The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock Holmes 3)

"I came to find a friend."

"And I to find an enemy."

"An enemy?"

"Yes; one of my natural enemies, or, shall I say, my naturalprey. Briefly, Watson, I am in the midst of a very remarkableinquiry, and I have hoped to find a clue in the incoherentramblings of these sots, as I have done before now. Had I beenrecognised in that den my life would not have been worth anhour's purchase; for I have used it before now for my ownpurposes, and the rascally Lascar who runs it has sworn to havevengeance upon me. There is a trap-door at the back of thatbuilding, near the corner of Paul's Wharf, which could tell somestrange tales of what has passed through it upon the moonlessnights."

"What! You do not mean bodies?"

"Ay, bodies, Watson. We should be rich men if we had 1000 poundsfor every poor devil who has been done to death in that den. Itis the vilest murder-trap on the whole riverside, and I fear thatNeville St. Clair has entered it never to leave it more. But ourtrap should be here." He put his two forefingers between histeeth and whistled shrilly--a signal which was answered by asimilar whistle from the distance, followed shortly by the rattleof wheels and the clink of horses' hoofs.

"Now, Watson," said Holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up throughthe gloom, throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light fromits side lanterns. "You'll come with me, won't you?"

"If I can be of use."

"Oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler stillmore so. My room at The Cedars is a double-bedded one."

"The Cedars?"

"Yes; that is Mr. St. Clair's house. I am staying there while Iconduct the inquiry."

"Where is it, then?"

"Near Lee, in Kent. We have a seven-mile drive before us."

"But I am all in the dark."

"Of course you are. You'll know all about it presently. Jump uphere. All right, John; we shall not need you. Here's half acrown. Look out for me to-morrow, about eleven. Give her herhead. So long, then!"

He flicked the horse with his whip, and we dashed away throughthe endless succession of sombre and deserted streets, whichwidened gradually, until we were flying across a broadbalustraded bridge, with the murky river flowing sluggishlybeneath us. Beyond lay another dull wilderness of bricks andmortar, its silence broken only by the heavy, regular footfall ofthe policeman, or the songs and shouts of some belated party ofrevellers. A dull wrack was drifting slowly across the sky, and astar or two twinkled dimly here and there through the rifts ofthe clouds. Holmes drove in silence, with his head sunk upon hisbreast, and the air of a man who is lost in thought, while I satbeside him, curious to learn what this new quest might be whichseemed to tax his powers so sorely, and yet afraid to break inupon the current of his thoughts. We had driven several miles,and were beginning to get to the fringe of the belt of suburbanvillas, when he shook himself, shrugged his shoulders, and lit uphis pipe with the air of a man who has satisfied himself that heis acting for the best.

"You have a grand gift of silence, Watson," said he. "It makesyou quite invaluable as a companion. 'Pon my word, it is a greatthing for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts arenot over-pleasant. I was wondering what I should say to this dearlittle woman to-night when she meets me at the door."

"You forget that I know nothing about it."

"I shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case beforewe get to Lee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow I canget nothing to go upon. There's plenty of thread, no doubt, but Ican't get the end of it into my hand. Now, I'll state the caseclearly and concisely to you, Watson, and maybe you can see aspark where all is dark to me."

"Proceed, then."

"Some years ago--to be definite, in May, 1884--there came to Leea gentleman, Neville St. Clair by name, who appeared to haveplenty of money. He took a large villa, laid out the grounds verynicely, and lived generally in good style. By degrees he madefriends in the neighbourhood, and in 1887 he married the daughterof a local brewer, by whom he now has two children. He had nooccupation, but was interested in several companies and went intotown as a rule in the morning, returning by the 5:14 from CannonStreet every night. Mr. St. Clair is now thirty-seven years ofage, is a man of temperate habits, a good husband, a veryaffectionate father, and a man who is popular with all who knowhim. I may add that his whole debts at the present moment, as faras we have been able to ascertain, amount to 88 pounds 10s., whilehe has 220 pounds standing to his credit in the Capital andCounties Bank. There is no reason, therefore, to think that moneytroubles have been weighing upon his mind.

"Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into town rather earlierthan usual, remarking before he started that he had two importantcommissions to perform, and that he would bring his little boyhome a box of bricks. Now, by the merest chance, his wifereceived a telegram upon this same Monday, very shortly after hisdeparture, to the effect that a small parcel of considerablevalue which she had been expecting was waiting for her at theoffices of the Aberdeen Shipping Company. Now, if you are well upin your London, you will know that the office of the company isin Fresno Street, which branches out of Upper Swandam Lane, whereyou found me to-night. Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch, started forthe City, did some shopping, proceeded to the company's office,got her packet, and found herself at exactly 4:35 walking throughSwandam Lane on her way back to the station. Have you followed meso far?"

"It is very clear."

"If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly hot day, and Mrs. St.Clair walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab,as she did not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself.While she was walking in this way down Swandam Lane, she suddenlyheard an ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see herhusband looking down at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoningto her from a second-floor window. The window was open, and shedistinctly saw his face, which she describes as being terriblyagitated. He waved his hands frantically to her, and thenvanished from the window so suddenly that it seemed to her thathe had been plucked back by some irresistible force from behind.One singular point which struck her quick feminine eye was thatalthough he wore some dark coat, such as he had started to townin, he had on neither collar nor necktie.

"Convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down thesteps--for the house was none other than the opium den in whichyou found me to-night--and running through the front room sheattempted to ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. Atthe foot of the stairs, however, she met this Lascar scoundrel ofwhom I have spoken, who thrust her back and, aided by a Dane, whoacts as assistant there, pushed her out into the street. Filledwith the most maddening doubts and fears, she rushed down thelane and, by rare good-fortune, met in Fresno Street a number ofconstables with an inspector, all on their way to their beat. Theinspector and two men accompanied her back, and in spite of thecontinued resistance of the proprietor, they made their way tothe room in which Mr. St. Clair had last been seen. There

was nosign of him there. In fact, in the whole of that floor there wasno one to be found save a crippled wretch of hideous aspect, who,it seems, made his home there. Both he and the Lascar stoutlyswore that no one else had been in the front room during theafternoon. So determined was their denial that the inspector wasstaggered, and had almost come to believe that Mrs. St. Clair hadbeen deluded when, with a cry, she sprang at a small deal boxwhich lay upon the table and tore the lid from it. Out there fella cascade of children's bricks. It was the toy which he hadpromised to bring home.

"This discovery, and the evident confusion which the crippleshowed, made the inspector realise that the matter was serious.The rooms were carefully examined, and results all pointed to anabominable crime. The front room was plainly furnished as asitting-room and led into a small bedroom, which looked out uponthe back of one of the wharves. Between the wharf and the bedroomwindow is a narrow strip, which is dry at low tide but is coveredat high tide with at least four and a half feet of water. Thebedroom window was a broad one and opened from below. Onexamination traces of blood were to be seen upon the windowsill,and several scattered drops were visible upon the wooden floor ofthe bedroom. Thrust away behind a curtain in the front room wereall the clothes of Mr. Neville St. Clair, with the exception ofhis coat. His boots, his socks, his hat, and his watch--all werethere. There were no signs of violence upon any of thesegarments, and there were no other traces of Mr. Neville St.Clair. Out of the window he must apparently have gone for noother exit could be discovered, and the ominous bloodstains uponthe sill gave little promise that he could save himself byswimming, for the tide was at its very highest at the moment ofthe tragedy.

"And now as to the villains who seemed to be immediatelyimplicated in the matter. The Lascar was known to be a man of thevilest antecedents, but as, by Mrs. St. Clair's story, he wasknown to have been at the foot of the stair within a very fewseconds of her husband's appearance at the window, he couldhardly have been more than an accessory to the crime. His defencewas one of absolute ignorance, and he protested that he had noknowledge as to the doings of Hugh Boone, his lodger, and that hecould not account in any way for the presence of the missinggentleman's clothes.

"So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple wholives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who wascertainly the last human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St.Clair. His name is Hugh Boone, and his hideous face is one whichis familiar to every man who goes much to the City. He is aprofessional beggar, though in order to avoid the policeregulations he pretends to a small trade in wax vestas. Somelittle distance down Threadneedle Street, upon the left-handside, there is, as you may have remarked, a small angle in thewall. Here it is that this creature takes his daily seat,cross-legged with his tiny stock of matches on his lap, and as heis a piteous spectacle a small rain of charity descends into thegreasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him. Ihave watched the fellow more than once before ever I thought ofmaking his professional acquaintance, and I have been surprisedat the harvest which he has reaped in a short time. Hisappearance, you see, is so remarkable that no one can pass himwithout observing him. A shock of orange hair, a pale facedisfigured by a horrible scar, which, by its contraction, hasturned up the outer edge of his upper lip, a bulldog chin, and apair of very penetrating dark eyes, which present a singularcontrast to the colour of his hair, all mark him out from amidthe common crowd of mendicants and so, too, does his wit, for heis ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff which may bethrown at him by the passers-by. This is the man whom we nowlearn to have been the lodger at the opium den, and to have beenthe last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in quest."

"But a cripple!" said I. "What could he have done single-handedagainst a man in the prime of life?"