Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated)
Page 946
WATSON: But, Holmes, this is marvellous. The lady is Miss Morstan, whom you have indeed met and admired. But how could you tell —
HOLMES: By the same observation, my dear Watson, which assures me that you have seen the lady this morning. (Picks a hair off WATSON’Sbreast, wraps it round his finger, and glances at it with his lens.) Charming, my dear fellow, charming. There is no mistaking the Titian tint. You lucky fellow! I envy you.
WATSON: Thank you, Holmes. Some of these days I may find myself congratulating you.
HOLMES: No marriage without love, Watson.
WATSON: Then why not love? (Placing his hand on HOLMES’Sshoulders.)
HOLMES: Absurd, Watson, absurd! I am not for love, nor love for me. It would disturb my reason, unbalance my faculties. Love is like a flaw in the crystal, sand in the clockwork, iron near the magnet. No, no, I have other work in the world.
WATSON: You have, indeed. Billy says you are very busy just now.
HOLMES: There are one or two small matters.
WATSON: Have you room to consider one other — the case of Miss Enid Stonor?
HOLMES: My dear fellow, if you have any personal interest in it. (Sitting on divan.)
WATSON: Yes, I feel keenly about it.
HOLMES (taking out note-book): Let us see how I stand. There is the Baxter Square murder — I have put the police on the track. The Clerkenwell Jewel Robbery — that is now clearing. The case of the Duchess of Ferrers — I have my material. The Pope’s cameos. His Holiness must wait. The Princess who is about to run from home — let her run. I must see one or two who are waiting for me — (rings bell) — then I am entirely at your disposal.
(Enter BILLY.)
BILLY: Yes, Mr. Holmes.
HOLMES: How many are waiting?
BILLY: Three, sir.
HOLMES: A light morning. Show them in now.
(BILLY goes out.)
WATSON: Well, I’ll look in later.
HOLMES (striking match and lighting pipe): No, no, my dear fellow! I have always looked on you as a partner in the Firm — Holmes, Watson, Billy & Co. That’s our brass plate when we raise one. If you’ll sit there I shall soon be free.
(Enter BILLY, with a card on tray. .MR HOLT LOAMING follows, a rich, dissipated-looking, middle-aged man in an astrakhan-collared coat. BILLY goes out.)
(Reading.) Mr. Holt Loaming. I remember the name. A racing man, I believe?
LOAMING: Yes, sir.
HOLMES: Pray take a seat.
(LOAMING draws up near the table.)
What can I do for you?
LOAMING: Time’s money, Mr. Holmes, both yours and mine. I’m pretty quick off the mark, and you won’t mind that. I’m not here on the advice gratis line. Don’t you think it. I’ve my Cheque book here — (takes it out) — and there’s plenty behind it. I won’t grudge you your fee, Mr. Holmes. I promise you that.
HOLMES: Well, Mr. Loaming, let us hear the business.
LOAMING: My wife, Mr. Holmes — damn her! — she’s given me the slip. Got back to her own people and they’ve hid her. There’s the law, of course, but she’d get out all kinds of lies about ill-treatment. She’s mine, and I’ll just take her when I know where to lay my hands on her.
HOLMES: How would you take her?
LOAMING: I just have to walk up to her and beckon. She’s one of those wincing kind of nervous fillies that kick about in the paddock but give in when once the bridle’s on them and they feel the whip. You show me where she is, and I’ll do the rest.
HOLMES: She is with her own people, you say?
LOAMING: Well, there’s no man in the case, if that’s what you’re driving at. Lord! if you knew how straight she is, and how she carries on when I have a fling. She’s got a cluster of aunts, and she’s lyin’ low somewhere among them. It’s for you to put her up.
HOLMES: I fancy not, Mr. Loaming.
LOAMING: Eh? What’s that?
HOLMES: I rather like to think of her among that cluster of aunts.
LOAMING: But, damn it, sir, she’s my wife.
HOLMES: That’s why!
LOAMING (getting up): Well, it’s a rum start, this. Look here, you don’t know what you’re missing. I’d have gone to five hundred. Here’s the cheque.
HOLMES: The case does not attract me. (Rings bell.)
(Enter BILLY.)
Show Mr. Loaming out, Billy.
LOAMING: It’s the last you’ll see of me, Mr. Holmes.
HOLMES: Life is full of little consolations.
LOAMING: Damn!
(He takes his hat and goes out with BILLY.)
HOLMES: I’m afraid I shall never be a rich man, Watson.
(Re-enter BILLY.)
Well?
BILLY: Mr. James B. Montague, sir.
(Enter MONTAGUE, as BILLY goes out.)
HOLMES: Good morning, Mr. Montague. Pray take a chair.
(MONTAGUE sits.)
What can I do?
MONTAGUE (a furtive-looking man with slimy ways): Anything fresh about the sudden death of my brother, sir? The police said it was murder, and you said it was murder; but we don’t get any further, do we? (Placing hat on floor.)
HOLMES: I have not lost sight of it.
MONTAGUE: That man Henderson was a bad man, Holmes, an evil liver and a corruption. Yes, sir, a corruption a danger. Who knows what passed between them? I’ve suspicions — I’ve always had my suspicions.
HOLMES: So you said.
MONTAGUE: Have you worked any further on that line, sir? Because, if you tell me from time to time how it is shaping, I may be able to give you a word in season.
HOLMES: I have my eye on him — a very cunning rascal, as you say. We have not enough to arrest him on, but we work away in the hope.
MONTAGUE: Good, Mr. Holmes, good! Watch him; you’ll get him, as safe as Judgment.
HOLMES: I’ll let you know if anything comes of it. (Rings.)
MONTAGUE (rising): That’s right, sir. Watch ‘im. I’m his brother, sir. It’s me that should know. It’s never out of my mind.
(Enter BILLY.)
HOLMES: Very good, Mr. Montague. Good-morning.
(MONTAGUE and BILLY go out.)
Curious little murder, Watson; done for most inadequate motive. That was the murderer.
WATSON: Good Heavens!
HOLMES: My case is almost complete. Meanwhile I amuse him and myself by the pretended pursuit of the wrong man — an ancient device, Watson.
(Re-enter BILLY.)
Well, any more?
BILLY: Mr. Milverton is here, Mr. Holmes.
HOLMES: Show him in when I ring.
(BILLY goes out.)
I am sorry to delay the business upon which you wished to consult me; but this, I hope, will be the last. You remember Milverton?
WATSON: No.
HOLMES: Ah! it was after your time. The most crawling reptile in London — the King of the Blackmailers — a cunning, ruthless devil. I have traced seventeen suicides to that man’s influence. It is he who is after the Duchess of Ferrers.
WATSON: The beautiful Duchess, whose re-marriage is announced?
HOLMES: Exactly. He has a letter which he thinks would break off the wedding. (Rings.) It is my task to regain it.
(Enter MILVERTON.)
Well, Mr. Milverton. Pray take a seat.
MILVERTON: Who is this?
HOLMES: My friend, Dr. Watson. Do you mind?
MILVERTON (sitting): Oh! I have no object in secrecy. It is your client’s reputation, not mine, which is at stake.
HOLMES: Your reputation! Good Heavens! (Crossing to fireplace and filling pipe from slipper.)
MILVERTON: Not much to lose there, is there, Mr. Holmes? I can’t be hurt. But she can. Hardly a fair fight, is it?
HOLMES: What are the terms now? (Filling pipe.)
MILVERTON: Steady at seven thousand. No money — no marriage.
HOLMES: Suppose she tells the whole story to the Marquis? Then your letter is not worth sixpence. He would cond
one all. Come, now, what harm is in the letter?
MILVERTON: Sprightly — very sprightly. However, it is purely a matter of business. If you think it is in the best interests of your client that the Marquis should see the letter — why, you would be very foolish to pay a large sum to regain it.
HOLMES: The lady has no great resources.
MILVERTON: But her marriage is a most suitable time for her friends and relations to make some little effort. I can assure you that this envelope would give more joy than all the tiaras and bracelets in Regent Street.
HOLMES: No, it is impossible!
MILVERTON: Dear me! Dear me! How unfortunate.
HOLMES: It can profit you in no way to push matters to an end.
MILVERTON: There you mistake. I have other cases maturing. If it were known that I had been severe on the Duchess the others would be more open to reason.
HOLMES: Well, well, you give us till noon to-morrow? (Rings.)
MILVERTON: But not an hour longer.
(Enter BILLY.)
HOLMES: We are at your mercy. Surely you won’t treat us too harshly?
MILVERTON: Not a minute longer. (Putting on hat.)
(BILLY and MILVERTON go out.)
Terrible! Terrible! A fumigator would be useful, eh, Watson — Pah!
WATSON: What can you do?
HOLMES: My dear Watson — what have I done? It is this gentleman’s cook who has honoured me. In the intervals of philandering, I have made an acquaintance with the lock on the safe. Mr. Milverton spent last night at his club; when he returns home he will find there has been a little burglary at The Battersea, and his precious letter is missing. (Rings.)
WATSON: Holmes, you are splendid!
(Enter BILLY.)
HOLMES: Tut, tut! (To BILLY.) Well, any more?
BILLY: One lady, sir — just come — Miss Enid Stonor, of Stoke Moran.
WATSON: Ah! this is the case. (Rising.)
HOLMES: I’ll ring, Billy.
(BILLY goes out.)
Now, Watson! Stonor! Stonor! Surely I associate the name with something?
WATSON: I told you of the case at the time. Sudden mysterious death of a girl at an old house in Stoke Moran, some two years ago.
HOLMES: My dear fellow! it all comes back to me. An inquest was it not, with a string of most stupid and ineffectual witnesses.
WATSON: I was one of them.
HOLMES: Of course — so you were, so you were. I docketed the evidence. It introduced to my notice a gentleman of singular and most interesting personality. I have a few notes. (Takes down a scrapbook from a row.) Let’s see — it’s R — Ranter — Roma — Rylott! That’s our man. Fifty-five years of age, killed his khitmutgar in India; once in a madhouse, married money — wife died — distinguished surgeon. Well, Watson, what has the distinguished surgeon been up to now? (Throwing scrapbook on divan.)
WATSON: Devilry, I fear.
HOLMES: I have the case very clear in my mind.
WATSON: Then you may remember that the death of the lady followed close upon her engagement?
HOLMES: Exactly.
WATSON: Miss Enid Stonor in turn became engaged, about a month ago, to a neighbour, Lieutenant Curtis.
HOLMES: Ah!
WATSON: Unhappily, the young man leaves for the Mediterranean to-day. She will henceforward be alone at Stoke Moran.
HOLMES: I see.
WATSON: And some circumstances have excited her alarm.
HOLMES: I gather that the amiable stepfather stands to lose in case of a marriage.
WATSON: That is so. Of course, supposing that Rylott did the other girl to death, it seems unlikely, on the face of it, that he would try it on again, as two sudden deaths in the house could hardly pass the coroner —
HOLMES: No, no, Watson! you are making the mistake of putting your normal brain into Rylott’s abnormal being. The born criminal is often a monstrous egotist. His mind is unhinged from the beginning. What he wants he must have. Because he thinks a thing, it is right. Because he does a thing, it will escape detection. You can’t say a priori that he will take this view or that one. Perhaps we had best have the young lady in. (Rings bell.) My dear fellow, you’ll get into trouble if you go about righting the wrongs of distressed damsels. It won’t do, Watson, it really won’t.
(Enter ENID. WATSON gets up and meets her.)
WATSON: How do you do, Miss Enid? This is my friend, Mr. Holmes, of whom I spoke.
(HOLMES shakes hands with ENID.)
HOLMES: How do you do, Miss Stonor? Dear me! you must find a dog-cart a cold conveyance in this weather.
ENID: A dog-cart, Mr. Holmes?
HOLMES: One can hardly fail to observe the tell-tale splashes on the left sleeve. A white horse and clay soil are indicated. But what is this? You are trembling. Do sit down.
ENID (looking round and sitting on settee): Tell me, Mr. Holmes, my stepfather has not been here?
HOLMES: No.
ENID: He saw me in the street. I dashed past him in a cab. he saw me; our eyes met, and he waved me to stop.
HOLMES: Why is your stepfather in London?
ENID: He came up on business.
HOLMES: It would be interesting to know what the business was.
ENID: It was to get a new butler. Rodgers, our old one, leave us, and a new butler is to come at once. I doubt if any servant would come to such a place.
HOLMES: He may certainly find some difficulty. He would, no doubt, apply to an agent.
ENID: At two o’clock, to Patterson and Green, of Cavendish Street.
HOLMES: Exactly. I know them. But this is a digression, is it not? We get back to the fact that he saw you in the street?
ENID: Yes, it was in Pall Mall. I fancy he followed me.
HOLMES: Would he imagine you would come here?
ENID: No, he would think I was going to Dr. Watson’s. He knows that Dr. Watson is my only friend in London.
HOLMES: What has been Dr. Ryolott’s attitude towards you your engagement?
ENID: He has been much kinder, because he knows I have one to protect me. But even so, there are moments — (Raises her arm.)
HOLMES: Good Heavens!
ENID: He does not realise his own strength. When he is angry he is like a fierce wild beast. Only last week he thrashed the blacksmith.
HOLMES: He is welcome to the blacksmith, but not to my clients. This must not occur again. Does your fiancé know of this?
ENID: I would not dare to tell him. He would do something dreadful. Besides, as I say, my stepfather has, on the whole, been kinder. But there is a look in his eyes, when I turn on him suddenly, that chills me to the bone. His kindness is from his head, not from his heart. I feel as if he were waiting — waiting —
HOLMES: Waiting for what?
ENID: Waiting for my fiancé to leave. Waiting till he has me at his mercy. That room freezes my blood. Often I cannot sleep for horror.
WATSON: What? He has changed your room? (Rising from armchair.)
ENID: My old room is under repair.
WATSON: You sleep, then, in the room where your sister died?
ENID: In the same room. And other things have happened. The music has come again.
HOLMES: The music? Tell me about this music.
ENID: It came before my sister’s death. She spoke of it, and then I heard it myself the night she died. But it has come again. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I am terrified.
HOLMES: There, there! you’ve had enough to break any one’s nerve. This — music — does it seem to be inside the house or outside?
ENID: Indeed, I could not say.
HOLMES: What is it like?
ENID: A sort of soft, droning sound.
HOLMES: Like a flute or pipe?