The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
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"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are spies
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 corner from the
retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to it as the front of a
picture does to the back. It was one of the main arteries which conveyed the
traffic of the City to the north and west. The roadway was blocked with the
immense stream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while
the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was
difficult to realize as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately business
premises that they really abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant
square which we had just quitted.
"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along the
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 is Mortimer's, the
tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and
Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building
depot. That carries us right on to the other block. And now, Doctor, we've done
our work, so it's time we had some 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 no red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums."
My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very
capable perfomer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the afternoon he sat
in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long,
thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling face and his
languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Holmes, the sleuth-hound, Holmes
the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to
conceive. In his singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself,
and his extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as I have often thought,
the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally
predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from extreme languor to
devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was never so truly formidable as when,
for days on end, he had been lounging in his armchair 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 of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methods would
look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that of other mortals.
When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St. James's Hall I
felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set himself to
"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. This business
at Coburg Square is serious."
"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to believe
that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being Saturday rather
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, so kindly
put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved his hand, turned on his heel,
and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.
I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbors, but I was always
oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with Sherlock Holmes.
Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what he had seen, and yet from
his words it was evident that he saw clearly not only what had happened but what
was about to happen, while to me the whole business was still confused and
grotesque. As I drove home to my house in Kensington I thought over it all, from
the extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the Encyclopaedia down to
the visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with which he had parted
from 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 Holmes that this
smooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant was a formidable man--a man who might play a
deep game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the
matter aside until night should bring an explanation.
It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my way across
the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two hansoms were
standing at the door, and as I entered the passage I heard the sound of voices
from above. On entering his room I found Holmes in animated conversation with
two men, one of whom I recognized as Peter Jones, the official police agent,
while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and
oppressively respectable frock-coat.
"Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his peajacket and
taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. "Watson, I think you 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 his
consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a chase. 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 the police
agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, which are, if he won'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 to say that once or twice, as in that
business of the Sholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly
correct than the official force."
"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 the first Saturday
night for seven-and-twenty years that I have not had my rubber."
"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you will play for a
higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the play will be
more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will be some 30,000 pounds;
and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you wish to 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 would rather have
my bracelets on him than on any criminal in London. He's a remarkable 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 as his fingers, and though we meet
signs of him at every turn, we never know where to find the man himself. He'll
crack a crib in Scotland one week, 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
"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night. I've had
one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I agree with you 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
Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive and lay
back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the afternoon. We
rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets until we emerged into
"We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow Merryweather is
a bank director, and personally interested in the matter. I thought it as well
to have Jones with us also. He is not a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile
in his profession. He has one positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and
as tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we are, and
they are waiting for us."
We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had found
ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and, following the guidance
of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage and through a side door,
which he opened for us. Within there was a small corridor, which ended in a very
massive iron gate. This also was opened, and led down a flight of winding stone
steps, which terminated at another formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to
light a lantern, and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and
so, after opening a third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all
round with crates and massive boxes.
"You are not very vulnerable from above," Holmes remarked as he held up the
lantern and gazed about him.
"Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon the flags
which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!" he remarked,
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 our expedition. Might I beg
that you would have the goodness to sit down upon one of those boxes, and not to
The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a very
injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his knees upon the
floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began to examine minutely the
cracks between the stones. A few seconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang
to his feet again and put his glass in his pocket.
"We have at least an hour before us," he remarked, "for they can hardly
take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed. Then they will not
lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work the 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 branch of one of the principal London banks. Mr.
Merryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will explain to you that there
are reasons why the more daring criminals of London should take a considerable
interest in this cellar at present."
"It is our French gold," whispered the director. "We have had several
warnings that an attempt might be made upon it."
"Your French gold?"
"Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources and
borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of France. It has
become known that we have never had occasion to unpack the money, and that it is
still lying in our cellar. The crate upon which I sit contains 2,000 napoleons
packed between layers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is much larger at
present than is usually kept in a single branch office, and the directors have
had misgivings upon the subject."
"Which were very well justified," observed Holmes. "And now it is time that
we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an hour matters will come to
a head. In the meantime Mr. Merryweather, we must put the screen over that dark
"And sit in the dark?"
"I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and I thought
that, as we were a partie carree, you might have your rubber after all. But I
see that the enemy's preparations have gone so far that we cannot risk the
presence of a light. And, first of all, we must choose our positions. These are
daring men, and though we shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us some
harm unless we are careful. I shall stand behind this crate, and do you conceal
yourselves behind those. Then, when I flash a light upon them, close in swiftly.
If they fire, Watson, have no compunction about shooting them down."
I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behind which
I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front of his lantern and left us in
pitch darkness--such an absolute darkness as I have never before experienced.
The smell of hot metal remained to assure us that the light was still there,
ready to flash out at a moment's notice. To me, with my nerves worked up to a
pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and subduing in the sudden
gloom, and in the cold dank air of the vault.
"They have but one retreat," whispered Holmes. "That is back through the
house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have done what I asked you,
"l have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door."
"Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent and wait."
What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but an hour
and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must have almost gone and
the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs were weary and stiff, for I feared to
change my position; yet my nerves were worked up to the highest pitch of
tension, and my hearing was so acute that I could not only hear the gentle
breathing of my companions, but I could distinguish the deeper, heavier
in-breath of the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note of the bank director.
From my position I could look over the case in the direction of the floor.
Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light.
At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then it
lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without any warning 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 area of light. For a minute or more
the hand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then it was