in your
actions, madame, but you have overdone it on this occasion."
She threw the poker down with a clatter.
"How hard you are!" she cried. "May I tell you the whole story?"
"I fancy I could tell it to you."
"But you must look at it with my eyes, Mr. Holmes. You must realize it
from the point of view of a woman who sees all her life's ambition
about to be ruined at the last moment. Is such a woman to be blamed if
she protects herself?"
"The original sin was yours."
"Yes, yes! I admit it. He was a dear boy, Douglas, but it so chanced
that he could not fit into my plans. He wanted marriage--marriage, Mr.
Holmes--with a penniless commoner. Nothing less would serve him. Then
he became pertinacious. Because I had given he seemed to think that I
still must give, and to him only. It was intolerable. At last I had
to make him realize it."
"By hiring ruffians to beat him under your own window."
"You do indeed seem to know everything. Well, it is true. Barney and
the boys drove him away, and were, I admit, a little rough in doing so.
But what did he do then? Could I have believed that a gentleman would
do such an act? He wrote a book in which he described his own story.
I, of course, was the wolf; he the lamb. It was all there, under
different names, of course; but who in all London would have failed to
recognize it? What do you say to that, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, he was within his rights."
"It was as if the air of Italy had got into his blood and brought with
it the old cruel Italian spirit. He wrote to me and sent me a copy of
his book that I might have the torture of anticipation. There were two
copies, he said--one for me, one for his publisher."
"How did you know the publisher's had not reached him?"
"I knew who his publisher was. It is not his only novel, you know. I
found out that he had not heard from Italy. Then came Douglas's sudden
death. So long as that other manuscript was in the world there was no
safety for me. Of course, it must be among his effects, and these
would be returned to his mother. I set the gang at work. One of them
got into the house as servant. I wanted to do the thing honestly. I
really and truly did. I was ready to buy the house and everything in
it. I offered any price she cared to ask. I only tried the other way
when everything else had failed. Now, Mr. Holmes, granting that I was
too hard on Douglas--and, God knows, I am sorry for it!--what else
could I do with my whole future at stake?"
Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, well," said he, "I suppose I shall have to compound a felony as
usual. How much does it cost to go round the world in first-class
style?"
The lady stared in amazement.
"Could it be done on five thousand pounds?"
"Well, I should think so, indeed!"
"Very good. I think you will sign me a cheque for that, and I will see
that it comes to Mrs. Maberley. You owe her a little change of air.
Meantime, lady"--he wagged a cautionary forefinger--"have a care! Have
a care! You can't play with edged tools for ever without cutting those
dainty hands."
V