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THE STRAND MAGAZINE Vol. 27 JANUARY, 1904 THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
IV.--The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist.
FROM the years 1894 to 1901 inclusive Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a verybusy man. It is safe to say that there was no public case of anydifficulty in which he was not consulted during those eight years, andthere were hundreds of private cases, some of them of the most intricateand extraordinary character, in which he played a prominent part. Manystartling successes and a few unavoidable failures were the outcome ofthis long period of continuous work. As I have preserved very full notesof all these cases, and was myself personally engaged in many of them,it may be imagined that it is no easy task to know which I should selectto lay before the public. I shall, however, preserve my former rule, andgive the preference to those cases which derive their interest not somuch from the brutality of the crime as from the ingenuity and dramaticquality of the solution. For this reason I will now lay before thereader the facts connected with Miss Violet Smith, the solitary cyclistof Charlington, and the curious sequel of our investigation, whichculminated in unexpected tragedy. It is true that the circumstancesdid not admit of any striking illustration of those powers for which myfriend was famous, but there were some points about the case which madeit stand out in those long records of crime from which I gather thematerial for these little narratives.
On referring to my note-book for the year 1895 I find that it was uponSaturday, the 23rd of April, that we first heard of Miss Violet Smith.Her visit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome to Holmes, for he wasimmersed at the moment in a very abstruse and complicated problemconcerning the peculiar persecution to which John Vincent Harden, thewell-known tobacco millionaire, had been subjected. My friend, wholoved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resentedanything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand. And yetwithout a harshness which was foreign to his nature it was impossibleto refuse to listen to the story of the young and beautiful woman, tall,graceful, and queenly, who presented herself at Baker Street late in theevening and implored his assistance and advice. It was vain to urge thathis time was already fully occupied, for the young lady had come withthe determination to tell her story, and it was evident that nothingshort of force could get her out of the room until she had done so. Witha resigned air and a somewhat weary smile, Holmes begged the beautifulintruder to take a seat and to inform us what it was that was troublingher.
"At least it cannot be your health," said he, as his keen eyes dartedover her; "so ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy."
She glanced down in surprise at her own feet, and I observed the slightroughening of the side of the sole caused by the friction of the edge ofthe pedal.
"Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes, and that has something to dowith my visit to you to-day."
My friend took the lady's ungloved hand and examined it with as closean attention and as little sentiment as a scientist would show to aspecimen.
"You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my business," said he, as hedropped it. "I nearly fell into the error of supposing that you weretypewriting. Of course, it is obvious that it is music. You observe thespatulate finger-end, Watson, which is common to both professions? Thereis a spirituality about the face, however"--he gently turned it towardsthe light--"which the typewriter does not generate. This lady is amusician."
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music."
"In the country, I presume, from your complexion."
"Yes, sir; near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey."
"A beautiful neighbourhood and full of the most interestingassociations. You remember, Watson, that it was near there that we tookArchie Stamford, the forger. Now, Miss Violet, what has happened to younear Farnham, on the borders of Surrey?"
The young lady, with great clearness and composure, made the followingcurious statement:--
"My father is dead, Mr. Holmes. He was James Smith, who conducted theorchestra at the old Imperial Theatre. My mother and I were left withouta relation in the world except one uncle, Ralph Smith, who went toAfrica twenty-five years ago, and we have never had a word from himsince. When father died we were left very poor, but one day we weretold that there was an advertisement in the TIMES inquiring for ourwhereabouts. You can imagine how excited we were, for we thought thatsomeone had left us a fortune. We went at once to the lawyer whose namewas given in the paper. There we met two gentlemen, Mr. Carruthers andMr. Woodley, who were home on a visit from South Africa. They said thatmy uncle was a friend of theirs, that he died some months before ingreat poverty in Johannesburg, and that he had asked them with his lastbreath to hunt up his relations and see that they were in no want. Itseemed strange to us that Uncle Ralph, who took no notice of us when hewas alive, should be so careful to look after us when he was dead; butMr. Carruthers explained that the reason was that my uncle had justheard of the death of his brother, and so felt responsible for ourfate."
"Excuse me," said Holmes; "when was this interview?"
"Last December--four months ago."
"Pray proceed."
"Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most odious person. He was for evermaking eyes at me--a coarse, puffy-faced, red-moustached young man, withhis hair plastered down on each side of his forehead. I thought that hewas perfectly hateful--and I was sure that Cyril would not wish me toknow such a person."
"Oh, Cyril is his name!" said Holmes, smiling.
The young lady blushed and laughed.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes; Cyril Morton, an electrical engineer, and we hopeto be married at the end of the summer. Dear me, how DID I get talkingabout him? What I wished to say was that Mr. Woodley was perfectlyodious, but that Mr. Carruthers, who was a much older man, was moreagreeable. He was a dark, sallow, clean-shaven, silent person; but hehad polite manners and a pleasant smile. He inquired how we were left,and on finding that we were very poor he suggested that I should comeand teach music to his only daughter, aged ten. I said that I did notlike to leave my mother, on which he suggested that I should go hometo her every week-end, and he offered me a hundred a year, which wascertainly splendid pay. So it ended by my accepting, and I went downto Chiltern Grange, about six miles from Farnham. Mr. Carruthers wasa widower, but he had engaged a lady-housekeeper, a very respectable,elderly person, called Mrs. Dixon, to look after his establishment. Thechild was a dear, and everything promised well. Mr. Carruthers was verykind and very musical, and we had most pleasant evenings together. Everyweek-end I went home to my mother in town.
"The first flaw in my happiness was the arrival of the red-moustachedMr. Woodley. He came for a visit of a week, and oh, it seemed threemonths to me! He was a dreadful person, a bully to everyone else, but tome something infinitely worse. He made odious love to me, boasted of hiswealth, said that if I married him I would have the finest diamonds inLondon, and finally, when I would have nothing to do with him, he seizedme in his arms one day after dinner--he was hideously strong--and heswore that he would not let me go until I had kissed him. Mr. Carrutherscame in and tore him off from me, on which he turned upon his own host,knocking him down and cutting his face open. That was the end of hisvisit, as you can imagine. Mr. Carruthers apologized to me next day,and assured me that I should never be exposed to such an insult again. Ihave not seen Mr. Woodley since.
"And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to the special thing which hascaused me to ask your advice to-day. You must know that every Saturdayforenoon I ride on my bicycle to Farnham Station in order to get the12.22 to town. The road from Chiltern Grange is a lonely one, and atone spot it is particularly so, for it lies for over a mile betweenCharlington Heath upon one side and the woods which lie roundCharlington Hall upon the other. You could not find a more lonely tractof road anywhere, and it is quite rare to meet so much as a cart, or apeasant, until you reach the high road near Crooksbury Hill. Twoweeks ago I was passing this place when I chanced to look back over myshoulder, and about two hundred yards behind me I saw a man, also on abicycle. He seemed to be a middle-aged man, with a short, dark beard. Ilooked back before I reached Farnham, but the ma
n was gone, so I thoughtno more about it. But you can imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes,when on my return on the Monday I saw the same man on the same stretchof road. My astonishment was increased when the incident occurred again,exactly as before, on the following Saturday and Monday. He always kepthis distance and did not molest me in any way, but still it certainlywas very odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carruthers, who seemed interested inwhat I said, and told me that he had ordered a horse and trap, sothat in future I should not pass over these lonely roads without somecompanion.
"The horse and trap were to have come this week, but for some reasonthey were not delivered, and again I had to cycle to the station.That was this morning. You can think that I looked out when I came toCharlington Heath, and there, sure enough, was the man, exactly as hehad been the two weeks before. He always kept so far from me that Icould not clearly see his face, but it was certainly someone whom I didnot know. He was dressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. The only thingabout his face that I could clearly see was his dark beard. To-day I wasnot alarmed, but I was filled with curiosity, and I determined to findout who he was and what he wanted. I slowed down my machine, but heslowed down his. Then I stopped altogether, but he stopped also. ThenI laid a trap for him. There is a sharp turning of the road, and Ipedalled very quickly round this, and then I stopped and waited. Iexpected him to shoot round and pass me before he could stop. But henever appeared. Then I went back and looked round the corner. Icould see a mile of road, but he was not on it. To make it the moreextraordinary, there was no side road at this point down which he couldhave gone."
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "This case certainly presentssome features of its own," said he. "How much time elapsed between yourturning the corner and your discovery that the road was clear?"
"Two or three minutes."
"Then he could not have retreated down the road, and you say that thereare no side roads?"