"'I will go up and see him at once,' I said.
"It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake his nerves andlead him to say something unguarded. The Boots volunteered to show methe room: it was on the second floor, and there was a small corridorleading up to it. The Boots pointed out the door to me, and was about togo downstairs again when I saw something that made me feel sickish, inspite of my twenty years' experience. From under the door there curleda little red ribbon of blood, which had meandered across the passage andformed a little pool along the skirting at the other side. I gave a cry,which brought the Boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The doorwas locked on the inside, but we put our shoulders to it, and knocked itin. The window of the room was open, and beside the window, all huddledup, lay the body of a man in his nightdress. He was quite dead, and hadbeen for some time, for his limbs were rigid and cold. When we turnedhim over, the Boots recognized him at once as being the same gentlemanwho had engaged the room under the name of Joseph Stangerson. The causeof death was a deep stab in the left side, which must have penetratedthe heart. And now comes the strangest part of the affair. What do yousuppose was above the murdered man?"
I felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentiment of coming horror,even before Sherlock Holmes answered.
"The word RACHE, written in letters of blood," he said.
"That was it," said Lestrade, in an awe-struck voice; and we were allsilent for a while.
There was something so methodical and so incomprehensible about thedeeds of this unknown assassin, that it imparted a fresh ghastliness tohis crimes. My nerves, which were steady enough on the field of battletingled as I thought of it.
"The man was seen," continued Lestrade. "A milk boy, passing on his wayto the dairy, happened to walk down the lane which leads from the mewsat the back of the hotel. He noticed that a ladder, which usually laythere, was raised against one of the windows of the second floor, whichwas wide open. After passing, he looked back and saw a man descend theladder. He came down so quietly and openly that the boy imagined him tobe some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. He took no particularnotice of him, beyond thinking in his own mind that it was early for himto be at work. He has an impression that the man was tall, had a reddishface, and was dressed in a long, brownish coat. He must have stayed inthe room some little time after the murder, for we found blood-stainedwater in the basin, where he had washed his hands, and marks on thesheets where he had deliberately wiped his knife."
I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the murderer, whichtallied so exactly with his own. There was, however, no trace ofexultation or satisfaction upon his face.
"Did you find nothing in the room which could furnish a clue to themurderer?" he asked.
"Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber's purse in his pocket, but it seemsthat this was usual, as he did all the paying. There was eighty oddpounds in it, but nothing had been taken. Whatever the motives of theseextraordinary crimes, robbery is certainly not one of them. There wereno papers or memoranda in the murdered man's pocket, except a singletelegram, dated from Cleveland about a month ago, and containingthe words, 'J. H. is in Europe.' There was no name appended to thismessage."
"And there was nothing else?" Holmes asked.
"Nothing of any importance. The man's novel, with which he had readhimself to sleep was lying upon the bed, and his pipe was on a chairbeside him. There was a glass of water on the table, and on thewindow-sill a small chip ointment box containing a couple of pills."
Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an exclamation of delight.
"The last link," he cried, exultantly. "My case is complete."
The two detectives stared at him in amazement.
"I have now in my hands," my companion said, confidently, "all thethreads which have formed such a tangle. There are, of course, detailsto be filled in, but I am as certain of all the main facts, from thetime that Drebber parted from Stangerson at the station, up to thediscovery of the body of the latter, as if I had seen them with my owneyes. I will give you a proof of my knowledge. Could you lay your handupon those pills?"
"I have them," said Lestrade, producing a small white box; "I took themand the purse and the telegram, intending to have them put in a place ofsafety at the Police Station. It was the merest chance my taking thesepills, for I am bound to say that I do not attach any importance tothem."
"Give them here," said Holmes. "Now, Doctor," turning to me, "are thoseordinary pills?"
They certainly were not. They were of a pearly grey colour, small,round, and almost transparent against the light. "From their lightnessand transparency, I should imagine that they are soluble in water," Iremarked.
"Precisely so," answered Holmes. "Now would you mind going down andfetching that poor little devil of a terrier which has been bad so long,and which the landlady wanted you to put out of its pain yesterday."
I went downstairs and carried the dog upstair in my arms. It's labouredbreathing and glazing eye showed that it was not far from its end.Indeed, its snow-white muzzle proclaimed that it had already exceededthe usual term of canine existence. I placed it upon a cushion on therug.
"I will now cut one of these pills in two," said Holmes, and drawing hispenknife he suited the action to the word. "One half we return into thebox for future purposes. The other half I will place in this wine glass,in which is a teaspoonful of water. You perceive that our friend, theDoctor, is right, and that it readily dissolves."
"This may be very interesting," said Lestrade, in the injured tone ofone who suspects that
he is being laughed at, "I cannot see, however,what it has to do with the death of Mr. Joseph Stangerson."
"Patience, my friend, patience! You will find in time that it haseverything to do with it. I shall now add a little milk to make themixture palatable, and on presenting it to the dog we find that he lapsit up readily enough."
As he spoke he turned the contents of the wine glass into a saucer andplaced it in front of the terrier, who speedily licked it dry. SherlockHolmes' earnest demeanour had so far convinced us that we all sat insilence, watching the animal intently, and expecting some startlingeffect. None such appeared, however. The dog continued to lie stretchedupon tho [16] cushion, breathing in a laboured way, but apparentlyneither the better nor the worse for its draught.
Holmes had taken out his watch, and as minute followed minute withoutresult, an expression of the utmost chagrin and disappointment appearedupon his features. He gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers upon thetable, and showed every other symptom of acute impatience. So greatwas his emotion, that I felt sincerely sorry for him, while the twodetectives smiled derisively, by no means displeased at this check whichhe had met.
"It can't be a coincidence," he cried, at last springing from his chairand pacing wildly up and down the room; "it is impossible that it shouldbe a mere coincidence. The very pills which I suspected in the case ofDrebber are actually found after the death of Stangerson. And yet theyare inert. What can it mean? Surely my whole chain of reasoning cannothave been false. It is impossible! And yet this wretched dog is none theworse. Ah, I have it! I have it!" With a perfect shriek of delight herushed to the box, cut the other pill in two, dissolved it, added milk,and presented it to the terrier. The unfortunate creature's tongueseemed hardly to have been moistened in it before it gave a convulsiveshiver in every limb, and lay as rigid and lifeless as if it had beenstruck by lightning.
Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath, and wiped the perspiration from hisforehead. "I should have more faith," he said; "I ought to know bythis time that when a fact appears to be opposed to a long train ofdeductions, it invariably proves to be capable of bearing some otherinterpretation. Of the two pills in that box one was of the most deadlypoison, and the other was entirely harmless. I ought to have known thatbefore ever I saw the box at all."
This last statement appeared to me to be so startling, that I couldhardly believe that he was in his sober senses. There was the dead dog,however, to prove that his conjecture had been correct. It seemed to methat the mists in my own mind were gradually clearing away, and I beganto have a dim, vague perception of the truth.