3s 6d

THE SIGN OF
FOUR
Sir Arthur
CONAN
DOYLE

A
Sherlock
Holmes
Mystery
THE SIGN OF FOUR
 BY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

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By John Dickson Carr

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The Sherlock Holmes Companion

Sherlock Holmes Investigates
The Man who was Sherlock Holmes
Four Sherlock Holmes Plays
by Michael and Mollie Hardwick
SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

THE SIGN OF
FOUR

JOHN MURRAY
PIFTY ALBEMARLE STREET LONDON
 This book ispublishedby arrangement with the
Estate of the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

First published 1890

Published (John Murray) 1917
Nineteenth impression 1966
Printed in Great Britain by
Butler and Tanner Lid
Frome and London

These books are sold subject to the condition that they shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise
circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of
binding or cover other than that in which they are published and
without a similar condition including this condition being imposed
on the subsequent purchaser.
 CONTENTS

The Science of Deduction

The Statement of the Case 19
In Quest of a Solution 26

The Story of the Bald-Headed Man 32

The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge

Sherlock Holmes gives a Demonstration 53
The Episode of the Barrel 63
The Baker Street Irregulars 76
bee
ie
“2
2 A Break in the Chain 87
4 The End of the Islander 99
The Great Agra Treasure 109

The Strange Story of Jonathan Small 116

 I

THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION

Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the

mantel-piece, and his hypodermic syringe from its neat
morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he
adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-
cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon
the sinewy forearm and wrist, all dotted and scarred with
innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp
point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back
into the velvet-lined armchair with a long sigh of satisfac-
tion.
Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this
performance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to
it. On the contrary, from day to day I had become more
irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled nightly
within me at the thought that I had lacked the courage to
protest. Again and again I had registered a vow that I
should deliver my soul upon the subject; but there was
that in the cool, nonchalant air of my companion which
made him the last man with whom one would care to take
anything approaching to a liberty. His great powers, his
masterly manner, and the experience which I had had of
his many extraordinary qualities, all made me diffident
and backward in crossing him.
Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune
which I had taken with my lunch, or the additional exas-
peration produced by the extreme deliberation of his
manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no longer.
‘Which is it to-day,’ I asked, ‘morphine or cocaine?’
He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter
volume which he had opened.
9
Io THE SIGN OF FOUR
‘It is cocaine,’ he said, ‘a seven-per-cent solution. Would
you care to try it?’
‘No, indeed,’ I answered, brusquely. “My constitution
has not got over the Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford
to throw any extra strain upon it.’
He smiled at my vehemence. ‘Perhaps you are right,
Watson,’ he said. ‘I suppose that its influence is physically
a bad one. I find it, however, so transcendingly stimulating
and clarifying to the mind that its secondary action is a
matter of small moment.’
‘But consider!’ I said earnestly. ‘Count the cost! Your
brain may, as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a
pathological and morbid process, which involves increased
tissue-change, and may at last leave a permanent weakness.
You know, too, what a black reaction comes upon you.
Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should
you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those
great powers with which you have been endowed? Remem-
ber that I speak not only as one comrade to another, but as
a medical man to one for whose constitution he is to some
extent answerable.’
He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his
finger-tips together, and leaned his elbows on the arms of
his chair, like one who has a relish for conversation.
*My mind,’ he said, ‘rebels at stagnation. Give me prob-
lems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram,
or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper
atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants.
But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for
mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own
particular profession, or rather created it, for Tiam the only
one in the world.’
“The only unofficial detective?’ I said, raising my eye-
brows.
“The only unofficial consulting detective,’ he answered.
 THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION It

‘I am the last and highest court of appeal in detection.

When Gregson, or Lestrade, or Athelney Jones are out of
their depths—which, by the way, is their normal state—
the matter is laid before me. I examine the data, as an
expert, and pronounce a specialist’s opinion. I claim no
credit in such cases. My name figures in no newspaper.
The work itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my
peculiar powers, is my highest reward. But you have your-
self had some experience of my methods of work in the
Jefferson Hope case.’
“Yes, indeed,’ said I, cordially. ‘I was never so struck by
anything in my life. I even embodied it in ‘a small bro-
chure, with the somewhat fantastic title of “A Study in
Scarlet”’.’
He shook his head sadly.
‘I glanced over it,’ said he. ‘Honestly, I cannot congratu-
late you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an exact
science, and should be treated in the same cold and
unemotional manner. You have attémpted to tinge it with
romanticism, which produces much the same effect as if
you worked a love-story or an elopement into the fifth
proposition of Euclid.’
‘But the romance was there,’ I remonstrated. ‘I could
not tamper with the facts.’
‘Some facts should be suppressed, or, at least, a just
sense of proportion should be observed in treating them.
The only point in the case which deserved mention was
the curious analytical reasoning from effects to causes, by
which I succeeded in unravelling it.’
I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been
specially designed to please him. I confess, too, that I was
irritated by the egotism which seemed to demand that
every line of my pamphlet should be devoted to his own
special doings. More than once during the years that I had
lived with him in Baker Street I had observed that a
12 THE SIGN OF FOUR

small vanity underlay my companion’s quiet and didactic

manner. I made no remark, however, but sat nursing my
wounded leg. I had had a Jezail bullet through it some
time before, and, though it did not prevent me from
walking, it ached wearily at every change of the weather.
‘My practice has extended recently to the Continent,’
said Holmes, after a while, filling up his old briar-root pipe.
‘I was consulted last week by Francois le Villard, who, as
you probably know, has come rather to the front lately in
the French detective service. He has all the Celtic power of
quick intuition, but he is deficient in the wide range of
exact knowledge which is essential to the higher develop-
ments of his art. The case was concerned with a will, and
possessed some features of interest. I was able to refer him
to two parallel cases, the one at Riga in 1857, and the other
at St Louis in 1871, which have suggested to him the true
solution. Here is the letter which I had this morning
acknowledging my assistance.’
He tossed over, as he spoke, a crumpled sheet of foreign
note-paper. I glanced my eyes down it, catching a pro-
fusion of notes of admiration, with stray ‘magnifiques’,
‘coup-de-maitres’, and ‘tours-de-force’, all testifying to the
ardent admiration of the Frenchman.
“He speaks as a pupil to his master,’ said I.
‘Oh, he rates my assistance too highly,’ said Sherlock
Holmes, lightly. ‘He has considerable gifts himself. He
possesses two out of the three qualities necessary for the
ideal detective. He has the power of observation and that
of deduction. He is only wanting in knowledge, and that
may come in time. He is now translating my small works
into French.’
‘Your works?’
‘Oh, didn’t you know?’ he cried, laughing. ‘Yes, I have
been guilty of several monographs. They are all upon
technical subjects. Here, for example, is one “Upon the
 THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION 13
Distinction Between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos”.
In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar,
cigarette, and pipe tobacco, with coloured plates illus-
trating the difference in the ash. It is a point which is
continually turning up in criminal trials, and which is
sometimes of supreme importance as a clue. If you can say
definitely, for example, that some murder had been done
by a man who was smoking an Indian lunkah, it obviously
narrows your field of search. To the trained eye there is as
much difference between the black ash of a ‘Trichinopoly
and the white fluff of bird’s-eye as there is between a
cabbage and a potato.’
‘You have an extraordinary genius for minutiz,’ I
remarked.
‘I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph
upon the tracing of footsteps, with some remarks upon the
uses of plaster of Paris as a preserver of impresses. Here,
too, is a curious little work upon the influence of a trade
upon the form of the hand, with lithotypes of the hands of
slaters, sailors, cork-cutters, compositors, weavers, and
diamond-polishers. That is a matter of great practical
interest to the scientific detective—especially in cases of
unclaimed bodies, or in discovering the antecedents of
criminals. But I weary you with my hobby.’
‘Not at all,’ I answered, earnestly. ‘It is of the greatest
interest to me, especially since I have had the opportunity
of observing your practical application of it. But you spoke
just now of observation and deduction. Surely the one to
some extent implies the other.’
‘Why, hardly,’ he answered, leaning back luxuriously in
his armchair, and sending up thick blue wreaths from his
pipe. ‘For example, observation shows me that you have
been to the Wigmore Street Post-Office this morning, but
deduction lets me know that when there you dispatched a
telegram.’
14 THE SIGN OF FOUR

‘Right!’ said I. ‘Right on both points! But I confess that

I don’t see how you arrived at it. It was a sudden impulse
upon my part, and I have mentioned it to no one.’
‘It is simplicity itself,’ he remarked, chuckling at my
surprise—‘so absurdly simple that an explanation is
superfluous; and yet it may serve to define the limits of
observation and of deduction. Observation tells me that
you have a little reddish mould adhering to your instep.
Just opposite the Wigmore Street Office they have taken up
the pavement and thrown up some earth, which lies in
such a way that it is difficult to avoid treading in it in
entering. The earth is of this peculiar reddish tint which
is found, as far as I know, nowhere else in the neighbour-
hood. So much is observation. The rest is deduction.’
‘How, then, did you deduce the telegram?’ —
“Why, of course I knew that you had not written a letter,
since I sat opposite to you all morning. I see also in your
open desk there that you have a sheet of stamps and a thick
bundle of post-cards. What could you go into the post-
office for, then, but to send a wire? Eliminate all other
factors, and the one which remains must be the truth.’
‘In this case it certainly is so,’ I replied, after a little
thought. “The thing, however, is, as you say, of the
simplest. Would you think me impertinent if I were to put
your theories to a more severe test?’
‘On the contrary,’ he answered; ‘it would prevent me
from taking a second dose of cocaine. I should be delighted
to look into any problem which you might submit to me.’
‘I have heard you say that it is difficult for a man to have
any object in daily use without leaving the impress of his
individuality upon it in such a way that a trained observer
might read it. Now, I have here a watch which has recently
come into my possession. Would you have the kindness to
let me have an opinion upon the character or habits of the
late owner?’
 THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION 15

I handed him over the watch with some slight feeling of

amusement in my heart, for the test was, as I thought, an
impossible one, and I intended it as a lesson against the
somewhat dogmatic tone which he occasionally assumed.
He balanced the watch in his hand, gazed hard at the dial,
opened the back, and examined the works, first with his
naked eyes and then with a powerful convex lens. I could
hardly keep from smiling at his crestfallen face when he
finally snapped the case to and handed it back.
“There are hardly any data,’ he remarked. “The watch
has been recently cleaned, which robs me of my most sug-
gestive facts.’
‘You are right,’ I answered. ‘It was cleaned before being
sent to me.’
In my heart I accused my companion of putting forward
a most lame and impotent excuse to cover his failure.
What data could he expect from an uncleaned watch?
“Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been en-
tirely barren,’ he observed, staring up at the ceiling with
dreamy, lack-lustre eyes. ‘Subject to your correction, I
should judge that the watch belonged to your elder
brother, who inherited it from your father.’
‘That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W. upon the
back?’
‘Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The date of
the watch is nearly fifty years back, and the initials are as
old as the watch; so it was made for the last generation.
Jewellery usually descends to the eldest son, and he is most
likely to have the same name as the father. Your father has,
if I remember right, been dead many years. It has, there-
fore, been in the hands of your eldest brother.’
‘Right, so far,’ said I. ‘Anything else?’
‘He was a man of untidy habits—very untidy and care-
less. He was left with good prospects, but he threw away
his chances, lived for some time in poverty with occasional
16 THE SIGN OF FOUR
short intervals of prosperity, and, finally, taking to drink,
he died. That is all I can gather.’
I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about
the room with considerable bitterness in my heart.
‘This is unworthy of you, Holmes,’ I said. ‘I could
not have believed that you would have descended to this.
You have made inquiries into the history of my unhappy
brother, and you now pretend to deduce this knowledge
in some fanciful way. You cannot expect me to believe
that you have read all this from his old watch! It is unkind,
and, to speak plainly, has a touch of charlatanism in
it.’
“My dear doctor,’ said he, kindly, “pray accept my apolo-
gies. Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had
forgotten how personal and painful a thing it might be to
you. I assure you, however, that I never even knew that
you had a brother until you handed me the watch.’
“Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did
you get these facts? ‘They are absolutely correct in every
particular.’
‘Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what was the
“palance of probability. I did not at all expect to be so
accurate.’
‘But it was not mere guess-work?’
‘No, no; I never guess. It is a shocking habit—destruc-
tive to the logical faculty. What seems strange to you is
only so because you do not follow my train of thought or
observe the small facts upon which large inferences may —
depend. For example, I began by stating that your brother —
was careless. When you observe the lower part of that
watch-case you notice that it is not only dinted in two
places, but it is cut and marked all over from the habit of
keeping other hard objects, such as coins or keys, in the
same pocket. Surely it is no great feat to assume that a man _
who treats a fifty-guinea watch so cavalierly must be a
 THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION Ei}

careless man. Neither is it a very far-fetched inference that

a man who inherits one article of such value is pretty well
provided for in other respects.’
I nodded, to show that I followed his reasoning.
“It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England, when
they take a watch, to scratch the number of the ticket with
a pin-point upon the inside of the case. It is more handy
than a label, as there is no risk of the number being lost or
transposed. There are no less than four such numbers
visible to my lens on the inside of this case. Inference—
that your brother was often at low water. Second inference
—that he had occasional bursts of prosperity, or he could
not have redeemed the pledge. Finally, I ask you to look at
the inner plate, which contains the keyhole. What sober
man’s key could have scored those grooves? But you will
never see a drunkard’s watch without them. He winds it at
night, and he leaves these traces of his unsteady hand.
Where is the mystery in all this?’
‘It is as clear as daylight,’ I answered. ‘I regret the
injustice which I did you. I should have had more faith in
your marvellous faculty. May I ask whether you have any
professional inquiry on foot at present?’
‘None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without brain-
work. What else is there to live for? Stand at the window
here. Was there ever such a dreary, dismal, unprofitable
world? See how the yellow fog swirls down the street and
drifts across the dun-coloured houses. What could be more
hopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use of having
powers, doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert
them? Crime is commonplace, existence is commonplace,
and no qualities save those which are commonplace have
any function upon earth.’
I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade, when,
with a crisp knock, our landlady entered, bearing a card
upon the brass salver.
18 THE SIGN OF FOUR
‘A young lady for you, sir,’ she said, addressing my
companion.
“Miss Mary Morstan,’ he read. ‘Hum! I have no recoliec-
tion of the name. Ask the young lady to step up, Mrs
Hudson. Don’t go, doctor. I should prefer that you
remain.’
 II

THE STATEMENT OF THE CASE

Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an

outward composure of manner. She was a blonde young
lady, small, dainty, well gloved, and dressed in the most
perfect taste. There was, however, a plainness and sim-
plicity about her costume which bore with it a suggestion
of limited means. The dress was a sombre greyish beige,
untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of
the same dull hue, relieved only by a suspicion of white
feather in the side. Her face had neither regularity of
feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression was
sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly
spiritual and sympathetic. In an experience of women
which extends over many nations and three separate con-
tinents, I have never looked upon a face which gave a
clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I could
not but observe that, as she took the seat which Sherlock
Holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, her hand
quivered, and she showed every sign of intense inward
agitation.
‘I have come to you, Mr Holmes,’ she said, ‘because you
once enabled my employer, Mrs Cecil Forrester, to unravel
a little domestic complication. She was much impressed by
your kindness and skill.’
‘Mrs Cecil Forrester,’ he repeated, thoughtfully. ‘I be-
lieve that I was of some slight service to her. The case,
however, as I remember it, was a very simple one.’
‘She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the
same of mine. I can hardly imagine anything more strange,
more utterly inexplicable, than the situation in which I
find myself.’
19
20 THE SIGN OF FOUR

Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He

leaned forward in his chair with an expression of extra-
ordinary concentration upon his clear-cut, hawk-like
features.
‘State your case,’ said he, in brisk, business tones.
I felt that my position was an embarrassing one.
‘You will, I am sure, excuse me,’ I said, rising from my
chair.
To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand
to detain me.
‘If your friend,’ she said, ‘would be good enough to stop,
he might be of inestimable service to me.’
I relapsed into my chair.
‘Briefly,’ she continued, ‘the facts are these. My father
was an officer in an Indian regiment, who sent me home
when I was quite a child. My mother was dead, and I had
no relative in England. I was placed, however, in a com-
fortable boarding establishment at Edinburgh, and there
I remained until I was seventeen years of age. In the year
1878 my father, who was senior captain of his regiment,
obtained twelve months’ leave and came home. He tele-
graphed to me from London that he had arrived all safe,
and directed me to come down at once, giving the Lang-
ham Hotel as his address. His message, as I remember, was
full of kindness and love. On reaching London I drove to
the Langham, and was informed that Captain Morstan
was staying there, but that he had gone out the night
before and had not returned. I waited all day without news
of him. That night, on the advice of the manager of the
hotel, I communicated with the police, and next morning
we advertised in all the papers. Our inquiries led to no
result; and from that day to this no word has ever been
heard of my unfortunate father. He came home with his
heart full of hope, to find some peace, some comfort, and
instea x
 THE STATEMENT OF THE CASE 21
She put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut
short the sentence.
“The date?’ asked Holmes, opening his note-book.
“He disappeared upon the 3rd of December, 1878—
nearly ten years ago.’
“His luggage?’
“Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to
suggest a clue—some clothes, some books, and a consider-
able number of curiosities from the Andaman Islands. He
had been one of the officers in charge of the convict guard
there.’
“Had he any friends in town?’
‘Only one that we know of—Major Sholto, of his own
regiment, the 34th Bombay Infantry. The Major had
retired some little time before, and lived at Upper
Norwood. We communicated with him, of course, but
he did not know that his brother officer was in Eng-
land.’
“A singular case,’ remarked Holmes.
‘I have not yet described to you the most singular part.
About six years ago—to be exact, upon the 4th of May,
1882g—an advertisement appeared in the Times asking for
the address of Miss Mary Morstan, and stating that it
would be to her advantage to come forward. There was no
name or address appended. I had at that time just entered
the family of Mrs Cecil Forrester in the capacity of
governess. By her advice I published my address in
the advertisement column. The same day there arrived
through the post a small cardboard box addressed to me,
which I found to contain a very large and lustrous
pearl. No word of writing was enclosed. Since then
every year upon the same date there has always appeared
a similar box, containing a similar pearl, without
any clue as to the sender. They have been pronounced
by an expert to be of a rare variety and of considerable
22 THE SIGN OF FOUR

value. You can see for yourselves that they are very hand-
some.’
She opened a flat box as she spoke, and showed me six
of the finest pearls that I had ever seen.
‘Your statement is most interesting,’ said Sherlock
Holmes. ‘Has anything else occurred to you?’
“Yes, and no later than to-day. That is why I have come
to you. This morning I received this letter, which you will
perhaps read for yourself.’
“Thank you,’ said Holmes. “The envelope, too, please.
Post-mark, London, S.W. Date, July 7. Hum! Man’s
thumb-mark on corner—probably postman. Best quality
paper. Envelopes at sixpence a packet. Particular man in
his stationery. No address. “Be at the third pillar from the
left outside the Lyceum Theatre to-night at seven o’clock.
If you are distrustful bring two friends. You are a wronged
woman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you
do, all will be in vain. Your unknown friend.” Well, really,
this is a very pretty little mystery! What do you intend to
do, Miss Morstan?’
“That is exactly what I want to ask you.’
“Then we shall most certainly go—you and I and—
yes, why, Dr Watson is the very man. Your correspondent
says two friends. He and I have worked together
before.’
‘But would he come?’ she asked, with something appeal-
ing in her voice and expression.
‘I shall be proud and happy,’ said I, fervently, ‘if I can
be of any service.’
‘You are both very kind,’ she answered. ‘I have led a
retired life, and have no friends whom I could appeal to.
If I am here at six it will do, I suppose?’
“You must not be later,’ said Holmes. “There is one other
point, however. Is this handwriting the same as that upon
the pearl-box addresses?’
 THE STATEMENT OF THE CASE 23
‘I have them here,’ she answered, producing half-a-dozen
pieces of paper.
“You are certainly a model client. You have the correct
intuition. Let us see, now.’ He spread out the papers upon
the table, and gave little, darting glances from one to the
other. “They are disguised hands, except the letter,’ he
said, presently; “but there can be no question as to author-
ship. See how the irrepressible Greek e will break out, and
see the twirl of the final s. They are undoubtedly by the
same person. I should not like to suggest false hopes, Miss
Morstan, but is there any resemblance between this hand
and that of your father?’
“Nothing could be more unlike.’
‘I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out for you,
then, at six. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I may look
into the matter before then. It is only half-past three. Au
revoir, then.’
‘Au revoir,’ said our visitor; and with a bright, kindly
glance from one to the other of us, she replaced her pearl-
box in her bosom and hurried away.
Standing at the window, I watched her walking briskly
down the street, until the grey turban and white feather
_ were but a speck in the sombre crowd.
“What a very attractive woman!’ I exclaimed, turning to
_ my companion.
He had lit his pipe again, and was leaning back with
_ drooping eyelids. ‘Is she?’ he said, languidly; ‘I did not
observe.’
‘You really are an automaton—a calculating machine,’
I cried. ‘There is something positively inhuman in you at
times.’
He smiled gently.
‘It is of the first importance,’ he said, ‘not to allow your
judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to
me a mere unit, a factor in a problem. The emotional
24 THE SIGN OF FOUR

qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you

that the most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for
poisoning three little children for their insurance-money,
and the most repellent man of my acquaintance is a
philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million
upon the London poor.’
‘In this case, however
‘I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the
rule. Have you ever had occasion to study character in
handwriting? What do you make of this fellow’s scribble?’
‘It is legible and regular,’ I answered. ‘A man of business
habits and some force of character.’
Holmes shook his head.
‘Look at his long letters,’ he said. “They hardly rise
above the common herd. That d might be an a, and that
lan e. Men of character always differentiate their long
letters, however illegibly they may write. There is vacilla-
tion in his k’s and self-esteem in his capitals. I am going
out now. I have some few references to make. Let me
recommend this book—one of the most remarkable ever
penned. It is Winwood Reade’s “Martyrdom of Man”. I
shall be back in an hour.’
I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but
my thoughts were far from the daring speculations of the
writer. My mind ran upon our late visitor—her smiles, the
deep, rich tones of her voice, the strange mystery which
overhung her life. If she were seventeen at the time of her
father’s disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty now ©
—asweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and _
becomes a little sobered by experience. So I sat and mused,
until such dangerous thoughts came into my head that I
hurried away to my desk and plunged furiously into the
latest treatise upon pathology. What was I, an Army
surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking account,
that I should dare to think of such things? She was a
 THE STATEMENT OF THE CASE 25

unit, a factor—nothing more. If my future were black,

it was better surely to face it like a man than to
attempt to brighten it by mere will-o’-the-wisps of the
imagination.
 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 explanation.’
“What! you have solved it already?’
“Well, that would be too much to say. I have discovered
a suggestive fact, that is all. It is, however, very suggestive.
The details are still to be added. I have just found, on con-
sulting the back files of the Times, that Major Sholto, of
Upper Norwood, late of the 34th 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.
Captain Morstan disappears. ‘The only person in London
whom he could have visited is Major Sholto. Major Sholto
denies having heard that he was in London. Four years
later Sholto dies. Within a week of his death Captain
Morstan’s daughter receives a valuable present, which is
repeated from year to year, and now culminates 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
26
 IN QUEST OF A SOLUTION 27
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 expedition of
to-night will solve them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and
Miss Morstan 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 sensi-
tive face was composed, but pale. She must have been more
than woman if she did not feel some uneasiness at the
strange enterprise upon which we were embarking, yet her
self-control was perfect, and she readily answered the few
additional questions which Sherlock Holmes put to her.
“Major Sholto was a very particular friend of papa’s,’ she
said. “His letters 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 understand. 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 carefully and smoothed it
out upon his knee. He then very methodically examined it
all over with his double lens.
‘It is a paper of native Indian manufacture,’ he re-
marked. ‘It has at some time been pinned to a board. The
diagram upon it appears to be a plan of part of a large
building with numerous halls, corridors and passages. At
one point is a small cross done in red ink, and above it is
28 THE SIGN OF FOUR
“3.97 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 pocket-book that we found it.’
‘Preserve it carefully then, Miss Morstan, for it may
prove to be of use to us. I begin to suspect that this matter
may turn out to be much deeper and more subtle than I at
first supposed. 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 undertone about our
present expedition and its possible outcome, but our com-
panion maintained his impenetrable reserve until the end
of our journey.
It was a September evening, and not yet seven o'clock,
but the day had been a dreary one, and a dense drizzly fog —
lay low upon the great city. Mud-coloured clouds drooped
sadly over the muddy streets. Down the Strand the lamps
were but misty splotches of diffused light, which threw a
feeble circular glimmer upon the slimy pavement. 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,
something eerie and ghost-like in the endless procession of
faces which flitted 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 into
the gloom once more. I am not subject to impressions, but
the dull, heavy evening, with the strange business upon
 IN QUEST OF A SOLUTION 29
which we were engaged, combined to make me nervous
and depressed. I could see from Miss Morstan’s manner
that she was suffering from the same feeling. Holmes alone
could rise superior to petty influences. 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 Theatre the crowds were already thick
at the side-entrances. In front a continuous stream of
hansoms and four-wheelers were rattling up, discharging
their cargoes of shirt-fronted men and beshawled and
bediamonded women. We had hardly reached the third
pillar, which was our rendezvous, before a small, dark,
brisk man in the dress of a coachman accosted 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 penetrating and question-
_ ing 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,’ she 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 at a 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 invitation
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
30 THE SIGN OF FOUR
Morstan’s demeanour was as resolute and collected as ever.
I endeavoured 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 musket looked into my tent at the dead of night, and
how I fired a double-barrelled 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 bearings, and knew noth-
ing, 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.’ e
ee
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 ina
labyrinth of streets upon the other side.
“Wandsworth Road,’ said my companion. ‘Priory Road. er
I

Larkhall Lane. Stockwell Place. Robert Street. Coldhar-

bour Lane. Our quest does not appear to take us to very
fashionable regions.’
We had indeed reached a questionable and forbidding
neighbourhood. Long lines of dull brick houses were only
relieved by the coarse glare and tawdry brilliancy of ©
public-houses at the corners. Then came rows of two-
storied villas, each with a frontage of miniature garden,
and then again interminable lines of new, staring brick
buildings—the monster tentacles which the giant city was
throwing out into the country. At last the cab drew up at
 IN QUEST OF A SOLUTION 31
the third house in a new terrace. None of the other houses
were inhabited, and that at which we stopped was as dark
as its neighbours, save for a single glimmer in the kitchen-
window. On our knocking, however, the door was in-
stantly thrown open by a Hindu servant, clad in a yellow
turban, white, loose-fitting clothes, and a yellow sash.
There was something strangely incongruous in this Orien-
tal 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.’
 IV

THE STORY OF THE BALD-HEADED MAN

We followed the Indian down a sordid and common pas-

sage, 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 centre of the glare
there stood a small man with 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 hand over the lower part of his face.
In spite of his obtrusive baldness, he gave the impression
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 appearance of the apart-
ment into which he invited us. In that sorry house it
looked as out-of-place as a diamond of the first water in a
setting of brass. The richest and glossiest 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
32
 THE STORY OF THE BALD-HEADED MAN 33
suggestion 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 centre of the room. As it burned it filled the air with
a subtle and aromatic odour.
“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 excited. ‘Have you your
stethoscope? Might I ask you—would you have the kind-
ness? I have grave doubts as to my mitral valve, if you
would be so very good. The aortic I may rely on, 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
uneasiness.’
“You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan,’ he re-
marked airily. ‘I am a great sufferer, and I have long had
suspicions as to that valve. I am delighted to hear that
they are unwarranted. Had your father,. Miss Morstan,
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
matter. 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 wit-
nesses to what I am about to do and say. The three of us
34 THE SIGN OF FOUR
can show a bold front to Brother Bartholomew. But let us
have no outsiders—no police or officials. We can settle
everything satisfactorily 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 inquir-
ingly with his weak, watery blue eyes.
‘For my part,’ said Holmes, ‘whatever you may choose
to say will go no farther.’
I nodded to show my agreement.
“That is well! That is well!’ said he. ‘May I offer you a
glass of Chianti, Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no
other wines. Shall I open a flask? No? Well, then, I trust
that you have no objection to tobacco smoke, to the bal-
samic odour of the Eastern tobacco. 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 rosewater. We sat all three in
a semi-circle, with our heads advanced and our chins upon
our hands, while the strange, jerky little fellow, with his
high, shining head, puffed uneasily in the centre.
‘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 people with you. I took the liberty, therefore,
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 proceed 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 unzsthetic than a policeman. I have a
natural shrinking from all forms of rough materialism.
I seldom come in contact with the rough crowd. I live, as
you see, with some little atmosphere of elegance around
 THE STORY OF THE BALD-HEADED MAN 35

me. I may call myself a patron of the arts. It is my weak-

ness. The landscape is a genuine Corot, and, 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 to 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 cannot 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 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 I am myself ignorant.
I can only lay the facts before you as far as I know them
| myself.
_ “My father was, as you may have guessed, Major John
_Sholto, once of the Indian Army. He retired some eleven
"years ago, and came to live at Pondicherry Lodge, in
Upper Norwood. He had prospered in India, and brought
| back with him a considerable sum of money, a large collec-
tion of valuable curiosities, and a staff of native servants.
With these advantages he bought himself a house, and
36 THE SIGN OF FOUR
lived in great luxury. My twin-brother Bartholomew and
I were the only children.
‘I very well remember the sensation which was caused
by the disappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the
details in the papers, and knowing that he had been a
friend of our father’s, we discussed the case freely in his
presence. He used to join in our speculations as to what
could have happened. 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 posi-
tive danger, overhung our father. He was very fearful of
going out alone, and he always employed two prize-fighters
to act as porters at Pondicherry Lodge. Williams, who
drove you to-night, was one of them. He was once light-
weight champion of England. Our father would never tell
us what it was he feared, but he had a most marked aver-
sion to men with wooden legs. On one occasion 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 I could see as he held it that it was short
and written in a scrawling hand. He had suffered 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
 THE STORY OF THE BALD-HEADED MAN 37
door and to come upon either side of the bed. Then, grasp-
ing 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 you in his very own words.
*“T 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 possession has been so
dear to me that I could not bear to share it with another.
See that chaplet 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 nothing—not even the chaplet—until I am gone.
After all, men have been as bad as this and have recovered.
““T will tell you how Morstan died,” he continued. “He
had suffered for years from a weak heart, but he concealed
it from everyone. I alone knew it. When in India, he and
I, through a remarkable chain of circumstances, came into
possession of a considerable treasure. I brought it over
_ to England, and on the night of Morstan’s arrival he came
straight over here to claim his share. He walked over from
the station, and was admitted by my faithful old Lal
- Chowdar, who is now dead. Morstan and I had a difference
of opinion as to the division of the treasure, and we came
to heated words. Morstan had sprung out of his chair in
a paroxysm of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand to
his side, his face turned a sickly hue, and he fell backwards,
cutting his head against the corner of the treasure-chest.
When I stooped over him I found, to my horror, that he
was dead.
*“For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what
38 THE SIGN OF FOUR
I should do. My first impulse was, of course, to call for
assistance; but I could not but recognise that there was
every chance that I would be accused of his murder. His
death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in his head,
would be black against me. Again, an official inquiry could
not be made without bringing out some facts about the
treasure, which I was particularly anxious to keep secret.
He had told me that no soul upon earth knew where he
had gone. There seemed to be no necessity why any soul
ever should know.
*“T was still pondering over the matter, when, looking
up, I saw my servant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He
stole in and bolted the door behind him. ‘Do not fear,
sahib,’ he said; ‘no one need know that you have killed
him. Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?’ ‘I did
not kill him,’ said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head and
smiled. ‘I heard it all, sahib,’ said he; ‘I heard you quarrel,
and I heard the blow. But my lips are sealed. All are asleep
in the house. Let us put him away together.’ That was
enough to decide me. If my own servant could not believe
my innocence, how could I hope to make it good before
twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and
I disposed of the body that night, and within a few days
the London papers were full of the mysterious disappear-
ance of Captain Morstan. You will see from what I say that
I can hardly be blamed in the matter. My fault lies in the
fact that we concealed not only the body, but also the
treasure, and that I have clung to Morstan’s share as
well as to my own. I wish you, therefore, to make restitu-
tion. Put your ears to my mouth. The treasure is hidden
in re
‘At this instant a horrible change came over his expres-
sion; his eyes stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled,
in a voice which I can never forget, “Keep him out! For
Christ’s sake, keep him out!” We both stared round at the
 THE STORY OF THE BALD-HEADED MAN 39
window behind us upon which his gaze was fixed. A face
was looking in at us out of the darkness. We could see the
whitening of the nose where it was pressed against the
glass. It was a bearded, hairy face, with wild, cruel eyes
and an expression of concentrated malevolence. My
brother and I rushed towards the window, but the man
was gone. When we returned to my father, his head had
dropped and his pulse had ceased to beat.
“We searched the garden that night, but found no sign
of the intruder, save that just under the window a single
footmark was visible in the flower-bed. But for that one
trace, we might have thought that our imaginations had
conjured up that wild, fierce face. We soon, however, had
another and a more striking proof that there were secret
agencies at work all round us. The window of my father’s
room was found open in the morning, his cupboards and
boxes had been rifled, and upon his chest was fixed a torn
piece of paper, with the words, “The sign of the four,”
scrawled across it. What the phrase meant, or who our
secret visitor may have been, we never knew. As far as we
can judge, none of my father’s property had been actually
stolen, though everything had been turned out. My
brother and I naturally associated this peculiar incident
with the fear which haunted my father during his life; but
it is still a complete mystery to us.’
The little man stopped to relight his hookah, and puffed
thoughtfully for a few moments. We had all sat absorbed,
listening to his extraordinary narrative. At the short
account of her father’s death Miss Morstan had turned
deadly white, and for a moment I feared that she was about
to faint. She rallied, however, on drinking a glass of water
which I quietly poured out for her from a Venetian carafe
upon the side-table. Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his
chair with an abstracted expression and the lids drawn low
over his glittering eyes. As I glanced at him I could not
40 THE SIGN OF FOUR
but think how, on that very day, he had complained
bitterly of the commonplaceness of life. Here at least was
a problem which would tax his sagacity to the utmost.
Mr Thaddeus Sholto looked from one to the other of us
with an obvious pride at the effect which his story had
produced, and then continued, between the puffs of his
overgrown pipe.
"My brother and I,’ said he, ‘were, as you may imagine,
much excited as to the treasure which my father had
spoken of. For weeks and for months we dug and delved
in every part of the garden without discovering its where-
abouts. It was maddening to think that the hiding-place
was on his very lips at the moment that he died. We could
judge the splendour of the missing riches by the chaplet
which he had taken out. Over this chaplet my brother
Bartholomew and I had some little discussion. The pearls
were evidently of great value, and he was averse to part
with them, for, between friends, my brother was himself a
little inclined to my father’s fault. He thought, too, that if
we parted with the chaplet it might give rise to gossip, and
finally bring us into trouble. It was all that I could do to
persuade him to let me find out Miss Morstan’s address
and send her a detached pearl at fixed intervals, so that
at least she might never feel destitute.’
‘It was a kindly thought,’ said our companion, ear-
nestly; ‘it was extremely good of you.’
The little man waved his hand deprecatingly.
‘We were your trustees,’ he said; ‘that was the view
which I took of it, though Brother Bartholomew could not
altogether see it in that light. We had plenty of money |
ourselves. I desired no more. Besides, it would have been
such bad taste to have treated a young lady in so scurvy a
fashion. “Le mauvais gotit méne au crime.” The French
have a very neat way of putting these things. Our differ-
ence of opinion on this subject went so far that I thought
 THE STORY OF THE BALD-HEADED MAN 41

it best to set up rooms for myself; so I left Pondicherry

Lodge, taking the old khitmutgar and Williams with me.
Yesterday, however, I learnt that an event of extreme im-
portance has occurred. The treasure has been discovered.
[ instantly communicated with Miss Morstan, and it only
remains for us to drive out to Norwood and demand our
share. I explained my views last night to Brother Bartholo-
mew, so we shall be expected, if not welcome, visitors.’
Mr Thaddeus Sholto ceased, and sat twitching on his
luxurious settee. We all remained silent, with our thoughts
upon the new development which the mysterious business
had taken. Holmes was the first to spring to his feet.
“You have done well, sir, from first to last,’ said he. ‘It is
possible that we may be able to make you some small
return by throwing some light upon that which is still
dark to you. But, as Miss Morstan remarked just now, it is
late, and we had best put the matter through without
delay.’
Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the
tube of his hookah, and produced from behind a curtain
avery long, befrogged top-coat with Astrakhan collar and
cuffs. This he buttoned tightly up, in spite of the extreme
closeness of the night, and finished his attire by putting on
a rabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which covered the
ears, so that no part of him was visible save his mobile and
peaky face.
‘My health is somewhat fragile,’ he remarked, as he led
the way down the passage. ‘I am compelled to be a vale-
tudinarian.’
Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme
was evidently prearranged, for the driver started off at
once at a rapid pace. Thaddeus Sholto talked incessantly,
in a voice which rose high above the rattle of the wheels.
‘Bartholomew is a clever fellow,’ said he. ‘How do you
think he found out where the treasure was? He had come
42 THE SIGN OF FOUR
to the conclusion that it was somewhere indoors: so he
worked out all the cubic space of the house, and made
measurements everywhere, so that not one inch should be
unaccounted for. Among other things, he found that the
height of the building was seventy-four feet, but on adding
together the heights of all the separate rooms, and making
every allowance for the space between, which he ascer-
tained by borings, he could not bring the total to more
than seventy feet. There were four feet unaccounted for.
These could only be at the top of the building. He knocked
a hole, therefore, in the lath and plaster ceiling of the
highest room, and there, sure enough, he came upon
another little garret above it, which had been sealed up
and was known to no one. In the centre stood the treasure-
chest, resting upon two rafters. He lowered it through the
hole, and there it lies. He computes the value of the jewels
at not less than half a million sterling.’
At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one
another open-eyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure her
rights, would change from a needy governess to the richest
heiress in England. Surely it was the place of a loyal friend
to rejoice at such news; yet I am ashamed to say that selfish-
ness took me by the soul, and that my heart turned as heavy
as lead within me. I stammered out some few halting
words of congratulation, and then sat downcast, with my
head drooped, deaf to the babble of our new acquaintance.
He was clearly a confirmed hypochondriac, and I was
dreamily conscious that he was pouring forth intermin-
able trains of symptoms, and imploring information as to
the composition and action of innumerable quack nos- ~
trums, some of which he bore about in a leather case in his
pocket. I trust that he may not remember any of the
answers which I gave him that night. Holmes declares that
he overheard me caution him against the great danger of
taking more than two drops of castor-oil, while I recom-
 THE STORY OF THE BALD-HEADED MAN 43
mended strychnine in large doses as a sedative. However
that may be, I was certainly relieved when our cab pulled
up with a jerk and the coachman sprang down to open the
door.
“This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge,’ said Mr
Thaddeus Sholto, as he handed her out.
 Vv
THE TRAGEDY OF PONDICHERRY LODGE

It was nearly eleven o’clock when we reached this final

stage of our night’s adventures. We had left the damp fog
of the great city behind us, and the night was fairly fine. A
warm wind blew from the westward, and heavy clouds
moved slowly across the sky, with half a moon peeping
occasionally through the rifts. It was clear enough to see
for some distance, but Thaddeus Sholto took down one of
the side-lamps from the carriage to give us a better light
upon our way.
Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds, and was
girt round with a very high stone wall topped with broken
glass. A single narrow iron-clamped door formed the only
means of entrance. On this our guide knocked with a
peculiar postman-like rat-tat.
“Who is there?’ cried a gruff voice from within.
‘It is I, McMurdo. You surely know my knock by this
time.’
There was a grumbling sound and a clanking and jar-
ring of keys. The door swung heavily back, and a short
deep-chested man stood in the opening, with the yellow
light of the lantern shining upon his protruded face and
twinkling, distrustful eyes.
“That you, Mr Thaddeus? But who are the others? I had
no orders about them from the master.’ ie
Lae
ne
rN
ae eeeaT
OeOF
ne
S
EO
S
e
e AaI
“No, McMurdo? You surprise me! I told my brother last
night that I should bring some friends.’
“He hain’t been out o’ his room to-day, Mr Thaddeus,
and I have no orders. You know very well that I must stick eee
on
S
n
to regulations. I can let you in, but your friends they must
just stop where they are.’
44
 THE TRAGEDY OF PONDICHERRY LODGE 45
This was an unexpected obstacle. Thaddeus Sholto
looked about him in a perplexed and helpless manner.
“This is too bad of you, McMurdo!’ he said. ‘If I
guarantee them, that is enough for you. There is the young
lady, too. She cannot wait on the public road at this
hour.’
“Very sorry, Mr Thaddeus,’ said the porter, inexorably.
‘Folk may be friends o’ yours, and yet no friends o’ the
master’s. He pays me well to do my duty, and my duty I'll
do. I don’t know none o’ your friends.’
“Oh, yes, you do, McMurdo,’ cried Sherlock Holmes,
genially. ‘I don’t think you can have forgotten me. Don’t
you remember the amateur who fought three rounds with
you at Alison’s rooms on the night of your benefit four
years back?”
‘Not Mr Sherlock Holmes!’ roared the prize-fighter.
*God’s truth! how could I have mistook you? If instead o’
standin’ there so quiet you had just stepped up and given
me that cross-hit of yours under the jaw, I’d ha’ known you
without a question. Ah, you’re one that has wasted your
gifts, you have! You might have aimed high, if you had
joined the fancy.’
“You see, Watson, if all else fails me, I have still one of
_ the scientific professions open to me,’ said Holmes, laugh-
ing. ‘Our friend won’t keep us out in the cold now, I am
sure.’
‘In you come, sir, in you come—you and your friends,’
_he answered. ‘Very sorry, Mr Thaddeus, but orders are
"very strict. Had to be certain of your friends before I let
| them in.’
Inside, a gravel path wound through desolate grounds
to a huge clump of a house, square and prosaic, all plunged
in shadow save where a moonbeam struck one corner and
glimmered in a garret window. The vast size of the build-
ing, with its gloom and its deathly silence, struck a chill to
46 THE SIGN OF FOUR
the heart. Even Thaddeus Sholto seemed ill at ease, and
the lantern quivered and rattled in his hand.
‘I cannot understand it,’ he said. “There must be some
mistake. I distinctly told Bartholomew that we should be
here, and yet there is no light in his window. I do not know
what to make of it.’
‘Does he always guard the premises in this way?’ asked
Holmes.
“Yes, he has followed my father’s custom. He was the
favourite son, you know, and I sometimes think that my
father may have told him more than he ever told me. ‘That
is Bartholomew’s window up there where the moonshine
strikes. It is quite bright, but there is no light from within,
I think.’
‘None,’ said Holmes. ‘But I see the glint of a light in that
little window beside the door.’ F es,.

‘Ah, that is the housekeeper’s room. That is where old

Mrs Bernstone sits. She can tell us all about it. But perhaps ee
Nene
Ole
te
SU
eNOee
ePS
you would not mind waiting here for a minute or two, for
if we all go in together, and she has had no word of our
coming, she may be alarmed. But, hush, what is that?’
He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the
circles of light flickered and wavered all round us. Miss
Morstan seized my wrist, and we all stood, with thumping
hearts, straining our ears. From the great black house there
sounded through the silent night the saddest and most ge
I

pitiful of sounds, the shrill, broken whimpering of a fright- A

a
ened woman.
‘It is Mrs Bernstone,’ said Sholto. ‘She is the only woman
in the house. Wait here. I shall be back in a moment.’
He hurried for the door, and knocked in his peculiar
way. We could see a tall old woman admit him, and sway
with pleasure at the very sight of him.
‘Oh Mr Thaddeus, sir, Iam so glad you have come! I am
so glad you have come, Mr Thaddeus, sir!’
 THE TRAGEDY OF PONDICHERRY LODGE 47
We heard her reiterated rejoicings until the door was
closed and her voice died away into a muffled monotone.
Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it
slowly round, and peered keenly at the house, and at the
great rubbish-heaps which cumbered the grounds. Miss
Morstan and I stood together, and her hand was in mine.
A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two,
who had never seen each other before that day, between
whom no word or even look of affection had ever passed,
and yet now in an hour of trouble our hands instinctively
sought for each other. I have marvelled at it since, but at
the time it seemed the most natural thing that I should go
out to her so, and, as she has often told me, there was in
her also the instinct to turn to me for comfort and protec-
tion. So we stood hand-in-hand, like two children, and
there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that
surrounded us.
“What a strange place!’ she said, looking round.
‘It looks as though all the moles in England had been
let loose in it. I have seen something of the sort on the side
of a hill near Ballarat, where the prospectors had been at
work.’
_ ‘And from the same cause,’ said Holmes. “These are the
traces of the treasure-seekers. You must remember that
they were six years looking for it. No wonder that the
grounds look like a gravel-pit.’
At that moment the door of the house burst open, and
Thaddeus Sholto came running out, with his hands
thrown forward and terror in his eyes.
‘There is something amiss with Bartholomew!’ he cried.
‘I am frightened! My nerves cannot stand it.’
He was, indeed, half blubbering with fear, and his
twitching, feeble face peeping out from the great Astra-
khan collar had the helpless, appealing expression of a
terrified child.
48 THE SIGN OF FOUR
‘Come into the house,’ said Holmes, in his crisp, firm
way.
‘Yes, do!’ pleaded Thaddeus Sholto. ‘I really do not feel
equal to giving directions.’
We all followed him into the housekeeper’s room, which
stood upon the left-hand side of the passage. The old
woman was pacing up and down with a scared look and
restless, picking fingers, but the sight of Miss Morstan
appeared to have a soothing effect upon her.
‘God bless your sweet, calm face!’ she cried, with an
hysterical sob. ‘It does me good to see you. Oh, but I have
been sorely tried this day!’
Our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand, and
murmured some few words of kindly, womanly comfort,
which brought the colour back into the other’s bloodless —
cheeks.
‘Master has locked himself in, and will not answer me,’ —
she explained. ‘All day I have waited to hear from him, for
he often likes to be alone; but an hour ago I feared that
something was amiss, so I went up and peeped through ~
the keyhole. You must go up, Mr Thaddeus—you must —
go up and look for yourself. I have seen Mr Bartholomew —
Sholto in joy and in sorrow for ten long years, but I never —
saw him with such a face on him as that.’ ;
Sherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the way, for
Thaddeus Sholto’s teeth were chattering in his head. So
shaken was he that I had to pass my hand under his arm
as we went up the stairs, for his knees were trembling —
under him. Twice as we ascended Holmes whipped his lens —
out of his pocket and carefully examined marks which |
appeared to me to be mere shapeless smudges of dust upon —
the coconut-matting which served as a stair-carpet. He
walked slowly from step to step, holding the lamp now,
and shooting keen glances to right and left. Miss Morstan
had remained behind with the frightened housekeeper.
 THE TRAGEDY OF PONDICHERRY LODGE 49
The third flight of stairs ended in a straight passage of
some length, with a great picture in Indian tapestry upon
the right of it and three doors on the left. Holmes ad-
vanced along it in the same slow and methodical way,
while we kept close at his heels, with our long, black
shadows streaming backwards down the corridor. The
third door was that which we were seeking. Holmes
knocked without receiving any answer, and then tried to
turn the handle and force it open. It was locked on the
inside, however, and by a broad and powerful bolt, as we
could see when we set our lamp up against it. The key
being turned, however, the hole was not entirely closed.
Sherlock Holmes bent down to it, and instantly rose again
with a sharp intaking of the breath.
“There is something devilish in this, Watson,’ said he,
more moved than I had ever before seen him. ‘What do
you make of it?’
I stooped to the hole, and recoiled in horror. Moonlight
was streaming into the room, and it was bright with a
vague and shifty radiance. Looking straight at me, and
suspended, as it were, in the air, for all beneath was in
shadow, there hung a face—the very face of our com-
panion Thaddeus. There was the same high, shining head,
the same circular bristle of red hair, the same bloodless
countenance. The features were set, however, in a horrible
smile, a fixed and unnatural grin, which in that still and
moonlit room was more jarring to the nerves than any
scowl or contortion. So like was the face to that of our
little friend that I looked round at him to make sure that
he was indeed with us. Then I recalled to mind that he had
mentioned to us that his brother and he were twins.
‘This is terrible!’ I said to Holmes. “What is to be
done?’
“The door must come down,’ he answered, and, spring-
ing against it, he put all his weight upon the lock.
Cc
50 THE SIGN OF FOUR

It creaked and groaned, but did not yield. Together we

flung ourselves upon it once more, and this time it gave
way with a sudden snap, and we found ourselves within
Bartholomew Sholto’s chamber.
It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical! labora-
tory. A double line of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn
up upon the wall opposite the door, and the table was
littered over with Bunsen burners, test-tubes, and retorts.
In the corners stood carboys of acid in wicker baskets.
One of these appeared to leak or to have been broken, for
a stream of dark-coloured liquid had trickled out from it,
and the air was heavy with a peculiarly pungent, tar-like
odour. A set of steps stood at one side of the room, in the
midst of a litter of lath and plaster, and above them there
was an opening in the ceiling large enough for a man to
pass through. At the foot of the steps a long coil of rope was
thrown carelessly together.
By the table, in a wooden arm-chair, the master of the
house was seated all in a heap, with his head sunk upon his
left shoulder, and that ghastly, inscrutable smile upon his
face. He was stiff and cold, and had clearly been dead many
hours. It seemed to me that not only his features, but all
his limbs, were twisted and turned in the most fantastic
fashion. By his hand upon the table there lay a peculiar
instrument—a brown, close-grained stick, with a stone
head like a hammer, rudely lashed on with coarse twine.
Beside it was a torn sheet of note-paper with some words
scrawled upon it. Holmes glanced at it, and then handed
it to me.
‘Yousee,’ hesaid, witha significant raising of the eyebrows.
In the light of the lantern I read, with a thrill of horror,
“The sign of the four.’
‘In God’s name, what does it all mean?’ I asked.
‘It means murder,’ said he, stooping over the dead man.
*Ah! I expected it. Look herel’
 THE TRAGEDY OF PONDICHERRY LODGE 51

He pointed to what looked like a long, dark thorn stuck

in the skin just above the ear.
“It looks like a thorn,’ said I.
‘It is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be careful, for it
is poisoned.’
I took it up between my finger and thumb. It came away
from the skin so readily that hardly any mark was left
behind. One tiny speck of blood showed where the punc-
ture had been.
“This is an insoluble mystery to me,’ said I. ‘It grows
darker instead of clearer.’
“On the contrary,’ he answered, ‘it clears every instant.
I only require a few missing links to have an entirely
connected case.’
We had almost forgotten our companion’s presence
since we entered the chamber. He was still standing in the
doorway, the very picture of terror, wringing his hands
and moaning to himself. Suddenly, however, he broke out
into a sharp, querulous cry.
“The treasure is gone!’ he said. “They have robbed him
of the treasure! There is the hole through which we
lowered it. I helped him to do it! I was the last person who
saw him! I left him here last night, and I heard him lock
the door as I came downstairs.’
“What time was that?’
‘It was ten o’clock. And now he is dead, and the police
will be called in, and I shall be suspected of having had a
hand in it. Oh yes, Iam sure I shall. But you don’t think so,
gentlemen? Surely, you don’t think that it was I? Is it likely
that I would have brought you here if it were I? Oh, dear!
oh, dear! I know that I shall go mad!’
He jerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of
convulsive frenzy.
‘You have no reason to fear, Mr Sholto,’ said Holmes,
kindly, putting his hand upon his shoulder; ‘take my
52 THE SIGN OF FOUR

advice, and drive down to the station to report the matter

to the police. Offer to assist them in every way. We shall
wait here until your return.’
The little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and
we heard him stumbling down the stairs in the dark.
 VI

SHERLOCK HOLMES GIVES A

DEMONSTRATION

“Now, Watson,’ said Holmes, rubbing his hands, ‘we have

half an hour to ourselves. Let us make good use of it. My
case is, as I have told you, almost complete; but we must
not err on the side of over-confidence. Simple as the case
seems now, there may be something deeper underlying it.’
‘Simple!’ I ejaculated.
‘Surely,’ said he, with something of the air of a clinical
professor expounding to his class. ‘Just sit in the corner
there, that your footprints may not complicate matters.
Now to work! In the first place, how did these folk come,
and how did they go? The door has not been opened since
last night. How of the window?’ He carried the lamp across
to it, muttering his observations aloud the while, but
addressing them to himself rather than to me. “Window is
snibbed on the inner side. Framework is solid. No hinges
at the side. Let us open it. No water-pipe near. Roof quite
out of reach. Yet a man has mounted by the window. It
rained a little last night. Here is the print of a foot in
mould upon the sill. And here is a circular muddy mark,
and here again upon the floor, and here again by the table.
See here, Watson! This is really a very pretty demonstra-
tion.’
I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs.
“That is not a footmark,’ said I.
‘It is something much more valuable to us. It is the
impression of a wooden stump. You see here on the sill is
the boot-mark, a heavy boot with a broad metal heel, and
beside it is the mark of the timber-toe.’
“It is the wooden-legged man.’
53
54 THE SIGN OF FOUR
‘Quite so. But there has been someone else—a very able
and efficient ally. Could you scale that wall, doctor?’
I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone
brightly on that angle of the house. We were a good sixty
feet from the ground, and, look where I would, I could see
no foothold, nor as much as a crevice in the brickwork.
‘It is absolutely impossible,’ I answered.
‘Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend up
here who lowered you this good stout rope which I see in
the corner, securing one end of it to this great hook in the
wall. Then, I think, if you were an active man, you might
swarm up, wooden leg and all. You would depart, of
course, in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up
the rope, untie it from the hook, shut the window, snib it
on the inside, and get away in the way that he originally
came. As a minor point, it may be noted,’ he continued,
fingering the rope, ‘that our wooden-legged friend, though
a fair climber, was not a professional sailor. His hands
were far from horny. My lens discloses more than one
blood-mark, especially towards the end of the rope, from
which I gather that he slipped down with such velocity
that he took the skin off his hand.’
“This is all very well,’ said I; ‘but the thing becomes
more unintelligible than ever. How about this mysterious
ally? How came he into the room?’
‘Yes, the ally!’ repeated Holmes, pensively. “There are
features of interest about this ally. He lifts the case from
the regions of the commonplace. I fancy that this ally
breaks fresh ground in the annals of crime in this country ~
—though parallel cases suggest themselves from India,
and, if my memory serves me, from Senegambia.’
‘How came he, then?’ I reiterated. “The door is locked;
the window is inaccessible. Was it through the chimney?’
“The grate is too small,’ he answered. ‘I had already
considered that possibility.’
 SHERLOCK HOLMES GIVES A DEMONSTRATION 55

“How, then?’ I persisted.

‘You will not apply my precept,’ he said, shaking his
head. ‘How often have I said to you that when you have
eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however
improbable, must be the truth? We know that he did not
come through the door, the window, or the chimney. We
also know that he could not have been concealed in the
room, as there is no concealment possible. Whence, then,
did he come?’
“He came through the hole in the roof?’ I cried.
“Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will have
the kindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall now extend
our researches to the room above—the secret room in
which the treasure was found.’
He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either
hand, he swung himself up into the garret. Then, lying on
his face, he reached down for the lamp, and held it while
I followed him.
The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten
feet one way and six the other. The floor was formed by the
rafters, with thin lath-and-plaster between, so that in walk-
ing one had to step from beam to beam. The roof ran up to
an apex, and was evidently the inner shell of the true roof
of the house. There was no furniture of any sort, and the
accumulated dust of years lay thick upon the floor.
‘Here you are, you see,’ said Sherlock Holmes, putting
his hand against the sloping wall. “This is a trap-door
which leads out on to the roof. I can press it back, and
here is the roof itself, sloping at a gentle angle. This, then,
is the way by which Number One entered. Let us see if we
can find some other traces of his individuality.’
He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I
saw for the second time that night a startled, surprised
look come over his face. For myself, as I followed his gaze,
my skin was cold under my clothes. The floor was covered
56 THE SIGN OF FOUR
thickly with the prints of a naked foot—clear, well-defined,
perfectly formed, but scarce half the size of those of an
ordinary man.
‘Holmes,’ I said, in a whisper, ‘a child has done this
horrid thing.’
He had recovered his self-possession in an instant.
‘I was staggered for the moment,’ he said, “but the thing
is quite natural. My memory failed me, or I should have
been able to foretell it. There is nothing more to be
learned here. Let us go down.’
“What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?’ I
asked, eagerly, when we had regained the lower room once
more.
‘My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself,’ said he,
with a touch of impatience. ‘You know my methods. Apply
them, and it will be instructive to compare results.’
‘I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts,’
I answered.
‘It will be clear enough to you soon,’ he said, in an off-
hand way. ‘I think that there is nothing else of importance
here, but I will look.’
He whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and
hurried about the room on his knees, measuring, compar-
ing, examining, with his long, thin nose only a few inches
from the planks, and his beady eyes gleaming and deep-set
like those of a bird. So swift, silent, and furtive were his
movements, like those of a trained bloodhound picking
out a scent, that I could not but think what a terrible
criminal he would have made had he turned his energy
and sagacity against the law instead of exerting them
in its defence. As he hunted about he kept muttering to
himself, and finally he broke out into a loud crow of
delight.
‘We are certainly in luck,’ said he. ‘We ought to have
very little trouble now. Number One has had the misfor-
 SHERLOCK HOLMES GIVES A DEMONSTRATION 57

tune to tread in the creosote. You can see the outline of

the edge of his small foot here at the side of this evil-
smelling mess. The carboy has been cracked, you see, and
the stuff has leaked out.’
“What then?’ I asked.
“Why, we have got him, that’s all,’ said he. ‘I know a dog
that would follow that scent to the world’s end. If a pack
can track a trailed herring across a shire, how far can a
specially-trained hound follow so pungent a smell as this?
It sounds like a sum in the rule of three. The answer
should give us the But, halloa! here are the accredited
representatives of the law.’
Heavy steps and the clamour of loud voices were audible
from below, and the hall door shut with a loud crash.
“Before they come,’ said Holmes, ‘just put your hand
here on this poor fellow’s arm, and here on his leg. What
do you feel?’
“The muscles are as hard as a board,’ I answered.
‘Quite so. They are in a state of extreme contraction, far
exceeding the usual rigor mortis. Coupled with this distor-
tion of the face, this Hippocratic smile, or “risus sar-
donicus’”’, as the old writers called it, what conclusion
would it suggest to your mind?’
‘Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid,’ I
answered, ‘some strychnine-like substance which would
produce tetanus.’
‘That was the idea which occurred to me the instant
I saw the drawn muscles of the face. On getting into the
room I at once looked for the means by which the poison
_ had entered the system. As you saw, I discovered a thorn
which had been driven or shot with no great force into the
scalp. You observe that the part struck was that which
would be turned towards the hole in the ceiling if the man
were erect in his chair. Now examine this thorn.’
I took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the
58 THE SIGN OF FOUR
lantern. It was long, sharp, and black, with a glazed look
near the point as though some gummy substance had dried
upon it. The blunt end had been trimmed and rounded off
with a knife.
‘Is that an English thorn?’ he asked.
‘No, it certainly is not.’
“With all these data you should be able to draw some
just inference. But here are the regulars; so the auxiliary
forces may beat a retreat.’
As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer
sounded loudly on the passage, and a very stout, portly
man in a grey suit strode heavily into the room. He was
red-faced, burly, and plethoric, with a pair of very small,
twinkling eyes, which looked keenly out from between
swollen and puffy pouches. He was closely followed by
an inspector in uniform, and by the still palpitating
Thaddeus Sholto.
‘Here’s a business!’ he cried, in a muffled, husky voice.
“‘Here’s a pretty business! But who are all these? Why, the
house seems to be as full as a rabbit-warren!’
‘I think you must recollect me, Mr Athelney Jones,’ said
Holmes quietly.
‘Why, of course I do!’ he wheezed. ‘It’s Mr Sherlock i
eOe

Holmes, the theorist. Remember you! I'll never forget how

you lectured us all on causes and inferences and effects in
the Bishopsgate jewel case. It’s true you set us on the right
track; but you'll own now that it was more by good luck
than good guidance.’
‘It was a piece of very simple reasoning.’
‘Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up.
But what is all this? Bad business! Bad business! Stern
facts here—no room for theories. How lucky that I hap-
pened to be out at Norwood over another case! I was at the
station when the message arrived. What d’you think the
man died of?’
 SHERLOCK HOLMES GIVES A DEMONSTRATION 59

‘Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorise over,’ said

Holmes, drily.
“No, no. Still, we can’t deny that you hit the nail on the
head sometimes. Dear me! Door locked, I understand.
Jewelsworth half a million missing. How was the window?’
‘Fastened; but there are steps on the sill.’
“Well, well, if it was fastened the steps could have noth-
ing to do with the matter. That’s common sense. Man
might have died in a fit; but then the jewels are missing.
Ha! I have a theory. These flashes come upon me at times.
Just step outside, sergeant, and you, Mr Sholto. Your
friend can remain. What do you think of this, Holmes!
Sholto was, on his own confession, with his brother last
night. The brother died in a fit,on which Sholto walked off
with the treasure! How’s that?’
“On which the dead man very considerately got up and
locked the door on the inside.’
‘Hum! There’s a flaw there. Let us apply common sense
to the matter. This Thaddeus Sholto was his brother; there
was a quarrel: so much we know. The brother is dead and
the jewels are gone. So much also we know. No one saw the
brother from the time Thaddeus left him. His bed had not
been slept in. Thaddeus is evidently in a most disturbed
state of mind. His appearance is—well, not attractive. You
see that I am weaving my web round Thaddeus. The net
begins to close upon him.’
‘You are not quite in possession of the facts yet,’ said
Holmes. ‘This splinter of wood, which I have every reason
_ to believe to be poisoned, was in the man’s scalp where you
_ still see the mark; this card, inscribed as you see it, was on
the table, and beside it lay this rather curious stone-headed
instrument. How does all that fit into your theory?’
‘Confirms it in every respect,’ said the fat detective,
pompously. ‘House full of Indian curiosities. Thaddeus
brought this up, and if this splinter be poisonous, Thaddeus
60 THE SIGN OF FOUR
may as well have made murderous use of it as any other
man. The card is some hocus-pocus—a blind, as like as
not. The only question is, how did he depart? Ah, of
course, here is a hole in the roof.’
With great activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up
the steps and squeezed through into the garret, and imme-
diately afterwards we heard his exulting voice proclaiming
that he had found the trap-door.
‘He can find something,’ remarked Holmes, shrugging
his shoulders; ‘he has occasional glimmerings of reason.
Il n’y a pas des sots st incommodes que ceux qui ont dé
Pesprit?
‘You see!’ said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the
steps again; ‘facts are better than theories, after all. My
view of the case is confirmed. There is a trap-door com-
municating with the roof, and it is partly open.’
‘It was I who opened it.’
‘Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then?’ He seemed a little
crestfallen at the discovery. ‘Well, whoever noticed it,
shows how our gentleman got away. Inspector!’
‘Yes, sir,’ from the passage.
‘Ask Mr Sholto to step this way.—Mr Sholto, it is my
duty to inform you that anything which you may say will
be used against you. I arrest you in the Queen’s name as
being concerned in the death of your brother.’
“There, now! Didn’t I tell you?’ cried the poor little
man, throwing out his hands, and looking from one to the
other of us.
‘Don’t trouble yourself about it, Mr Sholto,’ said
Holmes; ‘I think that I can engage to clear you of the
charge.’
‘Don’t promise too much, Mr Theorist, don’t promise
too much!’ snapped the detective. ‘You may find it a harder
matter than you think.’
‘Not only will I clear him, Mr Jones, but I will make
 SHERLOCK HOLMES GIVES A DEMONSTRATION 61
you a free present of the name and description of one of the
two people who were in this room last night. His name, I
have every reason to believe, is Jonathan Small. He is a
poorly educated man, small, active, with his right leg off,
and wearing a wooden stump which is worn away upon the
inner side. His left boot has a coarse, square-toed sole, with
a band round the heel. He is a middle-aged man, much
sun-burned, and has been a convict. These few indications
may be of some assistance to you, coupled with the fact that
there is a good deal of skin missing from the palm of his
hand. The other man .
‘Ah, the other man?’ asked Athelney Jones, in a sneering
voice, but impressed none the less, as I could easily see, by
the precision of the other’s manner.
‘Is a rather curious person,’ said Sherlock Holmes, turn-
ing upon his heel. ‘I hope before very long to be able to
introduce you to the pair of them. A word with you,
Watson.’
He led me out to the head of the stair.
“This unexpected occurrence,’ he said, ‘has caused us
rather to lose sight of the original purpose of our journey.’
‘I have just been thinking so,’ I answered; ‘it is not right
that Miss Morstan should remain in this stricken house.’
‘No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs Cecil
Forrester, in Lower Camberwell, so it is not very far. I
will wait for you here if you will drive out again. Or per-
haps you are too tired?’
‘By no means. I don’t think I could rest until I know
more of this fantastic business. I have seen something of
the rough side of life, but I give you my word that this
quick succession of strange surprises to-night has shaken
my nerve completely. I should like, however, to see the
matter through with you, now that I have got so far.’
‘Your presence will be of great service to me,’ he an-
swered. ‘We shall work the case out independently, and
 62 THE SIGN OF FOUR
leave this fellow Jones to exult over any mare’s-nest which
he may choose to construct. When you have dropped Miss
Morstan, I wish you to go to No. 3, Pinchin Lane, down
near the water’s edge at Lambeth. The third house on the
right-hand side is a bird-stuffer’s; Sherman is the name.
You will see a weasel holding a young rabbit in the win-
dow. Knock old Sherman up, and tell him, with my com-
pliments, that I want Toby at once. You will bring Toby
back in the cab with you.’
‘A dog, I suppose?’
“Yes, a queer mongrel, with a most amazing power of
scent. I would rather have Toby’s help than that of the
whole detective force of London.’
‘I shall bring him then,’ said I. ‘It is one now. I ought to
get back before three, if I can get a fresh horse.’
‘And I,’ said Holmes, ‘shall see what I can learn from
Mrs Bernstone, and from the Indian servant, who, Mr
Thaddeus tells me, sleeps in the next garret. Then I shall
study the great Jones’s methods and listen to his not too
delicate sarcasms. “Wir sind gewohnt dass die Menschen
verhohnen was sie nicht verstehen.” Goethe is always
pithy.’

Te
 Vil

THE EPISODE OF THE BARREL

The police had brought a cab with them, and in this I

escorted Miss Morstan back to her home. After the angelic
fashion of women, she had borne trouble with a calm face
as long as there was someone weaker than herself to sup-
port, and I had found her bright and placid by the side of
the frightened housekeeper. In the cab, however, she first
turned faint, and then burst into a passion of weeping—
so sorely had she been tried by the adventures of the night.
She has told me since that she thought me cold and distant
upon that journey. She little guessed the struggle within
my breast, or the effort of self-restraint which held me
back. My sympathies and my love went out to her, even as
my hand had in the garden. I felt that years of the conven-
tionalities of life could not teach me to know her sweet,
brave nature as had this one day of strange experiences.
Yet there were two thoughts which sealed the words of
affection upon my lips. She was weak and helpless, shaken
in mind and nerve. It was to take her at a disadvantage to
obtrude love upon her at such a time. Worse still, she was
rich. If Holmes’s researches were successful, she would be
an heiress. Was it fair, was it honourable, that a half-pay
surgeon should take such advantage of an intimacy which
chance had brought about? Might she not look upon me as
a mere vulgar fortune-seeker? I could not bear to risk that
such a thought should cross her mind. This Agra treasure
intervened like an impassable barrier between us.
It was nearly two o’clock when we reached Mrs Cecil
Forrester’s. The servants had retired hours ago, but Mrs
Forrester had been so interested by the strange message
which Miss Morstan had received that she had sat up in
63
64 THE SIGN OF FOUR
the hope of her return. She opened the door herself, a
middle-aged, graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see
how tenderly her arm stole round the other’s waist, and
how motherly was the voice in which she greeted her. She —
was clearly no mere paid dependant, but an honoured
friend. I was introduced, and Mrs Forrester earnestly
begged me to step in and to tell her our adventures. I ex-
plained, however, the importance of my errand, and pro-
mised faithfully to call and report any progress which we
might make with the case. As we drove away I stole a
glance back, and I still seem to see that little group on the |
step—the two graceful, clinging figures, the half-opened
door, the hall-light shining through stained glass, the baro-
meter, and the bright stair-rods. It was soothing to catch
even that passing glimpse of a tranquil English home in
the midst of the wild, dark business which had absorbed
us.
And the more I thought of what had happened, the
wilder and darker it grew. I reviewed the whole extra-
ordinary sequence of events as I rattled on through the
silent, gaslit streets. There was the original problem: that,
at least, was pretty clear now. The death of Captain
Morstan, the sending of the pearls, the advertisement, the
letter—we had had light upon all those events. They had
oniy led us, however, to a deeper and far more tragic mys-
tery. The Indian treasure, the curious plan found among
Morstan’s baggage, the strange scene at Major Sholto’s
death, the rediscovery of the treasure immediately
fol-
lowed by the murder of the discoverer, the very singular .
accompaniments to the crime, the footsteps, the remark-
able weapons, the words upon the card, corresponding
with those upon Captain Morstan’s chart—here was,
indeed, a labyrinth in which a man less singularly en-
dowed than my fellow-lodger might well despair of ever
finding the clue.
 THE EPISODE OF THE BARREL 65
Pinchin Lane was a row of shabby, two-storied brick
houses in the lower quarter of Lambeth. I had to knock for
some time at No. 3 before I could make any impression. At
last, however, there was the glint of a candle behind the
blind, and a face looked out at the upper window.
“Go on, you drunken vagabone,’ said the face. ‘If you
kick up any more row, I'll open the kennels and let out
forty-three dogs upon you.’
‘If you'll let one out, it’s just what I have come for,’
said I.
“Go on!’ yelled the voice. ‘So help me gracious, I have a
wiper in this bag, an’ I'll drop it on your ’ead if you don’t
hook it!’
“But I want a dog,’ I cried.
‘I won't be argued with!’ shouted Mr Sherman. ‘Now,
stand clear; for when I say “Three”, down goes the wiper.’
“Mr Sherlock Holmes——’ I began; but the words had a
most magical effect, for the window instantly slammed
down, and within a minute the door was unbarred and
open. Mr Sherman was a lanky, lean old man, with stoop-
ing shoulders, a stringy neck, and blue-tinted glasses.
‘A friend of Mr Sherlock is always welcome,’ said he.
‘Step in, sir. Keep clear of the badger, for he bites. Ah,
naughty, naughty! would you take a nip at the gentleman!’
This to a stoat, which thrust its wicked head and red eyes
between the bars of its cage. ‘Don’t mind that, sir; it’s only
a slow-worm. It hain’t got no fangs, so I gives it the run o’
the room, for it keeps the beetles down. You must not mind
my bein’ just a little short wi’ you at first, for I’m-guyed at
by the children, and there’s many a one just comes down
this lane to knock me up. What was it that Mr Sherlock
Holmes wanted, sir?’
‘He wanted a dog of yours.’
‘Ah! that would be Toby.’
‘Yes, “Toby” was the name.’
66 THE SIGN OF FOUR
“Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here.’
He moved slowly forward with his candle among the
queer animal family which he had gathered round him. In
the uncertain, shadowy light I could see dimly that there
were glancing, glimmering eyes peeping down at us from
every cranny and corner. Even the rafters above our heads
were lined by solemn fowls, who lazily shifted their weight
from one leg to the other as our voices disturbed their
slumbers.
Toby proved to be an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared
creature, half spaniel and half lurcher, brown and white
in colour, with a very clumsy, waddling gait. It accepted,
after some hesitation, a lump of sugar which the old
naturalist handed to me, and, having thus sealed an
alliance, it followed me to the cab, and made no difficulties
about accompanying me. It had just struck three on the
Palace clock when I found myself back once more at Pondi-
cherry Lodge. The ex-prizefighter McMurdo had, I found,
been arrested as an accessory, and both he and Mr Sholto
had been marched off to the station. Two constables
guarded the narrow gate, but they allowed me to pass
with the dog on my mentioning the detective’s name.
Holmes was standing on the doorstep, with his hands in
his pockets, smoking his pipe.
‘Ah, you have him there!’ said he. ‘Good dog, then!
Athelney Jones has gone. We have had an immense display
of energy since you left. He has arrested not only friend —
Thaddeus, but the gatekeeper, the housekeeper, and the —
Indian servant. We have the place to ourselves, but for a.
sergeant upstairs. Leave the dog here and come up.’
We tied Toby to the hall table, and reascended the
stairs. The room was as we had left it, save that a sheet had
been draped over the central figure. A weary-looking ser-
geant reclined in the corner.
‘Lend me your bull’s-eye, sergeant,’ said my companion. —
 THE EPISODE OF THE BARREL 67

‘Now tie this bit of card round my neck, so as to hang in

front of me. Thank you. Now I must kick off my boots and
stockings. Just you carry them down with you, Watson. I
am going to do a little climbing. And dip my handkerchief
into the creosote. That will do. Now come up into the
garret with me for a moment.’
We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his
light once more upon the footsteps in the dust.
‘I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks,’ he
said. ‘Do you observe anything noteworthy about them?’
“They belong,’ I said, ‘to a child or a small woman.’
‘Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing else?”
“They appear to be much as other footmarks.’
‘Not at all! Look here! This is the print of a right foot
in the dust. Now I make one with my naked foot beside it.
What is the chief difference?’
“Your toes are all cramped together. The other print has
each toe distinctly divided.’
‘Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind. Now,
would you kindly step over to that flap-window and smell
the edge of the wood-work? I shall stay over here, as I have
this handkerchief in my hand.’
I did as he directed, and was instantly conscious of a
strong tarry smell.
“That is where he put his foot in getting out. If you can
trace him, I should think that Toby will have no difficulty.
Now run downstairs, loose the dog, and look out for
Blondin.’
By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock
Holmes was on the roof, and I could see him like an
enormous glow-worm crawling very slowly along the ridge.
I lost sight of him behind a stack of chimneys, but he
presently reappeared, and then vanished once more upon
the opposite side. When I made my way round there I
found him seated at one of the corner eaves.
68 THE SIGN OF FOUR
‘That you, Watson?’ he cried.
Yes.’
‘This is the place. What is that black thing down there?’
‘A water-barrel.’
“Top on it?’
“Yes.”
‘No sign of a ladder?’
‘No.’
‘Confound the fellow! It’s a most break-neck place. I
ought to be able to come down where he could climb up.
The water-pipe feels pretty firm. Here goes, anyhow.’
There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to
come steadily down the side of the wall. Then with a light
spring he came on to the barrel, and from there to the
earth.
‘It was easy to follow him,’ he said, drawing on his stock-
ings and boots. “Tiles were loosened the whole way along, —
and in his hurry he had dropped this. It confirms my
diagnosis, as you doctors express it.’
The object which he held up to me was a small pocket
or pouch woven out of coloured grasses, and with a few
tawdry beads strung round it. In shape and size it was not
unlike a cigarette-case. Inside were half-a-dozen spines of
dark wood, sharp at one end and rounded at the other, like
that which had struck Bartholomew Sholto.
“They are hellish things,’ said he. “Look out that you
don’t prick yourself. I’m delighted to have them, for the -
chances are that they are all he has. There is the less fear of —
you or me finding one in our skin before long. I would —
sooner face a Martini bullet myself. Are you game for a
six-mile trudge, Watson?’
‘Certainly,’ I answered.
“Your leg will stand it?’
‘Oh, yes.’ oh
“Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby, —
 THE EPISODE OF THE BARREL 69
smell it!’ He pushed the creosote handkerchief under the
dog’s nose, while the creature stood with its fluffy legs
separated, and with a most comical cock to its head, like
a connoisseur sniffing the bouquet of a famous vintage.
Holmes then threw the handkerchief to a distance, fas-
tened a stout cord to the mongrel’s collar, and led him to
the foot of the water-barrel. The creature instantly broke
into a succession of high, tremulous yelps, and, with his
nose on the ground, and his tail in the air, pattered off
upon the trail at a pace which strained his leash and kept
us at the top of our speed.
The east had been gradually whitening, and we could
now see some distance in the cold, grey light. The square,
massive house, with its black, empty windows and high,
bare walls, towered up, sad and forlorn, behind us. Our
course led right across the grounds, in and out among the
trenches and pits with which they were scarred and inter-
sected. The whole place, with its scattered dirt-heaps and
ill-grown shrubs, had a blighted, ill-omened look which
harmonised with the black tragedy which hung over it.
On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whin-
ing eagerly, underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in
a corner screened by a young beech. Where the two walls
joined, several bricks had been loosened, and the crevices
left were worn down and rounded upon the lower side, as
though they had frequently been used as a ladder. Holmes
clambered up, and, taking the dog from me, he dropped it
over upon the other side.
“There’s the print of wooden leg’s hand,’ he remarked,
as I mounted up beside him. “You see the slight smudge of
blood upon the white plaster. What a lucky thing it is that
we have had no very heavy rain since yesterday! The scent
will lie upon the road in spite of their eight-and-twenty
hours’ start.’
I confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected
70 THE SIGN OF FOUR
upon the great traffic which had passed along the London ~
road in the interval. My fears were soon appeased, how-
ever. Toby never hesitated or swerved, but waddled on in
his peculiar rolling fashion. Clearly, the pungent smell of —
the creosote rose high above all other contending scents.
‘Do not imagine,’ said Holmes, ‘that I depend for my
success in this case upon the mere chance of one of these
fellows having put his foot in the chemical. I have know-
ledge now which would enable me to trace them in many
different ways. This, however, is the readiest, and, since
fortune has put it into our hands, I should be culpable if |
I neglected it. It has, however, prevented the case from
becoming the pretty little intellectual problem which it ~
at one time promised to be. There might have been some ~
credit to be gained out of it, but for this too palpable clue.’
“There is credit, and to spare,’ said I. ‘I assure you,
Holmes, that I marvel at the means by which you obtain
your results in this case, even more than I did in the
Jefferson Hope murder. The thing seems to me to be
deeper and more inexplicable. How, for example, could ~
you describe with such confidence the wooden-legged —
man?’
“‘Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I don’t wish —
to be theatrical. It is all patent and above-board. Two
officers who are in command of a convict guard learn an
important secret as to buried treasure. A map is drawn —
for them by an Englishman named Jonathan Small. You
remember that we saw the name upon the chart in Captain —
Morstan’s possession. He had signed it on behalf of him- —
self and his associates—the sign of the four, as he some- —
what dramatically called it. Aided by this chart, the officers —
—or one of them—gets the treasure and brings it to Eng-
land, leaving, we will suppose, some condition under
which he received it unfulfilled. Now, then, why did not —
Jonathan Small get the treasure himself? The answer is —
 THE EPISODE OF THE BARREL 71

obvious. The chart is dated at a time when Morstan was

brought into close association with convicts. Jonathan
Small did not get the treasure because he and his associates
were themselves convicts and could not get away.’
‘But this is mere speculation,’ said I.
‘It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis which
covers the facts. Let us see how it fits in with the sequel.
Major Sholto remains at peace for some years, happy in the
possession of his treasure. Then he receives a letter from
India which gives him a great fright. What was that?’
‘A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had
been set free.’
‘Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he would
have known what their term of imprisonment was. It
would not have been a surprise to him. What does he do
then? He guards himself against a wooden-legged man—a
white man, mark you, for he mistakes a white tradesman
for him, and actually fires a pistol at him. Now, only one
white man’s name is on the chart. The others are Hindus
or Mohammedans. There is no other white man. There-
fore, we may say with confidence that the wooden-legged
man is identical with Jonathan Small. Does the reasoning
strike you as being faulty?’
“No: it is clear and concise.’
“Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of Jonathan
Small. Let us look at it from his point of view. He comes to
England with the double idea of regaining what he would
consider to be his rights, and of having his revenge upon
the man who had wronged him. He found out where
Sholto lived, and very possibly he established communica-
tions with someone inside the house. There is this butler,
Lal Rao, whom we have not seen. Mrs Bernstone gives him
far from a good character. Small could not find out, how-
ever, where the treasure was hid, for no one ever knew,
save the major and one faithful servant who had died.
72 THE SIGN OF FOUR

Suddenly, Small learns that the major is on his death-bed.

In a frenzy lest the secret of the treasure die with him, he
runs the gauntlet of the guards, makes his way to the dying
man’s window, and is only deterred from entering by the
presence of his two sons. Mad with hate, however, against
the dead man, he enters the room that night, searches his —
private papers in the hope of discovering some memoran-
dum relating to the treasure, and finally leaves a memento
of his visit in the short inscription upon the card. He had
doubtless planned beforehand that, should he slay the
major, he would leave some such record upon the body as
a sign that it was not a common murder, but, from the
point of view of the four associates, something in the
nature of an act of justice. Whimsical and bizarre conceits
of this kind are common enough in the annals of crime,
and usually afford valuable indications as to the criminal.
Do you follow all this?’
‘Very clearly.’
‘Now, what could Jonathan Small do? He could only
continue to keep a secret watch upon the efforts made to
find the treasure. Possibly he leaves England and only
comes back at intervals. Then comes the discovery of the |
garret, and he is instantly informed of it. We again trace
the presence of some confederate in the household. Jona-
than, with his wooden leg, is utterly unable to reach the
lofty room of Bartholomew Sholto. He takes with him,
however, a rather curious associate, who gets over this
difficulty, but dips his naked foot into creosote, whence —
come Toby, and a six-mile limp for a half-pay officer with a
damaged tendo Achillis.’
‘But it was the associate, and not Jonathan, who com-—
mitted the crime.’
‘Quite so. And rather to Jonathan’s disgust, to judge by
the way he stamped about when he got into the room. He —
bore no grudge against Bartholomew Sholto, and would
 THE EPISODE OF THE BARREL 73
have preferred if he could have been simply bound and
gagged. He did not wish to put his head into a halter.
There was no help for it, however: the savage instincts of
his companion had broken out, and the poison had done
its work: so Jonathan Small left his record, lowered the
treasure-box to the ground, and followed it himself. That
was the train of events as far as I can decipher them. Of
course, as to his personal appearance he must be middle-
aged, and must be sunburned after serving his time in
such an oven as the Andamans. His height is readily calcu-
lated from the length of his stride, and we know that he
was bearded. His hairiness was the one point which im-
pressed itself upon Thaddeus Sholto when he saw him at
the window. I don’t know that there is anything else.’
“The associate?’
‘Ah, well, there is no great mystery in that. But you will
know all about it soon enough. How sweet the morning air
is! See how that one little cloud floats like a pink feather
from some gigantic flamingo. Now the red rim of the sun
pushes itself over the London cloudbank. It shines on a
good many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who are on a
stranger errand than you and I. How small we feel, with
our petty ambitions and strivings, in the presence of the
great elemental forces of Nature! Are you well up in your
Jean Paul?’
‘Fairly so. I worked back to him through Carlyle.’
“That was like following the brook to the parent lake.
He makes one curious but profound remark. It is that the
chief proof of man’s real greatness lies in his perception of
his own smallness. It argues, you see, a power of com-
parison and of appreciation which is in itself a proof of
nobility. There is much food for thought in Richter. You
have not a pistol, have you?’
‘TI have my stick.’
‘It is just possible that we may need something of the
D
74 THE SIGN OF FOUR

sort if we get to their lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you,

but if the other turns nasty I shall shoot him dead.’
He took out his revolver as he spoke, and, having loaded
two of the chambers, he put it back into the right-hand
pocket of his jacket.
We had during this time been following the guidance of
Toby down the half rural villa-lined roads which lead to
the Metropolis. Now, however, we were beginning to come
among continuous streets, where labourers and dockmen
were already astir, and slatternly women were taking down
shutters and brushing door-steps. At the square-topped
corner public-houses business was just beginning, and
rough-looking men were emerging, rubbing their sleeves
across their beards after their morning wet. Strange dogs —
sauntered up and stared wonderingly at us as we passed, ~
but our inimitable Toby looked neither to the right nor to —
the left, but trotted onwards with his nose to the ground —
and an occasional eager whine which spoke of a hot scent. —
We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and —
now found ourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne —
away through the side streets to the east of the Oval. The 4
men whom we pursued seemed to have taken a curiously ~
zig-zag road, with the idea probably of escaping observa- _
tion. They had never kept to the main road if a parallel
side-street would serve their turn. At the foot of Kenning- |
ton Lane they had edged away to the left through Bond 2
Street and Miles Street. Where the latter street turns into —
Knight’s Place, ‘Toby ceased to advance, but began to run :
backwards and forwards with one ear cocked and the other
drooping, the very picture of canine indecision. Then he —
waddled round in circles, looking up to us from time to +
time, as if to ask sympathy iin his embarrassment.
“What the deuce is the matter with the dog?’ growled
Holmes. “They surely would not take a cab, or go off in a
balloon.’ MORE
get
Se
tebe

Ce
CeS
as

OS
ee
TE
 THE EPISODE OF THE BARREL 75

‘Perhaps they stood here for some time,’ I suggested.

“Ah! it’s all right. He’s off again,’ said my companion, in
a tone of relief.
He was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he sud-
denly made up his mind, and darted away with an energy
and determination such as he had not yet shown. The
scent appeared to be much hotter than before, for he had
not even to put his nose on the ground, but tugged at his
leash and tried to break into a run. I could see by the gleam
in Holmes’s eyes that he thought we were nearing the end
of our journey.
Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to
Broderick and Nelson’s large timber-yard, just past the
White Eagle tavern. Here the dog, frantic with excitement,
turned down through the side gate into the enclosure,
where the sawyers were already at work. On the dog raced
through sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round a
passage, between two wood-piles, and finally, with a trium-
phant yelp, sprang upon a large barrel which still stood
upon the hand-trolley on which it had been brought. With
lolling tongue and blinking eyes, Toby stood upon the
_eask, looking from one to the other of us for some sign of
appreciation. The staves of the barrel and the wheels of
the trolley were smeared with a dark liquid, and the whole
air was heavy with the smell of creosote.
Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other,
and then burst simultaneously into an uncontrollable fit
of laughter.
 VIll

THE BAKER STREET IRREGULARS

‘What now?’ I asked. “Toby has lost his character for

infallibility.’
‘He acted according to his lights,’ said Holmes, lifting
him down from the barrel and walking him out of the ~
timber-yard. ‘If you consider how much creosote is carted —
about London in one day, it is no great wonder that our
trail should have been crossed. It is much used now,
especially for the seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is not to —
blame.’ |
‘We must get on the main scent again, I suppose.’
‘Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go. Evi- —
dently what puzzled the dog at the corner of Knight’s Place ©
was that there were two different trails running in oppo- —
site directions. We took the wrong one. It only remains to —
follow the other.’ :
There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby —
to the place where he had committed his fault, he cast —
about in a wide circle and finally dashed off in a fresh —
direction. 4
‘We must take care that he does not now bring us to the —
place where the creosote-barrel came from,’ I observed. __
‘I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps on —
the pavement, whereas the barrel passed down the road- —
way. No, we are on the true scent now.’ %
It tended down towards the river-side, running through :
Belmont Place and Prince’s Street. At the end of Broad
Street it ran right down to the water’s edge, where there —
was a small wooden wharf. Toby led us to the very edge of —
this, and there stood whining, looking out on the dark
current beyond.
76
 THE BAKER STREET IRREGULARS Th

“We are out of luck,’ said Holmes. “They have taken to

a boat here.’
Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the
water and on the edge of the wharf. We took Toby round
to each in turn, but, though he sniffed earnestly, he made
no sign.
Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house,
with a wooden placard slung out through the second
window. ‘Mordecai Smith’ was printed across it in large
letters, and underneath, ‘Boats to hire by the hour or day.’
A second inscription above the door informed us that a
steam-launch was kept—a statement which was confirmed
by a great pile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes
looked slowly round, and his face assumed an ominous
expression.
“This looks bad,’ said he. “These fellows are sharper than
I expected. They seem to have covered their tracks. There
has, I fear, been preconcerted management here.’
He was approaching the door of the house, when it
opened, and a little curly-headed lad of six came running
out, followed by a stoutish, red-faced woman with a large
sponge in her hand.
‘You come back and be washed, Jack,’ she shouted.
*Come back, you young imp; for if your father comes home
and finds you like that, he'll let us hear of it.’
‘Dear little chap!’ cried Holmes strategically. “What a
rosy-cheeked young rascal! Now, Jack, is there anything
you would like?’
The youth pondered for a moment.
‘I'd like a shillin’,’ said he.
‘Nothing you would like better?’
‘I’d like two shillin’ better,’ the prodigy answered, after
some thought.
‘Here you are, then! Catch!—A fine child, Mrs Smith!’
‘Lor’ bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets
78 THE SIGN OF FOUR
a’most too much for me to manage, ‘specially when my
man is away days at a time.’
‘Away, is he?’ said Holmes, in a disappointed voice. ‘I
am sorry for that, for I wanted to speak to Mr Smith.’
‘He’s been away since yesterday mornin’, sir, and, truth
to tell, lam beginning to feel frightened about him. But if
it was about a boat, sir, maybe I could serve as well.’
‘I wanted to hire his steam launch.’
‘Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he has
gone. That’s what puzzles me; for I know there ain’t more
coals in her than would take her to about Woolwich
and back. If he’d been away in the barge I’d ha’ thought
nothin’; for many a time a job has taken him as far as
Gravesend, and then if there was much doin’ there he
might ha’ stayed over. But what good is a steam launch
without coals?’
‘He might have bought some at a wharf down the river.’
‘He might, sir, but it weren’t his way. Many a time I’ve
heard him call out at the prices they charge for a few odd
bags. Besides, I don’t like that wooden-legged man, wi’ his
ugly face and outlandish talk. What did he want always
knockin’ about here for?’
‘A wooden-legged man?’ said Holmes, with bland sur-
prise.
‘Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that’s called
more’n once for my old man. It was him that roused him
up yesternight, and, what’s more, my man knew he was
comin’, for he had steam up in the launch. I tell you
straight, sir, I don’t feel easy in my mind about it.’
‘But, my dear Mrs Smith,’ said Holmes, shrugging his
shoulders, ‘you are frightening yourself about nothing.
How could you possibly tell that it was the wooden-legged
man who came in the night? I don’t quite understand how
you can be so sure.’
‘His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o’ thick
 THE BAKER STREET IRREGULARS 79

and foggy. He tapped at the winder—about three it would

be. “Show a leg, matey,” said he: “time to turn out guard.”
My old man woke up Jim—that’s my eldest—and away
they went, without so much as a word to me. I could hear
the wooden leg clackin’ on the stones.’
‘And was this wooden-legged man alone?’
“Couldn’t say, I am sure, sir. I didn’t hear no one else.’
‘Iam sorry, Mrs Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and
I have heard good reports of the Let me see, what is
her name?’
“The Aurora, sir.’
“Ah! She’s not that old green launch with a yellow line,
very broad in the beam?’
‘No, indeed. She’s as trim a little thing as any on the
river. She’s been fresh painted, black with two red streaks.’
“Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr Smith.
I am going down the river, and if I should see anything of
the Aurora I shall let him know that you are uneasy. A
black funnel, you say?’
‘No, sir. Black with a white band.’
‘Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good
morning, Mrs Smith. There is a boatman here with a
wherry, Watson. We shall take it and cross the river.
“The main thing with people of that sort,’ said Holmes,
as we sat in the sheets of the wherry, ‘is never to let them
think that their information can be of the slightest impor-
tance to you. If you do, they will instantly shut up like an
oyster. If you listen to them under protest, as it were, you
are very likely to get what you want.’
‘Our course now seems pretty clear,’ said I.
‘What would you do, then?’
‘I would engage a launch and go down the river on the
track of the Aurora.’
‘My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may
have touched at any wharf on either side of the stream
80 THE SIGN OF FOUR
between here and Greenwich. Below the bridge there is a
perfect labyrinth of landing-places for miles. It would take
you days and days to exhaust them, if you set about it
alone.’
‘Employ the police, then.’
‘No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last
moment. He is not a bad fellow, and I should not like to
do anything which would injure him professionally. But
I have a fancy for working it out myself, now that we have —
gone so far.’
‘Could we advertise, then, asking for information from
wharfingers?’
“Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase —
was hot at their heels, and they would be off out of the -
country. As it is, they are likely enough to leave, but as
long as they think they are perfectly safe they will be in no ©
hurry. Jones’s energy will be of use to us there, for his view ©
of the case is sure to push itself into the daily Press, and —
the runaways will think that everyone is off on the wrong
scent.’
“What are we to do, then?’ I asked, as we landed near ©
Millbank Penitentiary.
“Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, —
and get an hour’s sleep. It is quite on the cards that we may
be afoot to-night again. Stop at a telegraph office, cabby!
We will keep Toby, for he may be of use to us yet.’
We pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office, and
Holmes dispatched his wire.
‘Whom do you think that is to?’ he asked, as we resumed
our journey.
‘Iam sure I don’t know.’
‘You remember the Baker Street division of the detective
police force whom I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?”
‘Well?’ said I, laughing.
‘This is just the case where they might be invaluable.
 THE BAKER STREET IRREGULARS 81

If they fail, I have other resources; but I shall try them first.
That wire was to my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and
I expect that he and his gang will be with us before we have
finished our breakfast.’
It was between eight and nine o’clock now, and I was
conscious of a strong reaction after the successive excite-
ments of the night. I was limp and weary, befogged in
mind and fatigued in body. I had not the professional
enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I
look at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem.
As far as the death of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had
heard little good of him, and could feel no intense anti-
pathy to his murderers. The treasure, however, was a
different matter. That, or part of it, belonged rightfully to
Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it I
was ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I
found it, it would probably put her for ever beyond my
reach. Yet it would be a petty and selfish love which would
be influenced by such a thought as that. If Holmes could
work to find the criminals, I had a tenfold stronger reason
to urge me on to find the treasure.
A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened
me up wonderfully. When I came down to our room I
found the breakfast laid and Holmes pouring out the
coffee.
‘Here it is,’ said he, laughing, and pointing to an open
newspaper. “The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous
reporter have fixed it up between them. But you have had
enough of the case. Better have your ham and eggs first.’
I took the paper from him and read the short notice,
which was headed, ‘Mysterious Business at Upper Nor-
wood.’
‘About twelve o'clock last night,’ said the Standard, ‘Mr
Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Nor-
wood, was found dead in his room under circumstances
82 THE SIGN OF FOUR
which point to foul play. As far as we can learn, no
actual traces of violence were found upon Mr Sholto’s
person, but a valuable collection of Indian gems which the
deceased gentleman had inherited from his father has been —
carried off. The discovery was first made by Mr Sherlock
Holmes and Dr Watson, who had called at the house with
Mr Thaddeus Sholto, brother of the deceased. By a singu-
lar piece of good fortune, Mr Athelney Jones, the well-
known memberof the detective police force, happened to
be at the Norwood Police Station, and was on the ground
within half an hour of the first alarm. His trained and
experienced faculties were at once directed towards the
detection of the criminals, with the gratifying result that
the brother, ‘Thaddeus Sholto, has already been arrested,
together with the housekeeper, Mrs Bernstone, an Indian
butler named Lal Rao, and a porter, or gatekeeper, named
McMurdo. It is quite certain that the thief or thieves were
well acquainted with the house, for Mr Jones’s well-known
technical knowledge and his powers of minute observation
have enabled him to prove conclusively that the mis-
creants could not have entered by the door or by the
window, but must have made their way across the roof of —
the building, and so through a trap-door into a room —
which communicated with that in which the body was
found. This fact, which has been very clearly made out,
proves conclusively that it was no mere haphazard bur-
glary. The prompt and energetic action of the officers of
the law shows the great advantage of the presence on such
occasions of a single vigorous and masterful mind. We
cannot but think that it supplies an argument to those
who would wish to see our detectives more decentralised,
and so brought into closer and more effective touch with
the cases which it is their duty to investigate.’
‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’ said Holmes, grinning over his coffee
cup. “What do you think of it?”
 THE BAKER STREET IRREGULARS 83

‘I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being

arrested for the crime.’
‘So do I. I wouldn’t answer for our safety now, if he
should happen to have another of his attacks of energy.’
At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I
could hear Mrs Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice
in a wail of expostulation and dismay.
“By heavens, Holmes,’ said I, half rising, ‘I believe that
they are really after us.’
“No, it’s not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial force
—the Baker Street irregulars.’
As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet
upon the stairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a
dozen dirty and ragged little street Arabs. There was some
show of discipline among them, despite their tumultuous
entry, for they instantly drew up in line and stood facing
us with expectant faces. One of their number, taller and
older than the others, stood forward with an air of loung-
ing superiority which was very funny in such a disreput-
able little scarecrow.
‘Got your message, sir,’ said he, ‘and brought ’em on
sharp. Three bob and a tanner for tickets.’
‘Here you are,’ said Holmes, producing some silver. ‘In
future they can report to you, Wiggins, and you to me.
I cannot have the house invaded in this way. However, it
is just as well that you should all hear the instructions.
I want to find the whereabouts of a steam launch called the
Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith, black with two red
streaks, funnel black with a white band. She is down the
river somewhere. I want one boy to be at Mordecai Smith’s
landing-stage opposite Millbank to say if the boat comes
back. You must divide it out among yourselves, and do
both banks thoroughly. Let me know the moment you
have news. Is that all clear?’
‘Yes, guv’nor,’ said Wiggins.
84 THE SIGN OF FOUR
‘The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds
the boat. Here’s a day in advance. Now, off you gol’
He handed them a shilling each, and away they buzzed
down the stairs, and I saw them a moment later streaming
down the street.
‘If the launch is above water they will find her,’ said
Holmes, as he rose from the table and lit his pipe. “They
can go everywhere, see everything, overhear everyone. I
expect to hear before evening that they have spotted her.
In the meanwhile, we can do nothing but await results. We
cannot pick up the broken trail until we find either the
Aurora or Mr Mordecai Smith.’
“Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going
to bed, Holmes?’
‘No; I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I
never remember feeling tired by work, though idleness
exhausts me completely. Iam going to smoke and to think
over this queer business to which my fair client has intro-
duced us. If ever man had an easy task, this of ours ought
to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the
other man must, I should think, be absolutely unique.’
“That other man again!’
‘I have no wish to make a mystery of him to you, anyway.
But you must have formed your own opinion. Now, do
consider the data. Diminutive footmarks, toes never fet-
tered by boots, naked feet, stone-headed wooden mace,
great agility, small poisoned darts. What do you make of
all this?’
‘A savage!’ I exclaimed. ‘Perhaps one of those Indians >
who were the associates of Jonathan Small.’
‘Hardly that,’ said he. ‘When first I saw signs of strange
weapons, I was inclined to think so; but the remarkable
character of the footmarks caused me to reconsider my
views. Some of the inhabitants of the Indian Peninsula are
small men, but none could have left such marks as that.
 THE BAKER STREET IRREGULARS 85

The Hindu proper has long and thin feet. The sandal-
wearing Mohammedan has the great toe well separated
from the others, because the thong is commonly passed
between. These little darts, too, could only be shot in one
way. They are from a blow-pipe. Now, then, where are we
to find our savage?’
‘South American,’ I hazarded.
He stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky
volume from the shelf.
“This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now
being published. It may be looked upon as the very latest
authority. What have we here? “Andaman Islands, situ-
ated 340 miles to the north of Sumatra, in the Bay of
Bengal.” Hum! Hum! What’s all this? Moist climate, coral
reefs, sharks, Port Blair, convict barracks, Rutland Island,
cottonwoods Ah, here we are! “The Aborigines of the
Andaman Islands may perhaps claim the distinction of
being the smallest race upon this earth, though some
anthropologists prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the Diggers
of America, and the Terra del Fuegians. The average
height is rather below four feet, although many full-grown
adults may be found who are very much smaller than this.
They are a fierce, morose, and intractable people, though
capable of forming most devoted friendships when their
confidence has once been gained.” Mark that, Watson.
Now, then, listen to this. “They are naturally hideous,
having large, misshapen heads, small, fierce eyes, and dis-
torted features. Their feet and hands, however, are re-
markably small. So intractable and fierce are they, that
all the efforts of the British officials have failed to win them
over in any degree. They have always been a terror to ship-
wrecked crews, braining the survivors with their stone-
headed clubs, or shooting them with their poisoned
arrows. These massacres are invariably concluded by a
cannibal feast.” Nice, amiable people, Watson! If this
86 THE SIGN OF FOUR
fellow had been left to his unaided devices, this affair
might have taken an even more ghastly turn. I fancy that,
even as it is, Jonathan Small would give a good deal not
to have employed him.’
‘But how came he to have so singular a companion?’
‘Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we had
already determined that Small had come from the Anda-
mans, it is not so very wonderful that this islander should
be with him. No doubt we shall know all about it in time.
Look here, Watson; you look regularly done. Lie down
there on the sofa, and see if I can put you to sleep.’
He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched
myself out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious
air—his own, no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for
improvisation. I have a vague remembrance of his gaunt
limbs, his earnest face, and the rise and fall of his bow.
Then I seemed to be floated peacefully away upon a soft
sea of sound, until I found myself in dreamland, with the
sweet face of Mary Morstan looking down upon me.
 IX

A BREAK IN THE CHAIN

It was late in the afternoon before I woke, strengthened

and refreshed. Sherlock Holmes still sat exactly as I had
left him, save that he had laid aside his violin and was deep
in a book. He looked across at me as I stirred, and I noticed
that his face was dark and troubled.
“You have slept soundly,’ he said. ‘I feared that our talk
would wake you.’
‘I heard nothing,’ I answered. ‘Have you had fresh news,
then?’
‘Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised and
disappointed. I expected something definite by this time.
Wiggins has just been up to report. He says that no trace
can be found of the launch. It is a provoking check, for
every hour is of importance.’
‘Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now, and quite
ready for another night’s outing.’
‘No; we can do nothing. We can only wait. If we go
ourselves, the message might come in our absence, and
delay be caused. You can do what you will, but I must
remain on guard.’
“Then I shall run over to Camberwell and call upon Mrs
Cecil Forrester. She asked me to, yesterday.’
‘On Mrs Cecil Forrester?’ asked Holmes, with the
twinkle of a smile in his eyes.
‘Well, of course, on Miss Morstan too. They were
anxious to hear what happened.’
‘I would not tell them too much,’ said Holmes. “Women
are never to be entirely trusted—not the best of them.’
I did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment.
‘I shall be back in an hour or two,’ I remarked.
87
88 THE SIGN OF FOUR
‘All right! Good luck! But, I say, if you are crossing the
water you may as well return Toby, for I don’t think it is at
all likely that we shall have any use for him now.’
I took our mongrel accordingly, and left him, together
with a half-sovereign, at the old naturalist’s in Pinchin
Lane. At Camberwell I found Miss Morstan a little weary
after her night’s adventures, but very eager to hear the
news. Mrs Forrester, too, was full of curiosity. I told them
all that we had done, suppressing, however, the more
dreadful parts of the tragedy. Thus, although I spoke of
Mr Sholto’s death, I said nothing of the exact manner and
method of it. With all my omissions, however, there was
enough to startle and amaze them.
‘It is a romance!’ cried Mrs Forrester. ‘An injured lady,
half a million in treasure, a black cannibal, and a wooden-
legged ruffian. They take the place of the conventional
dragon or wicked earl.’
‘And two knights-errant to the rescue,’ added Miss
Morstan, with a bright glance at me.
“Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the issue of this
search. I don’t think that you are nearly excited enough.
Just imagine what it must be to be so rich, and to have
the world at your feet!’
It sent a little thrill of joy to my heart to notice that she
showed no sign of elation at the prospect. On the contrary,
she gave a toss of her proud head, as though the matter
were one in which she took small interest.
‘It is for Mr Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious,’ she -
said. ‘Nothing else is of any consequence; but I think that
he has behaved most kindly and honourably throughout.
It is our duty to clear him of this dreadful and unfounded
charge.’
It was evening before I left Camberwell, and quite
dark by the time I reached home. My companion’s book
and pipe lay by his chair, but he had disappeared. I
 A BREAK IN THE CHAIN 89
looked about in the hope of seeing a note, but there was
none.
‘I suppose that Mr Sherlock Holmes has gone out?’ I said
to Mrs Hudson as she came up to lower the blinds.
“No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do you know, sir,’
sinking her voice into an impressive whisper, ‘I am afraid
for his health?’
“Why so, Mrs Hudson?’
“Well, he’s that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked
and he walked, up and down, and up and down, until
I was weary of the sound of his footstep. Then I heard him
talking to himself and muttering, and every time the bell
rang out he came on the stair-head, with “What is that,
Mrs Hudson?’ And now he has slammed off to his room,
but I can hear him walking away the same as ever. I hope
he’s not going to be ill, sir. { ventured to say something to
him about cooling medicine, but he turned on me, sir,
with such a look that I don’t know how ever I got out of the
room.’
‘I don’t think that you have any cause to be uneasy, Mrs
Hudson,’ I answered. ‘I have seen him like this before. He
has some small matter upon his mind which makes him
restless.’
I tried to speak lightly to our worthy landlady, but I was
myself somewhat uneasy when through the long night I
still from time to time heard the dull sound of his tread,
and knew how his keen spirit was chafing against this
involuntary inaction.
At breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a
little fleck of feverish colour upon either cheek.
‘You are knocking yourself up, old man,’ I remarked.
‘I heard you marching about in the night.’
‘No, I could not sleep,’ he answered. “This infernal
_ problem is consuming me. It is too much to be baulked
by so petty an obstacle, when all else had been overcome,
go THE SIGN OF FOUR
I know the men, the launch, everything; and yet I can
get no news. I have set other agencies at work, and used
every means at my disposal. The whole river has been
searched on either side, but there is no news, nor has Mrs
Smith heard of her husband. I shall come to the conclu-
sion soon that they have scuttled the craft. But there are
objections to that.’
‘Or that Mrs Smith has put us on a wrong scent.’
‘No, I think that may be dismissed. I had inquiries
made, and there is a launch of that description.’
‘Could it have gone up the river?’
‘I have considered that possibility too, and there is a
search-party who will work up as far as Richmond. If
no news comes to-day, I shall start off myself to-morrow,
and go for the men rather than the boat. But surely,
surely, we shall hear something.’
We did not, however. Not a word came to us either
from Wiggins or from the other agencies. There were
articles in most of the papers upon the Norwood
tragedy. They all appeared to be rather hostile to the
unfortunate ‘Thaddeus Sholto. No fresh details were to
be found, however, in any of them, save that an inquest
was to be held upon the following day. I walked over to
Camberwell in the evening to report our ill-success to the
ladies, and on my return I found Holmes dejected and
somewhat morose. He would hardly reply to my questions,
and busied himself all the evening in an abstruse chemical
analysis which involved much heating of retorts and dis-
tilling of vapours, ending at last in a smell which fairly.
drove me out of the apartment. Up to the small hours of
the morning I could hear the clinking of his test-tubes,
which told me that he was still engaged in his malodorous
experiment.
In the early dawn I woke with a start, and was surprised
to find him standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor
 A BREAK IN THE CHAIN gI
dress with a pea-jacket, and a coarse red scarf round his
neck.
‘I am off down the river, Watson,’ said he. ‘I have been
turning it over in my mind, and I can see only one way out
of it. It is worth trying, at all events.’
‘Surely I can come with you, then?’ said I.
“No; you can be much more useful if you will remain
here as my representative. I am loth to go, for it is quite on
the cards that some message may come during the day,
though Wiggins was despondent about it last night. I want
you to open all notes and telegrams, and to act on your
own judgment if any news should come. Can I rely upon
you?’
“Most certainly.’
‘I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me, for
I can hardly tell yet where I may find myself. If I am in
luck, however, I may not be gone so very long. I shall have
news of some sort or other before I get back.’
I had heard nothing of him by breakfast-time. On open-
ing the Standard, however, I found that there was a fresh
allusion to the business. “With reference to the Upper
Norwood tragedy,’ it remarked, ‘we have reason to believe
that the matter promises to be even more complex and
mysterious than was originally supposed. Fresh evidence
has shown that it is quite impossible that Mr Thaddeus
Sholto could have been in any way concerned in the
matter. He and the housekeeper, Mrs Bernstone, were
both released yesterday evening. It is believed, how-
ever, that the police have a clue as to the real cul-
prits, and that it is being prosecuted by Mr Athelney
Jones, of Scotland Yard, with all his well-known energy
and sagacity. Further arrests may be expected at any
moment.’
“That is satisfactory so far as it goes,’ thought I. ‘Friend
Sholto is safe, at any rate. I wonder what the fresh clue
92 THE SIGN OF FOUR
may be, though it seems a stereotyped form whenever the
police have made a blunder.’
I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that
moment my eye caught an advertisement in the agony
column. It ran this way:—
‘Lost.—Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son
Jim, left Smith’s Wharf at or about three o’clock last
Tuesday morning in the steam launch Aurora, black with
two red stripes, funnel black with a white band, the sum
of five pounds will be paid to anyone who can give infor-
mation to Mrs Smith, at Smith’s Wharf, or at 221b, Baker
Street, as to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith
and the launch Aurora.’
This was clearly Holmes’s doing. The Baker Street
address was enough to prove that. It struck me as rather
ingenious, because it might be read by the fugitives with-
out their seeing in it more than the natural anxiety of a
wife for her missing husband.
It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the
door, or a sharp step passed in the street, I imagined that it
was either Holmes returning or an answer to his adver-
tisement. I tried to read, but my thoughts would wander
off to our strange quest and to the ill-assorted and vil-
lainous pair whom we were pursuing. Could there be, I
wondered, some radical flaw in my companion’s reason-
ing? Might he not be suffering from some huge self-decep-
tion? Was it not possible that his nimble and speculative
mind had built up this wild theory upon faulty premises?
I had never known him to be wrong, and yet the keenest
reasoner may occasionally be deceived. He was likely, I
thought, to fall into error through the over-refinement of
his logic—his preference for a subtle and bizarre explana-
tion when a plainer and more common-place one lay ready
to his hand. Yet on the other hand, I had myself seen the
evidence, and I had heard the reasons for his deductions.
 A BREAK IN THE CHAIN 93

When I looked back on the long chain of curious circum-

stances, many of them trivial in themselves, but all tending
in the same direction, I could not disguise from myself that
even if Holmes’s explanation were incorrect the true
theory must be equally outré and startling.
At three o’clock in the afternoon there was a loud peal
at the bell, an authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my
surprise, no less a person than Mr Athelney Jones was
shown up to me. Very different was he, however, from the
brusque and masterful professor of common-sense who
had taken over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood.
His expression was downcast, and his bearing meek and
even apologetic.
“Good-day, sir; good-day,’ said he. ‘Mr Sherlock Holmes
is out, I understand?’
“Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But
perhaps you would care to wait. Take that chair and try
one of these cigars.’
“Thank you; I don’t mind if I do,’ said he, mopping his
face with a red bandanna handkerchief.
“And a whisky and soda?’
“Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year; and
I have had a good deal to worry and try me. You know my
theory about this Norwood case?’
‘I remember that you expressed one.’
“Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my net
tightly round Mr Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a
hole in the middle of it. He was able to prove an alibi
which could not be shaken. From the time that he left his
brother’s room he was never out of sight of someone or
other. So it could not be he who climbed over roofs and
through trap-doors. It’s a very dark case, and my profes-
sional credit is at stake. I should be very glad of a little
assistance.’
‘We all need help sometimes,’ said I.
94 THE SIGN OF FOUR
‘Your friend Mr Sherlock Holmes is a wonderful man,
sir,’ said he, in a husky and confidential voice. “He’s a man
who is not to be beat. I have known that young man go into
a good many cases, but I never saw the case yet that he
could not throw a light upon. He is irregular in his
methods, and a little quick perhaps in jumping at
theories; but, on the whole, I think he would have made a
most promising officer, and I don’t care who knows it. I
have had a wire from him this morning, by which I under-
stand that he has got some clue to this Sholto business.
Here is his message.’
He took the telegram out of his pocket, and handed it to
me. It was dated from Poplar at twelve o’clock. “Go to
Baker Street at once,’ it said. ‘If I have not returned, wait
for me. I am close on the track of the Sholto gang. You can
come with us to-night if you want to be in at the finish.’
“This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent
again,’ said I.
‘Ah, then he has been at fault too,’ exclaimed Jones, with
evident satisfaction. “Even the best of us are thrown off
sometimes. Of course this may prove to be a false alarm;
but it is my duty as an officer of the law to allow no chance |
to slip. But there is someone at the door. Perhaps this is he.’
A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great
wheezing and rattling as from a man who was sorely put to
it for breath. Once or twice he stopped, as though the
climb were too much for him, but at last he made his way
to our door and entered. His appearance corresponded to
the sounds which we had heard. He was an aged man, clad
in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to
his throat. His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and
his breathing was painfully asthmatic. As he leaned upon
a thick oaken cudgel his shoulders heaved in the effort to
draw the air into his lungs. He had a coloured scarf round
his chin, and I could see little of his face save a pair of keen
 A BREAK IN THE CHAIN 95
dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows, and long grey
side-whiskers. Altogether he gave me the impression of a
respectable master mariner who had fallen into years and
poverty.
“What is it, my man?’ I asked.
He looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of
old age.
“Is Mr Sherlock Holmes here?’ said he.
“No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any mes-
sage you have for him.’
‘It was to him himself I was to tell it,’ said he.
“But I tell you I am acting for him. Was it about Morde-
cai Smith’s boat?’
“Yes. I knows well where it is. An’ I knows where the
men he is after are. An’ I knows where the treasure is. I
knows all about it.’
“Then tell me, and I shall let him know.’
‘It was to him I was to tell it,’ he repeated, with the
petulant obstinacy of a very old man.
“Well, you must wait for him.’
“No, no; I ain’t goin’ to lose a whole day to please no
one. If Mr Holmes ain’t here, then Mr Holmes must find
it all out for himself. I don’t care about the look of either
of you, and I won’t tell a word.’
He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in
front of him.
‘Wait a bit, my friend,’ said he. ‘You have important
information, and you must not walk off. We shall keep
you, whether you like it or not, until our friend returns.’
The old man made a little run towards the door, but, as
Athelney Jones put his broad back up against it, he recog-
nised the uselessness of resistance.
‘Pretty sort o’ treatment this!’ he cried, stamping his
stick. ‘I come here to see a gentleman, and you two, who I
never saw in my life, seize me and treat me in this fashion!’
06 THE SIGN OF FOUR
‘You will be none the worse,’ I said. ‘We shall recom- —
pense you for the loss of your time. Sit over here on the
sofa, and you will not have long to wait.’
He came across sullenly enough, and seated himself with
his face resting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our
cigars and our talk. Suddenly, however, Holmes’s voice
broke in upon us.
‘I think that you might offer me a cigar too,’ he said.
We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting
close to us with an air of quiet amusement.
‘Holmes!’ I exclaimed. ‘You here! But where is the old
man?’
‘Here is the old man,’ said he, holding out a heap of
white hair. ‘Here he is—wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all.
I thought my disguise was pretty good, but I hardly ex-
pected that it would stand that test.’
‘Ah, you rogue!’ cried Jones, highly delighted. “You
would have made an actor, and a rare one. You had the
proper workhouse cough, and those weak legs of yours are
worth ten pound a week. I thought I knew the glint of
your eye, though. You didn’t get away from us so easily,
you see.’
‘I have been working in that get-up all day,’ said he,
lighting his cigar. “You see, a good many of the criminal
classes begin to know me—especially since our friend here
took to publishing some of my cases: so I can only go on
the war-path under some simple disguise like this. You got
my wire?’
‘Yes; that was what brought me here.’
“How has your case prospered?’
‘It has all come to nothing. I have had to release two of
my prisoners, and there is no evidence against the other
two.’
‘Never mind. We shall give you two others in the place
of them. But you must put yourself under my orders. You
 A BREAK IN THE CHAIN 97
are welcome to all the official credit, but you must act on
the lines that I point out. Is that agreed?’
‘Entirely, if you will help me to the men.’
“Well, then, in the first place I shall want a fast police-
boat—a steam-launch—to be at the Westminster Stairs at
seven o'clock.’
“That is easily managed. There is always one about
there; but I can step across the road and telephone to make
sure.’
“Then I shall want two staunch men, in case of resis-
tance.’
“There will be two or three in the boat. What else?’
“When we secure the men we shall get the treasure. I
think that it would be a pleasure to my friend here to take
the box round to the young lady to whom half of it right-
fully belongs. Let her be the first to open it. Eh, Watson?’
‘It would be a great pleasure to me.’
‘Rather an irregular proceeding,’ said Jones, shaking his
head. ‘However, the whole thing is irregular, and I sup-
pose we must wink at it. The treasure must afterwards be
handed over to the authorities until after the official inves-
tigation.’
‘Certainly. That is easily managed. One other point. I
should much like to have a few details about this matter
from the lips of Jonathan Small himself. You know I like
to work the details of my cases out. There is no objection
to my having an unofficial interview with him, either
here in my rooms or elsewhere, as long as he is efficiently
guarded?’
“Well, you are master of the situation. I have had no
proof yet of the existence of this Jonathan Small. However,
if you can catch him, I don’t see how I can refuse you an
interview with him.’
“That is understood, then?’
‘Perfectly. Is there anything else?’
E
08 THE SIGN OF FOUR
‘Only that I insist upon your dining with us. It will be
ready in half an hour. I have oysters and a brace of grouse,
with something a little choice in white wines. Watson,
you have never yet recognised my merits as a housekeeper.’
 Xx
THE END OF THE ISLANDER

Our meal was a merry one. Holmes could talk exceedingly

well when he chose, and that night he did choose. He
appeared to be in a state of nervous exaltation. I have
never known him so brilliant. He spoke on a quick succes-
sion of subjects—on miracle plays, on medieval pottery,
on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and
on the warships of the future—handling each as though he
had made a special study of it. His bright humour marked
the reaction from his black depression of the preceding
days. Athelney Jones proved to be a sociable soul in his
hours of relaxation, and faced his dinner with the air of a
bon vivant. For myself, I felt elated at the thought that we
were nearing the end of our task, and I caught something
of Holmes’s gaiety. None of us alluded during dinner to
the cause which had brought us together.
When the cloth was cleared, Holmes glanced at his
watch, and filled up three glasses of port.
‘One bumper,’ said he, ‘to the success of our little expe-
dition. And now it is high time we were off. Have you a
pistol, Watson?’
‘I have my old service-revolver in my desk.’
‘You had best take it, then. It is well to be prepared. I
see that the cab is at the door. I ordered it for half-past six.’
It was a little past seven before we reached the West-
minster Wharf, and found our launch awaiting us. Holmes
eyed it critically.
‘Is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?’
“Yes; that green lamp at the side.’
“Then take it off.’
The small change was made, we stepped on board, and
99
100 THE SIGN OF FOUR
the ropes were cast off. Jones, Holmes, and I sat in the
stern. There was one man at the rudder, one to tend the
engines, and two burly police-inspectors forward.
“Where to?’ asked Jones.
‘To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite to Jacobson's
Yard.’
Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past the
long lines of loaded barges as though they were stationary.
Holmes smiled with satisfaction as we overhauled a river
steamer and left her behind us.
“We ought to be able to catch anything on the river,’ he
said.
‘Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches to
beat us.’
“We shall have to catch the Aurora, and she has a name
for being a clipper. I will tell you how the land lies,
Watson. You recollect how annoyed I was at being baulked
by so small a thing?’
“Yes.”
“Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging into
a chemical analysis. One of our greatest statesmen has said |
that a change of work is the best rest. So it is. When I had |
succeeded in dissolving the hydro-carbon which I was at |
work at, I came back to the problem of the Sholtos, and
thought the whole matter out again. My boys had been up
the river and down the river without result. The launch
was not at any landing-stage or wharf, nor had it returned.
Yet it could hardly have been scuttled to hide their traces,
though that always remained as a possible hypothesis if all _
else failed. Iknew that this man Small had a certain degree
of low cunning, but I did not think him capable of any-
thing in the nature of delicate finesse. I then reflected that
since he had certainly been in London some time—as we
had evidence that he maintained a continual watch over
Pondicherry Lodge—he could hardly leave at a moment's
 THE END OF THE ISLANDER IOI

notice, but would need some little time, if it were only a

day, to arrange his affairs. That was the balance of proba-
bility, at any rate.’
‘It seems to me to be a little weak,’ said I: ‘it is more
probable that he had arranged his affairs before ever he
set out upon his expedition.’
‘No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be too
valuable a retreat in case of need for him to give it up until
he was sure that he could do without it. But a second
consideration struck me. Jonathan Small must have felt
that the peculiar appearance of his companion, however
much he may have top-coated him, would give rise to
gossip, and possibly be associated with this Norwood
tragedy. He was quite sharp enough to see that. They had
started from their headquarters under cover of darkness,
and he would wish to get back before it was broad light.
Now, it was past three o’clock, according to Mrs Smith,
when they got the boat. It would be quite bright, and
people would be about in an hour or so. Therefore, I
argued, they did not go very far. They paid Smith well to
hold his tongue, reserved his launch for the final escape,
and hurried to their lodgings with the treasure-box. In a
couple of nights, when they had time to see what view the
papers took, and whether there was any suspicion, they
would make their way under cover of darkness to some
ship at Gravesend or in the Downs, where no doubt they
had already arranged for passages to America or the
Colonies.’
‘But the launch? They could not have taken that to their
lodgings.’
“Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great way
off, in spite of its invisibility. I then put myself in the place
of Small, and looked at it as a man of his capacity would.
He would probably consider that to send back the launch
or to keep it at a wharf would make pursuit easy if the
102 THE SIGN OF FOUR
police did happen to get on his track. How, then, could he
conceal the launch and yet have her at hand when wanted?
I wondered what I should do myself if I were in his shoes.
I could only think of one way of doing it. I might hand the
launch over to some boat-builder or repairer, with direc-
tions to make a trifling change in her. She would then be
removed to his shed or yard, and so be effectually con-
cealed, while at the same time I could have her at a few
hours’ notice.’
“That seems simple enough.’
‘It is just these very simple things which are extremely
liable to be overlooked. However, I determined to act on
the idea. I started at once in this harmless seaman’s rig, and
inquired at all the yards down the river. I drew blank at
fifteen, but at the sixteenth—Jacobson’s—I learned that
the Aurora had been handed over to them two days ago by
a wooden-legged man, with some trivial directions as to
her rudder. “There ain’t naught amiss with her rudder,”
said the foreman. “There she lies, with the red streaks.”
At that moment who should come down but Mordecai
Smith, the missing owner? He was rather the worse for
liquor. I should not, of course, have known him, but he
bellowed out his name and the name of his launch. “I want
her to-night at eight o'clock,” said he—“eight o’clock
sharp, mind, for I have two gentlemen who won't be kept
waiting.” They had evidently paid him well, for he was
very flush of money, chucking shillings about to the men.
I followed him some distance, but he subsided into an
ale-house; so I went back to the yard, and, happening to —
pick up one of my boys on the way, I stationed him as a
sentry over the launch. He is to stand at the water’s edge
and wave his handkerchief to us when they start. We shall
be lying off in the stream, and it will be a strange thing if
we do not take men, treasure and all.’
‘You have planned it all very neatly, whether they are
 THE END OF THE ISLANDER 103

the right men or not,’ said Jones; ‘but if the affair were in
my hands I should have had a body of police in Jacobson’s
Yard, and arrested them when they came down.’
“Which would have been never. This man Small is a
pretty shrewd fellow. He would send a scout on ahead, and
if anything made him suspicious he would lie snug for
another week.’
“But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith, and so
been led to their hiding-place,’ said I.
“In that case I should have wasted my day. I think that
it is a hundred to one against Smith knowing where they
live. As long as he has liquor and good pay, why should he
ask questions? They send him messages what to do. No,
I thought over every possible course, and this is the best.’
While this conversation had been proceeding, we had
been shooting the long series of bridges which span the
Thames. As we passed the City, the last rays of the sun
were gilding the cross upon the summit of St Paul’s. It was
twilight before we reached the Tower.
“That is Jacobson’s Yard,’ said Holmes, pointing to a
bristle of masts and rigging on the Surrey side. “Cruise
gently up and down here under cover of this string of
lighters.’ He took a pair of night-glasses from his pocket
and gazed some time at the shore. ‘I see my sentry at his
- post,’ he remarked, ‘but no sign of a handkerchief.’
‘Suppose we go down stream a short way and lie in wait
for them,’ said Jones, eagerly.
We were all eager by this time, even the policemen and
stokers, who had a very vague idea of what was going
forward.
‘We have no right to take anything for granted,’ Holmes
answered. ‘It is certainly ten to one that they go down
stream, but we cannot be certain. From this point we can
see the entrance of the yard, and they can hardly see us.
It will be a clear night and plenty of light. We must stay
104 THE SIGN OF FOUR

where we are. See how the folk swarm over yonder in the
gaslight.’
“They are coming from work in the yard.’
‘Dirty-looking rascals, but I suppose every one has some
little immortal spark concealed about him. You would not
think it, to look at them. There is no a priori probability
about it. A strange enigma is man!’
‘Someone calls him a soul concealed in an animal,’ I
suggested.
‘Winwood Reade is good upon the subject,’ said
Holmes. ‘He remarks that, while the individual man is an
insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate he becomes a mathe-
matical certainty. You can, for example, never foretell
what any one man will do, but you can say with precision
what an average number will be up to. Individuals vary,
but percentages remain constant. So says the statistician.
But do I see a handkerchief? Surely there is a white flutter
over yonder.’
“Yes, it is your boy,’ I cried. ‘I can see him plainly.’
‘And there is the Aurora,’ exclaimed Holmes, ‘and going
like the devil! Full speed ahead, engineer. Make after that _
launch with the yellow light. By Heaven, I shall never —
forgive myself if she proves to have the heels of us!’
She had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance and
passed behind two or three small craft, so that she had
fairly got her speed up before we saw her. Now she was
flying down the stream, near in to the shore, going at a
tremendous rate. Jones looked gravely at her and shook his
head.
‘She is very fast,’ he said. ‘I doubt if we shall catch her.’
“We must catch her!’ cried Holmes, between his teeth.
‘Heap it on, stokers! Make her do all she can! If we burn
the boat we must have them!’
We were fairly after her now. The furnaces roared, and
the powerful engines whizzed and clanked, like a great
 THE END OF THE ISLANDER 105

metallic heart. Her sharp, steel prow cut through the still
river-water and sent two rolling waves to right and to left
of us. With every throb of the engines we sprang and
quivered like a living thing. One great yellow lantern in
our bows threw a long, flickering funnel of light in front of
us. Right ahead a dark blur upon the water showed where
the Aurora lay, and the swirl of white foam behind her
spoke of the pace at which she was going. We flashed past
barges, steamers, merchant-vessels, in and out, behind this
one and round the other. Voices hailed us out of the dark-
ness, but still the Aurora thundered on, and still we
followed close upon her track.
‘Pile it on, men, pile it on!’ cried Holmes, looking down
into the engine-room, while the fierce glow from below
beat upon his eager, aquiline face. ‘Get every pound of
steam you can.”
‘I think we gain a little,’ said Jones, with his eyes on the
Aurora.
‘Iam sure of it,’ said I. “We shall be up with her in a very
few minutes.’
At that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it,
a tug with three barges in tow blundered in between us.
It was only by putting our helm hard down that we
avoided a collision, and before we could round them and
recover our way the Aurora had gained a good two hun-
dred yards. She was still, however, well in view, and the
murky, uncertain twilight was settling into a clear, starlit
night. Our boilers were strained to their utmost, and the
frail shell vibrated and creaked with the fierce energy
which was driving us along. We had shot through the
Pool, past the West India Docks, down the long Deptford
Reach, and up again after rounding the Isle of Dogs. The
dull blur in front of us resolved itself now clearly enough
into the dainty Aurora. Jones turned our search-light
upon her, so that we could plainly see the figures upon her
106 THE SIGN OF FOUR
deck. One man sat by the stern, with something black ©
between his knees, over which he stooped. Beside him lay
a dark mass, which looked like a Newfoundland dog. The
boy held the tiller, while against the red glare of the
furnace I could see old Smith, stripped to the waist, and
shovelling coals for dear life. They may have had some —
doubt at first as to whether we were really pursuing them,
but now as we followed every winding and turning which
they took there could no longer be any question about it.
At Greenwich we were about three hundred paces behind
them. At Blackwall we could not have been more than
two hundred and fifty. I have coursed many creatures in
many countries during my chequered career, but never
did sport give me such a wild thrill as this mad, flying
man-hunt down the Thames. Steadily we drew in upon
them, yard by yard. In the silence of the night we could
hear the panting and clanking of their machinery. The
man in the stern still crouched upon the deck, and his
arms were moving as though he were busy, while every
now and then he would look up and measure with a glance
the distance which still separated us. Nearer we came and
nearer. Jones yelled to them to stop. We were not more ~
than four boats’ lengths behind them, both boats flying at
a tremendous pace. It was a clear reach of the river, with
Barking Level upon one side and the melancholy Plum-
stead Marshes upon the other. At our hail the man in the
stern sprang up from the deck and shook his two clenched
fists at us, cursing the while in a high, cracked voice. He —
was a good-sized, powerful man, and as he stood poising —
himself with legs astride, I could see that, from the thigh
downwards, there was but a wooden stump upon the right
side. At the sound of his strident, angry cries, there was
a movement in the huddled bundle upon the deck. It
straightened itself into a little black man—the smallest I
have ever seen—with a great, misshapen head and a shock
 THE END OF THE ISLANDER 107

of tangled, dishevelled hair. Holmes had already drawn

his revolver, and I whipped out mine at the sight of this
savage, distorted creature. He was wrapped in some sort of
a dark ulster or blanket, which left only his face exposed;
but that face was enough to give a man a sleepless night.
Never have I seen features so deeply marked with all
bestiality and cruelty. His small eyes glowed and burned
with a sombre light, and his thick lips were writhed back
from his teeth, which grinned and chattered at us with
half-animal fury.
‘Fire if he raises his hand,’ said Holmes, quietly.
We were within a boat’s-length by this time, and almost
within touch of our quarry. I can see the two of them now
as they stood: the white man with his legs far apart, shriek-
ing out curses, and the unhallowed dwarf with his hideous
face, and his strong, yellow teeth gnashing at us in the light
of our lantern.
It was well that we had so clear a view of him. Even as
we looked he plucked out from under his covering a short,
round piece of wood, like a school-ruler, and clapped it to
his lips. Our pistols rang out together. He whirled round,
threw up his arms, and, with a kind of choking cough, fell
sideways into the stream. I caught one glimpse of his
venomous, menacing eyes amid the white swirl of the
waters. At the same moment the wooden-legged man
threw himself upon the rudder and put it hard down, so
that his boat made straight in for the southern bank, while
we shot past her stern, only clearing her by a few feet. We
were round after her in an instant, but she was already
nearly at the bank. It was a wild and desolate place, where
the moon glimmered upon a wide expanse of marshland,
with pools of stagnant water and beds of decaying vegeta-
tion. The launch, with a dull thud, ran up upon the mud-
bank, with her bow in the air and her stern flush with the
water. The fugitive sprang out, but his stump instantly
108 THE SIGN OF FOUR
sank its whole length into the sodden soil. In vain he
struggled and writhed. Not one step could he possibly take
either forwards or backwards. He yelled in impotent rage,
and kicked frantically into the mud with his other foot;
but his struggles only bored his wooden pin the deeper
into the sticky bank. When we brought our launch along-
side he was so firmly anchored that it was only by throwing
the end of a rope over his shoulders that we were able to
haul him out, and to drag him, like some evil fish, over our
side. The two Smiths, father and son, sat sullenly in their
launch, but came aboard meekly enough when com-
manded. The Aurora herself we hauled off and made fast
to our stern. A solid iron chest of Indian workmanship
stood upon the deck. This, there could be no question,
was the same that had contained the ill-omened treasure
of the Sholtos. There was no key, but it was of considerable
weight, so we transferred it carefully to our own little
cabin. As we steamed slowly up-stream again, we flashed
our searchlight in every direction, but there was no sign
of the Islander. Somewhere in the dark ooze at the bottom
of the Thames lie the bones of that strange visitor to our
shores.
‘See here,’ said Holmes, pointing to the wooden hatch-.
way. ‘We were hardly quick enough with our pistols.’
There, sure enough, just behind where we had been stand-
ing, stuck one of those murderous darts which we knew so
well. It must have whizzed between us at the instant we
fired. Holmes smiled at it and shrugged his shoulders in
his easy fashion, but I confess it turned me sick to think of
the horrible death which had passed so close to us that
night.
 XI

THE GREAT AGRA TREASURE

Our captive sat in the cabin opposite to the iron box which
he had done so much and waited so long to gain. He was a
sunburned, reckless-eyed fellow, with a network of lines
and wrinkles all over his mahogany features, which told
of a hard, open-air life. There was a singular prominence
about his bearded chin which marked a man who was not
to be easily turned from his purpose. His age may have
been fifty or thereabouts, for his black, curly hair was
thickly shot with grey. His face in repose was not an
unpleasing one, though his heavy brows and aggressive
chin gave him, as I had lately seen, a terrible expression
when moved to anger. He sat now with his handcuffed
hands upon his lap, and his head sunk upon his breast,
while he looked with his keen, twinkling eyes at the box
which had been the cause of his ill-doings. It seemed to me
that there was more sorrow than anger in his rigid and
contained countenance. Once he looked up at me with a
gleam of something like humour in his eyes.
“Well, Jonathan Small,’ said Holmes, lighting a cigar,
*I am sorry that it has come to this.’
‘And so am I, sir,’ he answered frankly. ‘I don’t believe
that I can swing over the job. I give you my word on the
Book that I never raised hand against Mr Sholto. It was
that little hell-hound Tonga who shot one of his cursed
darts into him. I had no part in it, sir, I was as grieved as
if it had been my blood-relation. I welted the little devil
with the slack end of the rope for it, but it was done, and
I could not undo it again.’
“Have a cigar,’ said Holmes; ‘and you had best take a
pull out of my flask, for you are very wet. How could you
109
TIO THE SIGN OF FOUR
expect so small and weak a man as this black fellow to
overpower Mr Sholto and hold him while you were climb-
ing the rope?’
“You seem to know as much about it as if you were there,
sir. The truth is that I hoped to find the room clear. I knew
the habits of the house pretty well, and it was the time
when Mr Sholto usually went down to his supper. I shall
make no secret of the business. The best defence that I can
make is just the simple truth. Now, if it had been the old
major I would have swung for him with a light heart.
I would have thought no more of knifing him than of
smoking this cigar. But it’s cursed hard that I should be
lagged over this young Sholto, with whom I had no quarrel
whatever.’
“You are under the charge of Mr Athelney Jones, of Scot-
land Yard. He is going to bring you up to my rooms, and
I shall ask you for a true account of the matter. You must
make a clean breast of it, for if you do I hope that I may be
of use to you. I think I can prove that the poison acts so
quickly that the man was dead before ever you reached the
room.’
“That he was, sir. I never got such a turn in my life as
when I saw him grinning at me with his head on his
shoulder as I climbed through the window. It fairly shook
me, sir. I’d have half killed Tonga for it if he had not
scrambled off. That was how he came to leave his club,
and some of his darts too, as he tells me, which I dare say
helped to put you on our track; though how you kept on it
is more than I can tell. I don’t feel no malice against you
for it. But it does seem a queer thing,’ he added, with a
bitter smile, ‘that I, who have a fair claim to half a million
of money, should spend the first half of my life building a
breakwater in the Andamans, and am like to spend the
other half digging drains at Dartmoor. It was an evil
day for me when first I clapped eyes upon the merchant
 THE GREAT AGRA TREASURE ELL

Achmet and had to do with the Agra treasure, which never

brought anything but a curse yet upon the man who owned
it. To him it brought murder, to Major Sholto it brought
fear and guilt, to me it has meant slavery for life.’
At this moment Athelney Jones thrust his face and
shoulders into the tiny cabin.
“Quite a family party,’ he remarked. ‘I think I shall
have a pull at that flask, Holmes. Well, I think we may
congratulate each other. Pity we didn’t take the other
alive; but there was no choice. I say, Holmes, you must
confess that you cut it rather fine. It was all we could do
to overhaul her.’
“All is well that ends well,’ said Holmes. ‘But I certainly
did not know that the Aurora was such a clipper.’
‘Smith says she is one of the fastest launches on the
river, and that if he had had another man to help him with
the engines we should never have caught her. He swears he
knew nothing of this Norwood business.’
‘Neither he did,’ cried our prisoner—‘not a word. I
chose his launch because I heard that she was a flier. We
told him nothing; but we paid him well, and he was to
get something handsome if we reached our vessel, the
Esmeralda, at Gravesend, outward bound for the Brazils.’
“Well, if he has done no wrong we shall see that no
wrong comes to him. If we are pretty quick in catching our
men, we are not so quick in condemning them.’ It was
amusing to notice how the consequential Jones was
already beginning to give himself airs on the strength of
the capture. From the slight smile which played over
Sherlock Holmes’s face, I could see that the speech had
not been lost upon him.
“We will be at Vauxhall Bridge presently,’ said Jones,
‘and shall land you, Dr Watson, with the treasure-box.
Ineed hardly tell you that I am taking a very grave respon-
sibility upon myself in doing this. It is most irregular; but
112 THE SIGN OF FOUR
of course an agreement is an agreement. I must, however,
as a matter of duty, send an inspector with you, since you
have so valuable a charge. You will drive, no doubt?’
“Yes, I shall drive.’
‘It is a pity there is no key, that we may make an inven-
tory first. You will have to break it open. Where is the key,
my man?’
‘At the bottom of the river,’ said Small shortly.
‘Hum! There was no use your giving this unnecessary
trouble. We have had work enough already through you.
However, doctor, I need not warn you to be careful. Bring
the box back with you to the Baker Street rooms. You will
find us there, on our way to the station.’
They landed me at Vauxhall, with my heavy iron box,
and with a bluff, genial inspector as my companion. A
quarter of an hour’s drive brought us to Mrs Cecil Forres-
ter’s. The servant seemed surprised at so late a visitor. Mrs
Cecil Forrester was out for the evening, she explained, and
likely to be very late. Miss Morstan, however, was in the
drawing-room; so to the drawing-room I went, box in
hand, leaving the obliging inspector in the cab.
She was seated by the open window, dressed in some sort
of white, diaphanous material, with a little touch of scarlet
at the neck and waist. The soft light of a shaded lamp fell
upon her as she leaned back in the basket chair, playing
over her sweet grave face, and tinting with a dull, metallic
sparkle the rich coils of her luxuriant hair. One white arm
and hand drooped over the side of the chair, and her whole
pose and figure spoke of an absorbing melancholy. At the
sound of my footfall she sprang to her feet, however, and
a bright flush of surprise and of pleasure coloured her pale
cheeks.
‘I heard a cab drive up,’ she said. “I thought that Mrs
Forrester had come back very early, but I never dreamed
that it might be you. What news have you brought me?’
 THE GREAT AGRA TREASURE 113

‘I have brought something better than news,’ said I,

putting down the box upon the table and speaking jovially
and boisterously, though my heart was heavy within me.
‘I have brought you something which is worth all the news
in the world. I have brought you a fortune.’
She glanced at the iron box.
‘Is that the treasure, then?’ she asked, coolly enough.
"Yes, this is the great Agra treasure. Half of it is yours
and half is Thaddeus Sholto’s. You will have a couple of
hundred thousand each. Think of that! There will be few
richer young ladies in England. Is it not glorious?”
I think that I must have been rather over-acting my
delight, and that she detected a hollow ring in my con-
gratulations, for I saw her eyebrows rise a little, and she
glanced at me curiously.
‘If I have it,’ said she, ‘I owe it to you.’
“No, no,’ I answered, ‘not to me, but to my friend Sher-
lock Holmes. With all the will in the world, I could never
have followed up a clue which has taxed even his analytical
genius. As it was, we very nearly lost it at the last moment.’
‘Pray sit down and tell me all about it, Dr Watson,’ said
she.
I narrated briefly what had occurred since I had seen
her last. Holmes’s new method of search, the discovery of
the Aurora, the appearance of Athelney Jones, our ex-
pedition in the evening, and the wild chase down the
Thames. She listened with parted lips and shining eyes to
my recital of our adventures. When I spoke of the dart
which had so narrowly missed us, she turned so white that
I feared that she was about to faint.
‘It is nothing,’ she said, as I hastened to pour her out
some water. ‘I am all right again. It was a shock to me to
hear that I had placed my friends in such horrible peril.’
*That is all over,’ I answered. ‘It was nothing. I will tell
you no more gloomy details. Let us turn to something
114 THE SIGN OF FOUR

brighter. There is the treasure. What could be brighter

than that? I got leave to bring it with me, thinking that it
would interest you to be the first to see it.’
‘It would be of the greatest interest to me,’ she said.
There was no eagerness in her voice, however. It had
struck her, doubtless, that it might seem ungracious upon
her part to be indifferent to a prize which had cost so much
to win.
“What a pretty box!’ she said, stooping over it. “This is
Indian work, I suppose?’
“Yes; it is Benares metal work.’
‘And so heavy!’ she exclaimed, trying to raise it. “The
box alone must be of some value. Where is the key?’
‘Small threw it into the ‘Thames,’ I answered. ‘I must
borrow Mrs Forrester’s poker.’
There was in the front a thick and broad hasp, wrought
in the image of a sitting Buddha. Under this I thrust the
end of the poker and twisted it outward as a lever. The
hasp sprang open with a loud snap. With trembling fingers
I flung back the lid. We both stood gazing in astonishment.
The box was empty!
No wonder it was heavy. The ironwork was two-thirds
of an inch thick all round. It was massive, well-made, and |
solid, like a chest constructed to carry things of great
price, but not one shred or crumb of metal or jewellery lay
within it. It was absolutely and completely empty.
“The treasure is lost,’ said Miss Morstan, calmly.
As I listened to the words and realised what they meant,
a great shadow seemed to pass from my soul. I did not
know how this Agra treasure had weighed me down, until
now that it was finally removed. It was selfish, no doubt,
disloyal, wrong, but I could realise nothing save that the
golden barrier was gone from between us.
“Thank God!’ I ejaculated from my very heart.
She looked at me with a quick, questioning smile.
 THE GREAT AGRA TREASURE 115
“Why do you say that?’ she asked.
‘Because you are within my reach again,’ I said, taking
her hand. She did not withdraw it. ‘Because I love you,
Mary, as truly as ever a man loved a woman. Because this
treasure, these riches, sealed my lips. Now that they are
gone I can tell you how I love you. That is why I said,
“Thank God.”’
‘Then I say “Thank God,” too,’ she whispered, as I
drew her to my side.
Whoever had lost a treasure, I knew that night that I
had gained one.
 XII

THE STRANGE STORY OF

JONATHAN SMALL

A very patient man was that inspector in the cab, for it was
a weary time before I rejoined him. His face clouded over
when I showed him the empty box.
“There goes the reward!’ said he, gloomily. “Where there
is no money there is no pay. This night’s work would have
been worth a tenner each to Sam Brown and me if the
treasure had been there.’
‘Mr Thaddeus Sholto is a rich man,’ I said; ‘he will see
that you are rewarded, treasure or no.’
The inspector shook his head despondently, however.
‘It’s a bad job,’ he repeated; ‘and so Mr Athelney Jones
will think.’
His forecast proved to be correct, for the detective
looked blank enough when I got to Baker Street and
showed him the empty box. They had only just arrived,
Holmes, the prisoner, and he, for they had changed their
plans so far as to report themselves at a station upon the —
way. My companion lounged in his arm-chair with his
usual listless expression, while Small sat stolidly opposite
to him with his wooden leg cocked over his sound one. As
I exhibited the empty box he leaned back in his chair and —
laughed aloud.
“This is your doing, Small,’ said Athelney Jones, angrily.
"Yes, I have put it away where you shall never lay hand
on it,’ he cried, exultantly. ‘It is my treasure, and if I can’t
have the loot I'll take darned good care that no one else.
does. I tell you that no living man has any right to it, unless
it is three men who are in the Andaman convict-barracks
and myself. I know now that I cannot have the use of it,
116
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL II7

and I know that they cannot. I have acted all through for
them as much as for myself. It’s been the sign of four with
us always. Well, I know that they would have had me do
just what I have done, and throw the treasure into the
Thames rather than let it go to kith or kin of Sholto or
Morstan. It was not to make them rich that we did for
Achmet. You'll find the treasure where the key is, and
where little Tonga is. When I saw that your launch must
catch us, I put the loot away in a safe place. There are no
rupees for you this journey.’
“You are deceiving us, Small,’ said Athelney Jones,
‘sternly. ‘If you had wished to throw the treasure into the
Thames, it would have been easier for you to have thrown
box and all.’
‘Easier for me to throw, and easier for you to recover,’
he answered, with a shrewd, side-long look. “The man that
was clever enough to hunt me down is clever enough to
pick an iron box from the bottom of a river. Now that they
are scattered over five miles or so, it may be a harder job.
It went to my heart to do it, though. I was half mad when
you came up with us. However, there’s no good grieving
over it. I’ve had ups in my life, and I’ve had downs, but I’ve
learned not to cry over spilled milk.’
“This is a very serious matter, Small,’ said the detective.
‘If you had helped justice, instead of thwarting it in this
way, you would have had a better chance at your trial.’
*Justicel’ snarled the ex-convict. ‘A pretty justice! Whose
loot is this, if it is not ours? Where is the justice that I
should give it up to those who have never earned it? Look
how I have earned it! Twenty long years in that fever-
ridden swamp, all day at work under the mangrove-tree,
all night chained up in the filthy convict-huts, bitten by
mosquitoes, racked with ague, bullied by every cursed
black-faced policeman who loved to take it out of a white
man. That was how I earned the Agra treasure, and you
118 THE SIGN OF FOUR
talk to me of justice because I cannot bear to feel that I
have paid this price only that another may enjoy it! I
would rather swing a score of times, or have one of Tonga’s
darts in my hide, than live in a convict’s cell and feel that
another man is at his ease in a palace with the money that
should be mine.’
Small had dropped his mask of stoicism, and all this
came out in a wild whirl of words, while his eyes blazed
and the handcuffs clanked together with the impassioned
movement of his hands. I could understand, as I saw the
fury and the passion of the man, that it was no groundless
or unnatural terror which had possessed Major Sholto
when he first learned that the injured convict was upon his
track.
‘You forget that we know nothing of all this,’ said
Holmes, quietly. ‘We have not heard your story, and we
cannot tell how far justice may originally have been on
your side.’
“Well, sir, you have been very fair-spoken to me, though
I can see that I have you to thank that I have these brace-
lets upon my wrists. Still, I bear no grudge for that. It is all
fair and above-board. If you want to hear my story, I have
no wish to hold it back. What I say to you is God’s truth, —
every word of it. Thank you, you can put the glass beside ©
me here, and I'll put my lips to it if Iam dry.
‘Iam a Worcestershire man myself, born near Pershore.
I dare say you would find a heap of Smalls living there
now if you were to look. I have often thought of taking a
look round there, but the truth is that I was never much of —
a credit to the family, and I doubt if they would be so very
glad to see me. They were all steady, chapel-going folk,
small farmers, well-known and respected over the country-
side, while I was always a bit of a rover. At last, however,
when I was about eighteen, I gave them no more trouble,
for I got into a mess over a girl, and could only get out of it
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL 119
by taking the Queen’s shilling and joining the grd Buffs,
which was just starting for India.
‘I wasn’t destined to do much soldiering, however. I had
just got past the goose-step, and learned to handle my
musket, when I was fool enough to go swimming in the
Ganges. Luckily for me, my company sergeant, John
Holder, was in the water at the same time, and he was one
of the finest swimmers in the Service. A crocodile took me,
just as I was half-way across, and nipped off my right leg as
clean as a surgeon could have done it, just above the knee.
What with the shock and the loss of blood, I fainted, and
should have been drowned if Holder had not caught hold
of me and paddled for the bank. I was five months in
hospital over it, and when at last I was able to limp out of
it with this timber toe strapped to my stump, I found
myself invalided out of the army and unfitted for any
active occupation.
‘I was, as you can imagine, pretty down on my luck at
this time, for I was a useless cripple, though not yet in my
twentieth year. However, my misfortune soon proved to
be a blessing in disguise. A man named Abel White, who
had come out there as an indigo-planter, wanted an over-
seer to look after his coolies and keep them up to their
work. He happened to be a friend of our colonel’s, who
had taken an interest in me since the accident. To make a
long story short, the colonel recommended me strongly for
the post, and, as the work was mostly to be done on horse-
back, my leg was no great obstacle, for I had enough knee
left to keep a good grip on the saddle. What I had to do
was to ride over the plantation, to keep an eye on the men
as they worked, and to report the idlers. The pay was fair,
I had comfortable quarters, and altogether I was content
to spend the remainder of my life in indigo-planting. Mr
Abel White was a kind man, and he would often drop into
my little shanty and smoke a pipe with me, for white folk
120 THE SIGN OF FOUR
out there feel their hearts warm to each other as they never
do here at home.
‘Well, I was never in luck’s way long. Suddenly, without
a note of warning, the great mutiny broke upon us. One
month India lay as still and peaceful, to all appearance, as
Surrey or Kent; the next there were two hundred thousand
black devils let loose, and the country was a perfect hell.
Of course you know all about it, gentlemen—a deal more
than I do, very like, since reading is not in my line. I only
know what I saw with my own eyes. Our plantation was at
a place called Muttra, near the border of the North-west —
Provinces. Night after night the whole sky was alight with
the burning bungalows, and day after day we had small
companies of Europeans passing through our estate with
their wives and children, on their way to Agra, where were
the nearest troops. Mr Abel White was an obstinate man.
He had it in his head that the affair had been exaggerated,
and that it would blow over as suddenly as it had sprung
up. There he sat on his veranda, drinking whisky-pegs and
smoking cheroots, while the country was in a blaze about
him. Of course, we stuck by him, I and Dawson, who, with
his wife, used to do the book-work and the managing. |
Well, one fine day the crash came. I had been away on a
distant plantation, and was riding slowly home in the
evening, when my eye fell upon something all huddled
together at the bottom of a steep nullah. I rode down to
see what it was; the cold struck through my heart when —
I found it was Dawson’s wife, all cut into ribbons and
half-eaten by jackals and native dogs. A little farther up
the road Dawson himself was lying on his face, quite dead,
with an empty revolver in his hand, and four Sepoys lying
across each other in front of him. I reined up my horse,
wondering which way I should turn; but at that moment
I saw thick smoke curling up from Abel White’s bungalow,
and the flames beginning to burst through the roof. I knew
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL I2I

then that I could do my employer no good, but would only

throw my own life away if I meddled in the matter. From
where I stood I could see hundreds of the black fiends, with
their red coats still on their backs, dancing and howling
round the burning house. Some of them pointed at me,
and a couple of bullets sang past my head; so I broke away
across the paddy-fields, and found myself late at night safe
within the walls at Agra.
“As it proved, however, there was no great safety here,
either. The whole country was up like a swarm of bees.
Wherever the English could collect in little bands, they
held just the ground that their guns commanded. Every-
where else they were helpless fugitives. It was a fight of the
millions against the hundreds; and the cruellest part of it
was that these men that we fought against, foot, horse, and
gunners, were our own picked troops, whom we had taught
and trained, handling our own weapons and blowing our
own bugle-calls. At Agra there were the 3rd Bengal
Fusiliers, some Sikhs, two troops of horse, and a battery of
artillery. A volunteer corps of clerks and merchants had
been formed, and this I joined, wooden leg and all. We
went out to meet the rebels at Shahgunge early in July, and
we beat them back for a time, but our powder gave out,
and we had to fall back upon the city.
‘Nothing but the worst news came to us from every side
—which is not to be wondered at, for if you look at the
map you will see that we were right in the heart of it.
Lucknow is rather better than a hundred miles to the east,
and Cawnpore about as far to the south. From every point
on the compass there was nothing but torture and murder
and outrage.
‘The city of Agra is a great place, swarming with fanatics
and fierce devil worshippers of all sorts. Our handful of
men were lost among the narrow, winding streets. Our
leader moved across the river, therefore, and took up his
F
122 THE SIGN OF FOUR
position in the old fort of Agra. I don’t know if any of you
gentlemen have ever read or heard anything of that old
fort. It is a very queer place—the queerest that ever I was
in, and I have been in some rum corners too. First of all,
it is enormous in size. I should think that the inclosure
must be acres and acres. There is a modern part, which
took all our garrison, women, children, stores, and every-
thing else, with plenty of room over. But the modern part
is nothing like the size of the old quarter, where nobody
goes, and which is given over to the scorpions and
the centipedes. It is all full of great, deserted halls, and
winding passages, and long corridors twisting in and out,
so that it is easy enough for folk to get lost in it. For
this reason it was seldom that anyone went into it,
though now and again a party with torches might go
exploring.
“The river washes along the front of the old fort, and so
protects it, but on the sides and behind there are many
doors, and these had to be guarded, of course, in the old
quarter as well as in that which was actually held by our
troops. We were short-handed, with hardly men enough to
man the angles of the building and to serve the guns. It.
was impossible for us, therefore, to station a strong guard —
at every one of the innumerable gates. What we did was to
organise a central guard-house in the middle of the fort,
and to leave each gate under the charge of one white man
and two or three natives. I was selected to take charge
during certain hours of the night of a small isolated
door upon the south-west side of the building. Two Sikh
troopers were placed under my command, and I was in-
structed if anything went wrong to fire my musket, when.
I might rely upon help coming at once from the central.
guard. As the guard was a good two hundred paces away, —
however, and as the space between was cut up into a laby-
rinth of passages and corridors, I had great doubts as to”
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL 123
whether they could arrive in time to be of any use in case
of an actual attack.
“Well, I was pretty proud at having this small command
given me, since I was a raw recruit, and a game-legged one
at that. For two nights I kept the watch with my Pun-
jaubees. They were tall, fierce-looking chaps, Mahomet
Singh and Abdullah Khan by name, both old fighting-
men, who had borne arms against us at Chillian Wallah.
They could talk English pretty well, but I could get little
out of them. They preferred to stand together and jabber
all night in their queer Sikh lingo. For myself, I used to
stand outside the gateway, looking down on the broad,
winding river and on the twinkling lights of the great city.
The beating of drums, the rattle of tom-toms, and the yells
and howls of the rebels, drunk with opium and with bang,
were enough to remind us all night of our dangerous
neighbours across the stream. Every two hours the officer of
the night used to come round to all the posts, to make sure
that all was well.
“The third night of my watch was dark and dirty, with
a small, driving rain. It was dreary work standing in the
gateway hour after hour in such weather. I tried again and
again to make my Sikhs talk, but without much success. At
two in the morning the rounds passed, and broke for a
moment the weariness of the night. Finding that my com-
panions would not be led into conversation, I took out my
pipe, and laid down my musket to strike a match, In an
instant the two Sikhs were upon me. One of them snatched
my firelock up and levelled it at my head, while the other
held a great knife to my throat and swore between his teeth
that he would plunge it into me if I moved a step.
‘My first thought was that these fellows were in league
with the rebels, and that this was the beginning of an
assault. If our door were in the hands of the Sepoys the
place must fall, and the women and children be treated as
124 THE SIGN OF FOUR
they were in Cawnpore. Maybe you gentlemen think that
I am just making out a case for myself, but I give you my
word that when I thought of that, though I felt the point
of the knife at my throat, I opened my mouth with the
intention of giving a scream, if it was my last one, which
might alarm the main guard. The man who held me
seemed to know my thoughts; for, even as I braced myself
to it, he whispered: “Don’t make a noise. The fort is safe
enough. There are no rebel dogs on this side of the river.”
There was the ring of truth in what he said, and I knew
that if I raised my voice I was a dead man. I could read it
in the fellow’s brown eyes. I waited, therefore, in silence,
to see what it was that they wanted from me.
‘“Tisten to me, Sahib,” said the taller and fiercer of the
pair, the one whom they called Abdullah Khan. “You
must either be with us now, or you must be silenced for
ever. The thing is too great a one for us to hesitate. Either
you are heart and soul with us on your oath on the cross of
the Christians, or your body this night shall be thrown —
into the ditch, and we shall pass over to our brothers in
the rebel army. There is no middle way. Which is it to be
—death or life? We can only give you three minutes to
decide, for the time is passing, and all must be done before _
the rounds come again.”
‘“How can I decide?” said I. “You have not told me
what you want of me. But I tell you now that if it is —
anything against the safety of the fort I will have no
truck with it, so you can drive home your knife, and wel- —
come.”
““It is nothing against the fort,” said he. ““We only ask —
you to do that which your countrymen come to this land —
for. We ask you to be rich. If you will be one of us this ~
night, we will swear to you upon the naked knife, and by —
the threefold oath, which no Sikh was ever known to —
break, that you shall have your fair share of the loot. A —
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL 125
quarter of the treasure shall be yours. We can say no
fairer.”
*“But what is the treasure, then?” I asked. “I am as ready
to be rich as you can be, if you will but show me how it can
be done.”
““You will swear, then,” said he, “by the bones of your
father, by the honour of your mother, by the cross of your
faith, to raise no hand and speak no word against us, either
now or afterwards?”
*“T will swear it,” I answered, “provided that the fort is
not endangered.”
*“Then, my comrade and I will swear that you shall
have a quarter of the treasure, which shall be equally
divided among the four of us.”
““There are but three,” said I.
““No; Dost Akbar must have his share. We can tell the
tale to you while we await them. Do you stand at the gate,
Mahomet Singh, and give notice of their coming. The
thing stands thus, Sahib, and I tell it to you because I know
that an oath is binding upon a Feringhee, and that we may
trust you. Had you been a lying Hindoo, though you had
sworn by all the gods in their false temples, your blood
would have been upon the knife and your body in the
water. But the Sikh knows the Englishman, and the Eng-
lishman knows the Sikh. Hearken, then, to what I have to
Say.
*““There is a rajah in the northern provinces who has
much wealth, though his lands are small. Much has come
to him from his father, and more still he has set by himself,
for he is of a low nature, and hoards his gold rather than
spend it. When the troubles broke out he would be friends
both with the lion and the tiger—with the Sepoy and with
the Company’s Raj. Soon, however, it seemed to him that
the white men’s day was come, for through all the land
he could hear of nothing but of their death and their
126 THE SIGN OF FOUR
overthrow. Yet, being a careful man, he made such plans
that, come what might, half at least of his treasure should
be left to him. That which was in gold and silver he kept by
him in the vaults of his palace; but the most precious
stones and the choicest pearls that he had he put in an iron
box, and sent it by a trusty servant, who, under the guise
of a merchant, should take it to the fort at Agra, there to
lie until the land is at peace. Thus, if the rebels won he
would have his money; but if the Company conquered, his
jewels would be saved to him. Having thus divided his
hoard, he threw himself into the cause of the Sepoys, since
they were strong upon his borders. By his doing this, mark
you, Sahib, his property becomes the due of those who
have been true to their salt.
‘““This pretended merchant, who travels under the
name of Achmet, is now in the city of Agra, and desires to
gain his way into the fort. He has with him as travelling
companion my foster-brother, Dost Akbar, who knows his
secret. Dost Akbar has promised this night to lead him to
a side-postern of the fort, and has chosen this one for his
purpose. Here he will come presently, and here he will
find Mahomet Singh and myself awaiting him. The place
is lonely, and none shall know of his coming. The world |
shall know of the merchant, Achmet, no more, but the
great treasure of the rajah shall be divided among us.
What say you to it, Sahib?”
‘In Worcestershire the life of a man seems a great and
sacred thing; but it is very different when there is fire and —
blood all round you, and you have been used to meeting
death at every turn. Whether Achmet the merchant lived
or died was a thing as light as air to me, but at the talk
about the treasure my heart turned to it, and I thought of -
what I might do in the old country with it, and how my
folk would stare when they saw their ne’er-do-weel coming |
back with his pockets full of gold moidores. I had, there-—
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL [127

fore, already made up my mind. Abdullah Khan, however,

thinking that I hesitated, pressed the matter more closely.
* “Consider, Sahib,” said he, “that if this man is taken by
the commandant he will be hung or shot, and his jewels
taken by the Government, so that no man will be a rupee
the better for them. Now, since we do the taking of him,
why should we not do the rest as well? The jewels will be as
well with us as in the Company’s coffers. There will be
enough to make every one of us rich men and great chiefs.
No one can know about the matter, for here we are cut off
from all men. What could be better for the purpose? Say
again, Sahib, whether you are with us, or we must look
upon you as an enemy.”
*“T am with you heart and soul,” said I.
*“Tt is well,” he answered, handing me back my firelock.
“You see that we trust you, for your word, like ours, is not
to be broken. We have now only to wait for my brother
and the merchant.”
“*Does your brother know, then, of what you will do?”
Tasked.
‘“The plan is his. He has devised it. We will go to the
gate and share the watch with Mahomet Singh.”
‘The rain was still falling steadily, for it was just the
beginning of the wet season. Brown, heavy clouds were
drifting across the sky, and it was hard to see more than
‘a stone-cast. A deep moat lay in front of our door, but the
water was in places nearly dried up, and it could easily be
‘crossed. It was strange to me to be standing there with
those two wild Punjaubees waiting for the man who was
coming to his death.
‘Suddenly my eye caught the glint of a shaded lantern at
the other side of the moat. It vanished among the mound-
heaps, and then appeared again coming slowly in our
direction.
‘Here they are!” I exclaimed.
128 THE SIGN OF FOUR
‘“You will challenge him, Sahib, as usual,” whispered |
Abdullah. “Give him no cause for fear. Send us in with |
him, and we shall do the rest while you stay here on guard. |
Have the lantern ready to uncover, that we may be sure
that it is indeed the man.’ |
*The light had flickered onwards, now stopping and now
advancing, until I could see two dark figures upon the |
other side of the moat. I let them scramble down the
sloping bank, splash through the mire, and climb “oe
up to the gate, before I challenged them.
‘ “Who goes there?” said I, in a subdued voice.
‘ “Friends,” came the answer. I uncovered my lantern
and threw a flood of light upon them. The first was an
enormous Sikh, with a black beard which swept nearly
down to his cummerbund. Outside of a show I have never
seen so tall a man. The other was a little, fat, round fellow,
with a great yellow turban, and a bundle in his hand, done
up in a shawl. He seemed to be all in a quiver with fear, for
his hands twitched as if he had the ague, and his head kept
turning to left and right with two bright little twinkling
eyes, like a mouse when he ventures out from his hole. It
gave me chills to think of killing him, but I thought of the
treasure, and my heart set as hard as a flint within me.
When he saw my white face he gave a little chirrup of joy,
and came running up towards me.
*“Your protection, Sahib,” he panted; “your protection
for the unhappy merchant Achmet. I have travelled across”
Rajpootana that I might seek the shelter of the fort at
Agra. I have been robbed and beaten and abused because
I have been the friend of the Company. It is a blessed night
this jeaicr I am once more in safety—I and ss poor posses-
sions.’
‘What have you in the bundle?” I asked.
**“An iron box,” he answered, “which contains one or
two little family matters which are of no value to others,
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL 129

but which I should be sorry to lose. Yet I am not a beggar;

and I shall reward you, young Sahib, and your governor
also, if he will give me the shelter I ask.”
‘I could not trust myself to speak longer with the man.
The more I looked at his fat, frightened face, the harder
did it seem that we should slay him in cold blood. It was
best to get it over.
*“Take him to the main guard,” said I. The two Sikhs
closed in upon him on each side, and the giant walked
behind, while they marched in through the dark gate-
way. Never was a man so compassed round with death. I
remained at the gateway with the lantern.
‘I could hear the measured tramp of their footsteps
sounding through the lonely corridors. Suddenly it ceased,
and I heard voices, and a scuffle, with the sound of blows.
A moment later there came, to my horror, a rush of foot-
steps coming in my direction, with a loud breathing of a
running man. I turned my lantern down the long, straight
passage, and there was the fat man, running like the wind,
with a smear of blood across his face, and close at his heels,
bounding like a tiger, the great, black-bearded Sikh, with
a knife flashing in his hand. I have never seen a man run
so fast as that little merchant. He was gaining on the Sikh,
and I could see that if he once passed me and got to the
open air he would save himself yet. My heart softened to
him, but again the thought of his treasure turned me hard
and bitter. I cast my firelock between his legs as he raced
past, and he rolled twice over like a shot rabbit. Ere he
could stagger to his feet the Sikh was upon him, and buried
his knife twice in his side. The man never uttered moan
nor moved muscle, but lay where he had fallen. I think
myself that he may have broken his neck with the fall. You
see, gentlemen, that I am keeping my promise. I am telling
you every word of the business just exactly as it happened,
whether it is in my favour or not.’
130 THE SIGN OF FOUR

He stopped, and held out his manacled hands for the |

whisky-and-water which Holmes had brewed for him. For |
myself, I confess that I had now conceived the utmost |
horror of the man, not only for this cold-blooded business |
in which he had been concerned, but even more for the |
somewhat flippant and careless way in which he narrated |
it. Whatever punishment was in store for him, I felt that |
he might expect no sympathy from me. Sherlock Holmes :
and Jones sat with their hands upon their knees, deeply —
interested in the story, but with the same disgust written —
upon their faces. He may have observed it, for there was a —
touch of defiance in his voice and manner as he proceeded.
‘It was all very bad, no doubt,’ said he. ‘I should like
to know how many fellows in my shoes would have refused
a share in this loot when they knew that they would have
their throats cut for their pains. Besides, it was my life or
his when once he was in the fort. If he had got out, the -
whole business would come to light, and I should have
been court-martialled and shot as likely as not; for people —
were not very lenient at a time like that.’
‘Go on with your story,’ said Holmes, shortly.
‘Well, we carried him in, Abdullah, Akbar, and I. A fine -
weight he was, too, for all that he was so short. Mahomet
Singh was left to guard the door. We took him to a place
which the Sikhs had already prepared. It was some dis-
tance off, where a winding passage leads to a great empty
hall, the brick walls of which were all crumbling to pieces.
The earth floor had sunk in at one place, making a natural
grave, so we left Achmet the merchant there, having first
covered him over with loose bricks. ‘This done, we all went _
back to the treasure. es
‘It lay where he had dropped it when he was first
attacked. ‘The box was the same which now lies open upon
your table. A key was hung by a silken cord to that carved
handle upon the top. We opened it, and the light of the
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL Ig!

lantern gleamed upon a collection of gems such as I have

read and thought about when I was a little lad at Pershore.
It was blinding to look upon them. When we had feasted
our eyes we took them all out and made a list of them.
There were one hundred and forty-three diamonds of the
first water, including one which has been called, I believe,
“the Great Mogul”, and is said to be the second largest
stone in existence. Then there were ninety-seven very fine
emeralds, and one hundred and seventy rubies, some of
which, however, were small. There were forty carbuncles,
two hundred and ten sapphires, sixty-one agates, and a
great quantity of beryls, onyxes, cats’-eyes, turquoises, and
other stones, the very names of which I did not know at the
time, though I have become more familiar with them
since. Besides this, there were nearly three hundred very
fine pearls, twelve of which were set in a gold coronet. By
the way, these last had been taken out of the chest, and
were not there when I recovered it.
“After we had counted our treasures we put them back
into the chest and carried them to the gateway to show
them to Mahomet Singh. Then we solemnly renewed our
oath to stand by each other and be true to our secret. We
agreed to conceal our loot in a safe place until the country
should be at peace again, and then to divide it equally
among ourselves. There was no use dividing it at present,
for if gems of such value were found upon us it would
cause suspicion, and there was no privacy in the fort nor
any place where we could keep them. We carried the box,
therefore, into the same hall where we had buried the
body, and there, under certain bricks in the best-preserved
wall, we made a hollow and put our treasure. We made
careful note of the place, and next day I drew four plans,
one for each of us, and put the sign of the four of us at
the bottom, for we had sworn that we should each always
act for all, so that none might take advantage. That is an
132 THE SIGN OF FOUR
oath that I can put my hand to my heart and swear that I
have never broken.
‘Well, there’s no use my telling you gentlemen what
came of the Indian Mutiny. After Wilson took Delhi and
Sir Colin relieved Lucknow the back of the business was
broken. Fresh troops came pouring in, and Nana Sahib
made himself scarce over the frontier. A flying column
under Colonel Greathed came round to Agra and cleared
the Pandies away from it. Peace seemed to be settling upon
the country, and we four were beginning to hope that the
time was at hand when we might safely go off with our
share of the plunder. In a moment, however, our hopes were
shattered byour being arrested asthe murderers of Achmet.
‘It came about in this way. When the rajah put his jewels
into the hands of Achmet, he did it because he knew that
he was a trusty man. They are suspicious folk in the East,
however; so what does this rajah do but take a second even
more trusty servant and set him to play the spy upon the
first? The second man was ordered never to let Achmet out
of his sight, and he followed him like his shadow. He went
after him that night, and saw him pass through the door-
way. Of course, he thought he had taken refuge in the fort,
and applied for admission there himself next day, but
could find no trace of Achmet. This seemed to him so
strange that he spoke about it to a sergeant of guides, who
brought it to the ears of the commandant. A thorough
search was quickly made and the body was discovered.
Thus at the very moment that we thought that all was
safe we were all four seized and brought to trial on a.
charge of murder—three of us because we had held the
gate that night, and the fourth because he was known to
have been in the company of the murdered man. Not a
word about the jewels came out at the trial, for the rajah
had been deposed and driven out of India; so no one had
any particular interest in them. The murder, however, was
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL 133

clearly made out, and it was certain that we must all have
been concerned in it. The three Sikhs got penal servitude
for life, and I was condemned to death, though my sen-
tence was afterwards commuted into the same as the
others.
‘It was rather a queer position that we found ourselves
in then. There we were all four tied by the leg and with
precious little chance of ever getting out again, while we
each held a secret which might have put each of us in a
palace if we could only have made use of it. It was enough
to make a man eat his heart out to have to stand the kick
and the cuff of every petty jack-in-office, to have rice to eat
and water to drink, when that gorgeous fortune was ready
for him outside, just waiting to be picked up. It might have
driven me mad; but I was always a pretty stubborn one, so
I just held on and bided my time.
“At last it seemed to me to have come. I was changed
from Agra to Madras, and from there to Blair Island in the
Andamans. There are very few white convicts at this settle-
ment, and, as I had behaved well from the first, I soon
found myself a sort of privileged person. I was given a hut
in Hope Town, which is a small place on the slopes of
Mount Harriet, and I was left pretty much to myself. It is
a dreary, fever-stricken place, and all beyond our little
clearings was infested with wild cannibal natives, who
were ready enough to blow a poisoned dart at us if they
saw a chance. There was digging and ditching and yam-
planting, and a dozen other things to be done, so we were
busy enough all day; though in the evening we had a little
time to ourselves: Among other things, I learned to dis-
pense drugs for the surgeon, and picked up a smattering of
his knowledge. All the time I was on the look-out for a
chance to escape; but it is hundreds of miles from any other
land, and there is little or no wind in those seas; so it was
a terribly difficult job to get away.
134 THE SIGN OF FOUR
‘The surgeon, Dr Somerton, was a fast, sporting young
chap, and the other young officers would meet in his rooms
of an evening and play cards. The surgery, where I used to
make up my drugs, was next to his sitting-room, with a
small window between us. Often, if I felt lonesome, I used
to turn out the lamp in the surgery, and then, standing
there, I could hear their talk and watch their play. I am
fond of a hand at cards myself, and it was almost as good
as having one to watch the others. There was Major Sholto,
Captain Morstan, and Lieutenant Bromley Brown, who
were in command of the native troops, and there was the
surgeon himself, and two or three prison-officials, crafty
old hands who played a nice, sly, safe game. A very snug
little party they used to make.
“Well, there was one thing which very soon struck me,
and that was that the soldiers used always to lose and the
civilians to win. Mind, I don’t say there was anything
unfair, but so it was. These prison-chaps had done little
else than play cards ever since they had been at the Anda-
mans, and they knew each other’s game to a point, while
the others just played to pass the time and threw their
cards down anyhow. Night after night the soldiers got up
poorer men, and the poorer they got the more keen they
were to play. Major Sholto was the hardest hit. He used to
pay in notes and gold at first, but soon it came to notes of
hand and for big sums. He sometimes would win for a few
deals, just to give him heart, and then the luck would set
in against him worse than ever. All day he would wander
about as black as thunder, and he took to drinking a deal.
more than was good for him.
‘One night he lost even more heavily than usual. I was.
sitting in my hut when he and Captain Morstan came
stumbling along on the way to their quarters. They were
bosom friends, those two, and never far apart. The Major
was raving about his losses.
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL 135
It’s all up, Morstan,” he was saying, as they passed my
hut. “I shall have to send in my papers. I am a ruined
man.”
*“Nonsense, old chap!” said the other, slapping him
upon the shoulder. “I’ve had a nasty facer myself, but 7
That was all I could hear, but it was enough to set me
thinking.
“A couple of days later Major Sholto was strolling on the
beach: so I took the chance of speaking to him.
*“I wish to have your advice, Major,” said I.
*““Well, Small, what is it?” he asked, taking his cheroot
from his lips.
““I wanted to ask you, sir,” said I, “who is the proper
person to whom hidden treasure should be handed over.
I know where half a million worth lies, and, as I cannot use
it myself, I thought perhaps the best thing that I could do
would be to hand it over to the proper authorities, and
then perhaps they would get my sentence shortened for
me.”
* “Half a million, Small?” he gasped, looking hard at me
to see if I was in earnest.
*“Quite that, sir—in jewels and pearls. It lies there
ready for anyone. And the queer thing about it is that the
real owner is outlawed and cannot hold property, so that
it belongs to the first comer.”
*““To Government, Small,” he stammered, “to Govern-
ment.” But he said it in a halting fashion and I knew in my
heart that I had got him.
‘““You think, then, sir, that I should give the informa-
tion to the Governor-General?” said I, quietly.
‘““Well, well, you must not do anything rash, or that
you might repent. Let me hear all about it, Small. Give me
the facts.”
‘I told him the whole story, with small changes, so that
he could not identify the places. When I had finished he
136 THE SIGN OF FOUR
stood stock still and full of thought. I could see by the
twitch of his lips that there was a struggle going on within
him.
‘This is a very important matter, Small,” he said at
last. “You must not say a word to anyone about it, and I
shall see you again soon.”
‘Two nights later he and his friend, Captain Morstan,
came to my hut in the dead of night with a lantern.
‘*“T want you just to let Captain Morstan hear that story
from your own lips, Small,” said he.
‘I repeated it as I had told it before.
‘“Tt rings true, eh?” said he. “It’s good enough to act
upon?”
‘Captain Morstan nodded.
*“Look here, Small,” said the Major, “we have been
talking it over, my friend here and I, and we have come
to the conclusion that this secret of yours is hardly a
Government matter, after all, but is a private concern of
your own, which, of course, you have the power of dispos-
ing of as you think best. Now the question is, What price
would you ask for it? We might be inclined to take it up,
and at least look into it, if we could agree as to terms.” He
tried to speak in a cool, careless way, but his eyes were
shining with excitement and greed.
*“Why, as to that, gentlemen,” I answered, trying also
to be cool, but feeling as excited as he did, “there is only
one bargain which a man in my position can make. I shall
want you to help me to my freedom, and to help my three
companions to theirs. We shall then take you into partner-.
ship, and give you a fifth share to divide between you.”
‘“Hum!” said he. “A fifth share! That is not very
tempting.”
‘“TIt would come to fifty thousand apiece,” said I.
‘“But how can we gain your freedom? You know very —
well that you ask an impossibility.”
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL 137
*“Nothing of the sort,” I answered. “I have thought it
all out to the last detail. The only bar to our escape is that
we can get no boat fit for the voyage, and no provisions to
last us for so long a time. There are plenty of little yachts
and yawls at Calcutta or Madras which would serve our
turn well. Do you bring one over. We shall engage to get
aboard her by night, and if you will drop us on any part
of the Indian coast you will have done your part of the
bargain.”
*“If there were only one,” he said.
*“None or all,” I answered. “We have sworn it. The
four of us must always act together.”
*““You see, Morstan,” said he, “Small is a man of his
word. He does not flinch from his friends. I think we may
very well trust him.”
*“It’s a dirty business,” the other answered. “Yet, as you
say, the money will save our commissions handsomely.”
““Well, Small,” said the Major, “we must, I suppose,
try and meet you. We must first, of course, test the truth of
your story. Tell me where the box is hid, and I shall get
leave of absence and go back to India in the monthly relief-
boat to inquire into the affair.”
*“Not so fast,” said I, growing bolder as he got hot. “I
must have the consent of my three comrades. I tell you that
it is four or none with us.”
‘“Nonsense!” he broke in. “What have three black
fellows to do with our agreement?”
*“Black or blue,” said I, “they are in with me, and we all
go together.”
“Well, the matter ended by a second meeting, at which
Mahomet Singh, Abdulla Khan, and Dost Akbar were all
present. We talked the matter over again, and at last we
came to an arrangement. We were to provide both the
officers with charts of the part of the Agra fort, and mark
the place in the wall where the treasure was hid. Major
138 THE SIGN OF FOUR
Sholto was to go to India to test our story. If he found the
box he was to leave it there, to send out a small yacht
provisioned for a voyage, which was to lie off Rutland
Island, and to which we were to make our way, and finally
to return to his duties. Captain Morstan was then to apply
for leave of absence, to meet us at Agra, and there we were
to have a final division of the treasure, he taking the
Major’s share as well as his own. All this we sealed by the
most solemn oaths that the mind could think or the lips
utter. I satup all night with paper and ink, and bythemorn-
ing I had the two charts all ready, signed with the sign of
four—that is, of Abdullah, Akbar, Mahomet, and myself.
‘Well, gentlemen, I weary you with my long story, and
I know that my friend Mr Jones is impatient to get me
safely stowed in chokey. I'll make it as short as I can. The
villain Sholto went off to India, but he never came back
again. Captain Morstan showed me his name among a
list of passengers in one of the mail-boats very shortly ~
afterwards. His uncle had died, leaving him a fortune, and
he had left the army; yet he could stoop to treat five men
as he had treated us. Morstan went over to Agra shortly
afterwards, and found, as we expected, that the treasure —
was indeed gone. The scoundrel had stolen it all, without ~
carrying out one of the conditions on which we had sold
him the secret. From that day I lived only for vengeance.
I thought of it by day and I nursed it by night. It became
an overpowering, absorbing passion with me. I cared
nothing for the law—nothing for the gallows. To escape,
to track down Sholto, to have my hand upon his throat—.
that was my one thought. Even the Agra treasure had come
to be a smaller thing in my mind than the slaying of Sholto. _
‘Well, I have set my mind on many things in this life, —
and never one which I did not carry out. But it was weary —
years before my time came. I have told you that I had °
picked up something of medicine. One day when Dr |
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL 139
Somerton was down with a fever a little Andaman Islander
was picked up by a convict-gang in the woods. He was sick
to death, and had gone to a lonely place to die. I took him
in hand, though he was as venomous as a young snake, and
after a couple of months I got him all right and able to
walk. He took a kind of fancy to me then, and would
hardly go back to his woods, but was always hanging about
my hut. I learned a little of his lingo from him, and this
made him all the fonder of me.
“Tonga—for that was his name—was a fine boatman,
and owned a big, roomy canoe of his own. When I found
that he was devoted to me and would do anything to serve
me, I saw my chance of escape. I talked it over with him.
He was to bring his boat round on a certain night to an old
wharf which was never guarded, and there he was to pick
me up. I gave him directions to have several gourds of
water and a lot of yams, coco-nuts, and sweet potatoes.
“He was staunch and true, was little Tonga. No man
ever had a more faithful mate. On the night named he had
his boat at the wharf. As it chanced, however, there was
one of the convict-guard down there—a vile Pathan who
had never missed a chance of insulting and injuring me.
I had always vowed vengeance, and now I had my chance.
It was as if fate had placed him in my way that I might
pay my debt before I left the island. He stood on the bank
with his back to me, and his carbine on his shoulder. I
looked about for a stone to beat out his brains with, but
none could I see.
_ “Then a queer thought came into my head, and showed
me where I could lay my hand on a weapon. I sat down in
the darkness and unstrapped my wooden leg. With three
long hops I was on him. He put his carbine to his shoulder,
but I struck him full, and knocked the whole front of his
skull in. You can see the split in the wood now where I hit
him. We both went down together, for I could not keep
140 THE SIGN OF FOUR

my balance; but when I got up I found him lying quiet

enough. I made for the boat, and in an hour we were well
out at sea. Tonga had brought all his earthly possessions
with him, his arms and his gods. Among other things, he
had a long bamboo spear, and some Andaman cocoa-nut
matting, with which I made a sort of a sail. For ten days
we were beating about, trusting to luck, and on the
eleventh we were picked up by a trader which was going
from Singapore to Jiddah with a cargo of Malay pilgrims.
They were a rum crowd, and Tonga and I soon managed
to settle down among them. They had one very good
quality: they let you alone and asked no questions.
“Well, if I were to tell you all the adventures that my
little chum and I went through, you would not thank me,
for I would have you here until the sun was shining. Here
and there we drifted about the world, something always
turning up to keep us from London. All the time, however,
I never lost sight of my purpose. I would dream of Sholto
at night. At last, however, some three or four years ago,
we found ourselves in England. I had no great difficulty in
finding where Sholto lived, and I set to work to discover
whether he had realised the treasure, or if he still had it.
I made friends with someone who could help me—I name _
no names, for I don’t want to get anyone else in a hole— —
and I soon found that he still had the jewels. Then I tried
to get at him in many ways; but he was pretty sly, and had
always two prize-fighters, besides his sons and his khitmut-
gar, on guard over him.
‘One day, however, I got word that he was dying. I
hurried at once to the garden, mad that he should slip out
of my clutches like that, and, looking through the window,
I saw him lying in his bed, with his sons on each side of |
him. I’d have come through and taken my chance with
the three of them, only even as I looked at him his jaw
dropped, and I knew that he was gone. I got into his room
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL I41

the same night, though, and I searched his papers to see if

there was any record of where he had hidden the jewels.
There was not a line, however, so I came away, bitter and
Savage as a man might be. Before I left I bethought me that
if I ever met my Sikh friends again it would be a satisfac-
tion to know that I had left some mark of our hatred; so I
scrawled down the sign of the four of us, as it had been on
the chart, and I pinned it on his bosom. It was too much
that he should be taken to the grave without some token
from the men whom he had robbed and befooled.
“We earned a living at this time by my exhibiting poor
Tonga at fairs and other such places as the black cannibal.
He would eat raw meat and dance his war-dance; so we
always had a hatful of pennies after a day’s work. I still
heard all the news from Pondicherry Lodge, and for some
| saab there was no news to hear, except that they were
hunting for the treasure. At last, however, came what we
had waited for so long. The treasure had been found. It
was up at the top of the house, in Mr Bartholomew
Sholto’s chemical laboratory. I came at once and had a
look at the place, but I could not see how, with my wooden
leg, I was to make my way up to it. I learned, however,
about a trap-door in the roof, and also about Mr Sholto’s
supper-hour. It seemed to me that I could manage the
thing easily through Tonga. I brought him out with me
with a long rope wound round his waist. He could climb
like a cat, and he soon made his way through the roof, but,
as ill-luck would have it, Bartholomew Sholto was still in
the room, to his cost. Tonga thought he had done some-
thing very clever in killing him, for when I came up by the
rope I found him strutting about as proud as a peacock.
Very much surprised was he when I made at him with the
rope’s end and cursed him for a little, bloodthirsty imp.
I took the treasure box and let it down, and then slid down
myself, having first left the sign of the four upon the table,
142 THE SIGN OF FOUR

to show that the jewels had come back at last to those who
had most right to them. Tonga then pulled up the rope,
closed the window, and made off the way that he had come.
‘I don’t know that I have anything else to tell you. I had
heard a waterman speak of the speed of Smith’s launch, the
Aurora, so I thought she would be a handy craft for our
escape. I engaged with old Smith, and was to give him a
big sum if he got us safe to our ship. He knew, no doubt, ©
that there was some screw loose, but he was not in our
secrets. All this is the truth, and if I tell it to you, gentle- |
men, it is not to amuse you—for you have not done me—
a very good turn—but it is because I believe the best:
defence I can make is just to hold back nothing, but let
all the world know how badly I have myself been served by —
Major Sholto, and how innocent I am of the death of his _
son.’
‘A very remarkable account,’ said Sherlock Holmes. ‘A-
fitting wind-up to an extremely interesting case. There is”
nothing at all new to me in the latter part of your narra-—
tive, except that you brought your own rope. That I did
not know. By the way, I had hoped that Tonga had lost
all his darts; yet he managed to shoot one at us in the boat.’
“He had lost them all, sir, except the one which was in
his blow-pipe at the time.’ &
‘Ah, of course,’ said Holmes. ‘I had not thought of that.’ |
‘Is there any other point which you would like to ask
about?’ asked the convict, affably.
‘I think not, thank you,’ my companion answered.
“Well, Holmes,’ said Athelney Jones, ‘you are a man to”
be humoured, and we all know that you are a connoisseur
of crime; but duty is duty, and I have gone rather far in.
doing what you and your friend asked me. I shall feel more
at ease when we have our story-teller here safe under lock
and key. The cab still waits, and there are two inspectors
downstairs. I am much obliged to you both for or |
 THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHAN SMALL 143
assistance. Of course, you will be wanted at the trial. Good-
night to you.’
‘Good-night, gentlemen both,’ said Jonathan Small.
‘You first, Small,’ remarked the wary Jones as they left
the room. ‘I'll take particular care that you don’t club me
with your wooden leg, whatever you may have done to the
gentleman at the Andaman Isles.’
“Well, and there is the end of our little drama,’ I
remarked, after we had sat some time smoking in silence.
‘I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall
have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan
has done me the honour to accept me as a husband in
prospective.’
He gave a most dismal groan.
‘I feared as much,’ said he. ‘I really cannot congratulate
you.’
I was a little hurt.
“Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?’
I asked.
‘Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young
ladies I ever met, and might have been most useful in such
work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that
way; witness the way in which she preserved that Agra plan
from all the other papers of her father. But love is an
emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to
that true cold reason which I place above all things. I
should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment.’
‘I trust,’ said I, laughing, ‘that my judgment may survive
the ordeal. But you look weary.’
“Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp
as a rag for a week.’
‘Strange,’ said I, ‘how terms of what in another man I
should call laziness alternate with your fits of splendid
energy and vigour.’
“Yes,’ he answered, ‘there are in me the makings of a very
144. THE SIGN OF FOUR
fine loafer, and also of a pretty spry sort of a fellow. I often
think of those lines of old Goethe:—
Schade dass die Natur nur ginen Mensch aus dir schuf,
Den zum wiirdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.

By the way, apropos of this Norwood business, you see that

they had, as I surmised, a confederate in the house, who
could be none other than Lal Rao, the butler: so Jones
actually has the undivided honour of having caught one
fish in his great haul.’
“The division seems rather unfair,’ I remarked. ‘You
have done all the work in this business. I get a wife out of
it, Jones gets the credit; pray what remains for you?’
‘For me,’ said Sherlock Holmes, ‘there still remains the
cocaine-bottle.’ And he stretched his long, white hand up
for it.
This is the second of the
four full-length Sherlock
Holmes novels. In investi-
gating an apparent murder
in a London suburb, Holmes
stumbles on the fabulous
Agra treasure and gets
involved in a trail of
vengeance that results ina
fantastic night-chase down
the Thames through
London’s dockland.

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