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CHAPTER III.
IN QUEST OF A SOLUTION.
It was half-past five before Holmes
returned. He was bright, eager and
in excellent spirits-a mood which in
his case alternated with fits of the
blackest depression.
“There is no great mystery in this
matter,” he said, taking the cup of tea
which I had poured out for him. “The
facts appear to admit of only one ex-
planation. " _
“What! you have solved it already?”
“Well, that will be too much to say.
I have discovered a suggestive fact,
that is all. It is, however, very sug-
gestive. The details are still to be adds
ed. I have just found, on consulting
the back files of the Times, that Maj.
Sholto, of Upper Norwood, late of the
Thirty-fourth Bombay infantry, died
upon the 28th of April, 1882.”
“I may be very . obtuse, Holmes, but
I fail to see what this suggests.”
“No? You surprise me. Look at it
in this way, then. Capt. Morstan dis-
appears. The only person in London
whom he could have visited is Maj.
Sholto. Maj. Sholto denies having
heard that he was in London. Four
years later Sholto dies. Within a week
of his death Capt. Morstan’s daughter
receives a valuable present, which is re-
. peated from year to year, and now cul-
minates in a letter which describes her
as a wronged woman. What wrong
can it refer to except this deprivation
of her father? And why should the
presents begin immediately after
Sholto’s death, unless it is that Sholto’s
heir knows something of the' mystery,
and desires to make compensation?
Have you any alternative theory which
will meet the facts?”
“But what a strange compensation!
And how strangely made! Why, too,
should he write a letter now, rather
than six years ago? Again, the letter
speaks of giving her justice. What
justice can she have? It is too much
to suppose that her father is still alive.
There is no other injustice in her case‘
that you know of.”
“There are difficulties; there are
certainly difficulties,” said Sherlock
Holmes. pensively.’ “But our expedi-
tion of to-night will solve them all.
Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and Miss
. Morstan is inside. Are you all ready?
Then we had better go down, for it is
a. little past the hour.”
I picked up my hat and my heaviest
stick, but I observed that Holmes took
his revolver from his drawer and
slipped it into his pocket. It was clear
that he thought that our night’s work
might be a serious one. '
Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark
cloak, and her sensitive face was com-
posed, but pale. She must have been
more than woman if she did not feel
some uneasiness at the strange enter-
prise upon which we were embarking,
yet her self-control was perfect. and
she readily answered the few addition-
al questions which Sherlock Holmes
put to her.
“Maj. Sholto was a very particular
friend of papa’s,” she said. “His let-
ters were full of allusions to the major.
He and papa were in command of the
troops at the Andaman islands, so they
were thrown a great deal together. By
the way, a curious paper was found 'in
papa’s desk which no one could under-
stand. I don’t suppose that it is of the
slightest importance, but I thought
you might care to see it, so I brought
it with me. It is here.”
Holmes unfolded the paper careful-
ly and smoothed it out upon his knee.
He then very methodically examined
it all over with his dduble lens.
“It is paper of native Indian manu-
facture,” he remarked. “It has at some
time been pinned to a board. The dia-
gram upon it appears to be a plan of
part of a large building with numer-
ous halls, corridors. and passages. 'At
one point is a small cross done in red
ink, and above it is ‘3.37 from left,’ in
faded pencil-writing. In the left-hand
corner is a curious hieroglyphic like
four crosses in a line with their arms
touching. Beside it is written, in very
rough and coarse characters, ‘The sign
of the four.——-Jonathan Small. Mahomet
Singh, Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar.’
No, I confess that I do not see how
this bears upon the matter. Yet it is
evidently a document of importance.
It has been kept carefully in a pocket-
book; for the one side. is as clean as the
other.”
“It; was in his pocketbook that we
found it.”
“Preserve it carefully, then, Miss
Morstan, for it may prove to be of use
to us. I beginto suspect that this mat-
ter may turn out to be much deeper
and more Subtle than, I 'at. first sup-
posed. I must reconsider my ideas.”
He leaned back in the cab, and I could
see by his drawn. brow and his vacant
eye that he was thinking intently.
Miss Morstan and I chatted in an un-
dertone about our present expedition
and- its possible outcome, but our com-1
panion maintained his impenetrable r‘e-
serve until the end of our journey.
It was ‘a September evening,'and not
yet seven o’clock, but theday had’been
a dreary one, and a dense drizzling fog
lay low upon the great city. Mud- -
colored clouds- dropped sadly over the
muddy street's.‘ Down the Strand the
lamps were but misty splotches of ' difi
fused light which threw a feeble cir-
cular glimmer ,upon the slimy pave-
ment. The yellow glare from the shop-
windows streamed out into the steamy,
vaporous air, and threw a murky,
shifting radiance across the crowded
thoroughfare," There was to my mind
i
I
l
I
something eerie and ghost-like in the
endless procession of faces which flitted i
across these narrow bars of light—sad
faces and glad, haggard and merry.
Like all human kind, they flitted from
the gloom into the light, and so back i
into the gloom once more. I am not.
subject to impressions, but the dull,i
heavy evening, with the strange busi— “
ness upon which we were engaged,i
combined to make me nervous and de-
pressed. I could see from Miss Mot-i
stan’s manner that she was suffering!
from the same feeling. Holmes alone:
could rise superior to petty influences. E
He'held his open notebook upon his
knee, and from time to time he jotted
down figures and memoranda in the
light of his pocket lantern. '
At the Lyceum theater the crowds
were already thick at the side en-
trances. In front a continuous stream
of hansoms and four-wheelers were
rattling up, discharging their cargoes l
of shirt-fronted men and beshawled,;
oediamonded women. We had hardly:
reached the third pillar, which was our ,3
rendezvous, before a small, dark, brisk ;
man in the dress of a. coachman ac-;
costed us.
“Are you the parties who come with ;
Miss Morstan?” he asked.
“I am Miss Morstan, and these two
gentlemen are my friends,” said she.
He bent a pair of wonderfully pene-
trating and questioning eyes upon us.
“You will excuse me, miss,” he said,
with a certain dogged manner, “but I
was to ask you to give me your word .
that neither of your companions is a
police officer.”
“I give you my word on that,”
answered. .
He gave a shrill whistle, on which a .
street Arab led across a four-wheeler
and opened the door. The man who-
had addressed us mounted to the box,
while we. took our places inside. We ~
had hardly done so before the driver
whipped up his horse, and we plunged
away ata furious pace through the
foggy streets.
The situation was a curious one. We
were driving to an unknown place, on
an unknown errand. Yet our invita-
tion was either a complete hoax—
which was an inconceivable hypothesis
—-or else we had good reason to think
that important issues might hang upon
our journey. Miss Morstan’s demeanor
was as resolute and collected as ever.
I endeavored to cheer and amuse her
by reminiscences of my adventures in
Afghanistan; but, to tell the truth, I
was myself so excited at our situation
and so curious as to our destination
that my stories were slightly involved.
To this day she declares that I told her
one moving anecdote as to how a mus-
ket looked into my tent at the dead of
night, and how I fired a double—bar-
relled tiger cub at it. At first I had
some idea as to the direction in which
we were driving; but soon, what with ‘.
our pace, the fog, and my own limited
knowledge of London, I lost my bear-
ings, and knew nothing, save that we
seemed to be going a very long way.
Sherlock Holmes .was never at fault,
however, and he muttered the names
as the cab rattled through squares and
in and out by tortuous by-streets. :
“Rochester row,” said he. “Now -
Vincent square. Now we come out on
the Vauxhall Bridge road. We are
making for the Surrey side apparently.
Yes, I thought so. Now we are on the
bridge. You can catch glimpses of the
river.”
We did indeed get a fleeting view of
a stretch of the Thames with the lamps
shining upon the broad, silent water;
but our cab dashed on, and was soon
involved in a labyrinth of streets upon
the other side.
“Wordsworth road,“ said- my com-
panion. “Priory road. Lark Hall
lane. Stockwell place. Robert street.
Cold Harbor lane. Our quest does not
appear to take us to very fashionable
regions.” -
We had, indeed, reached a question- .
able and forbidding neighborhood. I
Long lines of dull brick houses were '
only relieved by the coarse glare and ,
tawdry brilliancy of public houses at 1
the corner. Then came two rows of:
two-storied villas, each with a fronting}
of miniature garden, and then again in-]
terminablc lines of new staring brick}
buildings—the monster tentacles which 3
the giant city was throwing out into
the country. At last the cab drew up
at the third house in a new terrace.
None of the other houses were inhab-
ited, and that at which we stopped was'
as dark as its neighbors, save for a sin-
gle glimmer in the kitchen Window. ’
‘ she
“run sxmn lawns You.”
On our knocking, however, the door-
was instantly thrown open by’a llindoo
' Servant clad in a'yellow'tiirban, white,
, loose-fitting clothes, anda yellow sash.
Q There was something strangely incon-
- ' gruous in this oriental figure framed in
the commonplace doorway of a third-
rate suburban dwelling house.
' “The sahib awaits you,” said he,-and
even as he spoke there came a high
piping voice from some inner room.
“Show them in to me, khitmutgar,” it
cried. “Show them straight in to me.”
CHAPTER IV.
THE sronr or run BALD-fiEADED MAN.
We followed the Indian down the
sordid and common passage, ill. lit and
worse furnished, until he came to a
door upon the right, which he threw
open. A blaze of yellow light streamed
out upon us, and in the center of the
glare there stood a small maniwith
a. very high head, a‘ bristle of red
hair all round the fringe of it, and
a bald shining scalp, which shot
out from among it like a mountain
peak from fir trees. He writhed-his
hands together as he stood,- and his
features were in a perpetual jerk, now
smiling, now scowling, but never for
an instant in repose. Nature had given
him a pendulous. lip,'and a too visible
line of yellow and irregular teeth,
which he. strove feebly to conceal by
constantly passing his handover the
lower part of his face. In spite of his
obtrusive baldness, he gave the impres-
sion of youth. In point of fact he had
just turned his thirtieth year.
“Your servant, Miss Morstan,” he
kept repeating in a thin, high voice.
“Your servant, gentlemen. Pray step
into my little sanctum. A small place,
miss, but furnished to my own liking.
An oasis of art in the howling desert of
South London.”
We were all astonished by the ap
pearance of the apartment into which
he invited us. In that sorry house it
looked as out of place as a diamond of
th’e first water in asetting of brass.
The richest and gIossiest of curtains
and tapestries draped the walls, looped
back here and there to expose some
richly mounted painting or Oriental
vase. The carpet was of amber and
black, so soft and so thick that the
foot sank pleasantly into it, as into a
bed of moss. Two great tiger-skins
thrown athwart it increased the sug-
gestion of eastern luxury, as did a
huge hookah which stood upon a mat
in the corner. A lamp in the fashion of
a silver‘dove was hung from an almost
invisible golden wire in the 'center of
the room. As it burned it filled the air
with a subtle and aromatic odor.
“Mr. Thaddeus Sholto,” said the little
man, still jerking and smiling. “That
is my name. You are Miss Morstan, of
course. And these gentlemen—”
“This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and
this Dr. Watson.”
“A doctor, eh?” cried he, much ex-
cited. “Have you your stethoscope?
Might I ask you—would you have the
kindness? I have grave doubts as to
my mi tral valve, if you would be so very
good. The aortic I may rely upon, but
I should value your opinion upon the
mitral.” ,
I listened to his heart as requested,
but was unable to find anything amiss,
save indeed that he was in an ecstasy
of fear, for he shivered from head to
foot. “It appears to be normal, ' I
said. “You have no cause for uneasi-
ness.” . - _
“You will excuse my anxiety, Miss
Morstan,” he remarked, airily. “I am
a great sufferer, and I have long had
suspicions as to that valve. Iam de-
lighted to' hear that they are unwar-
ranted. Had your father, Miss Mor-
stan, refrained from throwing a strain
'upon his heart he might have been
alive now.”
I could have struck the man across
the face, so hot was I at this callous
‘ and off-hand reference to so delicate a
Miss Morstan sat down and
her face grew white to the lips. “I
knew in my heart that he was dead,”
said she.
“I can give you every information,”
said he, “and, what is more, I can do
you justice; and I will, too, whatever
Brother Bartholomew may say. I am
so glad to have your friends here, not
only as an escort to you, but also as
witnesses to what I am about to do and
say. The three of us can show a bold
front to Brother Bartholomew. But let
us have no outsiders—no police or offi-
cials. We can settle everything satis-
factorily among ourselves, without any
interference. Nothing would annoy
Brother Bartholomew more than any
publicity.” He sat down upon a low
settee and blinked at us inquiringly
with his weak, watery blue eyes.
“For my part,” said \Holmes, “what-
ever you may choose to say will go no
further.” ,
I nodded to show my agreement.
“That is well! That is well!” said be
“May I offer you a glass of Chianti,
Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep
no other wines. Shall I open a flask?
N0? Well, then, I trust that you have
no objection to tobacco smoke, to the
mild balsamic odor of the eastern to-
bacco. I am a little nervous, and I find
my hookah an invaluable sedative.”
He applied a taper to the great bowl,
and the smoke bubbled merrily through
the rose water. We sat all three in a
semicircle, with our heads advanced,
matter.
and our chins upon our hands, while'
the strange, jerky little fellow, with
his high, shining head, puffed uneasily
in the center. -
“When I first determined to make
this communication to you,” said he,
“I might have given you my address,
but I feared that you might disregard
my request and bring unpleasant peo—
ple with you. I took the liberty, there-
fore, of making an appointment in such
a way that my man Williams might be
able to see you first. I have complete
confidence in his discretion, and he had
orders, if he were dissatisfied, to pro-
ceed no further in the matter. You
will excuse these precautions, but I am
'a man of somewhat retiring, and I
might even say refined, tastes, and
there is nothing more untesthetic than
a policeman. I have a natural shrink-
ing from all forms of rough material-
ism. I seldom come in contact with
the rough crowd. I live, as you see,
with some little atmosphere of ele-
- gance around me. I may call myself a
, though. a connoisseur might perhaps
throw a doubt upon that Salvator Rosa,
there cannot be the least question about
the Bouguereau. I am partial to the
modern French school.”
“You will excuse me, Mr.- Sholto,”
said Miss Morstan, “but I am here at
your request to learn something which
you desire to tell me. ,It is very late,
and I should desire the interview to be
as short as possible.” ‘
“At the best it must take some time,”
he answered; “for we shall certainly
have t'o go to Norwood and see Brother
Bartholomew. We shall all go and try
if we can get the better of Brother
Bartholomew. He is very angry with
me for taking the course which has
seemed right to me. I had quite high
words with him last night. You can-
not imagine what a terrible fellow he
is when he is angry.”
“If we are to go to Norwood it would
perhaps be as well to start at once,” I
ventured to remark.
He laughed until his ears were quite
red.
-“That would hardly do,” he cried. “I
don‘t know what ’he would say if I
.4 “n ‘
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til: {:‘i‘fi', r‘
hit: i‘lllihlifi
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A ill. 5' .
“THAT WOULD HABDLY no,” m.- can-:1).
brought you in that sudden way. No,
I must prepare you by showing you
how we all stand to each other. In the
first place, I must tell you that there
are several points in the story of which
Iam myself ignorant. I can only lay
the facts before you as far as I know
them myself. 4
“My father was, as you may have
guessed, Maj. John Sholto, once of the
Indian army. He retired some eleven
years ’ago, and came to live at Pondi-
cherry lodge in Upper Norwood. He
had prospered in India, and brought
back with hima considerable sum of
money, alarge collection of valuable
curiosities and a staff of native serv-
._ \.., _‘
V’—
~ ants. With these advantages he bought
himself a house and lived in great lux-
ury. My twin brother Bartholomew
and I were the only children.
“I very well remember the sensation
which was caused by the disappear-
ance of Capt. Morstan. We read the
details in the papers, and, knowing
that he had been a friend of our fa-
ther’s, we discussed the case freely in
his presence. He used to join in our
speculations as to what could have hap-
pened: Never for an instant did we
suspect that he had the whole secret
hidden in his own breast—that of all
men he alone knew the fate of Arthur
Morstan.
“We did, know, however, that some
mystery—some positive danger—over-
hung our father. He was very fearful
of going out alone, and he always em-
ployed two prize fighters to act as por-
ters at Pondicherry lodge. Williams,
who drove you tonight, was one of
them. He was once light-weight cham-
pion of England. Our father would
never tell us what it was that he feared,
but he had a. most marked aversion to
men with wooden legs. 'On one occa-
sion he actually fired his revolver at a
wooden-legged man, who proved to be
a harmless tradesman canvassing for
orders. We had to pay a large sum to
hush the matter up. My brother and I
used to think this a mere whim of my
father’s, but events have since led us
to change our opinion.
“Early in 1882 my father received a
letter from India which was a great
shock to him. He nearly fainted at the
breakfast table when he opened it, and
from that day he sickened to his death.
What was in the letter we could never
discover, but 1 could see as he held it
that it was short and written in a
scrawling hand. He had sufiered for
years from an enlarged spleen, but he
now became rapidly worse,and towards
the end of April we were informed that
he was beyond all hope,,and that he
wished to make a last communication
to us.
“When we entered his room he was
propped up with pillows and breathing
heavily. He besought us to lock the
door and to come upon either side of
the bed. Then, grasping our hands, he
made a remarkable statement to us, in
a voice which was broken as much by
emotion as by pain. I shall try and
give it to you in his own very words.
“ ‘I have only one thing,’ he said,
‘which weighs upon my mind at this
supreme moment. It is my treatment
of poor Morstan’s orphan. The cursed
greed which has been my besetting sin
through life has withheld from her
the treasure, half at least of which
should have been hers. And yet I have
made no use of it myself-so blind and
foolish a thing is avarice. The mere
feeling of possessmn has been so dear
,to me that I could not bear to share it
with another. See thatchaplet tipped
with pearls beside the. quinine bottle?
Even that I could not bear to part
with, although I had got it out with
the design of sending it to her. You,
my sons, will give her a fair share of
the Agra treasure. But send her noth-
ing—not even the chaplet—until I am.
gone. After all, men have been as bad
as this and have recovered.
(To be continued.)
Six Divorce Cases.
There are 17 cases on the short calen-
dar of the .;Superior court for. Friday.
Of the number six are’divorce cases, of
which three are new. The other three
patron of the arts. It is my weakness. I have been partly heardiand now come
The landscape is a genuine Carot, and. 3 up again on motions for allowances, etc.
a , . . > .
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a.
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