"You see it, Watson?" he yelled. "You see it?" Sidney Paget's illustration of the Sherlock Holmes short story, the Speckled Band, which appeared in "Strand Magazine", February 1892. |
By Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle
Editor's Note: "The Adventure of the Speckled Band" is one of the 56 short Sherlock Holmes stories written by Scottish author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It is the eighth of the 12 stories collected in "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes." It is one of four Sherlock Holmes stories that can be classified as a locked room mystery. The story was first published in "Strand Magazine" in February 1892, with illustrations by Sidney Paget. It was published under the different title "The Spotted Band" in New York World in August 1905. Doyle later revealed that he thought this was his best Holmes story.
On glancing over my
notes of the 70 odd cases in which I have during the last eight years studied
the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a
large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather
for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to
associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the
unusual, and even the fantastic.
Of
all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which presented more
singular features than that which was associated with the well-known Surrey
family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The events in question occurred in the
early days of my association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as
bachelors in Baker Street.
It
is possible that I might have placed them upon record before, but a promise of
secrecy was made at the time, from which I have only been freed during the last
month by the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It is
perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I have reasons to
know that there are widespread rumours as to the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott
which tend to make the matter even more terrible than the truth.
It
was early in April in the year 1883 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock
Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as
a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a
quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a
little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.
"Very
sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, "but it's the common lot
this morning.”
"What
is it, then--a fire?"
"No;
a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of
excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in the sitting room.
Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of the morning,
and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something
very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an
interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I
thought, at any rate, that I should call you and give you the chance."
"My
dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything."
I
had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional
investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions,
and yet always founded on a logical basis with which he unraveled the problems,
which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a
few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting room. A lady dressed in
black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we
entered.
"Good-morning,
madam," said Holmes cheerily. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my
intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson and feel free to speak before him as
you would me. Ha! I am glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to
light the fire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot coffee,
for I observe that you are shivering."
"It
is not cold which makes me shiver," said the woman in a low voice,
changing her seat as requested.
"What,
then?"
Her features and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot with premature gray, and her expression was weary and haggard |
"It
is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror." She raised her veil as she spoke, and
we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable state of agitation, her face all
drawn and gray, with restless frightened eyes, like those of some hunted
animal. Her features and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was
shot with premature gray, and her expression was weary and haggard. Sherlock
Holmes ran her over with one of his quick, all-comprehensive glances.
"You
must not fear," said he soothingly, bending forward and patting her
forearm. "We shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You have come
in by train this morning, I see."
"You
know me, then?"
"No,
but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of your left
glove. You must have started early, and yet you had a good drive in a dog-cart,
along heavy roads, before you reached the station."
The
lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my companion.
"There
is no mystery, my dear madam," said he, smiling. "The left arm of
your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. The marks are
perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up mud in
that way, and then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the driver."
"Whatever
your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct," said she. "I started
from home before six, reached Leatherhead at twenty past, and came in by the
first train to Waterloo. Sir, I can stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad
if it continues. I have no one to turn to--none, save only one, who cares for
me, and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid.
I
have heard of you, Mr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom
you helped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I had your
address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me, too, and at least
throw a little light through the dense darkness, which surrounds me? At present
it is out of my power to reward you for your services, but in a month or six
weeks I shall be married, with the control of my own income, and then at least
you shall not find me ungrateful."
Holmes
turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small case-book, which he
consulted.
"Farintosh,"
said he. "Ah yes, I recall the case; it was concerned with an opal tiara.
I think it was before your time, Watson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be
happy to devote the same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As
to reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty to defray
whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which suits you best. And now I
beg that you will lay before us everything that may help us in forming an
opinion upon the matter."
"Alas!"
replied our visitor, "the very horror of my situation lies in the fact
that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions depend so entirely upon small
points, which might seem trivial to another, that even he to whom of all others
I have a right to look for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about
it as the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can read it
from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have heard, Mr. Holmes, that
you can see deeply into the manifold wickedness of the human heart. You may
advise me how to walk amid the dangers which encompass me."
"I
am all attention, madam."
"My
name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who is the last
survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in England, the Roylotts of Stoke
Moran, on the western border of Surrey."
Holmes
nodded his head. "The name is familiar to me," said he.
"The
family was at one time among the richest in England, and the estates extended
over the borders into Berkshire in the north, and Hampshire in the west. In the
last century, however, four successive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful
disposition, and the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the
days of the Regency.
Nothing
was left save a few acres of ground, and the 200 year-old house, which is
itself crushed under a heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his
existence there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his
only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new
conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled him to take a
medical degree and went out to Calcutta, where, by his professional skill and
his force of character, he established a large practice.
In
a fit of anger, however, caused by some robberies which had been perpetrated in
the house, he beat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital
sentence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and afterwards
returned to England a morose and disappointed man.
"When
Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner, the young widow of
Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery. My sister Julia and I were
twins, and we were only two years old at the time of my mother's re-marriage.
She had a considerable sum of money--not less than 1,000 pounds a year--and
this she bequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with him, with a
provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed to each of us in the
event of our marriage. Shortly after our return to England my mother died--she
was killed eight years ago in a railway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then
abandoned his attempts to establish himself in practice in London and took us
to live with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The money which my
mother had left was enough for all our wants, and there seemed to be no
obstacle to our happiness.
"But
a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time. Instead of making
friends and exchanging visits with our neighbors, who had at first been
overjoyed to see a Roylott of Stoke Moran back in the old family seat, he shut
himself up in his house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious
quarrels with whoever might cross his path.
Violence
of temper approaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of the family,
and in my stepfather's case it had, I believe, been intensified by his long
residence in the tropics. A series of disgraceful brawls took place, two of
which ended in the police-court, until at last he became the terror of the
village, and the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of immense
strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.
"Last
week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a stream, and it was
only by paying over all the money which I could gather together that I was able
to avert another public exposure. He had no friends at all save the wandering
gypsies, and he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few acres
of bramble-covered land, which represent the family estate, and would accept in
return the hospitality of their tents, wandering away with them sometimes for
weeks on end.
He
has a passion also for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by a
correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon, which wander
freely over his grounds and are feared by the villagers almost as much as their
master.
"You
can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and I had no great
pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with us, and for a long time we
did all the work of the house. She was but 30 at the time of her death, and yet
her hair had already begun to whiten, even as mine has."
"Your
sister is dead, then?"
"She
died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish to speak to you.
You can understand that, living the life, which I have described, we were
little likely to see anyone of our own age and position. We had, however, an
aunt, my mother's maiden sister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow,
and we were occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady's house.
Julia
went there at Christmas two years ago, and met there a half-pay major of
marines, to whom she became engaged. My stepfather learned of the engagement
when my sister returned and offered no objection to the marriage; but within a
fortnight of the day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event
occurred which has deprived me of my only companion."
Sherlock
Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed and his head
sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids now and glanced across at his
visitor.
"Pray
be precise as to details," said he.
"It
is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful time is seared into
my memory. The manor house is, as I have already said, very old, and only one
wing is now inhabited. The bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the
sitting rooms being in the central block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms
the first is Dr. Roylott's, the second my sister's, and the third my own. There
is no communication between them, but they all open out into the same corridor.
Do I make myself plain?"
"Perfectly
so."
"The
windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That fatal night Dr. Roylott
had gone to his room early, though we knew that he had not retired to rest, for
my sister was troubled by the smell of the strong Indian cigars, which it was
his custom to smoke. She left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where
she sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding. At eleven
o'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door and looked back.
"'Tell
me, Helen,' said she, 'have you ever heard anyone whistle in the dead of the
night?'
"'Never,'
said I.
"'I
suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in your sleep?'
"'Certainly
not. But why?'
"'Because
during the last few nights I have always, about three in the morning, heard a
low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper, and it has awakened me. I cannot tell
where it came from perhaps from the next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought
that I would just ask you whether you had heard it.'
"'No,
I have not. It must be those wretched gypsies in the plantation.'
"'Very
likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you did not hear it
also.'
"'Ah,
but I sleep more heavily than you.'
"'Well,
it is of no great consequence, at any rate.' She smiled back at me, closed my
door, and a few moments later I heard her key turn in the lock."
"Indeed,"
said Holmes. "Was it your custom always to lock yourselves in at
night?"
"Always."
"And
why?"
"I
think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah and a babboon. We
had no feeling of security unless our doors were locked."
"Quite
so. Pray proceed with your statement."
"I
could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impending misfortune impressed
me. My sister and I, you will recollect, were twins, and you know how subtle
are the links, which bind two souls which are so closely allied. It was a wild
night. The wind was howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing
against the windows.
Suddenly,
amid all the hubbub of the gale, there burst forth the wild scream of a
terrified woman. I knew that it was my sister's voice. I sprang from my bed,
wrapped a shawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I opened my door I
seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and a few moments
later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen.
As
I ran down the passage, my sister's door was unlocked, and revolved slowly upon
its hinges. I stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to issue
from it. By the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister appear at the
opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands groping for help, her whole
figure swaying to and fro like that of a drunkard.
I
ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that moment her knees seemed to
give way and she fell to the ground. She writhed as one who is in terrible
pain, and her limbs were dreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that she had
not recognized me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out in a voice
which I shall never forget, 'Oh, my God! Helen! It was the band! The speckled
band!'
There
was something else, which she would fain have said, and she stabbed with her
finger into the air in the direction of the doctor's room, but a fresh
convulsion seized her and choked her words. I rushed out, calling loudly for my
stepfather, and I met him hastening from his room in his dressing gown. When he
reached my sister's side she was unconscious, and though he poured brandy down
her throat and sent for medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain,
for she slowly sank and died without having recovered her consciousness. Such
was the dreadful end of my beloved sister."
"One
moment," said Holmes, "are you sure about this whistle and metallic
sound? Could you swear to it?"
"That
was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. It is my strong impression
that I heard it, and yet, among the crash of the gale and the creaking of an
old house, I may possibly have been deceived."
"Was
your sister dressed?"
"No,
she was in her night-dress. In her right hand was found the charred stump of a
match, and in her left a match-box."
"Showing
that she had struck a light and looked about her when the alarm took place.
That is important. And what conclusions did the coroner come to?"
"He
investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott's conduct had long been
notorious in the county, but he was unable to find any satisfactory cause of
death. My evidence showed that the door had been fastened upon the inner side,
and the windows were blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars,
which were secured every night.
The
walls were carefully sounded, and were shown to be quite solid all round, and
the flooring was also thoroughly examined, with the same result. The chimney is
wide, but is barred up by four large staples. It is certain, therefore, that my
sister was quite alone when she met her end. Besides, there were no marks of
any violence upon her."
"How
about poison?"
"The
doctors examined her for it, but without success."
"What
do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?"
"It
is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock, though what it was
that frightened her I cannot imagine."
"Were
there gypsies in the plantation at the time?"
"Yes,
there are nearly always some there."
"Ah,
and what did you gather from this allusion to a band--a speckled band?"
"Sometimes
I have thought that it was merely the wild talk of delirium, sometimes that it
may have referred to some band of people, perhaps to these very gypsies in the
plantation. I do not know whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of
them wear over their heads might have suggested the strange adjective which she
used."
Holmes
shook his head like a man who is far from being satisfied.
"These
are very deep waters," said he; "pray go on with your
narrative."
"Two
years have passed since then, and my life has been until lately lonelier than
ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend, whom I have known for many years,
has done me the honor to ask my hand in marriage. His name is Armitage--Percy
Armitage--the second son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading.
My
stepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to be married in
the course of the spring. Two days ago some repairs were started in the west
wing of the building, and my bedroom wall has been pierced, so that I have had
to move into the chamber in which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed
in which she slept. Imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last night, as I lay
awake, thinking over her terrible fate, I suddenly heard in the silence of the
night the low whistle which had been the herald of her own death.
I
sprang up and lit the lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I was too
shaken to go to bed again, however, so I dressed, and as soon as it was
daylight I slipped down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which is opposite,
and drove to Leatherhead, from whence I have come on this morning with the one
object of seeing you and asking your advice."
"You
have done wisely," said my friend. "But have you told me all?"
"Yes,
all."
"Miss
Roylott, you have not. You are screening your stepfather."
"Why,
what do you mean?"
For
answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace, which fringed the hand that
lay upon our visitor's knee. Five little livid spots, the marks of four fingers
and a thumb, were printed upon the white wrist.
"You
have been cruelly used," said Holmes.
The
lady colored deeply and covered over her injured wrist. "He is a hard
man," she said, "and perhaps he hardly knows his own strength."
There
was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin upon his hands and
stared into the crackling fire.
"This
is a very deep business," he said at last. "There are a thousand
details which I should desire to know before I decide upon our course of
action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If we were to come to Stoke Moran
to-day, would it be possible for us to see over these rooms without the
knowledge of your stepfather?"
"As
it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some most important
business. It is probable that he will be away all day, and that there would be
nothing to disturb you. We have a housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish,
and I could easily get her out of the way."
"Excellent.
You are not averse to this trip, Watson?"
"By
no means."
"Then
we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself?"
"I
have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I am in town. But I
shall return by the twelve o'clock train, so as to be there in time for your
coming."
"And
you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myself some small business
matters to attend to. Will you not wait and breakfast?"
"No,
I must go. My heart is lightened already since I have confided my trouble to
you. I shall look forward to seeing you again this afternoon." She dropped
her thick black veil over her face and glided from the room.
"And
what do you think of it all, Watson?" asked Sherlock Holmes, leaning back
in his chair.
"It
seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business."
"Dark
enough and sinister enough."
"Yet
if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls are sound, and
that the door, window, and chimney are impassable, then her sister must have
been undoubtedly alone when she met her mysterious end."
"What
becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what of the very peculiar words
of the dying woman?"
"I
cannot think."
"When
you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of a band of gypsies
who are on intimate terms with this old doctor, the fact that we have every
reason to believe that the doctor has an interest in preventing his
stepdaughter's marriage, the dying allusion to a band, and, finally, the fact
that Miss Helen Stoner heard a metallic clang, which might have been caused by
one of those metal bars that secured the shutters falling back into its place,
I think that there is good ground to think that the mystery may be cleared
along those lines."
"But
what, then, did the gypsies do?"
"I
cannot imagine."
"I
see many objections to any such theory."
"And
so do I. It is precisely for that reason that we are going to Stoke Moran this
day. I want to see whether the objections are fatal, or if they may be
explained away. But what in the name of the devil!"
The
ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that our door had been
suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had framed himself in the aperture.
His costume was a peculiar mixture of the professional and of the agricultural,
having a black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters, with a
hunting-crop swinging in his hand.
So
tall was he that his hat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his
breadth seemed to span it across from side to side. A large face, seared with a
thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and marked with every evil
passion, was turned from one to the other of us, while his deep-set, bile-shot
eyes, and his high, thin, fleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a
fierce old bird of prey.
"Which
of you is Holmes?" asked this apparition.
"My
name, sir; but you have the advantage of me," said my companion quietly.
"I
am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran."
"Indeed,
Doctor," said Holmes blandly. "Pray take a seat."
"I
will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I have traced her.
What has she been saying to you?"
"It
is a little cold for the time of the year," said Holmes.
"What
has she been saying to you?" screamed the old man furiously.
"But
I have heard that the crocuses promise well," continued my companion
imperturbably.
"Ha!
You put me off, do you?" said our new visitor, taking a step forward and
shaking his hunting-crop. "I know you, you scoundrel! I have heard of you
before. You are Holmes, the meddler."
My
friend smiled.
"Holmes,
the busybody!"
His
smile broadened.
"Holmes,
the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!"
Holmes
chuckled heartily. "Your conversation is most entertaining," said he.
"When you go out close the door, for there is a decided draught."
"I
will go when I have said my say. Don't you dare to meddle with my affairs. I
know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced her! I am a dangerous man to fall
foul of! See here." He stepped swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent
it into a curve with his huge brown hands.
"See
that you keep yourself out of my grip," he snarled, and hurling the
twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the room.
"He
seems a very amiable person," said Holmes, laughing. "I am not quite
so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him that my grip was not
much more feeble than his own." As he spoke he picked up the steel poker
and, with a sudden effort, straightened it out again.
"Fancy
his having the insolence to confound me with the official detective force! This
incident gives zest to our investigation, however, and I only trust that our
little friend will not suffer from her imprudence in allowing this brute to
trace her. And now, Watson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards I shall
walk down to Doctors' Commons, where I hope to get some data which may help us
in this matter."
It
was nearly one o'clock when Sherlock Holmes returned from his excursion. He
held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled over with notes and figures.
"I
have seen the will of the deceased wife," said he. "To determine its
exact meaning I have been obliged to work out the present prices of the
investments with which it is concerned. The total income, which at the time of
the wife's death was little short of 1100 pounds, is now, through the fall in
agricultural prices, not more than 750 pounds. Each daughter can claim an
income of 250 pounds, in case of marriage. It is evident, therefore, that if
both girls had married, this beauty would have had a mere pittance, while even
one of them would cripple him to a very serious extent. My morning's work has
not been wasted, since it has proved that he has the very strongest motives for
standing in the way of anything of the sort.
And
now, Watson, this is too serious for dawdling, especially as the old man is
aware that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you are ready, we
shall call a cab and drive to Waterloo. I should be very much obliged if you
would slip your revolver into your pocket. An Eley's No. 2 is an excellent
argument with gentlemen who can twist steel pokers into knots. That and a
tooth-brush are, I think, all that we need."
At
Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for Leatherhead, where we hired
a trap at the station inn and drove for four or five miles through the lovely
Surrey laries. It was a perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds
in the heavens. The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out their first
green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant smell of the moist earth.
To
me at least there was a strange contrast between the sweet promise of the
spring and this sinister quest upon which we were engaged. My companion sat in
the front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and
his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the deepest thought. Suddenly,
however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed over the meadows.
"Look
there!" said he.
A
heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope, thickening into a grove
at the highest point. From amid the branches there jutted out the gray gables
and high roof-tree of a very old mansion.
"Stoke
Moran?" said he.
"Yes,
sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott," remarked the driver.
"There
is some building going on there," said Holmes; "that is where we are
going."
"There's
the village," said the driver, pointing to a cluster of roofs some
distance to the left; "but if you want to get to the house, you'll find it
shorter to get over this stile, and so by the foot-path over the fields. There
it is, where the lady is walking."
"And
the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner," observed Holmes, shading his eyes.
"Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest."
We
got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way to Leatherhead.
"I
thought it as well," said Holmes as we climbed the stile, "that this
fellow should think we had come here as architects, or on some definite
business. It may stop his gossip. Good-afternoon, Miss Stoner. You see that we
have been as good as our word."
Our
client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a face which spoke
her joy. "I have been waiting so eagerly for you," she cried, shaking
hands with us warmly. "All has turned out splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone
to town, and it is unlikely that he will be back before evening."
"We
have had the pleasure of making the doctor's acquaintance," said Holmes,
and in a few words he sketched out what had occurred. Miss Stoner turned white
to the lips as she listened.
"Good
heavens!" she cried, "he has followed me, then."
"So
it appears."
"He
is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him. What will he say when
he returns?"
"He
must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone more cunning than
himself upon his track. You must lock yourself up from him to-night. If he is
violent, we shall take you away to your aunt's at Harrow. Now, we must make the
best use of our time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to
examine."
The
building was of gray, lichen-blotched stone, with a high central portion and
two curving wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown out on each side. In one of
these wings the windows were broken and blocked with wooden boards, while the
roof was partly caved in, a picture of ruin.
The
central portion was in little better repair, but the right-hand block was
comparatively modern, and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke
curling up from the chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided.
Some scaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and the stone-work had
been broken into, but there were no signs of any workmen at the moment of our
visit. Holmes walked slowly up and down the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep
attention the outsides of the windows.
"This,
I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep, the centre one to
your sister's, and the one next to the main building to Dr. Roylott's
chamber?"
"Exactly
so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one."
"Pending
the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there does not seem to be any
very pressing need for repairs at that end wall."
"There
were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move me from my room."
"Ah!
that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrow wing runs the
corridor from which these three rooms open. There are windows in it, of
course?"
"Yes,
but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to pass through."
"As
you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were unapproachable from that
side. Now, would you have the kindness to go into your room and bar your
shutters?"
Miss
Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination through the open window,
endeavored in every way to force the shutter open, but without success. There
was no slit through which a knife could be passed to raise the bar. Then with
his lens he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built firmly into
the massive masonry. "Hum!" said he, scratching his chin in some
perplexity, "my theory certainly presents some difficulties. No one could
pass these shutters if they were bolted. Well, we shall see if the inside
throws any light upon the matter."
A
small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which the three bedrooms
opened. Holmes refused to examine the third chamber, so we passed at once to
the second, that in which Miss Stoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister
had met with her fate. It was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a
gaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses.
A
brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow white-counterpaned bed in
another, and a dressing-table on the left-hand side of the window. These
articles, with two small wicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the
room save for a square of Wilton carpet in the centre. The boards round and the
panelling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and discolored
that it may have dated from the original building of the house. Holmes drew one
of the chairs into a corner and sat silent, while his eyes travelled round and
round and up and down, taking in every detail of the apartment.
"Where
does that bell communicate with?" he asked at last pointing to a thick
belt-rope which hung down beside the bed, the tassel actually lying upon the
pillow.
"It
goes to the housekeeper's room."
"It
looks newer than the other things?"
"Yes,
it was only put there a couple of years ago."
"Your
sister asked for it, I suppose?"
"No,
I never heard of her using it. We used always to get what we wanted for
ourselves."
"Indeed,
it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there. You will excuse me for
a few minutes while I satisfy myself as to this floor." He threw himself
down upon his face with his lens in his hand and crawled swiftly backward and
forward, examining minutely the cracks between the boards. Then he did the same
with the wood-work with which the chamber was paneled. Finally he walked over
to the bed and spent some time in staring at it and in running his eye up and
down the wall. Finally he took the bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk
tug.
"Why,
it's a dummy," said he.
"Won't
it ring?"
"No,
it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting. You can see now
that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little opening for the
ventilator is."
"How
very absurd! I never noticed that before."
"Very
strange!" muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. "There are one or two
very singular points about this room. For example, what a fool a builder must
be to open a ventilator into another room, when, with the same trouble, he
might have communicated with the outside air!"
"That
is also quite modern," said the lady.
"Done
about the same time as the bell-rope?" remarked Holmes.
"Yes,
there were several little changes carried out about that time."
"They
seem to have been of a most interesting character--dummy bell-ropes, and
ventilators which do not ventilate. With your permission, Miss Stoner, we shall
now carry our researches into the inner apartment."
Dr.
Grimesby Roylott's chamber was larger than that of his step-daughter, but was
as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small wooden shelf full of books, mostly of
a technical character an armchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against
the wall, a round table, and a large iron safe were the principal things which
met the eye. Holmes walked slowly round and examined each and all of them with
the keenest interest.
"What's
in here?" he asked, tapping the safe.
"My
stepfather's business papers."
"Oh!
you have seen inside, then?"
"Only
once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of papers."
"There
isn't a cat in it, for example?"
"No.
What a strange idea!"
"Well,
look at this!" He took up a small saucer of milk which stood on the top of
it.
"No;
we don't keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a baboon."
"Ah,
yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a saucer of milk
does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I daresay. There is one point
which I should wish to determine." He squatted down in front of the wooden
chair and examined the seat of it with the greatest attention.
"Thank
you. That is quite settled," said he, rising and putting his lens in his
pocket. "Hello! Here is something interesting!"
The
object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on one corner of the
bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself and tied so as to make a loop of
whipcord.
"What
do you make of that, Watson?"
"It's
a common enough lash. But I don't know why it should be tied."
"That
is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it's a wicked world, and when a clever
man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all. I think that I have seen
enough now, Miss Stoner, and with your permission we shall walk out upon the
lawn."
I
had never seen my friend's face so grim or his brow so dark as it was when we
turned from the scene of this investigation. We had walked several times up and
down the lawn, neither Miss Stoner nor myself liking to break in upon his
thoughts before he roused himself from his reverie.
"It
is very essential, Miss Stoner," said he, "that you should absolutely
follow my advice in every respect."
"I
shall most certainly do so."
"The
matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may depend upon your compliance."
"I
assure you that I am in your hands."
"In
the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night in your room."
Both
Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment.
"Yes,
it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is the village inn over
there?"
"Yes,
that is the Crown."
"Very
good. Your windows would be visible from there?"
"Certainly."
"You
must confine yourself to your room, on pretense of a headache, when your
stepfather comes back. Then when you hear him retire for the night, you must
open the shutters of your window, undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a
signal to us, and then withdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to
want into the room which you used to occupy. I have no doubt that, in spite of
the repairs, you could manage there for one night."
"Oh,
yes, easily."
"The
rest you will leave in our hands."
"But
what will you do?"
"We
shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate the cause of this
noise which has disturbed you."
"I
believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up your mind," said Miss
Stoner, laying her hand upon my companion's sleeve.
"Perhaps
I have."
"Then,
for pity's sake, tell me what was the cause of my sister's death."
"I
should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak."
"You
can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and if she died from
some sudden fright."
"No,
I do not think so. I think that there was probably some more tangible cause.
And now, Miss Stoner, we must leave you for if Dr. Roylott returned and saw us
our journey would be in vain. Good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I
have told you you may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers
that threaten you."
Sherlock
Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom and sitting-room at the
Crown Inn. They were on the upper floor, and from our window we could command a
view of the avenue gate, and of the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor House.
At dusk we saw Dr. Grimesby Roylott drive past, his huge form looming up beside
the little figure of the lad who drove him.
The
boy had some slight difficulty in undoing the heavy iron gates, and we heard
the hoarse roar of the doctor's voice and saw the fury with which he shook his
clinched fists at him. The trap drove on, and a few minutes later we saw a
sudden light spring up among the trees as the lamp was lit in one of the
sitting-rooms.
"Do
you know, Watson," said Holmes as we sat together in the gathering
darkness, "I have really some scruples as to taking you to-night. There is
a distinct element of danger."
"Can
I be of assistance?"
"Your
presence might be invaluable."
"Then
I shall certainly come."
"It
is very kind of you."
"You
speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in these rooms than was visible
to me."
"No,
but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I imagine that you saw all
that I did."
"I
saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose that could answer I
confess is more than I can imagine."
"You
saw the ventilator, too?"
"Yes,
but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to have a small opening
between two rooms. It was so small that a rat could hardly pass through."
"I
knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to Stoke Moran."
"My
dear Holmes!"
"Oh,
yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that her sister could smell
Dr. Roylott's cigar. Now, of course that suggested at once that there must be a
communication between the two rooms. It could only be a small one, or it would
have been remarked upon at the coroner's inquiry. I deduced a ventilator."
"But
what harm can there be in that?"
"Well,
there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. A ventilator is made, a cord
is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed dies. Does not that strike you?"
"I
cannot as yet see any connection."
"Did
you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?"
"No."
"It
was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see a bed fastened like that
before?"
"I
cannot say that I have."
"The
lady could not move her bed. It must always be in the same relative position to
the ventilator and to the rope--or so we may call it, since it was clearly
never meant for a bell-pull."
"Holmes,"
I cried, "I seem to see dimly what you are hinting at. We are only just in
time to prevent some subtle and horrible crime."
"Subtle
enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go wrong he is the first of
criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge. Palmer and Pritchard were among
the heads of their profession. This man strikes even deeper, but I think,
Watson, that we shall be able to strike deeper still. But we shall have horrors
enough before the night is over; for goodness' sake let us have a quiet pipe
and turn our minds for a few hours to something more cheerful."
About
nine o'clock the light among the trees was extinguished, and all was dark in
the direction of the Manor House. Two hours passed slowly away, and then,
suddenly, just at the stroke of eleven, a single bright light shone out right
in front of us.
"That
is our signal," said Holmes, springing to his feet; "it comes from
the middle window."
As
we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord, explaining that we
were going on a late visit to an acquaintance, and that it was possible that we
might spend the night there. A moment later we were out on the dark road, a
chill wind blowing in our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us
through the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand.
There
was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for unrepaired breaches gaped in
the old park wall. Making our way among the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed
it, and were about to enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel
bushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted child, who threw
itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and then ran swiftly across the lawn
into the darkness.
"My
God!" I whispered; "did you see it?"
Holmes
was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like a vise upon my wrist
in his agitation. Then he broke into a low laugh and put his lips to my ear.
"It
is a nice household," he murmured. "That is the baboon."
I
had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected. There was a cheetah,
too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders at any moment. I confess that
I felt easier in my mind when, after following Holmes's example and slipping
off my shoes, I found myself inside the bedroom. My companion noiselessly
closed the shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and cast his eyes round the
room. All was as we had seen it in the daytime. Then creeping up to me and
making a trumpet of his hand, he whispered into my ear again so gently that it
was all that I could do to distinguish the words:
"The
least sound would be fatal to our plans."
I
nodded to show that I had heard.
"We
must sit without light. He would see it through the ventilator."
I
nodded again.
"Do
not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have your pistol ready in
case we should need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and you in that
chair."
I
took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.
Holmes
had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the bed beside him. By
it he laid the box of matches and the stump of a candle. Then he turned down
the lamp, and we were left in darkness.
How
shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a sound, not even the
drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my companion sat open-eyed, within a
few feet of me, in the same state of nervous tension in which I was myself. The
shutters cut off the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.
From
outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at our very window a
long drawn catlike whine, which told us that the cheetah was indeed at liberty.
Far away we could hear the deep tones of the parish clock, which boomed out
every quarter of an hour. How long they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck,
and one and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for whatever might
befall.
Suddenly
there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the direction of the ventilator,
which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by a strong smell of burning oil
and heated metal. Someone in the next room had lit a dark lantern. I heard a
gentle sound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though the smell
grew stronger.
For
half an hour I sat with straining ears. Then suddenly another sound became
audible--a very gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam
escaping continually from a kettle. The instant that we heard it, Holmes sprang
from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with his cane at the
bell-pull.
"You
see it, Watson?" he yelled. "You see it?"
But
I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I heard a low, clear
whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary eyes made it impossible
for me to tell what it was at which my friend lashed so savagely. I could,
however, see that his face was deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing.
He had ceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when suddenly there
broke from the silence of the night the most horrible cry to which I have ever
listened. It swelled up louder and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and
anger all mingled in the one dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the
village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the sleepers from
their beds. It struck cold to our hearts, and I stood gazing at Holmes, and he
at me, until the last echoes of it had died away into the silence from which it
rose.
"What
can it mean?" I gasped.
"It
means that it is all over," Holmes answered. "And perhaps, after all,
it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will enter Dr. Roylott's
room."
With
a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the corridor. Twice he struck
at the chamber door without any reply from within. Then he turned the handle
and entered, I at his heels, with the cocked pistol in my hand.
It
was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a dark-lantern with
the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of light upon the iron safe,
the door of which was ajar. Beside this table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr.
Grimesby Roylott clad in a long gray dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding
beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers. Across his lap
lay the short stock with the long lash which we had noticed during the day.
His
chin was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at
the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with
brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his head. As we
entered he made neither sound nor motion.
"The
band! the speckled band!" whispered Holmes.
I
took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began to move, and
there reared itself from among his hair the squat diamond-shaped head and
puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.
"It
is a swamp adder!" cried Holmes; "the deadliest snake in India. He
has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in truth, recoil
upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs for another.
Let us thrust this creature back into its den, and we can then remove Miss
Stoner to some place of shelter and let the county police know what has
happened."
As
he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man's lap, and throwing the
noose round the reptile's neck he drew it from its horrid perch and, carrying
it at arm's length, threw it into the iron safe, which he closed upon it.
Such
are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran. It is
not necessary that I should prolong a narrative which has already run to too
great a length by telling how we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how
we conveyed her by the morning train to the care of her good aunt at Harrow, of
how the slow process of official inquiry came to the conclusion that the doctor
met his fate while indiscreetly playing with a dangerous pet. The little which
I had yet to learn of the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled
back next day.
"I
had," said he, "come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which shows,
my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient data.
The presence of the gypsies, and the use of the word 'band,' which was used by
the poor girl, no doubt to explain the appearance which she had caught a
hurried glimpse of by the light of her match, were sufficient to put me upon an
entirely wrong scent. I can only claim the merit that I instantly reconsidered
my position when, however, it became clear to me that whatever danger
threatened an occupant of the room could not come either from the window or the
door. My attention was speedily drawn, as I have already remarked to you, to
this ventilator, and to the bell-rope which hung down to the bed. The discovery
that this was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to the floor, instantly
gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was there as a bridge for something
passing through the hole and coming to the bed.
The
idea of a snake instantly occurred to me, and when I coupled it with my
knowledge that the doctor was furnished with a supply of creatures from India,
I felt that I was probably on the right track. The idea of using a form of
poison which could not possibly be discovered by any chemical test was just
such a one as would occur to a clever and ruthless man who had had an Eastern
training.
The
rapidity with which such a poison would take effect would also, from his point
of view, be an advantage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could
distinguish the two little dark punctures which would show where the poison
fangs had done their work. Then I thought of the whistle. Of course he must
recall the snake before the morning light revealed it to the victim. He had
trained it, probably by the use of the milk which we saw, to return to him when
summoned.
He
would put it through this ventilator at the hour that he thought best, with the
certainty that it would crawl down the rope and land on the bed. It might or
might not bite the occupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week,
but sooner or later she must fall a victim.
"I
had come to these conclusions before ever I had entered his room. An inspection
of his chair showed me that he had been in the habit of standing on it, which
of course would be necessary in order that he should reach the ventilator. The
sight of the safe, the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to
finally dispel any doubts which may have remained. The metallic clang heard by
Miss Stoner was obviously caused by her stepfather hastily closing the door of
his safe upon its terrible occupant. Having once made up my mind, you know the
steps which I took in order to put the matter to the proof. I heard the
creature hiss as I have no doubt that you did also, and I instantly lit the
light and attacked it."
"With
the result of driving it through the ventilator."
"And
also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master at the other side.
Some of the blows of my cane came home and roused its snakish temper, so that
it flew upon the first person it saw. In this way I am no doubt indirectly
responsible for Dr. Grimesby Roylott's death, and I cannot say that it is
likely to weigh very heavily upon my conscience."
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