The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes

As we turned away towards our inn and the comfort­ing light of a fire, Sherlock Holmes nodded over his shoulder.

'I saw a pale, beautiful woman descend a staircase, as once I had seen her on the stage. Have you forgotten another ancient manor, and a hostess named Lady Mac­beth?'

----:----

Since . . . our visit to Devonshire, he had been engaged in two affairs of the utmost importance . . . the famous card scandal of the Nonpareil Club . . . and the unfortunate Madame Mont­pensier.

FROM 'THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES.'

6

The Adventure of the Sealed Room

My wife had a slight cold, as my note-book records, when on that morning of April 12th, 1888, we were introduced in such dramatic fashion to one of the most singular problems in the annals of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

At this time, as I have elsewhere recorded, my medical practice was in the Paddington district. Being young and active, I was in the habit of arising betimes; and eight o'clock found me downstairs, distressing the maid by lighting the fire in the hall, when I was startled by a ring at the street-door.

A patient at this hour could have come on no trivial errand. And, when I had opened the door to the clear April sunlight, I was struck no less by the pallor and agitation than by the youth and beauty of the young lady who stood swaying on my humble threshold.

'Dr. Watson?' asked she, raising her veil.

'I am he, madam.'

'Pray forgive this early intrusion. I have come to—I have come to—'

'Be good enough to step into the consulting-room,' said I, leading the way with a vigorous step, and meanwhile studying the young lady closely. It is as well for a medical man to impress his patients by deducing their symptoms, and hence their ailments, before they have spoken at all.

'The weather is warm for this season of the year,' I continued, when we reached the consulting-room, 'yet there is always the possibility of a chill, unless the room be well sealed against draughts.'

The effect of this remark was extraordinary. For a moment my visitor stared at me with the grey eyes widen­ ing in her beautiful face.

'A sealed room!' she cried. 'Oh, my God, a sealed room!'

Her cry became a shriek which ran through the house, and then she collapsed on the hearth-rug in a dead faint.

Horrified, I poured some water from a carafe, dashed brandy into the water, and, after lifting my patient gently into a chair, persuaded her to swallow it. Scarcely had I done so when the noise of that cry brought my wife downstairs and into the consulting-room.

'Good heavens, John, what in the world—?' And here she broke off. 'Why, it's Cora Murray!'

'You know the young lady, then?'

'Know her! I should think I do! I knew Cora Murray in India. Her father and mine were friends for years; and I wrote to her when you and I were married.'

'You wrote to India?'

'No, no; she lives in England now. Cora is the very closest friend of Eleanor Grand, who married that rather crotchety Colonel Warburton. Cora lives with Colonel and Mrs. Warburton at some address in Cambridge Terrace.'

As my wife finished speaking, our visitor opened her eyes. My wife patted her hand.

'Gently, Cora,' said she. 'I was only telling my husband that you lived in Cambridge Terrace with Colonel and Mrs. Warburton.'

'No longer!' cried Miss Murray wildly. 'Colonel Warburton is dead, and his wife so horribly wounded that she may be dying at this moment! When I saw them lying there under that terrifying death-mask, I felt the evil thing itself had driven Colonel Warburton mad. He must have been mad! Why else should he have shot his wife and then himself in a locked room? And yet I cannot believe he would have done this dreadful action.'

Grasping my wife's hand with both of hers, she looked up at me with pathetic appeal.

'Oh, Dr. Watson, I did so hope you would help! Is there nothing your friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes can do!'

You may well believe that my wife and I listened with amazement to this tale of domestic tragedy.

'But you tell me that Colonel Warburton is dead,' I demurred gently.

'Yet the shadow remains on his name. Oh, is my errand so hopeless?'

'Nothing is ever hopeless, Cora,' said my wife. 'John, what shall you do?'

'Do?' cried I, glancing at my watch. 'Why, a hansom-cab to Baker Street at once! We shall just catch Holmes before breakfast!'

As I had expected, Sherlock Holmes was moodily awaiting his breakfast, the room acrid with the tang of his first daily pipe, which was composed of left-over dottles from the day before. His Bohemian disposition saw noth­ing strange in Miss Murray's and my arrival at this early hour, though he was inclined to be querulous.

'The fact is, Holmes,' said I, 'that I was interrupted this morning—'

'Quite so, my dear fellow,' said he, 'as you were en­gaged in your usual practice of lighting the fire. Your left thumb proclaims as much.' Then he caught sight of Miss Murray's grief-stricken countenance, and his harsh face softened.

'But I think,' he added, 'that you could both do with a little breakfast before we discuss the shock which this young lady so obviously has had.'

And not a word would he permit us to speak until I had consumed some food, though Miss Murray could touch only a cup of coffee.

'H'm!' said Holmes, with a shade of disappointment on his face after our fair client had faltered out as much of her story as she had told me.'This is indeed a griev­ous tragedy, madam. But I cannot see what service I can render you. A certain Colonel Warburton goes mad; he shoots first his wife and then himself. I presume there is no doubt of these facts?'

Miss Murray groaned.

'Unhappily, none,' replied she. 'Though at first we had hoped it might be the work of a burglar.'

'You hoped it might be the work of a burglar?'

I was much annoyed by the acidity of Holmes's tone, though I could not help divining its cause. Ever since, in the previous month, he had been outwitted and beaten by Mrs. Godfrey Norton, nйe Irene Adler, his attitude towards the whole female sex had become more bitter than ever.

'Really, Holmes,' I protested with some asperity, 'Miss Murray meant only that the work of a burglar- murderer would have saved Colonel Warburton's name from the stigma of suicide. I hope you will not hold her responsible for an unfortunate choice of words.'

'An unfortunate choice of words, Watson, has hanged a murderer ere this. Well, well, we shall not distress the young lady! But is it possible, madam, for you to be ex­plicit?'

To my surprise, a smile of singular wistfulness as well as strength illuminated the pale face of our visitor.

'My father, Mr. Holmes, was Captain Murray of the Sepoy Mutiny. You will see whether I can be explicit.'

'Come, this is distinctly better!—Well?'

'Colonel Warburton and his wife,' said she, 'lived at number Nine Cambridge Terrace. You will have seen many such prosperous, solid houses in the Hyde Park district. On either side of the front door, behind a small strip of rock-garden, there is a room with two French windows. Colonel Warburton and my dear Eleanor were alone in the room to the left of the front door, called the curio room. The time was just after dinner last night. The door of that room was locked on the inside. Each of the French windows was double-bolted on the inside though the curtains remained undrawn. No other person was there or hidden there; nor was there any other access to the room. A pistol lay at the colonel's right hand. There had been no tampering with any bolt or fastening; the room was locked like a fortress. These things, Mr. Holmes, you may accept as facts.'