The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes

Watson, I really prefer Job's.'

The entrance of Mrs. Hudson, bearing a letter which had been delivered by hand, momentarily cut him short. Though I had not actually expected my prophecy to be fulfilled with such promptness, I could not but remark that the note-paper bore a crest and must have cost fully half a crown a packet. Nevertheless, I was doomed to disappointment. After tearing open the letter eagerly, Holmes uttered a snort of vexation.

'So much for your soothsaying!' said he, scribbling a reply for our landlady to give to a district messenger. 'It is merely an ill-spelt note from Sir Gervase Darling­ton, asking for an appointment at eleven tomorrow morning, and requesting that it be confirmed by hand to the Hercules Club.'

'Darlington!' remarked I. 'Surely you have mentioned that name before?'

'Yes, so I have. But upon that occasion I referred to Darlington the art-dealer, whose substitution of a false Leonardo painting for a real one caused such a scandal at the Grosvenor Galleries. Sir Gervase is a different and more exalted Darlington, though no less associated with scandal.'

'Who is he?'

'Sir Gervase Darlington,  Watson, is the bold,  bad baronet of fiction, addicted to pugilism and profligate ladies. But he is by no means a swaggering figure of the imagination; too many such men lived in our grandfathers' time.' My friend looked thoughtful. 'At the moment, he had best mind his step.'

'You interest me. Why so?'

'Well, I am no racing man. Yet I recall that Sir Ger­vase won a fortune during last year's Derby. Ill-disposed persons whispered that he did so by bribery and secret information. Be good enough, Watson, to remove this microscope.'

I did so. There remained upon the little table only the sheet of crested note-paper which Holmes had flung down there. From the pocket of his dressing-gown he took out the snuff box of old gold, with a great amethyst in the centre of the lid, which had been a present from the King of Bohemia.

'However,' he added, 'every move made by Sir Gervase Darlington is now carefully watched. Should he so much as attempt to communicate with any suspicious person, he will be warned off the turf even if he does not land in gaol. I cannot recall the name of the horse on which he wagered—'

'Lord Hove's Bengal Lady,' cried I. 'By Indian Rajah out of Countess. She finished three furlongs ahead of the field. Though, of course,' I added, 'I know little more of racing matters than yourself.'

'Indeed, Watson?'

'Holmes, such suspicions as you appear to entertain are base and unworthy! I am a married man with a depleted bank balance. Besides, what race is run in such wild weather as this?'

'Well, the Grand National cannot be too far off.'

'By Jove, yes! Lord Hove has two entries for the Grand National. Many fancy Thunder Lad, though not much is expected of Sheerness. But to me,' I added, 'a scandal attached to the sport of kings is incredible. Lord Hove is an honourable man.'

'Precisely. Being an honourable man, he is no friend to Sir Gervase Darlington.'

'But why are you sure Sir Gervase can bring you nothing of interest?'

'If you were acquainted with the gentleman, Watson, you would acquit him of being concerned in anything whatever of interest, save that he is a really formidable heavy-weight boxer—' Holmes whistled. 'Come! Sir Gervase was among those who witnessed my own trifling encounter with the Bully Boy this morning.'

'Then what can he want of you?'

'Even if the question were of any moment, I have no data. A pinch of snuff, Watson? Well, well, I am not enamoured of it myself, though it represents an oc­casional variation from too much self-poisoning by nico­ tine.'

I could not help laughing.

'My dear Holmes, your case is typical. Every medical man knows that a patient with an injury like yours, though the injury is slight and even of a humorous char­acter, becomes as unreasonable as a child.'

Holmes snapped shut the snuff-box and put it into his pocket.

'Watson,' said he, 'grateful though I am for your presence, I shall be obliged if you do not utter one word more for at least the next six hours, lest I say something which I may regret.'

Thus, remaining silent even at supper, we sat very late in the snug room. Holmes moodily cross-indexed his records of crime, and I was deep in the pages of the British Medical Journal. Save for the tick of the clock and the crackle of the fire, there was no sound but the shrieking of the March gale, which drove the rain against the windows like handfuls of small shot, and growled and whooped in the chimney.

'No, no,' my friend said querulously, at long last. 'Optimism is stupidity. Certainly no case will come to my —Hark! Was that not the bell?'

'Yes. I heard it clearly in spite of the wind. But who can it be?'

'If a client,' said Holmes, craning his long neck for a glimpse of the clock, 'it must be a matter of deep seriousness to bring someone out at two in the morning and in such a gale.'

After some delay, during which it took Mrs. Hudson an interminable time to rise from her bed and open the street door, no less than two clients were ushered into our room. Both of them had been speaking at once, but their conversation became distinct as they approached the door-way.

'Grandfather, you mustn't!' came a young woman's voice. 'For the last time, please! You don't want Mr. Holmes to think you are,' here she lowered her voice to a whisper, 'simple.'

'I'm not simple!' cried her companion. 'Drat it, Nellie, I see what I see! I should have come to tell the gentleman yesterday morning, only you wouldn't hear of it.'

 'But, Grandfather, that Room of Horrors is a fear­fully frightening place. You imagined it, dear.'

'I'm seventy-six years old. But I've got no more imagination,' said the old man, proudly, 'than one of them wax figures. Me imagine it? Me, that's been night-watchman since long before the museum was took where it is now, and was still here in Baker Street?'

The newcomers paused. The ancient visitor, squat and stubborn-looking in his rain-sodden brown greatcoat and shepherd's check trousers, was a solid man of the people with fine white hair. The girl was different. Graceful and lissom, with fair hair and grey eyes encircled by black lashes, she wore a simple costume of blue with narrow white frills at the wrists and throat. There was grace as well as timidity in her gestures.

Yet her delicate hands trembled. Very prettily she identified Holmes and myself, apologizing for this late call.

'My—my name is Eleanor Baxter,' she added; 'and, as you may have gathered, my poor grandfather is the night attendant at Madame Taupin's exhibition of wax figures in the Marylebone Road.' She broke off. 'Oh! Your poor ankle!'

'My injury is nothing, Miss Baxter,' said Holmes. 'You are both very welcome. Watson, our guests' coats, the umbrella; so. Now, you may be seated here in front of me. Though I have a crutch of sorts here, I am sure you will forgive me if I remain where I am. You were saying?'

Miss Baxter, who had been looking fixedly at the little table in evident distress at her grandfather's words, now gave a start and changed colour as she found Holmes's keen eye upon her.

'Sir, are you acquainted with Madame Taupin's wax­works?'

'It is justly famous.'

'Do forgive me!' Eleanor Baxter blushed. 'My mean­ing was, have you ever visited it?'

'Hum! I fear I am too much like our countrymen. Let some place be remote or inaccessible, and the Englishman will lose his life to find it. But he will not even look at it when it lies within a few hundred yards of his own front door. Have you visited Madame Taupin's, Watson?'

'No, I am afraid not,' I replied. 'Though I have heard much of the underground Room of Horrors. It is said that the management offers a large sum of money to anyone who will spend a night there.'

The stubborn-looking old man, who to a medical eye showed symptoms of strong physical pain, nevertheless chuckled hoarsely as he sat down.

'Lord bless you, sir, don't you believe a word of that nonsense.'

'It is not true, then?'

'Not a bit, sir. They wouldn't even let you do it. 'Cos a sporting gentleman might light a cigar or what not, and they're feared to death of fire.'

'Then I take it,' said Holmes, 'that you are not un­duly troubled by the Room of Horrors?'