Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
The Return of
Sherlock Holmes
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THE ADVENTURE OF THE EMPTY
HOUSE
"But why?"
"Because, my dear Watson, I had the strongest
possible reason for wishing certain people to
think that I was there when I was really else-
where."
"By whom?"
"Pray proceed."
"I can read the first few lines and these in the
middle of the second page, and one or two at
the end. Those are as clear as print," said he,
"but the writing in between is very bad, and
there are three places where I cannot read it at
all."
"Don't you?"
"So I am."
"Then do so."
"I will do my best. How many constables have
you?"
"Fire!"
"I fancy that, for some few years, you will find
your time very fully occupied," said he. "By the
way, what was it you put into the wood-pile
besides your old trousers? A dead dog, or rab-
bits, or what? You won't tell? Dear me, how
very unkind of you! Well, well, I daresay that a
couple of rabbits would account both for the
blood and for the charred ashes. If ever you
write an account, Watson, you can make rabbits
serve your turn."
"I am."
"Why?"
"Why?"
"Nothing."
"Pray proceed."
"None."
"And since?"
"You can take your beard off, Bob," said he. "I
know you, right enough. Well, you and your
pals have just come in time for me to be able to
introduce you to Mrs. Woodley."
Our guide's answer was a singular one. He
snatched off the dark beard which had dis-
guised him and threw it on the ground,
disclosing a long, sallow, clean-shaven face
below it. Then he raised his revolver and
covered the young ruffian, who was advancing
upon him with his dangerous riding-crop
swinging in his hand.
"Yes," said our ally, "I am Bob Carruthers, and
I'll see this woman righted, if I have to swing
for it. I told you what I'd do if you molested
her, and, by the Lord! I'll be as good as my
word."
"Good Lord!"
"What cable?"
"I see. You got the young lady into your ser-
vice, and there Woodley was to do the courting.
She recognized the drunken brute that he was,
and would have nothing to do with him.
Meanwhile, your arrangement was rather upset
by the fact that you had yourself fallen in love
with the lady. You could no longer bear the
idea of this ruffian owning her?"
"No, by George, I couldn't!"
"None at all."
"No."
"Was any other bicycle missing?"
"No."
"Quite."
"Certainly not."
"No."
"From whom?"
"No."
"No, never.
"Yes."
"No."
"The Duke, then?"
"No, sir."
"Yes."
I assented.
"Undoubtedly."
"Why?"
"I tell you, man, that I haven't got one. I'll let
you have two horses as far as the Hall."
"Yes, several."
"Where?"
"Yes, it is strange."
"Yes, I can."
"Exactly."
"And another thousand to the man who will
name the person or persons who keep him in
custody?"
"Exactly."
"Your secretary?"
"The butcher's?"
"None."
"I have a few dates here which will give you the
career of the dead man, Captain Peter Carey.
He was born in '45—fifty years of age. He was a
most daring and successful seal and whale fis-
her. In 1883 he commanded the steam sealer
SEA UNICORN, of Dundee. He had then had
several successful voyages in succession, and in
the following year, 1884, he retired. After that
he travelled for some years, and finally he
bought a small place called Woodman's Lee,
near Forest Row, in Sussex. There he has lived
for six years, and there he died just a week ago
to-day.
"I must admit both your points," said he. "I con-
fess that this notebook, which did not appear at
the inquest, modifies any views which I may
have formed. I had come to a theory of the cri-
me in which I can find no place for this. Have
you endeavoured to trace any of the securities
here mentioned?"
"Inquiries are now being made at the offices,
but I fear that the complete register of the stoc-
kholders of these South American concerns is
in South America, and that some weeks must
elapse before we can trace the shares."
"No, sir."
He hesitated.
"No.
"James Lancaster."
"Patrick Cairns."
"Harpooner?"
"Dundee, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir."
"And ready to start with an exploring ship?"
"Yes, sir."
"What wages?"
I turned it over.
Milverton chuckled.
"No, indeed!"
"Can I do anything?"
Lestrade laughed.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that
there IS something on my mind. And yet it is
such an absurd business, that I hesitated to bot-
her you about it. On the other hand, although it
is trivial, it is undoubtedly queer, and I know
that you have a taste for all that is out of the
common. But, in my opinion, it comes more in
Dr. Watson's line than ours."
"Disease?" said I.
Lestrade stared.
Holmes smiled.
"Splendid!"
"Certainly."
"Oh, that was it, was it? Did he tell you what I
paid for it?"
"Yes."
"Possibly."
"No."
"You see?"
"Yes."
Soames hesitated.
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"Was it not very extraordinary that you should
do this on the very day when there were these
papers inside?"
"No, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"No, sir."
"Who?"
"Certainly."
"Nothing to add?"
"No, sir—nothing."
"Yes, sir."
"No, sir."
Holmes smiled.
"No, here."
"Here! When?"
"This instant."
"I have not yet told you the height of his villai-
ny," said she. "Among our comrades of the Or-
der, there was one who was the friend of my
heart. He was noble, unselfish, loving—all that
my husband was not. He hated violence. We
were all guilty—if that is guilt—but he was not.
He wrote forever dissuading us from such a
course. These letters would have saved him. So
would my diary, in which, from day to day, I
had entered both my feelings towards him and
the view which each of us had taken. My hus-
band found and kept both diary and letters. He
hid them, and he tried hard to swear away the
young man's life. In this he failed, but Alexis
was sent a convict to Siberia, where now, at this
moment, he works in a salt mine. Think of that,
you villain, you villain!—now, now, at this very
moment, Alexis, a man whose name you are
not worthy to speak, works and lives like a sla-
ve, and yet I have your life in my hands, and I
let you go."
"I had just taken the paper; and was locking the
cupboard, when the young man seized me. I
had seen him already that morning. He had
met me on the road, and I had asked him to tell
me where Professor Coram lived, not knowing
that he was in his employ."
My companion bowed.
"No."
"Yes, sir."
"About six."
"Sound as a bell."
"Yes, sir."
"Well?" I asked.
"Certainly not."
"Absolutely."
"Never."
"Certainly not."
"His coachman——"
"I will tell you about last night. You are aware,
perhaps, that in this house all the servants sleep
in the modern wing. This central block is made
up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen
behind and our bedroom above. My maid, The-
resa, sleeps above my room. There is no one
else, and no sound could alarm those who are
in the farther wing. This must have been well
known to the robbers, or they would not have
acted as they did.
"I saw the men before ever they came into the
house," said she. "As I sat by my bedroom win-
dow I saw three men in the moonlight down by
the lodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing of
it at the time. It was more than an hour after
that I heard my mistress scream, and down I
ran, to find her, poor lamb, just as she says, and
him on the floor, with his blood and brains over
the room. It was enough to drive a woman out
of her wits, tied there, and her very dress spot-
ted with him, but she never wanted courage,
did Miss Mary Fraser of Adelaide and Lady
Brackenstall of Abbey Grange hasn't learned
new ways. You've questioned her long enough,
you gentlemen, and now she is coming to her
own room, just with her old Theresa, to get the
rest that she badly needs."
"She has been with her all her life," said Hop-
kins. "Nursed her as a baby, and came with her
to England when they first left Australia, eigh-
teen months ago. Theresa Wright is her name,
and the kind of maid you don't pick up nowa-
days. This way, Mr. Holmes, if you please!"
"Blood."
"Mr. Holmes!"
"A setback?"
"Which?"
"When?"
"I was only testing you, and you ring true every
time. Well, it is a great responsibility that I take
upon myself, but I have given Hopkins an exce-
llent hint and if he can't avail himself of it I can
do no more. See here, Captain Crocker, we'll do
this in due form of law. You are the prisoner.
Watson, you are a British jury, and I never met
a man who was more eminently fitted to repre-
sent one. I am the judge. Now, gentleman of the
jury, you have heard the evidence. Do you find
the prisoner guilty or not guilty?"
"Half-past seven."
"No, sir."
"Who is there in England who did know of the
existence of this letter?"
"But abroad?"
"I believe that no one abroad has seen it save
the man who wrote it. I am well convinced that
his Ministers—that the usual official channels
have not been employed."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes."
All that day and the next and the next Holmes
was in a mood which his friends would call
taciturn, and others morose. He ran out and ran
in, smoked incessantly, played snatches on his
violin, sank into reveries, devoured sandwiches
at irregular hours, and hardly answered the
casual questions which I put to him. It was evi-
dent to me that things were not going well with
him or his quest. He would say nothing of the
case, and it was from the papers that I learned
the particulars of the inquest, and the arrest
with the subsequent release of John Mitton, the
valet of the deceased. The coroner's jury
brought in the obvious Wilful Murder, but the
parties remained as unknown as ever. No mo-
tive was suggested. The room was full of arti-
cles of value, but none had been taken. The
dead man's papers had not been tampered
with. They were carefully examined, and sho-
wed that he was a keen student of international
politics, an indefatigable gossip, a remarkable
linguist, and an untiring letter writer. He had
been on intimate terms with the leading politi-
cians of several countries. But nothing sensa-
tional was discovered among the documents
which filled his drawers. As to his relations
with women, they appeared to have been pro-
miscuous but superficial. He had many ac-
quaintances among them, but few friends, and
no one whom he loved. His habits were regu-
lar, his conduct inoffensive. His death was an
absolute mystery and likely to remain so.
Holmes nodded.
"Undoubtedly it must."
"Well, you will be surprised to hear that there is
no stain on the white woodwork to corres-
pond."
"Tall? Handsome?"
"I tell you again, Mr. Holmes, that you are un-
der some absurd illusion."
Holmes rose from his chair.
"Mr. Holmes!"
"Impossible, I say."