Sherlock Holmes -Sign of Four Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration

"Now, Watson," said Holmes, rubbing his hands, "we have half an hour to
ourselves. Let us make good use of it. My case is, as I have told you, almost
complete; but we must not err on the side of overconfidence. Simple as the case
seems now, there may be something deeper underlying it."

"Simple!" I ejaculated.

"Surely," said he with something of the air of a clinical professor expounding to his
class. "Just sit in the corner there, that your footprints may not complicate matters.
Now to work! In the first place, how did these folk come and how did they go? The
door has not been opened since last night. How of the window?" He carried the
lamp across to it, muttering his obser- vations aloud the while but addressing them
to himself rather than to me. "Window is snibbed on the inner side. Frame-work is
solid. No hinges at the side. Let us open it. No water-pipe near. Roof quite out of
reach. Yet a man has mounted by the window. It rained a little last night. Here is
the print of a foot in mould upon the sill. And here is a circular muddy mark, and
here again upon the floor, and here again by the table. See bere, Watson! This is
really a very pretty demonstration."

I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs.

"That is not a foot-mark," said I.

"It is something much more valuable to us. It is the impres- sion of a wooden
stump. You see here on the sill is the boot- mark, a heavy boot with a broad metal
heel, and beside it is the mark of the timber-toe."

"It is the wooden-legged man."

"Quite so. But there has been someone else -- a very able and efficient ally. Could
you scale that wall, Doctor?"

I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone brightiy on that angle of the
house. We were a good sixty feet from the ground, and, look where I would, I could
see no foothold, nor as much as a crevice in the brickwork.

"It is absolutely impossible," I answered.

"Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend up here who lowered you this
good stout rope which I see in the corner, securing one end of it to this great hook
in the wall. Then, I think, if you were an active man, you might swarm up, wooden
leg and all. You would depart, of course, in the same fashion, and your ally would
draw up the rope, untie it from the hook, shut the window, snib it on the inside, and
get away in the way that he originally came. As a minor point, it may be noted," he
continued, fingering the rope, "that our wooden-legged friend, though a fair
climber, was not a professional sailor. His hands were far from horny. My lens
discloses more than one blood- mark, especially towards the end of the rope, from
which I gather that he slipped down with such velocity that he took the skin off his
hands."

"This is all very well," said I; "but the thing becomes more unintelligible than ever.
How about this mysterious ally? How came he into the room?"

"Yes, the ally!" repeated Holmes pensively. "There are fea- tures of interest about
this ally. He lifts the case from the regions of the commonplace. I fancy that this ally
breaks fresh ground in the annals of crime in this country -- though parallel cases
sug- gest themselves from India and, if my memory serves me, from
Senegambia."

"How came he, then?" I reiterated. "The door is locked; the window is
inaccessible. Was it through the chimney?"

"The grate is much too small," he answered. "I had already considered that
possibility."

"How, then?" I persisted.

"You will not apply my precept," he said, shaking his head. "How often have I said
to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however
improbable, must be the truth? We know that he did not come through the door,
the window, or the chimney. We also know that he could not have been concealed
in the room, as there is no concealment possible. When, then, did he come?"

"He came through the hole in the roof!" I cried.

"Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will have the kindness to hold the
lamp for me, we shall now extend our researches to the room above -- the secret
room in which the treasure was found."

He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand, he swung himself up
into the garret. Then, lying on his face, he reached down for the lamp and held it
while I followed him.

The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet one way and six the
other. The floor was formed by the rafters, with thin lath and plaster between, so
that in walking one had to step from beam to beam. The roof ran up to an apex
and was evidently the inner shell of the true roof of the house. There was no
furniture of any sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay thick upon the floor.

"Here you are, you see," said Sherlock Holmes, putting his hand against the
sloping wall. "This is a trapdoor which leads out on to the roof. I can press it back,
and here is the roof itself, sloping at a gentle angle. This, then, is the way by which
Number One entered. Let us see if we can find some other traces of his
individuality?"

He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw for the second time that
night a startled, surprised look come over his face. For myself, as I followed his
gaze, my skin was cold under my clothes. The floor was covered thickly with the
prints of a naked foot -- clear, well-defined, perfectly formed, but scarce half the
size of those of an ordinary man.

"Holmes," I said in a whisper, "a child has done this horrid thing."

He had recovered his self-possession in an instant.

"I was staggered for the moment," he said, "but the thing is quite natural. My
memory failed me, or I should have been able to foretell it. There is nothing more
to be learned here. Let us go down."

"What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?" I asked eagerly when we had
regained the lower room once more.

"My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself," said he with a touch of impatience.
"You know my methods. Apply them, and it will be instructive to compare results."

"I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts," I answered.

"It will be clear enough to you soon," he said, in an offhand way. "I think that there
is nothing else of importance here, but I will look."

He whipped out his lens and a tape measure and hurried about the room on his
knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long thin nose only a few inches
from the planks and his beady eyes gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird.
So swift, silent, and furtive were his movements, like those of a trained
bloodhound picking out a scent, that I could not but think what a terrible criminal he
would have made had he turned his energy and sagacity against the law instead
of exerting them in its defence. As he hunted about, he kept muttering to himself,
and finally he broke out into a loud crow of delight.

"We are certainly in luck," said he. "We ought to have very little trouble now.
Number One has had the misfortune to tread in the creosote. You can see the
outline of the edge of his small foot here at the side of this evil-smelling mess. The
carboy has been cracked, you see, and the stuff has leaked out."

"What then?" I asked.

"Why, we have got him, that's all," said he.

"I know a dog that would follow that scent to the world's end. If a pack can track a
trailed herring across a shire, how far can a specially trained hound follow so
pungent a smell as this? It sounds like a sum in the rule of three. The answer
should give us the -- But hallo! here are the accredited representatives of the law."

Heavy steps and the clamour of loud voices were audible from below, and the hall
door shut with a loud crash.

"Before they come," said Holmes, "just put your hand here on this poor fellow's
arm, and here on his leg. What do you feel?"

The muscles are as hard as a board," I answered.

"Quite so. They are in a state of extreme contraction, far exceeding the usual rigor
mortis. Coupled with this distortion of the face, this Hippocratic smile, or 'risus
sardonicus,' as the old writers called it, what conclusion would it suggest to your
mind?"

"Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid," I answered, "some strychnine-like
substance which would produce tetanus."

"That was the idea which occurred to me the instant I saw the drawn muscles of
the face. On getting into the room I at once looked for the means by which the
poison had entered the system. As you saw, I discovered a thorn which had been
driven or shot with no great force into the scalp. You observe that the part struck
was that which would be turned towards the hole in the ceiling if the man were
erect in his chair. Now examine this thorn."

I took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lantern. It was long, sharp, and
black, with a glazed look near the point as though some gummy substance had
dried upon it. The blunt end had been trimmed and rounded off with a knife.

"Is that an English thorn?" he asked.

"No, it certainly is not."

"With all these data you should be able to draw some just inference. But here are
the regulars, so the auxiliary forces may beat a retreat."

As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded loudly on the
passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray suit strode heavily into the room.
He was red-faced, burly, and plethoric, with a pair of very small twinkling eyes
which looked keenly out from between swollen and puffy pouches. He was closely
followed by an inspector in uniform and by the still palpitating Thaddeus Sholto.

"Here's a business!" he cried in a muffled, husky voice. "Here's a pretty business!
But who are all these? Why, the house seems to be as full as a rabbit-warren!"

"I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones," said Holmes quietly.

"Why, of course I do!" he wheezed. "It's Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the theorist.
Remember you! I'll never forget how you lectured us all on causes and inferences
and effects in the Bishopgate jewel case. It's true you set us on the right track; but
you'll own now that it was more by good luck than good guidance."

"It was a piece of very simple reasoning."

"Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up. But what is all this? Bad
business! Bad business! Stern facts here -- no room for theories. How lucky that I
happened to be out at Norwood over another case! I was at the station when the
message arrived. What d'you think the man died of?"

"Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over," said Holmes dryly.

"No, no. Still, we can't deny that you hit the nail on the head sometimes. Dear me!
Door locked, I understand. Jewels worth half a million missing. How was the
window?"

"Fastened; but there are steps on the sill."

"Well, well, if it was fastened the steps could have nothing to do with the matter.
That's common sense. Man might have died in a fit; but then the jewels are
missing. Ha! I have a theory. These flashes come upon me at times. -- Just step
outside, Ser- geant, and you, Mr. Sholto. Your friend can remain. -- What do you
think of this, Holmes? Sholto was, on his own confession, with his brother last
night. The brother died in a fit, on which Sholto walked off with the treasure? How's
that?"

"On which the dead man very considerately got up and locked the door on the
inside."

"Hum! There's a flaw there. Let us apply common sense to the matter. This
Thaddeus Sholto was with his brother; there was a quarrel: so much we know. The
brother is dead and the jewels are gone. So much also we know. No one saw the
brother from the time Thaddeus left him. His bed had not been slept in. Thaddeus
is evidently in a most disturbed state of mind. His appearance is -- well, not
attractive. You see that I am weaving my web round Thaddeus. The net begins to
close upon him."

"You are not quite in possession of the facts yet," said Holmes. "This splinter of
wood, which I have every reason to believe to be poisoned, was in the man's scalp
where you still see the mark; this card, inscribed as you see it, was on the table,
and beside it lay this rather curious stone-headed instrument. How does all that fit
into your theory?"

"Confirms it in every respect," said the fat detective pom- pously. "House is full of
Indian curiosities. Thaddeus brought this up, and if this splinter be poisonous
Thaddeus may as well have made murderous use of it as any other man. The card
is some hocus-pocus -- a blind, as like as not. The only question is, how did he
depart? Ah, of course, here is a hole in the roof."

With great activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up the steps and squeezed
through into the garret, and immediately afterwards we heard his exulting voice
proclaiming that he had found the trapdoor.

"He can find something," remarked Holmes, shrugging his shoulders; "he has
occasional glimmerings of reason. ll n'y a pas des sots si incommodes que ceux
qui ont de l'esprit!"

"You see!" said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the steps again; "facts are
better than theories, after all. My view of the case is confirmed. There is a trapdoor
communicating with the roof, and it is partly open."

"It was I who opened it."

"Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then?" He seemed a little crestfallen at the
discovery. "Well, whoever noticed it, it shows how our gentleman got away.
Inspector!"

"Yes, sir," from the passage.

"Ask Mr. Sholto to step this way. -- Mr. Sholto, it is my duty to inform you that
anything which you may say will be used against you. I arrest you in the Queen's
name as being concerned in the death of your brother."

"There, now! Didn't I tell you!" cried the poor little man throwing out his hands and
looking from one to the other of us.

"Don't trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes; "I think that I can engage
to clear you of the charge."

"Don't promise too much, Mr. Theorist, don't promise too much!" snapped the
detective. "You may find it a harder matter than you think."

"Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will make you a free present of the name
and description of one of the two people who were in this room last night. His
name, I have every reason to believe, is Jonathan Small. He is a poorly educated
man, small, active, with his right leg off, and wearing a wooden stump which is
worn away upon the inner side. His left boot has a coarse, square-toed sole, with
an iron band round the heel. He is a middle-aged man, much sunburned, and has
been a convict. These few indications may be of some assistance to you, coupled
with the fact that there is a good deal of skin missing from the palm of his hand.
The other man --"

"Ah! the other man?" asked Athelney Jones in a sneering voice, but impressed
none the less, as I could easily see, by the precision of the other's manner.

"Is a rather curious person," said Sherlock Holmes, turning upon his heel. "I hope
before very long to be able to introduce you to the pair of them. A word with you,
Watson."

He led me out to the head of the stair.

"This unexpected occurrence," he said, "has caused us rather to lose sight of the
original purpose of our journey."

"I have just been thinking so," I answered; "it is not right that Miss Morstan should
remain in this stricken house."

"No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs. Cecil Forrester in Lower
Camberwell, so it is not very far. I will wait for you here if you will drive out again. Or
perhaps you are too tired?"

"By no means. I don't think I could rest until I know more of this fantastic business. I
have seen something of the rough side of life, but I give you my word that this quick
succession of strange surprises to-night has shaken my nerve completely. I should
like, however, to see the matter through with you, now that I have got so far."

"Your presence will be of great service to me," he answered. "We shall work the
case out independently and leave this fellow Jones to exult over any mare's-nest
which he may choose to construct. When you have dropped Miss Morstan, I wish
you to go on to No. 3 Pinchin Lane, down near the water's edge at Lambeth. The
third house on the right-hand side is a bird- stuffer's; Sherman is the name. You
will see a weasel holding a young rabbit in the window. Knock old Sherman up
and tell him, with my compliments, that I want Toby at once. You will bring Toby
back in the cab with you."

"A dog, I suppose."

"Yes, a queer mongrel with a most amazing power of scent. I would rather have
Toby's help than that of the whole detective force of London."

"I shall bring him then," said I. "It is one now. I ought to be back before three if I can
get a fresh horse."

"And I," said Holmes, "shall see what I can learn from Mrs. Bernstone and from the
Indian servant, who, Mr. Thaddeus tells me, sleeps in the next garret. Then I shall
study the great Jones's methods and listen to his not too delicate sarcasms.

" 'Wir sind gewohnt dass die Menschen verhohnen was sie

nicht verstehen.'

"Goethe is always pithy."

Index TOC Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Adventures

All Family Resources provides a collection of Sherlock Holmes written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle between 1887 and 1925.
(Absent are those in the Case Book of Sherlock Holmes (1927), which is still covered by copyright until January 1, 2003.)