“How came you to know of this?” he cried. And then, with some return of his truculent manner: “What business is it of yours?”
“My name is Sherlock Holmes,” said my companion. “Possibly it is familiar to you. In any case, my business is that of every other good citizen — to uphold the law. It seems to me that you have much to answer for.”
Sir Robert glared for a moment, but Holmes’s quiet voice and cool, assured manner had their effect.
“‘Fore God, Mr. Holmes, it’s all right,” said he. “Appearances are against me, I’ll admit, but I could act no otherwise.”
“I should be happy to think so, but I fear your explanations must be before the police.”
Sir Robert shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Well, if it must be, it must. Come up to the house and you can judge for yourself how the matter stands.”
A quarter of an hour later we found ourselves in what I judge, from the lines of polished barrels behind glass covers, to be the gun-room of the old house. It was comfortably furnished, and here Sir Robert left us for a few moments. When he returned he had two companions with him; the one, the florid young woman whom we had seen in the carriage; the other, a small rat-faced man with a disagreeably furtive manner. These two wore an appearance of utter bewilderment, which showed that the baronet had not yet had time to explain to them the turn events had taken.
“There,” said Sir Robert with a wave of his hand, “are Mr. and Mrs. Norlett. Mrs. Norlett, under her maiden name of Evans, has for some years been my sister’s confidential maid. I have brought them here because I feel that my best course is to explain the true position to you, and they are the two people upon earth who can substantiate what I say.”
“Is this necessary, Sir Robert? Have you thought what you are doing?” cried the woman.
“As to me, I entirely disclaim all responsibility,” said her husband.
Sir Robert gave him a glance of contempt. “I will take all responsibility,” said he. “Now, Mr. Holmes, listen to a plain statement of the facts.
“You have clearly gone pretty deeply into my affairs or I should not have found you where I did. Therefore, you know already, in all probability, that I am running a dark horse for the Derby and that everything depends upon my success. If I win, all is easy. If I lose — well, I dare not think of that!”
“I understand the position,” said Holmes.
“I am dependent upon my sister, Lady Beatrice, for everything. But it is well known that her interest in the estate is for her own life only. For myself, I am deeply in the hands of the Jews. I have always known that if my sister were to die my creditors would be on to my estate like a flock of vultures. Everything would be seized — my stables, my horses — everything. Well, Mr. Holmes, my sister did die just a week ago.”
“And you told no one!”
“What could I do? Absolute ruin faced me. If I could stave things off for three weeks all would be well. Her maid’s husband — this man here — is an actor. It came into our heads — it came into my head — that he could for that short period personate my sister. It was but a case of appearing daily in the carriage, for no one need enter her room save the maid. It was not difficult to arrange. My sister died of the dropsy which had long afflicted her.”
“That will be for a coroner to decide.”
“Her doctor would certify that for months her symptoms have threatened such an end.”
“Well, what did you do?”
“The body could not remain there. On the first night Norlett and I carried it out to the old well-house, which is now never used. We were followed, however, by her pet spaniel, which yapped continually at the door, so I felt some safer place was needed. I got rid of the spaniel, and we carried the body to the crypt of the church. There was no indignity or irreverence, Mr. Holmes. I do not feel that I have wronged the dead.”
“Your conduct seems to me inexcusable, Sir Robert.”
The baronet shook his head impatiently. “It is easy to preach,” said he. “Perhaps you would have felt differently if you had been in my position. One cannot see all one’s hopes and all one’s plans shattered at the last moment and make no effort to save them. It seemed to me that it would be no unworthy resting-place if we put her for the time in one of the coffins of her husband’s ancestors lying in what is still consecrated ground. We opened such a coffin, removed the contents, and placed her as you have seen her. As to the old relics which we took out, we could not leave them on the floor of the crypt. Norlett and I removed them, and he descended at night and burned them in the central furnace. There is my story, Mr. Holmes, though how you forced my hand so that I have to tell it is more than I can say.”
Holmes sat for some time lost in thought.
“There is one flaw in your narrative, Sir Robert,” he said at last. “Your bets on the race, and therefore your hopes for the future, would hold good even if your creditors seized your estate.”
“The horse would be part of the estate. What do they care for my bets? As likely as not they would not run him at all. My chief creditor is, unhappily, my most bitter enemy — a rascally fellow, Sam Brewer, whom I was once compelled to horsewhip on Newmarket Heath. Do you suppose that he would try to save me?”
“Well, Sir Robert,” said Holmes, rising, “this matter must, of course, be referred to the police. It was my duty to bring the facts to light, and there I must leave it. As to the morality or decency of your conduct, it is not for me to express an opinion. It is nearly midnight, Watson, and I think we may make our way back to our humble abode.”
It is generally known now that this singular episode ended upon a happier note than Sir Robert’s actions deserved. Shoscombe Prince did win the Derby, the sporting owner did net eighty thousand pounds in bets, and the creditors did hold their hand until the race was over, when they were paid in full, and enough was left to reestablish Sir Robert in a fair position in life. Both police and coroner took a lenient view of the transaction, and beyond a mild censure for the delay in registering the lady’s decease, the lucky owner got away scatheless from this strange incident in a career which has now outlived its shadows and promises to end in an honoured old age.
THE END
The Sherlock Holmes Storie s
In order of publication:
A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
A CASE OF IDENTITY
THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY
THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS
THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE CARBUNCLE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECKLED BAND
THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGINEER’S THUMB
THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYL CORONET
THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER BEECHES
ADVENTURE I. SILVER BLAZE
ADVENTURE II. THE YELLOW FACE
ADVENTURE III. THE STOCK-BROKER’S CLERK
ADVENTURE IV. THE “GLORIA SCOTT”
ADVENTURE V. THE MUSGRAVE RITUAL
ADVENTURE VI. THE REIGATE PUZZLE
ADVENTURE VII. THE CROOKED MAN
ADVENTURE VIII. THE RESIDENT PATIENT
ADVENTURE IX. THE GREEK INTERPRETER
ADVENTURE X. THE NAVAL TREATY
ADVENTURE XI. THE FINAL PROBLEM
THE ADVENTURE OF THE EMPTY HOUSE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE NORWOOD BUILDER
THE ADVENTURE OF THE DANCING MEN
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SOLITARY CYCLIST
THE ADVENTURE OF THE PRIORY SCHOOL
THE ADVENTURE OF BLACK PETER
THE ADVENTURE OF CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SIX NAPOLEONS
THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE STUDENTS
THE ADVENTURE OF THE GOLDEN PINCE-NEZ
THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING THREE-QUARTER
THE ADVENTURE OF THE ABBEY GRANGE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND STAIN
THE ADVENTURE O
F WISTERIA LODGE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX
THE ADVENTURE OF THE RED CIRCLE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS
THE ADVENTURE OF THE DYING DETECTIVE
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF LADY FRANCES CARFAX
THE ADVENTURE OF THE DEVIL’S FOOT
HIS LAST BOW.- THE WAR SERVICE OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
THE FIELD BAZAAR
HOW WATSON LEARNT THE TRICK
THE ADVENTURE OF THE TALL MAN
ADVENTURE I. THE ADVENTURE OF THE MAZARIN STONE
ADVENTURE II. THE PROBLEM OF THOR BRIDGE
ADVENTURE III. THE ADVENTURE OF THE CREEPING MAN
ADVENTURE IV. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUSSEX VAMPIRE
ADVENTURE V. THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GARRIDEBS
ADVENTURE VI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT
ADVENTURE VII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLANCHED SOLDIER
ADVENTURE VIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE RETIRED COLOURMAN
ADVENTURE IX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GABLES
ADVENTURE X. THE ADVENTURE OF THE LION’S MANE
ADVENTURE XI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE VEILED LODGER
ADVENTURE XII. THE ADVENTURE OF SHOSCOMBE OLD PLACE
The Challenger Works
Conan Doyle dressed as the character Professor Challenger
THE LOST WORLD
This novel was published in 1912 and tells the story of an expedition to South America, where prehistoric animals still survive. It was originally published serially in the popular Strand Magazine during the months of April 1912-November 1912. The character of Professor Challenger was introduced in this novel.
The first edition
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
“There Are Heroisms All Round Us”
CHAPTER II
“Try Your Luck with Professor Challenger”
CHAPTER III
“He is a Perfectly Impossible Person”
CHAPTER IV
“It’s Just the very Biggest Thing in the World”
CHAPTER V
“Question!”
CHAPTER VI
“I was the Flail of the Lord”
CHAPTER VII
“To-morrow we Disappear into the Unknown”
CHAPTER VIII
“The Outlying Pickets of the New World”
CHAPTER IX
“Who could have Foreseen it?”
CHAPTER X
“The most Wonderful Things have Happened”
CHAPTER XI
“For once I was the Hero”
CHAPTER XII
“It was Dreadful in the Forest”
CHAPTER XIII
“A Sight which I shall Never Forget”
CHAPTER XIV
“Those Were the Real Conquests”
CHAPTER XV
“Our Eyes have seen Great Wonders”
CHAPTER XVI
“A Procession! A Procession!”
The 1925 Hollywood film adaptation
The 1999 TV adaptation of the novel
THE LOST WORLD
I have wrought my simple plan
If I give one hour of joy
To the boy who’s half a man,
Or the man who’s half a boy.
CHAPTER I
“There Are Heroisms All Round Us”
Mr. Hungerton, her father, really was the most tactless person upon earth, — a fluffy, feathery, untidy cockatoo of a man, perfectly good-natured, but absolutely centered upon his own silly self. If anything could have driven me from Gladys, it would have been the thought of such a father-in-law. I am convinced that he really believed in his heart that I came round to the Chestnuts three days a week for the pleasure of his company, and very especially to hear his views upon bimetallism, a subject upon which he was by way of being an authority.
For an hour or more that evening I listened to his monotonous chirrup about bad money driving out good, the token value of silver, the depreciation of the rupee, and the true standards of exchange.
“Suppose,” he cried with feeble violence, “that all the debts in the world were called up simultaneously, and immediate payment insisted upon, — what under our present conditions would happen then?”
I gave the self-evident answer that I should be a ruined man, upon which he jumped from his chair, reproved me for my habitual levity, which made it impossible for him to discuss any reasonable subject in my presence, and bounced off out of the room to dress for a Masonic meeting.
At last I was alone with Gladys, and the moment of Fate had come! All that evening I had felt like the soldier who awaits the signal which will send him on a forlorn hope; hope of victory and fear of repulse alternating in his mind.
She sat with that proud, delicate profile of hers outlined against the red curtain. How beautiful she was! And yet how aloof! We had been friends, quite good friends; but never could I get beyond the same comradeship which I might have established with one of my fellow-reporters upon the Gazette, — perfectly frank, perfectly kindly, and perfectly unsexual. My instincts are all against a woman being too frank and at her ease with me. It is no compliment to a man. Where the real sex feeling begins, timidity and distrust are its companions, heritage from old wicked days when love and violence went often hand in hand. The bent head, the averted eye, the faltering voice, the wincing figure — these, and not the unshrinking gaze and frank reply, are the true signals of passion. Even in my short life I had learned as much as that — or had inherited it in that race memory which we call instinct.
Gladys was full of every womanly quality. Some judged her to be cold and hard; but such a thought was treason. That delicately bronzed skin, almost oriental in its colouring, that raven hair, the large liquid eyes, the full but exquisite lips, — all the stigmata of passion were there. But I was sadly conscious that up to now I had never found the secret of drawing it forth. However, come what might, I should have done with suspense and bring matters to a head to-night. She could but refuse me, and better be a repulsed lover than an accepted brother.
So far my thoughts had carried me, and I was about to break the long and uneasy silence, when two critical, dark eyes looked round at me, and the proud head was shaken in smiling reproof. “I have a presentiment that you are going to propose, Ned. I do wish you wouldn’t; for things are so much nicer as they are.”
I drew my chair a little nearer. “Now, how did you know that I was going to propose?” I asked in genuine wonder.
“Don’t women always know? Do you suppose any woman in the world was ever taken unawares? But — oh, Ned, our friendship has been so good and so pleasant! What a pity to spoil it! Don’t you feel how splendid it is that a young man and a young woman should be able to talk face to face as we have talked?”
“I don’t know, Gladys. You see, I can talk face to face with — with the station-master.” I can’t imagine how that official came into the matter; but in he trotted, and set us both laughing. “That does not satisfy me in the least. I want my arms round you, and your head on my breast, and — oh, Gladys, I want — —”
She had sprung from her chair, as she saw signs that I proposed to demonstrate some of my wants. “You’ve spoiled everything, Ned,” she said. “It’s all so beautiful and natural until this kind of thing comes in! It is such a pity! Why can’t you control yourself?”
“I didn’t invent it,” I pleaded. “It’s nature. It’s love.”
“Well, perhaps if both love, it may be different. I have never felt it.”
“But you must — you, with your beauty, with your soul! Oh, Gladys, you were made for love! You must love!”
“One must wait till it comes.”
“But why can’t you love me, Gladys? Is it my appearance, or what?”
She did unbend a little. She put forward a hand — such a gracious, stooping attitude it was — and she pressed back my head. Then she looked into my upturned face with a very wistful smile.
“No it isn’t t
hat,” she said at last. “You’re not a conceited boy by nature, and so I can safely tell you it is not that. It’s deeper.”
“My character?”
She nodded severely.
“What can I do to mend it? Do sit down and talk it over. No, really, I won’t if you’ll only sit down!”
She looked at me with a wondering distrust which was much more to my mind than her whole-hearted confidence. How primitive and bestial it looks when you put it down in black and white! — and perhaps after all it is only a feeling peculiar to myself. Anyhow, she sat down.
“Now tell me what’s amiss with me?”
“I’m in love with somebody else,” said she.
It was my turn to jump out of my chair.
“It’s nobody in particular,” she explained, laughing at the expression of my face: “only an ideal. I’ve never met the kind of man I mean.”
“Tell me about him. What does he look like?”
“Oh, he might look very much like you.”
“How dear of you to say that! Well, what is it that he does that I don’t do? Just say the word, — teetotal, vegetarian, aeronaut, theosophist, superman. I’ll have a try at it, Gladys, if you will only give me an idea what would please you.”
She laughed at the elasticity of my character. “Well, in the first place, I don’t think my ideal would speak like that,” said she. “He would be a harder, sterner man, not so ready to adapt himself to a silly girl’s whim. But, above all, he must be a man who could do, who could act, who could look Death in the face and have no fear of him, a man of great deeds and strange experiences. It is never a man that I should love, but always the glories he had won; for they would be reflected upon me. Think of Richard Burton! When I read his wife’s life of him I could so understand her love! And Lady Stanley! Did you ever read the wonderful last chapter of that book about her husband? These are the sort of men that a woman could worship with all her soul, and yet be the greater, not the less, on account of her love, honored by all the world as the inspirer of noble deeds.”
Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) Page 196