When youdrove home after the concert I called upon Scotland Yard andupon the chairman of the bank directors, with the result that youhave seen." "And how could you tell that they would make their attemptto-night?" I asked.
"Well, when they closed their League offices that was a signthat they cared no longer about Mr.
Jabez Wilson's presence --inother words, that they had completed their tunnel.
But it wasessential that they should use it soon, as it might be discovered,or the bullion might be removed.
Saturday would suit thembetter than any other day, as it would give them two days fortheir escape.
For all these reasons I expected them to cometo-night." "You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed in unfeignedadmiration "It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true." "It saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning.
"Alas! Ialready feel it closing in upon me.
My life is spent in one longeffort to escape from the commonplaces of existence.
These littleproblems help me to do so." "And you are a benefactor of the race," said I.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, perhaps, after all, it is ofsome little use," he remarked.
" 'L'homme c'est rien --l' oeuvrec'est tout,' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand." A Case of Identity "My dear fellow." said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on eitherside of the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, "life is infinitelystranger than anything which the mind of man could invent.
Wewould not dare to conceive the things which are really merecommonplaces of existence.
If we could fly out of that windowhand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove theroofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, thestrange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the won-derful chains of events, working through generation, and leadingto the most outre results, it would make all fiction with itsconventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprof-itable.
" "And yet I am not convinced of it," I answered.
"The caseswhich come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough,and vulgar enough.
We have in our police reports realism pushedto its extreme limits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed,neither fascinating nor artistic." "A certain selection and discretion must be used in producinga realistic effect," remarked Holmes.
"This is wanting in thepolice report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon theplatitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to anobserver contain the vital essence of the whole matter.
Dependupon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace." I smiled and shook my head.
"I can quite understand yourthinking so." I said.
"Of course, in your position of unofficialadviser and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled,throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with allthat is strange and bizarre.
But here" --I picked up the morningpaper from the ground --"let us put it to a practical test.
Here isthe first heading upon which I come.
'A husband's cruelty to hiswife.' There is half a column of print, but I know withoutreading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me.
There is.
ofcourse, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, thebruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady.
The crudest of writerscould invent nothing more crude." "Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argu-ment," said Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye downit.
"This is the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I wasengaged in clearing up some small points in connection with it.The husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, andthe conduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habitof winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth andhurling them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an actionlikely to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller.Take a pinch of snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I havescored over you in your example." He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst inthe centre of the lid.
Its splendour was in such contrast to hishomely ways and simple life that I could not help commentingupon it.
"Ah," said he, "I forgot that I had not seen you for someweeks.
It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in returnfor my assistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers." "And the ring?" I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliantwhich sparkled upon his finger.
"It was from the reigning family of Holland, though thematter in which I served them was of such delicacy that I cannotconfide it even to you, who have been good enough to chronicleone or two of my little problems." "And have you any on hand just now?" I asked with interest.
"Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature ofinterest.
They are important, you understand, without beinginteresting.
Indeed, I have found that it is usually in unimportantmatters that there is a field for the observation, and for the quickanalysis of cause and effect which gives the charm to an investi-gation.
The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for thebigger the crime thc more obvious, as a rule, is the motive.
Inthese cases, save for one rather intricate matter which has beenreferred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing which presentsany features of interest.
It is possible, however, that I may havesomething better before very many minutes are over, for this isone of my clients, or I am much mistaken." He had risen from his chair and was standing between theparted blinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted Londonstreet.
Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavementopposite there stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa roundher neck, and a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hatwhich was tilted in a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashionover her ear.
From under this great panoply she peeped up in anervous, hesitating fashion at our windows, while her bodyoscillated backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted withher glove buttons.
Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmerwho leaves the bank, she hurried across the road, and we heardthe sharp clang of the bell.
"I have seen those symptoms before," said Holmes, throwinghis cigarette into the fire.
"Oscillation upon the pavement al-ways means an affaire de coeur.
She would like advice, but isnot sure that the matter is not too delicate for communication.And yet even here we may discriminate.
When a woman hasbeen seriously wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, andthe usual symptom is a broken bell wire.
Here we may take itthat there is a love matter, but that the maiden is not so muchangry as perplexed, or grieved.
But here she comes in person toresolve our doubts." As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons.entered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady her-self loomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailedmerchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat.
Sherlock Holmes wel-comed her with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable,and, having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, helooked her over in the minute and yet abstracted fashion whichwas peculiar to him.
"Do you not find," he said, "that with your short sight it is alittle trying to do so much typewriting?" "I did at first," she answered, "but now I know where theletters are without looking." Then, suddenly realizing the fullpurport of his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, withfear and astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face."You've heard about me, Mr.
Holmes," she cried, "else howcould you know all that?" "Never mind," said Holmes, laughing; "it is my business toknow things.
Perhaps I have trained myself to see what othersoverlook.
If not, why should you come to consult me?" "I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs.Etherege, whose husband you found so easy when the police andeveryone had given him up for dead.
Oh, Mr.
Holmes, I wishyou would do as much for me.
I'm not rich, but still I have ahundred a year in my own right, besides the little that I make bythe machine, and I would give it all to know what has become ofMr.
Hosmer Angel." "Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?"asked Sherlock Holmes, with his finger-tips together and hiseyes to the ceiling.
Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face ofMiss Mary Sutherland.
"Yes, I did bang out of the house," shesaid, "for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr.Windibank --that is, my father --took it all.
He would not go tothe police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as hewould do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harmdone, it made me mad, and I just on with my things and cameright away to you." "Your father," said Holmes, "your stepfather, surely, sincethe name is different." "Yes, my stepfather.
I call him father, though it soundsfunny, too, for he is only five years and two months older thanmyself.
" "And your mother is alive?" "Oh, yes, mother is alive and well.
I wasn't best pleased, Mr.Holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death,and a man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself.Father was a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left atidy business behind him, which mother carried on with Mr.Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr.
Windibank came he made hersell the business, for he was very superior, being a traveller inwines.
They got 4700 pounds for the goodwill and interest, whichwasn't near as much as father could have got if he had beenalive." I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under thisrambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary hehad listened with the greatest concentration of attention.
"Your own little income," he asked, "does it come out of thebusiness?" "Oh, no, sir.
It is quite separate and was left me by my uncleNed in Auckland.
It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4 1/2 percent.
Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but Ican only touch the interest." "You interest me extremely," said Holmes.
"And since youdraw so large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn intothe bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself inevery way.
I believe that a single lady can get on very nicelyupon an income of about 60 pounds." "I could do with much less than that, Mr.
Holmes, but youunderstand that as long as I live at home I don't wish to be aburden to them, and so they have the use of the money just whileI am staying with them.
Of course, that is only just for the time.Mr.
Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it overto mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I earn attypewriting.
It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can often dofrom fifteen to twenty sheets in a-day." "You have made your position very clear to me," said Holmes."This is my friend, Dr.
Watson, before whom you can speak asfreely as before myself.
Kindly tell us now all about yourconnection with Mr.
Hosmer Angel." A flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face, and she pickednervously at the fringe of her jacket.
"I met him first at thegasfitters' ball," she said.
"They used to send father ticketswhen he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, andsent them to mother.
Mr.
Windibank did not wish us to go.
Henever did wish us to go anywhere.
He would get quite mad if Iwanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat.
But this time Iwas set on going, and I would go; for what right had he toprevent? He said the folk were not fit for us to know, when allfather's friends were to be there.
And he said that I had nothingfit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never so muchas taken out of the drawer.
At last, when nothing else would do,he went off to France upon the business of the firm, but wewent, mother and I, with Mr.
Hardy, who used to be ourforeman, and it was there I met Mr.
Hosmer Angel." "I suppose," said Holmes, "that when Mr.
Windibank cameback from France he was very annoyed at your having gone tothe ball." "Oh, well, he was very good about it.
He laughed, I remem-ber, and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no usedenying anything to a woman, for she would have her way." "I see.
Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, agentleman called Mr.
Hosmer Angel." "Yes, sir.
I met him that night, and he called next day to askif we had got home all safe, and after that we met him --that is tosay, Mr.
Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after that fathercame back again, and Mr.
Hosmer Angel could not come to thehouse any more." "No?" "Well, you know father didn't like anything of the sort.
Hewouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to saythat a woman should be happy in her own family circle.
Butthen, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circleto begin with, and I had not got mine yet." "But how about Mr.
Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attemptto see you?" "Well, father was going off to France again in a week, andHosmer wrote and said that it would be safer and better not tosee each other until he had gone.
We could write in the mean-time, and he used to write every day.
I took the letters in in themorning, so there was no need for father to know." "Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?" "Oh, yes, Mr.
