Section 7. The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes,
Volume 1. This is a Librivox recording.
All Librivox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit
librivox.org. Recording by David Lewis
Richardson. The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes,
Volume 1. The Horse of the Invisible by
William Hope Hodgson Part 1 When I reached 427, Cheney walked
Chelsea. I found Kornacki sitting alone
as I came into the room. He rose with a perceptively
stiff movement and extended his left hand.
His face seemed to be badly scarred and bruised, and his
right hand was bandaged. He shook hands and offered me
his paper, which I refused. Then he passed me a handful of
photographs and returned to his reading.
Now. That is just.
Kornacki. Not a word had come from him,
and not a question from me. He would tell us all about it
later. I spent about half an hour
looking at the photographs, which were chiefly snapped some
by flashlight, of an extraordinarily pretty girl,
though in some of the photographs it was wonderful
that her prettiness was so evident.
For so frightened and startled was her expression that it was
difficult not to believe that she had been photographed in the
presence of some imminent and overwhelming danger.
The bulk of the photographs were of interiors, of different rooms
and passages, and in everyone the girl might be seen either
full length in the distance or closer, with perhaps only a hand
or arm or portion of the head or dress included in the
photograph. All of these had evidently been
taken with some definite aim. They did not have for its first
purpose the picturing of the girl, but obviously of her
surroundings, and they made me very curious, as you can
imagine. Near the bottom of the pile,
however, I came across something definitely extraordinary.
It was a photograph of the girl standing abrupt and clear in the
great blaze of a flashlight, as was plain to be seen.
Her face was turned a little upward, as if she had been
frightened suddenly by some noise, and directly above her,
as though half formed and coming down out of the shadows, was the
shape of a single enormous hoof. I examined this photograph for a
long time without understanding it.
More than that, it had probably to do with some queer case in
which Kornacki was interested. When Jessup, Arkwright, and
Taylor came in, Kornacki quietly held out his hand for the
photographs, which I returned in the same spirit, and afterwards
we all went in to dinner. When we had spent a quiet but
profitable hour at the table, we pulled our chairs round and made
ourselves snug, and Kornacki began.
I've been N, he said, speaking slowly and painfully between
puffs at his pipe up to Hiskins of East Lancashire.
It has been a pretty strange business all round, as I fancy
chaps who will think when I have finished.
I knew before I went something about the horse story, as I've
heard it called, but I never thought of it as coming my way.
Somehow. Also, I know now that I never
considered it seriously, in spite of my rule always to keep
an open mind. Funny creatures, we humans.
Well, I got a wire asking for an appointment, which of course
told me that there was some trouble.
On the date I fixed, old Captain Hiskins himself came up to see
me. He told me a great many new
details about the horse story, though naturally I'd always
known the main points and understood that if the first
child were a girl, that girl would be haunted by the horse
during her courtship. It is, as you can see, an
extraordinary story, and though I have always known about it,
I've never thought it to be anything more than an old time
legend. As I've already hinted.
You see, for seven generations the Hiskins family have had men
children for their first born, and even the Hiskins themselves
have long considered the tale to be little more than a myth.
To come to the present, the eldest child of the reigning
family is a girl, and she has been often teased and warned in
jest by her friends and relations that she is the first
girl to be the eldest for seven generations, and that she would
have to keep her men friends at arm's length or go into a
nunnery if she hoped to escape the haunting.
And this, I think, shows us how thoroughly the tale has grown to
be considered as nothing worthy of the least serious thought.
Don't you think so? Two months ago Miss Hiskins
became engaged to Beaumont, a young naval officer, and on the
evening of the very day of the engagement, before it was even
formally announced, a most extraordinary thing happened
which resulted in Captain Hisskins making the appointment
and my ultimately going down to their place to look into the
thing. From the old family records and
papers that were trusted to me, I found that there could be no
possible doubt that prior to something like 150 years ago
there were some very extraordinary and disagreeable
coincidences to put the thing in the least emotional way.
In the whole of the two centuries prior to that date
there were five first born girls out of a total of 7 generations
of the family. Each of these girls grew up to
maidenhood and each became engaged and each one died during
the period of engagement, 2 by suicide, one by falling from a
window and one from a broken heart, presumably heart failure
owing to sudden shock through fright.
The 5th girl was killed 1 evening in the park round the
house. But just how?
There seemed to be no exact knowledge, only that there was
an impression that she'd been kicked by a horse.
She was dead when found. Now you see, all of these deaths
might be attributed in a way, even the suicides, to natural
causes. I mean, it's distinct from
supernatural, you see. Yet in every case the maidens
had undoubtedly suffered some extraordinary and terrifying
experiences during their various courtships.
For in all of the records that was mentioned, either of the
neighing of an unseen horse or of the sounds of an invisible
horse galloping, as well as many other peculiar and quite
inexplicable manifestations. You begin to understand, though,
I think, just how extraordinary a business it was.
And I was asked to look into I gathered from the records that
the haunting of the girls was so constant and horrible that two
of the girls lovers fairly ran away from their ladyloves.
And I think it was this, more than anything else, that made me
feel that there had been something more in it than a mere
succession of uncomfortable coincidences.
I got a hold of these facts before I'd been many hours in
the house, and after this I went pretty carefully into the
details of the things that had happened on the night of Miss
Hiskin's engagement to Beaumont. It seems that as the two of them
were going through the big lower corridor just after dusk, and
before the lamps had been lighted, there had been a sudden
horrible neighing in the corridor close to them.
Immediately afterwards Beaumont received a tremendous blow or
kick, which broke his right forearm.
Then the rest of the family came running to know what was wrong
and the servants lights were brought in the corridor and
afterwards the whole house searched, but nothing unusual
was found. You can imagine the excitement
in the house and the half incredulous, half believing talk
about the old legend. Later on, in the middle of the
night the old captain was awakened by the sound of a great
horse galloping round and round the house.
Several times after this, both Beaumont and the girl said that
they had heard the sounds of hooves near to them after dusk
in several of the rooms and corridors.
Three nights later, Beaumont was awakened by a strange naying in
the night time, seeming to come from the direction of his
sweetheart's bedroom. He ran.
Hurriedly for her. Father and the two of them raced
to her room. They found her awake and I'll
was sheer terror, having been awakened by the naying seemingly
close to her bed. The night before I arrived there
had been a fresh happening, and they were all in a frightfully
nervy state, as you can imagine. I spent most of the first day,
as I have hinted, in getting hold of details, but after
dinner I slacked off and played billiards all the evening with
Beaumont and Miss Hiskins. We stopped about 10:00 and had
coffee, and I got Beaumont to give me full particulars about
the thing that had happened the night before.
He and Miss Hiskins had been sitting quietly on her aunt's
boudoir whilst the old lady chaperoned them behind a book.
It was grain dusk, and the lamp was at her end of the table.
The rest of the house was not yet lit, as the evening had come
earlier than usual. Well, it seems that the door
into the hall was open, and suddenly the girl said, SH,
what's that? They both listened, and then
Beaumont heard it, the sound of a horse outside the front door.
Your father, he suggested, but she reminded him that her father
was not riding. Of course they were both ready
to feel queer, as you can suppose, but Beaumont made an
effort to shake this off and went into the hall to see
whether anyone was at the entrance.
It was pretty dark in the hall, and he could see the glass
panels of the inner draught door clear cut in the darkness of the
hall. He walked over to the glass and
looked through into the drive beyond, but there was nothing
insight. He felt nervous and puzzled and
opened the inner door and went out onto the carriage circle
almost directly afterwards. The great old Door.
Swung to with a crash. Behind him he told me that he'd
had a sudden awful feeling of having been trapped in some way.
This is how he put it. He whirled round and gripped the
door handle, but something seemed to be holding it with a
vast grip on the other side. Then, before it could be fixed
in his mind that this was so, he was able to turn the handle and
open the door. He paused a moment in the
doorway and peered into the hall, for he had hardly steadied
his mind sufficiently to know whether he was really frightened
or not. Then he heard his sweetheart
blow him a kiss out of the greyness of the big unlit hall,
and he knew that she had followed him from the boudoir.
He blew her a kiss back and stepped inside the doorway,
meaning to go to her. And then suddenly, in a flash of
sickening knowledge, he knew that it was not his sweetheart
who had blown him that kiss. He knew that something was
trying to tempt him alone into the darkness, and that the girl
had never left the boudoir. He jumped back, and in the same
instant of time he heard the kiss again nearer to him.
He called out at the top of his voice.
Mary, stay in the boudoir. Don't move out of the boudoir
until I come to you. He heard a call, something in
reply from the boudoir, and then he had struck a clump of a dozen
or so matches and was holding them above his head and looking
round the hall. There was no one in it, but even
as the matches burned out, there came the sounds of a great horse
galloping down the empty drive. Now, you see, both he and the
girl had heard the sounds of the horse galloping, but when I
questioned more closely, I found that the aunt had heard nothing,
though it is true she is a bit deaf, and she was further back
in the room. Of course, both he and Miss
Hiskins had been in an extremely nervous state and ready to hear
anything. The door might have been slammed
by a sudden puff of wind, owing to some inner door being opened,
and As for the grip on the handle, that may have been
nothing more than the snake catching.
With regard to the kisses and the sounds of the horse
galloping, I pointed out that these might have seemed ordinary
enough sounds if they had been only cool enough to reason.
As I told him, and as he knew, the sounds of a horse galloping
carry a long way on the wind, so that what he had heard might
have been nothing more than a horse being ridden some distance
away. And As for the kiss, plenty of
quiet noises, The rustle of a paper or a leaf have a somewhat
similar sound, especially if one is in an overstrung condition
and imagining things. I was preaching this little
sermon on common sense versus hysteria as we put out the
lights and left the billiard room, but neither Beaumont nor
Miss Hiskins would agree that there had been any fancy on
their parts. We had come out of the billiard
room by this and were going along the passage, and I was
still doing my best to make both of them see the ordinary,
commonplace possibilities of the happening, when what killed my
pig, as the saying goes, was the sound of a hoof in the dark
billiard room we had just left. I felt the creep come on me in a
flash, up my spine and over the back of my head.
Miss Hiskins whooped like a child with whooping cough and
ran up the passage giving little gasping screams.
Beaumont, however, ripped around on his heels and jumped back a
couple of yards. I gave back a bit too, as you
can understand. There it is, he said in a low,
breathless voice. Perhaps you'll believe me now.
There's certainly something, I whispered back, and never taking
my gaze off the closed door of the billiard room.
Hush, he muttered. There it is again.
There was a sound like a great horse pacing round and round the
billiard room with slow, deliberate steps.
A horrible cold fried took me so that it seemed impossible to
take a full breath. You know the feeling, and then I
know we must have walked backwards, for we found
ourselves suddenly at the opening of the long passage.
We stopped there and listened. The sounds went on steadily,
with a horrible sort of deliberateness, as if the brute
were taking a sort of malicious gusto in walking about all over
the room in which we had just been.
Do you understand what I mean? Then there was a pause and a
long time of absolute quiet, except for an excited whispering
from some of the people down in the big hall.
The sound came plainly up the wide stairway.
I fancy they were gathered round Miss Hiskins with some notion of
protecting her, I should think. Beaumont and I stood there at
the end of the passage for about 5 minutes listening for any
noise in the billiard room. Then I realised what a horrible
funk I was in and I said to him, I'm going to see what's in
there, so am I, he answered. He was pretty white, but he had.
Heaps of pluck. I told him to wait a minute and
I made a dash into my bedroom and got my camera and
flashlight. I slipped my revolver into my
right hand pocket and a knuckle dust drove my left fist where it
was ready and yet would not stop me from being able to work my
flashlight. Then I ran back to Beaumont.
He held out his right hand to show me that he had his pistol,
and I nodded, but whispered to him not to be too quick to
shoot, as there might be some silly practical joking at work.
After all. He had got a lamp from a bracket
in the upper hall which he was holding in the crook of his
damaged arm, so that we had a good light.
Then we went down the passage towards the billiard room, and
you can imagine that we were a pretty nervous couple.
All this time there had not been a sound, but abruptly, when we
were within a couple of yards of the door, we heard the sudden
clumping of a hoof on the solid parquet floor of the billiard
room. In the instant afterward it
seemed to me that the whole place shook beneath the
ponderous hoof falls of some huge thing coming towards the
door. Both Beaumont and I gave back a
pace or two, and then realized and hung on to our carriage, as
he might say, and waited. The great tread came right up to
the door and then stopped, and there was an instant of absolute
silence, except that, so far as I was concerned, the pulse of my
throat and temples almost deafened me.
I dare say we waited quite half a minute, and then came the
further restless clumping of a great hoof.
Immediately afterward the sound came right on, as if some
invisible thing passed through the closed door and the passage,
and I know that I spread myself stiff against the wall.
The clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk of the great hoof falls passed
right between us, and slowly and with deadly deliberateness down
the passage. I heard them through a haze of
blood beats in my ears and temples, and my body
extraordinarily rigid and pringling and breathless.
I stood for a little time like this, my head turned so that I
should see up the passage. I was conscious only that there
was a hideous danger abroad. Do you understand?
And then suddenly my pluck came back to me.
I was aware that the noise of the hoof beats sounded near the
other end of the passage. I twisted quickly and got my
camera to bear and snapped the flashlight.
Immediately afterward Beaumont let fly a storm of shots down
the passage and began to run, shouting.
It's after Mary, run, run. He rushed down the passage, and
I after him, and we came out on the main landing and heard the
sound of a hoof on the stairs. And after that nothing.
And from thence onwards nothing. Down below us in the big hall I
could see a number of the household round Miss Hiskins who
seemed to have fainted, and there were several of the
servants clumped together a little way off, staring up at
the main landing, and no one saying a single word.
And about some 20 steps up the stairs was old Captain Hiskins
with a drawn sword in his hand, where he had halted just below
the last hoof sound. I think I never saw anything
finer than that old man standing there between his daughter and
that infernal thing. I dare say you can understand
the queer feeling of horror I had at passing that place on the
stairs where the sounds had ceased.
It was as if the monster was still standing there, invisible,
And the peculiar thing was that we never heard another sound of
the hoof either. Up.
Or down the stairs, after they had taken Miss Hiskins to her
room. I sent word that I should follow
so soon as they were ready for me, and presently when a message
came to tell me that I could come anytime, I asked a father
to give me a hand with my instrument box, and between us
we carried it into the girl's bedroom.
I had the bed pulled well out into the middle of the room,
after which I erected the electric pentangle round the
bed. Then I directed that lamps
should be placed round the room, but that on no account must any
light be made within the pentangle, neither must anyone
pass in or out. The girl's mother I had placed
within the pentangle, and directed that her maid should
sit without ready to carry any message, so as to make sure that
Missus Hiskins did not have to leave the pentangle.
I suggested also that the girl's father should stay the night in
the room, and that he had better be armed.
When I left the room I found Beaumont waiting outside the
door in a miserable state of anxiety.
I told him what I had done, and explained to him that Miss
Hiskins was probably perfectly safe within the protection, but
that, in addition to her father remaining the knight in the
room, I intended to stand guard at the door.
I told him that I should like him to keep me company, for I
knew that he could never sleep, and I should not be sorry to
have a companion. Also, I wanted to have him under
my own observation, for there was no doubt but that he was
actually in greater danger than the girl.
At least that was my opinion, and still is, as I think he will
agree. Later I asked him whether he
would object to my drawing a pentangle around him for the
night, and got him to agree, but I saw that he did not know
whether to be superstitious about it or to regard it more as
a piece of foolish mumming. But he took it seriously enough
when I gave him some particulars about the Black Veil case.
When young Elster died, you remember, he said it was a piece
of silly superstition, and stayed outside.
Poor devil. As it chanced, the night passed
quietly enough until a little while before dawn, when we both
heard the sounds of a great horse galloping round and round
the house, just as Captain Hiskins had described it.
You can imagine how queer it made me feel, and directly
afterward I heard someone stare within the room.
I knocked at the door, for I was uneasy, and the captain came.
I asked whether everything was right, to which he replied yes,
and immediately asked whether I had heard the sounds of the
galloping, so that I knew he had heard them also.
I suggested that it might be well to leave the bedroom door
open a little until the dawn came in, as there was certainly
something abroad, and this was done, and he went back into the
room to be near to his wife and daughter.
I had better say here that I was doubtful whether there was any
value in the defence about Miss Hiskins.
For. What I termed the personal
sounds of the manifestation were so extraordinarily material that
I was inclined to parallel the case with that of Hartford's,
where the hand of the child kept materializing within the
pentangle and patting the floor. As you all remember, that was a
hideous business, yet as it chanced, nothing further
happened, and so soon as daylight had fully come we all
went off to bed. Beaumont knocked me up about
midday, and I went down and made breakfast into lunch.
Miss Hiskins was there, and seemed in very fair spirits,
considering she told me that I had made her feel almost safe
for the first time in days, and she told me also that her
cousin, Harry Pascott was coming down from London, and she knew
that he would do anything to help fight the ghost.
After that she and Beaumont went into the grounds to have a
little time together. I had a walk in the grounds
myself, and went round the house, but saw no traces of hoof
marks, and after that I spent the rest of the day making an
examination of the house, but found nothing.
I made an end of my search before dark, and went to my room
to dress for dinner. When I got down the cousin had
just arrived, and I found him one of the nicest men I've met
for a long time. I chap with a tremendous amount
of pluck, and the particular kind of man I like to have with
me in a bad case like the one I was on.
I could see that what puzzled him most was our belief in the
genuineness of the haunting, and I found myself almost wanting
something to happen just to show him how true it was.
As it chanced, something did happen with a vengeance.
Beaumont and Miss Hiskins had gone out for a stroll in the
dusk, and Captain Hiskins asked me to come into his study.
For a short chat. While Pasket went upstairs with
his traps, for he had no man with him, I had a long
conversation with the old captain, in which I pointed out
that the haunting had evidently no particular connection with
the house, but only with the girl herself, and that the
sooner she was married the better, as it would give
Beaumont a right to be with her at all times.
And further than this, it might be that the manifestations would
cease if the marriage were actually performed.
The old man nodded agreement to this, especially to the first
part, and reminded me that three of the girls who were said to
have been haunted had been sent away from the home and met their
deaths whilst away. And then, in the midst of our
talk, there came a pretty frightening interruption, For
all at once the old Butler rushed into the room, most
extraordinarily pale. Miss Mary, Sir, Miss Mary, he
gasped out, using the old name. She's screaming out in the park,
Sir, and they say they can hear the horse.
The captain made one dive for a rack of arms and snatched down
his old sword and ran out, drawing it as he ran.
I dashed out and up the stairs, snatched my camera flashlight
and a heavy revolver, gave one yell at Pascot's door, the horse
and was down into the grounds. Out in the darkness there was a
confused shouting, and I caught the sounds of shooting away
among the scattered trees, and then from a patch of blackness
to my left, the burst suddenly an infernal gobbling sort of
neighing. Instantly I went round and
snapped off the flashlight. The great blare of the light
blazed out momentarily, showing me the leaves of a big tree
close at hand, quivering in the night breeze.
But there had been nothing else. And then the tenfold blackness
came down upon me, and I heard Pasket shouting a little way
back to know whether I had seen anything.
The next instant he was beside me and I felt safer for his
company, for there was some incredible thing near to us, and
I was momentarily blind because of the brightness of the
flashlight. What was it, What was it?
He kept repeating in an excited voice, and all the time I was
staring into the darkness and answering mechanically.
I don't know, I don't know. There was a burst of shouting
somewhere ahead, and then a shot.
We ran towards the sounds, yelling to the people not to
shoot, for in the darkness and panic there was this danger
also. Then there came two of the
gamekeepers racing hard up the drive with lanterns and the
guns, and immediately afterwards a row of lights dancing towards
us from the house, carried by some of the manservants.
As the lights came up I saw we had come close to Beaumont.
He was standing over Miss Hiskins, and he had his revolver
in his right hand. Then I saw his face, and there
was a great wound across his forehead.
By him was the Captain, turning his naked sword this way and
that and peering into the darkness, and a little behind
him stood the old Butler, a battle axe from one of the arm
stands in the hall in his hands. Yet there was nothing strange to
be seen anywhere. We got the girl into the house
and left her with her mother and Beaumont, whilst a groom rode
for a doctor, and then the rest of us, with four other keepers,
all armed with guns and carrying lanterns, searched round the
Home Park, but we found nothing. When we got back we found the
doctor had been he had bound up Beaumont's wound, which luckily
was not deep, and ordered Miss Hiskins straight to bed.
I went upstairs with the captain and found Beaumont on God
outside the girl's door. I asked him how he felt, and
then so soon as they were ready for US, Captain Hiskins and I
went into the bedroom and fixed the pentangle again round the
bed. They had already got lamps about
the room, and after I had set the same order of watching as on
the previous night, I joined Beaumont outside of the door.
Oscott had come up while I had been in the bedroom, and between
us we got some idea from Beaumont as to what had happened
out in the park. It seems that they were coming
home after their stroll from the direction of the West Lodge,
when suddenly Miss Hiskin said hush and came to a standstill.
He stopped and listened, but heard nothing for a little.
Then he caught it, the sound of a horse, seemingly a long way
off, galloping towards them over the grass.
He told the girl that it was nothing and started to hurry her
towards the house. But she was not deceived of
course. In less than a minute they heard
it quite close to them in the dock, and they began to run.
Then Miss Hiskins caught her foot and fell.
She began to scream and that is what the Butler heard.
As Beaumont lifted the girl he heard the hoofs come thudding
right at him. He stood over her and fired all
5 chambers of his revolver. At the sounds he told us that he
was sure he saw something that looked like an enormous horse's
head right upon him in the light of the last flash of his pistol.
Immediately afterwards he was struck A tremendous blow which
knocked him down, and then the captain, the Butler, came
running up shouting, and the rest of course we knew.
About 10:00 the Butler brought us up a tray, for which I was
very glad, as the night before I got rather hungry.
I warned Beaumont, however, to be very particular, not to drink
any spirits, and I also made him give me his pipe and matches.
At midnight I drew a pentangle round him and pasket, and I sat
one on each side of him, but outside of the pentangle, for I
had No Fear that there would be any manifestation against anyone
except Beaumont or Miss Hiskins. After that we kept pretty quiet.
The passage was lit by a big lamp at each end and so that we
had plenty of light. And we were all armed, Beaumont
and I with revolvers and pasket with a shotgun.
In addition to my weapon, I had my camera and flashlight.
Now and again we talked in whispers, and twice the captain
came out of the bedroom to have a word with us about how passe
won. We had all grown very silent,
and suddenly about 20 minutes later I held up my hand
silently, for there seemed to me to be a sound of galloping out
in the night. I knocked on the bedroom door
for the Captain to open it, and when he came I whispered to him
that we thought we heard the horse.
For some time we stayed listening, and both Pasket and
the Captain thought they had heard it, but now I was not so
sure. Neither was Beaumont, yet.
Afterwards I thought I heard it again.
I told Captain Hiskins I thought he had better go back into the
bedroom and leave the door a little open, and this he did,
but from that time onward we heard nothing, and presently the
dawn came in and we all went very thankfully to bed.
When I was called at lunchtime I had a little surprise, for
Captain Hiskins told me that they had held a family council
and had decided to take my advice and have the marriage
without a day's more delay than possible.
Beaumont was already on his way to London to get a special
license, and they hoped to have the wedding the next day.
This pleased me, for it seemed the sanest thing to be done in
the extraordinary circumstances, and meanwhile I should continue
my investigations. But until the marriage was
accomplished my chief thought was to keep Miss Hiskins near to
me. End of the Horse of the
Invisible, by William Hope Hodgson, Part 1.
Recording by David Lewis Richardson, Lancashire, England.
Section 8. The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes,
Volume 1. This is a Librivox recording.
All Librivox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit
librivox.org. Recording by David Lewis
Richardson. The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes,
Volume 1. The Horse of the Invisible by
William Hope Hodgson, Part 2. After lunch, I thought I would
take a few experimental photographs of Miss Hiskins and
her surroundings. Sometimes the camera sees things
that would seem very strange to the normal human eyesight.
You see what I mean? With this intention, and partly
to make an excuse to keep her in my company as much as possible,
I asked Miss Hiskins to join me in my experiments.
She seemed glad to do this, and I spent several hours with her
wandering all over the house from room to room, and whenever
the impulse came I took the flashlight off her and the room
or corridor in which we chanced to be at the moment.
After we had gone right through the house in this fashion, I
asked her whether she felt sufficiently brave to repeat the
experiments in the Cellars. She said yes, and so I rooted
out Captain Hiskins and Pascot, for I was not going to take her
down even into what you might call artificial darkness without
help and companionship at hand. When we were ready, we went down
into the wine cellar, Captain Hiskins carrying a shotgun and
Pasket, A specially prepared background and a Lantern.
I got the girl to stand in the middle of the cellar while
Pasket and the Captain held out the background behind her.
Then I fired off the flashlight and we went into the next
cellar, where we repeated the experiment.
Then in the third cellar, A tremendous pitch dark place,
something extraordinary and horrible manifested itself.
I had stationed Miss Hiskins in the centre of the place, with
her father and Pasket holding the background as before.
When all was ready, and just as I pressed the trigger of the
flash, there came in the cellar that dreadful gobbling naying
that I had heard out in the park.
It seemed to come from somewhere above the girl, and in the glare
of the sudden light I saw that she was staring tensely upward
at no visible thing. And then in the succeeding
comparative darkness, I was shouting to the Captain and
Pasket to run Miss Hiskins out into the daylight.
This was done instantly, and I shut and locked the door
afterwards, making the 1st and the 8th signs of the SAR Ma
ritual opposite to each post and connecting them across the
threshold with a triple line. In the meanwhile Pasket and
Captain Hiskins carried the girl to her mother and left her there
in 1/2 fainting condition, whilst I stayed on guard outside
of the cellar door, feeling pretty horrible, for I knew that
there was some disgusting thing inside, and along with this
feeling there was a sense of half ashamedness.
Rather miserable, you know, because I had exposed Miss
Hiskins to this danger. I had got the Captain's shotgun,
and when he and Pasket came down again they were each carrying
guns and lanterns. I could not possibly tell you
the utter relief of spirit and body that came to me when I
heard them coming, but just try to imagine what it was like
standing outside of that cellar, Can you?
I remember noticing just before I went to unlock the door, a
white and ghastly pasket looked, and the old captain was grey
looking, and I wondered whether my face was like theirs.
And this, you know, had its own distinct effect on my nerves,
for it seemed to bring the beastliness of the thing bashed
down on me in a fresh way. I know it was only sheer
willpower that carried me up to the door and made me turn the
key. I paused 1 little moment and
then with a nervy jerk sent the door wide open and held my
Lantern over my head. Pasket and the captain came one
inch side of me and held up their lanterns, but the place
was absolutely empty. Of course, I did not trust to a
casual look of this kind, but spent several hours with the
help of the two others in sounding every square foot of
the floor, ceiling and walls. Yet in the end I had to admit
that the place was absolutely normal.
And so in the end we came away none the wiser.
But I sealed the door and outside, opposite each door
post, I made the first and last signs of the SAR Ma ritual,
joining them as before with a triple line.
Can you imagine what it was like searching that cellar?
When we got upstairs I inquired very anxiously how Miss Hiskins
was, and the girl came out herself to tell me that she was
all right, and that I was not to trouble about her or blame
myself as I told her I had been doing.
I felt happier then and went off to dress for dinner, and after
that was done with Pascot and I went off to one of the bathrooms
to develop the negatives that I had been taking.
Yet none of the plates had anything to tell me until we
came to the one that was taken in the cellar.
Pascot was developing, and I had taken a batch of the fixed
plates out into the lamplight to examine them.
I had just gone carefully through the lot when I heard a
shout from Pascot, and when I ran to him he was looking at her
partly developed negative, which he was holding up to the red
lamp. It showed the girl plainly
looking upwards as I had seen her, but the thing that
astonished me was the shadow of an enormous hoof right above
her, as if it were coming down upon her out of the shadows.
And you know I had run her bang into that danger, and that was
the thought that was chief in my mind.
As soon as the developing was complete, I fixed the plate and
examined it carefully in a good light.
There was no doubt about it at all.
A thing above Miss Hiskin's was an enormous shadowy hoof.
Yet I was no nearer to coming to any definite knowledge, and the
only thing I could do was to warn Pasket to say nothing about
it to the girl, for it would only increase her fright.
But I showed the thing to her father, for I considered it
right that he should know. That night we took the same
precautions for Miss Hiskin's safety as on the two previous
nights, and Pasket kept me company.
Yet the dawn came in without anything unusual having
happened, and I went off to bed. When I got down to lunch I
learnt that Beaumont had wired to say that he would be in soon
after four also. That message had been sent to
the Rector, and it was generally plain that the ladies of the
house were in a tremendous fluster.
Beaumont's train was late, and he did not get home until 5:00,
but even then the rector had not put in an appearance, and the
Butler came in to say that the coachman had returned without
him, as he had been called away unexpectedly twice more during
the evening. The carriage was sent down, but
the clergyman had not returned, and we had to delay the marriage
until the next day. That night I arranged the
defence round the girl's bed, and the captain and his wife sat
up with her as before. Beaumont, as I expected,
insisted on keeping watch with me, and he seemed in a curiously
frightened mood, not for himself, you know, but for Miss
Hiskins. He had a horrible feeling, He
told me, that there would be a final dreadful attempt on his
sweetheart that night. This, of course, I told him, was
nothing but nerves. Yet really it made me feel very
anxious, for I've seen too much not to know that under such
circumstances A premonitory conviction of impending danger
is not necessarily to be put down entirely to nerves.
In fact, Beaumont was so simply and earnestly convinced that the
night would bring some extraordinary manifestation,
that I got past it to rig up a long cord from the wire of the
Butler's bell to come along the passage handy to the Butler
himself. I gave directions not to
Andreas, and to give the same order to two of the footmen.
If I rang, he was to come instantly with the footmen
carrying lanterns, and the lanterns were to be kept ready
lit all night. If for any reason the bell did
not ring, and I blew my whistle, he was to take that as a signal
in the place of the bell. After I had arranged all these
minor details, I drew a pentacle about Beaumont, and warned him
very particularly to stay within it whatever happened.
And when this was done, there was nothing to do but wait and
pray that the night would go as quietly as the night before.
We scarcely talked at all, and by about 1:00 AM we were all
very tense and nervous, so that at last Pasket got up and began
to walk up and down the corridor to steady himself a bit.
Presently I slipped off my pumps and joined him, and we walked up
and down, whispering occasionally for something over
an hour, until in turning I caught my foot in the bell cord
and went down on my face, but without hurting myself or making
a noise. When I got up, Pasket nudged me.
Did you notice that the bell never rang?
He whispered. Jove, I said you're right.
Wait a minute, he answered. I'll bet it's only a kink
somewhere in the cord. He left his gun and slipped
along the passage, and taking the top lamp, tiptoed away into
the house, carrying Beaumont's revolver ready in his right
hand. He was a plucky chap, as I think
you will admit. Suddenly Beaumont motioned to me
for absolute quiet. Directly afterwards I heard the
thing for which he listened, a sound of a horse galloping out
in the night. I think that I may say I fairly
shivered. The sound died away and left a
horrible, desolate, eerie feeling in the air.
You know. I put my hand out to the bell
cord, hoping that pasket had got it clear.
Then I waited, glancing before and behind.
Perhaps 2 minutes passed, full of what seemed like an almost
unearthly quiet, and then suddenly down the corridor at
the lighted end, the sound of the clumping of a great hoof and
instantly the lamp was thrown down with a tremendous crash and
we were in the dark. I tugged hard on the cord and
blew the whistle. Then I raised my snapshot and
fired the flashlight. The corridor blazed into
brilliant light, but there was nothing.
And then the darkness fell like Thunder.
I heard the captain at the bedroom door and shouted to him
to bring out a lamp quick, but instead something started to
kick the door, and I heard the captain shouting within the
bedroom, and then the screaming of a woman.
I had a sudden horrible fear that the monster had got into
the bedroom, but in the same instant from up the corridor
there came abruptly the vile gobbling neighing that we had
heard in the park in the cellar. I blew the whistle again and
groped blindly for the bell cord, shouting to Beaumont to
stay in the pentacle. Whatever happened.
I yelled again to the captain to bring out the lamp, and there
came a smashing sound against the bedroom door.
Then I had my matches in my hand to get some light before that
incredible unseen monster was upon us.
The match scraped on the box and flared up dully, and in the same
instant I heard a faint sound behind me.
I whipped round in a kind of mad terror and saw something in the
light of the match, a monstrous horse head close to Beaumont.
Lookout Beaumont. I shouted in a sort of scream.
It's behind you. The match went out abruptly and
instantly there came the huge bang of Pasket's double barrel,
both barrels at once fired effidently single handed by
Beaumont, close to my ear, as it seemed.
I caught a momentary glimpse of the great head in the flash, and
of an enormous hoof amid the Belcher fire and smoke seeming
to be descending upon Beaumont in the same instant.
I fired 3 chambers my revolver. There was the sound of a dull
blow, and then that horrible gobbling knee broke out close to
me. I fired twice at the sound.
Immediately afterwards something struck me and I was knocked
backwards. I got to my knees and shouted
for help. At the top of my voice I heard
the woman screaming behind the closed door of the bedroom and
was dully aware that the door was being smashed from the
inside. And directly afterwards I knew
that Beaumont was struggling with some hideous thing near to
me. For an instant I held back,
stupidly paralysed with funk, and then blindly and in a sort
of rigid chill of goose flesh, I went to help him, shouting his
name. I can tell you I did not feel
much of A hero. There came a little choking
scream out of the darkness, and at that I jumped forward into
the dark. I gripped a vast furry ear.
Then something stuck me, another great blow, knocking me sick.
I hit back, weak and blind, and gripped with the other hand at
the incredible thing. Abruptly I was dimly aware of a
tremendous crash behind me and a great burst of light.
There were other lights in the passage, and a noise of feet and
shouting. My hand grips were torn from the
thing they held. I shut my eyes stupidly and
heard a loud yell above me, and then a heavy blow, like a
butcher chopping meat, and something fell upon me.
I was helped to my knees by the captain and the Butler.
On the floor lay an enormous horse head, out of which
protruded a man's trunk and legs.
On the wrists were fixed great hoofs.
It was the monster. The captain cut something with
the sword that he held in his hand, and stooped and lifted off
the mask, for that is what it was.
I saw the face then of the man who had worn it.
It was Pasquet. He had a bad wound across the
forehead where the captain's sword had hit through the mask.
I looked bewilderedly from him to Beaumont, who was sitting up,
leaning against the wall of the corridor.
Then I stirred at Pascot again. By Jove, I said at last, and
then I was quiet, for I was so ashamed for the man.
You can understand, can't you? And he was opening his eyes,
and, you know I had grown so to like the man.
And then, you know, just as Pascot was getting back his wits
and looking from one to the other of us and beginning to
remember, there happened a strange and incredible thing.
For from the end of the corridor the sound had suddenly the
clamping of a great hoof. I looked that way, and then
instantly at Pascot, and saw horrible fear in his face and
eyes. He wrenched himself round weakly
and stared in mad terror up the corridor to where the sound had
been, and the rest of us stirred, all in a frozen group.
I remember hearing vaguely half sobs and whispers from Miss
Hiskin's bedroom, all the while that I stirred frightenedly up
the corridor. The silence lasted several
seconds, and then abruptly there came again the clumping of the
great hoof away up at the end of the corridor, and immediately
afterward the clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk of mighty hooves
coming down the passage towards us.
Even then, you know, most of us thought it was some mechanism of
Pasket still at work, and we were in the queerest mixture of
fright and doubt. I think everyone looked at
Pasket, and suddenly the Captain shouted out.
Stop this damn fooling at once. Haven't you done enough?
For my part, you know, I was frightened, for I had a sense
that there was something horrible and wrong.
And then Pasket managed to gasp out.
It's not me, my God, it's not me, my God, it's not me.
And then, you know, it seemed to come home to everyone in an
instant that there was really some dreadful thing coming down
the passage. There was a mad rush up the
passage, and even all Captain Hiskins gave back with the
Butler and the footman. Beaumont fainted outright, as I
found afterwards, for he had been badly mauled.
I just flattened back against the wall, kneeling, as I was too
stupid and dazed even to run, and almost in the same instant
the pondering hoof falls sounded close to me, and seeming to
shake the solid floor as they passed.
Abruptly the great sound ceased, and I knew in a sort of sick
fashion that the thing had halted opposite to the open door
of the girl's bedroom. And then, you know, I was aware
that Pasket was standing rocking in the doorway with his arm
spread across so as to fill the doorway with his body.
Pasket showed extraordinarily pale, and the blood was running
down his face from the wound in his forehead.
And then I noticed that he seemed to be looking at
something in the passage with a peculiar, desperate fixed gaze.
But there was really nothing to be seen.
And suddenly the clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk recommenced and
passed onward down the passage, and in the same moment Pasket
pitched forward out of the doorway onto his face.
There were shouts from the huddle of men down the passage,
and the two footmen and the Butler simply ran carrying the
lanterns. But the captain went against the
sidewall with his back and put the lamp he was carrying over
his head. The dull tread of the horse went
past him and left him unharmed. And I heard the monstrous hoof
falls going away and away through the quiet house, and
after that a dead silence. Then the captain moved and came
towards us, very slowly and shaky, with an extraordinarily
grey face. I crept towards Pasket, and the
Captain came to help me. We turned him over, and you
know, I knew in a moment that he was dead.
But you can imagine what a feeling it sent through me.
I looked at the captain and suddenly he said that.
That. That I know he's trying to tell
me that Pasket had stood between his daughter and whatever it was
that had gone down the passage. I stood up and steadied him,
though I was not very steady myself.
And suddenly his face began to work and he went down on his
knees by Pasket and cried like some shaken child.
And then, you know, I knew that the women were in the doorway of
the bedroom and I turned away and left him to them whilst I
went over to Beaumont. That is practically the whole
story, and the only thing that is left to me is to try to
explain some of the puzzling parts here and there.
Perhaps you have seen that Pasket was in love with Miss
Hiskins, and this fact is the key to a good deal.
That was extraordinary. He was doubtless responsible for
some portions of the haunting, in fact, I think for nearly
everything. But you know I can prove
nothing, and what I have to tell you is chiefly the result of
deduction. In the 1st place, it is obvious
that Pascett's intention was to frighten Beaumont away, and when
he found that he could not do this, I think he grew so
desperate that he really intended to kill him.
I hate to say this, but the facts force me to think so.
It is quite certain that Pascett was the person who broke
Beaumont's arm. He knew all the details of the
so-called horse legend and got the idea to work upon the old
story for his own end. He evidently had some method of
slipping in and out of the house properly through one of the many
French windows, or possibly had a key to one or two of the
garden doors, and when he was supposed to be away he was
really coming down on the quiet and hiding somewhere in the
neighborhood. The incident of the kiss in the
dark hall I put down to sheer nervous imaginings on the part
of Beaumont and Miss Hiskins. Yet I must say that the sound of
the horse outside of the front door is a little difficult to
explain away. But I am still inclined to keep
to my first idea on this point, that there was nothing really
unnatural about it. The hoof sounds in the billiard
room and down the passage were done by Pascot from the floor
below, by pomping against the panelled ceiling with a block of
wood tied to one of the window hooks.
I proved this by an examination which showed the dints in the
woodwork. The sounds of the horse
galloping round the house was also done by Pascot, who must
have had a horse tied up in the plantation near by, unless
indeed he made the sounds himself, but I do not see how he
could have gone fast enough to produce the illusion.
You see, the gobbling neighing in the park was a ventriloquial
achievement on the part of Pascot, and the attack out there
on Beaumont was also by him, so that when I thought he was in
the bedroom he must have been outside all the time and joined
me after I ran out of the front door.
This is probable. I mean that pasket was a cause,
for if it had been something more serious he would certainly
have given up his foolishness knowing that there was no longer
any need for it. I cannot imagine how he escaped
being shot, both then and in the last mad action of which I have
just told you. He was enormously without fear
of any kind for himself. As you can see, the time when
Pasket was with us, when we thought we heard the horse
galloping round the house, we must have been deceived.
No one was very sure, except, of course, Pasket, who would
naturally encourage the belief. The neighing in the.
Cellar is where I consider. There came the first suspicion
into Pasket's mind that there was something more at work than
his sham haunting. The neighing was done by him in
the same way that he did it in the park.
When I remember how ghastly he looked, I feel sure that the
sounds must have had some infernal quality added to them
which frightened the man himself.
Yet later he would persuade himself that he had been getting
fanciful. Of course, I must not forget
that the effect upon Miss Hiskins must have made him feel
pretty miserable. Then about the clergyman being
called away. We found afterwards that it was
a bogus errand, or rather call, and it is obvious that Pascat
was at the bottom of this, so as to get a few more hours in which
to achieve his end. And what that was a very little
imagination will show you, for he had found that Beaumont would
not be frightened away. See what I mean?
Then there is no doubt at all that Pascat left the cord to the
Butler's bell in a tangle, or hitched somewhere, so as to give
him an excuse to slip away naturally to clear it.
This also gave him the opportunity to remove one of the
passage lamps. Then he had only to smash the
other, and the passage was in utter darkness for him to make
the attempt on Beaumont. In the same way.
It was he who locked the door of the bedroom and took the key.
It was in his pocket. This prevented the Captain from
bringing a light and coming to the rescue, but Captain Hiskins
broke down the door with the heavy Fender curb and it was his
smashing the door that it sounded so confusing and
frightening in the darkness of the passage.
The photograph of the monstrous hoof above Miss Hiskins in the
cellar is one of the things that I am less sure about.
It might have been faked by Pasket whilst I was out of the
room, and this would have been easy enough to anyone who knew
how, but you know, it does not look like a fake yet.
There is as much evidence of probability that it was faked as
against, and The thing is too vague for an examination to help
to a definite decision, as so that I will express no opinion
one way or the other. It is certainly a horrible
photograph. And now I come to that last
dreadful thing. There has been no further
manifestation of anything abnormal, so that there is an
extraordinary uncertainty in my conclusions.
If we had not heard those last sounds, and if Parsgat had not
shown that enormous sense of fear, the whole of this case
could be explained away in the way in which I have shown.
And in fact, as you have seen, I am of the opinion that almost
all of it can be cleared up. But I see no way of going past
the thing we heard at the last and the fear that Pasket showed
his death. No, that proves nothing.
At the inquest it was described somewhat untechnically as due to
heart spasm. This is normal enough, and
leaves us quite in the dark as to whether he died because he
stood between the girl and some incredible monster.
The look on Pasket's face and the thing he called out when he
heard the great hoof sounds coming down the passage, seemed
to show that he had the sudden realisation of what before then
may have been nothing more than a horrible suspicion, and his
fear and appreciation of some tremendous danger approaching
was probably more keenly real even than mine.
And then he did the one fine great thing, and the 'cause I
said what caused it. Kornacki shook his head.
God knows. He answered with a peculiar
sincere reverence. If that thing was what it seemed
to be, 1 might suggest an explanation which would not
offend one's reasons, but which may be utterly wrong.
Yet I have thought, though it would take a long lecture on
thought induction to get you to appreciate my reasons that
Pasket had produced what I might term a kind of induced haunting,
a kind of induced simulation of his mental conceptions due to
his desperate thoughts and broodings.
It is impossible to make it clearer in a few words.
But the old. Story, I said, why may not there
have been something in that? There may have been something in
it, said Kornacki quietly. But I do not think it had
anything to do with this. I have not clearly thought out
my reasons yet, but later I may be able to tell you why I think
so. And the marriage?
And the cellar. Was there anything, founder
asked Taylor. Yes, the marriage was performed
that day in spite of the tragedy, Karnaki told us.
It was the wisest thing to do, considering the things that I
cannot explain. Yes, I had the floor of that big
cellar up, for I had a feeling I might find something there to
give me some light, but there was nothing.
You know. The whole thing is tremendous
and extraordinary. I shall never forget the look on
Pasket's face and afterwards the disgusting sounds of those great
hoofs going away through the quiet house.
Garneke stood up. Out you go, he said in a
friendly fashion, using the recognised formula.
And we went. Presently out into the quiet of
the Embankment and so to our homes.
End of the Horse of the Invisible by William Hope
Hodgson, Part 2 recording by David Lewis Richardson,
Lancashire, England. Section 9 of the Rivals of
Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1. This is a Librivox recording.
All Librivox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit
librivox.org. Recording by William Tomko, The
Rivals of Sherlock Holmes, volume 1.
The Case of the Mirror of Portugal by Arthur Morrison,
Part 1 One. Whether or not this case has an
historical interest is a matter of conjecture.
If it has none, then the title I have given it is a misnomer.
But I think the conjecture that some historical interest
attaches to it is by no means an empty one, and all that can be
urged against it is the common, though not always declared
error. That romance expired 50 years at
least ago, and history with it. This makes it seem improbable
that the answer to an unsolved Riddle of a century since should
be found to day in an inquiry agent's dingy office in Bedford
St. Covent Garden.
Whether or not it has so been found, the reader may judge for
himself, though the evidence stops far short of actual proof
of the identity of the Mirror of Portugal with the Stone
wherewith this case was concerned.
But first, as to the mirror of Portugal.
This was a diamond of much and ancient fame.
It was of Indian origin, and it had lain in the possession of
the royal family of Portugal in the time of Portugal's ancient
splendor. But 300 years ago, after the
extinction of the early line of succession, the diamond, with
other jewels, fell into the possession of Don Antonio, one
of the half dozen pretenders who were then scrambling for the
throne. Don Antonio, badly in want of
money, deposited the stone in pledge with Queen Elizabeth of
England, and never redeemed it. Thus it took its place as one of
the English crown jewels, and so remained till the overthrow and
death of Charles the First. Queen Henrietta then carried it
with her to France, and there, to obtain money to satisfy her
creditors, she sold it to the great Cardinal Mazarin.
He bequeathed it at his death to the French crown, and among the
crown jewels of France it once more found a temporary abiding
place. But once more it brought
disaster with it in the shape of a revolution.
And again a king lost his head at the executioner's hands.
And in the riot and confusion of the great Revolution of 1792,
the mirror of Portugal, with other jewels, vanished utterly.
Where it went to and who took it, nobody ever knew.
The mirror of Portugal disappeared as suddenly and
effectually as though fused to vapor by electric combustion.
So much for the famous mirror. Whether or not its history is
germane to the narrative which follows, probably nobody will
ever certainly know. But that Dorrington considered
that it was his notes on the case abundantly testify.
For some days before Dorrington's attention was in
any way given to this matter, a poorly dressed and not
altogether prepossessing Frenchman had been haunting the
staircase and tapping at the office door, unsuccessfully
attempting an interview with Dorrington, who happened to be
out or busy whenever he called. The man never asked for Hicks,
Dorrington's partner, but this was very natural.
In the 1st place, it was always Dorrington who met all strangers
and conducted all negotiations, and in the second, Dorrington
had just lately, in a case of regarding a secret society in
Soho, made his name much known and respected, not to say
feared, in the foreign colony of that quarter.
Wherefore it was likely that a man who bore evidence of
residence in that neighborhood should come with the name of
Dorrington on his tongue. The weather was cold, but the
man's clothes were thin and threadbare, and he had no
overcoat. His face was of a broad, low
type, coarse in feature and small in forehead, and he wore
the baggy black linen peaked cap familiar on the heads of men of
his class in parts of Paris. He had called unsuccessfully, as
I have said, sometimes once, sometimes more frequently, on
each of three or four days before he succeeded in seeing
Dorrington. At last, however, he intercepted
him on the stairs as Dorrington arrived at about 11:00 in the
morning. Pardon, Monsieur, he said,
laying his finger on Dorrington's arm.
It is Monsieur Dorrington not well, suppose it is, what then?
Dorrington never admitted his identity to a stranger without
first seeing good 'cause I have business, very great business,
business of a large profit for you, if you please to take it.
Where shall I tell it? Come in here.
Dorrington replied, leading the way to his private room.
The man did not look like a wealthy client, but that
signified nothing. Dorrington had made profitable
strokes after introductions even less promising, the man
followed. Dorrington pulled off his cap
and sat in the chair Dorrington pointed at.
In the 1st place. Said Dorrington.
What's your name? Ah, yes, but before all that I
tell is for ourselves alone, is it not?
It is all in confidence, eh? Yes, yes, of course.
Dorrington answered with virtuous impatience.
Whatever is said in this room is regarded as strictly
confidential. What's your name?
Jacques Bouvier, living at Lidl, Norham Street, Soho.
And now the business you speak of.
The business is this My cousin Leon Bouvier.
He is coquin of Rascal. Very likely he has a great
jewel. It is, I have no doubt, a
diamond of great value. It is not his.
There is no right of him to it. It should be mine.
If you get it for me, one quarter of it in money shall be
yours, and it is of great value. Where does your cousin live?
What is he? Beck Street, Soho.
He has a shop, a cafe, Cafe de bon Comrade, and he give me not
a crust if I starve. It scarcely seemed likely that
the keeper of a little foreign cafe in a back street of Soho
would be possessed of a jewel 1/4 of whose value would be
prize enough to tempt Dorrington to take a new case up.
But Dorrington bore with the man a little longer.
What is this jewel you talk of? He asked.
And if you don't know enough about it to be quite sure
whether it is a diamond or not, what do you know?
Listen, the stone I have never seen, but that it is a diamond
makes probable. What else so much value.
And it is much value that gives my cousin so great care and
trouble. Cauchon, listen, I relate to
you. My father, he was charcoal
burner at Bonnouille department of Sen.
My uncle, the father of my cousin also was charcoal burner.
The grandfather charcoal burner also, and his father and his
grandfather before him, all burners of charcoal at
Bonnouille now perceive. The father of my grandfather was
of the great revolution, a young man, great among those who
stormed the Bastille, the Tularees, the Otel de Ville,
brave and a leader. Now when palaces were burnt and
heads were falling, there was naturally much confusion.
Things were lost, things of large value.
What more natural? While so many were losing the
head from the shoulders, it was not strange that some should
lose jewels from the neck. And when these things were lost,
who might have a greater right to keep them than the young men
of the Revolution, the brave and the leaders, they who did the
work? If you mean that your
respectable great grandfather stole something, you needn't
explain it any more, Dorrington said.
I quite understand. I do not say stoll, when there
is a great revolution, a thing is anybody's, but it would not
be convenient to tell of it at the time, for the new government
might believe everything to be its own.
These things I do not know. You will understand.
I suggest an explanation that that is all.
After the great revolution, my great grandfather lives alone
and quiet, and burns the charcoal as before.
Why? The jewel is too great to sell
so soon, so he gives it to his son and dies.
He also my grandfather, still burns the charcoal again.
Why? Because, as I believe, he is too
poor, too common a man to go about openly to sell so great a
stone, more he loves the stone, For with that he is always rich.
And so he burns his charcoal and lives contented, as his father
had done. And he is rich and nobody knows
it. What then?
He has two sons. When he dies, which son does he
leave the stone to? Each one says it is for himself.
That is natural. I say it was for my father.
But however that may make itself, my father dies suddenly.
He falls in a pit by accident, says his brother.
Not by accident, says my mother. And soon after she dies too.
By accident too, perhaps, you ask?
Oh yes, by accident too, no doubt.
The man laughed disagreeably. So I am left alone, a little boy
to burn charcoal. When I am a bigger boy, there
comes the Great War, and the Prussians besiege Paris.
My uncle, he burning charcoal no more, goes at night and takes
things from the dead Prussians. Perhaps they are not always
quite dead when he finds them. Perhaps he makes them so.
Be that as it will. The Prussians take him one dark
night and they stand him against a garden wall, and pif PAF they
shoot him. That is all of my uncle.
But he dies a rich man and nobody knows.
What does his wife do? She has the jewel and she has a
little money that has been got from the dead Prussians.
So when the war is over, she comes to London with my cousin,
the bad Lyon, and she has the cafe, Cafe de bon Comrade.
And Lyon grows up and his mother dies, and he has the cafe, and
with the jewel is a rich man, nobody knowing, nobody but me.
But figure to yourself, shall I burn charcoal and starve
Headbone Wheel with a rich cousin in London, rich with a
diamond that should be mine? Not so.
I come over and Lyon, at first he lets me wait at the cafe.
But I do not want that. There is the stone and I can
never see it, never find it. So one day Lyon finds me looking
in a box and shoot. Out I go.
I tell Lyon that I will share the jewel with him, or I will
tell the police. He laughs at me.
There is no jewel, he says. I am mad.
I do not tell the police, for that is to lose it altogether.
But I come here and ioffer you one quarter of the diamond.
If you shall get it. Steal it for you, eh?
Jacques Bouvier shrugged his shoulders.
The word is as you please, he said.
The jewel is not his, and if there is delay it will be gone
already. He goes each day to hat and
garden, leaving his wife to keep the Cafe de Buon comrade.
Perhaps he is selling the jewel to day, who can tell?
So that it will be well that you begin at once.
Very well. My fee in advance will be 20
Guineas. What, dear, I have no money, I
tell you. Get the diamond, and there is
one quarter, 25 per cent for you.
But what guarantee do you give that this story of yours isn't
all a hoax? Can you expect me to take
everything on trust and work for nothing?
The man rose and waved his arms excitedly.
It is true, I say, he exclaimed. It is a fortune.
There is much for you, and it will pay.
I have no money, or you should have some.
What can I do? You will lose the chance if you
are foolish. It rather seems to me, my
friend, that I shall be foolish to give valuable time to
gratifying your cock and bull fancies.
See here now. I'm a man of business and my
time is fully occupied. You come here and waste half an
hour or more of it with a long rigmarole about some valuable
article that you say yourself you have never seen, and you
don't even know whether it is a diamond or not.
You wander at large over family traditions which you may believe
yourself or may not. You have no money and you offer
no fee as a guarantee of your bona fides.
And the sum of The thing is that you ask me to go and commit a
theft to purloin an article you can't even describe, and then to
give you 3/4 of the proceeds. No, my man, you have made a
mistake. You must go away from here at
once. And if I find you hanging about
my door again, I shall have you taken away very summarily.
Do you understand? Now go away, Mon dieu, but I
have no more time to waste. Dorrington answered, opening the
door and pointing to the stairs. If you stay here any longer,
you'll get into trouble. Jacques Bouvier walked out,
muttering and agitating his hands.
At the top stair. He turned and, almost too angry
for words, burst out. Sir, you are a very big fool.
A fool. But Dorrington slammed the door.
He determined, however, if he could find a little time to
learn a little more of Leon Bouvier, perhaps to put a man to
watch at the Cafe de Bonne Comrade, that the keeper of this
place in Soho should go regularly to Hat and garden.
The diamond market was curious, and Dorrington had met and
analyzed too many extraordinary romances to put aside unexamined
Jacques Bouvier's seemingly improbable story.
But having heard all the man had to say, it had clearly been his
policy to get rid of him in the way he had done.
Dorrington was quite ready to steal a diamond or anything else
of value if it could be done quite safely, but he was no such
fool as to give 3/4 of his plunder or any of it to somebody
else. So that the politic plan was to
send Jacques Bouvier away with the impression that his story
was altogether Pooh poohed and was to be forgotten. 2
Dorrington left his office late that day, and the evening being
clear though dark, he walked toward Conduit Street by way of
Soho. He thought to take a glance at
the Cafe de Bon Comrade on his way without being observed.
Should Jacques Bouvier be in the vicinity?
Beck Street, Soho was a short and narrow St. lying east and
West, and joining two of the largest streets that stretched
North and South across the district.
It was even A trifle dirtier than these by streets in that
quarter are won't to be. The Cafe de bon Camarade was a
little green painted shop, the window whereof was backed by
muslin curtains, while upon the window itself appeared in
Florida painted letters the words Cuisine Francaise.
It was the only shop in the street, with the exception of a
small coal and firewood shed at 1 end, the other buildings
consisting of the side wall of a factory, now closed for the
night, and a few tenement houses.
An alley entrance, apparently the gate of a stable yard, stood
next the cafe. As Dorrington walked by the
steamy window he was startled to hear his own name and some part
of his office address spoken in excited tones somewhere in this
dark alley entrance. And suddenly a man, rather well
dressed and cramming A damaged tall hat on his head as he went,
darted from the entrance and ran in the direction from which
Dorrington had come. A stoutly built Frenchwoman,
carrying on her face every indication of extreme
excitement, watched him from the gateway, and Dorrington made no
doubt that it was in her voice that he had heard his name
mentioned. He walked briskly to the end of
the Short St. turned at the end, and hurried round the block of
houses in hoped to catch another side of the man.
Presently he saw him running in Old Compton St. and making in
the direction of Charing Cross Rd.
Dorrington mended his pace and followed.
The man emerged where Shaftsbury Ave. meets Charing Cross Road,
and as he crossed hesitated once or twice, as though he thought
of hailing a cab, but decided rather to trust his own legs.
He hastened through the byways, through Saint Martin's Lane, and
Dorrington now perceived that one side and half the back of
his coat was dripping with wet mud.
Also, it was plain, as Dorrington had suspected, that
his destination was Dorrington's own office in Bedford St.
So the follower broke into a trot, and at last came upon the
muddy man, wrenching at the bell and pounding at the closed door
of the house in Bedford St. just as the housekeeper began to turn
the lock. Monsieur Dorrington.
Monsieur Darlington, The man exclaimed excitedly as the door
was opened. He's gone home long ago, the
caretaker growled. You might have known that.
Oh, here he is, though. Good evening, Sir.
I am Mr. Dorrington, the inquiry agent said politely.
Can I do anything for you? Ah, yes, it is important at
once. I am robbed.
Just step upstairs, then, and tell me about it.
Dorrington had but begun to light the gas in his office when
his visitor broke out. I am robbed, Monsieur
Dorrington. Robbed by my cousin Coquia.
Robbed of everything. Robbed, I tell you.
He seemed astonished to find the other so little excited by the
intelligence. Let me take your coat.
Dorrington said calmly. You've had a downer in the mud,
I see. Why, what's this?
He smelt the collar as he went toward a hat peg.
Chloroform. Ah, yes, it is that Rascal
Jacques. I will tell you this evening.
I go into the gateway next my house, Cafe de Bon Comorade, to
enter. By the side door and path a
shawl is flinging across my face from behind.
It is pulled tight. There is a knee in my back.
I can catch nothing with my hand.
It smell all hot in my throat. I choke and I fall over.
There is no more. I wake up and I see my wife and
she take me into the house. I am all muddy and tired but I
feel and I have lost my property.
It is a diamond and my cousin Jacques, he has done it.
Are you sure of that? Sure.
Oh yes, it is certain, I tell you certain.
Then why not inform the police? The visitor was clearly taken
aback by this question. He faltered and looked
searchingly in Dorrington's face.
That is not always the convenient way, he said.
I would rather that you do it. It is a diamond that I want not
to punish my cousin, thief that he is.
Dorrington mended a quill with ostentatious care, saying
encouragingly as he did so. I can quite understand that you
may not wish to prosecute your cousin, only to recover the
diamond you speak of. Also, I can quite understand
that there may be reasons, family reasons perhaps, perhaps
others, which may render it inadvisable to make even the
existence of the jewel known more than absolutely necessary.
For instance, there may be other claimants.
Monsieur Leon Bouviere, the visitor started.
You know my name? Then he asked.
How is that? Dorrington smiled the smile of a
sphinx. Monsieur Bouvier, he said.
It is my trade to know everything.
Everything. He put the pen down and gazed
whimsically at the other. My agents are everywhere.
You talk of the secret agent of the Russian police.
They are nothing. It is my trade to know all
things, for instance. Dorrington unlocked a drawer and
produced a book. It was but an office diary and,
turning its pages, went on. Let me see.
B. It is my trade, for instance, to
know about the Cafe de bon Camarade, established by the
late Madame Bouvier, now unhappily deceased.
It is my trait to know of Madame Bouvier at Bonnweil, where the
charcoal was burnt, and where Madame Bouvier was unfortunately
left a widow at the time of the siege of Paris, because of some
lamentable misunderstanding of her husband's with a file of
Prussian soldiers by an orchard wall.
It is my trade, moreover, to know something of the sad death
of that husband's brother in a pit, and of the later death of
his widow. Oh, yes, more turning a page
attentively, as though following detailed notes.
It is my trade to know of a little quarrel between those
brothers, and might even have been about a diamond, just such
a diamond as you have come about to night, and of jewels missed
from the Tulleries in the great Revolution 100 years ago.
He shut the book with a bang and returned it to its place.
And there are other things too many to talk about.
He said, crossing his legs and smiling calmly at the Frenchman.
During this long pretence at reading, Beauvier had slid
farther and farther forward on his chair till he sat on the
edge, his eyes staring wide and his chin dropped.
He had been pale when he arrived, but now he was of a
leaden grey. He said not a word.
Dorrington laughed lightly. Come, he said, I see you are
astonished. Very likely very few of the
people and families whose dossiers we have here.
He waved his hand. Generally about the room are
aware of what we know, but we don't make a song of it, I
assure you, unless it is for the benefit of clients.
A client's affairs are sacred, of course, and our resources are
at his disposal. Do I understand that you become
a client? Bouvier sat a little farther
back on his chair and closed his mouth.
Ah, yes. He answered at length with an
effort, moistening his lips as he spoke.
That is why I come. Ah, now we shall understand each
other, Dorrington replied genially, opening an ink pot and
clearing his blotting pad. We're not connected with the
police here or anything of that sort, and except so far as we
can help them, we leave our client's affairs alone.
You wish to be a client, and you wish me to recover your lost
diamond. Very well, that is business.
The first thing is the usual fee in advance. 20 Guineas.
Will you write a check? Bouvier had recovered some of
his self possession, and he hesitated.
It is a large fee, he said. Large nonsense.
It is the sort of fee that might easily be swallowed up in half a
day's expenses. And besides a rich diamond
merchant like yourself. Bouvier looked up quickly.
Diamond merchant, he said. I do not understand.
I have lost my diamond. There was but one.
And yet you go to Hatton Garden every day.
What? Cried Bouvier, letting his hand
fall from the table. You know that too, of course.
Dorrington laughed easily. It is my trade, I tell you.
But write the cheque. Bouvier produced a crumpled and
dirty cheque book and complied with many pauses, looking up
dazedly from time to time into Dorrington's face.
Now, said Dorrington, tell me where you kept your diamond and
all about it. It was in an old little wooden
box, so Bouvier, not yet quite master of himself, sketched an
oblong of something less than 3 inches long by two broad.
The box was old and black. My grandfather may have made it,
or his father. The lid fitted very tight and
the inside was packed with fine charcoal powder with a diamond
resting in it. The diamond.
Oh, it was great like that. So he made another sketch,
roughly square an inch and a quarter across, but it looked
even much greater still. So bright, so wonderful.
It is easy to understand that my grandfather did not sell it.
Beside the danger, it is so beautiful a thing, and it is
such great riches all in one little box.
Why should not a poor charcoal burner be rich in secret, and
look at his diamond and get all the few things he wants by
burning his charcoal? And there was the danger, but
that is long ago. I am a man of beezness, and I
desire to sell it and be rich. And that Jacques, he has stolen
it. Let us keep to the point.
The diamond was in a box. Well, where was the box?
On the outside of the box there were notches so and so round the
box. At each place there was a tight
strong silk cord that is 2 cords.
The cords were round my neck under my shirt so and the box
was under my arm just as a boy carries A satchel, but high up
in the armpit where I could feel it at all times to night.
When I come to myself, my collar was broken at the stud.
See, the cords were cut and all was gone.
You say your cousin Jacques had done this.
How do you know? Ah, but who else?
Who else could know? And he has always tried to steal
it. At first I let him wait at the
Cafe de Bon, Comrade. What does he do?
He pries about my house and opens drawers, and I catch him
at last looking in a box, and I turn him out and he calls me a
thief. Sak, he goes.
I have no more of him, and so he does this very well.
Write down his name and address on this piece of paper, and your
own. Bouvier did so.
And now tell me what you have been doing at Hatton Garden.
Well, it was a very great diamond.
I could not go to the first man and show it to sell.
I must make myself known. It never struck you to get the
stone cut in two, did it, eh? What Nom de chien?
No, he struck his knee with his hand, fool.
Why did I not think of that? But still he grew more
thoughtful. I should have to show it to get
it cut, and I did not know where to go, and the value would have
been less just so. But it's the regular thing to
do, I may tell you in cases like this.
But go on about hat and garden, you know.
I thought that I must make myself known among the merchants
of diamonds, and then perhaps I should learn the ways and one
day be able to sell. As it was, I knew nothing,
nothing at all. I waited and I saved money in
the Cafe. Then when I could do it, I
dressed well and went and bought some diamonds of a dealer.
Very little diamonds, a little tray fool for 20 lbs.
And I tried to sell them again, but I have paid too much.
I can only sell for £15. Then I buy more and sell them
for what I give. Then I take an office in hat and
garden. That is, I share a room with a
dealer and there is a partition between our desks.
My wife attends the cafe. I go to Hatton Garden to buy and
sell. It loses me money, but I must
lose till I can sell the great diamond.
I get to know the dealers more and more, and then to night as I
go home. He finished with an expressive
shrug and a wave of the hand. Yes, yes, I think I see,
Dorrington said. As to the diamond again.
It doesn't happen to be a blue diamond, does it?
No pure white perfect? Dorrington had asked, because
two especially famous diamonds disappeared from among the
French crown jewels at the time of the great Revolution. 1 Blue,
the greatest coloured diamond ever known, and the other the
mirror of Portugal. Beauvier's reply made it plain
that it was certainly not the first which he had just lost.
Come, Dorrington said, I will call and inspect the scene of
your disaster. I haven't dined yet, and it must
be well past 9:00 now. They returned to Beck St.
There were gates at the dark entry by the side of the Cafe de
Bonne, comrade, but they were never shut, Bouvier explained.
Dorrington had them shut now, however, and a Lantern was
produced. The paving was of rough
cobblestones deep in mud. Do many people come down here in
the course of an evening? Dorrington asked.
Never anybody but myself. Very well.
Stand away at your side door. Bouvier and his wife stood
huddled and staring on the threshold of the side door,
while Dorrington, with the Lantern, explored the muddy
cobblestones. The pieces of a broken bottle
lay in a little heap, and a cork lay a yard away from them.
Dorrington smelt the cork, and then collected together the
broken glass. There were but four or five
pieces from the little heap. Another piece of glass lay by
itself a little way off, and this also Dorrington took up,
scrutinizing it narrowly. Then each reversed the whole
passage, carefully stepping from bare stone to bare stone, and
skimming the ground with the Lantern.
The mud lay confused and trackless in most places, though
the place where Bouvier had been lying was indicated by an
appearance of sweeping, caused no doubt by his wife dragging
him to his feet. Only one other thing beside the
glass and cork did Dorrington carry away as evidence, and that
the Bouviers knew nothing of Ford, was the remembrance of the
mark of a sharp, small boot heel in more than one patch of mud
between the stones. Will you object, Madame Bouvier?
He asked, as he handed back the Lantern.
To show me the shoes you wore when you found your husband
lying out here. Madame Bouvier had no objection
at all. They were which she was then
wearing and had worn all day. She lifted her foot and
exhibited one. There was no need for a second
glance. It was a loose, easy cashmere
boot, with spring sides and heels cut down flat for indoor
comfort, and this was at what time it was between 7:00 and
8:00. Both agreed, though they
differed a little as to the exact time Bouvier had recovered
when his wife raised him, had entered the house with her at
once, discovered his loss, and immediately, on his wife's
advice, set out to find Dorrington, whose name the woman
had heard spoken of frequently among the visitors to the cafe
in connection with the affair of the secret society already
alluded to. He had felt certain that
Dorrington would not be at his office, but trusted to be
directed. Where to find him now?
Dorrington asked of Bouviere. The woman had been called away.
Tell me some more about your cousin.
Where does he live? In Little Norham St. the 3rd
house from this end on the right side and the back room at the
top. That is, unless he has moved
just lately. Has he been ill recently?
I'll Bouvier considered. Not that I can say no.
I have never heard of Jacques being I'll.
It seemed to strike him as an incongruous and new idea.
Nothing has made him I'll all his life.
He is too good in constitution, I think.
Does he wear spectacles? Spectacles.
May No, never. Why should he wear spectacles?
His eyes are good as mine. Very well.
Now attend to Morrow. You must not go to Hatton
Garden. I will go for you.
If you see your cousin Jacques. You must say nothing.
Take no notice. Let everything proceed as though
nothing had happened. Leave all to me.
Give me your address at Hatton Garden.
But what is it you must do there?
That is my business. I do my business in my own way.
Still, I will give you a hint. Where is it that diamonds are
sold? In hat and garden, as you so
well know, as I expect your cousin knows.
If he has been watching you, then where will your cousin go
to sell it? Hat and garden, of course.
Never mind what I shall do there to intercept it.
I am to be your new partner, you understand, bringing money into
the business. You must be ill and stay at home
till you hear from me. Go now and write me a letter of
introduction to the man who shares the office with you, or I
shall write it if you like, and you shall sign it.
What sort of a man is he? Very quiet, a tall man, perhaps
English, but perhaps not Ever buy or sell diamonds with him?
Once only it was the first time. That is how I learned of the
half office to let. The letter was written, and
Dorrington stuffed it carelessly into his pocket.
Mr. Hammer is the name, is it? He said.
I fancy I have met him somewhere.
He is short sighted, isn't he? Oh, yes, he is short sighted
with Ponce Ney. Not very well lately.
No, I think not. He takes medicine in the office.
But you will be careful, eh? He must not know.
Do you think so? Perhaps I may tell him, though.
Tell him still. No.
You must not tell people. No.
Shall I throw the whole case over and keep your deposit fee?
No. No, not that.
But it is foolish to tell to people.
I am to judge what is foolish and what wise.
Monsieur Bouvier. Good evening.
Good evening, Monsieur Dorrington.
Good evening. Bouvier followed him out of the
gate. And will you tell me, do you
think there is a way to get the diamond?
Have you any plan? Oh yes, Monsieur Bouvier, I have
a plan. But as I have said, that is my
business. It may be a successful plan or
it may not, that we shall see. And and the dossier, the notes
that you so marvellously have written out in the book you
read, when this business is over, you will destroy them, eh?
You will not leave a clue. The notes that I have in my
books, answered Dorrington without relaxing a muscle of his
face, are my property for my own purposes, and were mine before
you came to me. Those relating to you are a mere
item in thousands. So long as you behave well,
Monsieur Bouvier, they will not harm you.
And as I said, the confidences of a client are sacred to
Dorrington and Hicks, but as to keeping them, certainly I shall.
Once more good evening. Even the Stony faced Dorrington
could not repress a smile and something very like a chuckle as
he turned the end of the street and struck out across Golden
Square towards his rooms in Conduit St.
The simple Frenchman, only half a rogue, even less than half,
was now bamboozled and put aside as effectually as his cousin had
been. Certainly there was a diamond,
and an immense one, if only the Bouvier tradition were true,
Probably the famous mirror of Portugal, and nothing stood
between Dorrington and absolute possession of that diamond but
an ordinary sort of case, such as he dealt with every day, and
he had made Bouvier pay a fee for the privilege of putting him
completely on the track of it. Dorrington smiled again.
His dinner was spoiled by waiting, but he troubled little
of that. He spread before him and
examined again the pieces of glass and the cork.
The bottle had been a druggist's ordinary flat bottle, graduated
with dose Marks and altogether 7 inches high or thereabout.
It had without a doubt contained the chloroform wherewith Leon
Bouvier had been assaulted. As Dorrington had judged from
the smell of the cork, the fact of the bottle being corked
showed that the chloroform had not been bought all at once,
since in that case it would have been put up in a Stoppard
bottle. More probably it had been
procured in very small quantities, ostensibly for
toothache or something of that kind, at different druggists,
and put together in this larger bottle, which had originally
been used for something else. The bottle had been
distinguished by a label, the usual white label affixed by the
druggist with directions as to taking the medicine, and this
label had been scraped off all except a small piece at the
bottom edge by the right hand side, whereon might be just
distinguished the greater part of the letters NE.
The piece of glass that had lain a little way apart from the
bottle was not a part of it as a casual observer might have
supposed. It was a fragment of a concave
lens with a channel ground in the edge.
End of the Case of the Mirror of Portugal by Arthur Morrison,
Part 1 recording by William Tomko.
Section 10 of the Rivals of Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1.
This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information or to
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The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1.
The Case of the Mirror of Portugal by Arthur Morrison,
Part 2 at 10. Precisely next morning, as
usual, Mr. Ludwig Hammer mounted the stairs of the house at
Hatton Garden, wherein he rented half room as office.
He was a tall, fair man, wearing thick convex pensiones.
He spoke English like a native, and indeed he called himself an
Englishman, though there were those who doubted the criticism
of his name. Scarce had he entered his office
when Dorrington followed him. The room had never been a very
large one, and now a partition divided it in two, leaving a
passage at one side only by the window.
On each side of this partition stood a small pedestal table, a
couple of chairs, a copying press, and the other articles
usual in meagerly finished office.
Dorrington strode past Bouvier's half of the room and came upon
Hammer as he was hanging his coat on a peg.
The letter of introduction had been burnt, since Dorrington had
only asked for it in order to get Hammer's name and the hat
and garden address without betraying Bouvier the fact that
he did not already know all about it.
Good morning, Mr. Hammer, said Dorrington loudly.
Sorry to see you're not well. He pointed familiarly with his
stick at a range of medicine bottles on a metal piece.
But it's very trying weather, of course you've been suffering
from toothache, I believe. Hammer seemed at first disposed
to resent the loudness and familiarity of this speech, but
at the reference to toothache he started suddenly and said his
lips. Chloroform's a capital thing for
toothache, Mr. Hammer, and for other things.
I'm not in your line of business myself, but I believe it has
even been used in the diamond trade.
What do you mean? Asked Hammer, flushing angrily.
Mean. Why, bless me.
Nothing more than I said. By the way, I'm afraid you
dropped one of your medicine bottles last night.
I've brought it back, though I'm afraid it's past repair.
It's a good job you didn't quite clear the label off before you
took it out with you, else I might have had a difficulty.
Dorrington placed the fragments on the table.
You see, you've just left the 1st letter of EC in the druggist
address, and the last N of Hatton Garden just before.
There doesn't happen to be any other garden in EC District that
I know of, nor does the name of any other thoroughfare end in N.
They are mostly streets or lanes or courts, you see, And there
seems to be only one druggist in Hampton Garden Capital Fellow,
no doubt the one whose name and address I observe on those
models. On the mantelpiece, Doringson
stood with his foot on a chair and tapped his knee carelessly
with his Dick. Hammer dropped into the other
chair and regarded him with a frown, though his face was pale.
Presently. He said in a strained voice.
Well, yes, there is something else, Mr. Hammer, as you appear
to suggest. I see you're wearing a new pair
of glasses this morning. Hey, you broke the others last
night, but I brought the piece you left behind.
He gathered up the broken bottle and held up the piece of concave
lens. I think, after all, it's really
best to use a cord with Pinsonez.
It's awkward, and it catches in things, I know, but it saves A
breakage, and you're liable to get the glasses knocked off, you
know, in certain circumstances. Hammer sprang to his feet with a
snarl, slammed the door, locked it, and turned on Dorrington.
But now Dorrington had a revolver in his hand, though his
manner was as genial as ever. Yes, yes, he said best to shut
the door. Of course.
People listen, don't they? But sit down again.
I'm not anxious to hurt you, and as you will perceive, you're
quite unable to hurt me. What I chiefly came to say is
this last evening my client, Mr. Leon Beauvier, of this office
and Cafe de Bon Comrades, was attacked, and the passenger
joining his house, by a man who was waiting for him with a
woman. Was it really Missus Hammer?
But there I won't ask. Keeping watch, he was robbed of
a small old wooden box containing charcoal and a
diamond. My name is Dorrington, firm of
Dorrington and Hicks, which you may have heard of.
That's my card. I've come to take away that
diamond. Hammer was pale and angry, but
in his way was almost as common as Dorrington.
He put down the card without looking at it.
I don't understand you, he said. How do you know I've got it?
Come, come, Mr. Hammer, Dorrington replied, rubbing the
barrel off the revolver on his knee.
That's hardly worthy of you. You're a man of business with a
head on your shoulders, the sort of man I like doing business
with. In fact, men like ourselves need
A trifle. I've shown you most of the cards
I hold, though not all, I assure you.
I'll tell you if you like, all about your little tour around
the druggist with a convenient toothache, all about the
evenings on which you watch Bouvier home, and so on.
But really, need we as men of the world descend in such
peddling detail? Well, suppose I have got it, and
suppose I refuse to give it to you.
What then? What then?
But why should we talk of unpleasant thing?
You won't refuse, you know. Do you mean you'd get it out of
me by helping that pistol? Well, said Dorrington,
deliberately. The pistol was noisy and it
makes a mess and all that, but it's a useful thing, and I might
do it with that, you know, under certain circumstances.
But I wasn't thinking of it. There's a much less troublesome
way which you're a slower man than I took you for, Miss
Tanner. Or perhaps you haven't quite
appreciated me yet. If I were to go to that window
and call the police, what with the little bits of evidence in
my pocket and the other little bits that the druggist who sold
the chloroform would give you, and the other bits in reserve
that I prefer not to talk about just now, There would be rather
an awkwardly complete case of robbery with violence, wouldn't
there? And you'd have to lose the
diamond, after all, to say nothing of the little rest in
jail and gender ruination. That sounds very well.
But what about your client? Come now, you call me a man of
the world, and I am one. How will your client account for
the possession of a diamond worth £80,000 or so?
He doesn't seem a millionaire. The police would want to know
about him as well as about me, if you were such a fool as to
bring them in. Where did he steal it, eh?
Dorrington smiled and bowed to the question.
That's a very good card to play, Mr. Hammer, he said.
A capital card, really. To a superficial observer it
might look like winning the trick, but I think I can trump
it. He bent further forward and
tapped the table with the pistol barrel.
Suppose I don't care 1 solitary dump.
What becomes of my client? Suppose I don't care whether he
goes to jail or stays out of it. In short, suppose I prefer my
own interests to his. Oh, Hammer cried.
I begin to understand. You want to grab the diamond for
yourself, then? I haven't said anything of the
kind, Mr. Hammer, Dorrington replied squabbly.
I have simply demanded the diamond which you stole last
night, and I have mentioned an alternative.
Oh, yes, yes, but we understand one another.
Come, we'll arrange this. How much do you want?
Dorrington stared at him sternly.
I, I beg your pardon, he said. But I don't understand.
I want the diamond you stole, but come now, we'll divide.
Buvier had no right to it, and he's out.
You and I perhaps have a much right to it legally, but it's
between US, and we're both in the same position.
Pardon me, Dorrington replied silkily.
But there you mistake. We are not in the same position
by a long way. You are liable to an instant
criminal prosecution. I have simply come authorized by
my client, who bears all responsibility, to demand a
piece of property which you have stolen.
That is the difference between our positions, Mr. Hammer.
Come now. A policeman is standing just
opposite. Shall I open the window and call
him, or do you give in? No, I give in, I suppose.
Hammer groaned. But you're a deal too hard.
A man of your ability shouldn't be so mean.
That's right and reasonable. Dorrington answered briskly.
The wise man is the man who knows when he is beaten and
saves further trouble. You may not find me so mean
after all, but I must have a stone first.
I hold the Trump's, and I'm not going to let the other player
make conditions. Where's the diamond?
It isn't here. It's at home.
You'll have to get it out of Missus Hammer.
Shall I go and wire to her? No, no, said Dorrington.
That's not the way. We'll just go together and take
Missus Hammer by surprise. I think I mustn't let you out of
sight, you know. Come, we'll get a handsome.
Is it far? Bass Burl, St.
Pimlico, you'll find Missus Hammer has a temper of her own.
Well, well, we all have our failings.
But before we start now, observe for a moment.
Dorrington was stirring, menacing.
You wriggled a little at first, but that was quite natural.
Now you've given in, and at the first sign of another wiggle I
stop at once and for all understand no tricks now.
They entered A hansom at the door.
Hammer was Moody and silent at first, but under the influence
of Dorrington's great talk he opened out after a while.
Well, he said, you're far the cleverest of the three, no
doubt, and perhaps in that way you deserve to win.
It's mighty smart of you to come in like this and push Bouvier on
one side and me on the other, and both of us helpless.
But it's rough on me after having all the trouble.
Don't be a bad loser, man, Dorrington answered.
You might have had a deal more trouble and a deal more
roughness too, I assure you. Oh, yes, I might.
I'm not grumbling. But there's one thing that's
puzzled me all along. Where did Bouvier get that stone
from? He inherited it.
It's the most important of the family jewels, I assure you.
Oh, Skittles, I might have known you wouldn't tell me even if you
knew yourself. But I should like to know what
sort of a duffer must it have been that let Bouvier do him for
that big stone? Bouvier of all men in the world,
why he was a record flat himself, couldn't tell a diamond
from a glass marble, I should think, why he used to buy
peddling little trays of rotters in the garden at twice their
value, and then he'd sell them for what he could get.
I know very well he wasn't going on systematically dropping money
like that for no reason at all. He had some axe to grind that
was blame, and after a while he got asking timid questions as to
the sale of big diamonds and how it was done and who bought them
and all that. That put me on it at once.
All they're buying and selling at a loss was a blind.
He wanted to get into the trade to sell stolen diamonds, that
was clear, and there was some value in them too, else he
couldn't afford to waste months of time and lose money every day
over it. So I kept my eye on him.
I noticed when he put his overcoat on and thought I wasn't
looking, he would settle a string of some sort round his
neck under her shirt collar and feel to pack up something close
under his armpit. Then I walked him home and saw
the sort of shanty he lived in. I mentioned those things to
Missus H, and she was naturally indignant at the idea of a chap
like Bouvier having something valuable in a dishonest way, and
agreed with me that if possible, it ought to be cut from him, if
only in the interest of virtue. Hammer laughed cheerily.
So, at any rate, we determined to get a look at whatever was
hanging around his neck, and we made the arrangements you know
about. It seemed to me that Bouvier was
pretty sure to lose it before long, one way or another, if it
had any value at all, to judge by the way it was done in other
matters. But I assure you I nearly fell
down like Bouvier himself when I saw what it was.
No wonder who left the bottle behind where I dropped it after
soaking the shawl. I wonder I didn't leave the
shawl itself, and my hat and everything.
I assure you we set up half last night.
Looking at that wonderful stone. No doubt I shall have a good
look at it myself, I assure you. Here is Bessington St. which is
the number. They alighted and entered a
house rather smaller than those about it.
Ask Missus Hammer to come here, said Hammer gloomily to the
servant. The men sat in the drawing room.
Presently Missus Hammer entered A shortage.
Sharp, keen eyed woman of 45. This is Mr. Dorrington, said
Hammer of Dorrington and Hicks, private detectives.
He wants us to give him that diamond.
The little woman gave a sort of involuntary bounce and
exclaimed. What diamond?
What do you mean? Oh, it's no good, Maria Hammer
answered dopefully. I've tried it every way myself.
1 Comfort is we're safe as long as we give it up here.
He had to turn to Dorrington. Show her some of your evidence.
That'll convince her very politely.
Dorrington brought forth with full explanations the cork and
the broken glass, while Missus Hammer, biting hard at her thin
lips, grew shinier and redder in the face every moment, and her
hard Gray eyes flashed fury. And you let this man?
She burst out to her husband when Dorrington had finished.
You will let this man leave your office with those things in his
possession, after we'd shown them to you, and you as big as
he is, and bigger. Coward, my dear, you don't
appreciate Mr. Dorrington's forethought.
Hang it, I made preparations for the very line of action you
recommend. But he was ready.
He brought out a very well kept revolver, and he has it in his
pocket now. Missus Hammer only glared
speechless with anger. You might just get Mr.
Dorrington a whiskey and soda. Maria Hammer pursued with a
slight lift to the eyebrows, which he did not intend
Dorrington to see. The woman was on her feet in a
moment. Thank you.
No, interposed Dorrington, rising.
Also, I won't trouble you, I'd rather not drink anything just
now, and although I fear I may appear rude, I can't allow
either of you to leave the room. In short, he added, I must stay
with you both till I get the diamond.
And this man Bouvier as Missus Hammer, what is his right to the
stone, really? I don't feel confident to offer
an opinion, do you know? Dorrington answered sweetly.
To tell the truth, Monsieur Bouvier doesn't interest me very
much. No, go Maria route, Hammer, I've
tried it all. The fact is, we've got to give
Dorman a diamond. If we don't, he'll just call on
the police. Then we should lose diamonds and
everything else too. He doesn't care what becomes a
Bouvier. He's got us, that's what it is.
He won't even bargain to give us a share.
Missus Hammer looked quickly up. Oh, but that's nonsense, she
said. We've got the thing we ought at
least to say haves. Her sharp eyes searched
Dorrington's face, but there was no encouragement in it.
I'm sorry to disappoint a lady, he said.
But this time it is my business to impose terms, not to submit
to them. Come the diamond.
Well, you'll give us something, surely, the woman cried.
Nothing is sure, Madam, except that you will give me that
diamond or face a policeman in 5 minutes.
The woman realized your helplessness.
Well, she said much good man, do you?
You'll have to come and get it. I'm hitting it somewhere else.
I'll go and get my hat again, Dorrington interposed.
I think we'll send your servant for the hat, he said, reaching
for the bell rope. I'll come wherever you like, but
I shall not leave you to the Sapphira Settled, I promise you.
And as I reminded your husband a little time ago, you'll find
tricks come expensive. The servant brought Missus
Hammer's hat and cloak, and that Lady put them on, her eyes
ablaze with anger. Dorrington made the pair walk
before him to the front door and follow him into the street.
Now, he said, Where is this place?
Remember, no tricks. Missus Hammer turned towards
Vauxhall Bridge. It's just over by Upper
Kennington Lane, she said. Not far.
She paced out before Dorrington and Hammer, following, the
former affable and business like, the latter apparently a
little puzzled when they came about the middle of the bridge.
The woman turned suddenly. Come, Mr. Dorrington, she said
in a more subdued voice than she had used yet.
I give in. It's no use trying to shake you
off. I can see I have the diamond
with me here. She put a little black wooden
box in his hand. He made to open the lid, which
fitted tightly. At that moment the woman,
pulling her other hand free from under her cloak, flung away over
the parapet something that's shown like 50 points of electric
light. There it goes.
She screamed aloud, pointing with her finger.
There's your diamond, you dirty thief.
You bully. Go after it now, you spy.
The great diamond made a curve of glitter and disappeared into
the river. For the moment Dorrington lost
his cool temper. He sees the woman by the arm.
Do you know what you've done, you Wildcat?
He exclaimed. Yes I do.
The woman screamed, almost foaming with passion while boys
began to collect, though there had been but a few people on the
bridge. Yes I do, and now you can do
what you please, you thief, you bully.
Dorrington was calm again in a moment.
He shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
Hammer was frightened. He came at Dorrington side and
faltered. I, I told you she had a temper.
What will you do? Dorrington forced to laugh.
Oh nothing, He said. What can I do?
Locking you up now wouldn't fetch the Diamondback, and
besides, I'm not sure that Missus Hammer won't attend to
your punishment faithfully enough.
And he walked briskly away. What did you do?
Bill asked one boy of another. Why didn't you see?
She chucked. That man's watch in the river.
God, that wasn't a watch, interrupted the third.
It was a little glass Tumblr. I see it.
Have you got my diamond? Asked the agonized Leon Beauvier
of Dorrington a day later. No, I have not, Dorrington
replied dryly. Nor has your cousin Jacques.
But I know where it is, and you can get it as easily as I, Mon
Dieu. Where?
At the bottom of the River Thames, Exactly In the centre
rather to the right of Vauxhall Bridge.
Looking from this side. I expect it will be rediscovered
in some future age, when the bed of the Thames is a diamond
field. The rest of Bouvier's savings
went in the purchase of a boat, and in this with a pail on a
long rope. He was very busy for some time
afterwards, but he only got a great deal of mud into his boat.
End of the Case of the Mirror of Portugal by Arthur Morrison,
recording by Todd. Section 11 of the Rivals of
Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1. This is a Libri Vox recording.
All Libri Vox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit
liveryvox.org. Recording by Omar Dutray The
Rivals of Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1 Madam Sarah by Lt.
Meath and Robert Ustech Part 1 Everyone in trade and the good
many who are not have heard of Warner's agency, the Solvency
Enquiry Agency for all British Trade.
Its business is to know the financial condition of all
wholesale and retail farms, from Rothschilds to the smallest
switched off shop in Whitechapel.
I did not say that every form figures on its books, but by
methods of secret enquiry it can discover the status of any form
or individual. It is the great safeguard to
British trade and prevents much fraudulent dealing of this
agency. I Dixon Juice was appointed
manager in 1890. Since then I have met queer
people and seen strange sights for man.
Do curious things for money in this world.
It so happened that in June, 1899, my business took me to
Madeira on an inquiry of some importance.
I left the island on the 14th of the month by the Norham Castle
for Southampton. I embarked after dinner.
It was a lovely night, and the strains of the band in the
public gardens of Funkel came floating across the star
powdered Bay through the warm balmy air.
Then the engine belts rang to full speed ahead, and flinging A
farewell to the fairest island on earth, I turned to the
smoking room in order to light my chair route.
Do you want a match, Sir? The voice came from a slender
young looking man who stood near that of rail.
Before I could reply he had struck one and held it out to
me. Excuse me, he said as he tossed
it overboard. But surely I'm addressing Mr.
Dicks and Drews. You are, Sir, I said, glancing
keenly back at him. But do you have the advantage of
me? Don't you know me?
He responded. Jack Sell by Hayward's house,
Harrow, 1879 by Job. So it is.
I cried. Our hands met in a warm clasp,
and a moment later I found myself sitting close to my old
friend who had fegged for me in the bygone days, and whom I had
not seen from the moment when I said goodbye to the hill in the
Gray midst of a December morning 20 years ago.
He was a boy of 1410, but nevertheless I recognized him.
His face was bronched and good looking, his features refined.
As a boy, Salvi had been noted for his grace, his well shaped
head, his clean cut features. These characteristics still were
heels, and although he was now slightly past his first youth,
he was decidedly handsome. He gave me a quick sketch of his
history. My father left me plenty of
money, he said, and the Meadows, our old family place, is now
mine. I have a taste for Natural
History. That taste took me two years ago
to South America. I have had my share of strange
adventures and have collected valuable specimens and trophies.
I am now on my way home from Para on the Amazon, having come
by a boot belt to Madeira and changed air to the castle line.
Not do I always talk about myself, he added, bringing his
deck chair a little nearer to mine.
What about your history, old chair?
Are you settled down with a wife and kiddies of your own, or is
that dream of your school days fulfilled?
And are you the owner of the best private laboratory in
London? As to the laboratory, I said
with a smile. You must come and see it.
For the rest, I am unmarried. Are you?
I was married the day before I left Para, and my wife is on
board with me. Capital, I answered.
Let me hear all about it. You shall.
Her maiden name was Dallas. Beatrice Dallas.
She is just 20 now. Her father was an Englishman and
her mother is Penyard. Neither parent is leaving.
She has an elder sister edit nearly 30 years of age,
unmarried, who is on board with us.
There is also a. Stepbrother considerably older
than either. Edit's obiatrice.
I met my wife last year in Para and at once fell in love.
I'm the happiest man on earth. It goes without saying that I
think how beautiful. And she is also very well loved.
The story of her wealth is a curious one.
Her uncle, on the mother's side was an extremely wealthy
Spaniard, who made an enormous fortune in Brazil out of
diamonds and minerals. He owns several mines, but it is
supposed that his wealth stormed his brain.
At any rate, it seems to have done so.
As far as the disposal of his money went, he divided the
yearly profits and interest between his nephew and his two
nieces, but declared that the property itself should never be
split up. He has left the whole of it to
that one of the three who should survive the others.
A perfectly insane arrangement, but not, I believe,
unprecedented in Brazil. Very insane.
I killed what was he worth? Over 2 million sterlings.
By Jove. I cried.
What a sum. But what about the hub brother?
He must be over 40 years of age and is evidently a bad lot.
I have never seen him. His sisters won't speak to him
or have anything to do with him. I understand that he is a great
gambler. I am father told that he is at
present in England, and as there are certain technicalities to be
gone through before the girls can fully enjoy their incomes,
one of the first things I must do when I get home is to find
him out. He has to sign certain papers,
for we shan't be able to put things straight until we get his
whereabouts. Some time ago my wife and I did
thought that he was ill, but dead or alive.
We must know all about him, and as quickly as possible.
I made no answer and he continued.
I'll introduce you to my wife and sister-in-law tomorrow.
Beatrice is quite a child compared to Edit, who acts
towards her almost like a mother.
B is a little beauty, so fresh and round and young looking, but
Edit is handsome too, although I sometimes think C is as vain as
a Peacock. By the way, Drews, This brings
me to another part of my story. The sisters have an acquaintance
on board, one of the most remarkable women I have ever
met. She goes by the name of Madam
Sarah, and knows London well. In fact, she confesses to having
a shop in the Strand. What she has been doing in
Brazil I do not know, for she keeps all her affairs strictly
private. But you will be amazed when I
tell you what her calling is. What I asked A professional
beautifier. She claims the privilege of
restoring it to those who consult her.
She also declares that she can make quite ugly people handsome.
There is no doubt that she is very clever.
She knows a little bit of everything, and has wonderful
recipes with regard to medicines, surgery and
dentistry. She is a most lovely woman
herself, very fair, with blue eyes, an innocent childlike
manner, and quantities of rippling gold hair.
She openly confesses that she is very much older than she
appears. She looks about 5 and 20.
She seems to have travelled all over the world, and says that by
birth sees a mixture of Indian and Italian, her father having
been Italian and her mother Indian.
Accompanying her is an Arab, a handsome, picturesque sort of
fellow, who gives her the most absolute devotion, and she is
also bringing back to England, to Brazilians from Para.
This woman deals in all sorts of curious secrets, but principally
in cosmetics. Her shop in the Strand could, I
fancy, tell many a strange history.
Her clients go to her there, and she does what is necessary for
them. It is a fact that she
occasionally performs small surgical operations and there is
not a dentist in London who can vie with her.
She confesses, quite naively that she holds some secrets for
making false dates. Clinging to the ballot that no
one knows of. Adid Dallas is devoted to her.
In fact, her adoration amounts to Ida Latre.
You'll give a very brilliant account of this omen.
I said you must introduce me tomorrow.
I will, Aunt her, Jack with a smile.
I should like your opinion of her.
I'm right. Glad I have met you.
Truce. It is like old times.
When I get to London, I mean to put up at my townhouse in Eton
Square for the remainder of the season.
The meadows shall be refurnished, and B and I will
take up our quarters sometime in August.
Then you must come and see us. But I'm afraid before I give
myself up to mere pleasure, I must find that precocious
brother-in-law, Henry Joakim Silva.
If you have any difficulty applied to me, I said.
I can put at your disposal, in an unofficial way of course.
As in, so would find almost any man in England dead or.
Alive. I then proceeded to give sell by
a short account of my own business.
Thanks, he said presently that is capital.
You are the very man we want. The next morning after breakfast
Jack introduced me to his wife and sister-in-law.
They were both foreign looking but very handsome and the wife
in particular had a graceful and uncommon appearance.
We had been chatting about 5 minutes when I saw coming down
the deck a slight, rather small woman wearing a big sun hat.
Ah, Madam, cried Selby, here you were.
I had the luck to meet an old friend on board, Mr. Dicks and
Jews, and I have been telling him all about you.
I should like you to know each other.
Jews. This lady is Madam Sarah, of
whom I have spoken to you, Mr. Dicks and Jews.
Madam Sarah. She bowed gracefully and then
looked at me honestly. I had seldom seen a more lovely
omen by her side. Both Missus Selby and her sister
seemed to fade into insignificance.
Her complexion was almost dazingly fair, her face refined
in expression, her eyes penetrating, clever, and yet
with the innocent, frank age of a child.
Her dress was very simple. She looked altogether like a
young, fresh and natural girl. As we sat chatting lightly and
about commonplace topics, I instinctively felt that she took
an interest in me even greater than might be expected upon an
ordinary introduction. By slow degrees she so taunt a
conversation as to leave Selby and his wife and sister out, and
then as they moved away, she came a little nearer and said in
a low voice, I'm very glad we have met, and yet how odd this
meeting is. Was it really accidental?
I do not understand you, I answered.
I know who you are, she said lightly.
You are the manager of Warner's agency.
Its business is to know the private affairs of those people
who would rather keep their own secrets.
Now, Mr. Drews, I am going to be absolutely frank with you.
I own a small shop in the Strand, A perfumery shop, and
behind those innocent looking doors I conduct the business
which brings me in gold of the real.
Have you, Mr. Drews, any objection to my continuing to
make a livelihood in perfectly innocent ways?
None. Whatever, I answered.
You puzzle me by alluding to the subject.
I want you to pay my shop a visit when you come to London.
I have been away for three or four months.
I do wonders for my clients, and they pay me largely for my
services. I hold some perfectly innocent
secrets, which I cannot confide to anybody.
I have obtained them partly from the Indians, and partly from the
natives of Brazil. I have lately been in Para to
inquire into certain methods by which my trade can be improved.
And your trade is? I said, looking at her with
amusement and some surprise. I'm a beautifier, she said
lightly. She looked at me with a smile.
You don't want me yet, Mr. Druce, but the time may come
when even you will wish to keep back the informative's ears.
In the meantime, can you guess my age?
I will not hajjard a guess, I answered.
And I'll not tell you. Let it remain a secret.
Meanwhile, understand that my calling is quite an open one,
and I do hold secrets. I should advise her, Mr. Drews,
even in your professional capacity, not to interfere with
them. The childlike expression faded
from her face as she uttered the last words.
There seemed to ring a sort of challenge in her tone.
She turned away after a few moments and they rejoined my
friends. You have been making
acquaintance with Madam Sarah, Mr. Drews, said Missus Selby,
don't you think she is lovely? She is one of the most beautiful
women I have ever seen, I answered.
But there seems to be a mystery about her.
Oh, indeed there is, said Eddie Dallas gravely.
She asked me if I could guess her age.
I continued. I did not try, but surely she
cannot be more than 5 and 20. No one knows her age, said
Missus Selby. But I'll tell you a curious fact
which perhaps you will not believe.
She was bridesmaid at my mother's wedding 30 years ago.
She declares that she never changes and has No Fear of old
age. You mean that seriously?
I cried. But surely it is impossible.
Her name is on the register, and my mother knew her well.
She was mysterious then, and I think my mother got into her
power, but of that I am not certain.
Anyhow, Aditya, and I adore her turn to Eddie.
She laid her hand affectionately on her sister's arm.
Adi Dallas did not speak, but her face was scare ward of the
time. She said slowly.
Madam Sarah is uncanny and terrible days, perhaps no
business imaginable, not even a lawyer's, that engender
suspicions more than mine. I hate all mysteries, both in
persons and things. Mysteries are my natural
enemies. I felt now that this woman was a
distinct mystery. That she was interested in me I
did not doubt, perhaps because she was afraid of me.
The rest of the voyage passed pleasantly enough.
The more I saw Missus Selvi and her sister, the more I liked
them. They were quite simple and
straightforward. I felt sure that they were both
as good as gold. We parted at Waterloo, Jack and
his wife and her sister going to Jack's house in Eton Square and
I returning to my quarters in St.
John's Wood. I had a house there with a long
garden, at the bottom of which was my laboratory, the
laboratory that was the pride of my life, it being, I fondly
considered, the best private laboratory in London.
There I spent all my spare time making experiments and trying
this chemical combination and the other living in hopes of
doing great things someday. For one assigency was not to be
the end of my career. Nevertheless, it interested me
thoroughly and I was not sorry to get back to my commercial
conundrums. The next day, just before I
started to go to my place of business, Jack Selby was
announced. I want you to help me, he said.
I have been already trying in a sort of general way to get
information about my brother-in-law, but all in vain.
There is no such person in any of the directories.
Can you put me on the road to discovery?
I said. I could and would if you would
leave the matter in my hands. With pleasure, he replied.
You see how we are fixed up. Neither edits nor be can get any
money with regularly until the man is found.
I cannot imagine why he hides himself.
I will insert advertisements in the personal columns of the
newspapers, I said, and request anyone who can give information
to communicate with me at my office.
I'll also give instructions to all the branches of my farm, as
well as to my head assistance in London, to keep their eyes open
for any news. You may be quite certain that in
a week or two we shall know all about him.
Salvaya cheered at this proposal, and having begged of
me to call upon his wife and her sister as soon as possible, took
his leave. On that very day.
Advertisements were drawn up and sent to several newspapers and
inquiry agents, but week after week passed without the
slightest result. Salvay got very fidgety at the
delay. He was never happy except in my
presence, and insisted on my coming whenever I had time to
his house. I was glad to do so, for I took
an interest both in him and his belongings, and as to Madam
Sarah, I could not get her out of my head.
One day Missus Selby said to me, Have you ever been to see Madam?
I know she would like to show you her sob and general
surroundings. I did promise to call upon her,
I answered, but I have not had time to do so yet.
Will you come with me tomorrow morning?
Asked? Added Dallas.
Suddenly. She turned red as she spoke, and
the worried Ani's expression became more marked on her face.
I had noticed for some time that she had been looking both
nervous and depressed. I had first observed this
peculiarity about her on board the Norham Castle, but as time
went on, instead of listening, it grew worse.
Her face, for so young a woman, was haggard.
She started at each sound, and Madam Sarah's name was never
spoken in her presence without her avenging almost undue
emotion. Will you come with me?
She said with great agonies. I immediately promised, and the
next day, about 11:00 added, Dallas and I found ourselves in
a handsome driving to Madam Sarah Sharp.
We reached it in a few minutes and found an unpretentious
little place wedged in between a Hoziers on one side and a cheap
print Cellars on the other. In the windows of the shop were
pyramids of perfume bottles with scintillating facet stoppers
tied with colored ribbons. We stepped out of the hansom and
went indoors. Inside the shop were a couple of
tapes which led to a door of solid mahogany.
This is the entrance to her private house, said Eddie, and
she pointed to a small brass plate on which was engraved the
name Madam Sarah Perfumuels and it touched an electric bell and
the door was immediately opened by a smartly dressed page boy.
He looked at Miss Dallas as if he knew how very well, and said.
Madam is with him and is expecting you, miss.
He ushered us both into a quiet looking room, soberly but
handsomely furnished. He left us closing the door.
And it's daunt to me. Do you know where we are?
She asked. We are standing at present in a
small room just behind Madam Sarah's Saab.
I answered. Why are you so excited, Miss
Dallas? What is the matter with you?
We are on the threshold of a magician's Cape, she replied.
We shall soon be face to face with the most marvellous woman
in the whole of London. There is no one like her, and
you fear her, I said, dropping my voice to a whisper.
She started, stepped back, and its great difficulty recovered
her composer. At that moment the page bar
returned to contact us to a series of small waiting rooms,
and we soon found ourselves in the presence of Madam herself.
Ah, she said with a smile. This is delightful.
You have kept your word at it, and I am greatly obliged to you.
I will now show Mr. Drews some of the mysteries of my train.
But understand, Sir, she added, that I shall not tell you any of
my real secrets. Only as you would like to know
something about me. You shall.
How can you tell I should like to know about you?
I asked. She gave me an honest glance,
which somewhat astonished me, and then she said, Knowledge is
power. Don't refuse what I am willing
to give. Add it.
You will not object to waiting here while I show Mr. Drews
through the rooms. First observe this room, Mr.
Drews. It is lighted only from the
roof. When the door shuts it
automatically locks itself, so that an intrusion from without
is impossible. This is my sanctum sanctorum.
A faint order of perfume pervades the room.
This is a hot day, but the room itself is cool.
What do you think of it all? I made no answer.
She walked to the other end and motioned to me to accompany her.
There stood A polished oak square table on which lay an
array of extraordinary looking articles and implements,
Stoppard bottles full of strange medicaments, meters, Palladium,
concave brushes, sprays, sponges, delicate needle pointed
instruments of bright steel, tiny lancets and forceps.
Facing this table was a chair like those used by dentists.
Above the chair hung electric lights in powerful reflectors
and lenses like bullseye lanterns.
Another chair, supported on a glass pedestal was kept there,
Madam Sarah informed me, for administering static
electricity. There were dry cell batteries
for the continuous currents and induction coils for faradic
currents. There were also platinum needles
for burning out the roots of hares.
Madam took me from this room into another where a steel, more
formidable area of instruments was to be found.
Here were a wooden operating table and chloroform and eater
apparatus. When I had looked at everything,
she turned to me. Now you know, she said, I'm a
doctor, perhaps a quack. These are my secrets.
By means of these I leave and flourish.
She turned her back on me and walked into the other room with
a light springy step or wilt. I did tell us, White as a ghost
was waiting for us. You have done your duty, my
child, said Madam, Mr. Truce has seen just what I want him to
see. I am very much obliged to you
both. We shall meet tonight at Lady
Farringdon's at home. Until then, farewell.
When he got into the street and were driving back again to Eaton
Square, I turned to add it. Many things puzzle me about your
friend, I said, but perhaps none more than this.
By what possible means can a woman who owns to being the
possessor of a shop obtain the entry to some of the best houses
in London? Why does society open her doors
to this woman, Miss Dallas? I cannot quite tell you, was her
reply. I only know the fact that
wherever she goes she is welcomed and treated with
consideration, and wherever she fails to appear there is a
universally expressed feeling of regret.
I had also been invited to Lady Farringdon's reception that
evening, and I went there in a state of great curiosity.
There was no doubt that Madam interested me.
I was not sure of her beyond doubt.
There was a mystery attached to her, and also, for some
unaccountable reason, she wished both to propitiate and defy me.
Why was this? I arrived early and was standing
in the crush near the head of the staircase when Madam was
announced. She wore the richest white satin
and quantities of diamonds. I saw her Hostess bend towards
her and talk eagerly. I noticed Madam's reply and a
pleased expression that crossed Lady Farragut's face.
A few minutes later a man with a foreign looking face and long
beard sat down before the grand piano.
He played a light prelude and Madam Sarah began to sing.
Her voice was sweet and low with an extraordinary path hose in
it. It was the shot of voice that
penetrates to the heart. There was an instant pause in
the gay chatter. She sang amidst perfect silence
and when the song had come to an end, there followed a few roar
of apluge. I was just timing to say
something to my nearest neighbor when I observed Eddie Tellers
who was standing close by. Her eyes met mine.
She laid her hand on my sleeve. The room is hot.
She said, half panting as she spoke.
Take Me Out on the balcony. I did so.
The at most fear of the reception rooms was almost
intolerable, but it was comparatively cool in the open
air. I must not lose sight of her,
she said suddenly. Of whom?
I asked, somewhat astonished at her words of Sarah.
She is there, I said. You can see her from where you
stand. We happened to be alone.
I came a little closer. Why are you afraid of her?
I asked. Are you sure that we shall not
be heard, Was her answer. She terrifies me, were her next
words. I'll not betray your confidence,
Miss Dallas. Will you not trust me?
You ought to give me a reason for your fears.
I cannot. I dare not.
I have said far too much already.
Don't keep me, Mr. Druce. She must not find us together.
As she spoke, she pushed her away through the crowd, and
before I could stop her was standing by Madam Sarah's side.
And of Madam Sarah by ultimate. And Robert Usterch, Part 1.
Section 12 of the Arrivals of Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1.
This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information, not to
volunteer, please visit librivox.org.
Recording by 0123 The Arrivals of Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1.
Madam Sarah by Lt. Mead and Robert Ustedge, Part 2.
The reception in Portland Place was, I remember, on the 26th of
July, 2 days later. The Selbys were to give their
final at home before leaving for the country.
I was of course invited to be present, and Madam was also
there. She had never been dressed more
splendidly, nor had she ever before looked younger or more
beautiful. Wherever she went, all eyes
followed her. As a rule, her dress was simple,
almost like what a girl would wear, but to night Sichu's rich
oriental stubs made of many colours and absolutely
glittering with gems. Her golden hair was studded with
diamonds. Round her neck.
She wore turquoise and diamonds mixed.
There were many younger women in the room, but none, the youngest
nor the fairest, had a chance beside Madam.
It was not mere beauty of appearance, it was charm, charm
which carries all before it. I saw Miss Stylus looking slim
and tall and pale. Standing at a little distance.
I made my way to her side. Before I had time to speak.
She bent towards me. Is he not divine?
She whispered. She bewilders and delights
everyone. She is taking London by storm.
Then you are not afraid of her tonight, I said.
I fear how more than ever she has cast a spell over me.
But listen, she is going to sing again.
I had not. Forgotten the song that Madam
had given us at the faringdance and stood still to listen.
There was a complete hush in the room.
Her voice floated over the heads of the assembled guests in a
dreamy Spanish song, and it told me that it was a slumber song
and that Madam boasted of her power of putting almost anyone
to sleep who listened to her rendering of it.
She has many patients who suffer from insomnia, whispered the
girl, and she generally cures them with dead song and dead
alone. Ah, we must not talk.
She will hear us. Before I could reply, Selby came
hurrying up. He had not noticed at it.
He caught me by the arm. Come just for a minute into this
window, Dixon, he said. I must speak to you.
I suppose you have no news which regard my brother-in-law?
Not a word I answered. To tell you the truth, I am
getting terribly put out over the matter.
We cannot settle any of our money affairs just because this
man chooses to lose himself my wife's lawyers.
Wired to Brazil yesterday. But even his bankers did not
know anything about him. The whole thing is a question of
time, was my answer. When are you off to Hampshire?
On Saturday. As Selva said the last words, he
looked around him. Then he dropped his voice.
I want to say something else. The more I see he nodded towards
Madam Sarah, the less I like her.
And it is getting into a very strange state.
Have you not noticed it? And the worst of it is, my wife
is also infected. I suppose it is the dodge of the
omens for patching people up and making them beautiful.
Doubtless the temptation is overpowering in the case of a
plain omen. But Beatrice is beautiful
herself and young. What can she have to do with
cosmetics and complexion peals? You don't mean to tell me that
your wife has consulted Madam Sarah as a doctor?
Not exactly, but she has gone to her about her teeth she complied
up to take lately. And Madam's dentistry is
renowned, and it is constantly going to her for one thing or
another. But then Edit is infatuated.
As Jack said the last words, he went over to speak to someone
else, and before I could leave the seclusion of the window, I
perceived Edit Dallas and Madam Sarah in honest conversation
together. I could not help overhearing the
falling words. Don't come to me tomorrow.
Get into the country as soon as you can.
It is far and away the best thing to do.
As Madam spoke, sit down softly and caught my eyes, she bowed,
and the peculiar look, the sort of challenge she had given me
before, flashed over her face. It made me uncomfortable, and
during the night that followed I could not get it out of my head.
I remembered what Selby had said with regard to his wife and her
money affairs. Beyond doubt, he had married
into mystery, a mystery that Madam knew all about.
There was very big money interest, and strange things
happen when millions are concerned.
The next morning I had just reason and was sitting at
breakfast when a note was handed to me.
It came by special messenger and was marked urgent.
I tore it open. These were its contents.
My dear truce, a terrible blow has fallen on us.
My sister-in-law added, was taken suddenly.
I'll this morning at breakfast the nearest doctor was sent for,
but he could do nothing, as she died half an hour ago.
Do come and see me, and if you know any very clever specialist,
bring him with you. My wife is utterly stunned by
the shark yours Jack sell by. I read the note twice before I
could realize what it meant. Then I rushed out and hailing
the first hands of my men, said the man.
Drive to #192 Victoria St. as quickly as you can here lived,
asserted Mr. Eric Vandelier, an old friend of mine and the
police surgeon for the Westminster district, which
included Eaton Square. No shrouda or sharper fellow
existed than Vandelier, and the present case was essentially in
his province, both legally and professionally.
He was not at his flat when I arrived, having already gone
down to the court here. I accordingly hurried and was
informed that he was in the Mortuary.
For a man who, as it seemed to me, lived in a perpetual
atmosphere of crime and violence of that and coroner's courts,
his habitual cheerfulness and brightness of manner were
remarkable. Perhaps it was only the reaction
from his work, for he had the reputation of being one of the
most astute experts of the day in medical jurisprudence and the
most skilled analyst in toxicological cases on the
Metropolitan Police turf. Before I could send him word
that I wanted to see him, I had the door back, and Wendelier
came hurrying down the passage, putting on his coat as he rushed
along. Hello.
He cried. I haven't seen you for ages.
Do you want me? Yes, very urgently, I answered.
Are you busy? Had over years, My dear Chair, I
cannot give you a moment now, but perhaps later on.
What is it? You look excited.
I have got to go to Eden Square like the wind.
But come along if you like and tell me on the way.
Capital. I cried.
The thing has been reported. Then you are going to Mr.
selby's #34A. Then I'm going with you.
He looked at me in amazement. But the case has only just been
reported. What can you possibly know about
it? Everything.
Let us take this, handsome, and I'll tell you as we go along.
As we drove to Eaton Square, I quickly explained the situation,
glancing now and then at Wendelier's bright, clean shaven
face. He was no longer airing
Wendelier, the man in the latest club story and a merry twinkle
in his blue eyes. He was Vandalier the medical
jurist with her face like a mask, his lower jaw slightly
protruding and features were fixed touching promises to be
serious. He replied as I finished, But I
can do nothing until after the autopsy.
Here we are and there is my man waiting for me.
He has been smart. On the steps stood an official
looking man in uniform was saluted.
Coroner's officer, explained Vandalier.
We entered the silent darkened house.
Salvi was standing in the hall. He came to meet us.
I introduced him to Vandelier, and he at once LED us into the
dining room, where we found Doctor Osborne, whom Selby had
called it when the alarm of edits illness had been first
given. Doctor Osborne was a pale,
undersized, very young man. His face expressed considerable
alarm. Vandelia, however, managed to
put him completely at his ease. I'll have a chat with you in a
few minutes, Doctor Osborne, he said.
But first I must get Mr. Selby's report.
Will you please? Tell me, Sir, exactly what
occurred. Certainly, he answered.
We had a reception here last night and my sister-in-law did
not go to bed until early morning.
She was in bad spirits, but otherwise in her usual health.
My wife went into her room after she was in bed and told me later
on that she had found edits in hysterics and could not get her
to explain anything. We both talked about taking her
to the country without delay. Indeed, our intention was to get
off this afternoon. Well, said Wandalier.
We had breakfast about 9:30, and Miss Dallas came down looking
quite in her usual health and in apparently good spirits.
She ate it appetite, and as it happened, she and my wife were
both helped from the same dish. The meal had nearly come to end
when she jumped up from the table, uttered a sharp cry,
turned very pale, pressed her hand to her side, and ran out of
the room. My wife immediately followed
her. She came back again in a minute
or two and said that Edith was in violent pain, and begged of
me to stand for a doctor. Doctor Osborne leaves just round
the corner. He came at once, but she died
almost immediately after his arrival.
You were in the room. Asked the vandalier, turning to
Osborne. Yes, he replied.
She was conscious to the last moment and died suddenly.
Did she tell you anything? No, except to assure me that she
had not eaten any food that day until she had come down to
breakfast. After the death occurred, I sent
immediately to report the case, locked the door of the room
where the poor girl's body is, and saw also that nobody touched
anything on this table. Vandelia rang the bell, and the
servant appeared. He gave quick orders.
The entire remains of the meal were collected and taken charge
of, and then he and the coroner's officer went upstairs.
When we were alone, Selby sank into a chair.
His face was quite drawn and haggard.
It is the horrible suddenness of the thing which is so appalling.
He cried. As to Beatrice, I don't believe
she will ever be the same again. She was deeply attached to Edit
Edit was nearly 10 years her senior and always acted a part
of mother to. Her this is a sad.
Beginning to our life, I can scarcely think.
Collectedly I remained with him a little longer, and then, as
Vandelia did not return, went back to my own house.
Dear, I could settle to nothing, and when Wendelier rang me up on
the telephone about 6:00, I hurried off to his rooms.
As soon as I arrived I saw that Salvi was with him, and the
expression on both their faces told me the truth.
This is a bad business, said Wendelier.
Miss Dallas has died from swallowing poison.
An exhaustive analysis and examination had been made, and a
powerful poison unknown to European toxicologists has been
found. This is strange enough, but how
it has been administered is a puzzle.
I confess at the present moment we are all nonplussed.
It certainly was not in the remains of the breakfast, and we
have hard dying evidence that she took nothing else.
Now a poison with such appalling potency would take effect
quickly. It is evident that she was quite
well when she came to breakfast, and that the poison began to
walk towards the close of the meal.
But how did she get it? This question, however, I shall
deal with later on. The more immediate point is
this. The situation is a serious one.
In view of the monetary issues and the value of the lady's life
from the aspects of the case, her undoubted sanity, and her
affection for her sister, we may almost exclude the idea of
suicide. We must therefore call it
Mother. This harmless, innocent lady is
struck down by the Hamburgen assassin, and with such devilish
cunning that no trace or clue is left behind.
For such an act there must have been some very powerful motive,
and the person who designed and executed it must be a criminal,
the highest order of scientific ability.
Mr. Selby has been telling me the exact financial position of
the poor lady and also of his own young wife.
The absolute disappearance of the stepbrother, in view of his
previous character, is in the highest degree strange.
Knowing as you do that between him and the 2 million Starling
there are still 2 lives. One is taken.
A deadly sensation of cold seized me as Wendelier uttered
these last words. I glanced at Selby.
His face was colourless, and the pupils of his eyes were
contracted, as though he saw something which terrified him.
What happened once may happen again, continued Vandelier.
We are in the presence of a great mystery and a counsellor,
Mr. Selby, to guard your wife with the utmost care.
These words, falling from a man of Vandelier's position and
authority on such matters, were sufficiently shocking for me to
hear. But for Sell by to be given such
a solemn warning about his young and beautiful and newly married
wife, who was all the world to him, was terrible indeed.
He leant his head on his hands. Mercy on us, he muttered.
Is this a civil as country, where Dad can walk abroad like
this, invisible, not to be avoided?
Tell me, Mr. Vandalier, what I must do.
You must be guided by me, said Vandalier, and believe me, there
is no witchcraft in the world. I shall place a detective in
your household immediately. Don't be alarmed, he will come
to you in plain clothes and will simply act as a servant.
Nevertheless, nothing can be done to your wife without his
knowledge. As to Eudros, he continued,
turning to me. The police are doing all they
can to find this man, Silver, and I ask you to help them with
your big urgency and to begin at once.
Leave your friend to me, where instantly if you hear the
emails, you may rely on me. I said, and a moment later I had
left the room. As I walked rapidly down the
street the thought of Madam Sarah, her shop and its
mysterious background, its surgical instruments, its
operating table, its inducts and coils, came back to me.
And yet what could Madam Sarah have to do with the present
strange, inexplicable mystery? The thought had scarcely crossed
my mind before I heard a clatter alongside the carb, and turning
round I saw a smart, open carriage drawn by a pair of
horses. Standing there.
I also heard my own name. I turned bending out of the
carriage was Madam Sarah. I saw you going by Mr. Drewes.
I have only just heard the news about poor, added Dallas.
I am terribly shocked and upset. I have been to the house, but
they would not admit me. Have you heard what was the
cause of her debt? Madam's blue eyes filled with
tears as she spoke. I am not at liberty to disclose
what I have heard, Madam. I answered.
Since I am officially connected with the airfare.
Her eyes. Narrowed.
The brimming tears dried as though by magic.
Her glance became scornful. Thank you, she answered.
Your reply tells me that she did not die naturally.
How very appalling. But I must not keep you.
Can I drive you anywhere? No, thank you.
Goodbye. Then she made a sign to the
coachman, and as the careys rolled away, turned to look back
at me. Her face were the defined
expression I had seen there more than once.
Could she be connected to the airfare?
The taught came upon me with a violence that seemed almost
conviction, yet I had no reason for it, none to find.
Henry Joachim Silva was now my principal taught.
Advertisements were widely circulated.
My staff had instructions to make every possible inquiry,
with large money rewards as incitements.
The collateral branches of other agencies throughout Brazil were
communicated with by cable, and all the Scotland ear channels
were used. Still there was no result.
The newspapers took up the case. There were paragraphs in most of
them with regard to the missing stepbrother and the mysterious
death of Edith Dallas. Then someone got hold of the
story of the will, and this was retailed with many editions for
the benefit of the public. At the inquest the jury returned
the following verdict. We find that Miss Edith Dallas
died from taking poison of unknown name.
But by whom or how administered, there is no evidence to say.
This unsatisfactory state of things was destined to change
quite suddenly. On the 6th of August, as I was
seated in my office, a note was brought me by a private
messenger. It ran as follows.
Norfolk Hotel, Strand. Dear Sir, I have just arrived in
London from Brazil, and have seen your advertisements.
I was about to insert 1 myself in order to find the whereabouts
of my sisters. I'm a great invalid and unable
to leave my room. Can you come to see me at the
earliest possible moment? Yours, Henry Joachim Silva.
In uncontrollable excitement I hastily dispatched 2 telegrams,
1 to sail by and the other to Vandelier, begging of them to be
with me without fail as soon as possible.
So the man had never been in England at all.
The situation was more bewildering than ever.
One thing at least was probably I did tell us his death was not
due to her stepbrother. Soon after 6:30 Selby arrived
and Vandelia walked in 10 minutes later.
I told him what had occurred and showed them the letter.
In half an hour's time we reached the hotel and on stating
who I was we were shown into a room on the 1st floor by Silva's
private servant, resting in an armchair as were entered.
Said the man. His face was terribly tin.
The eyes and cheeks were so sunken that the face had almost
the appearance of his skull. He made no effort to rise when
we entered, and glanced from one of us to the other with the
utmost astonishment. I at once introduced myself and
explained who we are. He then waved his hand for his
man to retire. You have not heard the news, of
course, Mr. Silva. I said.
News what? He glanced up to me, and seemed
to read something in my face. He started back in his chair.
Good heavens, he replied. Do you allude to my sisters?
Tell me quickly all their life. Your elder sister died on the
29th of July. There is every reason to believe
her death was caused by foul play.
As I uttered these words, the change that passed over his face
was fearful to witness. He did not speak but remained
motionless. His claw like hands clutched the
arms of the chair, his eyes were fixed and staring as though they
would start from their hollow sockets.
The colour of his skin was like clay.
I had sell by breed quickly behind me and Vandalia steeped
towards the man and laid his hand on his shoulder.
Tell us what you know of this matter.
He said sharply, recovering himself with an effort.
The invalid began in tremulous voice.
Listen closely for you must act quickly.
I'm indirectly responsible for this fearful thing.
My life has been a wild and wasted one and now I am dying.
The doctors tell me I cannot live a month for I have a large
aneurysm of the heart. 18 months ago I was in Rio.
I was living fast and gambled happily.
Among my fellow gamblers was a man much older than myself.
His name was Jose Arangio. He was, if anything, a greater
gambler than I. One night we played a low.
The stakes ran high until they reached a big figure.
By daylight I had lost to him nearly £200,000.
Though I am a rich man in point of income, under my uncle's will
I could not pay a 20th part of that sum.
This man knew my financial position, and in addition to a
sum of £5000 paid down, I gave him a document.
I must have been mad to do so. The document was this.
It was duly witnessed and attested by a lawyer that in the
event of my surviving 2 Sisters and thus inheriting the whole of
my uncle's past wealth, half a million should go to Jose
Arango. I felt I was breaking up at the
time and the chances of my inheriting the money were small.
Immediately after the completion of the document this man left
Rio. I don't heard a great deal about
him that I had not previously known.
He was a man of queerest antecedents, partly Indian,
partly Italian. He had spent many years of his
life amongst the Indians. I heard also that he was as
cruel as he was clever, and possessed some wonderful secrets
of poisoning unknown to the West.
I thought a great deal about this.
For I knew. That by signing that document I
had placed the lives of my two sisters between him and the
fortune. I came to Para 6 weeks ago only
to learn that one of my sisters was married and Dad both had
gone to England. I'll as I was, I determined to
follow them in order to warn them.
I also wanted to arrange matters with you, Mr. Selby.
One moment, Sir, I broke in suddenly.
Do you happen to be aware if this man, Jose Aranjo knew a
woman calling herself Madam Sarah knew her cried Silver very
well indeed. And so for that matter, did I
Aranjo and Madam Sarah were the best friends and constantly met.
She called herself a professional beautifier, was
very handsome, and had secrets for the pursuing of a trade
unknown even to arranger. Good heavens, I cried, and the
omen is now in London. She returned here with Missus
Selby and Miss Dallas, and it was very much influenced by her,
and was constantly with her. There is no doubt in my mind
that she is guilty. I have suspected her for some
time, but I could not find him. Motive.
Now the motive appears. You surely can have her
arrested. Vantalio made no reply.
He gave me a strange look, and then he turned to sell by.
Has your wife also consulted Madam Sarah?
He asked sharply. Yes, she went to her once about
her teeth, but has not been to the shop since at its death.
I begged of her not to see the woman, and she promised me
faithfully she would not do so. Has she any medicines or lotions
given to her by Madam Sarah? Does she follow any line of
treatment advised by her? No, I'm certain on that point.
Very well. I'll see your wife tonight.
In order to ask her some questions.
You must both leave town at once.
Go to your country house and settle there.
I'm quite serious when I say that Missus Selby is in the
utmost possible danger until after the death of our brother.
We must leave you now, Mr. Silva.
All business affairs must wait for the present.
It is absolutely necessary that Missus Selby should leave London
at once. Good night, Sir.
I shall give myself the pleasure of calling on you to Morrow
morning. We took leave of the sick man as
soon as we got into the street. Vandelia, start.
I must leave it to you, Selby. He said to judge how much of
this matter you tell your wife. Why are you?
I would explain everything. The time for immediate action
has arrived, and she is a brave and sensible woman.
From this moment you must watch all the foods and liquids that
she takes. She must never be out of your
sight, or out of the sight of some other trustworthy
companion. I shall, of course, watch my
wife myself, said Selby. But The thing is enough to drive
one mad. I will go with you to the
country, Selby, I said suddenly. Ah, cried Vandalier, that is the
best thing possible, and what I wanted to propose.
Go, all of you, by an early train to Morrow, then I'll be
off home at once to make arrangements.
I said I will meet you, Selby, at Waterloo for the first train
to Crownsmoor to Morrow. As I was turning away, Wendelia
cocked my arm. I'm glad you are going with
them, he said. I shall write to you to night
reinstructions. Never be without a loaded
revolver. Good night.
By 6:15 the next morning Selby, his wife and I were in a
reserved, locked force, plus compartment speeding rapidly
West. The servants and Missus, Selva's
own special maid, were in a separate carriage.
Selva's face showed signs of a sleepless night and presented A
striking contrast to the fair, fresh face of the girl round
whom this strange battle raged. Her husband had told her
everything, and those still suffering terribly from the
shock and grief of her sister's death.
Her face was calm and full of repose.
Her carriage was waiting for us at Cronsmoor, and by half night
we arrived at the old home of the Salpies, nestling amid its
oaks and alms. Everything was done to make the
homecoming of the bride as cheerful as circumstances would
pommet, but a gloom impossible to lift.
Overshadowed self by himself, he could scarcely ruse himself to
take the slightest interest in anything.
The following morning I received a letter from Wandelier.
It was very short, and once more impressed on me the necessity of
caution. He said that two eminent
physicians had examined Silver, and the verdict was dead.
He could not leave a month until his death.
Precautions must be strictly abjured.
The day was cloudless, and after breakfast I was just starting
out for a straw, when the Butler brought me a telegram.
I tore it open. It was from Vandalia, for I
would all afford until I arrive. I am coming down.
While the words. I hurried into the study and
gave it to sell by. He read it and looked up at me.
Find out the first train and go and meet him, old chap, he said.
Let us hope that this means an end of the hideous airfare.
I went into the hall and looked up the trains.
The next arrived at Crownsmoor at 10:45.
I then strolled round to the stables and ordered the
carriage, after which I walked up and down on the drive.
There was no doubt that something strange had happened.
Wendelia coming down South suddenly must mean a final
clearing up of the mystery. I had just turned round at the
large gates to wait for the carriage when the sound of
wheels and horses galloping struck on my ears.
The gates were swung open, and Vandalia in an open fly, dashed
through them. Before I could recover from my
surprise he was out of the vehicle and at my side.
He carried a small black bag in his hand.
I came down by special train, he said, speaking quickly.
There is not a moment to lose. Come at once.
He is Mrs. Sell by alright. What do you mean?
I replied of. Course he is.
Do you suppose that she is in danger?
Sadly was his answer. Come, we dashed up to the house
together. Selbai, who had hard our steps,
came to meet us. Mr. Vandalier, he cried.
What is it? How did you come?
My special train, Mr. Selbai and I want to see your wife at once.
It will be necessary to perform a very trifling operation.
Operation, he exclaimed. Yes, at once.
We made our way through the hall and into the morning room, where
Missus Selby was busily engaged, reading and answering letters.
She started up when she saw Vandalia and uttered an
exclamation of surprise. What has happened?
She asked. Wendalia went up to her and took
her hand. Do not be alarmed, he said, for
I have come to put all your fears to rest.
Now please listen to me. When you visited Madam Sarah
with your sister, did you go for medical advice?
The colour rushed into her face. One of my teeth ached.
She answered. I went to her about death.
She is, as I suppose you know, a most wonderful dentist.
She examined her tooth, found that it required stopping, and
got an assistant, a Brazilian I think, to do it.
And your tooth has been comfortable ever since?
Yes, quiet. She had one of had it stopped at
the same time. He'll kindly sit down and show
me which was the tooth into which the stopping was put.
She did so. This was the one, she said,
pointing with her finger to one in the lower jaw.
What do you mean? Is there anything wrong?
Vandelio examined the tooth long and carefully.
There was a sudden rapid movement of his hand and a sharp
cry from Missus Selby. With the darkness of long
practice and a powerful wrist, he had extracted the tooth with
one ranch. The suddenness of the whole
thing, startling as it was, was not so strange as his next
movement. St.
Missus Selby's made to her, he said, turning to her husband.
Then come, both of you, into the next room.
Tomatoes summoned. Poor Missus Selby had sunk back
in her chair, terrified and half fainting.
A moment later Selby joined us in the dining room.
That's right, said Vandalier. Closed the door.
Will you? He opened his black bag and
brought out several instruments. With 1 he removed the stopping
from the tooth. It was quite soft and came away
easily. Then from the back he produced a
small Guinea pig, which he requested me to hold.
He pressed a sharp instrument into the tooth, and, opening the
mouth of the little animal, placed a point on the tongue.
The effect was instantaneous. The little head fell on to one
of my hands. The Guinea pig was dead.
Vandelia was white as a sheath. He hurried up to sell by and
wrung his hand. Thank Heaven, he said.
I have been in time, but only just.
Your wife is safe. This stopping would hardly have
held another hour. I have been thinking all night
over the mystery of your sister in law's death and over every
minute detail of evidence as to how the poison could have been
administered. Suddenly the coincidence of both
sisters having had their teeth stopped struck me as remarkable.
Like a flash, the solution came to me.
The more I considered it, the more I.
Felt that I was right. But by what find is cunning such
a scheme could have been conceived and executed is beyond
my power to explain. The poison is very like Hyosin,
one of the worst toxic alkaloids known, so violent in its deadly
proportions that the amount that would go into a toot would cause
almost instant death. It has been kept in by a gutta
purchase topping certain to come out within a month, probably
earlier and most probably during mestigation of food.
The person would die either immediately.
Or after a very. Few minutes and no one would
connect a visit to the dentist with her death a month
afterwards. What followed can be told in a
very few words. Madam Sarah was arrested on
suspicion. She appeared before the
magistrate looking innocent and beautiful and managed during her
evidence completely to baffle that a cute individual.
She denied nothing, but declared that the poison must have been
put into the tooth by one of the two Brazilians whom she had
lately engaged to help her with her dentistry.
She had her suspicions with regard to these men soon
afterwards, and had dismissed them.
She believed that they were in the pay of Josa Ranger, but she
could not tell anything for certain.
Thus Madam escaped conviction. I was certain that she was
guilty, but there was not a shadow of real.
Proof. A month later, Silva died and
Selby is now a double millionaire.
And of Madame Sarah by Lt. Meat and Robert Ustedge, Part 2.