PART ONE
Chapter 4
What John Rance Had to Tell
It was one o'clock when we left No. 3, Lauriston Gardens. Sherlock
Holmes led me to the nearest telegraph office, whence he dispatched a long telegram. He
then hailed a cab, and ordered the driver to take us to the address given us by
Lestrade.
"There is nothing like first-hand evidence," he remarked;
"as a matter of fact, my mind is entirely made up upon the case, but still we may as
well learn all that is to be learned."
"You amaze me, Holmes," said I. "Surely you are not as
sure as you pretend to be of all those particulars which you gave."
"There's no room for a mistake," he answered. "The very
first thing which I observed on arriving there was that a cab had made two ruts with its
wheels close to the curb. Now, up to last night, we have had no rain for a week, so that
those wheels which left such a deep impression must have been there during the night.
There were the marks of the horse's hoofs, too, the outline of one of which was far more
clearly cut than that of the other three, showing that that was a new shoe. Since the cab
was there after the rain began, and was not there at any time during the morningI
have Gregson's word for thatit follows that it must have been there during the
night, and therefore, that it brought those two individuals to the house."
"That seems simple enough," said I; "but how about the
other man's height?"
"Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out of ten, can be told
from the length of his stride. It is a simple calculation enough, though there is no use
my boring you with figures. I had this fellow's stride both on the clay outside and on the
dust within. Then I had a way of checking my calculation. When a man writes on a wall, his
instinct leads him to write above the level of his own eyes. Now that writing was just
over six feet from the ground. It was child's play."
"And his age?" I asked.
"Well, if a man can stride four and a half feet without the
smallest effort, he can't be quite in the sere and yellow. That was the breadth of a
puddle on the garden walk which he had evidently walked across. Patent-leather boots had
gone round, and Square-toes had hopped over. There is no mystery about it at all. I am
simply applying to ordinary life a few of those precepts of observation and deduction
which I advocated in that article. Is there anything else that puzzles you?"
"The finger-nails and the Trichinopoly," I suggested.
"The writing on the wall was done with a man's forefinger dipped
in blood. My glass allowed me to observe that the plaster was slightly scratched in doing
it, which would not have been the case if the man's nail had been trimmed. I gathered up
some scattered ash from the floor. It was dark in colour and flakysuch an ash is
only made by a Trichinopoly. I have made a special study of cigar ashesin fact, I
have written a monograph upon the subject. I flatter myself that I can distinguish at a
glance the ash of any known brand either of cigar or of tobacco. It is just in such
details that the skilled detective differs from the Gregson and Lestrade type."
"And the florid face?" I asked.
"Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I have no doubt that I
was right. You must not ask me that at the present state of the affair."
I passed my hand over my brow. "My head is in a whirl," I
remarked; "the more one thinks of it the more mysterious it grows. How came these two
menif there were two meninto an empty house? What has become of the cabman who
drove them? How could one man compel another to take poison? Where did the blood come
from? What was the object of the murderer, since robbery had no part in it? How came the
woman's ring there? Above all, why should the second man write up the German word RACHE
before decamping? I confess that I cannot see any possible way of reconciling all these
facts."
My companion smiled approvingly.
"You sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly and
well," he said. "There is much that is still obscure, though I have quite made
up my mind on the main facts. As to poor Lestrade's discovery, it was simply a blind
intended to put the police upon a wrong track, by suggesting Socialism and secret
societies. It was not done by a German. The A, if you noticed, was printed somewhat after
the German fashion. Now, a real German invariably prints in the Latin character, so that
we may safely say that this was not written by one, but by a clumsy imitator who overdid
his part. It was simply a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong channel. I'm not going to
tell you much more of the case, Doctor. You know a conjurer gets no credit when once he
has explained his trick and if I show you too much of my method of working, you will come
to the conclusion that I am a very ordinary individual after all."
"I shall never do that," I answered; "you have brought
detection as near an exact science as it ever will be brought in this world."
My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the earnest way
in which I uttered them. I had already observed that he was as sensitive to flattery on
the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty.
"I'll tell you one other thing," he said.
"Patent-leathers and Square-toes came in the same cab, and they walked down the
pathway together as friendly as possiblearm-in-arm, in all probability. When they
got inside, they walked up and down the roomor rather, Patent-leathers stood still
while Square-toes walked up and down. I could read all that in the dust; and I could read
that as he walked he grew more and more excited. That is shown by the increased length of
his strides. He was talking all the while, and working himself up, no doubt, into a fury.
Then the tragedy occurred. I've told you all I know myself now, for the rest is mere
surmise and conjecture. We have a good working basis, however, on which to start. We must
hurry up, for I want to go to Halle's concert to hear Norman Neruda this afternoon."
This conversation had occurred while our cab had been threading its way
through a long succession of dingy streets and dreary byways. ln the dingiest and
dreariest of them our driver suddenly came to a stand. "That's Audley Court in
there," he said, pointing to a narrow slit in the line of dead-coloured brick.
"You'll find me here when you come back."
Audley Court was not an attractive locality. The narrow passage led us
into a quadrangle paved with flags and lined by sordid dwellings. We picked our way among
groups of dirty children, and through lines of discoloured linen, until we came to Number
46, the door of which was decorated with a small slip of brass on which the name Rance was
engraved. On inquiry we
found that the constable was in bed, and we were shown into a little front parlour to
await his coming.
He appeared presently, looking a little irritable at being disturbed in
his slumbers. "I made my report at the office," he said.
Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and played with it
pensively. "We thought that we should like to hear it all from your own lips,"
he said.
"I shall be most happy to tell you anything I can," the
constable answered, with his eyes upon the little golden disc.
"Just let us hear it all in your own way as it occurred."
Rance sat down on the horsehair sofa, and knitted his brows as though
determined not to omit anything in his narrative.
"I'll tell it ye from the beginning," he said. "My time
is from ten at night to six in the morning. At eleven there was a fight at the White Hart;
but bar that all was quiet enough on the beat. At one o'clock it began to rain, and I met
Harry Murcherhim who has the Holland Grove beatand we stood together at the
corner of Henrietta Street a-talkin'. Presentlymaybe about two or a little
afterI thought I would take a look round and see that all was right down the Brixton
Road. It was precious dirty and lonely. Not a soul did I meet all the way down, though a
cab or two went past me. I was a-strollin' down, thinkin' between ourselves how uncommon
handy a four of gin hot would be, when suddenly the glint of a light caught my eye in the
window of that same house. Now, I knew that them two houses in Lauriston Gardens was empty
on account of him that owns them who won't have the drains seed to, though the very last
tenant what lived in one of them died o' typhoid fever. I was knocked all in a heap,
therefore, at seeing a light in the window, and I suspected as something was wrong. When I
got to the door "
"You stopped, and then walked back to the garden gate," my
companion interrupted. "What did you do that for?"
Rance gave a violent jump, and stared at Sherlock Holmes with the
utmost amazement upon his features.
"Why, that's true, sir," he said; "though how you come
to know it, Heaven only knows. Ye see when I got up to the door, it was so still and so
lonesome, that I thought I'd be none the worse for someone with me. I ain't afeared of
anything on this side o' the grave; but I thought that maybe it was him that died o' the
typhoid inspecting the drains what killed him. The thought gave me a kind o' turn, and I
walked back to the gate to see if I could see Murcher's lantern, but there wasn't no sign
of him nor of anyone else."
"There was no one in the street?"
"Not a livin' soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then I pulled
myself together and went back and pushed the door open. All was quiet inside, so I went
into the room where the light was a-burnin'. There was a candle flickerin' on the
mantelpiecea red wax oneand by its light I saw"
"Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked round the room several
times, and you knelt down by the body, and then you walked through and tried the kitchen
door, and then"
John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and suspicion in
his eyes. "Where was you hid to see all that?" he cried. "It seems to me
that you knows a deal more than you should."
Holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the constable.
"Don't go arresting me for the murder," he said. "I am one of the hounds
and not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or Mr. Lestrade will answer for that. Go on, though. What
did you do next?"
Rance resumed his seat, without, however, losing his mystified
expression. "I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. That brought Murcher and
two more to the spot."
"Was the street empty then?"
"Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any good
goes."
"What do you mean?"
The constable's features broadened into a grin, "I've seen many a
drunk chap in my time," he said, "but never anyone so cryin' drunk as that cove.
He was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin' up ag'in the railings, and a-singin' at the
pitch o' his lungs about Columbine's New-fangled Banner, or some such stuff. He couldn't
stand, far less help."
"What sort of a man was he?" asked Sherlock Holmes.
John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression.
"He was an uncommon drunk sort o' man," he said. "He'd ha' found hisself in
the station if we hadn't been so took up."
"His facehis dressdidn't you notice them?" Holmes
broke in impatiently.
"I should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop him
upme and Murcher between us. He was a long chap, with a red face, the lower part
muffled round"
"That will do," cried Holmes. "What became of him?"
"We'd enough to do without lookin' after him," the policeman
said, in an aggrieved voice. "I'll wager he found his way home all right."
"How was he dressed?"
"A brown overcoat."
"Had he a whip in his hand?"
"A whipno."
"He must have left it behind," muttered my companion.
"You didn't happen to see or hear a cab after that?"
"No."
"There's a half-sovereign for you," my companion said,
standing up and taking his hat. "I am afraid, Rance, that you will never rise in the
force. That head of yours should be for use as well as ornament. You might have gained
your sergeant's stripes last night. The man whom you held in your hands is the man who
holds the clue of this mystery, and whom we are seeking. There is no use of arguing about
it now; I tell you that it is so. Come along, Doctor."
We started off for the cab together, leaving our informant incredulous,
but obviously uncomfortable.
"The blundering fool!" Holmes said, bitterly, as we drove
back to our lodgings. "Just to think of his having such an incomparable bit of good
luck, and not taking advantage of it."
"I am rather in the dark still. It is true that the description of
this man tallies with your idea of the second party in this mystery. But why should he
come back to the house after leaving it? That is not the way of criminals."
"The ring, man, the ring: that was what he came back for. If we
have no other way of catching him, we can always bait our line with the ring. I shall have
him, DoctorI'll lay you two to one that I have him. I must thank you for it all. I
might not have gone but for you, and so have missed the finest study I ever came across: a
study in scarlet, eh? Why shouldn't we use a little art jargon. There's the scarlet thread
of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and
isolate it, and expose every inch of it. And now for lunch, and then for Norman
Neruda.
Her attack and her bowing are splendid. What's that little thing of Chopin's she plays so
magnificently: Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay."
Leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound carolled away like a
lark while I meditated upon the many-sidedness of the human mind.
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