The Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes (17 page)

‘ “They may do what they like, but I'll checkmate them still,” said he, with an oath. “Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my room today, and send down to Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.”

‘I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived I was asked to
step up to the room. The fire was burning brightly, and in the grate there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned paper, while the brass box stood open and empty beside it. As I glanced at the box I noticed, with a start, that upon the lid were printed the treble K which I had read in the morning upon the envelope.

‘ “I wish you, John,” said my uncle, “to witness my will. I leave my estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages to my brother, your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to you. If you can enjoy it in peace, well and good! If you find you cannot, take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest enemy. I am sorry to give you such a two-edged thing, but I can't say what turn things are going to take. Kindly sign the paper where Mr Fordham shows you.”

‘I signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it away with him. The singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest impression upon me, and I pondered over it, and turned it every way in my mind without being able to make anything of it. Yet I could not shake off the vague feeling of dread which it left behind it, though the sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed, and nothing happened to disturb the usual routine of our lives. I could see a change in my uncle, however. He drank more than ever, and he was less inclined for any sort of society. Most of his time he would spend in his room, with the door locked upon the inside, but sometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy and would burst out of the house and tear about the garden with a revolver in his hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no man, and that he was not to be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by man or devil. When these hot fits were over, however, he would rush tumultuously in at the door, and lock and bar it behind him, like a man who can brazen it out no longer against the terror which lies at the roots of his soul. At such times I have seen his face even on a cold day, glisten with moisture as though it were new raised from a basin.

‘Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr Holmes, and not to abuse your patience, there came a night when he made one of those drunken sallies from which he never came back. We found him, when we went to search for him, face downwards in a little green-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden. There was no sign of any
violence, and the water was but two feet deep, so that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity, brought in a verdict of suicide.
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But I, who knew how he winced from the very thought of death, had much ado to persuade myself that he had gone out of his way to meet it. The matter passed, however, and my father entered into possession of the estate, and of some fourteen thousand pounds, which lay to his credit at the bank.'

‘One moment,' Holmes interposed. ‘Your statement is, I foresee, one of the most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me have the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and the date of his supposed suicide.'

‘The letter arrived on March the 10th, 1883. His death was seven weeks later, upon the night of the 2nd of May.'

‘Thank you. Pray proceed.'

‘When my father took over the Horsham property, he, at my request, made a careful examination of the attic, which had been always locked up. We found the brass box there, although its contents had been destroyed. On the inside of the cover was a paper label, with the initials K.K.K. repeated upon it, and “Letters, memoranda, receipts and a register” written beneath. These, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers which had been destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest, there was nothing of much importance in the attic, save a great many scattered papers and notebooks bearing upon my uncle's life in America. Some of them were of the war time, and showed that he had done his duty well, and had borne the repute of being a brave soldier. Others were of a date during the reconstruction of the Southern states,
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and were mostly concerned with politics, for he had evidently taken a strong part in opposing the carpet-bag politicians who had been sent down from the North.
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‘Well, it was the beginning of '84, when my father came to live at Horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the January of '85. On the fourth day after the New Year I heard my father give a sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the breakfast-table. There he was, sitting with a newly opened envelope in one hand and five dried orange pips in the outstretched palm of the other one. He had always laughed at what he called my cock-and-bull story about the
Colonel, but he looked very puzzled and scared now that the same thing had come upon himself.

‘ “Why, what on earth does this mean, John?” he stammered.

‘My heart had turned to lead. “It is K.K.K.,” said I.

‘He looked inside the envelope. “So it is,” he cried. “Here are the very letters. But what is this written above them?”

‘ “Put the papers on the sundial,” I read, peeping over his shoulder.

‘ “What papers? What sundial?” he asked.

‘ “The sundial in the garden. There is no other,” said I; “but the papers must be those that are destroyed.”

‘ “Pooh!” said he, gripping hard at his courage. “We are in a civilized land here, and we can't have tomfoolery of this kind. Where does the thing come from?”

‘ “From Dundee,” I answered, glancing at the postmark.

‘ “Some preposterous practical joke,” said he. “What have I to do with sundials and papers? I shall take no notice of such nonsense.”

‘ “I should certainly speak to the police,” I said.

‘ “And be laughed at for my pains. Nothing of the sort.”

‘ “Then let me do so.”

‘ “No, I forbid you. I won't have a fuss made over such nonsense.”

‘It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate man. I went about, however, with a heart which was full of forebodings.

‘On the third day after the coming of the letter my father went from home to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is in command of one of the forts upon Portsdown Hill.
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I was glad that he should go, for it seemed to me that he was farther from danger when he was away from home. In that, however, I was in error. Upon the second day of his absence I received a telegram from the Major, imploring me to come at once. My father had fallen over one of the deep chalk-pits which abound in the neighbourhood, and was lying senseless, with a shattered skull. I hurried to him, but he passed away without having ever recovered his consciousness. He had, as it appears, been returning from Fareham
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in the twilight, and as the country was unknown to him, and the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation in bringing in a verdict of “Death from accidental causes”. Carefully as I examined every fact connected with his death, I was unable to
find anything which could suggest the idea of murder. There were no signs of violence, no footmarks, no robbery, no record of strangers having been seen upon the roads. And yet I need not tell you that my mind was far from at ease, and that I was well-nigh certain that some foul plot had been woven round him.

In this sinister way I came into my inheritance. You will ask me why I did not dispose of it? I answer because I was well convinced that our troubles were in some way dependent upon an incident in my uncle's life, and that the danger would be as pressing in one house as in another.

‘It was in January, '85, that my poor father met his end, and two years and eight months have elapsed since then. During that time I have lived happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope that this curse had passed away from the family, and that it had ended with the last generation. I had begun to take comfort too soon, however; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape in which it had come upon my father.'

The young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and, turning to the table, he shook out upon it five little dried orange pips.

‘This is the envelope,' he continued. ‘The postmark is London – eastern division. Within are the very words which were upon my father's last message. “K.K.K.”; and then “Put the papers on the sundial.”'

‘What have you done?' asked Holmes.

‘Nothing.'

‘Nothing?'

‘To tell the truth' – he sank his face into his thin, white hands – ‘I have felt helpless. I have felt like one of those poor rabbits when the snake is writhing towards it. I seem to be in the grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil, which no foresight and no precautions can guard against.'

‘Tut! Tut!' cried Sherlock Holmes. ‘You must act, man, or you are lost. Nothing but energy can save you. This is no time for despair.'
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‘I have seen the police.'

‘Ah?'

‘But they listened to my story with a smile. I am convinced that the
inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all practical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were really accidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected with the warnings.'

Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air. ‘Incredible imbecility!' he cried.

‘They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in the house with me.'

‘Has he come with you tonight?'

‘No. His orders were to stay in the house.'

Again Holmes raved in the air.

‘Why did you come to me?' he said; ‘and, above all, why did you not come at once?'

‘I did not know. It was only today that I spoke to Major Prendergast about my trouble, and was advised by him to come to you.'

‘It is really two days since you had the letter. We should have acted before this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, than that which you have placed before us – no suggestive detail which might help us?'

‘There is one thing,' said John Openshaw. He rummaged in his coat pocket, and drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted paper, he laid it out upon the table. ‘I have some remembrance,' said he, ‘that on the day when my uncle burned the papers I observed that the small, unburned margins which lay amid the ashes were of this particular colour. I found this single sheet upon the floor of his room, and I am inclined to think that it may be one of the papers which had, perhaps, fluttered out from among the others, and in that way escaped destruction. Beyond the mention of pips, I do not see that it helps us much. I think myself that it is a page from some private diary. The writing is undoubtedly my uncle's.'

Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper, which showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from a book. It was headed ‘March, 1869', and beneath were the following enigmatical notices:

4th.  Hudson came. Same old platform.

7th.  Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and John Swain of St Augustine.

9th.  McCauley cleared.

10th. John Swain cleared.

12th. Visited Paramore. All well.

‘Thank you!' said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning it to our visitor. ‘And now you must on no account lose another instant. We cannot spare time even to discuss what you have told me. You must get home instantly, and act.'

‘What shall I do?'

‘There is but one thing to do. It must be done at once. You must put this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass box which you have described. You must also put in a note to say that all the other papers were burned by your uncle, and that this is the only one which remains. You must assert that in such words as will carry conviction with them. Having done this, you must at once put the box out upon the sundial, as directed. Do you understand?'

‘Entirely.'

‘Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. I think that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our web to weave, while theirs is already woven. The first consideration is to remove the pressing danger which threatens you. The second is to clear up the mystery, and to punish the guilty parties.'

‘I thank you,' said the young man, rising, and pulling on his overcoat. ‘You have given me fresh life and hope. I shall certainly do as you advise.'

‘Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take care of yourself in the meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that you are threatened by a very real and imminent danger. How do you go back?'

‘By train from Waterloo.'
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‘It is not yet nine. The streets will be crowded, so I trust that you may be in safety. And yet you cannot guard yourself too closely.'

‘I am armed.'

‘That is well. Tomorrow I shall set to work upon your case.'

‘I shall see you at Horsham, then?'

‘No, your secret lies in London. It is there that I shall seek it.'

‘Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news as to the box and the papers. I shall take your advice in every particular.'
He shook hands with us, and took his leave. Outside the wind still screamed, and the rain splashed and pattered against the windows. This strange, wild story seemed to have come to us from amid the mad elements – blown in upon us like a sheet of seaweed in a gale – and now to have been re-absorbed by them once more.

Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence with his head sunk forward, and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. Then he lit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the blue smoke rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling.

‘I think, Watson,' he remarked at last, ‘that of all our cases we have had none more fantastic than this.'

‘Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four.'