"I cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried ourclient, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head.
"If you cando nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere." "No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chairfrom which he had half risen.
"I really wouldn't miss your casefor the world.
It is most refreshingly unusual.
But there is, if youwill excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it.Pray what steps did you take when you found the card upon thedoor?" "I was staggered, sir.
I did not know what to do.
Then Icalled at the offices round, but none of them seemed to knowanything about it.
Finally, I went to the landlord, who is anaccountant living on the ground-floor, and I asked him if hecould tell me what had become of the Red-headed League.
Hesaid that he had never heard of any such body.
Then I asked himwho Mr.
Duncan Ross was.
He answered that the name was newto him.
" 'Well,' said I, 'the gentleman at No.
4.' " 'What, the red-headed man?' " 'Yes.' " 'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William Morris.
He was asolicitor and was using my room as a temporary convenienceuntil his new premises were ready.
He moved out yesterday.' " 'Where could I find him?' " 'Oh, at his new offices.
He did tell me the address.
Yes, 17King Edward Street, near St.
Paul's.' "I started off, Mr.
Holmes, but when I got to that address itwas a manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it hadever heard of either Mr.
William Morris or Mr.
Duncan Ross." "And what did you do then?" asked Holmes.
"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the adviceof my assistant.
But he could not help me in any way.
He couldonly say that if I waited I should hear by post.
But that was notquite good enough, Mr.
Holmes.
I did not wish to lose such aplace without a struggle, so, as I had heard that you were goodenough to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, Icame right away to you." "And you did very wisely," said Holmes.
"Your case is anexceedingly remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it.From what you have told me I think that it is possible that graverissues hang from it than might at first sight appear." "Grave enough!" said Mr.
Jabez Wilson.
"Why, I have lostfour pound a week." "As far as you are personally concerned," remarked Holmes,"I do not see that you have any grievance against this extraordi-nary league.
On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer bysome 30 pounds, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which youhave gained on every subject which comes under the letter A.You have lost nothing by them." "No, sir.
But I want to find out about them, and who theyare, and what their object was in playing this prank --if it was aprank --upon me.
It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for itcost them two and thirty pounds." "We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you.
And,first, one or two questions, Mr.
Wilson.
This assistant of yourswho first called your attention to the advertisement --how longhad he been with you?" "About a month then." "How did he come?" "In answer to an advertisement." "Was he the only applicant?" "No, I had a dozen." "Why did you pick him?" "Because he was handy and would come cheap." "At half-wages, in fact." "Yes." "What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?" "Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on hisface, though he's not short of thirty.
Has a white splash of acidupon his forehead." Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement.
"Ithought as much," said he.
"Have you ever observed that hisears are pierced for earrings?" "Yes, sir.
He told me that a gypsy had done it for him whenhe was a lad." "Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought.
"He isstill with you?" "Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him." "And has your business been attended to in your absence?" "Nothing to complain of, sir.
There's never very much to doof a morning." "That will do, Mr.
Wilson.
I shall be happy to give you anopinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two.
To-day isSaturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to aconclusion." "Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor had left us,"what do you make of it all?" "I make nothing of it," I answered frankly.
"It is a mostmysterious business." "As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is theless mysterious it proves to be.
It is your commonplace, feature-less crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplaceface is the most difficult to identify.
But I must be prompt overthis matter." "What are you going to do, then?" I asked.
"To smoke," he answered.
"It is quite a three pipe problem,and I beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." Hecurled himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up tohis hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and hisblack clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird.
Ihad come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, andindeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of hischair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind andput his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.
"Sarasate plays at the St.
James's Hall this afternoon," heremarked.
"What do you think, Watson? Could your patientsspare you for a few hours?" "I have nothing to do to-day.
My practice is never veryabsorbing." "Then put on your hat and come.
I am going through the Cityfirst, and we can have some lunch on the way.
I observe thatthere is a good deal of German music on the programme, whichis rather more to my taste than Italian or French.
It is introspec-tive, and I want to introspect.
Come along!" We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and ashort walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of thesingular story which we had listened to in the morning.
It was apoky, little, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingytwo-storied brick houses looked out into a small railed-in enclo-sure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of fadedlaurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden anduncongenial atmosphere.
Three gilt balls and a brown board with"JABEZ WILSON" in white letters, upon a corner house, announcedthe place where our red-headed client carried on his business.Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one sideand looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly betweenpuckered lids.
Then he walked slowly up the street, and thendown again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses.Finally he returned to the pawnbroker's, and, having thumpedvigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times,he went up to the door and knocked.
It was instantly opened by abright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him tostep in.
"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished to ask you howyou would go from here to the Strand." "Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant promptly,closing the door.
"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away."He is, in my judgment.
the fourth smartest man in London, andfor daring I am not sure that he has not a claim to be third.
Ihave known something of him before." "Evidently," said I, "Mr.
Wilson's assistant counts for agood deal in this mystery of the Red-headed League.
I am surethat you inquired your way merely in order that you might seehim." "Not him." "What then?" "The knees of his trousers." "And what did you see?" "What I expected to see." "Why did you beat the pavement?" "My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk.We are spies in an enemy's country.
We know something ofSaxe-Coburg Square.
Let us now explore the parts which liebehind it." The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round thecorner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great acontrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back.
It was oneof the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City to thenorth and west.
The roadway was blocked with the immensestream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and out-ward, while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm ofpedestrians.
It was difficult to realize as we looked at the line offine shops and stately business premises that they really abuttedon the other side upon the faded and stagnant square which wehad just quitted.
"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glanc-ing along the line, "I should like just to remember the order ofthe houses here.
It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowl-edge of London.
There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the littlenewspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and SuburbanBank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-buildingdepot.
That carries us right on to the other block.
And now,Doctor, we've done our work, so it's time we had some play.
Asandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, whereall is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are nored-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums." My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself notonly a very capable perfomer but a composer of no ordinarymerit.
All the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the mostperfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time tothe music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamyeyes were as unlike those of Holmes, the sleuth-hound, Holmesthe relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it waspossible to conceive.
In his singular character the dual naturealternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and astute-ness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction against thepoetic and contemplative mood which occasionally predominatedin him.
The swing of his nature took him from extreme languorto devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was never so trulyformidable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging inhis armchair amid his improvisations and his black-letter edi-tions.
Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly comeupon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise tothe level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with hismethods would look askance at him as on a man whose knowl-edge was not that of other mortals.
When I saw him that after-noon so enwrapped in the music at St.
James's Hall I felt that anevil time might be coming upon those whom he had set himselfto hunt down.
"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he remarked aswe emerged.
"Yes, it would be as well." "And I have some business to do which will take some hours.This business at Coburg Square is serious." "Why serious?" "A considerable crime is in contemplation.
I have everyreason to believe that we shall be in time to stop it.
But to-daybeing Saturday rather complicates matters.
I shall want your helpto-night." "At what time?" "Ten will be early enough." "I shall be at Baker Street at ten." "Very well.
And, I say, Doctor, there may be some littledanger, so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." Hewaved his hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instantamong the crowd.
I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I wasalways oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in mydealings with Sherlock Holmes.
Here I had heard what he hadheard, I had seen what he had seen, and yet from his words itwas evident that he saw clearly not only what had happened butwhat was about to happen, while to me the whole business wasstill confused and grotesque.
As I drove home to my house inKensington I thought over it all, from the extraordinary story ofthe red-headed copier of the Encyclopedia down to the visit toSaxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with which he hadparted from me.
What was this nocturnal expedition, and whyshould I go armed? Where were we going, and what were we todo? I had the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced pawn-broker's assistant was a formidable man --a man who might playa deep game.
I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despairand set the matter aside until night should bring an explanation.
It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and mademy way across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to BakerStreet.
Two hansoms were standing at the door, and as I enteredthe passage I heard the sound of voices from above.
On enteringhis room I found Holmes in animated conversation with twomen, one of whom I recognized as Peter Jones, the officialpolice agent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man,with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat.
"Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up hispeajacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack."Watson, I think you know Mr.
Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let meintroduce you to Mr.
Merryweather, who is to be our companionin to-night's adventure." "We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see," saidJones in his consequential way.
"Our friend here is a wonderfulman for starting a chase.
All he wants is an old dog to help himto do the running down." "I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of ourchase," observed Mr.
Merryweather gloomily.
"You may place considerable confidence in Mr.
Holmes,sir," said the police agent loftily.
"He has his own little meth-ods, which are, if he won't mind my saying so, just a little tootheoretical and fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective inhim.
