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

ADVENTURE IX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGINEER’S THUMB

Of all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, Mr.

  Sherlock Holmes, for solution during the years of our intimacy,

  there were only two which I was the means of introducing to his

  notice–that of Mr. Hatherley’s thumb, and that of Colonel

  Warburton’s madness. Of these the latter may have afforded a

  finer field for an acute and original observer, but the other was

  so strange in its inception and so dramatic in its details that

  it may be the more worthy of being placed upon record, even if it

  gave my friend fewer openings for those deductive methods of

  reasoning by which he achieved such remarkable results. The story

  has, I believe, been told more than once in the newspapers, but,

  like all such narratives, its effect is much less striking when

  set forth en bloc in a single half-column of print than when the

  facts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the mystery clears

  gradually away as each new discovery furnishes a step which leads

  on to the complete truth. At the time the circumstances made a

  deep impression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly

  served to weaken the effect.

  It was in the summer of ’89, not long after my marriage, that the

  events occurred which I am now about to summarize. I had returned

  to civil practice and had finally abandoned Holmes in his Baker

  Street rooms, although I continually visited him and occasionally

  even persuaded him to forgo his Bohemian habits so far as to come

  and visit us. My practice had steadily increased, and as I

  happened to live at no very great distance from Paddington

  Station, I got a few patients from among the officials. One of

  these, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease, was

  never weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavoring to send

  me on every sufferer over whom he might have any influence.

  One morning, at a little before seven o’clock, I was awakened by

  the maid tapping at the door to announce that two men had come

  from Paddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. I

  dressed hurriedly, for I knew by experience that railway cases

  were seldom trivial, and hastened downstairs. As I descended, my

  old ally, the guard, came out of the room and closed the door

  tightly behind him.

  “I’ve got him here,” he whispered, jerking his thumb over his

  shoulder; “he’s all right.”

  “What is it, then?” I asked, for his manner suggested that it was

  some strange creature which he had caged up in my room.

  “It’s a new patient,” he whispered. “I thought I’d bring him

  round myself; then he couldn’t slip away. There he is, all safe

  and sound. I must go now, Doctor; I have my dooties, just the

  same as you.” And off he went, this trusty tout, without even

  giving me time to thank him.

  I entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated by the

  table. He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a

  soft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books. Round one of

  his hands he had a handkerchief wrapped, which was mottled all

  over with bloodstains. He was young, not more than

  five-and-twenty, I should say, with a strong, masculine face; but

  he was exceedingly pale and gave me the impression of a man who

  was suffering from some strong agitation, which it took all his

  strength of mind to control.

  “I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor,” said he, “but I

  have had a very serious accident during the night. I came in by

  train this morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I

  might find a doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me

  here. I gave the maid a card, but I see that she has left it upon

  the side-table.”

  I took it up and glanced at it. “Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulic

  engineer, 16A. Victoria Street (3d floor).” That was the name,

  style, and abode of my morning visitor. “I regret that I have

  kept you waiting,” said I, sitting down in my library-chair. “You

  are fresh from a night journey, I understand, which is in itself

  a monotonous occupation.”

  “Oh, my night could not be called monotonous,” said he, and

  laughed. He laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note,

  leaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. All my medical

  instincts rose up against that laugh.

  “Stop it!” I cried; “pull yourself together!” and I poured out

  some water from a caraffe.

  It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical

  outbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis

  is over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more, very

  weary and pale-looking.

  “I have been making a fool of myself,” he gasped.

  “Not at all. Drink this.” I dashed some brandy into the water,

  and the color began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.

  “That’s better!” said he. “And now, Doctor, perhaps you would

  kindly attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb

  used to be.”

  He unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave even

  my hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were four

  protruding fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the

  thumb should have been. It had been hacked or torn right out from

  the roots.

  “Good heavens!” I cried, “this is a terrible injury. It must have

  bled considerably.”

  “Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and I think that I must

have been senseless for a long time. When I came to I found that

  it was still bleeding, so I tied one end of my handkerchief very

  tightly round the wrist and braced it up with a twig.”

  “Excellent! You should have been a surgeon.”

  “It is a question of hydraulics, you see, and came within my own

  province.”

  “This has been done,” said I, examining the wound, “by a very

  heavy and sharp instrument.”

  “A thing like a cleaver,” said he.

  “An accident, I presume?”

  “By no means.”

  “What! a murderous attack?”

  “Very murderous indeed.”

  “You horrify me.”

  I sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it, and finally covered

  it over with cotton wadding and carbolized bandages. He lay back

  without wincing, though he bit his lip from time to time.

  “How is that?” I asked when I had finished.

  “Capital! Between your brandy and your bandage, I feel a new man.

  I was very weak, but I have had a good deal to go through.”

  “Perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. It is evidently

  trying to your nerves.”

  “Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police;

  but, between ourselves, if it were not for the convincing

  evidence of this wound of mine, I should be surprised if they

  believed my statement, for it is a very extraordinary one, and I

  have not much in the way of proof with which to back it up; and,

  even if they believe me, the clews which I can give them are so

  vague that it is a question whether justice will be done.”

  “Ha!” cried I, “if it is anything in the nature of a problem

  which you desire to see solved, I should strongly recommend you

  to come to my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, before you go to the

  official police.”

  “Oh, I have heard of that fellow,” answered my visitor, “and I

  should be very glad if he would take the matter up, though of

  course I must use the official police as well. Would you give me

  an introduction to him?”

  “I’ll do better. I’ll take you round to him myself.”

  “I should be immensely obliged to you.”

  “We’ll call a cab and go together. We shall just be in time to

  have a little breakfast with him. Do you feel equal to it?”

  “Yes; I shall not feel easy until I have told my story.”

  “Then my servant will call a cab, and I shall be with you in an

  instant.” I rushed upstairs, explained the matter shortly to my

  wife, and in five minutes was inside a hansom, driving with my

  new acquaintance to Baker Street.

  Sherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging about his

  sittingroom in his dressing-gown, reading the agony column of The

  Times and smoking his before-breakfast pipe, which was composed

  of all the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day

  before, all carefully dried and collected on the corner of the

  mantelpiece. He received us in his quietly genial fashion,

  ordered fresh rashers and eggs, and joined us in a hearty meal.

  When it was concluded he settled our new acquaintance upon the

  sofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of

  brandy and water within his reach.

  “It is easy to see that your experience has been no common one,

  Mr. Hatherley,” said he. “Pray, lie down there and make yourself

  absolutely at home. Tell us what you can, but stop when you are

  tired and keep up your strength with a little stimulant.”

  “Thank you,” said my patient. “but I have felt another man since

  the doctor bandaged me, and I think that your breakfast has

  completed the cure. I shall take up as little of your valuable

  time as possible, so I shall start at once upon my peculiar

  experiences.”

  Holmes sat in his big armchair with the weary, heavy-lidded

  expression which veiled his keen and eager nature, while I sat

  opposite to him, and we listened in silence to the strange story

  which our visitor detailed to us.

  “You must know,” said he, “that I am an orphan and a bachelor,

  residing alone in lodgings in London. By profession I am a

  hydraulic engineer, and I have had considerable experience of my

  work during the seven years that I was apprenticed to Venner &

  Matheson, the well-known firm, of Greenwich. Two years ago,

  having served my time, and having also come into a fair sum of

  money through my poor father’s death, I determined to start in

  business for myself and took professional chambers in Victoria

  Street.

  “I suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in

  business a dreary experience. To me it has been exceptionally so.

  During two years I have had three consultations and one small

  job, and that is absolutely all that my profession has brought

  me. My gross takings amount to 27 pounds 10s. Every day, from

  nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, I waited in my

  little den, until at last my heart began to sink, and I came to

  believe that I should never have any practice at all.

  “Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking of leaving the

  office, my clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting who

  wished to see me upon business. He brought up a card, too, with

  the name of ‘Colonel Lysander Stark’ engraved upon it. Close at

  his heels came the colonel himself, a man rather over the middle

  size, but of an exceeding thinness. I do not think that I have

  ever seen so thin a man. His whole face sharpened away into nose

  and chin, and the skin of his cheeks was drawn quite tense over

  his outstanding bones. Yet this emaciation seemed to be his

  natural habit, and due to no disease, for his eye was bright, his

  step brisk, and his bearing assured. He was plainly but neatly

  dressed, and his age, I should judge, would be nearer forty than

  thirty.

  “‘Mr. Hatherley?’ said he, with something of a German accent.

  ‘You have been recommended to me, Mr. Hatherley, as being a man

  who is not only proficient in his profession but is also discreet

  and capable of preserving a secret.’

  “I bowed, feeling as flattered as any young man would at such an

  address. ‘May I ask who it was who gave me so good a character?’

  “‘Well, perhaps it is better that I should not tell you that just

  at this moment. I have it from the same source that you are both

  an orphan and a bachelor and are residing alone in London.’

  “‘That is quite correct,’ I answered; ‘but you will excuse me if

  I say that I cannot see how all this bears upon my professional

  qualifications. I understand that it was on a professional matter

  that you wished to speak to me?’

  “‘Undoubtedly so. But you will find that all I say is really to

  the point. I have a professional commission for you, but absolute

  secrecy is quite essential–absolute secrecy, you understand, and

  of course we may expect that more from a man who is alone than

  from one who lives in the bosom of his family.’

  “‘If I promise to keep a secret,’ said I, ‘you may absolutely

  depend upon my doing so.’

  “He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and it seemed to me that I

  had never seen so suspicious and questioning an eye.

  “‘Do you promise, then?’ said he at last.

  “‘Yes, I promise.’

  “‘Absolute and complete silence before, during, and after? No

  reference to the matter at all, either in word or writing?’

  “‘I have already given you my word.’

  “‘Very good.’ He suddenly sprang up, and darting like lightning

  across the room he flung open the door. The passage outside was

  empty.

  “‘That’s all right,’ said he, coming back. ‘I know the clerks are

  sometimes curious as to their master’s affairs. Now we can talk

  in safety.’ He drew up his chair very close to mine and began to

  stare at me again with the same questioning and thoughtful look.

  “A feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had begun

  to rise within me at the strange antics of this fleshless man.

  Even my dread of losing a client could not restrain me from

  showing my impatience.

  “‘I beg that you will state your business, sir,’ said I; ‘my time

  is of value.’ Heaven forgive me for that last sentence, but the

  words came to my lips.

  “‘How would fifty guineas for a night’s work suit you?’ he asked.

  “‘Most admirably.’

  “‘I say a night’s work, but an hour’s would be nearer the mark. I

  simply want your opinion about a hydraulic stamping machine which

  has got out of gear. If you show us what is wrong we shall soon

  set it right ourselves. What do you think of such a commission as

  that?’

  “‘The work appears to be light and the pay munificent.’

  “‘Precisely so. We shall want you to come to-night by the last

  train.’

  “‘Where to?’

  “‘To Eyford, in Berkshire. It is a little place near the borders

  of Oxfordshire, and within seven miles of Reading. There is a

  train from Paddington which would bring you there at about

  11:15.’

  “‘Very good.’

  “‘I shall come down in a carriage to meet you.’

  “‘There is a drive, then?’

  “‘Yes, our little place is quite out in the country. It is a good

  seven miles from Eyford Station.’

  “‘Then we can hardly get there before midnight. I suppose there

  would be no chance of a train back. I should be compelled to stop

  the night.’

  “‘Yes, we could easily give you a shake-down.’

  “‘That is very awkward. Could I not come at some more convenient

  hour?’

  “‘We have judged it best that you should come late. It is to

  recompense you for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, a

  young and unknown man, a fee which would buy an opinion from the

  very heads of your profession. Still, of course, if you would

  like to draw out of the business, there is plenty of time to do

  so.’

  “I thought of the fifty guineas, and of how very useful they

  would be to me. ‘Not at all,’ said I, ‘I shall be very happy to

  accommodate myself to your wishes. I should like, however, to

  understand a little more clearly what it is that you wish me to

  do.’

  “‘Quite so. It is very natural that the pledge of secrecy which

  we have exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. I

  have no wish to commit you to anything without your having it all

  laid before you. I suppose that we are absolutely safe from

  eavesdroppers?’

  “‘Entirely.’

  “‘Then the matter stands thus. You are probably aware that

  fuller’s-earth is a valuable product, and that it is only found

  in one or two places in England?’

  “‘I have heard so.’

  “‘Some little time ago I bought a small place–a very small

  place–within ten miles of Reading. I was fortunate enough to

  discover that there was a deposit of fuller’s-earth in one of my

  fields. On examining it, however, I found that this deposit was a

  comparatively small one, and that it formed a link between two

  very much larger ones upon the right and left–both of them,

  however, in the grounds of my neighbors. These good people were

absolutely ignorant that their land contained that which was

  quite as valuable as a gold-mine. Naturally, it was to my

  interest to buy their land before they discovered its true value,

  but unfortunately I had no capital by which I could do this. I

  took a few of my friends into the secret, however, and they

  suggested that we should quietly and secretly work our own little

  deposit and that in this way we should earn the money which would

  enable us to buy the neighboring fields. This we have now been

  doing for some time, and in order to help us in our operations we

  erected a hydraulic press. This press, as I have already

  explained, has got out of order, and we wish your advice upon the

  subject. We guard our secret very jealously, however, and if it

  once became known that we had hydraulic engineers coming to our

  little house, it would soon rouse inquiry, and then, if the facts

  came out, it would be good-bye to any chance of getting these

  fields and carrying out our plans. That is why I have made you

  promise me that you will not tell a human being that you are

  going to Eyford to-night. I hope that I make it all plain?’

  “‘I quite follow you,’ said I. ‘The only point which I could not

  quite understand was what use you could make of a hydraulic press

  in excavating fuller’s-earth, which, as I understand, is dug out

  like gravel from a pit.’

  “‘Ah!’ said he carelessly, ‘we have our own process. We compress

  the earth into bricks, so as to remove them without revealing

  what they are. But that is a mere detail. I have taken you fully

  into my confidence now, Mr. Hatherley, and I have shown you how I

  trust you.’ He rose as he spoke. ‘I shall expect you, then, at

  Eyford at 11:15.’

  “‘I shall certainly be there.’

  “‘And not a word to a soul.’ He looked at me with a last long,

  questioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold, dank

  grasp, he hurried from the room.

  “Well, when I came to think it all over in cool blood I was very

  much astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commission

  which had been intrusted to me. On the one hand, of course, I was

  glad, for the fee was at least tenfold what I should have asked

  had I set a price upon my own services, and it was possible that

  this order might lead to other ones. On the other hand, the face

  and manner of my patron had made an unpleasant impression upon

  me, and I could not think that his explanation of the

  fuller’s-earth was sufficient to explain the necessity for my

  coming at midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest I should tell

  anyone of my errand. However, I threw all fears to the winds, ate

  a hearty supper, drove to Paddington, and started off, having

  obeyed to the letter the injunction as to holding my tongue.

  “At Reading I had to change not only my carriage but my station.

  However, I was in time for the last train to Eyford, and I

  reached the little dim-lit station after eleven o’clock. I was the

  only passenger who got out there, and there was no one upon the

  platform save a single sleepy porter with a lantern. As I passed

  out through the wicket gate, however, I found my acquaintance of

  the morning waiting in the shadow upon the other side. Without a

  word he grasped my arm and hurried me into a carriage, the door

  of which was standing open. He drew up the windows on either

  side, tapped on the wood-work, and away we went as fast as the

  horse could go.”

  “One horse?” interjected Holmes.

  “Yes, only one.”

  “Did you observe the color?”

  “Yes, I saw it by the side-lights when I was stepping into the

  carriage. It was a chestnut.”

  “Tired-looking or fresh?”

  “Oh, fresh and glossy.”

  “Thank you. I am sorry to have interrupted you. Pray continue

  your most interesting statement.”

  “Away we went then, and we drove for at least an hour. Colonel

  Lysander Stark had said that it was only seven miles, but I

  should think, from the rate that we seemed to go, and from the

  time that we took, that it must have been nearer twelve. He sat

  at my side in silence all the time, and I was aware, more than

  once when I glanced in his direction, that he was looking at me

  with great intensity. The country roads seem to be not very good

  in that part of the world, for we lurched and jolted terribly. I

  tried to look out of the windows to see something of where we

  were, but they were made of frosted glass, and I could make out

  nothing save the occasional bright blur of a passing light. Now

  and then I hazarded some remark to break the monotony of the

  journey, but the colonel answered only in monosyllables, and the

  conversation soon flagged. At last, however, the bumping of the

  road was exchanged for the crisp smoothness of a gravel-drive,

  and the carriage came to a stand. Colonel Lysander Stark sprang

  out, and, as I followed after him, pulled me swiftly into a porch

  which gaped in front of us. We stepped, as it were, right out of

  the carriage and into the hall, so that I failed to catch the

  most fleeting glance of the front of the house. The instant that

  I had crossed the threshold the door slammed heavily behind us,

  and I heard faintly the rattle of the wheels as the carriage

  drove away.

  “It was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbled

  about looking for matches and muttering under his breath.

  Suddenly a door opened at the other end of the passage, and a

  long, golden bar of light shot out in our direction. It grew

  broader, and a woman appeared with a lamp in her hand, which she

  held above her head, pushing her face forward and peering at us.

  I could see that she was pretty, and from the gloss with which

  the light shone upon her dark dress I knew that it was a rich

  material. She spoke a few words in a foreign tongue in a tone as

  though asking a question, and when my companion answered in a

  gruff monosyllable she gave such a start that the lamp nearly

  fell from her hand. Colonel Stark went up to her, whispered

  something in her ear, and then, pushing her back into the room

  from whence she had come, he walked towards me again with the

  lamp in his hand.

  “‘Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for a

  few minutes,’ said he, throwing open another door. It was a

  quiet, little, plainly furnished room, with a round table in the

  centre, on which several German books were scattered. Colonel

  Stark laid down the lamp on the top of a harmonium beside the

  door. ‘I shall not keep you waiting an instant,’ said he, and

  vanished into the darkness.

  “I glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my

  ignorance of German I could see that two of them were treatises

  on science, the others being volumes of poetry. Then I walked

  across to the window, hoping that I might catch some glimpse of

  the country-side, but an oak shutter, heavily barred, was folded

  across it. It was a wonderfully silent house. There was an old

  clock ticking loudly somewhere in the passage, but otherwise

  everything was deadly still. A vague feeling of uneasiness began

  to steal over me. Who were these German people, and what were

  they doing living in this strange, out-of-the-way place? And

  where was the place? I was ten miles or so from Eyford, that was

  all I knew, but whether north, south, east, or west I had no

  idea. For that matter, Reading, and possibly other large towns,

  were within that radius, so the place might not be so secluded,

  after all. Yet it was quite certain, from the absolute stillness,

  that we were in the country. I paced up and down the room,

  humming a tune under my breath to keep up my spirits and feeling

  that I was thoroughly earning my fifty-guinea fee.

  “Suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of the

  utter stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. The woman

  was standing in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind

  her, the yellow light from my lamp beating upon her eager and

  beautiful face. I could see at a glance that she was sick with

  fear, and the sight sent a chill to my own heart. She held up one

  shaking finger to warn me to be silent, and she shot a few

  whispered words of broken English at me, her eyes glancing back,

  like those of a frightened horse, into the gloom behind her.

  “‘I would go,’ said she, trying hard, as it seemed to me, to

  speak calmly; ‘I would go. I should not stay here. There is no

  good for you to do.’

  “‘But, madam,’ said I, ‘I have not yet done what I came for. I

  cannot possibly leave until I have seen the machine.’

  “‘It is not worth your while to wait,’ she went on. ‘You can pass

  through the door; no one hinders.’ And then, seeing that I smiled

  and shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her constraint and

  made a step forward, with her hands wrung together. ‘For the love

  of Heaven!’ she whispered, ‘get away from here before it is too

  late!’

  “But I am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more ready to

  engage in an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. I

  thought of my fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and of

  the unpleasant night which seemed to be before me. Was it all to

  go for nothing? Why should I slink away without having carried

  out my commission, and without the payment which was my due? This

  woman might, for all I knew, be a monomaniac. With a stout

  bearing, therefore, though her manner had shaken me more than I

  cared to confess, I still shook my head and declared my intention

  of remaining where I was. She was about to renew her entreaties

  when a door slammed overhead, and the sound of several footsteps

  was heard upon the stairs. She listened for an instant, threw up

  her hands with a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly and

  as noiselessly as she had come.

  “The newcomers were Colonel Lysander Stark and a short thick man

  with a chinchilla beard growing out of the creases of his double

  chin, who was introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson.

  “‘This is my secretary and manager,’ said the colonel. ‘By the

  way, I was under the impression that I left this door shut just

  now. I fear that you have felt the draught.’

  “‘On the contrary,’ said I, ‘I opened the door myself because I

  felt the room to be a little close.’

  “He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. ‘Perhaps we had

  better proceed to business, then,’ said he. ‘Mr. Ferguson and I

  will take you up to see the machine.’

  “‘I had better put my hat on, I suppose.’

  “‘Oh, no, it is in the house.’

  “‘What, you dig fuller’s-earth in the house?’

  “‘No, no. This is only where we compress it. But never mind that.

  All we wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let us

  know what is wrong with it.’

  “We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the

  fat manager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house,

  with corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and little

  low doors, the thresholds of which were hollowed out by the

  generations who had crossed them. There were no carpets and no

  signs of any furniture above the ground floor, while the plaster

  was peeling off the walls, and the damp was breaking through in

  green, unhealthy blotches. I tried to put on as unconcerned an

  air as possible, but I had not forgotten the warnings of the

  lady, even though I disregarded them, and I kept a keen eye upon

  my two companions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent

  man, but I could see from the little that he said that he was at

  least a fellow-countryman.

  “Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last before a low door, which

  he unlocked. Within was a small, square room, in which the three

  of us could hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained outside,

  and the colonel ushered me in.

  “‘We are now,’ said he, ‘actually within the hydraulic press, and

  it would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyone were

  to turn it on. The ceiling of this small chamber is really the

  end of the descending piston, and it comes down with the force of

  many tons upon this metal floor. There are small lateral columns

  of water outside which receive the force, and which transmit and

  multiply it in the manner which is familiar to you. The machine

  goes readily enough, but there is some stiffness in the working

  of it, and it has lost a little of its force. Perhaps you will

  have the goodness to look it over and to show us how we can set

  it right.’

  “I took the lamp from him, and I examined the machine very

  thoroughly. It was indeed a gigantic one, and capable of

  exercising enormous pressure. When I passed outside, however, and

  pressed down the levers which controlled it, I knew at once by

  the whishing sound that there was a slight leakage, which allowed

  a regurgitation of water through one of the side cylinders. An

  examination showed that one of the india-rubber bands which was

  round the head of a driving-rod had shrunk so as not quite to

  fill the socket along which it worked. This was clearly the cause

  of the loss of power, and I pointed it out to my companions, who

  followed my remarks very carefully and asked several practical

  questions as to how they should proceed to set it right. When I

  had made it clear to them, I returned to the main chamber of the

  machine and took a good look at it to satisfy my own curiosity.

  It was obvious at a glance that the story of the fuller’s-earth

  was the merest fabrication, for it would be absurd to suppose

  that so powerful an engine could be designed for so inadequate a

  purpose. The walls were of wood, but the floor consisted of a

  large iron trough, and when I came to examine it I could see a

  crust of metallic deposit all over it. I had stooped and was

  scraping at this to see exactly what it was when I heard a

  muttered exclamation in German and saw the cadaverous face of the

  colonel looking down at me.

  “‘What are you doing there?’ he asked.

  “I felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story as

that which he had told me. ‘I was admiring your fuller’s-earth,’

  said I; ‘I think that I should be better able to advise you as to

  your machine if I knew what the exact purpose was for which it

  was used.’

  “The instant that I uttered the words I regretted the rashness of

  my speech. His face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in

  his gray eyes.

  “‘Very well,’ said he, ‘you shall know all about the machine.’ He

  took a step backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key

  in the lock. I rushed towards it and pulled at the handle, but it

  was quite secure, and did not give in the least to my kicks and

  shoves. ‘Hello!’ I yelled. ‘Hello! Colonel! Let me out!’

  “And then suddenly in the silence I heard a sound which sent my

  heart into my mouth. It was the clank of the levers and the swish

  of the leaking cylinder. He had set the engine at work. The lamp

  still stood upon the floor where I had placed it when examining

  the trough. By its light I saw that the black ceiling was coming

  down upon me, slowly, jerkily, but, as none knew better than

  myself, with a force which must within a minute grind me to a

  shapeless pulp. I threw myself, screaming, against the door, and

  dragged with my nails at the lock. I implored the colonel to let

  me out, but the remorseless clanking of the levers drowned my

  cries. The ceiling was only a foot or two above my head, and with

  my hand upraised I could feel its hard, rough surface. Then it

  flashed through my mind that the pain of my death would depend

  very much upon the position in which I met it. If I lay on my

  face the weight would come upon my spine, and I shuddered to

  think of that dreadful snap. Easier the other way, perhaps; and

  yet, had I the nerve to lie and look up at that deadly black

  shadow wavering down upon me? Already I was unable to stand

  erect, when my eye caught something which brought a gush of hope

  back to my heart.

  “I have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the

  walls were of wood. As I gave a last hurried glance around, I saw

  a thin line of yellow light between two of the boards, which

  broadened and broadened as a small panel was pushed backward. For

  an instant I could hardly believe that here was indeed a door

  which led away from death. The next instant I threw myself

  through, and lay half-fainting upon the other side. The panel had

  closed again behind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few

  moments afterwards the clang of the two slabs of metal, told me

  how narrow had been my escape.

  “I was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, and

  I found myself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor,

  while a woman bent over me and tugged at me with her left hand,

  while she held a candle in her right. It was the same good friend

  whose warning I had so foolishly rejected.

  “‘Come! come!’ she cried breathlessly. ‘They will be here in a

  moment. They will see that you are not there. Oh, do not waste

  the so-precious time, but come!’

  “This time, at least, I did not scorn her advice. I staggered to

  my feet and ran with her along the corridor and down a winding

  stair. The latter led to another broad passage, and just as we

  reached it we heard the sound of running feet and the shouting of

  two voices, one answering the other from the floor on which we

  were and from the one beneath. My guide stopped and looked about

  her like one who is at her wit’s end. Then she threw open a door

  which led into a bedroom, through the window of which the moon

  was shining brightly.

  “‘It is your only chance,’ said she. ‘It is high, but it may be

  that you can jump it.’

  “As she spoke a light sprang into view at the further end of the

  passage, and I saw the lean figure of Colonel Lysander Stark

  rushing forward with a lantern in one hand and a weapon like a

  butcher’s cleaver in the other. I rushed across the bedroom,

  flung open the window, and looked out. How quiet and sweet and

  wholesome the garden looked in the moonlight, and it could not be

more than thirty feet down. I clambered out upon the sill, but I

  hesitated to jump until I should have heard what passed between

  my saviour and the ruffian who pursued me. If she were ill-used,

  then at any risks I was determined to go back to her assistance.

  The thought had hardly flashed through my mind before he was at

  the door, pushing his way past her; but she threw her arms round

  him and tried to hold him back.

  “‘Fritz! Fritz!’ she cried in English, ‘remember your promise

  after the last time. You said it should not be again. He will be

  silent! Oh, he will be silent!’

  “‘You are mad, Elise!’ he shouted, struggling to break away from

  her. ‘You will be the ruin of us. He has seen too much. Let me

  pass, I say!’ He dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the

  window, cut at me with his heavy weapon. I had let myself go, and

  was hanging by the hands to the sill, when his blow fell. I was

  conscious of a dull pain, my grip loosened, and I fell into the

  garden below.

  “I was shaken but not hurt by the fall; so I picked myself up and

  rushed off among the bushes as hard as I could run, for I

  understood that I was far from being out of danger yet. Suddenly,

  however, as I ran, a deadly dizziness and sickness came over me.

  I glanced down at my hand, which was throbbing painfully, and

  then, for the first time, saw that my thumb had been cut off and

  that the blood was pouring from my wound. I endeavored to tie my

  handkerchief round it, but there came a sudden buzzing in my

  ears, and next moment I fell in a dead faint among the

  rose-bushes.

  “How long I remained unconscious I cannot tell. It must have been

  a very long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright morning was

  breaking when I came to myself. My clothes were all sodden with

  dew, and my coat-sleeve was drenched with blood from my wounded

  thumb. The smarting of it recalled in an instant all the

  particulars of my night’s adventure, and I sprang to my feet with

  the feeling that I might hardly yet be safe from my pursuers. But

  to my astonishment, when I came to look round me, neither house

  nor garden were to be seen. I had been lying in an angle of the

  hedge close by the highroad, and just a little lower down was a

  long building, which proved, upon my approaching it, to be the

  very station at which I had arrived upon the previous night. Were

  it not for the ugly wound upon my hand, all that had passed

  during those dreadful hours might have been an evil dream.

  “Half dazed, I went into the station and asked about the morning

  train. There would be one to Reading in less than an hour. The

  same porter was on duty, I found, as had been there when I

  arrived. I inquired of him whether he had ever heard of Colonel

  Lysander Stark. The name was strange to him. Had he observed a

  carriage the night before waiting for me? No, he had not. Was

  there a police-station anywhere near? There was one about three

  miles off.

  “It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as I was. I determined

  to wait until I got back to town before telling my story to the

  police. It was a little past six when I arrived, so I went first

  to have my wound dressed, and then the doctor was kind enough to

  bring me along here. I put the case into your hands and shall do

  exactly what you advise.”

  We both sat in silence for some little time after listening to

  this extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down

  from the shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in which he

  placed his cuttings.

  “Here is an advertisement which will interest you,” said he. “It

  appeared in all the papers about a year ago. Listen to this:

  ‘Lost, on the 9th inst., Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, aged

  twenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. Left his lodgings at ten

  o’clock at night, and has not been heard of since. Was

  dressed in,’ etc., etc. Ha! That represents the last time that

  the colonel needed to have his machine overhauled, I fancy.”

  “Good heavens!” cried my patient. “Then that explains what the

  girl said.”

  “Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and

  desperate man, who was absolutely determined that nothing should

  stand in the way of his little game, like those out-and-out

  pirates who will leave no survivor from a captured ship. Well,

  every moment now is precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall

  go down to Scotland Yard at once as a preliminary to starting for

  Eyford.”

  Some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train

  together, bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village.

  There were Sherlock Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector

  Bradstreet, of Scotland Yard, a plain-clothes man, and myself.

  Bradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out upon the

  seat and was busy with his compasses drawing a circle with Eyford

  for its centre.

  “There you are,” said he. “That circle is drawn at a radius of

  ten miles from the village. The place we want must be somewhere

  near that line. You said ten miles, I think, sir.”

  “It was an hour’s good drive.”

  “And you think that they brought you back all that way when you

  were unconscious?”

  “They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, of having

  been lifted and conveyed somewhere.”

  “What I cannot understand,” said I, “is why they should have

  spared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden.

  Perhaps the villain was softened by the woman’s entreaties.”

  “I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face

  in my life.”

  “Oh, we shall soon clear up all that,” said Bradstreet. “Well, I

  have drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon

  it the folk that we are in search of are to be found.”

  “I think I could lay my finger on it,” said Holmes quietly.

  “Really, now!” cried the inspector, “you have formed your

  opinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it is

  south, for the country is more deserted there.”

  “And I say east,” said my patient.

  “I am for west,” remarked the plain-clothes man. “There are

  several quiet little villages up there.”

  “And I am for north,” said I, “because there are no hills there,

  and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up

  any.”

  “Come,” cried the inspector, laughing; “it’s a very pretty

  diversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do

  you give your casting vote to?”

  “You are all wrong.”

  “But we can’t all be.”

  “Oh, yes, you can. This is my point.” He placed his finger in the

  centre of the circle. “This is where we shall find them.”

  “But the twelve-mile drive?” gasped Hatherley.

  “Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that the

  horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be that

  if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?”

  “Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough,” observed Bradstreet

  thoughtfully. “Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature

  of this gang.”

  “None at all,” said Holmes. “They are coiners on a large scale,

  and have used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the

  place of silver.”

  “We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work,”

  said the inspector. “They have been turning out half-crowns by

  the thousand. We even traced them as far as Reading, but could

  get no farther, for they had covered their traces in a way that

  showed that they were very old hands. But now, thanks to this

  lucky chance, I think that we have got them right enough.”

  But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not

  destined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into

  Eyford Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed

  up from behind a small clump of trees in the neighborhood and

  hung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape.

  “A house on fire?” asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off

  again on its way.

  “Yes, sir!” said the station-master.

  “When did it break out?”

  “I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse,

  and the whole place is in a blaze.”

  “Whose house is it?”

  “Dr. Becher’s.”

  “Tell me,” broke in the engineer, “is Dr. Becher a German, very

  thin, with a long, sharp nose?”

  The station-master laughed heartily. “No, sir, Dr. Becher is an

  Englishman, and there isn’t a man in the parish who has a

  better-lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him,

  a patient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as

  if a little good Berkshire beef would do him no harm.”

  The station-master had not finished his speech before we were all

  hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low

  hill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in

  front of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in

  the garden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to

  keep the flames under.

  “That’s it!” cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. “There is

  the gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That

  second window is the one that I jumped from.”

  “Well, at least,” said Holmes, “you have had your revenge upon

  them. There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which,

  when it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls,

  though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you to

  observe it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for

  your friends of last night, though I very much fear that they are

  a good hundred miles off by now.”

  And Holmes’s fears came to be realized, for from that day to this

  no word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the

  sinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning a

  peasant had met a cart containing several people and some very

  bulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but

  there all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes’s

  ingenuity failed ever to discover the least clew as to their

  whereabouts.

  The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements

  which they had found within, and still more so by discovering a

  newly severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor.

  About sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and

  they subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in,

  and the whole place been reduced to such absolute ruin that, save

  some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of

  the machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so

  dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored

  in an out-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have

  explained the presence of those bulky boxes which have been

  already referred to.

  How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to

  the spot where he recovered his senses might have remained

  forever a mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a

  very plain tale. He had evidently been carried down by two

  persons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the other

  unusually large ones. On the whole, it was most probable that the

  silent Englishman, being less bold or less murderous than his

  companion, had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious man out

  of the way of danger.

  “Well,” said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return

  once more to London, “it has been a pretty business for me! I

  have lost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what

  have I gained?”

  “Experience,” said Holmes, laughing. “Indirectly it may be of

  value, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the

  reputation of being excellent company for the remainder of your

  existence.”

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