"You have formed one, then?"
"I think that it is not difficult to explain the facts. It came outin evidence that Colonel Moran and young Adair had between them won aconsiderable amount of money. Now, Moran undoubtedly played foul--ofthat I have long been aware. I believe that on the day of the murderAdair had discovered that Moran was cheating. Very likely he had spokento him privately, and had threatened to expose him unless he voluntarilyresigned his membership of the club and promised not to play cardsagain. It is unlikely that a youngster like Adair would at once make ahideous scandal by exposing a well-known man so much older than himself.Probably he acted as I suggest. The exclusion from his clubs would meanruin to Moran, who lived by his ill-gotten card gains. He thereforemurdered Adair, who at the time was endeavouring to work out howmuch money he should himself return, since he could not profit by hispartner's foul play. He locked the door lest the ladies should surprisehim and insist upon knowing what he was doing with these names andcoins. Will it pass?"
"I have no doubt that you have hit upon the truth."
"It will be verified or disproved at the trial. Meanwhile, come whatmay, Colonel Moran will trouble us no more, the famous air-gun of VonHerder will embellish the Scotland Yard Museum, and once againMr. Sherlock Holmes is free to devote his life to examining thoseinteresting little problems which the complex life of London soplentifully presents."
*****
THE STRAND MAGAZINE Vol. 26 NOVEMBER, 1903 THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
II.--The Adventure of the Norwood Builder.
"FROM the point of view of the criminal expert," said Mr. SherlockHolmes, "London has become a singularly uninteresting city since thedeath of the late lamented Professor Moriarty."
"I can hardly think that you would find many decent citizens to agreewith you," I answered.
"Well, well, I must not be selfish," said he, with a smile, as he pushedback his chair from the breakfast-table. "The community is certainlythe gainer, and no one the loser, save the poor out-of-work specialist,whose occupation has gone. With that man in the field one's morningpaper presented infinite possibilities. Often it was only the smallesttrace, Watson, the faintest indication, and yet it was enough to tell methat the great malignant brain was there, as the gentlest tremors ofthe edges of the web remind one of the foul spider which lurks in thecentre. Petty thefts, wanton assaults, purposeless outrage--to the manwho held the clue all could be worked into one connected whole. To thescientific student of the higher criminal world no capital in Europeoffered the advantages which London then possessed. But now----" Heshrugged his shoulders in humorous deprecation of the state of thingswhich he had himself done so much to produce.
At the time of which I speak Holmes had been back for some months, andI, at his request, had sold my practice and returned to share the oldquarters in Baker Street. A young doctor, named Verner, had purchased mysmall Kensington practice, and given with astonishingly little demur thehighest price that I ventured to ask--an incident which only explaineditself some years later when I found that Verner was a distant relationof Holmes's, and that it was my friend who had really found the money.
Our months of partnership had not been so uneventful as he had stated,for I find, on looking over my notes, that this period includes the caseof the papers of Ex-President Murillo, and also the shocking affair ofthe Dutch steamship FRIESLAND, which so nearly cost us both our lives.His cold and proud nature was always averse, however, to anything in theshape of public applause, and he bound me in the most stringent termsto say no further word of himself, his methods, or his successes--aprohibition which, as I have explained, has only now been removed.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his chair after his whimsicalprotest, and was unfolding his morning paper in a leisurely fashion,when our attention was arrested by a tremendous ring at the bell,followed immediately by a hollow drumming sound, as if someone werebeating on the outer door with his fist. As it opened there came atumultuous rush into the hall, rapid feet clattered up the stair, and aninstant later a wild-eyed and frantic young man, pale, dishevelled, andpalpitating, burst into the room. He looked from one to the other of us,and under our gaze of inquiry he became conscious that some apology wasneeded for this unceremonious entry.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes," he cried. "You mustn't blame me. I am nearlymad. Mr. Holmes, I am the unhappy John Hector McFarlane."
He made the announcement as if the name alone would explain both hisvisit and its manner; but I could see by my companion's unresponsiveface that it meant no more to him than to me.
"Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane," said he, pushing his case across."I am sure that with your symptoms my friend Dr. Watson here wouldprescribe a sedative. The weather has been so very warm these last fewdays. Now, if you feel a little more composed, I should be glad if youwould sit down in that chair and tell us very slowly and quietly who youare and what it is that you want. You mentioned your name as if I shouldrecognise it, but I assure you that, beyond the obvious facts thatyou are a bachelor, a solicitor, a Freemason, and an asthmatic, I knownothing whatever about you."
Familiar as I was with my friend's methods, it was not difficult for meto follow his deductions, and to observe the untidiness of attire, thesheaf of legal papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing which hadprompted them. Our client, however, stared in amazement.
"Yes, I am all that, Mr. Holmes, and in addition I am the mostunfortunate man at this moment in London. For Heaven's sake don'tabandon me, Mr. Holmes! If they come to arrest me before I have finishedmy story, make them give me time so that I may tell you the wholetruth. I could go to gaol happy if I knew that you were working for meoutside."
"Arrest you!" said Holmes. "This is really most grati--most interesting.On what charge do you expect to be arrested?"
"Upon the charge of murdering Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of Lower Norwood."
My companion's expressive face showed a sympathy which was not, I amafraid, entirely unmixed with satisfaction.
"Dear me," said he; "it was only this moment at breakfast that I wassaying to my friend, Dr. Watson, that sensational cases had disappearedout of our papers."
Our visitor stretched forward a quivering hand and picked up the DAILYTELEGRAPH, which still lay upon Holmes's knee.
"If you had looked at it, sir, you would have seen at a glance what theerrand is on which I have come to you this morning. I feel as if my nameand my misfortune must be in every man's mouth." He turned it over toexpose the central page. "Here it is, and with your permission Iwill read it to you. Listen to this, Mr. Holmes. The head-lines are:'Mysterious Affair at Lower Norwood. Disappearance of a Well-knownBuilder. Suspicion of Murder and Arson. A Clue to the Criminal.' That isthe clue which they are already following, Mr. Holmes, and I know thatit leads infallibly to me. I have been followed from London BridgeStation, and I am sure that they are only waiting for the warrant toarrest me. It will break my mother's heart--it will break her heart!"He wrung his hands in an agony of apprehension, and swayed backwards andforwards in his chair.
I looked with interest upon this man, who was accused of being theperpetrator of a crime of violence. He was flaxen-haired and handsomein a washed-out negative fashion, with frightened blue eyes and aclean-shaven face, with a weak, sensitive mouth. His age may have beenabout twenty-seven; his dress and bearing that of a gentleman. From thepocket of his light summer overcoat protruded the bundle of endorsedpapers which proclaimed his profession.
"We must use what time we have," said Holmes. "Watson, would youhave the kindness to take the paper and to read me the paragraph inquestion?"
Underneath the vigorous head-lines which our client had quoted I readthe following suggestive narrative:--
Late last night, or early this morning, an incident occurred at LowerNorwood which points, it is feared, to a serious crime. Mr. JonasOldacre is a well-known resident of that suburb, where he has carriedon his business as a builder for many years. Mr. Oldacre is a bachelor,fifty-two years of age, and lives in Deep Dene House, at the Sydenhamend of the road of that name. He has had the reputation of being aman of eccentric habits, secretive and retiring. For some years he haspractically withdrawn from the business, in which he is said to haveamassed considerable wealth. A small timber-yard still exists, however,at the back of the house, and last night, about twelve o'clock, an alarmwas given that one of the stacks was on fire. The engines were soon uponthe spot, but the dry wood burned with great fury, and it was impossibleto arrest the conflagration until the stack had been entirely consumed.Up to this point the incident bore the appearance of an ordinaryaccident, but fresh indications seem to point to serious crime. Surprisewas expressed at the absence of the master of the establishment fromthe scene of the fire, and an inquiry followed, which showed that he haddisappeared from the house. An examination of his room revealed that thebed had not been slept in, that a safe which stood in it was open,that a number of important papers were scattered about the room, and,finally, that there were signs of a murderous struggle, slight tracesof blood being found within the room, and an oaken walking-stick, whichalso showed stains of blood upon the handle. It is known that Mr. JonasOldacre had received a late visitor in his bedroom upon that night, andthe stick found has been identified as the property of this person, whois a young London solicitor named John Hector McFarlane, junior partnerof Graham and McFarlane, of 426, Gresham Buildings, E.C. The policebelieve that they have evidence in their possession which suppliesa very convincing motive for the crime,
and altogether it cannot bedoubted that sensational developments will follow.
LATER.--It is rumoured as we go to press that Mr. John Hector McFarlanehas actually been arrested on the charge of the murder of Mr. JonasOldacre. It is at least certain that a warrant has been issued. Therehave been further and sinister developments in the investigation atNorwood. Besides the signs of a struggle in the room of the unfortunatebuilder it is now known that the French windows of his bedroom (which ison the ground floor) were found to be open, that there were marks asif some bulky object had been dragged across to the wood-pile, and,finally, it is asserted that charred remains have been found among thecharcoal ashes of the fire. The police theory is that a most sensationalcrime has been committed, that the victim was clubbed to death in hisown bedroom, his papers rifled, and his dead body dragged across tothe wood-stack, which was then ignited so as to hide all traces of thecrime. The conduct of the criminal investigation has been left inthe experienced hands of Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, who isfollowing up the clues with his accustomed energy and sagacity.