A study in scarlet

Arthur Conan Doyle

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PART I.

(Being a reprint from the reminiscences of JOHNH. WATSON, M.D., late of the Army MedicalDepartment.) 2

CHAPTER I. MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES.

IN the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor ofMedicine of the University of London, and pro-ceeded to Netley to go through the course pre-scribed for surgeons in the army. Having com-pleted my studies there, I was duly attached tothe Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as AssistantSurgeon. The regiment was stationed in Indiaat the time, and before I could join it, the sec-ond Afghan war had broken out. On landing at

Bombay, I learned that my corps had advancedthrough the passes, and was already deep inthe enemy's country. I followed, however, withmany other officers who were in the samesituation as myself, and succeeded in reachingCandahar in safety, where I found my regi-ment, and at once entered upon my new duties.

The campaign brought honours and promotionto many, but for me it had nothing but misfor-tune and disaster. I was removed from my bri-gade and attached to the Berkshires, withwhom I served at the fatal battle of Maiwand.There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezailbullet, which shattered the bone and grazed thesubclavian artery. I should have fallen into thehands of the murderous Ghazis had it not beenfor the devotion and courage shown byMurray, my orderly, who threw me across apack-horse, and succeeded in bringing mesafely to the British lines.

Worn with pain, and weak from the prolongedhardships which I had undergone, I was re-moved, with a great train of wounded suffer-ers, to the base hospital at Peshawar. Here Irallied, and had already improved so far as tobe able to walk about the wards, and even tobask a little upon the verandah, when I wasstruck down by enteric fever, that curse of ourIndian possessions. For months my life wasdespaired of, and when at last I came to myselfand became convalescent, I was so weak andemaciated that a medical board determinedthat not a day should be lost in sending meback to England. I was dispatched, accordingly,in the troopship "Orontes," and landed a monthlater on Portsmouth jetty, with my health irre-trievably ruined, but with permission from apaternal government to spend the next ninemonths in attempting to improve it.

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and wastherefore as free as air—or as free as an income

of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will per-mit a man to be. Under such circumstances, Inaturally gravitated to London, that great cess-pool into which all the loungers and idlers ofthe Empire are irresistibly drained. There Istayed for some time at a private hotel in theStrand, leading a comfortless, meaningless exis-tence, and spending such money as I had, con-siderably more freely than I ought. So alarmingdid the state of my finances become, that I soonrealized that I must either leave the metropolisand rusticate somewhere in the country, or thatI must make a complete alteration in my styleof living. Choosing the latter alternative, I be-gan by making up my mind to leave the hotel,and to take up my quarters in some less preten-tious and less expensive domicile.

On the very day that I had come to this conclu-sion, I was standing at the Criterion Bar, whensome one tapped me on the shoulder, and turn-ing round I recognized young Stamford, who

had been a dresser under me at Barts. The sightof a friendly face in the great wilderness ofLondon is a pleasant thing indeed to a lonelyman. In old days Stamford had never been aparticular crony of mine, but now I hailed himwith enthusiasm, and he, in his turn, appearedto be delighted to see me. In the exuberance ofmy joy, I asked him to lunch with me at theHolborn, and we started off together in a han-som.

"Whatever have you been doing with yourself,Watson?" he asked in undisguised wonder, aswe rattled through the crowded Londonstreets. "You are as thin as a lath and as brownas a nut."

I gave him a short sketch of my adventures,and had hardly concluded it by the time thatwe reached our destination.

"Poor devil!" he said, commiseratingly, after hehad listened to my misfortunes. "What are youup to now?"

"Looking for lodgings." 3 I answered. "Tryingto solve the problem as to whether it is possibleto get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price."

"That's a strange thing," remarked my compan-ion; "you are the second man to-day that hasused that expression to me."

"And who was the first?" I asked.

"A fellow who is working at the chemical labo-ratory up at the hospital. He was bemoaninghimself this morning because he could not getsomeone to go halves with him in some nicerooms which he had found, and which weretoo much for his purse."

"By Jove!" I cried, "if he really wants someoneto share the rooms and the expense, I am the

very man for him. I should prefer having apartner to being alone."

Young Stamford looked rather strangely at meover his wine-glass. "You don't know SherlockHolmes yet," he said; "perhaps you would notcare for him as a constant companion."

"Why, what is there against him?"

"Oh, I didn't say there was anything againsthim. He is a little queer in his ideas—an enthu-siast in some branches of science. As far as Iknow he is a decent fellow enough."

"A medical student, I suppose?" said I.

"No—I have no idea what he intends to go infor. I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he isa first-class chemist; but, as far as I know, hehas never taken out any systematic medicalclasses. His studies are very desultory and ec-centric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the

way knowledge which would astonish his pro-fessors."

"Did you never ask him what he was going infor?" I asked.

"No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out,though he can be communicative enough whenthe fancy seizes him."

"I should like to meet him," I said. "If I am tolodge with anyone, I should prefer a man ofstudious and quiet habits. I am not strongenough yet to stand much noise or excitement.I had enough of both in Afghanistan to last mefor the remainder of my natural existence. Howcould I meet this friend of yours?"

"He is sure to be at the laboratory," returnedmy companion. "He either avoids the place forweeks, or else he works there from morning tonight. If you like, we shall drive round togetherafter luncheon."

"Certainly," I answered, and the conversationdrifted away into other channels.

As we made our way to the hospital after leav-ing the Holborn, Stamford gave me a few moreparticulars about the gentleman whom I pro-posed to take as a fellow-lodger.

"You mustn't blame me if you don't get on withhim," he said; "I know nothing more of himthan I have learned from meeting him occa-sionally in the laboratory. You proposed thisarrangement, so you must not hold me respon-sible."

"If we don't get on it will be easy to part com-pany," I answered. "It seems to me, Stamford," Iadded, looking hard at my companion, "thatyou have some reason for washing your handsof the matter. Is this fellow's temper so formi-dable, or what is it? Don't be mealy-mouthedabout it."

"It is not easy to express the inexpressible," heanswered with a laugh. "Holmes is a little tooscientific for my tastes—it approaches to cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving afriend a little pinch of the latest vegetable alka-loid, not out of malevolence, you understand,but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order tohave an accurate idea of the effects. To do himjustice, I think that he would take it himselfwith the same readiness. He appears to have apassion for definite and exact knowledge."

"Very right too."

"Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When itcomes to beating the subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainly taking rather abizarre shape."

"Beating the subjects!"

"Yes, to verify how far bruises may be pro-duced after death. I saw him at it with my owneyes."

"And yet you say he is not a medical student?"

"No. Heaven knows what the objects of his stu-dies are. But here we are, and you must formyour own impressions about him." As he spoke,we turned down a narrow lane and passedthrough a small side-door, which opened into awing of the great hospital. It was familiarground to me, and I needed no guiding as weascended the bleak stone staircase and madeour way down the long corridor with its vistaof whitewashed wall and dun-coloured doors.Near the further end a low arched passagebranched away from it and led to the chemicallaboratory.

This was a lofty chamber, lined and litteredwith countless bottles. Broad, low tables werescattered about, which bristled with retorts,

test-tubes, and little Bunsen lamps, with theirblue flickering flames. There was only one stu-dent in the room, who was bending over a dis-tant table absorbed in his work. At the sound ofour steps he glanced round and sprang to hisfeet with a cry of pleasure. "I've found it! I'vefound it," he shouted to my companion, run-ning towards us with a test-tube in his hand. "Ihave found a re-agent which is precipitated byhoemoglobin, 4 and by nothing else." Had hediscovered a gold mine, greater delight couldnot have shone upon his features.

"Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Stam-ford, introducing us.

"How are you?" he said cordially, gripping myhand with a strength for which I should hardlyhave given him credit. "You have been in Af-ghanistan, I perceive."

"How on earth did you know that?" I asked inastonishment.

"Never mind," said he, chuckling to himself."The question now is about hoemoglobin. Nodoubt you see the significance of this discoveryof mine?"

"It is interesting, chemically, no doubt," I an-swered, "but practically——"

"Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legaldiscovery for years. Don't you see that it givesus an infallible test for blood stains. Come overhere now!" He seized me by the coat-sleeve inhis eagerness, and drew me over to the table atwhich he had been working. "Let us have somefresh blood," he said, digging a long bodkininto his finger, and drawing off the resultingdrop of blood in a chemical pipette. "Now, Iadd this small quantity of blood to a litre ofwater. You perceive that the resulting mixturehas the appearance of pure water. The propor-tion of blood cannot be more than one in a mil-lion. I have no doubt, however, that we shall beable to obtain the characteristic reaction." As he

spoke, he threw into the vessel a few whitecrystals, and then added some drops of atransparent fluid. In an instant the contentsassumed a dull mahogany colour, and abrownish dust was precipitated to the bottomof the glass jar.

"Ha! ha!" he cried, clapping his hands, and loo-king as delighted as a child with a new toy."What do you think of that?"

"It seems to be a very delicate test," I remarked.

"Beautiful! beautiful! The old Guiacum test wasvery clumsy and uncertain. So is the micro-scopic examination for blood corpuscles. Thelatter is valueless if the stains are a few hoursold. Now, this appears to act as well whetherthe blood is old or new. Had this test been in-vented, there are hundreds of men now walk-ing the earth who would long ago have paidthe penalty of their crimes."

"Indeed!" I murmured.

"Criminal cases are continually hinging uponthat one point. A man is suspected of a crimemonths perhaps after it has been committed.His linen or clothes are examined, andbrownish stains discovered upon them. Arethey blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains,or fruit stains, or what are they? That is a ques-tion which has puzzled many an expert, andwhy? Because there was no reliable test. Nowwe have the Sherlock Holmes' test, and therewill no longer be any difficulty."

His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he puthis hand over his heart and bowed as if to someapplauding crowd conjured up by his imagina-tion.

"You are to be congratulated," I remarked, con-siderably surprised at his enthusiasm.

"There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frank-fort last year. He would certainly have beenhung had this test been in existence. Then therewas Mason of Bradford, and the notorious Mul-ler, and Lefevre of Montpellier, and Samson ofnew Orleans. I could name a score of cases inwhich it would have been decisive."

"You seem to be a walking calendar of crime,"said Stamford with a laugh. "You might start apaper on those lines. Call it the 'Police News ofthe Past.'"

"Very interesting reading it might be made,too," remarked Sherlock Holmes, sticking asmall piece of plaster over the prick on his fin-ger. "I have to be careful," he continued, turn-ing to me with a smile, "for I dabble with poi-sons a good deal." He held out his hand as hespoke, and I noticed that it was all mottled overwith similar pieces of plaster, and discolouredwith strong acids.

"We came here on business," said Stamford,sitting down on a high three-legged stool, andpushing another one in my direction with hisfoot. "My friend here wants to take diggings,and as you were complaining that you couldget no one to go halves with you, I thought thatI had better bring you together."

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the ideaof sharing his rooms with me. "I have my eyeon a suite in Baker Street," he said, "whichwould suit us down to the ground. You don'tmind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?"

"I always smoke 'ship's' myself," I answered.

"That's good enough. I generally have chemi-cals about, and occasionally do experiments.Would that annoy you?"

"By no means."

"Let me see—what are my other shortcomings.I get in the dumps at times, and don't open mymouth for days on end. You must not think Iam sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, andI'll soon be right. What have you to confessnow? It's just as well for two fellows to knowthe worst of one another before they begin tolive together."

I laughed at this cross-examination. "I keep abull pup," I said, "and I object to rows becausemy nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sortsof ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. Ihave another set of vices when I'm well, butthose are the principal ones at present."

"Do you include violin-playing in your cate-gory of rows?" he asked, anxiously.

"It depends on the player," I answered. "A well-played violin is a treat for the gods—a badly-played one——"

"Oh, that's all right," he cried, with a merrylaugh. "I think we may consider the thing assettled—that is, if the rooms are agreeable toyou."

"When shall we see them?"

"Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'llgo together and settle everything," he an-swered.

"All right—noon exactly," said I, shaking hishand.

We left him working among his chemicals, andwe walked together towards my hotel.

"By the way," I asked suddenly, stopping andturning upon Stamford, "how the deuce did heknow that I had come from Afghanistan?"

My companion smiled an enigmatical smile."That's just his little peculiarity," he said. "A

good many people have wanted to know howhe finds things out."

"Oh! a mystery is it?" I cried, rubbing myhands. "This is very piquant. I am muchobliged to you for bringing us together. 'Theproper study of mankind is man,' you know."

"You must study him, then," Stamford said, ashe bade me good-bye. "You'll find him a knottyproblem, though. I'll wager he learns moreabout you than you about him. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," I answered, and strolled on to myhotel, considerably interested in my new ac-quaintance.

CHAPTER II. THE SCIENCE OF DEDUC-TION.

WE met next day as he had arranged, and in-spected the rooms at No. 221B, 5 Baker Street,of which he had spoken at our meeting. Theyconsisted of a couple of comfortable bed-roomsand a single large airy sitting-room, cheerfullyfurnished, and illuminated by two broad win-dows. So desirable in every way were theapartments, and so moderate did the termsseem when divided between us, that the bar-gain was concluded upon the spot, and we atonce entered into possession. That very eve-ning I moved my things round from the hotel,and on the following morning Sherlock Holmesfollowed me with several boxes and portman-teaus. For a day or two we were busily em-ployed in unpacking and laying out our prop-erty to the best advantage. That done, we

gradually began to settle down and to accom-modate ourselves to our new surroundings.

Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to livewith. He was quiet in his ways, and his habitswere regular. It was rare for him to be up afterten at night, and he had invariably breakfastedand gone out before I rose in the morning. So-metimes he spent his day at the chemical labo-ratory, sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, andoccasionally in long walks, which appeared totake him into the lowest portions of the City.Nothing could exceed his energy when theworking fit was upon him; but now and again areaction would seize him, and for days on endhe would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room,hardly uttering a word or moving a musclefrom morning to night. On these occasions Ihave noticed such a dreamy, vacant expressionin his eyes, that I might have suspected him ofbeing addicted to the use of some narcotic, had

not the temperance and cleanliness of his wholelife forbidden such a notion.

As the weeks went by, my interest in him andmy curiosity as to his aims in life, graduallydeepened and increased. His very person andappearance were such as to strike the attentionof the most casual observer. In height he wasrather over six feet, and so excessively lean thathe seemed to be considerably taller. His eyeswere sharp and piercing, save during thoseintervals of torpor to which I have alluded; andhis thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expres-sion an air of alertness and decision. His chin,too, had the prominence and squareness whichmark the man of determination. His handswere invariably blotted with ink and stainedwith chemicals, yet he was possessed of ex-traordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequentlyhad occasion to observe when I watched himmanipulating his fragile philosophical instru-ments.

The reader may set me down as a hopeless bu-sybody, when I confess how much this manstimulated my curiosity, and how often I en-deavoured to break through the reticencewhich he showed on all that concerned himself.Before pronouncing judgment, however, be itremembered, how objectless was my life, andhow little there was to engage my attention. Myhealth forbade me from venturing out unlessthe weather was exceptionally genial, and I hadno friends who would call upon me and breakthe monotony of my daily existence. Underthese circumstances, I eagerly hailed the littlemystery which hung around my companion,and spent much of my time in endeavouring tounravel it.

He was not studying medicine. He had himself,in reply to a question, confirmed Stamford'sopinion upon that point. Neither did he appearto have pursued any course of reading whichmight fit him for a degree in science or any ot-

her recognized portal which would give him anentrance into the learned world. Yet his zeal forcertain studies was remarkable, and withineccentric limits his knowledge was so extraor-dinarily ample and minute that his observa-tions have fairly astounded me. Surely no manwould work so hard or attain such precise in-formation unless he had some definite end inview. Desultory readers are seldom remarkablefor the exactness of their learning. No manburdens his mind with small matters unless hehas some very good reason for doing so.

His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowl-edge. Of contemporary literature, philosophyand politics he appeared to know next to noth-ing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he in-quired in the naivest way who he might be andwhat he had done. My surprise reached a cli-max, however, when I found incidentally thathe was ignorant of the Copernican Theory andof the composition of the Solar System. That

any civilized human being in this nineteenthcentury should not be aware that the earthtravelled round the sun appeared to be to mesuch an extraordinary fact that I could hardlyrealize it.

"You appear to be astonished," he said, smilingat my expression of surprise. "Now that I doknow it I shall do my best to forget it."

"To forget it!"

"You see," he explained, "I consider that a man'sbrain originally is like a little empty attic, andyou have to stock it with such furniture as youchoose. A fool takes in all the lumber of everysort that he comes across, so that the knowl-edge which might be useful to him getscrowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lotof other things so that he has a difficulty in lay-ing his hands upon it. Now the skilful work-man is very careful indeed as to what he takesinto his brain-attic. He will have nothing but

the tools which may help him in doing hiswork, but of these he has a large assortment,and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistaketo think that that little room has elastic wallsand can distend to any extent. Depend upon itthere comes a time when for every addition ofknowledge you forget something that youknew before. It is of the highest importance,therefore, not to have useless facts elbowingout the useful ones."

"But the Solar System!" I protested.

"What the deuce is it to me?" he interruptedimpatiently; "you say that we go round the sun.If we went round the moon it would not makea pennyworth of difference to me or to mywork."

I was on the point of asking him what thatwork might be, but something in his mannershowed me that the question would be an un-welcome one. I pondered over our short con-

versation, however, and endeavoured to drawmy deductions from it. He said that he wouldacquire no knowledge which did not bear uponhis object. Therefore all the knowledge whichhe possessed was such as would be useful tohim. I enumerated in my own mind all thevarious points upon which he had shown methat he was exceptionally well-informed. I eventook a pencil and jotted them down. I could nothelp smiling at the document when I had com-pleted it. It ran in this way—

SHERLOCK HOLMES—his limits. 1. Knowledge of Literature.—Nil. 2. Philosophy.—Nil. 3. Astronomy.—Nil. 4. Politics.—Feeble. 5. Botany.—Variable. Well up in bel-ladonna, opium, and poisons generally. Knows nothing of practicalgardening.

6. Geology.—Practical, but limited. Tells at a glance different soils from each other. After walkshas shown me splashes upon histrousers, and told me by their colourand consistence in what part ofLondon he had received them. 7. Chemistry.—Profound. 8. Anatomy.—Accurate, but unsystem-atic. 9. Sensational Literature.—Immense.He appears to know every detail of everyhorror perpetrated in the century. 10. Plays the violin well. 11. Is an expert singlestick player, boxer, andswordsman.

12. Has a good practical knowledge of Britishlaw.

When I had got so far in my list I threw it intothe fire in despair. "If I can only find what thefellow is driving at by reconciling all these ac-complishments, and discovering a callingwhich needs them all," I said to myself, "I mayas well give up the attempt at once."

I see that I have alluded above to his powersupon the violin. These were very remarkable,but as eccentric as all his other accomplish-ments. That he could play pieces, and difficultpieces, I knew well, because at my request hehas played me some of Mendelssohn's Lieder,and other favourites. When left to himself,however, he would seldom produce any musicor attempt any recognized air. Leaning back inhis arm-chair of an evening, he would close hiseyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle whichwas thrown across his knee. Sometimes thechords were sonorous and melancholy. Occa-

sionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clear-ly they reflected the thoughts which possessedhim, but whether the music aided thosethoughts, or whether the playing was simplythe result of a whim or fancy was more than Icould determine. I might have rebelled againstthese exasperating solos had it not been that heusually terminated them by playing in quicksuccession a whole series of my favourite airsas a slight compensation for the trial upon mypatience.

During the first week or so we had no callers,and I had begun to think that my companionwas as friendless a man as I was myself. Pres-ently, however, I found that he had many ac-quaintances, and those in the most differentclasses of society. There was one little sallowrat-faced, dark-eyed fellow who was intro-duced to me as Mr. Lestrade, and who camethree or four times in a single week. One morn-ing a young girl called, fashionably dressed,

and stayed for half an hour or more. The sameafternoon brought a grey-headed, seedy visitor,looking like a Jew pedlar, who appeared to meto be much excited, and who was closely fol-lowed by a slip-shod elderly woman. On an-other occasion an old white-haired gentlemanhad an interview with my companion; and onanother a railway porter in his velveteen uni-form. When any of these nondescript individu-als put in an appearance, Sherlock Holmes usedto beg for the use of the sitting-room, and Iwould retire to my bed-room. He alwaysapologized to me for putting me to this incon-venience. "I have to use this room as a place ofbusiness," he said, "and these people are myclients." Again I had an opportunity of askinghim a point blank question, and again my deli-cacy prevented me from forcing another man toconfide in me. I imagined at the time that hehad some strong reason for not alluding to it,but he soon dispelled the idea by coming roundto the subject of his own accord.

It was upon the 4th of March, as I have goodreason to remember, that I rose somewhat ear-lier than usual, and found that Sherlock Hol-mes had not yet finished his breakfast. Thelandlady had become so accustomed to my latehabits that my place had not been laid nor mycoffee prepared. With the unreasonable petu-lance of mankind I rang the bell and gave a curtintimation that I was ready. Then I picked up amagazine from the table and attempted to whi-le away the time with it, while my companionmunched silently at his toast. One of the articleshad a pencil mark at the heading, and I natu-rally began to run my eye through it.

Its somewhat ambitious title was "The Book ofLife," and it attempted to show how much anobservant man might learn by an accurate andsystematic examination of all that came in hisway. It struck me as being a remarkable mix-ture of shrewdness and of absurdity. The rea-soning was close and intense, but the deduc-

tions appeared to me to be far-fetched and ex-aggerated. The writer claimed by a momentaryexpression, a twitch of a muscle or a glance ofan eye, to fathom a man's inmost thoughts. De-ceit, according to him, was an impossibility inthe case of one trained to observation andanalysis. His conclusions were as infallible asso many propositions of Euclid. So startlingwould his results appear to the uninitiated thatuntil they learned the processes by which hehad arrived at them they might well considerhim as a necromancer.

"From a drop of water," said the writer, "a logi-cian could infer the possibility of an Atlantic ora Niagara without having seen or heard of oneor the other. So all life is a great chain, the na-ture of which is known whenever we areshown a single link of it. Like all other arts, theScience of Deduction and Analysis is one whichcan only be acquired by long and patient studynor is life long enough to allow any mortal to

attain the highest possible perfection in it. Be-fore turning to those moral and mental aspectsof the matter which present the greatest diffi-culties, let the enquirer begin by masteringmore elementary problems. Let him, on meet-ing a fellow-mortal, learn at a glance to distin-guish the history of the man, and the trade orprofession to which he belongs. Puerile as suchan exercise may seem, it sharpens the facultiesof observation, and teaches one where to lookand what to look for. By a man's finger nails, byhis coat-sleeve, by his boot, by his trouserknees, by the callosities of his forefinger andthumb, by his expression, by his shirt cuffs—byeach of these things a man's calling is plainlyrevealed. That all united should fail toenlighten the competent enquirer in any case isalmost inconceivable."

"What ineffable twaddle!" I cried, slapping themagazine down on the table, "I never read suchrubbish in my life."

"What is it?" asked Sherlock Holmes.

"Why, this article," I said, pointing at it with myegg spoon as I sat down to my breakfast. "I seethat you have read it since you have marked it.I don't deny that it is smartly written. It irritatesme though. It is evidently the theory of somearm-chair lounger who evolves all these neatlittle paradoxes in the seclusion of his own stu-dy. It is not practical. I should like to see himclapped down in a third class carriage on theUnderground, and asked to give the trades ofall his fellow-travellers. I would lay a thousandto one against him."

"You would lose your money," Sherlock Hol-mes remarked calmly. "As for the article I wroteit myself."

"You!"

"Yes, I have a turn both for observation and fordeduction. The theories which I have expressed

there, and which appear to you to be so chi-merical are really extremely practical—so prac-tical that I depend upon them for my bread andcheese."

"And how?" I asked involuntarily.

"Well, I have a trade of my own. I suppose I amthe only one in the world. I'm a consulting de-tective, if you can understand what that is.Here in London we have lots of Governmentdetectives and lots of private ones. When thesefellows are at fault they come to me, and I ma-nage to put them on the right scent. They lay allthe evidence before me, and I am generallyable, by the help of my knowledge of the his-tory of crime, to set them straight. There is astrong family resemblance about misdeeds, andif you have all the details of a thousand at yourfinger ends, it is odd if you can't unravel thethousand and first. Lestrade is a well-knowndetective. He got himself into a fog recently

over a forgery case, and that was what broughthim here."

"And these other people?"

"They are mostly sent on by private inquiryagencies. They are all people who are in troubleabout something, and want a little enlighten-ing. I listen to their story, they listen to mycomments, and then I pocket my fee."

"But do you mean to say," I said, "that withoutleaving your room you can unravel some knotwhich other men can make nothing of, al-though they have seen every detail for them-selves?"

"Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that way.Now and again a case turns up which is a littlemore complex. Then I have to bustle about andsee things with my own eyes. You see I have alot of special knowledge which I apply to theproblem, and which facilitates matters wonder-

fully. Those rules of deduction laid down inthat article which aroused your scorn, are in-valuable to me in practical work. Observationwith me is second nature. You appeared to besurprised when I told you, on our first meeting,that you had come from Afghanistan."

"You were told, no doubt."

"Nothing of the sort. I knew you came from Af-ghanistan. From long habit the train ofthoughts ran so swiftly through my mind, that Iarrived at the conclusion without being con-scious of intermediate steps. There were suchsteps, however. The train of reasoning ran, 'He-re is a gentleman of a medical type, but withthe air of a military man. Clearly an army doc-tor, then. He has just come from the tropics, forhis face is dark, and that is not the natural tintof his skin, for his wrists are fair. He has un-dergone hardship and sickness, as his haggardface says clearly. His left arm has been injured.He holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner.

Where in the tropics could an English armydoctor have seen much hardship and got hisarm wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan.' Thewhole train of thought did not occupy a sec-ond. I then remarked that you came from Af-ghanistan, and you were astonished."

"It is simple enough as you explain it," I said,smiling. "You remind me of Edgar Allen Poe'sDupin. I had no idea that such individuals didexist outside of stories."

Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. "Nodoubt you think that you are complimentingme in comparing me to Dupin," he observed."Now, in my opinion, Dupin was a very infe-rior fellow. That trick of his of breaking in onhis friends' thoughts with an apropos remarkafter a quarter of an hour's silence is really veryshowy and superficial. He had some analyticalgenius, no doubt; but he was by no means sucha phenomenon as Poe appeared to imagine."

"Have you read Gaboriau's works?" I asked."Does Lecoq come up to your idea of a detec-tive?"

Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically. "Lecoqwas a miserable bungler," he said, in an angryvoice; "he had only one thing to recommendhim, and that was his energy. That book mademe positively ill. The question was how toidentify an unknown prisoner. I could havedone it in twenty-four hours. Lecoq took sixmonths or so. It might be made a text-book fordetectives to teach them what to avoid."

I felt rather indignant at having two characterswhom I had admired treated in this cavalierstyle. I walked over to the window, and stoodlooking out into the busy street. "This fellowmay be very clever," I said to myself, "but he iscertainly very conceited."

"There are no crimes and no criminals in thesedays," he said, querulously. "What is the use of

having brains in our profession. I know wellthat I have it in me to make my name famous.No man lives or has ever lived who hasbrought the same amount of study and of natu-ral talent to the detection of crime which I havedone. And what is the result? There is no crimeto detect, or, at most, some bungling villanywith a motive so transparent that even a Scot-land Yard official can see through it."

I was still annoyed at his bumptious style ofconversation. I thought it best to change thetopic.

"I wonder what that fellow is looking for?" Iasked, pointing to a stalwart, plainly-dressedindividual who was walking slowly down theother side of the street, looking anxiously at thenumbers. He had a large blue envelope in hishand, and was evidently the bearer of a mes-sage.

"You mean the retired sergeant of Marines,"said Sherlock Holmes.

"Brag and bounce!" thought I to myself. "Heknows that I cannot verify his guess."

The thought had hardly passed through mymind when the man whom we were watchingcaught sight of the number on our door, andran rapidly across the roadway. We heard aloud knock, a deep voice below, and heavysteps ascending the stair.

"For Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he said, steppinginto the room and handing my friend the letter.

Here was an opportunity of taking the conceitout of him. He little thought of this when hemade that random shot. "May I ask, my lad," Isaid, in the blandest voice, "what your trademay be?"

"Commissionaire, sir," he said, gruffly. "Uni-form away for repairs."

"And you were?" I asked, with a slightly mali-cious glance at my companion.

"A sergeant, sir, Royal Marine Light Infantry,sir. No answer? Right, sir."

He clicked his heels together, raised his hand ina salute, and was gone.

CHAPTER III. THE LAURISTON GAR-DEN MYSTERY 6

I CONFESS that I was considerably startled bythis fresh proof of the practical nature of mycompanion's theories. My respect for his pow-ers of analysis increased wondrously. There

still remained some lurking suspicion in mymind, however, that the whole thing was a pre-arranged episode, intended to dazzle me,though what earthly object he could have intaking me in was past my comprehension.When I looked at him he had finished readingthe note, and his eyes had assumed the vacant,lack-lustre expression which showed mentalabstraction.

"How in the world did you deduce that?" I as-ked.

"Deduce what?" said he, petulantly.

"Why, that he was a retired sergeant of Ma-rines."

"I have no time for trifles," he answered, brus-quely; then with a smile, "Excuse my rudeness.You broke the thread of my thoughts; but per-haps it is as well. So you actually were not able

to see that that man was a sergeant of Ma-rines?"

"No, indeed."

"It was easier to know it than to explain why Iknew it. If you were asked to prove that twoand two made four, you might find some diffi-culty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact.Even across the street I could see a great blueanchor tattooed on the back of the fellow'shand. That smacked of the sea. He had a mili-tary carriage, however, and regulation sidewhiskers. There we have the marine. He was aman with some amount of self-importance anda certain air of command. You must have ob-served the way in which he held his head andswung his cane. A steady, respectable, middle-aged man, too, on the face of him—all factswhich led me to believe that he had been a ser-geant."

"Wonderful!" I ejaculated.

"Commonplace," said Holmes, though Ithought from his expression that he was plea-sed at my evident surprise and admiration. "Isaid just now that there were no criminals. Itappears that I am wrong—look at this!" Hethrew me over the note which the commission-aire had brought. 7

"Why," I cried, as I cast my eye over it, "this isterrible!"

"It does seem to be a little out of the common,"he remarked, calmly. "Would you mind read-ing it to me aloud?"

This is the letter which I read to him——

"MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,—

"There has been a bad business during thenight at 3, Lauriston Gardens, off the BrixtonRoad. Our man on the beat saw a light thereabout two in the morning, and as the housewas an empty one, suspected that something

was amiss. He found the door open, and in thefront room, which is bare of furniture, discov-ered the body of a gentleman, well dressed, andhaving cards in his pocket bearing the name of'Enoch J. Drebber, Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.'There had been no robbery, nor is there anyevidence as to how the man met his death. The-re are marks of blood in the room, but there isno wound upon his person. We are at a loss asto how he came into the empty house; indeed,the whole affair is a puzzler. If you can comeround to the house any time before twelve, youwill find me there. I have left everything in sta-tu quo until I hear from you. If you are unableto come I shall give you fuller details, andwould esteem it a great kindness if you wouldfavour me with your opinion. Yours faithfully,

"TOBIAS GREGSON."

"Gregson is the smartest of the Scotland Yard-ers," my friend remarked; "he and Lestrade arethe pick of a bad lot. They are both quick and

energetic, but conventional—shockingly so.They have their knives into one another, too.They are as jealous as a pair of professionalbeauties. There will be some fun over this caseif they are both put upon the scent."

I was amazed at the calm way in which he rip-pled on. "Surely there is not a moment to belost," I cried, "shall I go and order you a cab?"

"I'm not sure about whether I shall go. I am themost incurably lazy devil that ever stood inshoe leather—that is, when the fit is on me, for Ican be spry enough at times."

"Why, it is just such a chance as you have beenlonging for."

"My dear fellow, what does it matter to me.Supposing I unravel the whole matter, you maybe sure that Gregson, Lestrade, and Co. willpocket all the credit. That comes of being anunofficial personage."

"But he begs you to help him."

"Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and ac-knowledges it to me; but he would cut his ton-gue out before he would own it to any thirdperson. However, we may as well go and havea look. I shall work it out on my own hook. Imay have a laugh at them if I have nothing else.Come on!"

He hustled on his overcoat, and bustled aboutin a way that showed that an energetic fit hadsuperseded the apathetic one.

"Get your hat," he said.

"You wish me to come?"

"Yes, if you have nothing better to do." A min-ute later we were both in a hansom, drivingfuriously for the Brixton Road.

It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-coloured veil hung over the house-tops, look-

ing like the reflection of the mud-colouredstreets beneath. My companion was in the bestof spirits, and prattled away about Cremonafiddles, and the difference between a Stradivar-ius and an Amati. As for myself, I was silent,for the dull weather and the melancholy busi-ness upon which we were engaged, depressedmy spirits.

"You don't seem to give much thought to thematter in hand," I said at last, interrupting Hol-mes' musical disquisition.

"No data yet," he answered. "It is a capital mis-take to theorize before you have all the evi-dence. It biases the judgment."

"You will have your data soon," I remarked,pointing with my finger; "this is the BrixtonRoad, and that is the house, if I am not verymuch mistaken."

"So it is. Stop, driver, stop!" We were still ahundred yards or so from it, but he insistedupon our alighting, and we finished our jour-ney upon foot.

Number 3, Lauriston Gardens wore an ill-omened and minatory look. It was one of fourwhich stood back some little way from thestreet, two being occupied and two empty. Thelatter looked out with three tiers of vacant mel-ancholy windows, which were blank and drea-ry, save that here and there a "To Let" card haddeveloped like a cataract upon the bleared pa-nes. A small garden sprinkled over with a scat-tered eruption of sickly plants separated eachof these houses from the street, and was trav-ersed by a narrow pathway, yellowish in col-our, and consisting apparently of a mixture ofclay and of gravel. The whole place was verysloppy from the rain which had fallen throughthe night. The garden was bounded by a three-foot brick wall with a fringe of wood rails upon

the top, and against this wall was leaning astalwart police constable, surrounded by asmall knot of loafers, who craned their necksand strained their eyes in the vain hope ofcatching some glimpse of the proceedingswithin.

I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would atonce have hurried into the house and plungedinto a study of the mystery. Nothing appearedto be further from his intention. With an air ofnonchalance which, under the circumstances,seemed to me to border upon affectation, helounged up and down the pavement, and ga-zed vacantly at the ground, the sky, the oppo-site houses and the line of railings. Having fin-ished his scrutiny, he proceeded slowly downthe path, or rather down the fringe of grasswhich flanked the path, keeping his eyes riv-eted upon the ground. Twice he stopped, andonce I saw him smile, and heard him utter anexclamation of satisfaction. There were many

marks of footsteps upon the wet clayey soil, butsince the police had been coming and goingover it, I was unable to see how my companioncould hope to learn anything from it. Still I hadhad such extraordinary evidence of the quick-ness of his perceptive faculties, that I had nodoubt that he could see a great deal which washidden from me.

At the door of the house we were met by a tall,white-faced, flaxen-haired man, with a note-book in his hand, who rushed forward andwrung my companion's hand with effusion. "Itis indeed kind of you to come," he said, "I havehad everything left untouched."

"Except that!" my friend answered, pointing atthe pathway. "If a herd of buffaloes had passedalong there could not be a greater mess. Nodoubt, however, you had drawn your own con-clusions, Gregson, before you permitted this."

"I have had so much to do inside the house,"the detective said evasively. "My colleague, Mr.Lestrade, is here. I had relied upon him to lookafter this."

Holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrowssardonically. "With two such men as yourselfand Lestrade upon the ground, there will notbe much for a third party to find out," he said.

Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfiedway. "I think we have done all that can be do-ne," he answered; "it's a queer case though, andI knew your taste for such things."

"You did not come here in a cab?" asked Sher-lock Holmes.

"No, sir."

"Nor Lestrade?"

"No, sir."

"Then let us go and look at the room." Withwhich inconsequent remark he strode on intothe house, followed by Gregson, whose fea-tures expressed his astonishment.

A short passage, bare planked and dusty, led tothe kitchen and offices. Two doors opened outof it to the left and to the right. One of thesehad obviously been closed for many weeks.The other belonged to the dining-room, whichwas the apartment in which the mysteriousaffair had occurred. Holmes walked in, and Ifollowed him with that subdued feeling at myheart which the presence of death inspires.

It was a large square room, looking all the lar-ger from the absence of all furniture. A vulgarflaring paper adorned the walls, but it was blot-ched in places with mildew, and here and theregreat strips had become detached and hungdown, exposing the yellow plaster beneath.Opposite the door was a showy fireplace, sur-mounted by a mantelpiece of imitation white

marble. On one corner of this was stuck thestump of a red wax candle. The solitary win-dow was so dirty that the light was hazy anduncertain, giving a dull grey tinge to every-thing, which was intensified by the thick layerof dust which coated the whole apartment.

All these details I observed afterwards. At pre-sent my attention was centred upon the singlegrim motionless figure which lay stretchedupon the boards, with vacant sightless eyesstaring up at the discoloured ceiling. It was thatof a man about forty-three or forty-four years ofage, middle-sized, broad shouldered, with crispcurling black hair, and a short stubbly beard.He was dressed in a heavy broadcloth frockcoat and waistcoat, with light-coloured trou-sers, and immaculate collar and cuffs. A tophat, well brushed and trim, was placed uponthe floor beside him. His hands were clenchedand his arms thrown abroad, while his lowerlimbs were interlocked as though his death

struggle had been a grievous one. On his rigidface there stood an expression of horror, and asit seemed to me, of hatred, such as I have neverseen upon human features. This malignant andterrible contortion, combined with the low fo-rehead, blunt nose, and prognathous jaw gavethe dead man a singularly simious and ape-likeappearance, which was increased by his writh-ing, unnatural posture. I have seen death inmany forms, but never has it appeared to me ina more fearsome aspect than in that dark grimyapartment, which looked out upon one of themain arteries of suburban London.

Lestrade, lean and ferret-like as ever, was stan-ding by the doorway, and greeted my compan-ion and myself.

"This case will make a stir, sir," he remarked. "Itbeats anything I have seen, and I am no chic-ken."

"There is no clue?" said Gregson.

"None at all," chimed in Lestrade.

Sherlock Holmes approached the body, and,kneeling down, examined it intently. "You aresure that there is no wound?" he asked, point-ing to numerous gouts and splashes of bloodwhich lay all round.

"Positive!" cried both detectives.

"Then, of course, this blood belongs to a secondindividual—8 presumably the murderer, ifmurder has been committed. It reminds me ofthe circumstances attendant on the death ofVan Jansen, in Utrecht, in the year '34. Do youremember the case, Gregson?"

"No, sir."

"Read it up—you really should. There is noth-ing new under the sun. It has all been donebefore."

As he spoke, his nimble fingers were flyinghere, there, and everywhere, feeling, pressing,unbuttoning, examining, while his eyes worethe same far-away expression which I havealready remarked upon. So swiftly was the ex-amination made, that one would hardly haveguessed the minuteness with which it was con-ducted. Finally, he sniffed the dead man's lips,and then glanced at the soles of his patent leat-her boots.

"He has not been moved at all?" he asked.

"No more than was necessary for the purposesof our examination."

"You can take him to the mortuary now," hesaid. "There is nothing more to be learned."

Gregson had a stretcher and four men at hand.At his call they entered the room, and the stran-ger was lifted and carried out. As they raisedhim, a ring tinkled down and rolled across the

floor. Lestrade grabbed it up and stared at itwith mystified eyes.

"There's been a woman here," he cried. "It's awoman's wedding-ring."

He held it out, as he spoke, upon the palm ofhis hand. We all gathered round him and gazedat it. There could be no doubt that that circlet ofplain gold had once adorned the finger of abride.

"This complicates matters," said Gregson."Heaven knows, they were complicated enoughbefore."

"You're sure it doesn't simplify them?" ob-served Holmes. "There's nothing to be learnedby staring at it. What did you find in his pock-ets?"

"We have it all here," said Gregson, pointing toa litter of objects upon one of the bottom steps

of the stairs. "A gold watch, No. 97163, by Bar-raud, of London. Gold Albert chain, very heavyand solid. Gold ring, with masonic device. Goldpin—bull-dog's head, with rubies as eyes. Rus-sian leather card-case, with cards of Enoch J.Drebber of Cleveland, corresponding with theE. J. D. upon the linen. No purse, but loose mo-ney to the extent of seven pounds thirteen. Poc-ket edition of Boccaccio's 'Decameron,' withname of Joseph Stangerson upon the fly-leaf.Two letters—one addressed to E. J. Drebberand one to Joseph Stangerson."

"At what address?"

"American Exchange, Strand—to be left till ca-lled for. They are both from the Guion Steam-ship Company, and refer to the sailing of theirboats from Liverpool. It is clear that this unfor-tunate man was about to return to New York."

"Have you made any inquiries as to this man,Stangerson?"

"I did it at once, sir," said Gregson. "I have hadadvertisements sent to all the newspapers, andone of my men has gone to the American Ex-change, but he has not returned yet."

"Have you sent to Cleveland?"

"We telegraphed this morning."

"How did you word your inquiries?"

"We simply detailed the circumstances, andsaid that we should be glad of any informationwhich could help us."

"You did not ask for particulars on any pointwhich appeared to you to be crucial?"

"I asked about Stangerson."

"Nothing else? Is there no circumstance onwhich this whole case appears to hinge? Willyou not telegraph again?"

"I have said all I have to say," said Gregson, inan offended voice.

Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself, and ap-peared to be about to make some remark, whenLestrade, who had been in the front room whilewe were holding this conversation in the hall,reappeared upon the scene, rubbing his handsin a pompous and self-satisfied manner.

"Mr. Gregson," he said, "I have just made a dis-covery of the highest importance, and onewhich would have been overlooked had I notmade a careful examination of the walls."

The little man's eyes sparkled as he spoke, andhe was evidently in a state of suppressed exul-tation at having scored a point against his col-league.

"Come here," he said, bustling back into theroom, the atmosphere of which felt clearer sin-

ce the removal of its ghastly inmate. "Now,stand there!"

He struck a match on his boot and held it upagainst the wall.

"Look at that!" he said, triumphantly.

I have remarked that the paper had fallen awayin parts. In this particular corner of the room alarge piece had peeled off, leaving a yellowsquare of coarse plastering. Across this barespace there was scrawled in blood-red letters asingle word—

RACHE.

"What do you think of that?" cried the detec-tive, with the air of a showman exhibiting hisshow. "This was overlooked because it was inthe darkest corner of the room, and no onethought of looking there. The murderer haswritten it with his or her own blood. See thissmear where it has trickled down the wall! That

disposes of the idea of suicide anyhow. Whywas that corner chosen to write it on? I will tellyou. See that candle on the mantelpiece. It waslit at the time, and if it was lit this corner wouldbe the brightest instead of the darkest portionof the wall."

"And what does it mean now that you havefound it?" asked Gregson in a depreciatory voi-ce.

"Mean? Why, it means that the writer was go-ing to put the female name Rachel, but wasdisturbed before he or she had time to finish.You mark my words, when this case comes tobe cleared up you will find that a woman na-med Rachel has something to do with it. It's allvery well for you to laugh, Mr. Sherlock Hol-mes. You may be very smart and clever, but theold hound is the best, when all is said and do-ne."

"I really beg your pardon!" said my companion,who had ruffled the little man's temper bybursting into an explosion of laughter. "Youcertainly have the credit of being the first of usto find this out, and, as you say, it bears everymark of having been written by the other par-ticipant in last night's mystery. I have not hadtime to examine this room yet, but with yourpermission I shall do so now."

As he spoke, he whipped a tape measure and alarge round magnifying glass from his pocket.With these two implements he trotted noise-lessly about the room, sometimes stopping,occasionally kneeling, and once lying flat uponhis face. So engrossed was he with his occupa-tion that he appeared to have forgotten ourpresence, for he chattered away to himself un-der his breath the whole time, keeping up arunning fire of exclamations, groans, whistles,and little cries suggestive of encouragementand of hope. As I watched him I was irresistibly

reminded of a pure-blooded well-trained fox-hound as it dashes backwards and forwardsthrough the covert, whining in its eagerness,until it comes across the lost scent. For twentyminutes or more he continued his researches,measuring with the most exact care the dis-tance between marks which were entirely in-visible to me, and occasionally applying histape to the walls in an equally incomprehensi-ble manner. In one place he gathered up verycarefully a little pile of grey dust from the floor,and packed it away in an envelope. Finally, heexamined with his glass the word upon thewall, going over every letter of it with the mostminute exactness. This done, he appeared to besatisfied, for he replaced his tape and his glassin his pocket.

"They say that genius is an infinite capacity fortaking pains," he remarked with a smile. "It's avery bad definition, but it does apply to detec-tive work."

Gregson and Lestrade had watched the ma-noeuvres 9 of their amateur companion withconsiderable curiosity and some contempt.They evidently failed to appreciate the fact,which I had begun to realize, that SherlockHolmes' smallest actions were all directed to-wards some definite and practical end.

"What do you think of it, sir?" they both asked.

"It would be robbing you of the credit of thecase if I was to presume to help you," remarkedmy friend. "You are doing so well now that itwould be a pity for anyone to interfere." Therewas a world of sarcasm in his voice as he spo-ke. "If you will let me know how your investi-gations go," he continued, "I shall be happy togive you any help I can. In the meantime Ishould like to speak to the constable who foundthe body. Can you give me his name and ad-dress?"

Lestrade glanced at his note-book. "John Ran-ce," he said. "He is off duty now. You will findhim at 46, Audley Court, Kennington Park Ga-te."

Holmes took a note of the address.

"Come along, Doctor," he said; "we shall go andlook him up. I'll tell you one thing which mayhelp you in the case," he continued, turning tothe two detectives. "There has been murderdone, and the murderer was a man. He wasmore than six feet high, was in the prime of life,had small feet for his height, wore coarse, squa-re-toed boots and smoked a Trichinopoly cigar.He came here with his victim in a four-wheeledcab, which was drawn by a horse with threeold shoes and one new one on his off fore leg.In all probability the murderer had a florid fa-ce, and the finger-nails of his right hand wereremarkably long. These are only a few indica-tions, but they may assist you."

Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each otherwith an incredulous smile.

"If this man was murdered, how was it done?"asked the former.

"Poison," said Sherlock Holmes curtly, andstrode off. "One other thing, Lestrade," he ad-ded, turning round at the door: "'Rache,' is theGerman for 'revenge;' so don't lose your timelooking for Miss Rachel."

With which Parthian shot he walked away,leaving the two rivals open-mouthed behindhim.

CHAPTER IV. WHAT JOHN RANCE HADTO TELL.

IT was one o'clock when we left No. 3, Lauris-ton Gardens. Sherlock Holmes led me to thenearest telegraph office, whence he dispatcheda long telegram. He then hailed a cab, and or-dered the driver to take us to the address givenus by Lestrade.

"There is nothing like first hand evidence," heremarked; "as a matter of fact, my mind is en-tirely made up upon the case, but still we mayas well learn all that is to be learned."

"You amaze me, Holmes," said I. "Surely youare not as sure as you pretend to be of all thoseparticulars which you gave."

"There's no room for a mistake," he answered."The very first thing which I observed on arriv-ing there was that a cab had made two ruts

with its wheels close to the curb. Now, up tolast night, we have had no rain for a week, sothat those wheels which left such a deep im-pression must have been there during thenight. There were the marks of the horse'shoofs, too, the outline of one of which was farmore clearly cut than that of the other three,showing that that was a new shoe. Since the cabwas there after the rain began, and was notthere at any time during the morning—I haveGregson's word for that—it follows that it musthave been there during the night, and, there-fore, that it brought those two individuals tothe house."

"That seems simple enough," said I; "but howabout the other man's height?"

"Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out often, can be told from the length of his stride. Itis a simple calculation enough, though there isno use my boring you with figures. I had thisfellow's stride both on the clay outside and on

the dust within. Then I had a way of checkingmy calculation. When a man writes on a wall,his instinct leads him to write about the level ofhis own eyes. Now that writing was just oversix feet from the ground. It was child's play."

"And his age?" I asked.

"Well, if a man can stride four and a-half feetwithout the smallest effort, he can't be quite inthe sere and yellow. That was the breadth of apuddle on the garden walk which he had evi-dently walked across. Patent-leather boots hadgone round, and Square-toes had hopped over.There is no mystery about it at all. I am simplyapplying to ordinary life a few of those pre-cepts of observation and deduction which Iadvocated in that article. Is there anything elsethat puzzles you?"

"The finger nails and the Trichinopoly," I sug-gested.

"The writing on the wall was done with a man'sforefinger dipped in blood. My glass allowedme to observe that the plaster was slightlyscratched in doing it, which would not havebeen the case if the man's nail had been trim-med. I gathered up some scattered ash from thefloor. It was dark in colour and flakey—such anash as is only made by a Trichinopoly. I havemade a special study of cigar ashes—in fact, Ihave written a monograph upon the subject. Iflatter myself that I can distinguish at a glancethe ash of any known brand, either of cigar orof tobacco. It is just in such details that the ski-lled detective differs from the Gregson andLestrade type."

"And the florid face?" I asked.

"Ah, that was a more daring shot, though Ihave no doubt that I was right. You must notask me that at the present state of the affair."

I passed my hand over my brow. "My head isin a whirl," I remarked; "the more one thinks ofit the more mysterious it grows. How camethese two men—if there were two men—intoan empty house? What has become of the cab-man who drove them? How could one mancompel another to take poison? Where did theblood come from? What was the object of themurderer, since robbery had no part in it? Howcame the woman's ring there? Above all, whyshould the second man write up the Germanword RACHE before decamping? I confess thatI cannot see any possible way of reconciling allthese facts."

My companion smiled approvingly.

"You sum up the difficulties of the situationsuccinctly and well," he said. "There is muchthat is still obscure, though I have quite madeup my mind on the main facts. As to poor Les-trade's discovery it was simply a blind in-tended to put the police upon a wrong track, by

suggesting Socialism and secret societies. It wasnot done by a German. The A, if you noticed,was printed somewhat after the German fash-ion. Now, a real German invariably prints inthe Latin character, so that we may safely saythat this was not written by one, but by a clum-sy imitator who overdid his part. It was simplya ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong channel.I'm not going to tell you much more of the case,Doctor. You know a conjuror gets no creditwhen once he has explained his trick, and if Ishow you too much of my method of working,you will come to the conclusion that I am a ve-ry ordinary individual after all."

"I shall never do that," I answered; "you havebrought detection as near an exact science as itever will be brought in this world."

My companion flushed up with pleasure at mywords, and the earnest way in which I utteredthem. I had already observed that he was as

sensitive to flattery on the score of his art asany girl could be of her beauty.

"I'll tell you one other thing," he said. "Patentleathers 10 and Square-toes came in the samecab, and they walked down the pathway to-gether as friendly as possible—arm-in-arm, inall probability. When they got inside theywalked up and down the room—or rather, Pat-ent-leathers stood still while Square-toeswalked up and down. I could read all that inthe dust; and I could read that as he walked hegrew more and more excited. That is shown bythe increased length of his strides. He was talk-ing all the while, and working himself up, nodoubt, into a fury. Then the tragedy occurred.I've told you all I know myself now, for the restis mere surmise and conjecture. We have agood working basis, however, on which tostart. We must hurry up, for I want to go toHalle's concert to hear Norman Neruda thisafternoon."

This conversation had occurred while our cabhad been threading its way through a long suc-cession of dingy streets and dreary by-ways. Inthe dingiest and dreariest of them our driversuddenly came to a stand. "That's AudleyCourt in there," he said, pointing to a narrowslit in the line of dead-coloured brick. "You'llfind me here when you come back."

Audley Court was not an attractive locality.The narrow passage led us into a quadranglepaved with flags and lined by sordid dwellings.We picked our way among groups of dirtychildren, and through lines of discoloured li-nen, until we came to Number 46, the door ofwhich was decorated with a small slip of brasson which the name Rance was engraved. Onenquiry we found that the constable was inbed, and we were shown into a little front par-lour to await his coming.

He appeared presently, looking a little irritableat being disturbed in his slumbers. "I made myreport at the office," he said.

Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocketand played with it pensively. "We thought thatwe should like to hear it all from your ownlips," he said.

"I shall be most happy to tell you anything Ican," the constable answered with his eyesupon the little golden disk.

"Just let us hear it all in your own way as it oc-curred."

Rance sat down on the horsehair sofa, and knit-ted his brows as though determined not to omitanything in his narrative.

"I'll tell it ye from the beginning," he said. "Mytime is from ten at night to six in the morning.At eleven there was a fight at the 'White Hart';

but bar that all was quiet enough on the beat.At one o'clock it began to rain, and I met HarryMurcher—him who has the Holland Grovebeat—and we stood together at the corner ofHenrietta Street a-talkin'. Presently—maybeabout two or a little after—I thought I wouldtake a look round and see that all was rightdown the Brixton Road. It was precious dirtyand lonely. Not a soul did I meet all the waydown, though a cab or two went past me. I wasa strollin' down, thinkin' between ourselveshow uncommon handy a four of gin hot wouldbe, when suddenly the glint of a light caughtmy eye in the window of that same house.Now, I knew that them two houses in LauristonGardens was empty on account of him thatowns them who won't have the drains seed to,though the very last tenant what lived in one ofthem died o' typhoid fever. I was knocked all ina heap therefore at seeing a light in the win-dow, and I suspected as something was wrong.When I got to the door——"

"You stopped, and then walked back to thegarden gate," my companion interrupted."What did you do that for?"

Rance gave a violent jump, and stared at Sher-lock Holmes with the utmost amazement uponhis features.

"Why, that's true, sir," he said; "though howyou come to know it, Heaven only knows. Yesee, when I got up to the door it was so still andso lonesome, that I thought I'd be none theworse for some one with me. I ain't afeared ofanything on this side o' the grave; but I thoughtthat maybe it was him that died o' the typhoidinspecting the drains what killed him. Thethought gave me a kind o' turn, and I walkedback to the gate to see if I could see Murcher'slantern, but there wasn't no sign of him nor ofanyone else."

"There was no one in the street?"

"Not a livin' soul, sir, nor as much as a dog.Then I pulled myself together and went backand pushed the door open. All was quiet in-side, so I went into the room where the lightwas a-burnin'. There was a candle flickerin' onthe mantelpiece—a red wax one—and by itslight I saw——"

"Yes, I know all that you saw. You walkedround the room several times, and you kneltdown by the body, and then you walkedthrough and tried the kitchen door, and then——"

John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightenedface and suspicion in his eyes. "Where was youhid to see all that?" he cried. "It seems to methat you knows a deal more than you should."

Holmes laughed and threw his card across thetable to the constable. "Don't get arresting mefor the murder," he said. "I am one of thehounds and not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or Mr.

Lestrade will answer for that. Go on, though.What did you do next?"

Rance resumed his seat, without however los-ing his mystified expression. "I went back to thegate and sounded my whistle. That broughtMurcher and two more to the spot."

"Was the street empty then?"

"Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be ofany good goes."

"What do you mean?"

The constable's features broadened into a grin."I've seen many a drunk chap in my time," hesaid, "but never anyone so cryin' drunk as thatcove. He was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin' up agin the railings, and a-singin' at thepitch o' his lungs about Columbine's New-fangled Banner, or some such stuff. He couldn'tstand, far less help."

"What sort of a man was he?" asked SherlockHolmes.

John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritatedat this digression. "He was an uncommondrunk sort o' man," he said. "He'd ha' foundhisself in the station if we hadn't been so tookup."

"His face—his dress—didn't you notice them?"Holmes broke in impatiently.

"I should think I did notice them, seeing that Ihad to prop him up—me and Murcher betweenus. He was a long chap, with a red face, thelower part muffled round——"

"That will do," cried Holmes. "What became ofhim?"

"We'd enough to do without lookin' after him,"the policeman said, in an aggrieved voice. "I'llwager he found his way home all right."

"How was he dressed?"

"A brown overcoat."

"Had he a whip in his hand?"

"A whip—no."

"He must have left it behind," muttered mycompanion. "You didn't happen to see or hear acab after that?"

"No."

"There's a half-sovereign for you," my compan-ion said, standing up and taking his hat. "I amafraid, Rance, that you will never rise in theforce. That head of yours should be for use aswell as ornament. You might have gained yoursergeant's stripes last night. The man whomyou held in your hands is the man who holdsthe clue of this mystery, and whom we are see-king. There is no use of arguing about it now; Itell you that it is so. Come along, Doctor."

We started off for the cab together, leaving ourinformant incredulous, but obviously uncom-fortable.

"The blundering fool," Holmes said, bitterly, aswe drove back to our lodgings. "Just to think ofhis having such an incomparable bit of goodluck, and not taking advantage of it."

"I am rather in the dark still. It is true that thedescription of this man tallies with your idea ofthe second party in this mystery. But whyshould he come back to the house after leavingit? That is not the way of criminals."

"The ring, man, the ring: that was what he cameback for. If we have no other way of catchinghim, we can always bait our line with the ring. Ishall have him, Doctor—I'll lay you two to onethat I have him. I must thank you for it all. Imight not have gone but for you, and so havemissed the finest study I ever came across: astudy in scarlet, eh? Why shouldn't we use a

little art jargon. There's the scarlet thread ofmurder running through the colourless skein oflife, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it,and expose every inch of it. And now for lunch,and then for Norman Neruda. Her attack andher bowing are splendid. What's that littlething of Chopin's she plays so magnificently:Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay."

Leaning back in the cab, this amateur blood-hound carolled away like a lark while I medi-tated upon the many-sidedness of the humanmind.

CHAPTER V. OUR ADVERTISEMENTBRINGS A VISITOR.

OUR morning's exertions had been too muchfor my weak health, and I was tired out in theafternoon. After Holmes' departure for the con-cert, I lay down upon the sofa and endeav-oured to get a couple of hours' sleep. It was auseless attempt. My mind had been too muchexcited by all that had occurred, and thestrangest fancies and surmises crowded into it.Every time that I closed my eyes I saw beforeme the distorted baboon-like countenance ofthe murdered man. So sinister was the impres-sion which that face had produced upon methat I found it difficult to feel anything butgratitude for him who had removed its ownerfrom the world. If ever human features bespokevice of the most malignant type, they were cer-tainly those of Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland.Still I recognized that justice must be done, and

that the depravity of the victim was no con-donment 11 in the eyes of the law.

The more I thought of it the more extraordinarydid my companion's hypothesis, that the manhad been poisoned, appear. I remembered howhe had sniffed his lips, and had no doubt thathe had detected something which had givenrise to the idea. Then, again, if not poison, whathad caused the man's death, since there wasneither wound nor marks of strangulation? But,on the other hand, whose blood was that whichlay so thickly upon the floor? There were nosigns of a struggle, nor had the victim anyweapon with which he might have woundedan antagonist. As long as all these questionswere unsolved, I felt that sleep would be noeasy matter, either for Holmes or myself. Hisquiet self-confident manner convinced me thathe had already formed a theory which ex-plained all the facts, though what it was I couldnot for an instant conjecture.

He was very late in returning—so late, that Iknew that the concert could not have detainedhim all the time. Dinner was on the table beforehe appeared.

"It was magnificent," he said, as he took hisseat. "Do you remember what Darwin saysabout music? He claims that the power of pro-ducing and appreciating it existed among thehuman race long before the power of speechwas arrived at. Perhaps that is why we are sosubtly influenced by it. There are vague memo-ries in our souls of those misty centuries whenthe world was in its childhood."

"That's rather a broad idea," I remarked.

"One's ideas must be as broad as Nature if theyare to interpret Nature," he answered. "What'sthe matter? You're not looking quite yourself.This Brixton Road affair has upset you."

"To tell the truth, it has," I said. "I ought to bemore case-hardened after my Afghan experi-ences. I saw my own comrades hacked topieces at Maiwand without losing my nerve."

"I can understand. There is a mystery about thiswhich stimulates the imagination; where thereis no imagination there is no horror. Have youseen the evening paper?"

"No."

"It gives a fairly good account of the affair. Itdoes not mention the fact that when the manwas raised up, a woman's wedding ring fellupon the floor. It is just as well it does not."

"Why?"

"Look at this advertisement," he answered. "Ihad one sent to every paper this morning im-mediately after the affair."

He threw the paper across to me and I glancedat the place indicated. It was the first an-nouncement in the "Found" column. "In BrixtonRoad, this morning," it ran, "a plain gold wed-ding ring, found in the roadway between the'White Hart' Tavern and Holland Grove. ApplyDr. Watson, 221B, Baker Street, between eightand nine this evening."

"Excuse my using your name," he said. "If Iused my own some of these dunderheadswould recognize it, and want to meddle in theaffair."

"That is all right," I answered. "But supposinganyone applies, I have no ring."

"Oh yes, you have," said he, handing me one."This will do very well. It is almost a facsimile."

"And who do you expect will answer this ad-vertisement."

"Why, the man in the brown coat—our floridfriend with the square toes. If he does not comehimself he will send an accomplice."

"Would he not consider it as too dangerous?"

"Not at all. If my view of the case is correct, andI have every reason to believe that it is, thisman would rather risk anything than lose thering. According to my notion he dropped itwhile stooping over Drebber's body, and didnot miss it at the time. After leaving the househe discovered his loss and hurried back, butfound the police already in possession, owingto his own folly in leaving the candle burning.He had to pretend to be drunk in order to allaythe suspicions which might have been arousedby his appearance at the gate. Now put yourselfin that man's place. On thinking the matterover, it must have occurred to him that it waspossible that he had lost the ring in the roadafter leaving the house. What would he do,then? He would eagerly look out for the eve-

ning papers in the hope of seeing it among thearticles found. His eye, of course, would lightupon this. He would be overjoyed. Why shouldhe fear a trap? There would be no reason in hiseyes why the finding of the ring should be con-nected with the murder. He would come. Hewill come. You shall see him within an hour?"

"And then?" I asked.

"Oh, you can leave me to deal with him then.Have you any arms?"

"I have my old service revolver and a few car-tridges."

"You had better clean it and load it. He will be adesperate man, and though I shall take himunawares, it is as well to be ready for any-thing."

I went to my bedroom and followed his advice.When I returned with the pistol the table had

been cleared, and Holmes was engaged in hisfavourite occupation of scraping upon his vio-lin.

"The plot thickens," he said, as I entered; "Ihave just had an answer to my American tele-gram. My view of the case is the correct one."

"And that is?" I asked eagerly.

"My fiddle would be the better for new strings,"he remarked. "Put your pistol in your pocket.When the fellow comes speak to him in an or-dinary way. Leave the rest to me. Don't frightenhim by looking at him too hard."

"It is eight o'clock now," I said, glancing at mywatch.

"Yes. He will probably be here in a few min-utes. Open the door slightly. That will do. Nowput the key on the inside. Thank you! This is aqueer old book I picked up at a stall yester-

day—'De Jure inter Gentes'—published in Latinat Liege in the Lowlands, in 1642. Charles' headwas still firm on his shoulders when this littlebrown-backed volume was struck off."

"Who is the printer?"

"Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have been.On the fly-leaf, in very faded ink, is written 'Exlibris Guliolmi Whyte.' I wonder who WilliamWhyte was. Some pragmatical seventeenth cen-tury lawyer, I suppose. His writing has a legaltwist about it. Here comes our man, I think."

As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell.Sherlock Holmes rose softly and moved hischair in the direction of the door. We heard theservant pass along the hall, and the sharp clickof the latch as she opened it.

"Does Dr. Watson live here?" asked a clear butrather harsh voice. We could not hear the ser-vant's reply, but the door closed, and some one

began to ascend the stairs. The footfall was anuncertain and shuffling one. A look of surprisepassed over the face of my companion as helistened to it. It came slowly along the passage,and there was a feeble tap at the door.

"Come in," I cried.

At my summons, instead of the man of violencewhom we expected, a very old and wrinkledwoman hobbled into the apartment. She ap-peared to be dazzled by the sudden blaze oflight, and after dropping a curtsey, she stoodblinking at us with her bleared eyes and fum-bling in her pocket with nervous, shaky fingers.I glanced at my companion, and his face hadassumed such a disconsolate expression that itwas all I could do to keep my countenance.

The old crone drew out an evening paper, andpointed at our advertisement. "It's this as hasbrought me, good gentlemen," she said, drop-ping another curtsey; "a gold wedding ring in

the Brixton Road. It belongs to my girl Sally, aswas married only this time twelvemonth,which her husband is steward aboard a Unionboat, and what he'd say if he come 'ome andfound her without her ring is more than I canthink, he being short enough at the best o' ti-mes, but more especially when he has thedrink. If it please you, she went to the circuslast night along with——"

"Is that her ring?" I asked.

"The Lord be thanked!" cried the old woman;"Sally will be a glad woman this night. That'sthe ring."

"And what may your address be?" I inquired,taking up a pencil.

"13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A weary wayfrom here."

"The Brixton Road does not lie between anycircus and Houndsditch," said Sherlock Holmessharply.

The old woman faced round and looked keenlyat him from her little red-rimmed eyes. "Thegentleman asked me for my address," she said."Sally lives in lodgings at 3, Mayfield Place,Peckham."

"And your name is——?"

"My name is Sawyer—her's is Dennis, whichTom Dennis married her—and a smart, cleanlad, too, as long as he's at sea, and no stewardin the company more thought of; but when onshore, what with the women and what withliquor shops——"

"Here is your ring, Mrs. Sawyer," I interrupted,in obedience to a sign from my companion; "itclearly belongs to your daughter, and I am gladto be able to restore it to the rightful owner."

With many mumbled blessings and protesta-tions of gratitude the old crone packed it awayin her pocket, and shuffled off down the stairs.Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet the momentthat she was gone and rushed into his room. Hereturned in a few seconds enveloped in an ul-ster and a cravat. "I'll follow her," he said, hur-riedly; "she must be an accomplice, and willlead me to him. Wait up for me." The hall doorhad hardly slammed behind our visitor beforeHolmes had descended the stair. Lookingthrough the window I could see her walkingfeebly along the other side, while her pursuerdogged her some little distance behind. "Eitherhis whole theory is incorrect," I thought to my-self, "or else he will be led now to the heart ofthe mystery." There was no need for him to askme to wait up for him, for I felt that sleep wasimpossible until I heard the result of his adven-ture.

It was close upon nine when he set out. I hadno idea how long he might be, but I sat stolidlypuffing at my pipe and skipping over the pagesof Henri Murger's "Vie de Bohème." Ten o'clockpassed, and I heard the footsteps of the maid asthey pattered off to bed. Eleven, and the morestately tread of the landlady passed my door,bound for the same destination. It was closeupon twelve before I heard the sharp sound ofhis latch-key. The instant he entered I saw byhis face that he had not been successful. Amu-sement and chagrin seemed to be struggling forthe mastery, until the former suddenly carriedthe day, and he burst into a hearty laugh.

"I wouldn't have the Scotland Yarders know itfor the world," he cried, dropping into his chair;"I have chaffed them so much that they wouldnever have let me hear the end of it. I can affordto laugh, because I know that I will be evenwith them in the long run."

"What is it then?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't mind telling a story against myself.That creature had gone a little way when shebegan to limp and show every sign of beingfoot-sore. Presently she came to a halt, and hai-led a four-wheeler which was passing. I man-aged to be close to her so as to hear the address,but I need not have been so anxious, for shesang it out loud enough to be heard at the otherside of the street, 'Drive to 13, Duncan Street,Houndsditch,' she cried. This begins to lookgenuine, I thought, and having seen her safelyinside, I perched myself behind. That's an artwhich every detective should be an expert at.Well, away we rattled, and never drew reinuntil we reached the street in question. I hop-ped off before we came to the door, and stro-lled down the street in an easy, lounging way. Isaw the cab pull up. The driver jumped down,and I saw him open the door and stand expec-tantly. Nothing came out though. When I rea-ched him he was groping about frantically inthe empty cab, and giving vent to the finest

assorted collection of oaths that ever I listenedto. There was no sign or trace of his passenger,and I fear it will be some time before he gets hisfare. On inquiring at Number 13 we found thatthe house belonged to a respectable paper-hanger, named Keswick, and that no one of thename either of Sawyer or Dennis had ever beenheard of there."

"You don't mean to say," I cried, in amazement,"that that tottering, feeble old woman was ableto get out of the cab while it was in motion,without either you or the driver seeing her?"

"Old woman be damned!" said Sherlock Hol-mes, sharply. "We were the old women to be sotaken in. It must have been a young man, andan active one, too, besides being an incompara-ble actor. The get-up was inimitable. He sawthat he was followed, no doubt, and used thismeans of giving me the slip. It shows that theman we are after is not as lonely as I imaginedhe was, but has friends who are ready to risk

something for him. Now, Doctor, you are look-ing done-up. Take my advice and turn in."

I was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyedhis injunction. I left Holmes seated in front ofthe smouldering fire, and long into the watchesof the night I heard the low, melancholy wail-ings of his violin, and knew that he was stillpondering over the strange problem which hehad set himself to unravel.

CHAPTER VI. TOBIAS GREGSONSHOWS WHAT HE CAN DO.

THE papers next day were full of the "BrixtonMystery," as they termed it. Each had a longaccount of the affair, and some had leadersupon it in addition. There was some informa-

tion in them which was new to me. I still retainin my scrap-book numerous clippings and ex-tracts bearing upon the case. Here is a conden-sation of a few of them:—

The Daily Telegraph remarked that in the historyof crime there had seldom been a tragedywhich presented stranger features. The Germanname of the victim, the absence of all other mo-tive, and the sinister inscription on the wall, allpointed to its perpetration by political refugeesand revolutionists. The Socialists had manybranches in America, and the deceased had, nodoubt, infringed their unwritten laws, and beentracked down by them. After alluding airily tothe Vehmgericht, aqua tofana, Carbonari, theMarchioness de Brinvilliers, the Darwinian the-ory, the principles of Malthus, and the RatcliffHighway murders, the article concluded byadmonishing the Government and advocatinga closer watch over foreigners in England.

The Standard commented upon the fact thatlawless outrages of the sort usually occurredunder a Liberal Administration. They arosefrom the unsettling of the minds of the masses,and the consequent weakening of all authority.The deceased was an American gentleman whohad been residing for some weeks in the Me-tropolis. He had stayed at the boarding-houseof Madame Charpentier, in Torquay Terrace,Camberwell. He was accompanied in his trav-els by his private secretary, Mr. Joseph Stanger-son. The two bade adieu to their landlady uponTuesday, the 4th inst., and departed to EustonStation with the avowed intention of catchingthe Liverpool express. They were afterwardsseen together upon the platform. Nothing moreis known of them until Mr. Drebber's body was,as recorded, discovered in an empty house inthe Brixton Road, many miles from Euston.How he came there, or how he met his fate, arequestions which are still involved in mystery.Nothing is known of the whereabouts of Stan-

gerson. We are glad to learn that Mr. Lestradeand Mr. Gregson, of Scotland Yard, are bothengaged upon the case, and it is confidentlyanticipated that these well-known officers willspeedily throw light upon the matter.

The Daily News observed that there was nodoubt as to the crime being a political one. Thedespotism and hatred of Liberalism which ani-mated the Continental Governments had hadthe effect of driving to our shores a number ofmen who might have made excellent citizenswere they not soured by the recollection of allthat they had undergone. Among these menthere was a stringent code of honour, any in-fringement of which was punished by death.Every effort should be made to find the secre-tary, Stangerson, and to ascertain some particu-lars of the habits of the deceased. A great stephad been gained by the discovery of the ad-dress of the house at which he had boarded—a

result which was entirely due to the acutenessand energy of Mr. Gregson of Scotland Yard.

Sherlock Holmes and I read these notices overtogether at breakfast, and they appeared toafford him considerable amusement.

"I told you that, whatever happened, Lestradeand Gregson would be sure to score."

"That depends on how it turns out."

"Oh, bless you, it doesn't matter in the least. Ifthe man is caught, it will be on account of theirexertions; if he escapes, it will be in spite of theirexertions. It's heads I win and tails you lose.Whatever they do, they will have followers. 'Unsot trouve toujours un plus sot qui l'admire.'"

"What on earth is this?" I cried, for at this mo-ment there came the pattering of many steps inthe hall and on the stairs, accompanied by au-

dible expressions of disgust upon the part ofour landlady.

"It's the Baker Street division of the detectivepolice force," said my companion, gravely; andas he spoke there rushed into the room half adozen of the dirtiest and most ragged streetArabs that ever I clapped eyes on.

"'Tention!" cried Holmes, in a sharp tone, andthe six dirty little scoundrels stood in a line likeso many disreputable statuettes. "In future youshall send up Wiggins alone to report, and therest of you must wait in the street. Have youfound it, Wiggins?"

"No, sir, we hain't," said one of the youths.

"I hardly expected you would. You must keepon until you do. Here are your wages." 13 Hehanded each of them a shilling.

"Now, off you go, and come back with a betterreport next time."

He waved his hand, and they scampered awaydownstairs like so many rats, and we heardtheir shrill voices next moment in the street.

"There's more work to be got out of one of tho-se little beggars than out of a dozen of the for-ce," Holmes remarked. "The mere sight of anofficial-looking person seals men's lips. Theseyoungsters, however, go everywhere and heareverything. They are as sharp as needles, too;all they want is organisation."

"Is it on this Brixton case that you are employ-ing them?" I asked.

"Yes; there is a point which I wish to ascertain.It is merely a matter of time. Hullo! we are go-ing to hear some news now with a vengeance!Here is Gregson coming down the road withbeatitude written upon every feature of his

face. Bound for us, I know. Yes, he is stopping.There he is!"

There was a violent peal at the bell, and in afew seconds the fair-haired detective came upthe stairs, three steps at a time, and burst intoour sitting-room.

"My dear fellow," he cried, wringing Holmes'unresponsive hand, "congratulate me! I havemade the whole thing as clear as day."

A shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross mycompanion's expressive face.

"Do you mean that you are on the right track?"he asked.

"The right track! Why, sir, we have the manunder lock and key."

"And his name is?"

"Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in Her Ma-jesty's navy," cried Gregson, pompously, rub-bing his fat hands and inflating his chest.

Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief, and re-laxed into a smile.

"Take a seat, and try one of these cigars," hesaid. "We are anxious to know how you man-aged it. Will you have some whiskey and wa-ter?"

"I don't mind if I do," the detective answered."The tremendous exertions which I have gonethrough during the last day or two have wornme out. Not so much bodily exertion, you un-derstand, as the strain upon the mind. You willappreciate that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for weare both brain-workers."

"You do me too much honour," said Holmes,gravely. "Let us hear how you arrived at thismost gratifying result."

The detective seated himself in the arm-chair,and puffed complacently at his cigar. Then sud-denly he slapped his thigh in a paroxysm ofamusement.

"The fun of it is," he cried, "that that fool Les-trade, who thinks himself so smart, has goneoff upon the wrong track altogether. He is afterthe secretary Stangerson, who had no more todo with the crime than the babe unborn. I haveno doubt that he has caught him by this time."

The idea tickled Gregson so much that he laug-hed until he choked.

"And how did you get your clue?"

"Ah, I'll tell you all about it. Of course, DoctorWatson, this is strictly between ourselves. Thefirst difficulty which we had to contend withwas the finding of this American's antecedents.Some people would have waited until theiradvertisements were answered, or until parties

came forward and volunteered information.That is not Tobias Gregson's way of going towork. You remember the hat beside the deadman?"

"Yes," said Holmes; "by John Underwood andSons, 129, Camberwell Road."

Gregson looked quite crest-fallen.

"I had no idea that you noticed that," he said."Have you been there?"

"No."

"Ha!" cried Gregson, in a relieved voice; "youshould never neglect a chance, however small itmay seem."

"To a great mind, nothing is little," remarkedHolmes, sententiously.

"Well, I went to Underwood, and asked him ifhe had sold a hat of that size and description.

He looked over his books, and came on it atonce. He had sent the hat to a Mr. Drebber, re-siding at Charpentier's Boarding Establishment,Torquay Terrace. Thus I got at his address."

"Smart—very smart!" murmured SherlockHolmes.

"I next called upon Madame Charpentier," con-tinued the detective. "I found her very pale anddistressed. Her daughter was in the room,too—an uncommonly fine girl she is, too; shewas looking red about the eyes and her lipstrembled as I spoke to her. That didn't escapemy notice. I began to smell a rat. You know thefeeling, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, when you comeupon the right scent—a kind of thrill in yournerves. 'Have you heard of the mysteriousdeath of your late boarder Mr. Enoch J. Dreb-ber, of Cleveland?' I asked.

"The mother nodded. She didn't seem able toget out a word. The daughter burst into tears. I

felt more than ever that these people knew so-mething of the matter.

"'At what o'clock did Mr. Drebber leave yourhouse for the train?' I asked.

"'At eight o'clock,' she said, gulping in herthroat to keep down her agitation. 'His secre-tary, Mr. Stangerson, said that there were twotrains—one at 9.15 and one at 11. He was tocatch the first. 14

"'And was that the last which you saw of him?'

"A terrible change came over the woman's faceas I asked the question. Her features turnedperfectly livid. It was some seconds before shecould get out the single word 'Yes'—and whenit did come it was in a husky unnatural tone.

"There was silence for a moment, and then thedaughter spoke in a calm clear voice.

"'No good can ever come of falsehood, mother,'she said. 'Let us be frank with this gentleman.We did see Mr. Drebber again.'

"'God forgive you!' cried Madame Charpentier,throwing up her hands and sinking back in herchair. 'You have murdered your brother.'

"'Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth,'the girl answered firmly.

"'You had best tell me all about it now,' I said.'Half-confidences are worse than none. Besides,you do not know how much we know of it.'

"'On your head be it, Alice!' cried her mother;and then, turning to me, 'I will tell you all, sir.Do not imagine that my agitation on behalf ofmy son arises from any fear lest he should havehad a hand in this terrible affair. He is utterlyinnocent of it. My dread is, however, that inyour eyes and in the eyes of others he may ap-pear to be compromised. That however is sure-

ly impossible. His high character, his profes-sion, his antecedents would all forbid it.'

"'Your best way is to make a clean breast of thefacts,' I answered. 'Depend upon it, if your sonis innocent he will be none the worse.'

"'Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us to-gether,' she said, and her daughter withdrew.'Now, sir,' she continued, 'I had no intention oftelling you all this, but since my poor daughterhas disclosed it I have no alternative. Havingonce decided to speak, I will tell you all with-out omitting any particular.'

"'It is your wisest course,' said I.

"'Mr. Drebber has been with us nearly threeweeks. He and his secretary, Mr. Stangerson,had been travelling on the Continent. I noticeda "Copenhagen" label upon each of their trunks,showing that that had been their last stoppingplace. Stangerson was a quiet reserved man,

but his employer, I am sorry to say, was farotherwise. He was coarse in his habits andbrutish in his ways. The very night of his arri-val he became very much the worse for drink,and, indeed, after twelve o'clock in the day hecould hardly ever be said to be sober. His man-ners towards the maid-servants were disgust-ingly free and familiar. Worst of all, he speedilyassumed the same attitude towards my daugh-ter, Alice, and spoke to her more than once in away which, fortunately, she is too innocent tounderstand. On one occasion he actually seizedher in his arms and embraced her—an outragewhich caused his own secretary to reproachhim for his unmanly conduct.'

"'But why did you stand all this,' I asked. 'I sup-pose that you can get rid of your boarderswhen you wish.'

"Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinentquestion. 'Would to God that I had given himnotice on the very day that he came,' she said.

'But it was a sore temptation. They were payinga pound a day each—fourteen pounds a week,and this is the slack season. I am a widow, andmy boy in the Navy has cost me much. I grud-ged to lose the money. I acted for the best. Thislast was too much, however, and I gave himnotice to leave on account of it. That was thereason of his going.'

"'Well?'

"'My heart grew light when I saw him driveaway. My son is on leave just now, but I did nottell him anything of all this, for his temper isviolent, and he is passionately fond of his sister.When I closed the door behind them a loadseemed to be lifted from my mind. Alas, in lessthan an hour there was a ring at the bell, and Ilearned that Mr. Drebber had returned. He wasmuch excited, and evidently the worse fordrink. He forced his way into the room, where Iwas sitting with my daughter, and made someincoherent remark about having missed his

train. He then turned to Alice, and before myvery face, proposed to her that she should flywith him. "You are of age," he said, "and thereis no law to stop you. I have money enoughand to spare. Never mind the old girl here, butcome along with me now straight away. Youshall live like a princess." Poor Alice was sofrightened that she shrunk away from him, buthe caught her by the wrist and endeavoured todraw her towards the door. I screamed, and atthat moment my son Arthur came into theroom. What happened then I do not know. Iheard oaths and the confused sounds of a scuf-fle. I was too terrified to raise my head. When Idid look up I saw Arthur standing in the door-way laughing, with a stick in his hand. "I don'tthink that fine fellow will trouble us again," hesaid. "I will just go after him and see what hedoes with himself." With those words he tookhis hat and started off down the street. The nextmorning we heard of Mr. Drebber's mysteriousdeath.'

"This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier'slips with many gasps and pauses. At times shespoke so low that I could hardly catch thewords. I made shorthand notes of all that shesaid, however, so that there should be no pos-sibility of a mistake."

"It's quite exciting," said Sherlock Holmes, witha yawn. "What happened next?"

"When Mrs. Charpentier paused," the detectivecontinued, "I saw that the whole case hungupon one point. Fixing her with my eye in away which I always found effective with wo-men, I asked her at what hour her son returned.

"'I do not know,' she answered.

"'Not know?'

"'No; he has a latch-key, and he let himself in.'

"'After you went to bed?'

"'Yes.'

"'When did you go to bed?'

"'About eleven.'

"'So your son was gone at least two hours?'

"'Yes.'

"'Possibly four or five?'

"'Yes.'

"'What was he doing during that time?'

"'I do not know,' she answered, turning whiteto her very lips.

"Of course after that there was nothing more tobe done. I found out where Lieutenant Char-pentier was, took two officers with me, andarrested him. When I touched him on theshoulder and warned him to come quietly with

us, he answered us as bold as brass, 'I supposeyou are arresting me for being concerned in thedeath of that scoundrel Drebber,' he said. Wehad said nothing to him about it, so that hisalluding to it had a most suspicious aspect."

"Very," said Holmes.

"He still carried the heavy stick which the mot-her described him as having with him when hefollowed Drebber. It was a stout oak cudgel."

"What is your theory, then?"

"Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber asfar as the Brixton Road. When there, a freshaltercation arose between them, in the course ofwhich Drebber received a blow from the stick,in the pit of the stomach, perhaps, which killedhim without leaving any mark. The night wasso wet that no one was about, so Charpentierdragged the body of his victim into the emptyhouse. As to the candle, and the blood, and the

writing on the wall, and the ring, they may allbe so many tricks to throw the police on to thewrong scent."

"Well done!" said Holmes in an encouragingvoice. "Really, Gregson, you are getting along.We shall make something of you yet."

"I flatter myself that I have managed it ratherneatly," the detective answered proudly. "Theyoung man volunteered a statement, in whichhe said that after following Drebber some time,the latter perceived him, and took a cab in or-der to get away from him. On his way home hemet an old shipmate, and took a long walk withhim. On being asked where this old shipmatelived, he was unable to give any satisfactoryreply. I think the whole case fits together un-commonly well. What amuses me is to think ofLestrade, who had started off upon the wrongscent. I am afraid he won't make much of 15Why, by Jove, here's the very man himself!"

It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended thestairs while we were talking, and who nowentered the room. The assurance and jauntinesswhich generally marked his demeanour anddress were, however, wanting. His face wasdisturbed and troubled, while his clothes weredisarranged and untidy. He had evidently co-me with the intention of consulting with Sher-lock Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague heappeared to be embarrassed and put out. Hestood in the centre of the room, fumbling nerv-ously with his hat and uncertain what to do."This is a most extraordinary case," he said atlast—"a most incomprehensible affair."

"Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!" cried Greg-son, triumphantly. "I thought you would cometo that conclusion. Have you managed to findthe Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?"

"The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson," saidLestrade gravely, "was murdered at Halliday'sPrivate Hotel about six o'clock this morning."

CHAPTER VII. LIGHT IN THE DARK-NESS.

THE intelligence with which Lestrade greetedus was so momentous and so unexpected, thatwe were all three fairly dumfoundered. Greg-son sprang out of his chair and upset the re-mainder of his whiskey and water. I stared insilence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips werecompressed and his brows drawn down overhis eyes.

"Stangerson too!" he muttered. "The plot thick-ens."

"It was quite thick enough before," grumbledLestrade, taking a chair. "I seem to have drop-ped into a sort of council of war."

"Are you—are you sure of this piece of intelli-gence?" stammered Gregson.

"I have just come from his room," said Lestrade."I was the first to discover what had occurred."

"We have been hearing Gregson's view of thematter," Holmes observed. "Would you mindletting us know what you have seen and done?"

"I have no objection," Lestrade answered, seat-ing himself. "I freely confess that I was of theopinion that Stangerson was concerned in thedeath of Drebber. This fresh development hasshown me that I was completely mistaken. Fullof the one idea, I set myself to find out whathad become of the Secretary. They had beenseen together at Euston Station about half-pasteight on the evening of the third. At two in themorning Drebber had been found in the Brix-ton Road. The question which confronted mewas to find out how Stangerson had been em-ployed between 8.30 and the time of the crime,

and what had become of him afterwards. I tele-graphed to Liverpool, giving a description ofthe man, and warning them to keep a watchupon the American boats. I then set to workcalling upon all the hotels and lodging-housesin the vicinity of Euston. You see, I argued thatif Drebber and his companion had become se-parated, the natural course for the latter wouldbe to put up somewhere in the vicinity for thenight, and then to hang about the station againnext morning."

"They would be likely to agree on some meet-ing-place beforehand," remarked Holmes.

"So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterdayevening in making enquiries entirely withoutavail. This morning I began very early, and ateight o'clock I reached Halliday's Private Hotel,in Little George Street. On my enquiry as towhether a Mr. Stangerson was living there,they at once answered me in the affirmative.

"'No doubt you are the gentleman whom hewas expecting,' they said. 'He has been waitingfor a gentleman for two days.'

"'Where is he now?' I asked.

"'He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be calledat nine.'

"'I will go up and see him at once,' I said.

"It seemed to me that my sudden appearancemight shake his nerves and lead him to saysomething unguarded. The Boots volunteeredto show me the room: it was on the secondfloor, and there was a small corridor leading upto it. The Boots pointed out the door to me, andwas about to go downstairs again when I sawsomething that made me feel sickish, in spite ofmy twenty years' experience. From under thedoor there curled a little red ribbon of blood,which had meandered across the passage andformed a little pool along the skirting at the

other side. I gave a cry, which brought theBoots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it.The door was locked on the inside, but we putour shoulders to it, and knocked it in. The win-dow of the room was open, and beside thewindow, all huddled up, lay the body of a manin his nightdress. He was quite dead, and hadbeen for some time, for his limbs were rigidand cold. When we turned him over, the Bootsrecognized him at once as being the same gen-tleman who had engaged the room under thename of Joseph Stangerson. The cause of deathwas a deep stab in the left side, which musthave penetrated the heart. And now comes thestrangest part of the affair. What do you sup-pose was above the murdered man?"

I felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentimentof coming horror, even before Sherlock Holmesanswered.

"The word RACHE, written in letters of blood,"he said.

"That was it," said Lestrade, in an awe-struckvoice; and we were all silent for a while.

There was something so methodical and soincomprehensible about the deeds of this un-known assassin, that it imparted a fresh ghast-liness to his crimes. My nerves, which weresteady enough on the field of battle tingled as Ithought of it.

"The man was seen," continued Lestrade. "Amilk boy, passing on his way to the dairy, hap-pened to walk down the lane which leads fromthe mews at the back of the hotel. He noticedthat a ladder, which usually lay there, was rai-sed against one of the windows of the secondfloor, which was wide open. After passing, helooked back and saw a man descend the ladder.He came down so quietly and openly that theboy imagined him to be some carpenter or joi-ner at work in the hotel. He took no particularnotice of him, beyond thinking in his own mindthat it was early for him to be at work. He has

an impression that the man was tall, had a red-dish face, and was dressed in a long, brownishcoat. He must have stayed in the room somelittle time after the murder, for we found blood-stained water in the basin, where he had was-hed his hands, and marks on the sheets wherehe had deliberately wiped his knife."

I glanced at Holmes on hearing the descriptionof the murderer, which tallied so exactly withhis own. There was, however, no trace of exul-tation or satisfaction upon his face.

"Did you find nothing in the room which couldfurnish a clue to the murderer?" he asked.

"Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber's purse inhis pocket, but it seems that this was usual, ashe did all the paying. There was eighty oddpounds in it, but nothing had been taken. Wha-tever the motives of these extraordinary crimes,robbery is certainly not one of them. There we-re no papers or memoranda in the murdered

man's pocket, except a single telegram, datedfrom Cleveland about a month ago, and con-taining the words, 'J. H. is in Europe.' Therewas no name appended to this message."

"And there was nothing else?" Holmes asked.

"Nothing of any importance. The man's novel,with which he had read himself to sleep waslying upon the bed, and his pipe was on a chairbeside him. There was a glass of water on thetable, and on the window-sill a small chip oint-ment box containing a couple of pills."

Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with anexclamation of delight.

"The last link," he cried, exultantly. "My case iscomplete."

The two detectives stared at him in amazement.

"I have now in my hands," my companion said,confidently, "all the threads which have formed

such a tangle. There are, of course, details to befilled in, but I am as certain of all the mainfacts, from the time that Drebber parted fromStangerson at the station, up to the discovery ofthe body of the latter, as if I had seen them withmy own eyes. I will give you a proof of myknowledge. Could you lay your hand uponthose pills?"

"I have them," said Lestrade, producing a smallwhite box; "I took them and the purse and thetelegram, intending to have them put in a placeof safety at the Police Station. It was the merestchance my taking these pills, for I am bound tosay that I do not attach any importance tothem."

"Give them here," said Holmes. "Now, Doctor,"turning to me, "are those ordinary pills?"

They certainly were not. They were of a pearlygrey colour, small, round, and almost transpar-ent against the light. "From their lightness and

transparency, I should imagine that they aresoluble in water," I remarked.

"Precisely so," answered Holmes. "Now wouldyou mind going down and fetching that poorlittle devil of a terrier which has been bad solong, and which the landlady wanted you toput out of its pain yesterday."

I went downstairs and carried the dog upstairin my arms. It's laboured breathing and glazingeye showed that it was not far from its end.Indeed, its snow-white muzzle proclaimed thatit had already exceeded the usual term of ca-nine existence. I placed it upon a cushion on therug.

"I will now cut one of these pills in two," saidHolmes, and drawing his penknife he suitedthe action to the word. "One half we return intothe box for future purposes. The other half Iwill place in this wine glass, in which is a tea-spoonful of water. You perceive that our friend,

the Doctor, is right, and that it readily dis-solves."

"This may be very interesting," said Lestrade, inthe injured tone of one who suspects that he isbeing laughed at, "I cannot see, however, whatit has to do with the death of Mr. Joseph Stan-gerson."

"Patience, my friend, patience! You will find intime that it has everything to do with it. I shallnow add a little milk to make the mixture pal-atable, and on presenting it to the dog we findthat he laps it up readily enough."

As he spoke he turned the contents of the wineglass into a saucer and placed it in front of theterrier, who speedily licked it dry. SherlockHolmes' earnest demeanour had so far con-vinced us that we all sat in silence, watchingthe animal intently, and expecting some star-tling effect. None such appeared, however. Thedog continued to lie stretched upon tho 16

cushion, breathing in a laboured way, but ap-parently neither the better nor the worse for itsdraught.

Holmes had taken out his watch, and as minutefollowed minute without result, an expressionof the utmost chagrin and disappointment ap-peared upon his features. He gnawed his lip,drummed his fingers upon the table, and sho-wed every other symptom of acute impatience.So great was his emotion, that I felt sincerelysorry for him, while the two detectives smiledderisively, by no means displeased at this checkwhich he had met.

"It can't be a coincidence," he cried, at lastspringing from his chair and pacing wildly upand down the room; "it is impossible that itshould be a mere coincidence. The very pillswhich I suspected in the case of Drebber areactually found after the death of Stangerson.And yet they are inert. What can it mean? Sure-ly my whole chain of reasoning cannot have

been false. It is impossible! And yet this wret-ched dog is none the worse. Ah, I have it! Ihave it!" With a perfect shriek of delight herushed to the box, cut the other pill in two, dis-solved it, added milk, and presented it to theterrier. The unfortunate creature's tongue see-med hardly to have been moistened in it beforeit gave a convulsive shiver in every limb, andlay as rigid and lifeless as if it had been struckby lightning.

Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath, and wi-ped the perspiration from his forehead. "Ishould have more faith," he said; "I ought toknow by this time that when a fact appears tobe opposed to a long train of deductions, it in-variably proves to be capable of bearing someother interpretation. Of the two pills in that boxone was of the most deadly poison, and theother was entirely harmless. I ought to haveknown that before ever I saw the box at all."

This last statement appeared to me to be sostartling, that I could hardly believe that he wasin his sober senses. There was the dead dog,however, to prove that his conjecture had beencorrect. It seemed to me that the mists in myown mind were gradually clearing away, and Ibegan to have a dim, vague perception of thetruth.

"All this seems strange to you," continued Hol-mes, "because you failed at the beginning of theinquiry to grasp the importance of the singlereal clue which was presented to you. I had thegood fortune to seize upon that, and everythingwhich has occurred since then has served toconfirm my original supposition, and, indeed,was the logical sequence of it. Hence thingswhich have perplexed you and made the casemore obscure, have served to enlighten me andto strengthen my conclusions. It is a mistake toconfound strangeness with mystery. The mostcommonplace crime is often the most mysteri-

ous because it presents no new or special fea-tures from which deductions may be drawn.This murder would have been infinitely moredifficult to unravel had the body of the victimbeen simply found lying in the roadway with-out any of those outré and sensational accom-paniments which have rendered it remarkable.These strange details, far from making the casemore difficult, have really had the effect of ma-king it less so."

Mr. Gregson, who had listened to this addresswith considerable impatience, could containhimself no longer. "Look here, Mr. SherlockHolmes," he said, "we are all ready to acknowl-edge that you are a smart man, and that youhave your own methods of working. We wantsomething more than mere theory and preach-ing now, though. It is a case of taking the man.I have made my case out, and it seems I waswrong. Young Charpentier could not have beenengaged in this second affair. Lestrade went

after his man, Stangerson, and it appears thathe was wrong too. You have thrown out hintshere, and hints there, and seem to know morethan we do, but the time has come when wefeel that we have a right to ask you straighthow much you do know of the business. Canyou name the man who did it?"

"I cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, sir,"remarked Lestrade. "We have both tried, andwe have both failed. You have remarked morethan once since I have been in the room thatyou had all the evidence which you require.Surely you will not withhold it any longer."

"Any delay in arresting the assassin," I ob-served, "might give him time to perpetratesome fresh atrocity."

Thus pressed by us all, Holmes showed signsof irresolution. He continued to walk up anddown the room with his head sunk on his chest

and his brows drawn down, as was his habitwhen lost in thought.

"There will be no more murders," he said atlast, stopping abruptly and facing us. "You canput that consideration out of the question. Youhave asked me if I know the name of the assas-sin. I do. The mere knowing of his name is asmall thing, however, compared with the po-wer of laying our hands upon him. This I ex-pect very shortly to do. I have good hopes ofmanaging it through my own arrangements;but it is a thing which needs delicate handling,for we have a shrewd and desperate man todeal with, who is supported, as I have had oc-casion to prove, by another who is as clever ashimself. As long as this man has no idea thatanyone can have a clue there is some chance ofsecuring him; but if he had the slightest suspi-cion, he would change his name, and vanish inan instant among the four million inhabitantsof this great city. Without meaning to hurt ei-

ther of your feelings, I am bound to say that Iconsider these men to be more than a match forthe official force, and that is why I have notasked your assistance. If I fail I shall, of course,incur all the blame due to this omission; butthat I am prepared for. At present I am ready topromise that the instant that I can communicatewith you without endangering my own combi-nations, I shall do so."

Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be far fromsatisfied by this assurance, or by the depreciat-ing allusion to the detective police. The formerhad flushed up to the roots of his flaxen hair,while the other's beady eyes glistened withcuriosity and resentment. Neither of them hadtime to speak, however, before there was a tapat the door, and the spokesman of the streetArabs, young Wiggins, introduced his insig-nificant and unsavoury person.

"Please, sir," he said, touching his forelock, "Ihave the cab downstairs."

"Good boy," said Holmes, blandly. "Why don'tyou introduce this pattern at Scotland Yard?"he continued, taking a pair of steel handcuffsfrom a drawer. "See how beautifully the springworks. They fasten in an instant."

"The old pattern is good enough," remarkedLestrade, "if we can only find the man to putthem on."

"Very good, very good," said Holmes, smiling."The cabman may as well help me with myboxes. Just ask him to step up, Wiggins."

I was surprised to find my companion speakingas though he were about to set out on a jour-ney, since he had not said anything to me aboutit. There was a small portmanteau in the room,and this he pulled out and began to strap. Hewas busily engaged at it when the cabman en-tered the room.

"Just give me a help with this buckle, cabman,"he said, kneeling over his task, and never turn-ing his head.

The fellow came forward with a somewhat sul-len, defiant air, and put down his hands to as-sist. At that instant there was a sharp click, thejangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmes sprangto his feet again.

"Gentlemen," he cried, with flashing eyes, "letme introduce you to Mr. Jefferson Hope, themurderer of Enoch Drebber and of Joseph Stan-gerson."

The whole thing occurred in a moment—soquickly that I had no time to realize it. I have avivid recollection of that instant, of Holmes'triumphant expression and the ring of his voi-ce, of the cabman's dazed, savage face, as heglared at the glittering handcuffs, which hadappeared as if by magic upon his wrists. For asecond or two we might have been a group of

statues. Then, with an inarticulate roar of fury,the prisoner wrenched himself free from Hol-mes's grasp, and hurled himself through thewindow. Woodwork and glass gave way beforehim; but before he got quite through, Gregson,Lestrade, and Holmes sprang upon him like somany staghounds. He was dragged back intothe room, and then commenced a terrific con-flict. So powerful and so fierce was he, that thefour of us were shaken off again and again. Heappeared to have the convulsive strength of aman in an epileptic fit. His face and hands wereterribly mangled by his passage through theglass, but loss of blood had no effect in dimin-ishing his resistance. It was not until Lestradesucceeded in getting his hand inside his neck-cloth and half-strangling him that we madehim realize that his struggles were of no avail;and even then we felt no security until we hadpinioned his feet as well as his hands. That do-ne, we rose to our feet breathless and panting.

"We have his cab," said Sherlock Holmes. "Itwill serve to take him to Scotland Yard. Andnow, gentlemen," he continued, with a pleasantsmile, "we have reached the end of our littlemystery. You are very welcome to put anyquestions that you like to me now, and there isno danger that I will refuse to answer them."

PART II. The Country of the Saints.

CHAPTER I. ON THE GREAT ALKALIPLAIN.

IN the central portion of the great North Ame-rican Continent there lies an arid and repulsivedesert, which for many a long year served as abarrier against the advance of civilisation. Fromthe Sierra Nevada to Nebraska, and from theYellowstone River in the north to the Coloradoupon the south, is a region of desolation andsilence. Nor is Nature always in one moodthroughout this grim district. It comprisessnow-capped and lofty mountains, and darkand gloomy valleys. There are swift-flowingrivers which dash through jagged cañons; andthere are enormous plains, which in winter arewhite with snow, and in summer are grey withthe saline alkali dust. They all preserve, how-ever, the common characteristics of barrenness,inhospitality, and misery.

There are no inhabitants of this land of despair.A band of Pawnees or of Blackfeet may occa-sionally traverse it in order to reach other hunt-ing-grounds, but the hardiest of the braves areglad to lose sight of those awesome plains, andto find themselves once more upon their prai-ries. The coyote skulks among the scrub, thebuzzard flaps heavily through the air, and theclumsy grizzly bear lumbers through the darkravines, and picks up such sustenance as it canamongst the rocks. These are the sole dwellersin the wilderness.

In the whole world there can be no more drearyview than that from the northern slope of theSierra Blanco. As far as the eye can reach stret-ches the great flat plain-land, all dusted overwith patches of alkali, and intersected byclumps of the dwarfish chaparral bushes. Onthe extreme verge of the horizon lie a longchain of mountain peaks, with their ruggedsummits flecked with snow. In this great

stretch of country there is no sign of life, nor ofanything appertaining to life. There is no birdin the steel-blue heaven, no movement uponthe dull, grey earth—above all, there is absolutesilence. Listen as one may, there is no shadowof a sound in all that mighty wilderness; noth-ing but silence—complete and heart-subduingsilence.

It has been said there is nothing appertaining tolife upon the broad plain. That is hardly true.Looking down from the Sierra Blanco, one seesa pathway traced out across the desert, whichwinds away and is lost in the extreme distance.It is rutted with wheels and trodden down bythe feet of many adventurers. Here and therethere are scattered white objects which glistenin the sun, and stand out against the dull de-posit of alkali. Approach, and examine them!They are bones: some large and coarse, otherssmaller and more delicate. The former havebelonged to oxen, and the latter to men. For

fifteen hundred miles one may trace this ghas-tly caravan route by these scattered remains ofthose who had fallen by the wayside.

Looking down on this very scene, there stoodupon the fourth of May, eighteen hundred andforty-seven, a solitary traveller. His appearancewas such that he might have been the very gen-ius or demon of the region. An observer wouldhave found it difficult to say whether he wasnearer to forty or to sixty. His face was lean andhaggard, and the brown parchment-like skinwas drawn tightly over the projecting bones;his long, brown hair and beard were all fleckedand dashed with white; his eyes were sunkenin his head, and burned with an unnatural lus-tre; while the hand which grasped his rifle washardly more fleshy than that of a skeleton. Ashe stood, he leaned upon his weapon for sup-port, and yet his tall figure and the massiveframework of his bones suggested a wiry andvigorous constitution. His gaunt face, however,

and his clothes, which hung so baggily over hisshrivelled limbs, proclaimed what it was thatgave him that senile and decrepit appearance.The man was dying—dying from hunger andfrom thirst.

He had toiled painfully down the ravine, andon to this little elevation, in the vain hope ofseeing some signs of water. Now the great saltplain stretched before his eyes, and the distantbelt of savage mountains, without a sign any-where of plant or tree, which might indicate thepresence of moisture. In all that broad land-scape there was no gleam of hope. North, andeast, and west he looked with wild questioningeyes, and then he realised that his wanderingshad come to an end, and that there, on that bar-ren crag, he was about to die. "Why not here, aswell as in a feather bed, twenty years hence," hemuttered, as he seated himself in the shelter ofa boulder.

Before sitting down, he had deposited upon theground his useless rifle, and also a large bundletied up in a grey shawl, which he had carriedslung over his right shoulder. It appeared to besomewhat too heavy for his strength, for inlowering it, it came down on the ground withsome little violence. Instantly there broke fromthe grey parcel a little moaning cry, and from itthere protruded a small, scared face, with verybright brown eyes, and two little speckled,dimpled fists.

"You've hurt me!" said a childish voice re-proachfully.

"Have I though," the man answered penitently,"I didn't go for to do it." As he spoke he un-wrapped the grey shawl and extricated a prettylittle girl of about five years of age, whose dain-ty shoes and smart pink frock with its little li-nen apron all bespoke a mother's care. Thechild was pale and wan, but her healthy arms

and legs showed that she had suffered less thanher companion.

"How is it now?" he answered anxiously, forshe was still rubbing the towsy golden curlswhich covered the back of her head.

"Kiss it and make it well," she said, with perfectgravity, shoving 19 the injured part up to him."That's what mother used to do. Where's mot-her?"

"Mother's gone. I guess you'll see her beforelong."

"Gone, eh!" said the little girl. "Funny, she did-n't say good-bye; she 'most always did if shewas just goin' over to Auntie's for tea, and nowshe's been away three days. Say, it's awful dry,ain't it? Ain't there no water, nor nothing toeat?"

"No, there ain't nothing, dearie. You'll just needto be patient awhile, and then you'll be all right.Put your head up agin me like that, and thenyou'll feel bullier. It ain't easy to talk when yourlips is like leather, but I guess I'd best let youknow how the cards lie. What's that you'vegot?"

"Pretty things! fine things!" cried the little girlenthusiastically, holding up two glittering frag-ments of mica. "When we goes back to home I'llgive them to brother Bob."

"You'll see prettier things than them soon," saidthe man confidently. "You just wait a bit. I wasgoing to tell you though—you remember whenwe left the river?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, we reckoned we'd strike another riversoon, d'ye see. But there was somethin' wrong;compasses, or map, or somethin', and it didn't

turn up. Water ran out. Just except a little dropfor the likes of you and—and——"

"And you couldn't wash yourself," interruptedhis companion gravely, staring up at his grimyvisage.

"No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he was thefust to go, and then Indian Pete, and then Mrs.McGregor, and then Johnny Hones, and then,dearie, your mother."

"Then mother's a deader too," cried the littlegirl dropping her face in her pinafore and sob-bing bitterly.

"Yes, they all went except you and me. Then Ithought there was some chance of water in thisdirection, so I heaved you over my shoulderand we tramped it together. It don't seem asthough we've improved matters. There's analmighty small chance for us now!"

"Do you mean that we are going to die too?"asked the child, checking her sobs, and raisingher tear-stained face.

"I guess that's about the size of it."

"Why didn't you say so before?" she said, laug-hing gleefully. "You gave me such a fright.Why, of course, now as long as we die we'll bewith mother again."

"Yes, you will, dearie."

"And you too. I'll tell her how awful good you'-ve been. I'll bet she meets us at the door of Hea-ven with a big pitcher of water, and a lot ofbuckwheat cakes, hot, and toasted on both si-des, like Bob and me was fond of. How longwill it be first?"

"I don't know—not very long." The man's eyeswere fixed upon the northern horizon. In theblue vault of the heaven there had appeared

three little specks which increased in size everymoment, so rapidly did they approach. Theyspeedily resolved themselves into three largebrown birds, which circled over the heads ofthe two wanderers, and then settled upon somerocks which overlooked them. They were buz-zards, the vultures of the west, whose comingis the forerunner of death.

"Cocks and hens," cried the little girl gleefully,pointing at their ill-omened forms, and clap-ping her hands to make them rise. "Say, didGod make this country?"

"In course He did," said her companion, ratherstartled by this unexpected question.

"He made the country down in Illinois, and Hemade the Missouri," the little girl continued. "Iguess somebody else made the country in theseparts. It's not nearly so well done. They forgotthe water and the trees."

"What would ye think of offering up prayer?"the man asked diffidently.

"It ain't night yet," she answered.

"It don't matter. It ain't quite regular, but Hewon't mind that, you bet. You say over themones that you used to say every night in thewaggon when we was on the Plains."

"Why don't you say some yourself?" the childasked, with wondering eyes.

"I disremember them," he answered. "I hain'tsaid none since I was half the height o' thatgun. I guess it's never too late. You say themout, and I'll stand by and come in on the cho-ruses."

"Then you'll need to kneel down, and me too,"she said, laying the shawl out for that purpose."You've got to put your hands up like this. Itmakes you feel kind o' good."

It was a strange sight had there been anythingbut the buzzards to see it. Side by side on thenarrow shawl knelt the two wanderers, thelittle prattling child and the reckless, hardenedadventurer. Her chubby face, and his haggard,angular visage were both turned up to thecloudless heaven in heartfelt entreaty to thatdread being with whom they were face to face,while the two voices—the one thin and clear,the other deep and harsh—united in the en-treaty for mercy and forgiveness. The prayerfinished, they resumed their seat in the shadowof the boulder until the child fell asleep, nes-tling upon the broad breast of her protector. Hewatched over her slumber for some time, butNature proved to be too strong for him. Forthree days and three nights he had allowedhimself neither rest nor repose. Slowly the eye-lids drooped over the tired eyes, and the headsunk lower and lower upon the breast, until theman's grizzled beard was mixed with the gold

tresses of his companion, and both slept thesame deep and dreamless slumber.

Had the wanderer remained awake for anotherhalf hour a strange sight would have met hiseyes. Far away on the extreme verge of the al-kali plain there rose up a little spray of dust,very slight at first, and hardly to be distin-guished from the mists of the distance, butgradually growing higher and broader until itformed a solid, well-defined cloud. This cloudcontinued to increase in size until it becameevident that it could only be raised by a greatmultitude of moving creatures. In more fertilespots the observer would have come to the con-clusion that one of those great herds of bisonswhich graze upon the prairie land was ap-proaching him. This was obviously impossiblein these arid wilds. As the whirl of dust drewnearer to the solitary bluff upon which the twocastaways were reposing, the canvas-coveredtilts of waggons and the figures of armed

horsemen began to show up through the haze,and the apparition revealed itself as being agreat caravan upon its journey for the West.But what a caravan! When the head of it hadreached the base of the mountains, the rear wasnot yet visible on the horizon. Right across theenormous plain stretched the straggling array,waggons and carts, men on horseback, andmen on foot. Innumerable women who stag-gered along under burdens, and children whotoddled beside the waggons or peeped outfrom under the white coverings. This was evi-dently no ordinary party of immigrants, butrather some nomad people who had been com-pelled from stress of circumstances to seekthemselves a new country. There rose throughthe clear air a confused clattering and rumblingfrom this great mass of humanity, with thecreaking of wheels and the neighing of horses.Loud as it was, it was not sufficient to rouse thetwo tired wayfarers above them.

At the head of the column there rode a score ormore of grave ironfaced men, clad in sombrehomespun garments and armed with rifles. Onreaching the base of the bluff they halted, andheld a short council among themselves.

"The wells are to the right, my brothers," saidone, a hard-lipped, clean-shaven man withgrizzly hair.

"To the right of the Sierra Blanco—so we shallreach the Rio Grande," said another.

"Fear not for water," cried a third. "He whocould draw it from the rocks will not nowabandon His own chosen people."

"Amen! Amen!" responded the whole party.

They were about to resume their journey whenone of the youngest and keenest-eyed utteredan exclamation and pointed up at the ruggedcrag above them. From its summit there flut-

tered a little wisp of pink, showing up hard andbright against the grey rocks behind. At thesight there was a general reining up of horsesand unslinging of guns, while fresh horsemencame galloping up to reinforce the vanguard.The word 'Redskins' was on every lip.

"There can't be any number of Injuns here," saidthe elderly man who appeared to be in com-mand. "We have passed the Pawnees, and thereare no other tribes until we cross the greatmountains."

"Shall I go forward and see, Brother Stanger-son," asked one of the band.

"And I," "and I," cried a dozen voices.

"Leave your horses below and we will awaityou here," the Elder answered. In a moment theyoung fellows had dismounted, fastened theirhorses, and were ascending the precipitousslope which led up to the object which had ex-

cited their curiosity. They advanced rapidlyand noiselessly, with the confidence and dex-terity of practised scouts. The watchers fromthe plain below could see them flit from rock torock until their figures stood out against theskyline. The young man who had first giventhe alarm was leading them. Suddenly his fol-lowers saw him throw up his hands, as thoughovercome with astonishment, and on joininghim they were affected in the same way by thesight which met their eyes.

On the little plateau which crowned the barrenhill there stood a single giant boulder, andagainst this boulder there lay a tall man, long-bearded and hard-featured, but of an excessivethinness. His placid face and regular breathingshowed that he was fast asleep. Beside him laya little child, with her round white arms encir-cling his brown sinewy neck, and her goldenhaired head resting upon the breast of his vel-veteen tunic. Her rosy lips were parted, show-

ing the regular line of snow-white teeth within,and a playful smile played over her infantilefeatures. Her plump little white legs terminat-ing in white socks and neat shoes with shiningbuckles, offered a strange contrast to the longshrivelled members of her companion. On theledge of rock above this strange couple therestood three solemn buzzards, who, at the sightof the new comers uttered raucous screams ofdisappointment and flapped sullenly away.

The cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleep-ers who stared about 20 them in bewilderment.The man staggered to his feet and looked downupon the plain which had been so desolatewhen sleep had overtaken him, and which wasnow traversed by this enormous body of menand of beasts. His face assumed an expressionof incredulity as he gazed, and he passed hisboney hand over his eyes. "This is what theycall delirium, I guess," he muttered. The childstood beside him, holding on to the skirt of his

coat, and said nothing but looked all round herwith the wondering questioning gaze of child-hood.

The rescuing party were speedily able to con-vince the two castaways that their appearancewas no delusion. One of them seized the littlegirl, and hoisted her upon his shoulder, whiletwo others supported her gaunt companion,and assisted him towards the waggons.

"My name is John Ferrier," the wanderer ex-plained; "me and that little un are all that's lefto' twenty-one people. The rest is all dead o'thirst and hunger away down in the south."

"Is she your child?" asked someone.

"I guess she is now," the other cried, defiantly;"she's mine 'cause I saved her. No man will takeher from me. She's Lucy Ferrier from this dayon. Who are you, though?" he continued, glanc-ing with curiosity at his stalwart, sunburned

rescuers; "there seems to be a powerful lot ofye."

"Nigh upon ten thousand," said one of theyoung men; "we are the persecuted children ofGod—the chosen of the Angel Merona."

"I never heard tell on him," said the wanderer."He appears to have chosen a fair crowd of ye."

"Do not jest at that which is sacred," said theother sternly. "We are of those who believe inthose sacred writings, drawn in Egyptian let-ters on plates of beaten gold, which were han-ded unto the holy Joseph Smith at Palmyra. Wehave come from Nauvoo, in the State of Illinois,where we had founded our temple. We havecome to seek a refuge from the violent man andfrom the godless, even though it be the heart ofthe desert."

The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recol-lections to John Ferrier. "I see," he said, "you arethe Mormons."

"We are the Mormons," answered his compan-ions with one voice.

"And where are you going?"

"We do not know. The hand of God is leadingus under the person of our Prophet. You mustcome before him. He shall say what is to bedone with you."

They had reached the base of the hill by thistime, and were surrounded by crowds of thepilgrims—pale-faced meek-looking women,strong laughing children, and anxious earnest-eyed men. Many were the cries of astonishmentand of commiseration which arose from themwhen they perceived the youth of one of thestrangers and the destitution of the other. Theirescort did not halt, however, but pushed on,

followed by a great crowd of Mormons, untilthey reached a waggon, which was conspicu-ous for its great size and for the gaudiness andsmartness of its appearance. Six horses wereyoked to it, whereas the others were furnishedwith two, or, at most, four a-piece. Beside thedriver there sat a man who could not have beenmore than thirty years of age, but whose mas-sive head and resolute expression marked himas a leader. He was reading a brown-backedvolume, but as the crowd approached he laid itaside, and listened attentively to an account ofthe episode. Then he turned to the two casta-ways.

"If we take you with us," he said, in solemnwords, "it can only be as believers in our owncreed. We shall have no wolves in our fold.Better far that your bones should bleach in thiswilderness than that you should prove to bethat little speck of decay which in time corrupts

the whole fruit. Will you come with us on theseterms?"

"Guess I'll come with you on any terms," saidFerrier, with such emphasis that the grave Eld-ers could not restrain a smile. The leader aloneretained his stern, impressive expression.

"Take him, Brother Stangerson," he said, "givehim food and drink, and the child likewise. Letit be your task also to teach him our holy creed.We have delayed long enough. Forward! On,on to Zion!"

"On, on to Zion!" cried the crowd of Mormons,and the words rippled down the long caravan,passing from mouth to mouth until they diedaway in a dull murmur in the far distance. Witha cracking of whips and a creaking of wheelsthe great waggons got into motion, and soonthe whole caravan was winding along oncemore. The Elder to whose care the two waifs

had been committed, led them to his waggon,where a meal was already awaiting them.

"You shall remain here," he said. "In a few daysyou will have recovered from your fatigues. Inthe meantime, remember that now and for everyou are of our religion. Brigham Young hassaid it, and he has spoken with the voice ofJoseph Smith, which is the voice of God."

CHAPTER II. THE FLOWER OF UTAH.

THIS is not the place to commemorate the trialsand privations endured by the immigrant Mor-mons before they came to their final haven.From the shores of the Mississippi to the west-ern slopes of the Rocky Mountains they hadstruggled on with a constancy almost unparal-

leled in history. The savage man, and the sav-age beast, hunger, thirst, fatigue, and disease—every impediment which Nature could place inthe way, had all been overcome with Anglo-Saxon tenacity. Yet the long journey and theaccumulated terrors had shaken the hearts ofthe stoutest among them. There was not onewho did not sink upon his knees in heartfeltprayer when they saw the broad valley of Utahbathed in the sunlight beneath them, and lear-ned from the lips of their leader that this wasthe promised land, and that these virgin acreswere to be theirs for evermore.

Young speedily proved himself to be a skilfuladministrator as well as a resolute chief. Mapswere drawn and charts prepared, in which thefuture city was sketched out. All around farmswere apportioned and allotted in proportion tothe standing of each individual. The tradesmanwas put to his trade and the artisan to his call-ing. In the town streets and squares sprang up,

as if by magic. In the country there was drain-ing and hedging, planting and clearing, untilthe next summer saw the whole country goldenwith the wheat crop. Everything prospered inthe strange settlement. Above all, the greattemple which they had erected in the centre ofthe city grew ever taller and larger. From thefirst blush of dawn until the closing of the twi-light, the clatter of the hammer and the rasp ofthe saw was never absent from the monumentwhich the immigrants erected to Him who hadled them safe through many dangers.

The two castaways, John Ferrier and the littlegirl who had shared his fortunes and had beenadopted as his daughter, accompanied the Mor-mons to the end of their great pilgrimage. LittleLucy Ferrier was borne along pleasantlyenough in Elder Stangerson's waggon, a retreatwhich she shared with the Mormon's three wi-ves and with his son, a headstrong forward boyof twelve. Having rallied, with the elasticity of

childhood, from the shock caused by her mot-her's death, she soon became a pet with thewomen, and reconciled herself to this new lifein her moving canvas-covered home. In themeantime Ferrier having recovered from hisprivations, distinguished himself as a usefulguide and an indefatigable hunter. So rapidlydid he gain the esteem of his new companions,that when they reached the end of their wan-derings, it was unanimously agreed that heshould be provided with as large and as fertilea tract of land as any of the settlers, with theexception of Young himself, and of Stangerson,Kemball, Johnston, and Drebber, who were thefour principal Elders.

On the farm thus acquired John Ferrier builthimself a substantial log-house, which receivedso many additions in succeeding years that itgrew into a roomy villa. He was a man of apractical turn of mind, keen in his dealings andskilful with his hands. His iron constitution

enabled him to work morning and evening atimproving and tilling his lands. Hence it cameabout that his farm and all that belonged to himprospered exceedingly. In three years he wasbetter off than his neighbours, in six he waswell-to-do, in nine he was rich, and in twelvethere were not half a dozen men in the whole ofSalt Lake City who could compare with him.From the great inland sea to the distant Wah-satch Mountains there was no name betterknown than that of John Ferrier.

There was one way and only one in which heoffended the susceptibilities of his co-religionists. No argument or persuasion couldever induce him to set up a female establish-ment after the manner of his companions. Henever gave reasons for this persistent refusal,but contented himself by resolutely and inflexi-bly adhering to his determination. There weresome who accused him of lukewarmness in hisadopted religion, and others who put it down

to greed of wealth and reluctance to incur ex-pense. Others, again, spoke of some early loveaffair, and of a fair-haired girl who had pinedaway on the shores of the Atlantic. Whateverthe reason, Ferrier remained strictly celibate. Inevery other respect he conformed to the relig-ion of the young settlement, and gained thename of being an orthodox and straight-walking man.

Lucy Ferrier grew up within the log-house, andassisted her adopted father in all his undertak-ings. The keen air of the mountains and thebalsamic odour of the pine trees took the placeof nurse and mother to the young girl. As yearsucceeded to year she grew taller and stronger,her cheek more rudy, and her step more elastic.Many a wayfarer upon the high road which ranby Ferrier's farm felt long-forgotten thoughtsrevive in their mind as they watched her lithegirlish figure tripping through the wheatfields,or met her mounted upon her father's mustang,

and managing it with all the ease and grace of atrue child of the West. So the bud blossomedinto a flower, and the year which saw her fa-ther the richest of the farmers left her as fair aspecimen of American girlhood as could befound in the whole Pacific slope.

It was not the father, however, who first dis-covered that the child had developed into thewoman. It seldom is in such cases. That myste-rious change is too subtle and too gradual to bemeasured by dates. Least of all does the maidenherself know it until the tone of a voice or thetouch of a hand sets her heart thrilling withinher, and she learns, with a mixture of pride andof fear, that a new and a larger nature has awo-ken within her. There are few who cannot recallthat day and remember the one little incidentwhich heralded the dawn of a new life. In thecase of Lucy Ferrier the occasion was seriousenough in itself, apart from its future influenceon her destiny and that of many besides.

It was a warm June morning, and the LatterDay Saints were as busy as the bees whose hivethey have chosen for their emblem. In the fieldsand in the streets rose the same hum of humanindustry. Down the dusty high roads defiledlong streams of heavily-laden mules, all head-ing to the west, for the gold fever had brokenout in California, and the Overland Route laythrough the City of the Elect. There, too, weredroves of sheep and bullocks coming in fromthe outlying pasture lands, and trains of tiredimmigrants, men and horses equally weary oftheir interminable journey. Through all thismotley assemblage, threading her way with theskill of an accomplished rider, there gallopedLucy Ferrier, her fair face flushed with the ex-ercise and her long chestnut hair floating outbehind her. She had a commission from herfather in the City, and was dashing in as shehad done many a time before, with all the fear-lessness of youth, thinking only of her task andhow it was to be performed. The travel-stained

adventurers gazed after her in astonishment,and even the unemotional Indians, journeyingin with their pelties, relaxed their accustomedstoicism as they marvelled at the beauty of thepale-faced maiden.

She had reached the outskirts of the city whenshe found the road blocked by a great drove ofcattle, driven by a half-dozen wild-lookingherdsmen from the plains. In her impatienceshe endeavoured to pass this obstacle by push-ing her horse into what appeared to be a gap.Scarcely had she got fairly into it, however,before the beasts closed in behind her, and shefound herself completely imbedded in the mov-ing stream of fierce-eyed, long-horned bullocks.Accustomed as she was to deal with cattle, shewas not alarmed at her situation, but took ad-vantage of every opportunity to urge her horseon in the hopes of pushing her way through thecavalcade. Unfortunately the horns of one ofthe creatures, either by accident or design,

came in violent contact with the flank of themustang, and excited it to madness. In an in-stant it reared up upon its hind legs with asnort of rage, and pranced and tossed in a waythat would have unseated any but a most skil-ful rider. The situation was full of peril. Everyplunge of the excited horse brought it againstthe horns again, and goaded it to fresh mad-ness. It was all that the girl could do to keepherself in the saddle, yet a slip would mean aterrible death under the hoofs of the unwieldyand terrified animals. Unaccustomed to suddenemergencies, her head began to swim, and hergrip upon the bridle to relax. Choked by therising cloud of dust and by the steam from thestruggling creatures, she might have aban-doned her efforts in despair, but for a kindlyvoice at her elbow which assured her of assis-tance. At the same moment a sinewy brownhand caught the frightened horse by the curb,and forcing a way through the drove, soonbrought her to the outskirts.

"You're not hurt, I hope, miss," said her pre-server, respectfully.

She looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laug-hed saucily. "I'm awful frightened," she said,naively; "whoever would have thought thatPoncho would have been so scared by a lot ofcows?"

"Thank God you kept your seat," the other saidearnestly. He was a tall, savage-looking youngfellow, mounted on a powerful roan horse, andclad in the rough dress of a hunter, with a longrifle slung over his shoulders. "I guess you arethe daughter of John Ferrier," he remarked, "Isaw you ride down from his house. When yousee him, ask him if he remembers the JeffersonHopes of St. Louis. If he's the same Ferrier, myfather and he were pretty thick."

"Hadn't you better come and ask yourself?" sheasked, demurely.

The young fellow seemed pleased at the sug-gestion, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleas-ure. "I'll do so," he said, "we've been in themountains for two months, and are not overand above in visiting condition. He must takeus as he finds us."

"He has a good deal to thank you for, and sohave I," she answered, "he's awful fond of me.If those cows had jumped on me he'd have ne-ver got over it."

"Neither would I," said her companion.

"You! Well, I don't see that it would make muchmatter to you, anyhow. You ain't even a friendof ours."

The young hunter's dark face grew so gloomyover this remark that Lucy Ferrier laughedaloud.

"There, I didn't mean that," she said; "of course,you are a friend now. You must come and seeus. Now I must push along, or father won'ttrust me with his business any more. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye," he answered, raising his broadsombrero, and bending over her little hand. Shewheeled her mustang round, gave it a cut withher riding-whip, and darted away down thebroad road in a rolling cloud of dust.

Young Jefferson Hope rode on with his com-panions, gloomy and taciturn. He and they hadbeen among the Nevada Mountains prospect-ing for silver, and were returning to Salt LakeCity in the hope of raising capital enough towork some lodes which they had discovered.He had been as keen as any of them upon thebusiness until this sudden incident had drawnhis thoughts into another channel. The sight ofthe fair young girl, as frank and wholesome asthe Sierra breezes, had stirred his volcanic, un-

tamed heart to its very depths. When she hadvanished from his sight, he realized that a crisishad come in his life, and that neither silver spe-culations nor any other questions could ever beof such importance to him as this new and all-absorbing one. The love which had sprung upin his heart was not the sudden, changeablefancy of a boy, but rather the wild, fierce pas-sion of a man of strong will and imperioustemper. He had been accustomed to succeed inall that he undertook. He swore in his heartthat he would not fail in this if human effortand human perseverance could render himsuccessful.

He called on John Ferrier that night, and manytimes again, until his face was a familiar one atthe farm-house. John, cooped up in the valley,and absorbed in his work, had had little chanceof learning the news of the outside world dur-ing the last twelve years. All this JeffersonHope was able to tell him, and in a style which

interested Lucy as well as her father. He hadbeen a pioneer in California, and could narratemany a strange tale of fortunes made and for-tunes lost in those wild, halcyon days. He hadbeen a scout too, and a trapper, a silver ex-plorer, and a ranchman. Wherever stirring ad-ventures were to be had, Jefferson Hope hadbeen there in search of them. He soon became afavourite with the old farmer, who spoke elo-quently of his virtues. On such occasions, Lucywas silent, but her blushing cheek and herbright, happy eyes, showed only too clearlythat her young heart was no longer her own.Her honest father may not have observed thesesymptoms, but they were assuredly not thrownaway upon the man who had won her affec-tions.

It was a summer evening when he came gallop-ing down the road and pulled up at the gate.She was at the doorway, and came down to

meet him. He threw the bridle over the fenceand strode up the pathway.

"I am off, Lucy," he said, taking her two handsin his, and gazing tenderly down into her face;"I won't ask you to come with me now, but willyou be ready to come when I am here again?"

"And when will that be?" she asked, blushingand laughing.

"A couple of months at the outside. I will comeand claim you then, my darling. There's no onewho can stand between us."

"And how about father?" she asked.

"He has given his consent, provided we getthese mines working all right. I have no fear onthat head."

"Oh, well; of course, if you and father have ar-ranged it all, there's no more to be said," she

whispered, with her cheek against his broadbreast.

"Thank God!" he said, hoarsely, stooping andkissing her. "It is settled, then. The longer I stay,the harder it will be to go. They are waiting forme at the cañon. Good-bye, my own darling—good-bye. In two months you shall see me."

He tore himself from her as he spoke, and, flin-ging himself upon his horse, galloped furiouslyaway, never even looking round, as thoughafraid that his resolution might fail him if hetook one glance at what he was leaving. Shestood at the gate, gazing after him until he van-ished from her sight. Then she walked backinto the house, the happiest girl in all Utah.

CHAPTER III. JOHN FERRIER TALKSWITH THE PROPHET.

THREE weeks had passed since Jefferson Hopeand his comrades had departed from Salt LakeCity. John Ferrier's heart was sore within himwhen he thought of the young man's return,and of the impending loss of his adopted child.Yet her bright and happy face reconciled him tothe arrangement more than any argumentcould have done. He had always determined,deep down in his resolute heart, that nothingwould ever induce him to allow his daughter towed a Mormon. Such a marriage he regardedas no marriage at all, but as a shame and a dis-grace. Whatever he might think of the Mormondoctrines, upon that one point he was inflexi-ble. He had to seal his mouth on the subject,however, for to express an unorthodox opinionwas a dangerous matter in those days in theLand of the Saints.

Yes, a dangerous matter—so dangerous thateven the most saintly dared only whisper theirreligious opinions with bated breath, lest some-thing which fell from their lips might be mis-construed, and bring down a swift retributionupon them. The victims of persecution hadnow turned persecutors on their own account,and persecutors of the most terrible descrip-tion. Not the Inquisition of Seville, nor theGerman Vehm-gericht, nor the Secret Societiesof Italy, were ever able to put a more formida-ble machinery in motion than that which cast acloud over the State of Utah.

Its invisibility, and the mystery which was at-tached to it, made this organization doublyterrible. It appeared to be omniscient and om-nipotent, and yet was neither seen nor heard.The man who held out against the Church van-ished away, and none knew whither he hadgone or what had befallen him. His wife andhis children awaited him at home, but no father

ever returned to tell them how he had fared atthe hands of his secret judges. A rash word or ahasty act was followed by annihilation, and yetnone knew what the nature might be of thisterrible power which was suspended overthem. No wonder that men went about in fearand trembling, and that even in the heart of thewilderness they dared not whisper the doubtswhich oppressed them.

At first this vague and terrible power was exer-cised only upon the recalcitrants who, havingembraced the Mormon faith, wished afterwardsto pervert or to abandon it. Soon, however, ittook a wider range. The supply of adult womenwas running short, and polygamy without afemale population on which to draw was a bar-ren doctrine indeed. Strange rumours began tobe bandied about—rumours of murdered im-migrants and rifled camps in regions whereIndians had never been seen. Fresh womenappeared in the harems of the Elders—women

who pined and wept, and bore upon their facesthe traces of an unextinguishable horror. Be-lated wanderers upon the mountains spoke ofgangs of armed men, masked, stealthy, andnoiseless, who flitted by them in the darkness.These tales and rumours took substance andshape, and were corroborated and re-corroborated, until they resolved themselvesinto a definite name. To this day, in the lonelyranches of the West, the name of the DaniteBand, or the Avenging Angels, is a sinister andan ill-omened one.

Fuller knowledge of the organization whichproduced such terrible results served to in-crease rather than to lessen the horror which itinspired in the minds of men. None knew whobelonged to this ruthless society. The names ofthe participators in the deeds of blood and vio-lence done under the name of religion werekept profoundly secret. The very friend towhom you communicated your misgivings as

to the Prophet and his mission, might be one ofthose who would come forth at night with fireand sword to exact a terrible reparation. Henceevery man feared his neighbour, and none spo-ke of the things which were nearest his heart.

One fine morning, John Ferrier was about to setout to his wheatfields, when he heard the clickof the latch, and, looking through the window,saw a stout, sandy-haired, middle-aged mancoming up the pathway. His heart leapt to hismouth, for this was none other than the greatBrigham Young himself. Full of trepidation—for he knew that such a visit boded him littlegood—Ferrier ran to the door to greet the Mor-mon chief. The latter, however, received hissalutations coldly, and followed him with astern face into the sitting-room.

"Brother Ferrier," he said, taking a seat, andeyeing the farmer keenly from under his light-coloured eyelashes, "the true believers havebeen good friends to you. We picked you up

when you were starving in the desert, we sha-red our food with you, led you safe to the Cho-sen Valley, gave you a goodly share of land,and allowed you to wax rich under our protec-tion. Is not this so?"

"It is so," answered John Ferrier.

"In return for all this we asked but one condi-tion: that was, that you should embrace the truefaith, and conform in every way to its usages.This you promised to do, and this, if commonreport says truly, you have neglected."

"And how have I neglected it?" asked Ferrier,throwing out his hands in expostulation. "HaveI not given to the common fund? Have I notattended at the Temple? Have I not——?"

"Where are your wives?" asked Young, lookinground him. "Call them in, that I may greetthem."

"It is true that I have not married," Ferrier an-swered. "But women were few, and there weremany who had better claims than I. I was not alonely man: I had my daughter to attend to mywants."

"It is of that daughter that I would speak toyou," said the leader of the Mormons. "She hasgrown to be the flower of Utah, and has foundfavour in the eyes of many who are high in theland."

John Ferrier groaned internally.

"There are stories of her which I would faindisbelieve—stories that she is sealed to someGentile. This must be the gossip of idle tongues.What is the thirteenth rule in the code of thesainted Joseph Smith? 'Let every maiden of thetrue faith marry one of the elect; for if she weda Gentile, she commits a grievous sin.' Thisbeing so, it is impossible that you, who profess

the holy creed, should suffer your daughter toviolate it."

John Ferrier made no answer, but he playednervously with his riding-whip.

"Upon this one point your whole faith shall betested—so it has been decided in the SacredCouncil of Four. The girl is young, and wewould not have her wed grey hairs, neitherwould we deprive her of all choice. We Eldershave many heifers, 29 but our children mustalso be provided. Stangerson has a son, andDrebber has a son, and either of them wouldgladly welcome your daughter to their house.Let her choose between them. They are youngand rich, and of the true faith. What say you tothat?"

Ferrier remained silent for some little time withhis brows knitted.

"You will give us time," he said at last. "Mydaughter is very young—she is scarce of an ageto marry."

"She shall have a month to choose," said Young,rising from his seat. "At the end of that time sheshall give her answer."

He was passing through the door, when heturned, with flushed face and flashing eyes. "Itwere better for you, John Ferrier," he thun-dered, "that you and she were now lying blan-ched skeletons upon the Sierra Blanco, thanthat you should put your weak wills againstthe orders of the Holy Four!"

With a threatening gesture of his hand, he tur-ned from the door, and Ferrier heard his heavystep scrunching along the shingly path.

He was still sitting with his elbows upon hisknees, considering how he should broach thematter to his daughter when a soft hand was

laid upon his, and looking up, he saw her stan-ding beside him. One glance at her pale, fright-ened face showed him that she had heard whathad passed.

"I could not help it," she said, in answer to hislook. "His voice rang through the house. Oh,father, father, what shall we do?"

"Don't you scare yourself," he answered, draw-ing her to him, and passing his broad, roughhand caressingly over her chestnut hair. "We'llfix it up somehow or another. You don't findyour fancy kind o' lessening for this chap, doyou?"

A sob and a squeeze of his hand was her onlyanswer.

"No; of course not. I shouldn't care to hear yousay you did. He's a likely lad, and he's a Chris-tian, which is more than these folk here, in spiteo' all their praying and preaching. There's a

party starting for Nevada to-morrow, and I'llmanage to send him a message letting himknow the hole we are in. If I know anything o'that young man, he'll be back here with a speedthat would whip electro-telegraphs."

Lucy laughed through her tears at her father'sdescription.

"When he comes, he will advise us for the best.But it is for you that I am frightened, dear. Onehears—one hears such dreadful stories aboutthose who oppose the Prophet: something ter-rible always happens to them."

"But we haven't opposed him yet," her fatheranswered. "It will be time to look out forsqualls when we do. We have a clear monthbefore us; at the end of that, I guess we had bestshin out of Utah."

"Leave Utah!"

"That's about the size of it."

"But the farm?"

"We will raise as much as we can in money,and let the rest go. To tell the truth, Lucy, itisn't the first time I have thought of doing it. Idon't care about knuckling under to any man,as these folk do to their darned prophet. I'm afree-born American, and it's all new to me.Guess I'm too old to learn. If he comes brows-ing about this farm, he might chance to run upagainst a charge of buckshot travelling in theopposite direction."

"But they won't let us leave," his daughter ob-jected.

"Wait till Jefferson comes, and we'll soon man-age that. In the meantime, don't you fret your-self, my dearie, and don't get your eyes swelledup, else he'll be walking into me when he sees

you. There's nothing to be afeared about, andthere's no danger at all."

John Ferrier uttered these consoling remarks ina very confident tone, but she could not helpobserving that he paid unusual care to the fas-tening of the doors that night, and that he care-fully cleaned and loaded the rusty old shotgunwhich hung upon the wall of his bedroom.

CHAPTER IV. A FLIGHT FOR LIFE.

ON the morning which followed his interviewwith the Mormon Prophet, John Ferrier went into Salt Lake City, and having found his ac-quaintance, who was bound for the NevadaMountains, he entrusted him with his messageto Jefferson Hope. In it he told the young man

of the imminent danger which threatenedthem, and how necessary it was that he shouldreturn. Having done thus he felt easier in hismind, and returned home with a lighter heart.

As he approached his farm, he was surprised tosee a horse hitched to each of the posts of thegate. Still more surprised was he on entering tofind two young men in possession of his sit-ting-room. One, with a long pale face, was lean-ing back in the rocking-chair, with his feetcocked up upon the stove. The other, a bull-necked youth with coarse bloated features, wasstanding in front of the window with his handsin his pocket, whistling a popular hymn. Bothof them nodded to Ferrier as he entered, andthe one in the rocking-chair commenced theconversation.

"Maybe you don't know us," he said. "This hereis the son of Elder Drebber, and I'm JosephStangerson, who travelled with you in the de-

sert when the Lord stretched out His hand andgathered you into the true fold."

"As He will all the nations in His own goodtime," said the other in a nasal voice; "He grin-deth slowly but exceeding small."

John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessedwho his visitors were.

"We have come," continued Stangerson, "at theadvice of our fathers to solicit the hand of yourdaughter for whichever of us may seem goodto you and to her. As I have but four wives andBrother Drebber here has seven, it appears tome that my claim is the stronger one."

"Nay, nay, Brother Stangerson," cried the other;"the question is not how many wives we have,but how many we can keep. My father has nowgiven over his mills to me, and I am the richerman."

"But my prospects are better," said the other,warmly. "When the Lord removes my father, Ishall have his tanning yard and his leather fac-tory. Then I am your elder, and am higher inthe Church."

"It will be for the maiden to decide," rejoinedyoung Drebber, smirking at his own reflectionin the glass. "We will leave it all to her deci-sion."

During this dialogue, John Ferrier had stoodfuming in the doorway, hardly able to keep hisriding-whip from the backs of his two visitors.

"Look here," he said at last, striding up to them,"when my daughter summons you, you cancome, but until then I don't want to see yourfaces again."

The two young Mormons stared at him in ama-zement. In their eyes this competition between

them for the maiden's hand was the highest ofhonours both to her and her father.

"There are two ways out of the room," criedFerrier; "there is the door, and there is the win-dow. Which do you care to use?"

His brown face looked so savage, and his gaunthands so threatening, that his visitors sprang totheir feet and beat a hurried retreat. The oldfarmer followed them to the door.

"Let me know when you have settled which itis to be," he said, sardonically.

"You shall smart for this!" Stangerson cried,white with rage. "You have defied the Prophetand the Council of Four. You shall rue it to theend of your days."

"The hand of the Lord shall be heavy uponyou," cried young Drebber; "He will arise andsmite you!"

"Then I'll start the smiting," exclaimed Ferrierfuriously, and would have rushed upstairs forhis gun had not Lucy seized him by the armand restrained him. Before he could escapefrom her, the clatter of horses' hoofs told himthat they were beyond his reach.

"The young canting rascals!" he exclaimed, wip-ing the perspiration from his forehead; "Iwould sooner see you in your grave, my girl,than the wife of either of them."

"And so should I, father," she answered, withspirit; "but Jefferson will soon be here."

"Yes. It will not be long before he comes. Thesooner the better, for we do not know whattheir next move may be."

It was, indeed, high time that someone capableof giving advice and help should come to theaid of the sturdy old farmer and his adopteddaughter. In the whole history of the settlement

there had never been such a case of rank dis-obedience to the authority of the Elders. If mi-nor errors were punished so sternly, whatwould be the fate of this arch rebel. Ferrierknew that his wealth and position would be ofno avail to him. Others as well known and asrich as himself had been spirited away beforenow, and their goods given over to the Church.He was a brave man, but he trembled at thevague, shadowy terrors which hung over him.Any known danger he could face with a firmlip, but this suspense was unnerving. He con-cealed his fears from his daughter, however,and affected to make light of the whole matter,though she, with the keen eye of love, sawplainly that he was ill at ease.

He expected that he would receive some mes-sage or remonstrance from Young as to his con-duct, and he was not mistaken, though it camein an unlooked-for manner. Upon rising nextmorning he found, to his surprise, a small squa-

re of paper pinned on to the coverlet of his bedjust over his chest. On it was printed, in boldstraggling letters:—

"Twenty-nine days are given you for amend-ment, and then——"

The dash was more fear-inspiring than anythreat could have been. How this warning ca-me into his room puzzled John Ferrier sorely,for his servants slept in an outhouse, and thedoors and windows had all been secured. Hecrumpled the paper up and said nothing to hisdaughter, but the incident struck a chill into hisheart. The twenty-nine days were evidently thebalance of the month which Young had prom-ised. What strength or courage could availagainst an enemy armed with such mysteriouspowers? The hand which fastened that pinmight have struck him to the heart, and hecould never have known who had slain him.

Still more shaken was he next morning. Theyhad sat down to their breakfast when Lucywith a cry of surprise pointed upwards. In thecentre of the ceiling was scrawled, with a bur-ned stick apparently, the number 28. To hisdaughter it was unintelligible, and he did notenlighten her. That night he sat up with his gunand kept watch and ward. He saw and heheard nothing, and yet in the morning a great27 had been painted upon the outside of hisdoor.

Thus day followed day; and as sure as morningcame he found that his unseen enemies hadkept their register, and had marked up in someconspicuous position how many days were stillleft to him out of the month of grace. Some-times the fatal numbers appeared upon thewalls, sometimes upon the floors, occasionallythey were on small placards stuck upon thegarden gate or the railings. With all his vigi-lance John Ferrier could not discover whence

these daily warnings proceeded. A horrorwhich was almost superstitious came upon himat the sight of them. He became haggard andrestless, and his eyes had the troubled look ofsome hunted creature. He had but one hope inlife now, and that was for the arrival of theyoung hunter from Nevada.

Twenty had changed to fifteen and fifteen toten, but there was no news of the absentee. Oneby one the numbers dwindled down, and stillthere came no sign of him. Whenever a horse-man clattered down the road, or a driver shou-ted at his team, the old farmer hurried to thegate thinking that help had arrived at last. Atlast, when he saw five give way to four andthat again to three, he lost heart, and aban-doned all hope of escape. Single-handed, andwith his limited knowledge of the mountainswhich surrounded the settlement, he knew thathe was powerless. The more-frequented roadswere strictly watched and guarded, and none

could pass along them without an order fromthe Council. Turn which way he would, thereappeared to be no avoiding the blow whichhung over him. Yet the old man never waveredin his resolution to part with life itself before heconsented to what he regarded as his daugh-ter's dishonour.

He was sitting alone one evening ponderingdeeply over his troubles, and searching vainlyfor some way out of them. That morning hadshown the figure 2 upon the wall of his house,and the next day would be the last of the allot-ted time. What was to happen then? All man-ner of vague and terrible fancies filled his ima-gination. And his daughter—what was to be-come of her after he was gone? Was there noescape from the invisible network which wasdrawn all round them. He sank his head uponthe table and sobbed at the thought of his ownimpotence.

What was that? In the silence he heard a gentlescratching sound—low, but very distinct in thequiet of the night. It came from the door of thehouse. Ferrier crept into the hall and listenedintently. There was a pause for a few moments,and then the low insidious sound was repeated.Someone was evidently tapping very gentlyupon one of the panels of the door. Was it somemidnight assassin who had come to carry outthe murderous orders of the secret tribunal? Orwas it some agent who was marking up thatthe last day of grace had arrived. John Ferrierfelt that instant death would be better than thesuspense which shook his nerves and chilledhis heart. Springing forward he drew the boltand threw the door open.

Outside all was calm and quiet. The night wasfine, and the stars were twinkling brightlyoverhead. The little front garden lay before thefarmer's eyes bounded by the fence and gate,but neither there nor on the road was any hu-

man being to be seen. With a sigh of relief, Fer-rier looked to right and to left, until happeningto glance straight down at his own feet he sawto his astonishment a man lying flat upon hisface upon the ground, with arms and legs allasprawl.

So unnerved was he at the sight that he leanedup against the wall with his hand to his throatto stifle his inclination to call out. His firstthought was that the prostrate figure was thatof some wounded or dying man, but as he wat-ched it he saw it writhe along the ground andinto the hall with the rapidity and noiselessnessof a serpent. Once within the house the mansprang to his feet, closed the door, and revealedto the astonished farmer the fierce face andresolute expression of Jefferson Hope.

"Good God!" gasped John Ferrier. "How youscared me! Whatever made you come in likethat."

"Give me food," the other said, hoarsely. "I havehad no time for bite or sup for eight-and-fortyhours." He flung himself upon the 21 cold meatand bread which were still lying upon the tablefrom his host's supper, and devoured it vora-ciously. "Does Lucy bear up well?" he asked,when he had satisfied his hunger.

"Yes. She does not know the danger," her fatheranswered.

"That is well. The house is watched on everyside. That is why I crawled my way up to it.They may be darned sharp, but they're not qui-te sharp enough to catch a Washoe hunter."

John Ferrier felt a different man now that herealized that he had a devoted ally. He seizedthe young man's leathery hand and wrung itcordially. "You're a man to be proud of," hesaid. "There are not many who would come toshare our danger and our troubles."

"You've hit it there, pard," the young hunteranswered. "I have a respect for you, but if youwere alone in this business I'd think twice be-fore I put my head into such a hornet's nest. It'sLucy that brings me here, and before harm co-mes on her I guess there will be one less o' theHope family in Utah."

"What are we to do?"

"To-morrow is your last day, and unless youact to-night you are lost. I have a mule and twohorses waiting in the Eagle Ravine. How muchmoney have you?"

"Two thousand dollars in gold, and five in no-tes."

"That will do. I have as much more to add to it.We must push for Carson City through themountains. You had best wake Lucy. It is aswell that the servants do not sleep in the hou-se."

While Ferrier was absent, preparing his daugh-ter for the approaching journey, Jefferson Hopepacked all the eatables that he could find into asmall parcel, and filled a stoneware jar withwater, for he knew by experience that themountain wells were few and far between. Hehad hardly completed his arrangements beforethe farmer returned with his daughter all dres-sed and ready for a start. The greeting betweenthe lovers was warm, but brief, for minuteswere precious, and there was much to be done.

"We must make our start at once," said Jeffer-son Hope, speaking in a low but resolute voice,like one who realizes the greatness of the peril,but has steeled his heart to meet it. "The frontand back entrances are watched, but with cau-tion we may get away through the side win-dow and across the fields. Once on the road weare only two miles from the Ravine where thehorses are waiting. By daybreak we should behalf-way through the mountains."

"What if we are stopped," asked Ferrier.

Hope slapped the revolver butt which pro-truded from the front of his tunic. "If they aretoo many for us we shall take two or three ofthem with us," he said with a sinister smile.

The lights inside the house had all been extin-guished, and from the darkened window Fer-rier peered over the fields which had been hisown, and which he was now about to abandonfor ever. He had long nerved himself to thesacrifice, however, and the thought of the hon-our and happiness of his daughter outweighedany regret at his ruined fortunes. All looked sopeaceful and happy, the rustling trees and thebroad silent stretch of grain-land, that it wasdifficult to realize that the spirit of murderlurked through it all. Yet the white face and setexpression of the young hunter showed that inhis approach to the house he had seen enoughto satisfy him upon that head.

Ferrier carried the bag of gold and notes, Jeffer-son Hope had the scanty provisions and water,while Lucy had a small bundle containing afew of her more valued possessions. Openingthe window very slowly and carefully, theywaited until a dark cloud had somewhat ob-scured the night, and then one by one passedthrough into the little garden. With batedbreath and crouching figures they stumbledacross it, and gained the shelter of the hedge,which they skirted until they came to the gapwhich opened into the cornfields. They had justreached this point when the young man seizedhis two companions and dragged them downinto the shadow, where they lay silent andtrembling.

It was as well that his prairie training had givenJefferson Hope the ears of a lynx. He and hisfriends had hardly crouched down before themelancholy hooting of a mountain owl washeard within a few yards of them, which was

immediately answered by another hoot at asmall distance. At the same moment a vagueshadowy figure emerged from the gap forwhich they had been making, and uttered theplaintive signal cry again, on which a secondman appeared out of the obscurity.

"To-morrow at midnight," said the first whoappeared to be in authority. "When the Whip-poor-Will calls three times."

"It is well," returned the other. "Shall I tell Brot-her Drebber?"

"Pass it on to him, and from him to the others.Nine to seven!"

"Seven to five!" repeated the other, and the twofigures flitted away in different directions.Their concluding words had evidently beensome form of sign and countersign. The instantthat their footsteps had died away in the dis-tance, Jefferson Hope sprang to his feet, and

helping his companions through the gap, ledthe way across the fields at the top of his speed,supporting and half-carrying the girl when herstrength appeared to fail her.

"Hurry on! hurry on!" he gasped from time totime. "We are through the line of sentinels. Eve-rything depends on speed. Hurry on!"

Once on the high road they made rapid pro-gress. Only once did they meet anyone, andthen they managed to slip into a field, and soavoid recognition. Before reaching the town thehunter branched away into a rugged and nar-row footpath which led to the mountains. Twodark jagged peaks loomed above them throughthe darkness, and the defile which led betweenthem was the Eagle Cañon in which the horseswere awaiting them. With unerring instinctJefferson Hope picked his way among the greatboulders and along the bed of a dried-up wa-tercourse, until he came to the retired corner,screened with rocks, where the faithful animals

had been picketed. The girl was placed uponthe mule, and old Ferrier upon one of the hor-ses, with his money-bag, while Jefferson Hopeled the other along the precipitous and danger-ous path.

It was a bewildering route for anyone who wasnot accustomed to face Nature in her wildestmoods. On the one side a great crag toweredup a thousand feet or more, black, stern, andmenacing, with long basaltic columns upon itsrugged surface like the ribs of some petrifiedmonster. On the other hand a wild chaos ofboulders and debris made all advance impossi-ble. Between the two ran the irregular track, sonarrow in places that they had to travel in In-dian file, and so rough that only practised rid-ers could have traversed it at all. Yet in spite ofall dangers and difficulties, the hearts of thefugitives were light within them, for every stepincreased the distance between them and theterrible despotism from which they were flying.

They soon had a proof, however, that they werestill within the jurisdiction of the Saints. Theyhad reached the very wildest and most desolateportion of the pass when the girl gave a startledcry, and pointed upwards. On a rock whichoverlooked the track, showing out dark andplain against the sky, there stood a solitary sen-tinel. He saw them as soon as they perceivedhim, and his military challenge of "Who goesthere?" rang through the silent ravine.

"Travellers for Nevada," said Jefferson Hope,with his hand upon the rifle which hung by hissaddle.

They could see the lonely watcher fingering hisgun, and peering down at them as if dissatis-fied at their reply.

"By whose permission?" he asked.

"The Holy Four," answered Ferrier. His Mor-mon experiences had taught him that that wasthe highest authority to which he could refer.

"Nine from seven," cried the sentinel.

"Seven from five," returned Jefferson Hopepromptly, remembering the countersign whichhe had heard in the garden.

"Pass, and the Lord go with you," said the voicefrom above. Beyond his post the path broad-ened out, and the horses were able to break intoa trot. Looking back, they could see the solitarywatcher leaning upon his gun, and knew thatthey had passed the outlying post of the chosenpeople, and that freedom lay before them.

CHAPTER V. THE AVENGING ANGELS.

ALL night their course lay through intricatedefiles and over irregular and rock-strewnpaths. More than once they lost their way, butHope's intimate knowledge of the mountainsenabled them to regain the track once more.When morning broke, a scene of marvellousthough savage beauty lay before them. In everydirection the great snow-capped peaks hem-med them in, peeping over each other's shoul-ders to the far horizon. So steep were the rockybanks on either side of them, that the larch andthe pine seemed to be suspended over theirheads, and to need only a gust of wind to comehurtling down upon them. Nor was the fearentirely an illusion, for the barren valley wasthickly strewn with trees and boulders whichhad fallen in a similar manner. Even as theypassed, a great rock came thundering downwith a hoarse rattle which woke the echoes in

the silent gorges, and startled the weary horsesinto a gallop.

As the sun rose slowly above the eastern hori-zon, the caps of the great mountains lit up oneafter the other, like lamps at a festival, untilthey were all ruddy and glowing. The magnifi-cent spectacle cheered the hearts of the threefugitives and gave them fresh energy. At a wildtorrent which swept out of a ravine they calleda halt and watered their horses, while they par-took of a hasty breakfast. Lucy and her fatherwould fain have rested longer, but JeffersonHope was inexorable. "They will be upon ourtrack by this time," he said. "Everything de-pends upon our speed. Once safe in Carson wemay rest for the remainder of our lives."

During the whole of that day they struggled onthrough the defiles, and by evening they calcu-lated that they were more than thirty milesfrom their enemies. At night-time they chosethe base of a beetling crag, where the rocks of-

fered some protection from the chill wind, andthere huddled together for warmth, they en-joyed a few hours' sleep. Before daybreak, how-ever, they were up and on their way once more.They had seen no signs of any pursuers, andJefferson Hope began to think that they werefairly out of the reach of the terrible organiza-tion whose enmity they had incurred. He littleknew how far that iron grasp could reach, orhow soon it was to close upon them and crushthem.

About the middle of the second day of theirflight their scanty store of provisions began torun out. This gave the hunter little uneasiness,however, for there was game to be had amongthe mountains, and he had frequently beforehad to depend upon his rifle for the needs oflife. Choosing a sheltered nook, he piled to-gether a few dried branches and made a blaz-ing fire, at which his companions might warmthemselves, for they were now nearly five

thousand feet above the sea level, and the airwas bitter and keen. Having tethered the hor-ses, and bade Lucy adieu, he threw his gunover his shoulder, and set out in search of wha-tever chance might throw in his way. Lookingback he saw the old man and the young girlcrouching over the blazing fire, while the threeanimals stood motionless in the back-ground.Then the intervening rocks hid them from hisview.

He walked for a couple of miles through oneravine after another without success, thoughfrom the marks upon the bark of the trees, andother indications, he judged that there werenumerous bears in the vicinity. At last, aftertwo or three hours' fruitless search, he wasthinking of turning back in despair, when cast-ing his eyes upwards he saw a sight which senta thrill of pleasure through his heart. On theedge of a jutting pinnacle, three or four hun-dred feet above him, there stood a creature

somewhat resembling a sheep in appearance,but armed with a pair of gigantic horns. Thebig-horn—for so it is called—was acting, pro-bably, as a guardian over a flock which wereinvisible to the hunter; but fortunately it washeading in the opposite direction, and had notperceived him. Lying on his face, he rested hisrifle upon a rock, and took a long and steadyaim before drawing the trigger. The animalsprang into the air, tottered for a moment uponthe edge of the precipice, and then came crash-ing down into the valley beneath.

The creature was too unwieldy to lift, so thehunter contented himself with cutting awayone haunch and part of the flank. With thistrophy over his shoulder, he hastened to retracehis steps, for the evening was already drawingin. He had hardly started, however, before herealized the difficulty which faced him. In hiseagerness he had wandered far past the ravineswhich were known to him, and it was no easy

matter to pick out the path which he had taken.The valley in which he found himself dividedand sub-divided into many gorges, which wereso like each other that it was impossible to dis-tinguish one from the other. He followed onefor a mile or more until he came to a mountaintorrent which he was sure that he had neverseen before. Convinced that he had taken thewrong turn, he tried another, but with the sameresult. Night was coming on rapidly, and it wasalmost dark before he at last found himself in adefile which was familiar to him. Even then itwas no easy matter to keep to the right track,for the moon had not yet risen, and the highcliffs on either side made the obscurity moreprofound. Weighed down with his burden, andweary from his exertions, he stumbled along,keeping up his heart by the reflection that eve-ry step brought him nearer to Lucy, and that hecarried with him enough to ensure them foodfor the remainder of their journey.

He had now come to the mouth of the verydefile in which he had left them. Even in thedarkness he could recognize the outline of thecliffs which bounded it. They must, he re-flected, be awaiting him anxiously, for he hadbeen absent nearly five hours. In the gladnessof his heart he put his hands to his mouth andmade the glen re-echo to a loud halloo as a sig-nal that he was coming. He paused and listenedfor an answer. None came save his own cry,which clattered up the dreary silent ravines,and was borne back to his ears in countlessrepetitions. Again he shouted, even louder thanbefore, and again no whisper came back fromthe friends whom he had left such a short timeago. A vague, nameless dread came over him,and he hurried onwards frantically, droppingthe precious food in his agitation.

When he turned the corner, he came full insight of the spot where the fire had been lit.There was still a glowing pile of wood ashes

there, but it had evidently not been tended sin-ce his departure. The same dead silence stillreigned all round. With his fears all changed toconvictions, he hurried on. There was no livingcreature near the remains of the fire: animals,man, maiden, all were gone. It was only tooclear that some sudden and terrible disasterhad occurred during his absence—a disasterwhich had embraced them all, and yet had leftno traces behind it.

Bewildered and stunned by this blow, JeffersonHope felt his head spin round, and had to leanupon his rifle to save himself from falling. Hewas essentially a man of action, however, andspeedily recovered from his temporary impo-tence. Seizing a half-consumed piece of woodfrom the smouldering fire, he blew it into aflame, and proceeded with its help to examinethe little camp. The ground was all stampeddown by the feet of horses, showing that a largeparty of mounted men had overtaken the fugi-

tives, and the direction of their tracks provedthat they had afterwards turned back to SaltLake City. Had they carried back both of hiscompanions with them? Jefferson Hope hadalmost persuaded himself that they must havedone so, when his eye fell upon an object whichmade every nerve of his body tingle withinhim. A little way on one side of the camp was alow-lying heap of reddish soil, which had as-suredly not been there before. There was nomistaking it for anything but a newly-duggrave. As the young hunter approached it, heperceived that a stick had been planted on it,with a sheet of paper stuck in the cleft fork of it.The inscription upon the paper was brief, but tothe point: JOHN FERRIER, FORMERLY OF SALT LAKE CITY, 22 Died August 4th, 1860.

The sturdy old man, whom he had left so shorta time before, was gone, then, and this was all

his epitaph. Jefferson Hope looked wildlyround to see if there was a second grave, butthere was no sign of one. Lucy had been carriedback by their terrible pursuers to fulfil her ori-ginal destiny, by becoming one of the harem ofthe Elder's son. As the young fellow realizedthe certainty of her fate, and his own power-lessness to prevent it, he wished that he, too,was lying with the old farmer in his last silentresting-place.

Again, however, his active spirit shook off thelethargy which springs from despair. If therewas nothing else left to him, he could at leastdevote his life to revenge. With indomitablepatience and perseverance, Jefferson Hope pos-sessed also a power of sustained vindictiveness,which he may have learned from the Indiansamongst whom he had lived. As he stood bythe desolate fire, he felt that the only one thingwhich could assuage his grief would be thor-ough and complete retribution, brought by his

own hand upon his enemies. His strong willand untiring energy should, he determined, bedevoted to that one end. With a grim, whiteface, he retraced his steps to where he haddropped the food, and having stirred up thesmouldering fire, he cooked enough to last himfor a few days. This he made up into a bundle,and, tired as he was, he set himself to walkback through the mountains upon the track ofthe avenging angels.

For five days he toiled footsore and wearythrough the defiles which he had already trav-ersed on horseback. At night he flung himselfdown among the rocks, and snatched a fewhours of sleep; but before daybreak he was al-ways well on his way. On the sixth day, he rea-ched the Eagle Cañon, from which they hadcommenced their ill-fated flight. Thence hecould look down upon the home of the saints.Worn and exhausted, he leaned upon his rifleand shook his gaunt hand fiercely at the silent

widespread city beneath him. As he looked atit, he observed that there were flags in some ofthe principal streets, and other signs of festiv-ity. He was still speculating as to what thismight mean when he heard the clatter of hor-se's hoofs, and saw a mounted man riding to-wards him. As he approached, he recognizedhim as a Mormon named Cowper, to whom hehad rendered services at different times. Hetherefore accosted him when he got up to him,with the object of finding out what Lucy Fer-rier's fate had been.

"I am Jefferson Hope," he said. "You rememberme."

The Mormon looked at him with undisguisedastonishment—indeed, it was difficult to rec-ognize in this tattered, unkempt wanderer,with ghastly white face and fierce, wild eyes,the spruce young hunter of former days. Hav-ing, however, at last, satisfied himself as to his

identity, the man's surprise changed to con-sternation.

"You are mad to come here," he cried. "It is asmuch as my own life is worth to be seen talkingwith you. There is a warrant against you fromthe Holy Four for assisting the Ferriers away."

"I don't fear them, or their warrant," Hope said,earnestly. "You must know something of thismatter, Cowper. I conjure you by everythingyou hold dear to answer a few questions. Wehave always been friends. For God's sake, don'trefuse to answer me."

"What is it?" the Mormon asked uneasily. "Bequick. The very rocks have ears and the treeseyes."

"What has become of Lucy Ferrier?"

"She was married yesterday to young Drebber.Hold up, man, hold up, you have no life left inyou."

"Don't mind me," said Hope faintly. He waswhite to the very lips, and had sunk down onthe stone against which he had been leaning."Married, you say?"

"Married yesterday—that's what those flags arefor on the Endowment House. There was somewords between young Drebber and youngStangerson as to which was to have her. They'dboth been in the party that followed them, andStangerson had shot her father, which seemedto give him the best claim; but when they ar-gued it out in council, Drebber's party was thestronger, so the Prophet gave her over to him.No one won't have her very long though, for Isaw death in her face yesterday. She is morelike a ghost than a woman. Are you off, then?"

"Yes, I am off," said Jefferson Hope, who hadrisen from his seat. His face might have beenchiselled out of marble, so hard and set was itsexpression, while its eyes glowed with a balefullight.

"Where are you going?"

"Never mind," he answered; and, slinging hisweapon over his shoulder, strode off down thegorge and so away into the heart of the moun-tains to the haunts of the wild beasts. Amongstthem all there was none so fierce and so dan-gerous as himself.

The prediction of the Mormon was only toowell fulfilled. Whether it was the terrible deathof her father or the effects of the hateful mar-riage into which she had been forced, poorLucy never held up her head again, but pinedaway and died within a month. Her sottishhusband, who had married her principally forthe sake of John Ferrier's property, did not af-

fect any great grief at his bereavement; but hisother wives mourned over her, and sat up withher the night before the burial, as is the Mor-mon custom. They were grouped round thebier in the early hours of the morning, when, totheir inexpressible fear and astonishment, thedoor was flung open, and a savage-looking,weather-beaten man in tattered garmentsstrode into the room. Without a glance or aword to the cowering women, he walked up tothe white silent figure which had once con-tained the pure soul of Lucy Ferrier. Stoopingover her, he pressed his lips reverently to hercold forehead, and then, snatching up herhand, he took the wedding-ring from her fin-ger. "She shall not be buried in that," he criedwith a fierce snarl, and before an alarm couldbe raised sprang down the stairs and was gone.So strange and so brief was the episode, thatthe watchers might have found it hard to be-lieve it themselves or persuade other people ofit, had it not been for the undeniable fact that

the circlet of gold which marked her as havingbeen a bride had disappeared.

For some months Jefferson Hope lingeredamong the mountains, leading a strange wildlife, and nursing in his heart the fierce desirefor vengeance which possessed him. Tales weretold in the City of the weird figure which wasseen prowling about the suburbs, and whichhaunted the lonely mountain gorges. Once abullet whistled through Stangerson's windowand flattened itself upon the wall within a footof him. On another occasion, as Drebber passedunder a cliff a great boulder crashed down onhim, and he only escaped a terrible death bythrowing himself upon his face. The two youngMormons were not long in discovering the rea-son of these attempts upon their lives, and ledrepeated expeditions into the mountains in thehope of capturing or killing their enemy, butalways without success. Then they adopted theprecaution of never going out alone or after

nightfall, and of having their houses guarded.After a time they were able to relax these mea-sures, for nothing was either heard or seen oftheir opponent, and they hoped that time hadcooled his vindictiveness.

Far from doing so, it had, if anything, aug-mented it. The hunter's mind was of a hard,unyielding nature, and the predominant idea ofrevenge had taken such complete possession ofit that there was no room for any other emo-tion. He was, however, above all things practi-cal. He soon realized that even his iron consti-tution could not stand the incessant strainwhich he was putting upon it. Exposure andwant of wholesome food were wearing himout. If he died like a dog among the mountains,what was to become of his revenge then? Andyet such a death was sure to overtake him if hepersisted. He felt that that was to play his en-emy's game, so he reluctantly returned to theold Nevada mines, there to recruit his health

and to amass money enough to allow him topursue his object without privation.

His intention had been to be absent a year atthe most, but a combination of unforeseen cir-cumstances prevented his leaving the mines fornearly five. At the end of that time, however,his memory of his wrongs and his craving forrevenge were quite as keen as on that memora-ble night when he had stood by John Ferrier'sgrave. Disguised, and under an assumed name,he returned to Salt Lake City, careless whatbecame of his own life, as long as he obtainedwhat he knew to be justice. There he found eviltidings awaiting him. There had been a schismamong the Chosen People a few months before,some of the younger members of the Churchhaving rebelled against the authority of theElders, and the result had been the secession ofa certain number of the malcontents, who hadleft Utah and become Gentiles. Among thesehad been Drebber and Stangerson; and no one

knew whither they had gone. Rumour reportedthat Drebber had managed to convert a largepart of his property into money, and that hehad departed a wealthy man, while his com-panion, Stangerson, was comparatively poor.There was no clue at all, however, as to theirwhereabouts.

Many a man, however vindictive, would haveabandoned all thought of revenge in the face ofsuch a difficulty, but Jefferson Hope never fal-tered for a moment. With the small competencehe possessed, eked out by such employment ashe could pick up, he travelled from town totown through the United States in quest of hisenemies. Year passed into year, his black hairturned grizzled, but still he wandered on, ahuman bloodhound, with his mind wholly setupon the one object upon which he had de-voted his life. At last his perseverance was re-warded. It was but a glance of a face in a win-dow, but that one glance told him that Cleve-

land in Ohio possessed the men whom he wasin pursuit of. He returned to his miserablelodgings with his plan of vengeance all ar-ranged. It chanced, however, that Drebber,looking from his window, had recognized thevagrant in the street, and had read murder inhis eyes. He hurried before a justice of thepeace, accompanied by Stangerson, who hadbecome his private secretary, and representedto him that they were in danger of their livesfrom the jealousy and hatred of an old rival.That evening Jefferson Hope was taken intocustody, and not being able to find sureties,was detained for some weeks. When at last hewas liberated, it was only to find that Drebber'shouse was deserted, and that he and his secre-tary had departed for Europe.

Again the avenger had been foiled, and againhis concentrated hatred urged him to continuethe pursuit. Funds were wanting, however, andfor some time he had to return to work, saving

every dollar for his approaching journey. Atlast, having collected enough to keep life inhim, he departed for Europe, and tracked hisenemies from city to city, working his way inany menial capacity, but never overtaking thefugitives. When he reached St. Petersburg theyhad departed for Paris; and when he followedthem there he learned that they had just set offfor Copenhagen. At the Danish capital he wasagain a few days late, for they had journeyedon to London, where he at last succeeded inrunning them to earth. As to what occurredthere, we cannot do better than quote the oldhunter's own account, as duly recorded in Dr.Watson's Journal, to which we are already un-der such obligations.

CHAPTER VI. A CONTINUATION OFTHE REMINISCENCES OF JOHN WATSON,M.D.

OUR prisoner's furious resistance did not ap-parently indicate any ferocity in his dispositiontowards ourselves, for on finding himself pow-erless, he smiled in an affable manner, and ex-pressed his hopes that he had not hurt any ofus in the scuffle. "I guess you're going to takeme to the police-station," he remarked to Sher-lock Holmes. "My cab's at the door. If you'llloose my legs I'll walk down to it. I'm not solight to lift as I used to be."

Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as ifthey thought this proposition rather a bold one;but Holmes at once took the prisoner at hisword, and loosened the towel which we hadbound round his ancles. 23 He rose and stret-ched his legs, as though to assure himself that

they were free once more. I remember that Ithought to myself, as I eyed him, that I hadseldom seen a more powerfully built man; andhis dark sunburned face bore an expression ofdetermination and energy which was as formi-dable as his personal strength.

"If there's a vacant place for a chief of the po-lice, I reckon you are the man for it," he said,gazing with undisguised admiration at my fel-low-lodger. "The way you kept on my trail wasa caution."

"You had better come with me," said Holmes tothe two detectives.

"I can drive you," said Lestrade.

"Good! and Gregson can come inside with me.You too, Doctor, you have taken an interest inthe case and may as well stick to us."

I assented gladly, and we all descended to-gether. Our prisoner made no attempt at es-cape, but stepped calmly into the cab whichhad been his, and we followed him. Lestrademounted the box, whipped up the horse, andbrought us in a very short time to our destina-tion. We were ushered into a small chamberwhere a police Inspector noted down our pris-oner's name and the names of the men withwhose murder he had been charged. The offi-cial was a white-faced unemotional man, whowent through his duties in a dull mechanicalway. "The prisoner will be put before the mag-istrates in the course of the week," he said; "inthe mean time, Mr. Jefferson Hope, have youanything that you wish to say? I must warn youthat your words will be taken down, and maybe used against you."

"I've got a good deal to say," our prisoner saidslowly. "I want to tell you gentlemen all aboutit."

"Hadn't you better reserve that for your trial?"asked the Inspector.

"I may never be tried," he answered. "Youneedn't look startled. It isn't suicide I am think-ing of. Are you a Doctor?" He turned his fiercedark eyes upon me as he asked this last ques-tion.

"Yes; I am," I answered.

"Then put your hand here," he said, with a smi-le, motioning with his manacled wrists towardshis chest.

I did so; and became at once conscious of anextraordinary throbbing and commotion whichwas going on inside. The walls of his chestseemed to thrill and quiver as a frail buildingwould do inside when some powerful enginewas at work. In the silence of the room I couldhear a dull humming and buzzing noise whichproceeded from the same source.

"Why," I cried, "you have an aortic aneurism!"

"That's what they call it," he said, placidly. "Iwent to a Doctor last week about it, and he toldme that it is bound to burst before many dayspassed. It has been getting worse for years. Igot it from over-exposure and under-feedingamong the Salt Lake Mountains. I've done mywork now, and I don't care how soon I go, but Ishould like to leave some account of the busi-ness behind me. I don't want to be rememberedas a common cut-throat."

The Inspector and the two detectives had a hur-ried discussion as to the advisability of allow-ing him to tell his story.

"Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immedi-ate danger?" the former asked, 24

"Most certainly there is," I answered.

"In that case it is clearly our duty, in the inter-ests of justice, to take his statement," said theInspector. "You are at liberty, sir, to give youraccount, which I again warn you will be takendown."

"I'll sit down, with your leave," the prisonersaid, suiting the action to the word. "This aneu-rism of mine makes me easily tired, and thetussle we had half an hour ago has not mendedmatters. I'm on the brink of the grave, and I amnot likely to lie to you. Every word I say is theabsolute truth, and how you use it is a matterof no consequence to me."

With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned backin his chair and began the following remarkablestatement. He spoke in a calm and methodicalmanner, as though the events which he nar-rated were commonplace enough. I can vouchfor the accuracy of the subjoined account, for Ihave had access to Lestrade's note-book, in

which the prisoner's words were taken downexactly as they were uttered.

"It don't much matter to you why I hated thesemen," he said; "it's enough that they were guiltyof the death of two human beings—a fatherand a daughter—and that they had, therefore,forfeited their own lives. After the lapse of timethat has passed since their crime, it was impos-sible for me to secure a conviction against themin any court. I knew of their guilt though, and Idetermined that I should be judge, jury, andexecutioner all rolled into one. You'd have donethe same, if you have any manhood in you, ifyou had been in my place.

"That girl that I spoke of was to have marriedme twenty years ago. She was forced into mar-rying that same Drebber, and broke her heartover it. I took the marriage ring from her deadfinger, and I vowed that his dying eyes shouldrest upon that very ring, and that his lastthoughts should be of the crime for which he

was punished. I have carried it about with me,and have followed him and his accomplice overtwo continents until I caught them. Theythought to tire me out, but they could not do it.If I die to-morrow, as is likely enough, I dieknowing that my work in this world is done,and well done. They have perished, and by myhand. There is nothing left for me to hope for,or to desire.

"They were rich and I was poor, so that it wasno easy matter for me to follow them. When Igot to London my pocket was about empty,and I found that I must turn my hand to some-thing for my living. Driving and riding are asnatural to me as walking, so I applied at acabowner's office, and soon got employment. Iwas to bring a certain sum a week to the owner,and whatever was over that I might keep formyself. There was seldom much over, but Imanaged to scrape along somehow. The hard-est job was to learn my way about, for I reckon

that of all the mazes that ever were contrived,this city is the most confusing. I had a map be-side me though, and when once I had spottedthe principal hotels and stations, I got on prettywell.

"It was some time before I found out where mytwo gentlemen were living; but I inquired andinquired until at last I dropped across them.They were at a boarding-house at Camberwell,over on the other side of the river. When once Ifound them out I knew that I had them at mymercy. I had grown my beard, and there wasno chance of their recognizing me. I would dogthem and follow them until I saw my opportu-nity. I was determined that they should notescape me again.

"They were very near doing it for all that. Gowhere they would about London, I was alwaysat their heels. Sometimes I followed them onmy cab, and sometimes on foot, but the formerwas the best, for then they could not get away

from me. It was only early in the morning orlate at night that I could earn anything, so that Ibegan to get behind hand with my employer. Idid not mind that, however, as long as I couldlay my hand upon the men I wanted.

"They were very cunning, though. They musthave thought that there was some chance oftheir being followed, for they would never goout alone, and never after nightfall. During twoweeks I drove behind them every day, and ne-ver once saw them separate. Drebber himselfwas drunk half the time, but Stangerson wasnot to be caught napping. I watched them lateand early, but never saw the ghost of a chance;but I was not discouraged, for something toldme that the hour had almost come. My onlyfear was that this thing in my chest might bursta little too soon and leave my work undone.

"At last, one evening I was driving up anddown Torquay Terrace, as the street was calledin which they boarded, when I saw a cab drive

up to their door. Presently some luggage wasbrought out, and after a time Drebber and Stan-gerson followed it, and drove off. I whipped upmy horse and kept within sight of them, feelingvery ill at ease, for I feared that they were goingto shift their quarters. At Euston Station theygot out, and I left a boy to hold my horse, andfollowed them on to the platform. I heard themask for the Liverpool train, and the guard an-swer that one had just gone and there wouldnot be another for some hours. Stangersonseemed to be put out at that, but Drebber wasrather pleased than otherwise. I got so close tothem in the bustle that I could hear every wordthat passed between them. Drebber said that hehad a little business of his own to do, and thatif the other would wait for him he would soonrejoin him. His companion remonstrated withhim, and reminded him that they had resolvedto stick together. Drebber answered that thematter was a delicate one, and that he must goalone. I could not catch what Stangerson said to

that, but the other burst out swearing, and re-minded him that he was nothing more than hispaid servant, and that he must not presume todictate to him. On that the Secretary gave it upas a bad job, and simply bargained with himthat if he missed the last train he should rejoinhim at Halliday's Private Hotel; to which Dreb-ber answered that he would be back on theplatform before eleven, and made his way outof the station.

"The moment for which I had waited so longhad at last come. I had my enemies within mypower. Together they could protect each other,but singly they were at my mercy. I did not act,however, with undue precipitation. My planswere already formed. There is no satisfaction invengeance unless the offender has time to real-ize who it is that strikes him, and why retribu-tion has come upon him. I had my plans ar-ranged by which I should have the opportunityof making the man who had wronged me un-

derstand that his old sin had found him out. Itchanced that some days before a gentlemanwho had been engaged in looking over somehouses in the Brixton Road had dropped thekey of one of them in my carriage. It was clai-med that same evening, and returned; but inthe interval I had taken a moulding of it, andhad a duplicate constructed. By means of this Ihad access to at least one spot in this great citywhere I could rely upon being free from inter-ruption. How to get Drebber to that house wasthe difficult problem which I had now to solve.

"He walked down the road and went into oneor two liquor shops, staying for nearly half-an-hour in the last of them. When he came out hestaggered in his walk, and was evidently prettywell on. There was a hansom just in front ofme, and he hailed it. I followed it so close thatthe nose of my horse was within a yard of hisdriver the whole way. We rattled across Water-loo Bridge and through miles of streets, until, to

my astonishment, we found ourselves back inthe Terrace in which he had boarded. I couldnot imagine what his intention was in returningthere; but I went on and pulled up my cab ahundred yards or so from the house. He en-tered it, and his hansom drove away. Give me aglass of water, if you please. My mouth getsdry with the talking."

I handed him the glass, and he drank it down.

"That's better," he said. "Well, I waited for aquarter of an hour, or more, when suddenlythere came a noise like people struggling insidethe house. Next moment the door was flungopen and two men appeared, one of whom wasDrebber, and the other was a young chapwhom I had never seen before. This fellow hadDrebber by the collar, and when they came tothe head of the steps he gave him a shove and akick which sent him half across the road. 'Youhound,' he cried, shaking his stick at him; 'I'llteach you to insult an honest girl!' He was so

hot that I think he would have thrashed Dreb-ber with his cudgel, only that the cur staggeredaway down the road as fast as his legs wouldcarry him. He ran as far as the corner, and then,seeing my cab, he hailed me and jumped in.'Drive me to Halliday's Private Hotel,' said he.

"When I had him fairly inside my cab, my heartjumped so with joy that I feared lest at this lastmoment my aneurism might go wrong. I drovealong slowly, weighing in my own mind whatit was best to do. I might take him right out intothe country, and there in some deserted lanehave my last interview with him. I had almostdecided upon this, when he solved the problemfor me. The craze for drink had seized himagain, and he ordered me to pull up outside agin palace. He went in, leaving word that Ishould wait for him. There he remained untilclosing time, and when he came out he was sofar gone that I knew the game was in my ownhands.

"Don't imagine that I intended to kill him incold blood. It would only have been rigid jus-tice if I had done so, but I could not bring my-self to do it. I had long determined that heshould have a show for his life if he chose totake advantage of it. Among the many billetswhich I have filled in America during my wan-dering life, I was once janitor and sweeper outof the laboratory at York College. One day theprofessor was lecturing on poisions, 25 and heshowed his students some alkaloid, as he calledit, which he had extracted from some SouthAmerican arrow poison, and which was sopowerful that the least grain meant instantdeath. I spotted the bottle in which this prepa-ration was kept, and when they were all gone, Ihelped myself to a little of it. I was a fairly gooddispenser, so I worked this alkaloid into small,soluble pills, and each pill I put in a box with asimilar pill made without the poison. I deter-mined at the time that when I had my chance,my gentlemen should each have a draw out of

one of these boxes, while I ate the pill that re-mained. It would be quite as deadly, and agood deal less noisy than firing across a hand-kerchief. From that day I had always my pillboxes about with me, and the time had nowcome when I was to use them.

"It was nearer one than twelve, and a wild,bleak night, blowing hard and raining in tor-rents. Dismal as it was outside, I was glad wit-hin—so glad that I could have shouted outfrom pure exultation. If any of you gentlemenhave ever pined for a thing, and longed for itduring twenty long years, and then suddenlyfound it within your reach, you would under-stand my feelings. I lit a cigar, and puffed at itto steady my nerves, but my hands were trem-bling, and my temples throbbing with excite-ment. As I drove, I could see old John Ferrierand sweet Lucy looking at me out of the dark-ness and smiling at me, just as plain as I seeyou all in this room. All the way they were

ahead of me, one on each side of the horse untilI pulled up at the house in the Brixton Road.

"There was not a soul to be seen, nor a sound tobe heard, except the dripping of the rain. WhenI looked in at the window, I found Drebber allhuddled together in a drunken sleep. I shookhim by the arm, 'It's time to get out,' I said.

"'All right, cabby,' said he.

"I suppose he thought we had come to the hotelthat he had mentioned, for he got out withoutanother word, and followed me down the gar-den. I had to walk beside him to keep him stea-dy, for he was still a little top-heavy. When wecame to the door, I opened it, and led him intothe front room. I give you my word that all theway, the father and the daughter were walkingin front of us.

"'It's infernally dark,' said he, stamping about.

"'We'll soon have a light,' I said, striking amatch and putting it to a wax candle which Ihad brought with me. 'Now, Enoch Drebber,' Icontinued, turning to him, and holding thelight to my own face, 'who am I?'

"He gazed at me with bleared, drunken eyes fora moment, and then I saw a horror spring up inthem, and convulse his whole features, whichshowed me that he knew me. He staggeredback with a livid face, and I saw the perspira-tion break out upon his brow, while his teethchattered in his head. At the sight, I leaned myback against the door and laughed loud andlong. I had always known that vengeancewould be sweet, but I had never hoped for thecontentment of soul which now possessed me.

"'You dog!' I said; 'I have hunted you from SaltLake City to St. Petersburg, and you have al-ways escaped me. Now, at last your wander-ings have come to an end, for either you or Ishall never see to-morrow's sun rise.' He

shrunk still further away as I spoke, and I couldsee on his face that he thought I was mad. So Iwas for the time. The pulses in my temples beatlike sledge-hammers, and I believe I wouldhave had a fit of some sort if the blood had notgushed from my nose and relieved me.

"'What do you think of Lucy Ferrier now?' Icried, locking the door, and shaking the key inhis face. 'Punishment has been slow in coming,but it has overtaken you at last.' I saw his cow-ard lips tremble as I spoke. He would havebegged for his life, but he knew well that it wasuseless.

"'Would you murder me?' he stammered.

"'There is no murder,' I answered. 'Who talks ofmurdering a mad dog? What mercy had youupon my poor darling, when you dragged herfrom her slaughtered father, and bore her awayto your accursed and shameless harem.'

"'It was not I who killed her father,' he cried.

"'But it was you who broke her innocent heart,'I shrieked, thrusting the box before him. 'Letthe high God judge between us. Choose andeat. There is death in one and life in the other. Ishall take what you leave. Let us see if there isjustice upon the earth, or if we are ruled bychance.'

"He cowered away with wild cries and prayersfor mercy, but I drew my knife and held it tohis throat until he had obeyed me. Then I swal-lowed the other, and we stood facing one an-other in silence for a minute or more, waiting tosee which was to live and which was to die.Shall I ever forget the look which came over hisface when the first warning pangs told him thatthe poison was in his system? I laughed as Isaw it, and held Lucy's marriage ring in front ofhis eyes. It was but for a moment, for the actionof the alkaloid is rapid. A spasm of pain con-torted his features; he threw his hands out in

front of him, staggered, and then, with a hoarsecry, fell heavily upon the floor. I turned himover with my foot, and placed my hand uponhis heart. There was no movement. He wasdead!

"The blood had been streaming from my nose,but I had taken no notice of it. I don't knowwhat it was that put it into my head to writeupon the wall with it. Perhaps it was some mis-chievous idea of setting the police upon awrong track, for I felt light-hearted and cheer-ful. I remembered a German being found inNew York with RACHE written up above him,and it was argued at the time in the newspa-pers that the secret societies must have done it.I guessed that what puzzled the New Yorkerswould puzzle the Londoners, so I dipped myfinger in my own blood and printed it on aconvenient place on the wall. Then I walkeddown to my cab and found that there was no-body about, and that the night was still very

wild. I had driven some distance when I putmy hand into the pocket in which I usuallykept Lucy's ring, and found that it was not the-re. I was thunderstruck at this, for it was theonly memento that I had of her. Thinking that Imight have dropped it when I stooped overDrebber's body, I drove back, and leaving mycab in a side street, I went boldly up to the hou-se—for I was ready to dare anything ratherthan lose the ring. When I arrived there, I wal-ked right into the arms of a police-officer whowas coming out, and only managed to disarmhis suspicions by pretending to be hopelesslydrunk.

"That was how Enoch Drebber came to his end.All I had to do then was to do as much for Stan-gerson, and so pay off John Ferrier's debt. Iknew that he was staying at Halliday's PrivateHotel, and I hung about all day, but he nevercame out. 26 fancy that he suspected somethingwhen Drebber failed to put in an appearance.

He was cunning, was Stangerson, and alwayson his guard. If he thought he could keep meoff by staying indoors he was very much mis-taken. I soon found out which was the windowof his bedroom, and early next morning I tookadvantage of some ladders which were lying inthe lane behind the hotel, and so made my wayinto his room in the grey of the dawn. I wokehim up and told him that the hour had comewhen he was to answer for the life he had takenso long before. I described Drebber's death tohim, and I gave him the same choice of the poi-soned pills. Instead of grasping at the chance ofsafety which that offered him, he sprang fromhis bed and flew at my throat. In self-defence Istabbed him to the heart. It would have beenthe same in any case, for Providence wouldnever have allowed his guilty hand to pick outanything but the poison.

"I have little more to say, and it's as well, for Iam about done up. I went on cabbing it for a

day or so, intending to keep at it until I couldsave enough to take me back to America. I wasstanding in the yard when a ragged youngsterasked if there was a cabby there called JeffersonHope, and said that his cab was wanted by agentleman at 221B, Baker Street. I went round,suspecting no harm, and the next thing I knew,this young man here had the bracelets on mywrists, and as neatly snackled 27 as ever I sawin my life. That's the whole of my story, gen-tlemen. You may consider me to be a murderer;but I hold that I am just as much an officer ofjustice as you are."

So thrilling had the man's narrative been, andhis manner was so impressive that we had satsilent and absorbed. Even the professional de-tectives, blasé as they were in every detail ofcrime, appeared to be keenly interested in theman's story. When he finished we sat for someminutes in a stillness which was only broken by

the scratching of Lestrade's pencil as he gavethe finishing touches to his shorthand account.

"There is only one point on which I should likea little more information," Sherlock Holmessaid at last. "Who was your accomplice whocame for the ring which I advertised?"

The prisoner winked at my friend jocosely. "Ican tell my own secrets," he said, "but I don'tget other people into trouble. I saw your adver-tisement, and I thought it might be a plant, or itmight be the ring which I wanted. My friendvolunteered to go and see. I think you'll own hedid it smartly."

"Not a doubt of that," said Holmes heartily.

"Now, gentlemen," the Inspector remarked gra-vely, "the forms of the law must be compliedwith. On Thursday the prisoner will be broughtbefore the magistrates, and your attendancewill be required. Until then I will be responsible

for him." He rang the bell as he spoke, and Jef-ferson Hope was led off by a couple of warders,while my friend and I made our way out of theStation and took a cab back to Baker Street.

CHAPTER VII. THE CONCLUSION.

WE had all been warned to appear before themagistrates upon the Thursday; but when theThursday came there was no occasion for ourtestimony. A higher Judge had taken the matterin hand, and Jefferson Hope had been sum-moned before a tribunal where strict justicewould be meted out to him. On the very nightafter his capture the aneurism burst, and hewas found in the morning stretched upon thefloor of the cell, with a placid smile upon hisface, as though he had been able in his dying

moments to look back upon a useful life, andon work well done.

"Gregson and Lestrade will be wild about hisdeath," Holmes remarked, as we chatted it overnext evening. "Where will their grand adver-tisement be now?"

"I don't see that they had very much to do withhis capture," I answered.

"What you do in this world is a matter of noconsequence," returned my companion, bit-terly. "The question is, what can you makepeople believe that you have done. Nevermind," he continued, more brightly, after apause. "I would not have missed the investiga-tion for anything. There has been no better casewithin my recollection. Simple as it was, therewere several most instructive points about it."

"Simple!" I ejaculated.

"Well, really, it can hardly be described as oth-erwise," said Sherlock Holmes, smiling at mysurprise. "The proof of its intrinsic simplicity is,that without any help save a few very ordinarydeductions I was able to lay my hand upon thecriminal within three days."

"That is true," said I.

"I have already explained to you that what isout of the common is usually a guide ratherthan a hindrance. In solving a problem of thissort, the grand thing is to be able to reasonbackwards. That is a very useful accomplish-ment, and a very easy one, but people do notpractise it much. In the every-day affairs of lifeit is more useful to reason forwards, and so theother comes to be neglected. There are fiftywho can reason synthetically for one who canreason analytically."

"I confess," said I, "that I do not quite followyou."

"I hardly expected that you would. Let me see ifI can make it clearer. Most people, if you de-scribe a train of events to them, will tell youwhat the result would be. They can put thoseevents together in their minds, and argue fromthem that something will come to pass. Thereare few people, however, who, if you told thema result, would be able to evolve from theirown inner consciousness what the steps werewhich led up to that result. This power is whatI mean when I talk of reasoning backwards, oranalytically."

"I understand," said I.

"Now this was a case in which you were giventhe result and had to find everything else foryourself. Now let me endeavour to show youthe different steps in my reasoning. To begin atthe beginning. I approached the house, as youknow, on foot, and with my mind entirely freefrom all impressions. I naturally began by ex-amining the roadway, and there, as I have al-

ready explained to you, I saw clearly the marksof a cab, which, I ascertained by inquiry, musthave been there during the night. I satisfiedmyself that it was a cab and not a private car-riage by the narrow gauge of the wheels. Theordinary London growler is considerably lesswide than a gentleman's brougham.

"This was the first point gained. I then walkedslowly down the garden path, which happenedto be composed of a clay soil, peculiarly suit-able for taking impressions. No doubt it ap-peared to you to be a mere trampled line ofslush, but to my trained eyes every mark uponits surface had a meaning. There is no branch ofdetective science which is so important and somuch neglected as the art of tracing footsteps.Happily, I have always laid great stress upon it,and much practice has made it second nature tome. I saw the heavy footmarks of the consta-bles, but I saw also the track of the two menwho had first passed through the garden. It

was easy to tell that they had been before theothers, because in places their marks had beenentirely obliterated by the others coming uponthe top of them. In this way my second linkwas formed, which told me that the nocturnalvisitors were two in number, one remarkablefor his height (as I calculated from the length ofhis stride), and the other fashionably dressed,to judge from the small and elegant impressionleft by his boots.

"On entering the house this last inference wasconfirmed. My well-booted man lay before me.The tall one, then, had done the murder, if mur-der there was. There was no wound upon thedead man's person, but the agitated expressionupon his face assured me that he had foreseenhis fate before it came upon him. Men who diefrom heart disease, or any sudden natural cau-se, never by any chance exhibit agitation upontheir features. Having sniffed the dead man'slips I detected a slightly sour smell, and I came

to the conclusion that he had had poison forcedupon him. Again, I argued that it had been for-ced upon him from the hatred and fear ex-pressed upon his face. By the method of exclu-sion, I had arrived at this result, for no otherhypothesis would meet the facts. Do not imag-ine that it was a very unheard of idea. Theforcible administration of poison is by nomeans a new thing in criminal annals. Thecases of Dolsky in Odessa, and of Leturier inMontpellier, will occur at once to any toxicolo-gist.

"And now came the great question as to thereason why. Robbery had not been the object ofthe murder, for nothing was taken. Was it poli-tics, then, or was it a woman? That was thequestion which confronted me. I was inclinedfrom the first to the latter supposition. Politicalassassins are only too glad to do their work andto fly. This murder had, on the contrary, beendone most deliberately, and the perpetrator

had left his tracks all over the room, showingthat he had been there all the time. It must havebeen a private wrong, and not a political one,which called for such a methodical revenge.When the inscription was discovered upon thewall I was more inclined than ever to my opin-ion. The thing was too evidently a blind. Whenthe ring was found, however, it settled thequestion. Clearly the murderer had used it toremind his victim of some dead or absentwoman. It was at this point that I asked Greg-son whether he had enquired in his telegram toCleveland as to any particular point in Mr.Drebber's former career. He answered, youremember, in the negative.

"I then proceeded to make a careful examina-tion of the room, which confirmed me in myopinion as to the murderer's height, and fur-nished me with the additional details as to theTrichinopoly cigar and the length of his nails. Ihad already come to the conclusion, since there

were no signs of a struggle, that the bloodwhich covered the floor had burst from themurderer's nose in his excitement. I could per-ceive that the track of blood coincided with thetrack of his feet. It is seldom that any man, un-less he is very full-blooded, breaks out in thisway through emotion, so I hazarded the opin-ion that the criminal was probably a robust andruddy-faced man. Events proved that I hadjudged correctly.

"Having left the house, I proceeded to do whatGregson had neglected. I telegraphed to thehead of the police at Cleveland, limiting myenquiry to the circumstances connected withthe marriage of Enoch Drebber. The answerwas conclusive. It told me that Drebber hadalready applied for the protection of the lawagainst an old rival in love, named JeffersonHope, and that this same Hope was at presentin Europe. I knew now that I held the clue to

the mystery in my hand, and all that remainedwas to secure the murderer.

"I had already determined in my own mindthat the man who had walked into the housewith Drebber, was none other than the manwho had driven the cab. The marks in the roadshowed me that the horse had wandered on ina way which would have been impossible hadthere been anyone in charge of it. Where, then,could the driver be, unless he were inside thehouse? Again, it is absurd to suppose that anysane man would carry out a deliberate crimeunder the very eyes, as it were, of a third per-son, who was sure to betray him. Lastly, sup-posing one man wished to dog another throughLondon, what better means could he adoptthan to turn cabdriver. All these considerationsled me to the irresistible conclusion that Jeffer-son Hope was to be found among the jarveys ofthe Metropolis.

"If he had been one there was no reason to be-lieve that he had ceased to be. On the contrary,from his point of view, any sudden changewould be likely to draw attention to himself.He would, probably, for a time at least, con-tinue to perform his duties. There was no rea-son to suppose that he was going under an as-sumed name. Why should he change his namein a country where no one knew his originalone? I therefore organized my Street Arab de-tective corps, and sent them systematically toevery cab proprietor in London until they fer-reted out the man that I wanted. How well theysucceeded, and how quickly I took advantageof it, are still fresh in your recollection. Themurder of Stangerson was an incident whichwas entirely unexpected, but which couldhardly in any case have been prevented.Through it, as you know, I came into posses-sion of the pills, the existence of which I hadalready surmised. You see the whole thing is a

chain of logical sequences without a break orflaw."

"It is wonderful!" I cried. "Your merits shouldbe publicly recognized. You should publish anaccount of the case. If you won't, I will for you."

"You may do what you like, Doctor," he an-swered. "See here!" he continued, handing apaper over to me, "look at this!"

It was the Echo for the day, and the paragraphto which he pointed was devoted to the case inquestion.

"The public," it said, "have lost a sensationaltreat through the sudden death of the manHope, who was suspected of the murder of Mr.Enoch Drebber and of Mr. Joseph Stangerson.The details of the case will probably be neverknown now, though we are informed upongood authority that the crime was the result ofan old standing and romantic feud, in which

love and Mormonism bore a part. It seems thatboth the victims belonged, in their youngerdays, to the Latter Day Saints, and Hope, thedeceased prisoner, hails also from Salt LakeCity. If the case has had no other effect, it, atleast, brings out in the most striking mannerthe efficiency of our detective police force, andwill serve as a lesson to all foreigners that theywill do wisely to settle their feuds at home, andnot to carry them on to British soil. It is an opensecret that the credit of this smart capture be-longs entirely to the well-known Scotland Yardofficials, Messrs. Lestrade and Gregson. Theman was apprehended, it appears, in the roomsof a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who has him-self, as an amateur, shown some talent in thedetective line, and who, with such instructors,may hope in time to attain to some degree oftheir skill. It is expected that a testimonial ofsome sort will be presented to the two officersas a fitting recognition of their services."

"Didn't I tell you so when we started?" criedSherlock Holmes with a laugh. "That's the re-sult of all our Study in Scarlet: to get them atestimonial!"

"Never mind," I answered, "I have all the factsin my journal, and the public shall know them.In the meantime you must make yourself con-tented by the consciousness of success, like theRoman miser— "'Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo Ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplor inarca.'"

ORIGINAL TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:

1[ Frontispiece, with the caption: "He examined

with his glass the word upon the wall, goingover every letter of it with the most minuteexactness." (Page 23.)]

2[ "JOHN H. WATSON, M.D.": the initial lettersin the name are capitalized, the other letters insmall caps. All chapter titles are in small caps.The initial words of chapters are in small capswith first letter capitalized.]

3[ "lodgings.": the period should be a comma, asin later editions.]

4[ "hoemoglobin": should be haemoglobin. Theo&e are concatenated.]

5[ "221B": the B is in small caps]

6[ "THE LAURISTON GARDEN MYSTERY": thetable-of-contents lists this chapter as"...GARDENS MYSTERY"—plural, and proba-bly more correct.]

7[ "brought."": the text has an extra double-quotemark]

8[ "individual—": illustration this page, with thecaption: "As he spoke, his nimble fingers wereflying here, there, and everywhere."]

9[ "manoeuvres": the o&e are concatenated.]

10[ "Patent leathers": the hyphen is missing.]

11[ "condonment": should be condonement.]

13[ "wages.": ending quote is missing.]

14[ "the first.": ending quote is missing.]

15[ "make much of...": Other editions completethis sentence with an "it." But there is a gap inthe text at this point, and, given the context, itmay have actually been an interjection, a dash.The gap is just the right size for the characters"it." and the start of a new sentence, or for a "——"]

16[ "tho cushion": "tho" should be "the"]

19[ "shoving": later editions have "showing". Theoriginal is clearly superior.]

20 )[ "stared about...": illustration, with the caption:"One of them seized the little girl, and hoistedher upon his shoulder."]

21[ "upon the": illustration, with the caption: "Ashe watched it he saw it writhe along theground."]

22[ "FORMERLY...": F,S,L,C in caps, other lettersin this line in small caps.]

23[ "ancles": ankles.]

24[ "asked,": should be "asked."]

25[ "poisions": should be "poisons"]

26[ "...fancy": should be "I fancy". There is a gap inthe text.]

27 [ "snackled": "shackled" in later texts.]

29[ Heber C. Kemball, in one of his sermons, al-ludes to his hundred wives under this endear-ing epithet.]