The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock Holmes 3)

ADVENTURE II. THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE

I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in theautumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with avery stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair.With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw whenHolmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the doorbehind me.

"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dearWatson," he said cordially.

"I was afraid that you were engaged."

"So I am. Very much so."

"Then I can wait in the next room."

"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner andhelper in many of my most successful cases, and I have nodoubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also."

The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob ofgreeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his smallfat-encircled eyes.

"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair andputting his fingertips together, as was his custom when injudicial moods. "I know, my dear Watson, that you share my loveof all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrumroutine of everyday life. You have shown your relish for it bythe enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if youwill excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my ownlittle adventures."

"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," Iobserved.

"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before wewent into the very simple problem presented by Miss MarySutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinarycombinations we must go to life itself, which is always far moredaring than any effort of the imagination."

"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting."

"You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to myview, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on youuntil your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me tobe right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to callupon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises tobe one of the most singular which I have listened to for sometime. You have heard me remark that the strangest and most uniquethings are very often connected not with the larger but with thesmaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room fordoubt whether any positive crime has been committed. As far as Ihave heard it is impossible for me to say whether the presentcase is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events iscertainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to.Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness torecommence your narrative. I ask you not merely because my friendDr. Watson has not heard the opening part but also because thepeculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have everypossible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard someslight indication of the course of events, I am able to guidemyself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to mymemory. In the present instance I am forced to admit that thefacts are, to the best of my belief, unique."

The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of somelittle pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from theinside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down theadvertisement column, with his head thrust forward and the paperflattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man andendeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to read theindications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.

I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitorbore every mark of being an average commonplace Britishtradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy greyshepherd's check trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat,unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassyAlbert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down asan ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with awrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether,look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man savehis blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin anddiscontent upon his features.

Sherlock Holmes' quick eye took in my occupation, and he shookhis head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances."Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manuallabour, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he hasbeen in China, and that he has done a considerable amount ofwriting lately, I can deduce nothing else."

Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefingerupon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.

"How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr.Holmes?" he asked. "How did you know, for example, that I didmanual labour. It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship'scarpenter."

"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size largerthan your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are moredeveloped."

"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?"

"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, youuse an arc-and-compass breastpin."

"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?"

"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny forfive inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near theelbow where you rest it upon the desk?"

"Well, but China?"

"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your rightwrist could only have been done in China. I have made a smallstudy of tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literatureof the subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of adelicate pink is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, Isee a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matterbecomes even more simple."

Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "Ithought at first that you had done something clever, but I seethat there was nothing in it, after all."

"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistakein explaining. 'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and mypoor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if Iam so candid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?"

"Yes, I have got it now," he answered with his thick red fingerplanted halfway down the column. "Here it is. This is what beganit all. You just read it for yourself, sir."

I took the paper from him and read as follows:

"TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the lateEzekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is nowanother vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to asalary of 4 pounds a week for purely nominal services. Allred-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the ageof twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, ateleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7Pope's Court, Fleet Street."