Extended Reading 2
The Red-Headed League
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
When students engage in longer, continuous texts rather than assorted short paragraphs, they have a chance to get more involved in the story and may find that reading is easier because they have gotten accustomed to the vocabulary used and the writer’s style. Students can read and/or listen to this adaptation of a famous Sherlock Holmes story and afterwards may even decide to try reading other Sherlock Holmes stories in their original form.
1.
I visited my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one autumn day and found him in deep conversation with a very fat, red-faced, elderly gentleman with red hair. I apologized for interrupting and was about to leave when Holmes pulled me into the room and closed the door behind me.
“You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson,” he said.
“I was afraid you were busy.”
“Yes, I am. Very busy.”
“Then I can wait in the next room.”
“No, no, Watson. We can use your help.” Then Holmes turned to the red-headed man and said, “Mr. Wilson, this is Dr. Watson. He has been my partner and helper in many of my most successful cases. I have no doubt that he will be able to help me in your case also.”
The fat gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a nod of greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small pig-like eyes.
“Have a seat,” said Holmes, sitting in his armchair and putting his fingertips together, as was his custom when he was in a thoughtful mood. “I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is strange and unusual. Otherwise you would not choose to write about so many of my little adventures.”
“Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me,” I agreed.
“You will remember that I mentioned the other day, that truth is stranger than fiction.”
2.
“Yes, and I disagreed with you.”
“You did, Doctor, but in time I will convince you that I am correct.”
“Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this morning, and to begin a story which promises to be one of the most unusual I have heard in some time. I often say that the strangest and most unique things are often connected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes.”
“In the present case, I am not yet sure whether a crime has even taken place, but the course of events is certainly among the most unusual that I have ever listened to. Mr. Wilson, would you be kind enough to retell your story. I ask you not merely because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the opening part but also because it would help me to hear it again. Usually, when I get a new case, I am able to guide myself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my memory. In the present situation I am forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of my knowledge, unique.”
The client puffed out his chest with an appearance of pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of his coat.
As he glanced down the advertisement column, I took a good look at the man and attempted, after the fashion of my companion, to read the indications which might be presented by his dress and appearance. I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection.
Our visitor bore every mark of being an average commonplace tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow.
3.
He wore rather baggy gray trousers, a black coat, unbuttoned at the front, and a vest with a heavy brass chain. A worn top hat and a faded brown overcoat with a wrinkled collar lay on a chair beside him. Altogether, there was nothing remarkable about the man except his blazing red hair, and the expression of embarrassment and unhappiness on his face.
Sherlock Holmes noticed that I was examining the man for clues about his personality and situation and smiled at me. “I’m afraid,” Holmes said, “that I can deduce nothing else beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labor, that he smokes cigarettes, that he has been in China, and that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately.”
Mr. Jabez Wilson jumped up from his chair in surprise and looked at my companion with amazement.
“How in the world did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?” he asked. “How did you know, for example, that I did manual labor? It’s true. I used to be a ship’s carpenter.”
“Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is a full size larger than your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more developed.”
“Well, then, how did you know that I smoke cigarettes?”
“I can see the yellow stain on your fingers.”
“How did you know I have done a lot of writing recently?”
“Your right cuff is very shiny for five inches, and your left sleeve has a smooth patch near the elbow where you rest it upon the desk”
4.
“Well, all of that is easy enough to see, I suppose, but how did you know that I was in China?”
“The fish that you have tattooed just above your right wrist could only have been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature of the subject. That trick of staining the fishes’ scales a delicate pink is quite peculiar to China.”
“Also, of course, I see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, so the matter is really quite simple.”
Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. “Well, I never!” said he. “I thought at first that you had done something very clever, but I see that there was nothing in it, after all.”
“I begin to think, Watson,” said Holmes, “that I make a mistake in explaining how I make my deductions. What is not known is respected. My reputation will suffer if I give away all of my little secrets. Did you find the advertisement yet, Mr. Wilson?”
“Yes, I have it now,” he answered with his thick red finger planted halfway down the column. “Here it is. This is what began it all. Just read it for yourself, sir.”
I took the paper from him and read as follows.
TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a salary of 4 pounds a week for purely nominal services. All red-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age of twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at eleven o’clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Pope’s Court, Fleet Street.
5.
“What on earth does this mean?” I exclaimed after I had twice read over the extraordinary announcement.
Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in high spirits. “It is a little off the beaten track, isn’t it?” he said. “And now, Mr. Wilson, start at the beginning and tell us all about yourself, your household, and the effect which this advertisement had on your fortunes. Please make a note of the paper and the date, Doctor Watson.”
“It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27, 1890. Just two months ago.”
“Very good. Now continue, Mr. Wilson.”
“Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Holmes,” said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; “I have a small pawnbroker’s business. It’s not a very large shop, and lately it has not done more than just give me a living. I used to be able to keep two assistants, but now I only keep one; and I would have a hard time paying him if he were not willing to work for a low salary in order to learn the business.”
“What is the name of this young man?” asked Sherlock Holmes.
“His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he’s not so young. It’s hard to say his age. I could not wish for a smarter assistant, Mr. Holmes; and I know very well that he could do better for himself and earn twice what I am able to give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?”
“Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employee who is willing to work for a low wage. It is not a common experience among employers these days. I think that your assistant is as remarkable as your advertisement.”
6.
“Oh, he has his faults, too,” said Mr. Wilson. “There never was such a fellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his main fault, but on the whole he’s a very good worker.”
“He is still with you, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking and keeps the place clean — that’s all the people in the house, for I am a widower and don’t have any family. We live very quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads and pay our debts.
“Two months ago, Spaulding came into the office with this very paper in his hand, and said that he wished that he was a red-headed man. I asked him why he wanted to have red hair and he showed me this advertisement. I read the advertisement but was confused and he explained that it was a wonderful opportunity to make some money without having to do much work.
He added that he had heard that there were more vacancies than men, so that anyone with red hair was in luck. He said that he wished that he could change the color of his hair and apply but that there was no chance except for genuine red-haired men.
“Spaulding was surprised that I had never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men. You see, I am a stay-at-home man and don’t know much of what was going on outside.”
7.
“I asked Spaulding how much money he thought I could earn from the League of the Red-headed Men and he said that I could probably make a couple of hundred pounds a year.”
“It wasn’t a great amount of money. But the work was easy and wouldn’t interfere with anything else I was doing. I could certainly use a little extra money. The business had not been very good for a few years and an extra couple of hundred pounds would be very handy.
“I asked Spaulding to tell me everything he knew about the League of the Red-headed Men. He pointed to the advertisement and said that all the information I needed was right there. The address where I had to apply was printed on the advertisement and Spaulding suggested that I go there as soon as possible.
“Spaulding told me that the League was founded by an American millionaire named Ezekiah Hopkins, who was very peculiar in his ways. He was quite eccentric. Because he himself was red-headed, he had a great sympathy for all red-headed people. When he died he left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions to apply the interest to help other red-headed men.
“Spaulding said that the League of the Red-headed Men was a London institution. Ezekiah Hopkins was born in London and spent his childhood here before going to America. He wanted to do something for his home town and the League of Red-headed Men was the idea that he came up with. Only men with bright red hair were allowed to join the League – those with dark red hair or light red her were not admitted.”
8.
“Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my hair is of a very full and rich color, so that it seemed to me that if there was to be any competition in the matter, I stood as good a chance as any man that I had ever met. It seemed to me that I should take advantage of the lucky opportunity I was presented with.
“Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so much about it that I thought he might prove useful, so I just ordered him to close the shop for the day and to go with me. He was very willing to have a holiday, so we shut the business up and started off for the address that was in the advertisement.
“I never expect to see such a sight again, Mr. Holmes, as I saw on that day. From north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his hair had marched into the city to answer the advertisement. Fleet Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope’s Court looked like an orange crate. I should not have thought there were so many redheads in the whole country as were brought together by that single advertisement. Every shade of color they were–straw, lemon, orange, brick, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were not many who had the real vivid flame-colored tint. When I saw how many were waiting, I would have given up in despair.”
“But Spaulding would not hear of it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed and pulled until he got me through the crowd, and right up the steps which led to the office.”
“There was a double line of people on the stairs, some going up in hope, and some coming back dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found ourselves in the office.”
9.
“Your experience has been a most entertaining one,” remarked Holmes as his client paused. “Please continue your very interesting statement.”
“There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a table, behind which sat a small man with a head that was even redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he came up, and then he always managed to find some fault to disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy matter, after all. However, when our turn came, the little man was much more favorable to me than to any of the others, and he closed the door as we entered, so that he might have a private word with us.
“‘This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,’ said my assistant, ‘and he is willing to fill a vacancy in the League.’
“‘And he is admirably suited for it,’ the other answered. ‘He has every requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so fine.’ He took a step backward and gazed at my hair until I felt quite foolish. Then suddenly he ran forward, grabbed my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my success.”
“‘It would be an injustice to hesitate,’ he said. ‘Please excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.’ With that he seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until I yelled with the pain. ‘There is water in your eyes, he’ said as he released me. ‘I perceive that all is as it should be. But we have to be careful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and once by paint.”
10.
“‘I could tell you stories which would disgust you with human nature.’ He stepped over to the window and shouted through at the top of his voice that the vacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came up from below, and the folk all went away in different directions until there was not a red-head to be seen except my own and that of the manager.
“‘My name,’ he said, ‘is Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of the recipients of the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?’
“I answered that I did not.
“His face fell immediately.
“‘Dear me!’ he said gravely, ‘that is very serious indeed! I am sorry to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the propagation and spread of redheads as well as for their maintenance. It is very unfortunate that you are a bachelor.’
“My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was not to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for a few minutes he said that it would be all right.”
“’In the case of another,’ he said, ‘the objection might be fatal, but we must stretch a point in favor of a man with such a head of hair as yours. When will you be able to start your new duties?’
“‘Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,’ I said.
“‘Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!’ said Vincent Spaulding. ‘I’ll be able to look after that for you.’”
11.
“‘What would the hours be?’ I asked.
“‘Ten to two.’
“Now a pawnbroker’s business is mostly done in the evening, Mr. Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just before pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would take care of anything that turned up.
“‘That would suit me very well,’ I said. ‘And the pay?’
“‘It is 4 pounds a week.’
“‘And what is the work?’
“‘It’s purely nominal.’
“‘What do you mean by purely nominal?’
“‘Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the whole time. If you leave, you lose your position forever. The will is very clear on that point. You don’t comply with the conditions if you leave the office during that time.’
“‘It’s only four hours a day and I would not think of leaving,’ I said.
“‘No excuse will avail,’ Mr. Duncan Ross said. ‘Neither sickness nor business nor anything else will serve as an excuse. You must stay there or you lose your position.’
“‘But what is the work?’ I asked
12.
“‘The work is to copy out the Encyclopedia Britannica. There is the first volume of it on that table. You must use your own ink, pens, and blotting-paper, but we provide table and chair. Will you be ready tomorrow?’
“‘Certainly,’ I answered.
“‘Then, goodbye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you once more on the important position which you have been fortunate enough to gain.’ He bowed me out of the room and I went home with my assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my own good fortune.
“Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in low spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its purpose might be I could not imagine.”
“It seemed altogether beyond belief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the Encyclopedia Britannica. Vincent Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a small bottle of ink, a pen, and a pad of paper and started off for Pope’s Court.
“Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as possible. The table was set out ready for me and Mr. Duncan Ross was there to get me started.:
13.
“He started me off on the letter A, and then he left me, but he would drop in from time to time to see that all was right with me. At two o’clock he returned to say goodbye, complimented me on the amount that I had written, and locked the door of the office after me.
“This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager came in and gave me four golden sovereigns for my week’s work. It was the same the next week, and the same the week after. Every morning I was there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. Gradually, Mr. Duncan Ross started coming in only once in the morning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the room for an instant, for I was not sure when he might come, and the position was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I would not risk losing it.
“Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots and Archery and Armor and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with diligence that I might get on to the B’s before very long. It cost me a little for paper and ink, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my writing. And then suddenly the whole business came to an end.”
“To an end?” “Yes, sir. Just this morning. I went to work as usual at ten o’clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little square of cardboard hammered on to the middle of the panel with a tack.” He held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet of notepaper. It read:
14.
Sherlock Holmes and I examined this short announcement and the sad face behind it, until the funny side of the affair so completely overwhelmed every other consideration that we both burst out laughing.
“I cannot see that there is anything very funny,” cried our client, flushing to the roots of his flaming head. “If you can do nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere.”
“No, no,” cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he had half risen. “I really wouldn’t miss your case for the world. It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it. What did you do when you found the card on the door?”
“I was shocked, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I went to the neighboring offices, but no one seemed to know anything about it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the ground floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of the Red-headed League.
He said that he had never heard of any such organization. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the name was new to him.
“‘Well,’ said I, ‘the gentleman in No. 4.’
“‘What, the red-headed man?’
“‘Yes.’
15.
“‘Oh,’ he said, ‘his name was William Morris. He was a lawyer and was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises were ready. He moved out yesterday.’ ‘Where can I find him?’
“‘Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King Edward Street, near St. Paul’s.’
“I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address, it was a manufacturer of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.”
“And what did you do then?” asked Holmes.
“I went home and I asked my assistant for advice. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that if I waited I would probably hear something by mail. But that was not good enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a job without a struggle. Since I had heard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I came to you right away.”
“And you did very wisely,” said Holmes. “Your case is a remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you have told me I think that it might be more serious than it appears at first sight.”
“It’s serious enough!” said Mr. Jabez Wilson. “I have lost four pounds a week.”
“As far as you are personally concerned,” remarked Holmes, “I do not see that you have any complaint against this extraordinary league.”
16.
“On the contrary, you are richer by some 30 pounds, to say nothing of the knowledge which you have gained on every subject which comes under the letter A. You have lost nothing.”
“No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and what their object was in playing this prank–if it was a prank– on me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them thirty-two pounds.”
“We shall attempt to clear up these points for you. And, first, one or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first called your attention to the advertisement — how long had he been with you?”
“About a month then.”
“How did he come?”
“In answer to an advertisement.”
“Was he the only applicant?”
“No, I had a dozen.”
“Why did you pick him?”
“Because he was handy and would come cheap.”
“At half-wages, in fact.”
“Yes.”
“What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?”
17.
“Small, stout, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face, though he’s not less than thirty. He has a scar on his forehead.”
Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. “I thought as much,” said he. “Have you ever noticed if his ears are pierced?”
“Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy did it for him when he was young.”
“Hum!” said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. “Is he still with you?”
“Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him.”
“And has your business been attended to in your absence?”
“I have nothing to complain about, sir. There’s never very much to do in the morning.”
“That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion upon the subject in a day or two.”
“Well, Watson,” said Holmes when our visitor had left, “what do you make of it all?”
“I make nothing of it,” I answered. “It is a most mysterious business.”
“It is, indeed,” said Holmes.
“What are you going to do, then?” I asked.
“I’m going to smoke,” he answered. “It is a three pipe problem, and I beg that you won’t speak to me for fifty minutes.” He curled himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrust out like a bill of some strange bird.
18.
I had come to the conclusion that he had fallen asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind, and put his pipe down on the mantelpiece.
“There is a concert at the St. James’s Hall this afternoon,” he remarked. “What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few hours?”
“I have nothing to do today. My practice is never very absorbing.”
“Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City first, and we can have some lunch on the way. Come along!”
We traveled by the Underground to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the strange story which Mr. Jabez Wilson had related to us in the morning. It was a plain, little place, where four lines of brick houses looked out onto a small lot with a lawn of weedy grass.
Three golden balls and a brown board with “JABEZ WILSON” in white letters, on a corner house, announced the place where our red-headed client carried on his business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses.
Finally he returned to the pawnbroker’s, having thumped vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times. Before I could ask Homes why he was hitting the pavement with his stick, he went up to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step in.
19.
“Thank you,” said Holmes, “I only wished to ask you how you would go from here to the Strand.”
“Go straight down this street for three blocks, turn right and go left when you reach the Empire Bakery,” the assistant answered promptly, closing the door.
“That fellow is very smart,” observed Holmes as we walked away. “He is, in my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London. And for boldness I think he has a claim to be third. I have known something of him before.”
“Evidently,” I said, “Mr. Wilson’s assistant counts for a good deal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you inquired your way merely in order that you might see him.”
“Not him.”
“What then?”
“The knees of his trousers.”
“And what did you see?”
“What I expected to see. But, my dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are spies in an enemy’s country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it.”
The road around the corner from Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the main avenues which conveyed the traffic of the City to the north and west.
20.
The roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to realize, as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately business premises, that they really were just around the corner from the poor neighborhood which we had just left.
“Let me see,” said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along the line, “I should like just to remember the order of the houses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London. There is Mortimer’s, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane’s carriage-building depot. That carries us right on to the other block.”
“And now, Doctor, we’ve done our work, so it’s time for some play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no red-headed clients to bother us with their problems.”
My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself a very capable performer and a gifted composer. All afternoon he sat in the theater wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music.
“You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor,” he remarked as we emerged from the theater.
“Yes, it would be as well.”
“And I have some business to do which will take a few hours. This business at Coburg Square is serious.”
21.
“Why is it serious?”
“A big crime is being planned. I have every reason to believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But today is Saturday and that complicates matters. I shall want your help tonight.”
“At what time?”
“Ten will be early enough.”
“I shall be at Baker Street at ten.”
“Very good. And, I say, Doctor, there may be a little danger, so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket.” He waved his hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.
I don’t think that I am less intelligent than other people, but I was always oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with Sherlock Holmes.
I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about to happen, while to me the whole business was still confusing and strange.
As I drove home to my house I thought over it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the Encyclopedia down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me. Where were we about to go, and why should I go armed?
22.
I had learned from Holmes that the smooth-faced pawnbroker’s assistant was a dangerous man — a man who might play a deep game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave up in despair and decided to wait to see what would happen.
It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my way to Baker Street. Two carriages were standing at the door, and as I entered the passage I heard the sound of voices from above.
On entering his room I found Holmes in animated conversation with two men, one of whom I recognized as Peter Jones, the official police agent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and respectable black coat.
“Ah! Our party is complete,” said Holmes, buttoning up his jacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. “Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who will be our companion in tonight’s adventure.”
“We’re hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see,” said Jones. “Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running down.”
“I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,” observed Mr. Merryweather gloomily.
23.
“You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir,” said the police agent. “He has his own methods, which are, if he won’t mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not too much to say that once or twice he has been more nearly correct than the official force.”
“Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right,” said the stranger. “Still, I confess that I miss my poker game. It is the first Saturday night in twenty-seven years that I have missed a game.”
“I think you will find,” said Sherlock Holmes, “that you will play for a higher stake tonight than you have ever done yet, and that the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will be some 30,000 pounds; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands.”
“The name of that man is John Clay,” said Mr. Jones, “and he is a murderer, thief, and forger. He’s a young man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession. I would rather have my handcuffs on him than on any criminal in London. He’s a remarkable young man. His grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has been to Eton and Oxford.”
His brain is as cunning as his fingers, and though we see signs of him at every turn, we never know where to find the man himself. He’ll crack a safe in Scotland one week, and be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next. I’ve been on his track for years and have never set eyes on him yet.”
24.
“I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you tonight,” said Holmes. “I’ve also had one or two run-ins with Mr. John Clay, and I agree with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is past ten, however, and quite time that we started. If you two will take the first carriage, Watson and I will follow in the second.”
Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets until we emerged into Farrington Street.
“We are almost there now,” my friend remarked. “This fellow Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is not a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession. He has one positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we are, and they are waiting for us.”
We had reached the same crowded street we had visited in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and, following the guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage and through a side door, which he opened for us. Inside there was a small corridor, which ended in a very large iron gate. He opened this also and led us down a flight of winding stone steps, which ended at another large gate.
Mr. Merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then took us down a dark, earthy-smelling passage, opening a third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all round with crates and huge boxes.
25.
“You are not very vulnerable from above,” Holmes remarked as he held up the lantern and gazed about him.
“Nor from below,” said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon the stones which lined the floor. “Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!” he remarked, looking up in surprise.
“I must ask you to be a little more quiet!” said Holmes severely. “You have already endangered the success of our expedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit down upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?”
The solemn Mr. Merryweather sat on a crate, with a very injured expression on his face, while Holmes fell upon his knees on the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began to examine minutely the cracks between the stones.
A few seconds were enough to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again and put his glass in his pocket.
“We have at least an hour before us,” he remarked, “for they can hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed. Then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work, the more time they will have for their escape. We are right now, Doctor — as no doubt you have guessed–in the cellar of the City branch of one of the principal London banks. Mr. Merryweather is the chairman of directors.”
“He will explain to you that there are reasons why the more daring criminals of London should take a considerable interest in this cellar at present.”
“It is our French gold,” whispered the director. “We have had several warnings that an attempt might be made upon it.”
26.
“Your French gold?”
“Yes. We had the opportunity some months ago to strengthen our resources and borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of France. It has become known that we have never unpacked the money, and it is still lying in our cellar. The crate on which I sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed between layers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is much larger at present than is usually kept in a single branch office, and the directors have had misgivings upon the subject.”
“Those misgivings are very well justified,” observed Holmes. “And now it is time for us to arrange our plans. I expect that within an hour something will happen. In the meantime Mr. Merryweather, we must put the screen over that lantern.”
“And sit in the dark?”
“I am afraid so. The enemy’s preparations have gone so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light. And, first of all, we must choose our positions. These are daring men, and though we shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we are careful. I shall stand behind this crate. You conceal yourselves behind those. Then, when I flash a light upon them, close in quickly. If they fire, Watson, do not hesitate to shoot at them.”
I placed my revolver upon the top of the wooden case behind which I crouched. Holmes closed the front of his lantern and left us in pitch darkness — such an absolute darkness as I have never before experienced.
27.
The smell of hot metal remained to assure us that the light was still there, ready to flash out at a moment’s notice. My nerves were on edge as we sat in the cold, dark vault.
“They have only one retreat,” whispered Holmes. “That is back through the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have done what I asked you, Jones?”
“I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door.”
“Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent and wait.”
What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterward it was but an hour and a quarter, yet it seemed like many hours. My limbs were weary and stiff, for I feared to change my position. My nerves were worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my hearing was acute.
From my position I could look over the case in the direction of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light.
At first it was but a bright spark upon the stone pavement. Then it lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared; a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the center of the little area of light.
For a minute or more the hand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark again save the single bright spark which marked a chink between the stones. Its disappearance, however, was but momentary.
28.
With a rending, tearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over on its side and left a square, gaping hole, through which streamed the light of a lantern. Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish face, which looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand on either side of the hole, drew itself shoulder-high and waist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. In another instant he stood at the side of the hole and was hauling after him a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face and a shock of very red hair.
“It’s all clear,” he whispered. “Do you have the chisel and the bags? Wait, what’s that? Go back, Archie, hurry up and go back or we’re both finished!”
Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the collar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of tearing cloth as Jones clutched at his shirt.
The light flashed on the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes’s hunting crop came down on the man’s wrist, and the pistol fell on the stone floor.
“It’s no use, John Clay,” said Holmes. “You have no chance at all.”
“So I see,” the other answered with the utmost coolness. “I hope that my pal is all right, though I see you have got his coat-tails.”
“There are three men waiting for him at the door,” said Holmes.
“Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. I must compliment you.”
“And I you,” Holmes answered. “Your red-headed idea was very new and effective.”
“You’ll see your pal again soon,” said Jones. “He’s quicker at climbing down holes than I am.”
29.
“I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,” remarked our prisoner as the handcuffs were put on his wrists. “You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have the goodness, also, when you address me always to say ‘sir’ and ‘please.'”
“All right,” said Jones with a stare. “Well, sir, would you please march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry your Highness to the police-station?”
“That is better,” said John Clay calmly. He made a sweeping bow to the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the detective.
“Really, Mr. Holmes,” said Mr. Merryweather as we followed them from the cellar, “I do not know how the bank can thank you or repay you. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated in the most complete manner one of the most determined attempts at bank robbery that has ever come within my experience.”
“I had a score of my own to settle with Mr. John Clay,” said Holmes. “I have been at some small expense over this matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond that I am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in many ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of the Red-headed League.”
“You see, Watson,” he explained in the early hours of the morning as we sat drinking tea in Baker Street, “it was perfectly obvious from the first that the only possible object of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement of the League, and the copying of the Encyclopedia, must be to get the pawnbroker out of the way for a number of hours every day. It was a curious way of doing it, but, really, it would be difficult to suggest a better plan.”
30.
“The method was no doubt suggested to Clay’s ingenious mind by the color of his accomplice’s hair. The four pounds a week was a lure which must draw him, and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands? They wrote up the advertisement. Then one rogue managed the temporary office and the other rogue urged the man to apply for the position. The goal was to assure Mr. Wilson’s absence every morning of the week. From the time that I heard that the assistant was willing to work for half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive for taking the job.”
“But how could you guess what the motive was?”
“The man’s business was a small one, and there was nothing in his house which could account for such elaborate preparations, and such an expenditure. It must, then, be something outside of the house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant’s fondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into the cellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tangled clue. I made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that I had to deal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in London.
“He was doing something in the cellar — something which took many hours a day for months on end. What could it be? I could think of nothing except that he was digging a tunnel to some other building.
“That is as far as I got when we went to visit the scene of action. I surprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was ascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind. It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the assistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had never set eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at his face.
“His knees were what I wished to see. You must have noticed how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of those hours of burrowing. The only remaining point was what they were burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw the City and Suburban Bank next to our friend’s premises, and felt that I had solved the problem.”
“When you drove home after the concert I called on Scotland Yard and the chairman of the bank directors, with the result that you have seen.”
“And how did you know that they would make their attempt tonight?” I asked.
“Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that they no longer cared about Mr. Jabez Wilson’s presence — in other words, they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential that they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the French Gold might be removed. Saturday would suit them better than any other day, as it would give them two days for their escape. For all these reasons I expected them to come tonight.”
“You reasoned it out beautifully,” I exclaimed in genuine admiration “It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true.”
“It saved me from boredom,” he answered, yawning, and sat back in his chair and lit his pipe.”
The End