"An admirable and unique weapon," said he, "noiseless and of tremendouspower. I knew Von Herder, the blind German mechanic, who constructed itto the order of the late Professor Moriarty. For years I have been awareof its existence, though I have never before had the opportunity ofhandling it. I commend it very specially to your attention, Lestrade,and also the bullets which fit it."
"You can trust us to look after that, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade, as thewhole party moved towards the door. "Anything further to say?"
"Only to ask what charge you intend to prefer?"
"What charge, sir? Why, of course, the attempted murder of Mr. SherlockHolmes."
"Not so, Lestrade. I do not propose to appear in the matter at all. Toyou, and to you only, belongs the credit of the remarkable arrest whichyou have effected. Yes, Lestrade, I congratulate you! With your usualhappy mixture of cunning and audacity you have got him."
"Got him! Got whom, Mr. Holmes?"
"The man that the whole force has been seeking in vain--ColonelSebastian Moran, who shot the Honourable Ronald Adair with an expandingbullet from an air-gun through the open window of the second-floor frontof No. 427, Park Lane, upon the 30th of last month. That's the charge,Lestrade. And now, Watson, if you can endure the draught from a brokenwindow, I think that half an hour in my study over a cigar may affordyou some profitable amusement."
Our old chambers had been left unchanged through the supervision ofMycroft Holmes and the immediate care of Mrs. Hudson. As I entered Isaw, it is true, an unwonted tidiness, but the old landmarks were allin their place. There were the chemical corner and the acid-stained,deal-topped table. There upon a shelf was the row of formidablescrap-books and books of reference which many of our fellow-citizenswould have been so glad to burn. The diagrams, the violin-case, and thepipe-rack--even the Persian slipper which contained the tobacco--all metmy eyes as I glanced round me. There were two occupants of the room--oneMrs. Hudson, who beamed upon us both as we entered; the other thestrange dummy which had played so important a part in the evening'sadventures. It was a wax-coloured model of my friend, so admirably donethat it was a perfect facsimile. It stood on a small pedestal table withan old dressing-gown of Holmes's so draped round it that the illusionfrom the street was absolutely perfect.
"I hope you preserved all precautions, Mrs. Hudson?" said Holmes.
"I went to it on my knees, sir, just as you told me."
"Excellent. You carried the thing out very well. Did you observe wherethe bullet went?"
"Yes, sir. I'm afraid it has spoilt your beautiful bust, for it passedright through the head and flattened itself on the wall. I picked it upfrom the carpet. Here it is!"
Holmes held it out to me. "A soft revolver bullet, as you perceive,Watson. There's genius in that, for who would expect to find such athing fired from an air-gun. All right, Mrs. Hudson, I am much obligedfor your assistance. And now, Watson, let me see you in your old seatonce more, for there are several points which I should like to discusswith you."
He had thrown off the seedy frock-coat, and now he was the Holmes of oldin the mouse-coloured dressing-gown which he took from his effigy.
"The old shikari's nerves have not lost their steadiness nor his eyestheir keenness," said he, with a laugh, as he inspected the shatteredforehead of his bust.
"Plumb in the middle of the back of the head and smack through thebrain. He was the best shot in India, and I expect that there are fewbetter in London. Have you heard the name?"
"No, I have not."
"Well, well, such is fame! But, then, if I remember aright, you had notheard the name of Professor James Moriarty, who had one of the greatbrains of the century. Just give me down my index of biographies fromthe shelf."
He turned over the pages lazily, leaning back in his chair and blowinggreat clouds from his cigar.
"My collection of M's is a fine one," said he. "Moriarty himself isenough to make any letter illustrious, and here is Morgan the poisoner,and Merridew of abominable memory, and Mathews, who knocked out my leftcanine in the waiting-room at Charing Cross, and, finally, here is ourfriend of to-night."
He handed over the book, and I read: "MORAN, SEBASTIAN, COLONEL.Unemployed. Formerly 1st Bengalore Pioneers. Born London, 1840. Son ofSir Augustus Moran, C.B., once British Minister to Persia. EducatedEton and Oxford. Served in Jowaki Campaign, Afghan Campaign, Charasiab(despatches), Sherpur, and Cabul. Author of 'Heavy Game of the WesternHimalayas,' 1881; 'Three Months in the Jungle,' 1884. Address: ConduitStreet. Clubs: The Anglo-Indian, the Tankerville, the Bagatelle CardClub."
On the margin was written, in Holmes's precise hand: "The second mostdangerous man in London."
"This is astonishing," said I, as I handed back the volume. "The man'scareer is that of an honourable soldier."
"It is true," Holmes answered. "Up to a certain point he did well. Hewas always a man of iron nerve, and the story is still told in India howhe crawled down a drain after a wounded man-eating tiger. There are sometrees, Watson, which grow to a certain height and then suddenly developsome unsightly eccentricity. You will see it often in humans. I havea theory that the individual represents in his development the wholeprocession of his ancestors, and that such a sudden turn to
good orevil stands for some strong influence which came into the line of hispedigree. The person becomes, as it were, the epitome of the history ofhis own family."
"It is surely rather fanciful."
"Well, I don't insist upon it. Whatever the cause, Colonel Moran beganto go wrong. Without any open scandal, he still made India too hot tohold him. He retired, came to London, and again acquired an evil name.It was at this time that he was sought out by Professor Moriarty,to whom for a time he was chief of the staff. Moriarty supplied himliberally with money and used him only in one or two very high-classjobs which no ordinary criminal could have undertaken. You may havesome recollection of the death of Mrs. Stewart, of Lauder, in 1887.Not? Well, I am sure Moran was at the bottom of it; but nothing couldbe proved. So cleverly was the Colonel concealed that even when theMoriarty gang was broken up we could not incriminate him. You rememberat that date, when I called upon you in your rooms, how I put up theshutters for fear of air-guns? No doubt you thought me fanciful. I knewexactly what I was doing, for I knew of the existence of this remarkablegun, and I knew also that one of the best shots in the world would bebehind it. When we were in Switzerland he followed us with Moriarty,and it was undoubtedly he who gave me that evil five minutes on theReichenbach ledge.
"You may think that I read the papers with some attention during mysojourn in France, on the look-out for any chance of laying him by theheels. So long as he was free in London my life would really not havebeen worth living. Night and day the shadow would have been over me, andsooner or later his chance must have come. What could I do? I could notshoot him at sight, or I should myself be in the dock. There was no useappealing to a magistrate. They cannot interfere on the strength of whatwould appear to them to be a wild suspicion. So I could do nothing. ButI watched the criminal news, knowing that sooner or later I should gethim. Then came the death of this Ronald Adair. My chance had come atlast! Knowing what I did, was it not certain that Colonel Moran had doneit? He had played cards with the lad; he had followed him home from theclub; he had shot him through the open window. There was not a doubt ofit. The bullets alone are enough to put his head in a noose. I cameover at once. I was seen by the sentinel, who would, I knew, directthe Colonel's attention to my presence. He could not fail to connect mysudden return with his crime and to be terribly alarmed. I was sure thathe would make an attempt to get me out of the way AT ONCE, and wouldbring round his murderous weapon for that purpose. I left him anexcellent mark in the window, and, having warned the police that theymight be needed--by the way, Watson, you spotted their presence in thatdoorway with unerring accuracy--I took up what seemed to me to be ajudicious post for observation, never dreaming that he would choose thesame spot for his attack. Now, my dear Watson, does anything remain forme to explain?"
"Yes," said I. "You have not made it clear what was Colonel Moran'smotive in murdering the Honourable Ronald Adair."
"Ah! my dear Watson, there we come into those realms of conjecture wherethe most logical mind may be at fault. Each may form his own hypothesisupon the present evidence, and yours is as likely to be correct asmine."