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"You are hungry," I remarked. `
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"Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since `
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breakfast." `
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"Nothing?" `
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"Not a bite. I had no time to think of it." `
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"And how have you succeeded?" `
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"Well." `
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"You have a clue?" `
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"I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young Openshaw shall not `
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long remain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put their own devilish `
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trade-mark upon them. It is well thought of!" `
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"What do you mean?" `
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He took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces he `
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squeezed out the pips upon the table. Of these he took five and `
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thrust them into an envelope. On the inside of the flap he wrote `
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"S. H. for J. O." Then he sealed it and addressed it to "Captain `
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James Calhoun, Barque 'Lone Star,' Savannah, Georgia." `
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"That will await him when he enters port," said he, chuckling. `
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"It may give him a sleepless night. He will find it as sure a `
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precursor of his fate as Openshaw did before him." `
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"And who is this Captain Calhoun?" `
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"The leader of the gang. I shall have the others, but he first." `
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"How did you trace it, then?" `
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He took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered with `
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dates and names. `
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"I have spent the whole day," said he, "over Lloyd's registers `
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and files of the old papers, following the future career of every `
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vessel which touched at Pondicherry in January and February in `
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'83. There were thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which were `
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reported there during those months. Of these, one, the 'Lone Star,' `
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instantly attracted my attention, since, although it was reported `
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as having cleared from London, the name is that which is given to `
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one of the states of the Union." `
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"Texas, I think." `
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"I was not and am not sure which; but I knew that the ship must `
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have an American origin." `
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"What then?" `
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"I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the barque `
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'Lone Star' was there in January, '85, my suspicion became a `
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certainty. I then inquired as to the vessels which lay at present `
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in the port of London." `
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"Yes?" `
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"The 'Lone Star' had arrived here last week. I went down to the `
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Albert Dock and found that she had been taken down the river by `
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the early tide this morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I wired `
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to Gravesend and learned that she had passed some time ago, and `
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as the wind is easterly I have no doubt that she is now past the `
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Goodwins and not very far from the Isle of Wight." `
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"What will you do, then?" `
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"Oh, I have my hand upon him. He and the two mates, are as I `
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learn, the only native-born Americans in the ship. The others are `
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Finns and Germans. I know, also, that they were all three away `
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from the ship last night. I had it from the stevedore who has `
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been loading their cargo. By the time that their sailing-ship `
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reaches Savannah the mail-boat will have carried this letter, and `
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the cable will have informed the police of Savannah that these `
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three gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder." `
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There is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans, `
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and the murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the `
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orange pips which would show them that another, as cunning and as `
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resolute as themselves, was upon their track. Very long and very `
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severe were the equinoctial gales that year. We waited long for `
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news of the "Lone Star" of Savannah, but none ever reached us. We `
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did at last hear that somewhere far out in the Atlantic a `
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shattered stern-post of a boat was seen swinging in the trough `
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of a wave, with the letters "L. S." carved upon it, and that is `
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all which we shall ever know of the fate of the "Lone Star." `
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ADVENTURE VI. THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP `
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Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principal `
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of the Theological College of St. George's, was much addicted to `
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opium. The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some `
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foolish freak when he was at college; for having read De `
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Quincey's description of his dreams and sensations, he had `
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drenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt to produce the `
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same effects. He found, as so many more have done, that the `
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practice is easier to attain than to get rid of, and for many `
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years he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of `
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mingled horror and pity to his friends and relatives. I can see `
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him now, with yellow, pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-point `
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pupils, all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a noble `
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man. `
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One night--it was in June, '89--there came a ring to my bell, `
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about the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the `
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clock. I sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work `
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down in her lap and made a little face of disappointment. `
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"A patient!" said she. "You'll have to go out." `
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I groaned, for I was newly come back from a weary day. `
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We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps `
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upon the linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in `
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some dark-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered the room. `
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"You will excuse my calling so late," she began, and then, `
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suddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms `
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about my wife's neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. "Oh, I'm in `
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such trouble!" she cried; "I do so want a little help." `
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"Why," said my wife, pulling up her veil, "it is Kate Whitney. `
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How you startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when `
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you came in." `
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"I didn't know what to do, so I came straight to you." That was `
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always the way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds `
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to a light-house. `
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"It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wine `
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and water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or `
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should you rather that I sent James off to bed?" `
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"Oh, no, no! I want the doctor's advice and help, too. It's about `
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Isa. He has not been home for two days. I am so frightened about `
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him!" `
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It was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her `
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husband's trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend `
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and school companion. We soothed and comforted her by such words `
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as we could find. Did she know where her husband was? Was it `
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possible that we could bring him back to her? `
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It seems that it was. She had the surest information that of late `
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he had, when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den in the `
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farthest east of the City. Hitherto his orgies had always been `
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confined to one day, and he had come back, twitching and `
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shattered, in the evening. But now the spell had been upon him `
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eight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the `
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dregs of the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off the `
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effects. There he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the Bar `
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of Gold, in Upper Swandam Lane. But what was she to do? How could `
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she, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a place and `
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pluck her husband out from among the ruffians who surrounded him? `
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There was the case, and of course there was but one way out of `
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it. Might I not escort her to this place? And then, as a second `
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thought, why should she come at all? I was Isa Whitney's medical `
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adviser, and as such I had influence over him. I could manage it `
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better if I were alone. I promised her on my word that I would `
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send him home in a cab within two hours if he were indeed at the `
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address which she had given me. And so in ten minutes I had left `
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my armchair and cheery sitting-room behind me, and was speeding `
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eastward in a hansom on a strange errand, as it seemed to me at `
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the time, though the future only could show how strange it was to `
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be. `
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But there was no great difficulty in the first stage of my `
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adventure. Upper Swandam Lane is a vile alley lurking behind the `
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high wharves which line the north side of the river to the east `
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of London Bridge. Between a slop-shop and a gin-shop, approached `
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by a steep flight of steps leading down to a black gap like the `
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mouth of a cave, I found the den of which I was in search. `
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Ordering my cab to wait, I passed down the steps, worn hollow in `
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the centre by the ceaseless tread of drunken feet; and by the `
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light of a flickering oil-lamp above the door I found the latch `
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and made my way into a long, low room, thick and heavy with the `
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brown opium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths, like the `
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forecastle of an emigrant ship. `
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Through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying `
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in strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads `
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thrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a `
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dark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black `
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shadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright, `
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now faint, as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of `
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the metal pipes. The most lay silent, but some muttered to `
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themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low, `
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monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then `
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suddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own `
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thoughts and paying little heed to the words of his neighbour. At `
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the farther end was a small brazier of burning charcoal, beside `
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which on a three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin old `
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