Ewriting Format by Carl Peterson © 2001

1.

The Singular Experience of Mr. John Scott Eccles
I find it recorded in my notebook that it was a bleak and windy day towards the end of March in the year 1892.

Holmes had received a telegram while we sat at our lunch,
and he had scribbled a reply.

He made no remark,
but the matter remained in his thoughts,

for he stood in front of the fire afterwards
with a thoughtful face,
smoking his pipe,
and casting an occasional glance at the message.

Suddenly he turned upon me
with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes."

I suppose,
Watson,
we must look upon you as a man of letters," said he.

"How do you define the word 'grotesque'?"


"Strange--remarkable," I suggested.He shook his head at my definition."

There is surely something more than that," said he;
"some underlying suggestion of the tragic and the terrible.

If you cast your mind back
to some of those narratives
with which you have afflicted a long-suffering public,
you will recognize how often the grotesque has deepened in
to the criminal.

Think of that little affair of the red-headed men.

That was grotesque enough in the outset,
and yet it ended in a desperate attempt at robbery.

Or,
again,
there was that most grotesque affair of the five orange pips,
which let straight
to a murderous conspiracy.

The word puts me on the alert."


"Have you it there?"

I asked.He read the telegram aloud."

Have just had most incredible and grotesque experience.

May I consult you?
"Scott Eccles,
"Post Office,
Charing Cross."


"Man or woman?"

I asked."

Oh,
man,
of course.

No woman would ever send a reply-paid telegram.

She would have come."


"Will you see him?"


"My dear Watson,
you know how bored I have been since we locked up Colonel Carruthers.

My mind is like a racing engine,
tearing itself
to pieces because it is not connected up
with the work
for which it was built.

Life is commonplace,
the papers are sterile;
audacity and romance seem
to have passed forever from the criminal world.

Can you ask me,
then,
whether I am ready
to look in
to any new problem,
however trivial it may prove?

But here,
unless I am mistaken,
is our client."


A measured step was heard upon the stairs,
and a moment later a stout,
tall,
gray-whiskered and solemnly respectable person was ushered in
to the room.

His life history was written in his heavy features and pompous manner.

From his spats
to his gold-rimmed spectacles he was a Conservative,
a churchman,
a good citizen,
orthodox and conventional
to the last degree.

But some amazing experience had disturbed his native composure and left its traces in his bristling hair,
his flushed,
angry cheeks,
and his flurried,
excited manner.

He plunged instantly in
to his business."

I have had a most singular and unpleasant experience,
Mr. Holmes," said he.

"Never in my life have I been placed in such a situation.

It is most improper--most outrageous.

I must insist upon some explanation."

He swelled and puffed in his anger."

Pray sit down,
Mr. Scott Eccles," said Holmes in a soothing voice.

"May I ask,
in the first place,
why you came
to me at all?"


"Well,
sir,
it did not appear
to be a matter which concerned the police,
and yet,
when you have heard the facts,
you must admit that I could not leave it where it was.

Private detectives are a class
with whom I have absolutely no sympathy,
but none the less,
having heard your name--"
"Quite so.

But,
in the second place,
why did you not come at once?"


Holmes glanced at his watch."

It is a quarter-past two," he said.

"Your telegram was dispatched about one.

But no one can glance at your toilet and attire without seeing that your disturbance dates from the moment of your waking."


Our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair and felt his unshaven chin."

You are right,
Mr. Holmes.

I never gave a thought
to my toilet.

I was only too glad
to get out of such a house.

But I have been running round making inquiries before I came
to you.

I went
to the house agents,
you know,
and they said that Mr. Garcia's rent was paid up all right and that everything was in order at Wisteria Lodge."


"Come,
come,
sir," said Holmes,
laughing.

"You are like my friend,
Dr. Watson,
who has a bad habit of telling his stories wrong end foremost.

Please arrange your thoughts and let me know,
in their due sequence,
exactly what those events are which have sent you out unbrushed and unkempt,

with dress boots and waistcoat buttoned awry,
in search of advice and assistance."


Our client looked down
with a rueful face at his own unconventional appearance."

I'm sure it must look very bad,
Mr. Holmes,
and I am not aware that in my whole life such a thing has ever happened before.

But will tell you the whole queer business,
and when I have done so you will admit,
I am sure,
that there has been enough
to excuse me."


But his narrative was nipped in the bud.

There was a bustle outside,
and Mrs. Hudson opened the door
to usher in two robust and official-looking individuals,
one of whom was well known
to us as Inspector Gregson of Scotland Yard,
an energetic,
gallant,
and,
within his limitations,
a capable officer.

He shook hands
with Holmes and introduced his comrade as Inspector Baynes,
of the Surrey Constabulary."

We are hunting together,
Mr. Holmes,
and our trail lay in this direction."

He turned his bulldog eyes upon our visitor.

"Are you Mr. John Scott Eccles,
of Popham House,
Lee?"


"I am."


"We have been following you about all the morning."


"You traced him through the telegram,
no doubt," said Holmes."

Exactly,
Mr. Holmes.

We picked up the scent at Charing Cross Post-Office and came on here."


"But why do you follow me?

What do you want?"


"We wish a statement,
Mr. Scott Eccles,
as
to the events which let up
to the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia,
of Wisteria Lodge,
near Esher."


Our client had sat up
with staring eyes and every tinge of colour struck from his astonished face."

Dead?

Did you say he was dead?"


"Yes,
sir,
he is dead."


"But how?

An accident?"


"Murder,
if ever there was one upon earth."


"Good God!

This is awful!

You don't mean--you don't mean that I am suspected?"


"A letter of yours was found in the dead man's pocket,
and we know by it that you had planned
to pass last night at his house."


"So I did."


"Oh,
you did,
did you?"


Out came the official notebook."

Wait a bit,
Gregson," said Sherlock Holmes.

"All you desire is a plain statement,
is it not?"


"And it is my duty
to warn Mr. Scott Eccles that it may be used against him."


"Mr. Eccles was going
to tell us about it when you entered the room.

I think,
Watson,
a brandy and soda would do him no harm.

Now,
sir,
I suggest that you take no notice of this addition
to your audience,
and that you proceed
with your narrative exactly as you would have done had you never been interrupted."


Our visitor had gulped off the brandy and the colour had returned
to his face.


with a dubious glance at the inspector's notebook,
he plunged at once in
to his extraordinary statement."

I am a bachelor," said he,
"and being of a sociable turn I cultivate a large number of friends.

Among these are the family of a retired brewer called Melville,
living at Abermarle Mansion,
Kensington.

It was at his table that I met some weeks ago a young fellow named Garcia.

He was,
I understood,
of Spanish descent and connected in some way
with the embassy.

He spoke perfect English,
was pleasing in his manners,
and as good-looking a man as ever I saw in my life."

In some way we struck up quite a friendship,
this young fellow and I.

He seemed
to take a fancy
to me from the first,
and within two days of our meeting he came
to see me at Lee.

One thing led
to another,
and it ended in his inviting me out
to spend a few days at his house,
Wisteria Lodge,
between Esher and Oxshott.

Yesterday evening I went
to Esher
to fulfil this engagement."

He had described his household
to me before I went there.

He lived
with a faithful servant,
a countryman of his own,
who looked after all his needs.

This fellow could speak English and did his housekeeping
for him.

Then there was a wonderful cook,
he said,
a half-breed whom he had picked up in his travels,
who could serve an excellent dinner.

I remember that he remarked what a queer household it was
to find in the heart of Surrey,
and that I agreed
with him,
though it has proved a good deal queerer than I thought."

I drove
to the place--about two miles on the south side of Esher.

The house was a fair-sized one,
standing back from the road,

with a curving drive which was banked
with high evergreen shrubs.

It was an old,
tumbledown building in a crazy state of disrepair.

When the trap pulled up on the grass-grown drive in front of the blotched and weather-stained door,
I had doubts as
to my wisdom in visiting a man whom I knew so slightly.

He opened the door himself,
however,
and greeted me
with a great show of cordiality.

I was handed over
to the manservant,
a melancholy,
swarthy individual,
who led the way,
my bag in his hand,

to my bedroom.

The whole place was depressing.

Our dinner was tete-a-tete,
and though my host did his best
to be entertaining,
his thoughts seemed
to continually wander,
and he talked so vaguely and wildly that I could hardly understand him.

He continually drummed his fingers on the table,
gnawed his nails,
and gave other signs of nervous impatience.

The dinner itself was neither well served nor well cooked,
and the gloomy presence of the taciturn servant did not help
to enliven us.

I can assure you that many times in the course of the evening I wished that I could invent some excuse which would take me back
to Lee."

One thing comes back
to my memory which may have a bearing upon the business that you two gentlemen are investigating.

I thought nothing of it at the time.

Near the end of dinner a note was handed in by the servant.

I noticed that after my host had read it he seemed even more distrait and strange than before.

He gave up all pretence at conversation and sat,
smoking endless cigarettes,
lost in his own thoughts,
but he made no remark as
to the contents.

About eleven I was glad
to go
to bed.

Some time later Garcia looked in at my door--the room was dark at the time- -and asked me if I had rung.

I said that I had not.

He apologized
for having disturbed me so late,
saying that it was nearly one o'clock.

I dropped off after this and slept soundly all night."

And now I come
to the amazing part of my tale.

When I woke it was broad daylight.

I glanced at my watch,
and the time was nearly nine.

I had particularly asked
to be called at eight,
so I was very much astonished at this forgetfulness.

I sprang up and rang
for the servant.

There was no response.

I rang again and again,

with the same result.

Then I came
to the conclusion that the bell was out of order.

I huddled on my clothes and hurried downstairs in an exceedingly bad temper
to order some hot water.

You can imagine my surprise when I found that there was no one there.

I shouted in the hall.

There was no answer.

Then I ran from room
to room.

All were deserted.

My host had shown me which was his bedroom the night before,
so I knocked at the door.

No reply.

I turned the handle and walked in.

The room was empty,
and the bed had never been slept in.

He had gone
with the rest.

The foreign host,
the foreign footman,
the foreign cook,
all had vanished in the night!

That was the end of my visit
to Wisteria Lodge."


Sherlock Holmes was rubbing his hands and chuckling as he added this bizarre incident
to his collection of strange episodes."

Your experience is,
so far as I know,
perfectly unique," said he.

"May I ask,
sir,
what you did then?"


"I was furious.

My first idea was that I had been the victim of some absurd practical joke.

I packed my things,
banged the hall door behind me,
and set off
for Esher,

with my bag in my hand.

I called at Allan Brothers',
the chief land agents in the village,
and found that it was from this firm that the villa had been rented.

It struck me that the whole proceeding could hardly be
for the purpose of making a fool of me,
and that the main objet must be
to get out of the rent.

It is late in March,
so quarter- day is at hand.

But this theory would not work.

The agent was obliged
to me
for my warning,
but told me that the rent had been paid in advance.

Then I made my way
to town and called at the Spanish embassy.

The man was unknown there.

After this I went
to see Melville,
at whose house I had first met Garcia,
but I found that he really knew rather less about him than I did.

Finally when I got your reply
to my wire I came out
to you,
since I gather that you are a person who gives advice in difficult cases.

But now,
Mr. Inspector,
I understand,
from what you said when you entered the room,
that you can carry the story on,
and that some tragedy had occurred.

I can assure you that every word I have said is the truth,
and that,
outside of what I have told you,
I know absolutely nothing about the fate of this man.

My only desire is
to help the law in every possible way."


"I am sure of it,
Mr. Scott Eccles--I am sure of it," said Inspector Gregson in a very amiable tone.

"I am bound
to say that everything which you have said agrees very closely
with the facts as they have come
to our notice.


for example,
there was that note which arrived during dinner.

Did you chance
to observe what became of it?"


"Yes,
I did.

Garcia rolled it up and threw it in
to the fire."


"What do you say
to that,
Mr. Baynes?"


The country detective was a stout,
puffy,
red man,
whose face was only redeemed from grossness by two extraordinarily bright eyes,
almost hidden behind the heavy creases of cheek and brow.


with a slow smile he drew a folded and discoloured scrap of paper from his pocket."

It was a dog-grate,
Mr. Holmes,
and he overpitched it.

I picked this out unburned from the back of it."


Holmes smiled his appreciation."

You must have examined the house very carefully
to find a single pellet of paper."


"I did,
Mr. Holmes.

It's my way.

Shall I read it,
Mr. Gregson?"


The Londoner nodded."

The note is written upon ordinary cream-laid paper without watermark.

It is a quarter-sheet.

The paper is cut off in two snips
with a short-bladed scissors.

It has been folded over three times and sealed
with purple wax,
put on hurriedly and pressed down
with some flat oval object.

It is addressed
to Mr. Garcia,
Wisteria Lodge.

It says:
"Our own colours,
green and white.

Green open,
white shut.

Main stair,
first corridor,
seventh right,
green baize.

Godspeed.

D."

It is a woman's writing,
done
with a sharp-pointed pen,
but the address is either done
with another pen or by someone else.

It is thicker and bolder,
as you see."


"A very remarkable note," said Holmes,
glancing it over.

"I must compliment you,
Mr. Baynes,
upon your attention
to detail in your examination of it.

A few trifling points might perhaps be added.

The oval seal is undoubtedly a plain sleeve-link--what else is of such a shape?

The scissors were bent nail scissors.

Short as the two snips are,
you can distinctly see the same slight curve in each."


The country detective chuckled."

I thought I had squeezed all the juice out of it,
but I see there was a little over," he said.

"I'm bound
to say that I make nothing of the note except that there was something on hand,
and that a woman,
as usual was at the bottom of it."


Mr. Scott Eccles had fidgeted in his seat during this conversation."

I am glad you found the note,
since it corroborates my story," said he.

"But I beg
to point out that I have not yet heard what has happened
to Mr. Garcia,
nor what has become of his household."


"As
to Garcia," said Gregson,
"that is easily answered.

He was found dead this morning upon Oxshott Common,
nearly a mile from his home.

His head had been smashed
to pulp by heavy blows of a sandbag or some such instrument,
which had crushed rather than wounded.

It is a lonely corner,
and there is no house within a quarter of a mile of the spot.

He had apparently been struck down first from behind,
but his assailant had gone on beating him long after he was dead.

It was a most furious assault.

There are no footsteps nor any clue
to the criminals."


"Robbed?"


"No,
there was no attempt at robbery."


"This is very painful--very painful and terrible," said Mr. Scott Eccles in a querulous voice,
"but it is really uncommonly hard on me.

I had nothing
to do
with my host going off upon a nocturnal excursion and meeting so sad an end.

How do I come
to be mixed up
with the case?"


"Very simply,
sir," Inspector Baynes answered.

"The only document found in the pocket of the deceased was a letter from you saying that you would be
with him on the night of his death.

It was the envelope of this letter which gave us the dead man's name and address.

It was after nine this morning when we reached his house and found neither you nor anyone else inside it.

I wired
to Mr. Gregson
to run you down in London while I examined Wisteria Lodge.

Then I came in
to town,
joined Mr. Gregson,
and here we are."


"I think now," said Gregson,
rising,
"we had best put this matter in
to an official shape.

You will come round
with us
to the station,
Mr. Scott Eccles,
and let us have your statement in writing."


"Certainly,
I will come at once.

But I retain your services,
Mr. Holmes.

I desire you
to spare no expense and no pains
to get at the truth."


My friend turned
to the country inspector."

I suppose that you have no objection
to my collaborating
with you,
Mr. Baynes?"


"Highly honoured,
sir,
I am sure."


"You appear
to have been very prompt and businesslike in all that you have done.

Was there any clue,
may I ask,
as
to the exact hour that the man met his death?"


"He had been there since one o'clock.

There was rain about that time,
and his death had certainly been before the rain."


"But that is perfectly impossible,
Mr. Baynes," cried our client.

"His voice is unmistakable.

I could swear
to it that it was he who addressed me in my bedroom at that very hour."


"Remarkable,
but by no means impossible," said Holmes,
smiling."

You have a clue?"

asked Gregson."

On the face of it the case is not a very complex one,
though it certainly presents some novel and interesting features.

A further knowledge of facts is necessary before I would venture
to give a final and definite opinion.

By the way,
Mr. Baynes,
did you find anything remarkable besides this note in your examination of the house?"


The detective looked at my friend in a singular way."

There were," said he,
"one or two VERY remarkable things.

Perhaps when I have finished at the police-station you would care
to come out and give me your opinion of them."


In am entirely at your service," said Sherlock Holmes,
ringing the bell.

"You will show these gentlemen out,
Mrs. Hudson,
and kindly send the boy
with this telegram.

He is
to pay a five- shilling reply."


We sat
for some time in silence after our visitors had left.

Holmes smoked hard,

with his browns drawn down over his keen eyes,
and his head thrust forward in the eager way characteristic of the man."

Well,
Watson," he asked,
turning suddenly upon me,
"what do you make of it?"


"I can make nothing of this mystification of Scott Eccles."


"But the crime?"


"Well,
taken
with the disappearance of the man's companions,
I should say that they were in some way concerned in the murder and had fled from justice."


"That is certainly a possible point of view.

On the face of it you must admit,
however,
that it is very strange that his two servants should have been in a conspiracy against him and should have attacked him on the one night when he had a guest.

They had him alone at their mercy every other night in the week."


"Then why did they fly?"


"Quite so.

Why did they fly?

There is a big fact.

Another big fact is the remarkable experience of our client,
Scott Eccles.

Now,
my dear Watson,
is it beyond the limits of human ingenuity
to furnish an explanation which would cover both of these big facts?

If it were one which would also admit of the mysterious note
with its very curious phraseology,
why,
then it would be worth accepting as a temporary hypothesis.

If the fresh facts which come
to our knowledge all fit themselves in
to the scheme,
then our hypothesis may gradually become a solution."


"But what is our hypothesis?"


Holmes leaned back in his chair
with half-closed eyes."

You must admit,
my dear Watson,
that the idea of a joke is impossible.

There were grave events afoot,
as the sequel showed,
and the coaxing of Scott Eccles
to Wisteria Lodge had some connection
with them."


"But what possible connection?"


"Let us take it link by link.

There is,
on the face of it,
something unnatural about this strange and sudden friendship between the young Spaniard and Scott Eccles.

It was the former who forced the pace.

He called upon Eccles at the other end of London on the very day after he first met him,
and he kept in close touch
with him until he got him down
to Esher.

Now,
what did he want
with Eccles?

What could Eccles supply?

I see no charm in the man.

He is not particulary intelligent--not a man likely
to be congenial
to a quick-witted Latin.

Why,
then,
was he picked out from all the other people whom Garcia met as particularly suited
to his purpose?

Has he any one outstanding quality?

I say that he has.

He is the very type of conventional British respectability,
and the very man as a witness
to impress another Briton.

You saw yourself how neither of the inspectors dreamed of questioning his statement,
extraordinary as it was."


"But what was he
to witness?"


"Nothing,
as things turned out,
but everything had they gone another way.

That is how I read the matter."


"I see,
he might have proved an alibi."


"Exactly,
my dear Watson;
he might have proved an alibi.

We will suppose,

for argument's sake,
that the household of Wisteria Lodge are confederates in some design.

The attempt,
whatever it may be,
is
to come off,
we will say,
before one o'clock.

By some juggling of the clocks it is quite possible that they may have got Scott Eccles
to bed earlier than he thought,
but in any case it is likely that when Garcia went out of his way
to tell him that it was one it was really not more than twelve.

If Garcia could do whatever he had
to do and be back by the hour mentioned he had evidently a powerful reply
to any accusation.

Here was this irreproachable Englishman ready
to swear in any court of law that the accused was in the house all the time.

It was an insurance against the worst."


"Yes,
yes,
I see that.

But how about the disappearance of the others?"


"I have not all my facts yet,
but I do not think there are any insuperable difficulties.

Still,
it is an error
to argue in front of your data.

You find yourself insensibly twisting them round
to fit your theories."


"And the message?"


"How did it run?

'Our own colours,
green and white.' Sounds like racing.

'Green open,
white shut.' That is clearly a signal.

'Main stair,
first corridor,
seventh right,
green baize.' This is an assignation.

We may find a jealous husband at the bottom of it all.

It was clearly a dangerous quest.

She would not have said 'Godspeed' had it not been so.

'D'--that should be a guide."


"The man was a Spaniard.

I suggest that 'D' stands
for Dolores,
a common female name in Spain."


"Good,
Watson,
very good--but quite inadmissable.

A Spaniard would write
to a Spaniard in Spanish.

The writer of this note is certainly English.

Well,
we can only possess our soul in patience until this excellent inspector come back
for us.

Meanwhile we can thank our lucky fate which has rescued us
for a few short hours from the insufferable fatigues of idleness."


An answer had arrived
to Holmes's telegram before our Surrey officer had returned.

Holmes read it and was about
to place it in his notebook when he caught a glimpse of my expectant face.

He tossed it across
with a laugh."

We are moving in exalted circles," said he.The telegram was a list of names and addresses:
Lord Harringby,
The Dingle;
Sir George Ffolliott,
Oxshott Towers;
Mr. Hynes Hynes,
J.P.,
Purdley Place;
Mr. James Baker Williams,
Forton Old Hall;
Mr. Henderson,
High Gable;
Rev.

Joshua Stone,
Nether Walsling."

This is a very obvious way of limiting our field of operations," said Holmes.

"No doubt Baynes,

with his methodical mind,
has already adopted some similar plan."


"I don't quite understand."


"Well,
my dear fellow,
we have already arrived at the conclusion that the massage received by Garcia at dinner was an appointment or an assignation.

Now,
if the obvious reading of it is correct,
and in order
to keep the tryst one has
to ascend a main stair and seek the seventh door in a corridor,
it is perfectly clear that the house is a very large one.

It is equally certain that this house cannot be more than a mile or two from Oxshott,
since Garcia was walking in that direction and hoped,
according
to my reading of the facts,

to be back in Wisteria Lodge in time
to avail himself of an alibi,
which would only be valid up
to one o'clock.

As the number of large houses close
to Oxshott must be limited,
I adopted the obvious method of sending
to the agents mentioned by Scott Eccles and obtaining a list of them.

Here they are in this telegram,
and the other end of our tangled skein must lie among them."


It was nearly six o'clock before we found ourselves in the pretty Surrey village of Esher,

with Inspector Baynes as our companion.Holmes and I had taken things
for the night,
and found comfortable quarters at the Bull.

Finally we set out in the company of the detective on our visit
to Wisteria Lodge.

It was a cold,
dark March evening,

with a sharp wind and a fine rain beating upon our faces,
a fit setting
for the wild common over which our road passed and the tragic goal
to which it led us.


2.

The Tiger of San Pedro
A cold and melancholy walk of a couple of miles brought us
to a high wooden gate,
which opened in
to a gloomy avenue of chestnuts.

The curved and shadowed drive led us
to a low,
dark house,
pitch- black against a slate-coloured sky.

From the front window upon the left of the door there peeped a glimmer of a feeble light."

There's a constable in possession," said Baynes.

"I'll knock at the window."

He stepped across the grass plot and tapped
with his hand on the pane.

Through the fogged glass I dimly saw a man spring up from a chair beside the fire,
and heard a sharp cry from within the room.

An instant later a white-faced,
hard- breathing policeman had opened the door,
the candle wavering in his trembling hand."

What's the matter,
Walters?"

asked Baynes sharply.The man mopped his forehead
with his handkerchief and agave a long sigh of relief."

I am glad you have come,
sir.

It has been a long evening,
and I don't think my nerve is as good as it was."


"Your nerve,
Walters?

I should not have thought you had a nerve in your body."


"Well,
sir,
it's this lonely,
silent house and the queer thing in the kitchen.

Then when you tapped at the window I thought it had come again."


"That what had come again?"


"The devil,
sir,

for all I know.

It was at the window."


"What was at the window,
and when?"


"It was just about two hours ago.

The light was just fading.

I was sitting reading in the chair.

I don't know what made me look up,
but there was a face looking in at me through the lower pane.

Lord,
sir,
what a face it was!

I'll see it in my dreaMs."
"Tut,
tut,
Walters.

This is not talk
for a police-constable."


"I know,
sir,
I know;
but it shook me,
sir,
and there's no use
to deny it.

It wasn't black,
sir,
nor was it white,
nor any colour that I know but a kind of queer shade like clay
with a splash of milk in it.

Then there was the size of it--it was twice yours,
sir.

And the look of it--the great staring goggle eyes,
and the line of white teeth like a hungry beast.

I tell you,
sir,
I couldn't move a finger,
nor get my breath,
till it whisked away and was gone.

Out I ran and through the shrubbery,
but thank God there was no one there."


"If I didn't know you were a good man,
Walters,
I should put a black mark against you
for this.

If it were the devil himself a constable on duty should never thank God that he could not lay his hands upon him.

I suppose the whole thing is not a vision and a touch of nerves?"


"That,
at least,
is very easily settled," said Holmes,
lighting his little pocket lantern.

"Yes," he reported,
after a short examination of the grass bed,
"a number twelve shoe,
I should say.

If he was all on the same scale as his foot he must certainly have been a giant."


"What became of him?"


"He seems
to have broken through the shrubbery and made
for the road."


"Well," said the inspector
with a grave and thoughtful face,
"whoever he may have been,
and whatever he may have wanted,
he's gone
for the present,
and we have more immediate things
to attend to.

Now,
Mr. Holmes,

with your permission,
I will show you round the house."


The various bedrooms and sitting-rooms had yielded nothing
to a careful search.

Apparently the tenants had brought little or nothing
with them,
and all the furniture down
to the smallest details had been taken over
with the house.

A good deal of clothing
with the stamp of Marx and Co.,
High Holborn,
had been left behind.

Telegraphic inquiries had been already made which showed that Marx knew nothing of his customer save that he was a good payer.

Odds and ends,
some pipes,
a few novels,
two of them in Spanish,
and old-fashioned pinfire revolver,
and a guitar were among the personal property."

Nothing in all this," said Baynes,
stalking,
candle in hand,
from room
to room.

"But now,
Mr. Holmes,
I invite your attention
to the kitchen."


It was a gloomy,
high-ceilinged room at the back of the house,

with a straw litter in one corner,
which served apparently as a bed
for the cook.

The table was piled
with half-eaten dishes and dirty plates,
the debris of last night's dinner."

Look at this," said Baynes.

"What do you make of it?"


He held up his candle before an extraordinary object which stood at the back of the dresser.

It was so wrinkled and shrunken and withered that it was difficult
to say what it might have been.

One could but say that it was black and leathery and that it bore some resemblance
to a dwarfish,
human figure.

At first,
as I examined it,
I thought that it was a mummified negro baby,
and then it seemed a very twisted and ancient monkey.

Finally I was left in doubt as
to whether it was animal or human.

A double band of white shells were strung round the centre of it."

Very interesting--very interesting,
indeed!" said Holmes,
peering at this sinister relic.

"Anything more?"


In silence Baynes led the way
to the sink and held forward his candle.

The limbs and body of some large,
white bird,
torn savagely
to pieces
with the feathers still on,
were littered all over it.

Holmes pointed
to the wattles on the severed head."

A white cock," said he.

"Most interesting!

It is really a very curious case."


But Mr. Baynes had kept his most sinister exhibit
to the last.

>From under the sink he drew a zinc pail which contained a quantity of blood.

Then from the table he took a platter heaped
with small pieces of charred bone."

Something has been killed and something has been burned.

We raked all these out of the fire.

We had a doctor in this morning.

He says that they are not human."


Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands."

I must congratulate you,
Inspector,
on handling so distinctive and instructive a case.

Your powers,
if I may say so without offence,
seem superior
to your opportunities."


Inspector Baynes's small eyes twinkled
with pleasure."

You're right,
Mr. Holmes.

We stagnate in the provinces.

A case of this sort gives a man a chance,
and I hope that I shall take it.

What do you make of these bones?"


"A lamb,
I should say,
or a kid."


"And the white cock?"


"Curious,
Mr. Baynes,
very curious.

I should say almost unique."


"Yes,
sir,
there must have been some very strange people
with some very strange ways in this house.

One of them is dead.

Did his companions follow him and kill him?

If they did we should have them,

for every port is watched.

But my own views are different.

Yes,
sir,
my own views are very different."


"You have a theory then?"


"And I'll work it myself,
Mr. Holmes.

It's only due
to my own credit
to do so.

Your name is made,
but I have still
to make mine.

I should be glad
to be able
to say afterwards that I had solved it without your help."


Holmes laughed good-humoredly."

Well,
well,
Inspector," said he.

"Do you follow your path and I will follow mine.

My results are always very much at your service if you care
to apply
to me
for them.

I think that I have seen all that I wish in this house,
and that my time may be more profitably employed elsewhere.

Au revoir and good luck!"
I could tell by numerous subtle signs,
which might have been lost upon anyone but myself,
that Holmes was on a hot scent.

As impassive as ever
to the casual observer,
there were none the less a subdued eagerness and suggestion of tension in his brightened eyes and brisker manner which assured me that the game was afoot.

After his habit he said nothing,
and after mine I asked no questions.

Sufficient
for me
to share the sport and lend my humble help
to the capture without distracting that intent brain
with needless interruption.

All would come round
to me in due time.I waited,
therefore--but
to my ever-deepening disappointment I waited in vain.

Day succeeded day,
and my friend took no step forward.

One morning he spent in town,
and I learned from a casual reference that he had visited the British Museum.

Save
for this one excursion,
he spent his days in long and often solitary walks,
or in chatting
with a number of village gossips whose acquaintance he had cultivated."

I'm sure,
Watson,
a week in the country will be invaluable
to you," he remarked.

"It is very pleasant
to see the first green shoots upon the hedges and the catkins on the hazels once again.


with a spud,
a tin box,
and an elementary book on botany,
there are instructive days
to be spent."

He prowled about
with this equipment himself,
but it was a poor show of plants which he would bring back of an evening.Occasionally in our rambles we came across Inspector Baynes.

His fat,
red face wreathed itself in smiles and his small eyes glittered as he greeted my companion.

He said little about the case,
but from that little we gathered that he also was not dissatisfied at the course of events.

I must admit,
however,
that I was somewhat surprised when,
some five days after the crime,
I opened my morning paper
to find in large letters:
THE OXSHOTT MYSTERY A SOLUTION ARREST OF SUPPOSED ASSASSIN
Holmes sprang in his chair as if he had been stung when I read the headlines."

By Jove!" he cried.

"You don't mean that Baynes has got him?"


"Apparently," said I as I read the following report:
"Great excitement was caused in Esher and the neighbouring district when it was learned late last night that an arrest had been effected in connection
with the Oxshott murder.

It will be remembered that Mr. Garcia,
of Wisteria Lodge,
was found dead on Oxshott Common,
his body showing signs of extreme violence,
and that on the same night his servant and his cook fled,
which appeared
to show their participation in the crime.

It was suggested,
but never proved,
that the deceased gentleman may have had valuables in the house,
and that their abstraction was the motive of the crime.

Every effort was made by Inspector Baynes,
who has the case in hand,

to ascertain the hiding place of the fugitives,
and he had good reason
to believe that they had not gone far but were lurking in some retreat which had been already prepared.

It was certain from the first,
however,
that they would eventually be detected,
as the cook,
from the evidence of one or two tradespeople who have caught a glimpse of him through the window,
was a man of most remarkable appearance--being a huge and hideous mulatto,

with yellowish features of a pronounced negroid type.

This man has been seen since the crime,

for he was detected and pursued by Constable Walters on the same evening,
when he had the audacity
to revisit Wisteria Lodge.

Inspector Baynes,
considering that such a visit must have some purpose in view and was likely,
therefore,

to be repeated,
abandoned the house but left an ambuscade in the shrubbery.

The man walked in
to the trap and was captured last night after a struggle in which Constable Downing was badly bitten by the savage.

We understand that when the prison is brought before the magistrates a remand will be applied
for by the police,
and that great developments are hoped from his capture."


"Really we must see Baynes at once," cried Holmes,
picking up his hat.

"We will just catch him before he starts."

We hurried down the village street and found,
as we had expected,
that the inspector was just leaving his lodgings."

You've seen the paper,
Mr. Holmes?"

he asked,
holding one out
to us."

Yes,
Baynes,
I've seen it.

Pray don't think it a liberty if I give you a word of friendly warning."


"Of warning,
Mr. Holmes?"


"I have looked in
to this case
with some care,
and I am not convinced that you are on the right lines.

I don't want you
to commit yourself too far unless you are sure."


"You're very kind,
Mr. Holmes."


"I assure you I speak
for your good."


It seemed
to me that something like a wink quivered
for an instant over one of Mr. Baynes's tiny eyes."

We agreed
to work on our own lines,
Mr. Holmes.

That's what I am doing."


"Oh,
very good," said Holmes.

"Don't blame me."


"No,
sir;
I believe you mean well by me.

But we all have our own systems,
Mr. Holmes.

You have yours,
and maybe I have mine."


"Let us say no more about it."


"You're welcome always
to my news.

This fellow is a perfect savage,
as strong as a cart-horse and as fierce as the devil.

He chewed Downing's thumb nearly off before they could master him.

He hardly speaks a word of English,
and we can get nothing out of him but grunts."


"And you think you have evidence that he murdered his late master?"


"I didn't say so,
Mr. Holmes;
I didn't say so.

We all have our little ways.

You try yours and I will try mine.

That's the agreement."


Holmes shrugged his shoulders as we walked away together.

"I can't make the man out.

He seems
to be riding
for a fall.

Well,
as he says,
we must each try our own way and see what comes of it.

But there's something in Inspector Baynes which I can't quite understand."


"Just sit down in that chair,
Watson," said Sherlock Holmes when we had returned
to our apartment at the Bull.

"I want
to put you in touch
with the situation,
as I may need your help to-night.

Let me show you the evolution of this case so far as I have been able
to follow it.

Simple as it has been in its leading features,
it has none the less presented surprising difficulties in the way of an arrest.

There are gaps in that direction which we have still
to fill."

We will go back
to the note which was handed in
to Garcia upon the evening of his death.

We may put aside this idea of Baynes's that Garcia's servants were concerned in the matter.

The proof of this lies in the fact that it was HE who had arranged
for the presence of Scott Eccles,
which could only have been done
for the purpose of an alibi.

It was Garcia,
then,
who had an enterprise,
and apparently a criminal enterprise,
in hand that night in the course of which he met his death.

I say 'criminal' because only a man
with a criminal enterprise desires
to establish an alibi.

Who,
then,
is most likely
to have taken his life?

Surely the person against whom the criminal enterprise was directed.

So far it seems
to me that we are on safe ground."

We can now see a reason
for the disappearance of Garcia's household.

They were ALL confederates in the same unknown crime.

If it came off when Garcia returned,
any possible suspicion would be warded off by the Englishman's evidence,
and all would be well.

But the attempt was a dangerous one,
and if Garcia did NOT return by a certain hour it was probable that his own life had been sacrificed.

It had been arranged,
therefore,
that in such a case his two subordinates were
to make
for some prearranged spot where they could escape investigation and be in a position afterwards
to renew their attempt.

That would fully explain the facts,
would it not?"


The whole inexplicable tangle seemed
to straighten out before me.

I wondered,
as I always did,
how it had not been obvious
to me before."

But why should one servant return?"


"We can imagine that in the confusion of flight something precious,
something which he could not bear
to part with,
had been left behind.

That would explain his persistence,
would it not?"


"Well,
what is the next step?"


"The next step is the note received by Garcia at the dinner.

It indicates a confederate at the other end.

Now,
where was the other end?

I have already shown you that it could only lie in some large house,
and that the number of large houses is limited.

My first days in this village were devoted
to a series of walks in which in the intervals of my botanical researches I made a reconnaissance of all the large houses and an examination of the family history of the occupants.

One house,
and only one,
riveted my attention.

It is the famous old Jacobean grange of High Gable,
one mile on the farther side of Oxshott,
and less than half a mile from the scene of the tragedy.

The other mansions belonged
to prosaic and respectable people who live far aloof from romance.

But Mr. Henderson,
of High Gable,
was by all accounts a curious man
to whom curious adventures might befall.

I concentrated my attention,
therefore,
upon him and his household."

A singular set of people,
Watson--the man himself the most singular of them all.

I managed
to see him on a plausible pretext,
but I seemed
to read in his dark,
deepset,
brooding eyes that he was perfectly aware of my true business.

He is a man of fifty,
strong,
active,

with iron-gray hair,
great bunched black eyebrows,
the step of a deer and the air of an emperor--a fierce,
masterful man,

with a red-hot spirit behind his parchment face.

He is either a foreigner or has lived long in the tropics,

for he is yellow and sapless,
but tough as whipcord.

His friend and secretary,
Mr. Lucas,
is undoubtedly a foreigner,
chocolate brown,
wily,
suave,
and catlike,

with a poisonous gentleness of speech.

You see,
Watson,
we have come already upon two sets of foreigners--one at Wisteria Lodge and one at High Gable--so our gaps are beginning
to close."

These two men,
close and confidential friends,
are the centre of the household;
but there is one other person who
for our immediate purpose may be even more important.

Henderson has two children--girls of eleven and thirteen.

Their governess is a Miss Burnet,
an Englishwoman of forty or thereabouts.

There is also one confidential manservant.

This little group forms the real family,

for their travel about together,
and Henderson is a great traveller,
always on the move.

It is only within the last weeks that he has returned,
after a year's absence,

to High Gable.

I may add that he is enormously rich,
and whatever his whims may be he can very easily satisfy them.


for the rest,
his house is full of butlers,
footmen,
maidservants,
and the usual overfed,
underworked staff of a large English country house."

So much I learned partly from village gossip and partly from my own observation.

There are no better instruments than discharged servants
with a grievance,
and I was lucky enough
to find one.

I call it luck,
but it would not have come my way had I not been looking out
for it.

As Baynes remarks,
we all have our systeMs. It was my system which enabled me
to find John Warner,
late gardener of High Gable,
sacked in a moment of temper by his imperious employer.

He in turn had friends among the indoor servants who unite in their fear and dislike of their master.

So I had my key
to the secrets of the establishment."

Curious people,
Watson!

I don't pretend
to understand it all yet,
but very curious people anyway.

It's a double-winged house,
and the servants live on one side,
the family on the other.

There's no link between the two save
for Henderson's own servant,
who serves the family's meals.

Everything is carried
to a certain door,
which forms the one connection.

Governess and children hardly go out at all,
except in
to the garden.

Henderson never by any chance walks alone.

His dark secretary is like his shadow.

The gossip among the servants is that their master is terribly afraid of something.

'Sold his soul
to the devil in exchange
for money,' says Warner,
'and expects his creditor
to come up and claim his own.' Where they came from,
or who they are,
nobody has an idea.

They are very violent.

Twice Henderson has lashed at folk
with his dog-whip,
and only his long purse and heavy compensation have kept him out of the courts."

Well,
now,
Watson,
let us judge the situation by this new information.

We may take it that the letter came out of this strange household and was an invitation
to Garcia
to carry out some attempt which had already been planned.

Who wrote the note?

It was someone within the citadel,
and it was a woman.

Who then but Miss Burnet,
the governess?

All our reasoning seems
to point that way.

At any rate,
we may take it asa hypothesis and see what consequences it would entail.

I may add that Miss Burnet's age and character make it certain that my first idea that there might be a love interest in our story is out of the question."

If she wrote the note she was presumably the friend and confederate of Garcia.

What,
then,
might she be expected
to do if she heard of his death?

If he met it in some nefarious enterprise her lips might be sealed.

Still,
in her heart,
she must retain bitterness and hatred against those who had killed him and would presumably help so far as she could
to have revenge upon them.

Could we see her,
then and try
to use her?

That was my first thought.

But now we come
to a sinister fact.

Miss Burnet has not been seen by any human eye since the night of the murder.

From that evening she has utterly vanished.

Is she alive?

Has she perhaps met her end on the same night as the friend whom she had summoned?

Or is she merely a prisoner?

There is the point which we still have
to decide."

You will appreciate the difficulty of the situation,
Watson.

There is nothing upon which we can apply
for a warrant.

Our whole scheme might seem fantastic if laid before a magistrate.

The woman's disappearance counts
for nothing,
since in that extraordinary household any member of it might be invisible
for a week.

And yet she may at the present moment be in danger of her life.

All I can do is
to watch the house and leave my agent,
Warner,
on guard at the gates.

We can't let such a situation continue.

If the law can do nothing we must take the risk ourselves."


"What do you suggest?"


"I know which is her room.

It is accessible from the top of an outhouse.

My suggestion is that you and I go to-night and see if we can strike at the very heart of the mystery."


It was not,
I must confess,
a very alluring prospect.

The old house
with its atmosphere of murder,
the singular and formidable inhabitants,
the unknown dangers of the approach,
and the fact that we were putting ourselves legally in a false position all combined
to damp my ardour.

But there was something in the ice- cold reasoning of Holmes which made it impossible
to shrink from any adventure which he might recommend.

One knew that thus,
and only thus,
could a solution be found.

I clasped his hand in silence,
and the die was cast.But it was not destined that our investigation should have so adventurous an ending.

It was about five o'clock,
and the shadows of the March evening were beginning
to fall,
when an excited rustic rushed in
to our room."

They've gone,
Mr. Holmes.

They went by the last train.

The lady broke away,
and I've got her in a cab downstairs."


"Excellent,
Warner!" cried Holmes,
springing
to his feet.

"Watson,
the gaps are closing rapidly."


In the cab was a woman,
half-collapsed from nervous exhaustion.

She bore upon her aquiline and emaciated face the traces of some recent tragedy.

Her head hung listlessly upon her breast,
but as she raised it and turned her dull eyes upon us I saw that her pupils were dark dots in the centre of the broad gray iris.

She was drugged
with opium."

I watched at the gate,
same as you advised,
Mr. Holmes," said our emissary,
the discharged gardener.

"When the carriage came out I followed it
to the station.

She was like one walking in her sleep,
but when they tried
to get her in
to the train she came
to life and struggled.

They pushed her in
to the carriage.

She fought her way out again.

I took her part,
got her in
to a cab,
and here we are.

I shan't forget the face at the carriage window as I led her away.

I'd have a short life if he had his way--the black-eyed,
scowling,
yellow devil."


We carried her upstairs,
laid her on the sofa,
and a couple of cups of the strongest coffee soon cleared her brain from the mists of the drug.

Baynes had been summoned by Holmes,
and the situation rapidly explained
to him."

Why,
sir,
you've got me the very evidence I want," said the inspector warmly,
shaking my friend by the hand.

"I was on the same scent as you from the first."


"What!

You were after Henderson?"


"Why,
Mr. Holmes,
when you were crawling in the shrubbery at High Gable I was up one of the trees in the plantation and saw you down below.

It was just who would get his evidence first."


"Then why did you arrest the mulatto?"


Baynes chuckled."

I was sure Henderson,
as he calls himself,
felt that he was suspected,
and that he would lie low and make no move so long as he thought he was in any danger.

I arrested the wrong man
to make him believe that our eyes were off him.

I knew he would be likely
to clear off then and give us a chance of getting at Miss Burnet."


Holmes laid his hand upon the inspector's shoulder."

You will rise high in your profession.

You have instinct and intuition," said he.Baynes flushed
with pleasure."

I've had a plain-clothes man waiting at the station all the week.

Wherever the High Gable folk go he will keep them in sight.

But he must have been hard put
to it when Miss Burnet broke away.

However,
your man picked her up,
and it all ends well.

We can't arrest without her evidence,
that is clear,
so the sooner we get a statement the better."


"Every minute she gets stronger," said Holmes,
glancing at the governess.

"But tell me,
Baynes,
who is this man Henderson?"


"Henderson," the inspector answered,
"is Don Murillo,
once call the Tiger of San Pedro."


The Tiger of San Pedro!

The whole history of the man came back
to me in a flash.

He had made his name as the most lewd and bloodthirsty tyrant that had ever governed any country
with a pretence
to civilization.

Strong,
fearless,
and energetic,
he had sufficient virtue
to enable him
to impose his odious vices upon a cowering people
for ten or twelve years.

His name was a terror through all Central America.

At the end of that time there was a universal rising against him.

But he was as cunning as he was cruel,
and at the first whisper of coming trouble he had secretly conveyed his treasures aboard a ship which was manned by devoted adherents.

It was an empty palace which was stormed by the insurgents next day.

The dictator,
his two children,
his secretary,
and his wealth had all escaped them.

>From that moment he had vanished from the world,
and his identity had been a frequent subject
for comment in the European press."

Yes,
sir,
Don Murillo,
the Tiger of San Pedro," said Baynes.

"If you look it up you will find that the San Pedro colours are green and white,
same as in the note,
Mr. Holmes.

Henderson he called himself,
but I traced him back,
Paris and Rome and Madrid
to Barcelona,
where his ship came in in '86.

They've been looking
for him all the time
for their revenge,
but it is only now that they have begun
to find him out."


"They discovered him a year ago," said Miss Burnet,
who had sat up and was now intently following the conversation.

"Once already his life has been attempted,
but some evil spirit shielded him.

Now,
again,
it is the noble,
chivalrous Garcia who has fallen,
while the monster goes safe.

But another will come,
and yet another,
until some day justice will be done;
that is as certain as the rise of to-morrow's sun."

Her thin hands clenched,
and her worn face blanched
with the passion of her hatred."

But how come you in
to this matter,
Miss Burnet?"

asked Holmes.

"How can an English lady join in such a murderous affair?"


"I join in it because there is no other way in the world by which justice can be gained.

What does the law of England care
for the rivers of blood shed years ago in San Pedro,
or
for the shipload of treasure which this man has stolen?


to you they are like crimes committed in some other planet.

But WE know.

We have learned the truth in sorrow and in suffering.


to us there is no fiend in hell like Juan Murillo,
and no peace in life while his victims still cry
for vengeance."


"No doubt," said Holmes,
"he was as you say.

I have heard that he was atrocious.

But how are you affected?"


"I will tell you it all.

This villain's policy was
to murder,
on one pretext or another,
every man who showed such promise that he might in time come
to be a dangerous rival.

My husband--yes,
my real name is Signora Victor Durando--was the San Pedro minister in London.

He met me and married me there.

A nobler man never lived upon earth.

Unhappily,
Murillo heard of his excellence,
recalled him on some pretext,
and had him shot.


with a premonition of his fate he had refused
to take me
with him.

His estates were confiscated,
and I was left
with a pittance and a broken heart."

Then came the downfall of the tyrant.

He escaped as you have just described.

But the many whose lives he had ruined,
whose nearest and dearest had suffered torture and death at his hands,
would not let the matter rest.

They banded themselves in
to a society which should never be dissolved until the work was done.

It was my part after we had discovered in the transformed Henderson the fallen despot,

to attach myself
to his household and keep the others in touch
with his movements.

This I was able
to do by securing the position of governess in his family.

He little knew that the woman who faced him at every meal was the woman whose husband he had hurried at an hour's notice in
to eternity.

I smiled on him,
did my duty
to his children,
and bided my time.

An attempt was made in Paris and failed.

We zig- zagged swiftly here and there over Europe
to throw off the pursuers and finally returned
to this house,
which he had taken upon his first arrival in England."

But here also the ministers of justice were waiting.

Knowing that he would return there,
Garcia,
who is the son of the former highest dignitary in San Pedro,
was waiting
with two trusty companions of humble station,
all three fired
with the same reasons
for revenge.

He could do little during the day,

for Murillo took every precaution and never went out save
with his satellite Lucas,
or Lopez as he was known in the days of his greatness.

At night,
however,
he slept alone,
and the avenger might find him.

On a certain evening,
which had been prearranged,
I sent my friend final instructions,

for the man was forever on the alert and continually changed his room.

I was
to see that the doors were open and the signal of a green or white light in a window which faced the drive was
to give notice if all was safe or if the attempt had better be postponed."

But everything went wrong
with us.

In some way I had excited the suspicion of Lopez,
the secretary.

He crept up behind me and sprang upon me just as I had finished the note.

He and his master dragged me
to my room and held judgment upon me as a convicted traitress.

Then and there they would have plunged their knives in
to me could they have seen how
to escape the consequences of the deed.

Finally,
after much debate,
they concluded that my murder was too dangerous.

But they determined
to get rid forever of Garcia.

They had gagged me,
and Murillo twisted my arm round until I gave him the address.

I swear that he might have twisted it off had I understood what it would mean
to Garcia.

Lopez addressed the note which I had written,
sealed it
with his sleeve-link,
and sent it by the hand of the servant,
Jose.

How they murdered him I do not know,
save that it was Murillo's hand who struck him down,

for Lopez had remained
to guard me.

I believe he must have waited among the gorse bushes through which the path winds and struck him down as he passed.

At first they were of a mind
to let him enter the house and
to kill him as a detected burglar;
but they argued that if they were mixed up in an inquiry their own identity would at once be publicly disclosed and they would be open
to further attacks.


with the death of Garcia,
the pursuit might cease,
since such a death might frighten others from the task."

All would now have been well
for them had it not been
for my knowledge of what they had done.

I have no doubt that there were times when my life hung in the balance.

I was confined
to my room,
terrorized by the most horrible threats,
cruelly ill-used
to break my spirit--see this stab on my shoulder and the bruises from end
to end of my arms--and a gag was thrust in
to my mouth on the one occasion when I tried
to call from the window.


for five days this cruel imprisonment continued,

with hardly enough food
to hold body and soul together.

This afternoon a good lunch was brought me,
but the moment after I took it I knew that I had been drugged.

In a sort of dream I remember being half-led,
half- carried
to the carriage;
in the same state I was conveyed
to the train.

Only then,
when the wheels were almost moving,
did I suddenly realize that my liberty lay in my own hands.

I sprang out,
they tried
to drag me back,
and had it not been
for the help of this good man,
who led me
to the cab,
I should never had broken away.

Now,
thank God,
I am beyond their power forever."


We had all listened intently
to this remarkable statement.

It was Holmes who broke the silence."

Our difficulties are not over," he remarked,
shaking his head.

"Our police work ends,
but our legal work begins."


"Exactly," said I.

"A plausible lawyer could make it out as an act of self-defence.

There may be a hundred crimes in the background,
but it is only on this one that they can be tried."


"Come,
come," said Baynes cheerily,
"I think better of the law than that.

Self-defence is one thing.


to entice a man in cold blood
with the object of murdering him is another,
whatever danger you may fear from him.

No,
no,
we shall all be justified when we see the tenants of High Gable at the next Guildford Assizes."


It is a matter of history,
however,
that a little time was still
to elapse before the Tiger of San Pedro should meet
with his deserts.

Wily and bold,
he and his companion threw their pursuer off their track by entering a lodging-house in Edmonton Street and leaving by the back-gate in
to Curzon Square.

From that day they were seen no more in England.

Some six months afterwards the Marquess of Montalva and Signor Rulli,
his secretary,
were both murdered in their rooms at the Hotel Escurial at Madrid.

The crime was ascribed
to Nihilism,
and the murderers were never arrested.

Inspector Baynes visited us at Baker Street
with a printed description of the dark face of the secretary,
and of the masterful features,
the magnetic black eyes,
and the tufted brows of his master.

We could not doubt that justice,
if belated,
had come at last."

A chaotic case,
my dear Watson," said Holmes over an evening pipe.

"It will not be possible
for you
to present in that compact form which is dear
to your heart.

It covers two continents,
concerns two groups of mysterious persons,
and is further complicated by the highly respectable presence of our friend,
Scott Eccles,
whose inclusion shows me that the deceased Garcia had a scheming mind and a well-developed instinct of self- preservation.

It is remarkable only
for the fact that amid a perfect jungle of possibilities we,

with our worthy collaborator,
the inspector,
have kept our close hold on the essentials and so been guided along the crooked and winding path.

Is there any point which is not quite clear
to you?"


"The object of the mulat
to cook's return?"


"I think that the strange creature in the kitchen may account
for it.

The man was a primitive savage from the backwoods of San Pedro,
and this was his fetish.

When his companion and he had fled
to some prearranged retreat--already occupied,
no doubt by a confederate--the companion had persuaded him
to leave so compromising an article of furniture.

But the mulatto's heart was
with it,
and he was driven back
to it next day,
when,
on reconnoitering through the window,
he found policeman Walters in possession.

He waited three days longer,
and then his piety or his superstition drove him
to try once more.

Inspector Baynes,
who,

with his usual astuteness,
had minimized the incident before me,
had really recognized its importance and had left a trap in
to which the creature walked.

Any other point,
Watson?"


"The torn bird,
the pail of blood,
the charred bones,
all the mystery of that weird kitchen?"


Holmes smiled as he turned up an entry in his note-book."

I spent a morning in the British Museum reading up on that and other points.

Here is a quotation from Eckermann's Voodooism and the Negroid Religions:
"'The true voodoo-worshipper attempts nothing of importance without certain sacrifices which are intended
to propitiate his unclean gods.

In extreme cases these rites take the form of human sacrifices followed by cannibalism.

The more usual victims are a white cock,
which is plucked in pieces alive,
or a black goat,
whose throat is cut and body burned.'
"So you see our savage friend was very orthodox in his ritual.

It is grotesque,
Watson," Holmes added,
as he slowly fastened his notebook,
"but,
as I have had occasion
to remark,
there is but one step from the grotesque
to the horrible."