I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumnof last year, and found him in deep conversation with a very stout,florid-faced, elderly gentleman, with fiery red hair. With an apologyfor my intrusion, I was about to withdraw, when Holmes pulled meabruptly into the room and closed the door behind me.
“You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson,” hesaid, cordially.
“I was afraid that you were engaged.”
“So I am. Very much so.”
“Then I can wait in the next room.”
“Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and helperin many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that he willbe of the utmost use to me in yours also.”
The stout gentleman half-rose from his chair and gave a bob ofgreeting, with a quick, little, questioning glance from his small,fat-encircled eyes.
“Try the settee,” said Holmes, relapsing into his arm-chair and puttinghis finger-tips together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. “Iknow, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre andoutside the conventions and humdrum routine of every-day life. You haveshown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you tochronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellishso many of my own little adventures.”
“Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me,” Iobserved.
“You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we wentinto the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, thatfor strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go tolife itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of theimagination.”
“A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting.”
“You did, doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view,for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you, until yourreason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. Now, Mr.Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this morning,and to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most singularwhich I have listened to for some time. You have heard me remark thatthe strangest and most unique things are very often connected not withthe larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, wherethere is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been committed.As far as I have heard it is impossible for me to say whether thepresent case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of eventsis certainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to.Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to recommenceyour narrative. I ask you, not merely because my friend Dr. Watson hasnot heard the opening part, but also because the peculiar nature of thestory makes me anxious to have every possible detail from your lips.As a rule, when I have heard some slight indication of the course ofevents, I am able to guide myself by the thousands of other similarcases which occur to my memory. In the present instance I am forced toadmit that the facts are, to the best of my belief, unique.”
The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of somelittle pride, and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the insidepocket of his great-coat. As he glanced down the advertisement column,with his head thrust forward, and the paper flattened out upon hisknee, I took a good look at the man, and endeavored, after the fashionof my companion, to read the indications which might be presented byhis dress or appearance.
I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor boreevery mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese,pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy gray shepherd’s check trousers,a not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drabwaistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit ofmetal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brownovercoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him.Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the mansave his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin anddiscontent upon his features.
Sherlock Holmes’s quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook hishead with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. “Beyond theobvious facts that he has at some time done manual labor, that he takessnuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and that hehas done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothingelse.”
Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon thepaper, but his eyes upon my companion.
“How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?”he asked. “How did you know, for example, that I did manual labor. It’sas true as gospel, for I began as a ship’s carpenter.”
“Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger thanyour left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more developed.”
“Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?”
“I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you usean arc-and-compass breastpin.”
“Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?”
“What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for fiveinches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where yourest it upon the desk.”
“Well, but China?”
“The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wristcould only have been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoomarks, and have even contributed to the literature of the subject.That trick of staining the fishes’ scales of a delicate pink is quitepeculiar to China. When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin hanging fromyour watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple.”
Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. “Well, I never!” said he. “I thoughtat first that you had done something clever, but I see that there wasnothing in it, after all.”
“I begin to think, Watson,” said Holmes, “that I make a mistake inexplaining. ‘Omne ignotum pro magnifico,’ you know, and my poor littlereputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid. Canyou not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?”
“Yes, I have got it now,” he answered, with his thick, red fingerplanted half-way down the column. “Here it is. This is what began itall. You just read it for yourself, sir.”
I took the paper from him, and read as follows:
“TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pa., U.S.A., there is now another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a salary of £4 a week for purely nominal services. All red-headed men who are sound in body and mind, and above the age of twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at eleven o’clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Pope’s Court, Fleet Street.”
“What on earth does this mean?” I ejaculated, after I had twice readover the extraordinary announcement.
Holmes chuckled, and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when inhigh spirits. “It is a little off the beaten track, isn’t it?” saidhe. “And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch, and tell us all aboutyourself, your household, and the effect which this advertisement hadupon your fortunes. You will first make a note, doctor, of the paperand the date.”
“It is _The Morning Chronicle_, of April 27, 1890. Just two months ago.”
“Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?”
“Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,”said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; “I have a small pawnbroker’sbusiness at Coburg Square, near the city. It’s not a very large affair,and of late years it has not done more than just give me a living. Iused to be able to keep two assistants, but now I only keep one; and Iwould have a job to pay him, but that he is willing to come for halfwages, so as to learn the business.”
“What is the name of this obliging youth?” asked Sherlock Holmes.
“His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he’s not such a youth, either. It’shard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. Holmes;and I know very well that he could better himself, and earn twice whatI am able to give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should Iput ideas in his head?”
“Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an _employé_ whocomes under the full market price. It is not a common experience amongemployers in this age. I don’t know that your assistant is not asremarkable as your advertisement.”
“Oh, he has his faults, too,” said Mr. Wilson. “Never was such a fellowfor photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to beimproving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbitinto its hole to develope his pictures. That is his main fault; but, onthe whole, he’s a good worker. There’s no vice in him.”
“He is still with you, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking,and keeps the place clean—that’s all I have in the house, for I am awidower, and never had any family. We live very quietly, sir, the threeof us; and we keep a roof over our heads, and pay our debts, if we donothing more.
“The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, hecame down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this verypaper in his hand, and he says:
“‘I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.’
“‘Why that?’ I asks.
“‘Why,’ says he, ‘here’s another vacancy on the League of theRed-headed Men. It’s worth quite a little fortune to any man who getsit, and I understand that there are more vacancies than there are men,so that the trustees are at their wits’ end what to do with the money.If my hair would only change color, here’s a nice little crib all readyfor me to step into.’
“‘Why, what is it, then?’ I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a verystay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my havingto go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting my foot over thedoor-mat. In that way I didn’t know much of what was going on outside,and I was always glad of a bit of news.
“‘Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?’ he asked,with his eyes open.
“‘Never.’
“‘Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of thevacancies.’
“‘And what are they worth?’ I asked.
“‘Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and itneed not interfere very much with one’s other occupations.’
“Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for thebusiness has not been over-good for some years, and an extra couple ofhundred would have been very handy.
“‘Tell me all about it,’ said I.
“‘Well,’ said he, showing me the advertisement, ‘you can see foryourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the addresswhere you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out, theLeague was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, whowas very peculiar in his ways. He was himself red-headed, and he had agreat sympathy for all red-headed men; so, when he died, it was foundthat he had left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, withinstructions to apply the interest to the providing of easy berths tomen whose hair is of that color. From all I hear it is splendid pay,and very little to do.’
“‘But,’ said I, ‘there would be millions of red-headed men who wouldapply.’
“‘Not so many as you might think,’ he answered. ‘You see it is reallyconfined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had started fromLondon when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town a good turn.Then, again, I have heard it is no use your applying if your hair islight red, or dark red, or anything but real bright, blazing, fieryred. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson, you would just walk in;but perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put yourself out ofthe way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.’
“Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that myhair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that, ifthere was to be any competition in the matter, I stood as good a chanceas any man that I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to know somuch about it that I thought he might prove useful, so I just orderedhim to put up the shutters for the day, and to come right away with me.He was very willing to have a holiday, so we shut the business up, andstarted off for the address that was given us in the advertisement.
“I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. Fromnorth, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in hishair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. FleetStreet was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope’s Court lookedlike a coster’s orange barrow. I should not have thought there wereso many in the whole country as were brought together by that singleadvertisement. Every shade of color they were—straw, lemon, orange,brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there werenot many who had the real vivid flame-colored tint. When I saw how manywere waiting, I would have given it up in despair; but Spaulding wouldnot hear of it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed andpulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up tothe steps which led to the office. There was a double stream upon thestair, some going up in hope, and some coming back dejected; but wewedged in as well as we could, and soon found ourselves in the office.”
“Your experience has been a most entertaining one,” remarked Holmes, ashis client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff.“Pray continue your very interesting statement.”
“There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and adeal table, behind which sat a small man, with a head that was evenredder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he cameup, and then he always managed to find some fault in them which woulddisqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easymatter, after all. However, when our turn came, the little man was muchmore favorable to me than to any of the others, and he closed the dooras we entered, so that he might have a private word with us.
“‘This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,’ said my assistant, ‘and he is willing tofill a vacancy in the League.’
“‘And he is admirably suited for it,’ the other answered. ‘He has everyrequirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so fine.’ Hetook a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my hairuntil I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he plunged forward, wrung myhand, and congratulated me warmly on my success.
“‘It would be injustice to hesitate,’ said he. ‘You will, however, I amsure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.’ With that he seizedmy hair in both his hands, and tugged until I yelled with the pain.‘There is water in your eyes,’ said he, as he released me. ‘I perceivethat all is as it should be. But we have to be careful, for we havetwice been deceived by wigs and once by paint. I could tell you talesof cobbler’s wax which would disgust you with human nature.’ He steppedover to the window, and shouted through it at the top of his voice thatthe vacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came up from below,and the folk all trooped away in different directions, until there wasnot a red head to be seen except my own and that of the manager.
“‘My name,’ said he, ‘is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of thepensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you amarried man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?’
“I answered that I had not.
“His face fell immediately.
“‘Dear me!’ he said, gravely, ‘that is very serious indeed! I am sorryto hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the propagationand spread of the red-heads as well as for their maintenance. It isexceedingly unfortunate that you should be a bachelor.’
“My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was notto have the vacancy after all; but, after thinking it over for a fewminutes, he said that it would be all right.
“‘In the case of another,’ said he, ‘the objection might be fatal, butwe must stretch a point in favor of a man with such a head of hair asyours. When shall you be able to enter upon your new duties?’
“‘Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,’ said I.
“‘Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!’ said Vincent Spaulding. ‘Ishall be able to look after that for you.’
“‘What would be the hours?’ I asked.
“‘Ten to two.’
“Now a pawnbroker’s business is mostly done of an evening, Mr. Holmes,especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just before pay-day;so it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings.Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would seeto anything that turned up.
“‘That would suit me very well,’ said I. ‘And the pay?’
“‘Is £4 a week.’
“‘And the work?’
“‘Is purely nominal.’
“‘What do you call purely nominal?’
“‘Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, thewhole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever.The will is very clear upon that point. You don’t comply with theconditions if you budge from the office during that time.’
“‘It’s only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,’ saidI.
“‘No excuse will avail,’ said Mr. Duncan Ross, ‘neither sickness norbusiness nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose yourbillet.’
“‘And the work?’
“‘Is to copy out the “Encyclopædia Britannica.” There is the firstvolume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, andblotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be readyto-morrow?’
“‘Certainly,’ I answered.
“‘Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you oncemore on the important position which you have been fortunate enough togain.’ He bowed me out of the room, and I went home with my assistant,hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my own goodfortune.
“Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was inlow spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the wholeaffair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object mightbe I could not imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that any onecould make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doinganything so simple as copying out the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica.’Vincent Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime Ihad reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morningI determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottleof ink, and with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, Istarted off for Pope’s Court.
“Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as possible.The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was there tosee that I got fairly to work. He started me off upon the letter A, andthen he left me; but he would drop in from time to time to see that allwas right with me. At two o’clock he bade me good-day, complimented meupon the amount that I had written, and locked the door of the officeafter me.
“This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the managercame in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week’s work.It was the same next week, and the same the week after. Every morningI was there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr.Duncan Ross took to coming in only once of a morning, and then, aftera time, he did not come in at all. Still, of course, I never dared toleave the room for an instant, for I was not sure when he might come,and the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I wouldnot risk the loss of it.
“Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots andArchery and Armor and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with diligencethat I might get on to the B’s before very long. It cost me somethingin foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my writings.And then suddenly the whole business came to an end.”
“To an end?”
“Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as usualat ten o’clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little squareof card-board hammered on to the middle of the panel with a tack. Hereit is, and you can read for yourself.”
He held up a piece of white card-board about the size of a sheet ofnote-paper. It read in this fashion:
“THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE IS DISSOLVED. _October 9, 1890._”
Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the ruefulface behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completelyovertopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a roarof laughter.
“I cannot see that there is anything very funny,” cried our client,flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. “If you can do nothingbetter than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere.”
“No, no,” cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which hehad half risen. “I really wouldn’t miss your case for the world. It ismost refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my sayingso, something just a little funny about it. Pray what steps did youtake when you found the card upon the door?”
“I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called atthe offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it.Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on theground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become ofthe Red-headed League. He said that he had never heard of any suchbody. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that thename was new to him.
[Illustration: “THE DOOR WAS SHUT AND LOCKED”]
“‘Well,’ said I, ‘the gentleman at No. 4.’
“‘What, the red-headed man?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘Oh,’ said he, ‘his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor, andwas using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premiseswere ready. He moved out yesterday.’
“‘Where could I find him?’
“‘Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 KingEdward Street, near St. Paul’s.’
“I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was amanufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard ofeither Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.”
“And what did you do then?” asked Holmes.
“I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of myassistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say thatif I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite good enough,Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place without a struggle, so,as I had heard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folkwho were in need of it, I came right away to you.”
“And you did very wisely,” said Holmes. “Your case is an exceedinglyremarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what youhave told me I think that it is possible that graver issues hang fromit than might at first sight appear.”
“Grave enough!” said Mr. Jabez Wilson. “Why, I have lost four pound aweek.”
“As far as you are personally concerned,” remarked Holmes, “I do notsee that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. Onthe contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some £30, to saynothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subjectwhich comes under the letter A. You have lost nothing by them.”
“No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and whattheir object was in playing this prank—if it was a prank—upon me. Itwas a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two and thirtypounds.”
“We shall endeavor to clear up these points for you. And, first, oneor two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first calledyour attention to the advertisement—how long had he been with you?”
“About a month then.”
“How did he come?”
“In answer to an advertisement.”
“Was he the only applicant?”
“No, I had a dozen.”
“Why did you pick him?”
“Because he was handy, and would come cheap.”
“At half-wages, in fact.”
“Yes.”
“What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?”
“Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face,though he’s not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon hisforehead.”
Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. “I thought asmuch,” said he. “Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced forearrings?”
“Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy had done it for him when he was alad.”
“Hum!” said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. “He is still withyou?”
“Oh yes, sir; I have only just left him.”
“And has your business been attended to in your absence?”
“Nothing to complain of, sir. There’s never very much to do of amorning.”
“That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion uponthe subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, and Ihope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion.”
“Well, Watson,” said Holmes, when our visitor had left us, “what do youmake of it all?”
“I make nothing of it,” I answered, frankly. “It is a most mysteriousbusiness.”
“As a rule,” said Holmes, “the more bizarre a thing is the lessmysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimeswhich are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the mostdifficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter.”
“What are you going to do, then?” I asked.
“To smoke,” he answered. “It is quite a three-pipe problem, and I begthat you won’t speak to me for fifty minutes.” He curled himself upin his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, andthere he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting outlike the bill of some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion thathe had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenlysprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man who has made up hismind, and put his pipe down upon the mantel-piece.
“Sarasate plays at the St. James’s Hall this afternoon,” he remarked.“What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a fewhours?”
“I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing.”
“Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the city first, andwe can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a good dealof German music on the programme, which is rather more to my taste thanItalian or French. It is introspective, and I want to introspect. Comealong!”
We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short walktook us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story which wehad listened to in the morning. It was a pokey, little, shabby-genteelplace, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick houses looked outinto a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass anda few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard fight against asmoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brownboard with “JABEZ WILSON” in white letters, upon a cornerhouse, announced the place where our red-headed client carried on hisbusiness. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on oneside, and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly betweenpuckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down againto the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally he returnedto the pawnbroker’s, and, having thumped vigorously upon the pavementwith his stick two or three times, he went up to the door and knocked.It was instantly opened by a bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow,who asked him to step in.
“Thank you,” said Holmes, “I only wished to ask you how you would gofrom here to the Strand.”
“Third right, fourth left,” answered the assistant, promptly, closingthe door.
“Smart fellow, that,” observed Holmes, as we walked away. “He is, in myjudgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am notsure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something of himbefore.”
“Evidently,” said I, “Mr. Wilson’s assistant counts for a good deal inthis mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you inquired yourway merely in order that you might see him.”
“Not him.”
“What then?”
“The knees of his trousers.”
“And what did you see?”
“What I expected to see.”
“Why did you beat the pavement?”
“My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We arespies in an enemy’s country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square.Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it.”
The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the cornerfrom the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast toit as the front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the mainarteries which convey the traffic of the city to the north and west.The roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowingin a double tide inward and outward, while the foot-paths were blackwith the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to realizeas we looked at the line of fine shops and stately business premisesthat they really abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnantsquare which we had just quitted.
“Let me see,” said Holmes, standing at the corner, and glancing alongthe line, “I should like just to remember the order of the houses here.It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London. There isMortimer’s, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the Coburgbranch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, andMcFarlane’s carriage-building depot. That carries us right on to theother block. And now, doctor, we’ve done our work, so it’s time we hadsome play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land,where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are nored-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums.”
My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only avery capable performer, but a composer of no ordinary merit. All theafternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness,gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while hisgently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike thoseof Holmes, the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted,ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. In hissingular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, andhis extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as I have oftenthought, the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood whichoccasionally predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him fromextreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was neverso truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging inhis arm-chair amid his improvisations and his black-letter editions.Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come upon him,and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the level ofintuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methods wouldlook askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that of othermortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enrapt in the music at St.James’s Hall I felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whomhe had set himself to hunt down.
“You want to go home, no doubt, doctor,” he remarked, as we emerged.
“Yes, it would be as well.”
“And I have some business to do which will take some hours. Thisbusiness at Coburg Square is serious.”
“Why serious?”
“A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason tobelieve that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being Saturdayrather complicates matters. I shall want your help to-night.”
“At what time?”
“Ten will be early enough.”
“I shall be at Baker Street at ten.”
“Very well. And, I say, doctor, there may be some little danger, sokindly put your army revolver in your pocket.” He waved his hand,turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.
[Illustration: “ALL AFTERNOON HE SAT IN THE STALLS”]
I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbors, but I was alwaysoppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with SherlockHolmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what he hadseen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly notonly what had happened, but what was about to happen, while to me thewhole business was still confused and grotesque. As I drove home tomy house in Kensington I thought over it all, from the extraordinarystory of the red-headed copier of the “Encyclopædia” down to the visitto Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with which he had partedfrom me. What was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed?Where were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from Holmesthat this smooth-faced pawnbroker’s assistant was a formidable man—aman who might play a deep game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave itup in despair, and set the matter aside until night should bring anexplanation.
It was a quarter past nine when I started from home and made my wayacross the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Twohansoms were standing at the door, and, as I entered the passage, Iheard the sound of voices from above. On entering his room I foundHolmes in animated conversation with two men, one of whom I recognizedas Peter Jones, the official police agent, while the other was a long,thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectablefrock-coat.
“Ha! our party is complete,” said Holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket,and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. “Watson, I thinkyou know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr.Merryweather, who is to be our companion in to-night’s adventure.”
“We’re hunting in couples again, doctor, you see,” said Jones, in hisconsequential way. “Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting achase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running down.”
“I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,”observed Mr. Merryweather, gloomily.
“You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir,” said thepolice agent, loftily. “He has his own little methods, which are, if hewon’t mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and fantastic,but he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not too much tosay that once or twice, as in that business of the Sholto murder andthe Agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the officialforce.”
“Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right,” said the stranger,with deference. “Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is thefirst Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I have not had myrubber.”
“I think you will find,” said Sherlock Holmes, “that you will play fora higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the playwill be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will besome £30,000; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you wishto lay your hands.”
“John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He’s a young man,Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and I wouldrather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in London. He’s aremarkable man, is young John Clay. His grandfather was a royal duke,and he himself has been to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning ashis fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every turn, we neverknow where to find the man himself. He’ll crack a crib in Scotland oneweek, and be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next.I’ve been on his track for years, and have never set eyes on him yet.”
“I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night. I’vehad one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I agree withyou that he is at the head of his profession. It is past ten, however,and quite time that we started. If you two will take the first hansom,Watson and I will follow in the second.”
Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive,and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in theafternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streetsuntil we emerged into Farringdon Street.
“We are close there now,” my friend remarked. “This fellow Merryweatheris a bank director, and personally interested in the matter. I thoughtit as well to have Jones with us also. He is not a bad fellow, thoughan absolute imbecile in his profession. He has one positive virtue. Heis as brave as a bull-dog, and as tenacious as a lobster if he gets hisclaws upon any one. Here we are, and they are waiting for us.”
We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had foundourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and, followingthe guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passageand through a side door, which he opened for us. Within there was asmall corridor, which ended in a very massive iron gate. This also wasopened, and led down a flight of winding stone steps, which terminatedat another formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to light alantern, and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling passage, andso, after opening a third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which waspiled all round with crates and massive boxes.
“You are not very vulnerable from above,” Holmes remarked, as he heldup the lantern and gazed about him.
“Nor from below,” said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon theflags which lined the floor. “Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!” heremarked, looking up in surprise.
“I must really ask you to be a little more quiet,” said Holmes,severely. “You have already imperilled the whole success of ourexpedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit downupon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?”
The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a veryinjured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his kneesupon the floor, and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began toexamine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few seconds sufficedto satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again, and put his glass inhis pocket.
“We have at least an hour before us,” he remarked; “for they canhardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed.Then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their workthe longer time they will have for their escape. We are at present,doctor—as no doubt you have divined—in the cellar of the city branchof one of the principal London banks. Mr. Merryweather is the chairmanof directors, and he will explain to you that there are reasons why themore daring criminals of London should take a considerable interest inthis cellar at present.”
“It is our French gold,” whispered the director. “We have had severalwarnings that an attempt might be made upon it.”
“Your French gold?”
“Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources, andborrowed, for that purpose, 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of France.It has become known that we have never had occasion to unpack themoney, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The crate upon whichI sit contains 2000 napoleons packed between layers of lead foil. Ourreserve of bullion is much larger at present than is usually kept in asingle branch office, and the directors have had misgivings upon thesubject.”
“Which were very well justified,” observed Holmes. “And now it is timethat we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an hour matterswill come to a head. In the mean time, Mr. Merryweather, we must putthe screen over that dark lantern.”
“And sit in the dark?”
“I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and Ithought that, as we were a _partie carrée_, you might have your rubberafter all. But I see that the enemy’s preparations have gone so farthat we cannot risk the presence of a light. And, first of all, we mustchoose our positions. These are daring men, and though we shall takethem at a disadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we are careful.I shall stand behind this crate, and do you conceal yourselves behindthose. Then, when I flash a light upon them, close in swiftly. If theyfire, Watson, have no compunction about shooting them down.”
I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behindwhich I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front of hislantern, and left us in pitch darkness—such an absolute darknessas I have never before experienced. The smell of hot metal remainedto assure us that the light was still there, ready to flash out ata moment’s notice. To me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch ofexpectancy, there was something depressing and subduing in the suddengloom, and in the cold, dank air of the vault.
“They have but one retreat,” whispered Holmes. “That is back throughthe house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have done what Iasked you, Jones?”
“I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door.”
“Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent andwait.”
What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but anhour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must havealmost gone, and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs were weary andstiff, for I feared to change my position; yet my nerves were workedup to the highest pitch of tension, and my hearing was so acute that Icould not only hear the gentle breathing of my companions, but I coulddistinguish the deeper, heavier in-breath of the bulky Jones from thethin, sighing note of the bank director. From my position I could lookover the case in the direction of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caughtthe glint of a light.
At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then itlengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without anywarning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared; a white,almost womanly hand, which felt about in the centre of the little areaof light. For a minute or more the hand, with its writhing fingers,protruded out of the floor. Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as itappeared, and all was dark again save the single lurid spark whichmarked a chink between the stones.
Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending, tearingsound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon its side, andleft a square, gaping hole, through which streamed the light of alantern. Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish face, whichlooked keenly about it, and then, with a hand on either side of theaperture, drew itself shoulder-high and waist-high, until one kneerested upon the edge. In another instant he stood at the side of thehole, and was hauling after him a companion, lithe and small likehimself, with a pale face and a shock of very red hair.
“It’s all clear,” he whispered. “Have you the chisel and the bags.Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I’ll swing for it!”
Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the collar.The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of rending clothas Jones clutched at his skirts. The light flashed upon the barrel of arevolver, but Holmes’s hunting crop came down on the man’s wrist, andthe pistol clinked upon the stone floor.
“It’s no use, John Clay,” said Holmes, blandly. “You have no chance atall.”
“So I see,” the other answered, with the utmost coolness. “I fancy thatmy pal is all right, though I see you have got his coat-tails.”
“There are three men waiting for him at the door,” said Holmes.
“Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. I mustcompliment you.”
“And I you,” Holmes answered. “Your red-headed idea was very new andeffective.”
“You’ll see your pal again presently,” said Jones. “He’s quicker atclimbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix the derbies.”
“I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,” remarkedour prisoner, as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists. “You may notbe aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have the goodness, also,when you address me always to say ‘sir’ and ‘please.’”
“All right,” said Jones, with a stare and a snigger. “Well, would youplease, sir, march up-stairs, where we can get a cab to carry yourhighness to the police-station?”
“That is better,” said John Clay, serenely. He made a sweeping bow tothe three of us, and walked quietly off in the custody of the detective.
“Really Mr. Holmes,” said Mr. Merryweather, as we followed them fromthe cellar, “I do not know how the bank can thank you or repay you.There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated in the mostcomplete manner one of the most determined attempts at bank robberythat have ever come within my experience.”
“I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr.John Clay,” said Holmes. “I have been at some small expense over thismatter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond that I amamply repaid by having had an experience which is in many ways unique,and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of the Red-headed League.”
* * * * *
“You see, Watson,” he explained, in the early hours of the morning,as we sat over a glass of whiskey-and-soda in Baker Street, “it wasperfectly obvious from the first that the only possible object of thisrather fantastic business of the advertisement of the League, and thecopying of the ‘Encyclopædia,’ must be to get this not over-brightpawnbroker out of the way for a number of hours every day. It was acurious way of managing it, but, really, it would be difficult tosuggest a better. The method was no doubt suggested to Clay’s ingeniousmind by the color of his accomplice’s hair. The £4 a week was a lurewhich must draw him, and what was it to them, who were playing forthousands? They put in the advertisement, one rogue has the temporaryoffice, the other rogue incites the man to apply for it, and togetherthey manage to secure his absence every morning in the week. Fromthe time that I heard of the assistant having come for half wages,it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive for securing thesituation.”
“But how could you guess what the motive was?”
“Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a merevulgar intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. The man’sbusiness was a small one, and there was nothing in his house whichcould account for such elaborate preparations, and such an expenditureas they were at. It must, then, be something out of the house. Whatcould it be? I thought of the assistant’s fondness for photography,and his trick of vanishing into the cellar. The cellar! There was theend of this tangled clue. Then I made inquiries as to this mysteriousassistant, and found that I had to deal with one of the coolestand most daring criminals in London. He was doing something in thecellar—something which took many hours a day for months on end. Whatcould it be, once more? I could think of nothing save that he wasrunning a tunnel to some other building.
“So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. Isurprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I wasascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind.It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, theassistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had neverset eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at his face. Hisknees were what I wished to see. You must yourself have remarked howworn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of those hours ofburrowing. The only remaining point was what they were burrowing for. Iwalked round the corner, saw that the City and Suburban Bank abutted onour friend’s premises, and felt that I had solved my problem. When youdrove home after the concert I called upon Scotland Yard, and upon thechairman of the bank directors, with the result that you have seen.”
“And how could you tell that they would make their attempt to-night?” Iasked.
“Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that theycared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson’s presence—in other words,that they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential that theyshould use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the bullion mightbe removed. Saturday would suit them better than any other day, as itwould give them two days for their escape. For all these reasons Iexpected them to come to-night.”
“You reasoned it out beautifully,” I exclaimed, in unfeignedadmiration. “It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true.”
“It saved me from ennui,” he answered, yawning. “Alas! I already feelit closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort to escapefrom the commonplaces of existence. These little problems help me to doso.”
“And you are a benefactor of the race,” said I.