Reading Help The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes Ch.IX-XII
The dear fellow wanted to see if the missing piece were at the `
` scene of the struggle. How cruelly I have misjudged him!" `
` `
` "When I arrived at the house," continued Holmes, "I at once went `
` very carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in `
` the snow which might help me. I knew that none had fallen since `
` the evening before, and also that there had been a strong frost `
` to preserve impressions. I passed along the tradesmen's path, but `
` found it all trampled down and indistinguishable. Just beyond it, `
` however, at the far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood `
` and talked with a man, whose round impressions on one side showed `
` that he had a wooden leg. I could even tell that they had been `
` disturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly to the door, as was `
` shown by the deep toe and light heel marks, while Wooden-leg had `
` waited a little, and then had gone away. I thought at the time `
` that this might be the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had `
` already spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so. I passed `
` round the garden without seeing anything more than random tracks, `
` which I took to be the police; but when I got into the stable `
` lane a very long and complex story was written in the snow in `
` front of me. `
` `
` "There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a second `
` double line which I saw with delight belonged to a man with naked `
` feet. I was at once convinced from what you had told me that the `
` latter was your son. The first had walked both ways, but the `
` other had run swiftly, and as his tread was marked in places over `
` the depression of the boot, it was obvious that he had passed `
` after the other. I followed them up and found they led to the `
` hall window, where Boots had worn all the snow away while `
` waiting. Then I walked to the other end, which was a hundred `
` yards or more down the lane. I saw where Boots had faced round, `
` where the snow was cut up as though there had been a struggle, `
` and, finally, where a few drops of blood had fallen, to show me `
` that I was not mistaken. Boots had then run down the lane, and `
` another little smudge of blood showed that it was he who had been `
` hurt. When he came to the highroad at the other end, I found that `
` the pavement had been cleared, so there was an end to that clue. `
` `
` "On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remember, the `
` sill and framework of the hall window with my lens, and I could `
` at once see that someone had passed out. I could distinguish the `
` outline of an instep where the wet foot had been placed in coming `
` in. I was then beginning to be able to form an opinion as to what `
` had occurred. A man had waited outside the window; someone had `
` brought the gems; the deed had been overseen by your son; he had `
` pursued the thief; had struggled with him; they had each tugged `
` at the coronet, their united strength causing injuries which `
` neither alone could have effected. He had returned with the `
` prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of his opponent. So `
` far I was clear. The question now was, who was the man and who `
` was it brought him the coronet? `
` `
` "It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the `
` impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the `
` truth. Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought it down, `
` so there only remained your niece and the maids. But if it were `
` the maids, why should your son allow himself to be accused in `
` their place? There could be no possible reason. As he loved his `
` cousin, however, there was an excellent explanation why he should `
` retain her secret--the more so as the secret was a disgraceful `
` one. When I remembered that you had seen her at that window, and `
` how she had fainted on seeing the coronet again, my conjecture `
` became a certainty. `
` `
` "And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently, `
` for who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must `
` feel to you? I knew that you went out little, and that your `
` circle of friends was a very limited one. But among them was Sir `
` George Burnwell. I had heard of him before as being a man of evil `
` reputation among women. It must have been he who wore those boots `
` and retained the missing gems. Even though he knew that Arthur `
` had discovered him, he might still flatter himself that he was `
` safe, for the lad could not say a word without compromising his `
` own family. `
` `
` "Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took `
` next. I went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George's house, `
` managed to pick up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that `
` his master had cut his head the night before, and, finally, at `
` the expense of six shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of `
` his cast-off shoes. With these I journeyed down to Streatham and `
` saw that they exactly fitted the tracks." `
` `
` "I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening," `
` said Mr. Holder. `
` `
` "Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home `
` and changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to `
` play then, for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert `
` scandal, and I knew that so astute a villain would see that our `
` hands were tied in the matter. I went and saw him. At first, of `
` course, he denied everything. But when I gave him every `
` particular that had occurred, he tried to bluster and took down a `
` life-preserver from the wall. I knew my man, however, and I `
` clapped a pistol to his head before he could strike. Then he `
` became a little more reasonable. I told him that we would give `
` him a price for the stones he held--1000 pounds apiece. That `
` brought out the first signs of grief that he had shown. 'Why, `
` dash it all!' said he, 'I've let them go at six hundred for the `
` three!' I soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had `
` them, on promising him that there would be no prosecution. Off I `
` set to him, and after much chaffering I got our stones at 1000 `
` pounds apiece. Then I looked in upon your son, told him that all `
` was right, and eventually got to my bed about two o'clock, after `
` what I may call a really hard day's work." `
` `
` "A day which has saved England from a great public scandal," said `
` the banker, rising. "Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but `
` you shall not find me ungrateful for what you have done. Your `
` skill has indeed exceeded all that I have heard of it. And now I `
` must fly to my dear boy to apologise to him for the wrong which I `
` have done him. As to what you tell me of poor Mary, it goes to my `
` very heart. Not even your skill can inform me where she is now." `
` `
` "I think that we may safely say," returned Holmes, "that she is `
` wherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that `
` whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than `
` sufficient punishment." `
` `
` `
` `
` XII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER BEECHES `
` `
` "To the man who loves art for its own sake," remarked Sherlock `
` Holmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the Daily `
` Telegraph, "it is frequently in its least important and lowliest `
` manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived. It is `
` pleasant to me to observe, Watson, that you have so far grasped `
` this truth that in these little records of our cases which you `
` have been good enough to draw up, and, I am bound to say, `
` occasionally to embellish, you have given prominence not so much `
` to the many causes c�l�bres and sensational trials in which I `
` have figured but rather to those incidents which may have been `
` trivial in themselves, but which have given room for those `
` faculties of deduction and of logical synthesis which I have made `
` my special province." `
` `
` "And yet," said I, smiling, "I cannot quite hold myself absolved `
` from the charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my `
` records." `
` `
` "You have erred, perhaps," he observed, taking up a glowing `
` cinder with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood `
` pipe which was wont to replace his clay when he was in a `
` disputatious rather than a meditative mood--"you have erred `
` perhaps in attempting to put colour and life into each of your `
` statements instead of confining yourself to the task of placing `
` upon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect which is `
` really the only notable feature about the thing." `
` `
` "It seems to me that I have done you full justice in the matter," `
` I remarked with some coldness, for I was repelled by the egotism `
` which I had more than once observed to be a strong factor in my `
` friend's singular character. `
` `
` "No, it is not selfishness or conceit," said he, answering, as `
` was his wont, my thoughts rather than my words. "If I claim full `
` justice for my art, it is because it is an impersonal thing--a `
` thing beyond myself. Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore it `
` is upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should `
` dwell. You have degraded what should have been a course of `
` lectures into a series of tales." `
` `
` It was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after `
` breakfast on either side of a cheery fire in the old room at `
` Baker Street. A thick fog rolled down between the lines of `
` dun-coloured houses, and the opposing windows loomed like dark, `
` shapeless blurs through the heavy yellow wreaths. Our gas was lit `
` and shone on the white cloth and glimmer of china and metal, for `
` the table had not been cleared yet. Sherlock Holmes had been `
` silent all the morning, dipping continuously into the `
` advertisement columns of a succession of papers until at last, `
` having apparently given up his search, he had emerged in no very `
` sweet temper to lecture me upon my literary shortcomings. `
` `
` "At the same time," he remarked after a pause, during which he `
` had sat puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire, `
` "you can hardly be open to a charge of sensationalism, for out of `
` these cases which you have been so kind as to interest yourself `
` in, a fair proportion do not treat of crime, in its legal sense, `
` at all. The small matter in which I endeavoured to help the King `
` of Bohemia, the singular experience of Miss Mary Sutherland, the `
` problem connected with the man with the twisted lip, and the `
` incident of the noble bachelor, were all matters which are `
` outside the pale of the law. But in avoiding the sensational, I `
` fear that you may have bordered on the trivial." `
` `
` "The end may have been so," I answered, "but the methods I hold `
` to have been novel and of interest." `
` `
` "Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unobservant `
` public, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a `
` compositor by his left thumb, care about the finer shades of `
` analysis and deduction! But, indeed, if you are trivial. I cannot `
` blame you, for the days of the great cases are past. Man, or at `
` least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As `
` to my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an `
` agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to `
` young ladies from boarding-schools. I think that I have touched `
` bottom at last, however. This note I had this morning marks my `
`
` scene of the struggle. How cruelly I have misjudged him!" `
` `
` "When I arrived at the house," continued Holmes, "I at once went `
` very carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in `
` the snow which might help me. I knew that none had fallen since `
` the evening before, and also that there had been a strong frost `
` to preserve impressions. I passed along the tradesmen's path, but `
` found it all trampled down and indistinguishable. Just beyond it, `
` however, at the far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood `
` and talked with a man, whose round impressions on one side showed `
` that he had a wooden leg. I could even tell that they had been `
` disturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly to the door, as was `
` shown by the deep toe and light heel marks, while Wooden-leg had `
` waited a little, and then had gone away. I thought at the time `
` that this might be the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had `
` already spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so. I passed `
` round the garden without seeing anything more than random tracks, `
` which I took to be the police; but when I got into the stable `
` lane a very long and complex story was written in the snow in `
` front of me. `
` `
` "There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a second `
` double line which I saw with delight belonged to a man with naked `
` feet. I was at once convinced from what you had told me that the `
` latter was your son. The first had walked both ways, but the `
` other had run swiftly, and as his tread was marked in places over `
` the depression of the boot, it was obvious that he had passed `
` after the other. I followed them up and found they led to the `
` hall window, where Boots had worn all the snow away while `
` waiting. Then I walked to the other end, which was a hundred `
` yards or more down the lane. I saw where Boots had faced round, `
` where the snow was cut up as though there had been a struggle, `
` and, finally, where a few drops of blood had fallen, to show me `
` that I was not mistaken. Boots had then run down the lane, and `
` another little smudge of blood showed that it was he who had been `
` hurt. When he came to the highroad at the other end, I found that `
` the pavement had been cleared, so there was an end to that clue. `
` `
` "On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remember, the `
` sill and framework of the hall window with my lens, and I could `
` at once see that someone had passed out. I could distinguish the `
` outline of an instep where the wet foot had been placed in coming `
` in. I was then beginning to be able to form an opinion as to what `
` had occurred. A man had waited outside the window; someone had `
` brought the gems; the deed had been overseen by your son; he had `
` pursued the thief; had struggled with him; they had each tugged `
` at the coronet, their united strength causing injuries which `
` neither alone could have effected. He had returned with the `
` prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of his opponent. So `
` far I was clear. The question now was, who was the man and who `
` was it brought him the coronet? `
` `
` "It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the `
` impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the `
` truth. Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought it down, `
` so there only remained your niece and the maids. But if it were `
` the maids, why should your son allow himself to be accused in `
` their place? There could be no possible reason. As he loved his `
` cousin, however, there was an excellent explanation why he should `
` retain her secret--the more so as the secret was a disgraceful `
` one. When I remembered that you had seen her at that window, and `
` how she had fainted on seeing the coronet again, my conjecture `
` became a certainty. `
` `
` "And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently, `
` for who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must `
` feel to you? I knew that you went out little, and that your `
` circle of friends was a very limited one. But among them was Sir `
` George Burnwell. I had heard of him before as being a man of evil `
` reputation among women. It must have been he who wore those boots `
` and retained the missing gems. Even though he knew that Arthur `
` had discovered him, he might still flatter himself that he was `
` safe, for the lad could not say a word without compromising his `
` own family. `
` `
` "Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took `
` next. I went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George's house, `
` managed to pick up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that `
` his master had cut his head the night before, and, finally, at `
` the expense of six shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of `
` his cast-off shoes. With these I journeyed down to Streatham and `
` saw that they exactly fitted the tracks." `
` `
` "I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening," `
` said Mr. Holder. `
` `
` "Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home `
` and changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to `
` play then, for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert `
` scandal, and I knew that so astute a villain would see that our `
` hands were tied in the matter. I went and saw him. At first, of `
` course, he denied everything. But when I gave him every `
` particular that had occurred, he tried to bluster and took down a `
` life-preserver from the wall. I knew my man, however, and I `
` clapped a pistol to his head before he could strike. Then he `
` became a little more reasonable. I told him that we would give `
` him a price for the stones he held--1000 pounds apiece. That `
` brought out the first signs of grief that he had shown. 'Why, `
` dash it all!' said he, 'I've let them go at six hundred for the `
` three!' I soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had `
` them, on promising him that there would be no prosecution. Off I `
` set to him, and after much chaffering I got our stones at 1000 `
` pounds apiece. Then I looked in upon your son, told him that all `
` was right, and eventually got to my bed about two o'clock, after `
` what I may call a really hard day's work." `
` `
` "A day which has saved England from a great public scandal," said `
` the banker, rising. "Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but `
` you shall not find me ungrateful for what you have done. Your `
` skill has indeed exceeded all that I have heard of it. And now I `
` must fly to my dear boy to apologise to him for the wrong which I `
` have done him. As to what you tell me of poor Mary, it goes to my `
` very heart. Not even your skill can inform me where she is now." `
` `
` "I think that we may safely say," returned Holmes, "that she is `
` wherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that `
` whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than `
` sufficient punishment." `
` `
` `
` `
` XII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER BEECHES `
` `
` "To the man who loves art for its own sake," remarked Sherlock `
` Holmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the Daily `
` Telegraph, "it is frequently in its least important and lowliest `
` manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived. It is `
` pleasant to me to observe, Watson, that you have so far grasped `
` this truth that in these little records of our cases which you `
` have been good enough to draw up, and, I am bound to say, `
` occasionally to embellish, you have given prominence not so much `
` to the many causes c�l�bres and sensational trials in which I `
` have figured but rather to those incidents which may have been `
` trivial in themselves, but which have given room for those `
` faculties of deduction and of logical synthesis which I have made `
` my special province." `
` `
` "And yet," said I, smiling, "I cannot quite hold myself absolved `
` from the charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my `
` records." `
` `
` "You have erred, perhaps," he observed, taking up a glowing `
` cinder with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood `
` pipe which was wont to replace his clay when he was in a `
` disputatious rather than a meditative mood--"you have erred `
` perhaps in attempting to put colour and life into each of your `
` statements instead of confining yourself to the task of placing `
` upon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect which is `
` really the only notable feature about the thing." `
` `
` "It seems to me that I have done you full justice in the matter," `
` I remarked with some coldness, for I was repelled by the egotism `
` which I had more than once observed to be a strong factor in my `
` friend's singular character. `
` `
` "No, it is not selfishness or conceit," said he, answering, as `
` was his wont, my thoughts rather than my words. "If I claim full `
` justice for my art, it is because it is an impersonal thing--a `
` thing beyond myself. Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore it `
` is upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should `
` dwell. You have degraded what should have been a course of `
` lectures into a series of tales." `
` `
` It was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after `
` breakfast on either side of a cheery fire in the old room at `
` Baker Street. A thick fog rolled down between the lines of `
` dun-coloured houses, and the opposing windows loomed like dark, `
` shapeless blurs through the heavy yellow wreaths. Our gas was lit `
` and shone on the white cloth and glimmer of china and metal, for `
` the table had not been cleared yet. Sherlock Holmes had been `
` silent all the morning, dipping continuously into the `
` advertisement columns of a succession of papers until at last, `
` having apparently given up his search, he had emerged in no very `
` sweet temper to lecture me upon my literary shortcomings. `
` `
` "At the same time," he remarked after a pause, during which he `
` had sat puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire, `
` "you can hardly be open to a charge of sensationalism, for out of `
` these cases which you have been so kind as to interest yourself `
` in, a fair proportion do not treat of crime, in its legal sense, `
` at all. The small matter in which I endeavoured to help the King `
` of Bohemia, the singular experience of Miss Mary Sutherland, the `
` problem connected with the man with the twisted lip, and the `
` incident of the noble bachelor, were all matters which are `
` outside the pale of the law. But in avoiding the sensational, I `
` fear that you may have bordered on the trivial." `
` `
` "The end may have been so," I answered, "but the methods I hold `
` to have been novel and of interest." `
` `
` "Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unobservant `
` public, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a `
` compositor by his left thumb, care about the finer shades of `
` analysis and deduction! But, indeed, if you are trivial. I cannot `
` blame you, for the days of the great cases are past. Man, or at `
` least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As `
` to my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an `
` agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to `
` young ladies from boarding-schools. I think that I have touched `
` bottom at last, however. This note I had this morning marks my `
`