An Identity Case

29 min

“My dear fellow,” said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side of the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, “life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to the most outré results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable.”

“My dear fellow,” said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side of the fire in his rooms on Baker Street, “life is infinitely stranger than anything people could invent. We would not dare imagine the things that are really ordinary parts of life. Suppose we could fly out of that window hand in hand and hover over this great city. We could gently lift the roofs and peek at the strange things going on inside. We would see strange coincidences, plans, and people working at cross-purposes. We would see remarkable chains of events unfolding through generations and leading to the most bizarre results. All this would make fiction, with its conventions and predictable endings, seem dull and uninteresting.”

“And yet I am not convinced of it,” I answered. “The cases which come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and vulgar enough. We have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed, neither fascinating nor artistic.”

“And yet I am not convinced,” I replied. “The cases reported in the newspapers are usually plain and ordinary enough. Police reports take realism to its extreme limits. Yet the result, I must admit, is neither fascinating nor artistic.”

“A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realistic effect,” remarked Holmes. “This is wanting in the police report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the platitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an observer contain the vital essence of the whole matter. Depend upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace.”

“To create a realistic effect, you must choose carefully what to include,” remarked Holmes. “The police report lacks that care. It places more emphasis, perhaps, on the magistrate’s clichés than on the details. Yet, to an observer, those details contain the vital essence of the whole matter. You can be sure that nothing is so unnatural as the commonplace.”

I smiled and shook my head. “I can quite understand your thinking so,” I said. “Of course, in your position of unofficial adviser and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with all that is strange and bizarre. But here”—I picked up the morning paper from the ground—“let us put it to a practical test. Here is the first heading upon which I come. ‘A husband’s cruelty to his wife.’ There is half a column of print, but I know without reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is, of course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of writers could invent nothing more crude.”

I smiled and shook my head. “I can understand why you think so,” I said. “Of course, you act as an unofficial adviser and helper to utterly puzzled people across three continents. So you come across everything strange and bizarre. But let’s put it to a practical test.” I picked up the morning paper from the ground. “Here is the first headline I see: ‘A husband’s cruelty to his wife.’ There’s half a column of print, but I know without reading it that it’s all perfectly familiar. There is, of course, the other woman, the drinking, the push, the blow, the bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. Even the crudest writer could invent nothing cruder.”

“Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument,” said Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. “This is the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged in clearing up some small points in connection with it. The husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the conduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller. Take a pinch of snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over you in your example.”

“Actually, your example is a poor one for your argument,” said Holmes, taking the paper and glancing down it. “This is the Dundas separation case. As it happens, I was hired to clear up a few minor points about it. The husband never drank alcohol, and there was no other woman. The complaint was that he had developed a habit of ending every meal by taking out his false teeth. Then he would throw them at his wife. You must admit that the average storyteller would be unlikely to imagine such a thing. Take a pinch of snuff, Doctor, and admit that I have beaten you with your own example.”

He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in the centre of the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to his homely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting upon it.

He held out his old gold snuffbox. A large amethyst sat in the center of its lid. The box was so splendid compared with his modest manner and simple life that I could not help commenting on it.

“Ah,” said he, “I forgot that I had not seen you for some weeks. It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my assistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers.”

“Ah,” he said, “I forgot I hadn’t seen you for a few weeks. It’s a small gift from the King of Bohemia for helping him with the Irene Adler papers.”

“And the ring?” I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which sparkled upon his finger.

“And the ring?” I asked, glancing at the remarkable diamond sparkling on his finger.

“It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in which I served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confide it even to you, who have been good enough to chronicle one or two of my little problems.”

“It was from the royal family of Holland. But the matter I helped them with was so delicate that I cannot tell even you about it. And you have been kind enough to write about one or two of my little cases.”

“And have you any on hand just now?” I asked with interest.

“And do you have any right now?” I asked with interest.

“Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of interest. They are important, you understand, without being interesting. Indeed, I have found that it is usually in unimportant matters that there is a field for the observation, and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives the charm to an investigation. The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for the bigger the crime the more obvious, as a rule, is the motive. In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter which has been referred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing which presents any features of interest. It is possible, however, that I may have something better before very many minutes are over, for this is one of my clients, or I am much mistaken.”

“About ten or twelve, but none has any interesting features. They are important, you understand, but not interesting. In fact, I have found that unimportant matters usually offer more scope for observation and quick analysis of cause and effect. That is what makes an investigation so appealing. Bigger crimes tend to be simpler, because the bigger the crime, the more obvious the motive usually is. Among these cases, only one has anything of interest. It is a rather complicated matter referred to me from Marseilles. I may have something better within a few minutes, though, for that is one of my clients, unless I am much mistaken.”

He had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted blinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted London street. Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite there stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was tilted in a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion over her ear. From under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at our windows, while her body oscillated backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glove buttons. Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurried across the road, and we heard the sharp clang of the bell.

He had risen from his chair and was standing between the open blinds, looking down at the dreary, colorless London street. Looking over his shoulder, I saw a large woman standing on the opposite sidewalk. She wore a thick fur boa around her neck and a broad-brimmed hat with a large, curling red feather. The hat was tilted flirtatiously over her ear, in the Duchess of Devonshire style. From beneath all this finery, she looked up at our windows nervously and hesitantly. She rocked back and forth and fidgeted with her glove buttons. Suddenly, she plunged forward like a swimmer leaving the bank and hurried across the road. We heard the sharp clang of the bell.

“I have seen those symptoms before,” said Holmes, throwing his cigarette into the fire. “Oscillation upon the pavement always means an affaire de cœur. She would like advice, but is not sure that the matter is not too delicate for communication. And yet even here we may discriminate. When a woman has been seriously wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom is a broken bell wire. Here we may take it that there is a love matter, but that the maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or grieved. But here she comes in person to resolve our doubts.”

“I have seen those signs before,” said Holmes, throwing his cigarette into the fire. “Pacing back and forth on the pavement always means an affair of the heart. She would like advice, but she is not sure whether the matter is too delicate to discuss. Yet even here we can tell more. When a woman has been seriously wronged by a man, she no longer paces back and forth. The usual sign is a broken bell wire. Here we may assume there is a matter of love. But the young woman is more confused or sad than angry. But here she comes herself to settle our doubts.”

As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons entered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself loomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed merchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable, and, having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked her over in the minute and yet abstracted fashion which was peculiar to him.

As he spoke, there was a tap at the door, and the uniformed boy entered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland. The lady herself loomed behind his small, black-clad figure like a merchant ship in full sail behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with his characteristic easy courtesy. He closed the door and bowed her toward an armchair. Then he studied her in his usual way, at once close and absent-minded.

“Do you not find,” he said, “that with your short sight it is a little trying to do so much typewriting?”

“Don't you find,” he said, “that doing so much typing is a little tiring, given your nearsightedness?”

“I did at first,” she answered, “but now I know where the letters are without looking.” Then, suddenly realising the full purport of his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear and astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face. “You’ve heard about me, Mr. Holmes,” she cried, “else how could you know all that?”

“I did at first,” she answered, “but now I know where the letters are without looking.” Then she suddenly realized the full meaning of his words. She started violently and looked up, fear and astonishment on her broad, good-natured face. “You’ve heard about me, Mr. Holmes,” she cried, “or how could you know all that?”

“Never mind,” said Holmes, laughing; “it is my business to know things. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others overlook. If not, why should you come to consult me?”

“Never mind,” Holmes said, laughing. “It’s my job to know things. Perhaps I’ve trained myself to notice what others miss. If I hadn’t, why would you come to me for help?”

“I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Etherege, whose husband you found so easy when the police and everyone had given him up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as much for me. I’m not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in my own right, besides the little that I make by the machine, and I would give it all to know what has become of Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

“I came to you, sir, because Mrs. Etherege told me about you. You found her husband so easily when the police and everyone else had given him up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do the same for me. I’m not rich, but I have a hundred pounds a year of my own, besides the little I earn using my sewing machine. I would give it all to know what has become of Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

“Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?” asked Sherlock Holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to the ceiling.

“Why did you come to consult me so urgently?” asked Sherlock Holmes. His fingertips were together, and he was looking at the ceiling.

Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss Mary Sutherland. “Yes, I did bang out of the house,” she said, “for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr. Windibank—that is, my father—took it all. He would not go to the police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he would do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done, it made me mad, and I just on with my things and came right away to you.”

Once again, Miss Mary Sutherland looked startled, her face somewhat blank. “Yes, I did storm out of the house,” she said. “It made me angry to see how calmly Mr. Windibank, my father, took it all. He wouldn't go to the police, and he wouldn't go to you. He did nothing and kept saying no harm had been done. Finally, that made me so angry that I put on my things and came straight to you.”

“Your father,” said Holmes, “your stepfather, surely, since the name is different.”

“Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny, too, for he is only five years and two months older than myself.”

“Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though that sounds funny, too, since he is only five years and two months older than me.”

“And your mother is alive?”

“And is your mother alive?”

“Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn’t best pleased, Mr. Holmes, when she married again so soon after father’s death, and a man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father was a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy business behind him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr. Windibank came he made her sell the business, for he was very superior, being a traveller in wines. They got £ 4700 for the goodwill and interest, which wasn’t near as much as father could have got if he had been alive.”

“Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn’t very pleased, Mr. Holmes, when she married again so soon after father’s death. Her new husband was nearly fifteen years younger than she was. Father was a plumber on Tottenham Court Road, and he left a thriving business behind him. Mother carried it on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman. But when Mr. Windibank came along, he made her sell the business. He thought himself very superior because he was a wine salesman. They got £4700 for the goodwill and interest in the business. That wasn’t nearly as much as father could have got if he had been alive.”

I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this rambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he had listened with the greatest concentration of attention.

I had expected Sherlock Holmes to grow impatient with this rambling, pointless story. But instead, he listened with complete concentration.

“Your own little income,” he asked, “does it come out of the business?”

“Does your own small income come from the business?” he asked.

“Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle Ned in Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4½ per cent. Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can only touch the interest.”

“Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate. My uncle Ned in Auckland left it to me. It is invested in New Zealand stock, paying 4½ percent interest. The amount was 2,500 pounds, but I can only use the interest.”

“You interest me extremely,” said Holmes. “And since you draw so large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in every way. I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about £ 60.”

“You interest me very much,” said Holmes. “And since you receive as much as £100 a year, on top of your earnings, you no doubt travel a little and enjoy yourself in every way. I believe a single woman can live very comfortably on about £60 a year.”

“I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you understand that as long as I live at home I don’t wish to be a burden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while I am staying with them. Of course, that is only just for the time. Mr. Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it over to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I earn at typewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a day.”

“I could manage on much less than that, Mr. Holmes. But as long as I live at home, I don’t want to be a burden to them. So they can use the money while I’m staying with them. Of course, that’s only temporary. Mr. Windibank collects the interest on my money every three months and gives it to Mother. I find I can manage pretty well on what I earn from typing. I earn twopence a sheet, and I can often type fifteen to twenty sheets a day.”

“You have made your position very clear to me,” said Holmes. “This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Kindly tell us now all about your connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

“You’ve made your position very clear to me,” said Holmes. “This is my friend, Dr. Watson. You can speak as freely in front of him as you can with me. Please tell us everything about your connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

A flush stole over Miss Sutherland’s face, and she picked nervously at the fringe of her jacket. “I met him first at the gasfitters’ ball,” she said. “They used to send father tickets when he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, and sent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go. He never did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat. But this time I was set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to prevent? He said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all father’s friends were to be there. And he said that I had nothing fit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never so much as taken out of the drawer. At last, when nothing else would do, he went off to France upon the business of the firm, but we went, mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

Miss Sutherland blushed and nervously picked at the fringe on her jacket. “I first met him at the gasfitters’ ball,” she said. “They used to send Father tickets when he was alive. Afterward, they remembered us and sent tickets to Mother. Mr. Windibank didn’t want us to go. He never wanted us to go anywhere. He would get quite angry if I even wanted to join a Sunday school outing. But this time I was determined to go, and I did go. What right did he have to stop me? He said the people there weren’t fit for us to know, though all Father’s friends would be there. And he said I had nothing suitable to wear. But I had my purple plush dress, which I had never even taken out of the drawer. Finally, when nothing else worked, he went to France on business for the firm. But Mother and I went to the ball with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our foreman. That was where I met Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

“I suppose,” said Holmes, “that when Mr. Windibank came back from France he was very annoyed at your having gone to the ball.”

“I suppose,” said Holmes, “that Mr. Windibank was very annoyed that you had gone to the ball when he came back from France.”

“Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember, and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denying anything to a woman, for she would have her way.”

“Oh, well, he was very good about it. I remember he laughed and shrugged. He said there was no point denying a woman anything, because she would have her way.”

“I see. Then at the gasfitters’ ball you met, as I understand, a gentleman called Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

“I see. So, as I understand it, you met a man named Mr. Hosmer Angel at the gasfitters’ ball.”

“Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if we had got home all safe, and after that we met him—that is to say, Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after that father came back again, and Mr. Hosmer Angel could not come to the house any more.”

“Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he visited the next day to ask if we had all gotten home safely. After that, we met him. I mean, Mr. Holmes, I went for walks with him twice. But then father came back, and Mr. Hosmer Angel could no longer come to the house.”

“No?”

“Well, you know father didn’t like anything of the sort. He wouldn’t have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But then, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to begin with, and I had not got mine yet.”

“Well, you know Father didn’t like anything like that. He avoided having visitors whenever he could. He used to say that a woman should be happy within her own family circle. But as I used to say to Mother, a woman wants a family circle of her own first. And I didn’t have one yet.”

“But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt to see you?”

“But what about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Didn’t he try to see you?”

“Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmer wrote and said that it would be safer and better not to see each other until he had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he used to write every day. I took the letters in in the morning, so there was no need for father to know.”

“Well, Father was leaving for France again in a week. Hosmer wrote that it would be safer and better not to see each other until Father had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he wrote every day. I collected the letters in the morning, so there was no need for Father to know.”

“Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?”

“Were you engaged to the man at the time?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk that we took. Hosmer—Mr. Angel—was a cashier in an office in Leadenhall Street—and—”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We got engaged after our first walk together. Hosmer, Mr. Angel, was a cashier in an office on Leadenhall Street, and...”

“What office?”

“That’s the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I don’t know.”

“That’s the worst part, Mr. Holmes. I don’t know.”

“Where did he live, then?”

“He slept on the premises.”

“He slept there.”

“And you don’t know his address?”

“No—except that it was Leadenhall Street.”

“No, except that it was Leadenhall Street.”

“Where did you address your letters, then?”

“Where did you send your letters, then?”

“To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to be left till called for. He said that if they were sent to the office he would be chaffed by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady, so I offered to typewrite them, like he did his, but he wouldn’t have that, for he said that when I wrote them they seemed to come from me, but when they were typewritten he always felt that the machine had come between us. That will just show you how fond he was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that he would think of.”

“To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to be held until he called for them. He said that if the letters were sent to the office, all the other clerks would tease him about getting letters from a lady. So I offered to type them, as he typed his, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He said that when I wrote my letters, they seemed to come from me. But when they were typed, he always felt that the machine had come between us. That just shows you how fond he was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things he would think of.”

“It was most suggestive,” said Holmes. “It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important. Can you remember any other little things about Mr. Hosmer Angel?”

“That was very revealing,” said Holmes. “I have long believed that the little things are by far the most important. Can you remember any other little things about Mr. Hosmer Angel?”

“He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with me in the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to be conspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he was. Even his voice was gentle. He’d had the quinsy and swollen glands when he was young, he told me, and it had left him with a weak throat, and a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech. He was always well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just as mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare.”

“He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He preferred to walk with me in the evening rather than during the day. He said he hated to draw attention to himself. He was very reserved and gentlemanly. Even his voice was gentle. He told me he had had quinsy and swollen glands when he was young. That had left him with a weak throat, and he spoke hesitantly, in a whisper. He was always well dressed, in neat, plain clothes. But his eyes were weak, just like mine, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare.”

“Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfather, returned to France?”

“Well, what happened when your stepfather, Mr. Windibank, returned to France?”

“Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that we should marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnest and made me swear, with my hands on the Testament, that whatever happened I would always be true to him. Mother said he was quite right to make me swear, and that it was a sign of his passion. Mother was all in his favour from the first and was even fonder of him than I was. Then, when they talked of marrying within the week, I began to ask about father; but they both said never to mind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother said she would make it all right with him. I didn’t quite like that, Mr. Holmes. It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, as he was only a few years older than me; but I didn’t want to do anything on the sly, so I wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the company has its French offices, but the letter came back to me on the very morning of the wedding.”

“Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and suggested we marry before father came back. He was terribly serious. He made me put my hands on the Bible and swear I would always be true to him, whatever happened. Mother said he was right to make me swear and that it showed how much he loved me. She had supported him from the start and was even fonder of him than I was. Then they talked about getting married within the week, and I began to ask about father. But they both said not to worry about him and to tell him afterwards. Mother said she would make everything all right with him. I didn’t quite like that, Mr. Holmes. It seemed strange to ask his permission, since he was only a few years older than me. But I didn’t want to do anything in secret, so I wrote to father in Bordeaux. That was where the company had its French offices. But the letter came back to me on the very morning of the wedding.”

“It missed him, then?”

“So it missed him?”

“Yes, sir; for he had started to England just before it arrived.”

“Yes, sir, because he had left for England just before it arrived.”

“Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then, for the Friday. Was it to be in church?”

“Ah! That was unfortunate. So your wedding was set for Friday. Was it going to be in a church?”

“Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviour’s, near King’s Cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the St. Pancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were two of us he put us both into it and stepped himself into a four-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in the street. We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler drove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and when the cabman got down from the box and looked there was no one there! The cabman said that he could not imagine what had become of him, for he had seen him get in with his own eyes. That was last Friday, Mr. Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything since then to throw any light upon what became of him.”

“Yes, sir, but it was to be a very quiet wedding. It was to be at St. Saviour’s, near King’s Cross. We were to have breakfast afterwards at the St. Pancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom cab. But since there were two of us, he put us both in it. He got into a four-wheeled cab, which happened to be the only other cab in the street. We got to the church first. When the four-wheeled cab arrived, we waited for him to get out, but he never did. The driver climbed down from his seat and looked inside, but there was no one there! The driver said he couldn’t imagine what had happened to him. He had seen Hosmer get in with his own eyes. That was last Friday, Mr. Holmes. Since then, I have seen and heard nothing to explain what happened to him.”

“It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated,” said Holmes.

“It seems to me that you have been treated very badly,” said Holmes.

“Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, all the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to be true; and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to separate us, I was always to remember that I was pledged to him, and that he would claim his pledge sooner or later. It seemed strange talk for a wedding-morning, but what has happened since gives a meaning to it.”

“Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me like that. All morning he kept telling me to stay faithful to him, whatever happened. He said that even if something completely unexpected separated us, I must always remember my promise to him. He would hold me to that promise sooner or later. It seemed strange to talk like that on our wedding morning, but what happened afterward makes sense of it.”

“Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that some unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?”

“Most certainly it does. So, you think some unexpected catastrophe has happened to him?”

“Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he would not have talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw happened.”

“Yes, sir. I believe he saw some danger coming, or he would not have talked that way. And then I think the danger he saw coming happened.”

“But you have no notion as to what it could have been?”

“But you have no idea what it could have been?”

“None.”

“One more question. How did your mother take the matter?”

“One more question. How did your mother react to the matter?”

“She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the matter again.”

“She was angry and told me never to speak about it again.”

“And your father? Did you tell him?”

“Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had happened, and that I should hear of Hosmer again. As he said, what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of the church, and then leaving me? Now, if he had borrowed my money, or if he had married me and got my money settled on him, there might be some reason, but Hosmer was very independent about money and never would look at a shilling of mine. And yet, what could have happened? And why could he not write? Oh, it drives me half-mad to think of it, and I can’t sleep a wink at night.” She pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob heavily into it.

“Yes, and he seemed to agree with me that something had happened and that I would hear from Hosmer again. As he said, why would anyone bring me to the church doors and then leave me? Now, if Hosmer had borrowed my money, that might explain it. Or if he had married me and gained control of my money, there might be a reason. But Hosmer was very independent about money and would never take a penny of mine. And yet, what could have happened? And why couldn’t he write? Oh, thinking about it drives me half-mad, and I can’t sleep at all at night.” She pulled a small handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob heavily into it.

“I shall glance into the case for you,” said Holmes, rising, “and I have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. Let the weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind dwell upon it further. Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel vanish from your memory, as he has done from your life.”

“I’ll look into the case for you,” said Holmes, rising. “I have no doubt that we’ll reach a definite result. Let me take on the burden now, and don’t worry about it anymore. Above all, try to forget Mr. Hosmer Angel, just as he has vanished from your life.”

“Then you don’t think I’ll see him again?”

“I fear not.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then what has happened to him?”

“Then what happened to him?”

“You will leave that question in my hands. I should like an accurate description of him and any letters of his which you can spare.”

“Leave that question to me. I’d like an accurate description of him and any of his letters you can spare.”

“I advertised for him in last Saturday’s Chronicle,” said she. “Here is the slip and here are four letters from him.”

“I placed an advertisement for him in last Saturday’s Chronicle,” she said. “Here is the clipping, and here are four letters from him.”

“Thank you. And your address?”

“No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell.”

“31 Lyon Place, Camberwell.”

“Mr. Angel’s address you never had, I understand. Where is your father’s place of business?”

“I understand you never had Mr. Angel’s address. Where does your father work?”

“He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers of Fenchurch Street.”

“He works as a traveling salesman for Westhouse & Marbank, the major claret importers on Fenchurch Street.”

“Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given you. Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it to affect your life.”

“Thank you. You have explained everything very clearly. Please leave the papers here, and remember the advice I gave you. Keep the whole incident to yourself, and do not let it affect your life.”

“You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be true to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back.”

“You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I can’t do that. I’ll stay faithful to Hosmer. I’ll be ready for him when he comes back.”

For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which compelled our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon the table and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever she might be summoned.

Despite her ridiculous hat and vacant face, there was something noble in our visitor's simple faith that compelled our respect. She placed her small bundle of papers on the table and left, promising to return whenever we called for her.

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of infinite languor in his face.

Sherlock Holmes sat silently for a few minutes, his fingertips still pressed together and his legs stretched out before him. He gazed up at the ceiling. Then he took his old, oily clay pipe from the rack. The pipe was like an adviser to him. He lit it and leaned back in his chair. Thick blue clouds of smoke curled up around him, and his face showed a look of endless weariness.

“Quite an interesting study, that maiden,” he observed. “I found her more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, is rather a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you consult my index, in Andover in ’77, and there was something of the sort at The Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however, there were one or two details which were new to me. But the maiden herself was most instructive.”

“That young woman is quite an interesting study,” he observed. “I found her more interesting than her little problem. The problem, by the way, is rather commonplace. If you consult my index, you will find similar cases in Andover in 1877 and at The Hague last year. Though the idea is old, one or two details were new to me. But the young woman herself was most revealing.”

“You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisible to me,” I remarked.

“You seemed to notice a lot about her that was completely invisible to me,” I said.

“Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know where to look, and so you missed all that was important. I can never bring you to realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace. Now, what did you gather from that woman’s appearance? Describe it.”

“Not invisible, but unnoticed, Watson. You didn’t know where to look, so you missed everything that mattered. I can never get you to see how important sleeves are, how much fingernails can reveal, or how much can depend on a shoelace. Now, what did you learn from that woman’s appearance? Describe her.”

“Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with a feather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beads sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little purple plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and were worn through at the right forefinger. Her boots I didn’t observe. She had small round, hanging gold earrings, and a general air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way.”

“Well, she wore a slate-grey, broad-brimmed straw hat with a brick-red feather. Her black jacket had black beads sewn onto it and a fringe of small black jet ornaments. Her brown dress was a little darker than coffee, with some purple plush at the neck and sleeves. Her greyish gloves were worn through at the right index finger. I didn’t notice her boots. She wore small, round, dangling gold earrings. She had the air of someone fairly well-off, in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way.”

Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.

Sherlock Holmes softly clapped his hands together and chuckled.

“’Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have really done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed everything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and you have a quick eye for colour. Never trust to general impressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. My first glance is always at a woman’s sleeve. In a man it is perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. As you observe, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most useful material for showing traces. The double line a little above the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the table, was beautifully defined. The sewing-machine, of the hand type, leaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and on the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the broadest part, as this was. I then glanced at her face, and, observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, I ventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to surprise her.”

“Honestly, Watson, you are making wonderful progress. You have done very well indeed. It is true that you missed everything important, but you found the method. You also have a quick eye for color. Never trust general impressions, my boy. Focus on details. I always look first at a woman’s sleeve. With a man, it is perhaps better to look first at the knee of his trousers. “As you saw, this woman’s sleeves were made of plush, a very useful material for showing marks. The double line just above her wrist was beautifully clear. A typist makes it by pressing against the table. A hand operated sewing machine leaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm. The mark appears on the side farthest from the thumb. This mark, by contrast, ran across the broadest part of her sleeve. “I then glanced at her face and noticed marks on either side of her nose from a pince-nez. So I ventured a remark about her being short-sighted and typing, which seemed to surprise her.”

“It surprised me.”

“But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and interested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots which she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were really odd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and the other a plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower buttons out of five, and the other at the first, third, and fifth. Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed, has come away from home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry.”

“But surely, it was obvious. When I glanced down, I was surprised and interested to see that her boots did not match. They looked similar, but one had a slightly decorated toe cap and the other had a plain one. One boot had only the bottom two of its five buttons fastened. The other had the first, third, and fifth buttons fastened. Now, when a young woman is otherwise neatly dressed but leaves home in mismatched, half-buttoned boots, it takes little deduction to say she left in a hurry.”

“And what else?” I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, by my friend’s incisive reasoning.

“And what else?” I asked. As always, I was fascinated by my friend's sharp reasoning.

“I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving home but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right glove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see that both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She had written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have been this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger. All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must go back to business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertised description of Mr. Hosmer Angel?”

“I also noticed that she had written a note after getting fully dressed but before leaving home. You noticed that her right glove was torn at the forefinger. But you apparently missed the violet ink on both the glove and her finger. She had written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. She must have written the note this morning, or the mark on her finger would no longer be clear. All this is amusing, though fairly elementary. But I must get back to business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the description of Mr. Hosmer Angel from the advertisement?”

I held the little printed slip to the light. “Missing,” it said, “on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman named Hosmer Angel. About five ft. seven in. in height; strongly built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted glasses, slight infirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and grey Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots. Known to have been employed in an office in Leadenhall Street. Anybody bringing,” &c, &c.

I held the small printed notice up to the light. “Missing on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman named Hosmer Angel. About five feet seven inches tall, strongly built, with a sallow complexion and black hair, thinning at the crown. Bushy black sideburns and moustache, tinted glasses, and a slight speech impediment. When last seen, he was wearing a black frock coat with silk facings, a black waistcoat, and a gold watch chain. He also wore grey Harris tweed trousers and brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots. Known to have worked in an office on Leadenhall Street. Anybody bringing,” etc., etc.

“That will do,” said Holmes. “As to the letters,” he continued, glancing over them, “they are very commonplace. Absolutely no clue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There is one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you.”

“That will do,” said Holmes. He glanced over the letters. “As for these, they are very ordinary. They offer absolutely no clue to Mr. Angel, except that he quotes Balzac once. There is one remarkable detail, though, which I’m sure you’ll notice.”

“They are typewritten,” I remarked.

“They are typed,” I said.

“Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the neat little ‘Hosmer Angel’ at the bottom. There is a date, you see, but no superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is rather vague. The point about the signature is very suggestive—in fact, we may call it conclusive.”

“Not only that, but the signature is typed. Look at the neat little ‘Hosmer Angel’ at the bottom. There is a date, you see, but the only address given is Leadenhall Street, which is rather vague. The typed signature is very revealing. In fact, we may call it conclusive.”

“Of what?”

“My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon the case?”

“My dear friend, can you really not see how strongly it relates to the case?”

“I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able to deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were instituted.”

“I can’t say I do, unless he wanted to deny his signature if someone sued him for breach of promise.”

“No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters, which should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, the other is to the young lady’s stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking him whether he could meet us here at six o’clock to-morrow evening. It is just as well that we should do business with the male relatives. And now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the answers to those letters come, so we may put our little problem upon the shelf for the interim.”

“No, that wasn’t the point. However, I’ll write two letters, which should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City. The other is to the young lady’s stepfather, Mr. Windibank. I’ll ask him whether he can meet us here at six o’clock tomorrow evening. It’s just as well to deal with the male relatives. And now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the replies arrive. So we can set our little problem aside for the time being.”

I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend’s subtle powers of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy demeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him to fail, in the case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adler photograph; but when I looked back to the weird business of the Sign of Four, and the extraordinary circumstances connected with the Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a strange tangle indeed which he could not unravel.

I had seen so much evidence of my friend’s subtle reasoning and extraordinary energy in action. So I felt he must have solid grounds for his calm confidence about the strange mystery he had been asked to solve. I had known him to fail only once, in the case of the King of Bohemia and the Irene Adler photograph. But I thought back to the strange affair of the Sign of Four and the extraordinary events connected with the Study in Scarlet. I felt that it would have to be a very strange puzzle indeed for him to be unable to solve it.

I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the conviction that when I came again on the next evening I would find that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up to the identity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary Sutherland.

I left him then, still puffing on his black clay pipe. I was sure that when I returned the next evening, he would have all the clues needed to identify Miss Mary Sutherland’s missing bridegroom.

A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at the time, and the whole of next day I was busy at the bedside of the sufferer. It was not until close upon six o’clock that I found myself free and was able to spring into a hansom and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I might be too late to assist at the dénouement of the little mystery. I found Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin form curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable array of bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work which was so dear to him.

A very serious medical case was occupying my attention at the time, and I spent the whole next day at the patient’s bedside. It was nearly six o’clock before I was free to jump into a cab and drive to Baker Street. I was half afraid I might be too late to witness the unraveling of the little mystery. However, I found Sherlock Holmes alone and half asleep, his long, thin body curled up in his armchair. An impressive array of bottles and test tubes, along with the sharp, clean smell of hydrochloric acid, told me he had spent the day on the chemical work he loved so much.

“Well, have you solved it?” I asked as I entered.

“Well, have you solved it?” I asked as I came in.

“Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta.”

“Yes. It was barium bisulfate.”

“No, no, the mystery!” I cried.

“No, no, the mystery!” I exclaimed.

“Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon. There was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said yesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawback is that there is no law, I fear, that can touch the scoundrel.”

“Oh, that! I was thinking about the salt I’ve been working on. There was never any mystery to it. But as I said yesterday, some of the details are interesting. The only problem is that, I’m afraid, no law can touch the scoundrel.”

“Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss Sutherland?”

“Who was he, then, and why did he abandon Miss Sutherland?”

The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet opened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the passage and a tap at the door.

I had barely finished asking the question, and Holmes had not yet begun to reply, when we heard heavy footsteps in the hallway and a knock at the door.

“This is the girl’s stepfather, Mr. James Windibank,” said Holmes. “He has written to me to say that he would be here at six. Come in!”

“This is the girl’s stepfather, Mr. James Windibank,” said Holmes. “He wrote to say he would be here at six. Come in!”

The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some thirty years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating grey eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.

The man who entered was sturdy, medium-sized, and about thirty years old. He was clean-shaven and had sallow skin. His manner was smooth and subtly persuasive, and his gray eyes were remarkably sharp and penetrating. He gave each of us a questioning glance and placed his shiny top hat on the sideboard. Then, with a slight bow, he slipped into the nearest chair.

“Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank,” said Holmes. “I think that this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment with me for six o’clock?”

“Good evening, Mr. James Windibank,” said Holmes. “I believe you sent me this typed letter to arrange a meeting at six o’clock?”

“Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite my own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has troubled you about this little matter, for I think it is far better not to wash linen of the sort in public. It was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable, impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I did not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the official police, but it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised abroad. Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you possibly find this Hosmer Angel?”

“Yes, sir. I’m afraid I’m a little late, but my time isn’t entirely my own, you know. I’m sorry Miss Sutherland has troubled you about this little matter. I think it’s far better not to air this sort of private matter in public. I didn’t want her to come, but she’s a very excitable, impulsive girl, as you may have noticed. Once she’s made up her mind, she’s not easily controlled. Of course, I didn’t mind her coming to you as much, since you aren’t connected with the police. But it’s unpleasant to have a family misfortune like this made public. Besides, it’s a waste of money. How could you possibly find this Hosmer Angel?”

“On the contrary,” said Holmes quietly; “I have every reason to believe that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

“On the contrary,” Holmes said quietly, “I have every reason to believe I will succeed in finding Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. “I am delighted to hear it,” he said.

Mr. Windibank started violently and dropped his gloves. “I am delighted to hear it,” he said.

“It is a curious thing,” remarked Holmes, “that a typewriter has really quite as much individuality as a man’s handwriting. Unless they are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. Some letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one side. Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank, that in every case there is some little slurring over of the ‘e,’ and a slight defect in the tail of the ‘r.’ There are fourteen other characteristics, but those are the more obvious.”

“It’s curious,” Holmes remarked, “that a typewriter is really just as individual as a person’s handwriting. Unless typewriters are brand new, no two type exactly alike. Some letters wear down more than others, and some wear down only on one side. Now, Mr. Windibank, notice that every ‘e’ in your note is a little blurred. Every ‘r’ also has a slight defect in its tail. There are fourteen other distinctive features, but those are the most obvious.”

“We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office, and no doubt it is a little worn,” our visitor answered, glancing keenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes.

“We use this machine for all our correspondence at the office, and no doubt it’s a little worn,” our visitor replied. He glanced sharply at Holmes with his bright little eyes.

“And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study, Mr. Windibank,” Holmes continued. “I think of writing another little monograph some of these days on the typewriter and its relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted some little attention. I have here four letters which purport to come from the missing man. They are all typewritten. In each case, not only are the ‘e’s’ slurred and the ‘r’s’ tailless, but you will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteen other characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well.”

“And now I will show you something really quite interesting, Mr. Windibank,” Holmes continued. “I’m thinking of writing another short study someday about typewriters and their connection to crime. I have given the subject some attention. I have four letters here that claim to be from the missing man. They are all typed. In each letter, the ‘e’s’ are blurred and the ‘r’s’ have no tails. If you care to use my magnifying glass, you’ll see the fourteen other features I mentioned are there too.”

Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. “I cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes,” he said. “If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know when you have done it.”

Mr. Windibank jumped out of his chair and picked up his hat. “I can't waste time on this kind of nonsense, Mr. Holmes,” he said. “If you can catch the man, catch him and let me know when you have.”

“Certainly,” said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in the door. “I let you know, then, that I have caught him!”

“Of course,” said Holmes, stepping over to lock the door. “Then let me tell you, I’ve caught him!”

“What! where?” shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his lips and glancing about him like a rat in a trap.

“What! Where?” shouted Mr. Windibank. His face turned white, and he looked around like a rat in a trap.

“Oh, it won’t do—really it won’t,” said Holmes suavely. “There is no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is quite too transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that it was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That’s right! Sit down and let us talk it over.”

“Oh, that won’t work. It really won’t,” said Holmes smoothly. “There’s no way out of it, Mr. Windibank. It’s perfectly obvious. And it was hardly a compliment to say I couldn’t solve such a simple problem. That’s right! Sit down and let’s talk it over.”

Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a glitter of moisture on his brow. “It—it’s not actionable,” he stammered.

Our visitor collapsed into a chair. His face was deathly pale, and sweat glistened on his forehead. “It, it’s not grounds for a lawsuit,” he stammered.

“I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves, Windibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a petty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the course of events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong.”

“I’m very much afraid it isn’t. But between ourselves, Windibank, it was as cruel, selfish, and heartless a little trick as I’ve ever come across. Now, let me go over what happened. Correct me if I get anything wrong.”

The man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his breast, like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet up on the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his hands in his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it seemed, than to us.

The man sat huddled in his chair, his head bowed against his chest, like someone utterly crushed. Holmes put his feet up on the corner of the mantelpiece and leaned back with his hands in his pockets. He began talking, seemingly more to himself than to us.

“The man married a woman very much older than himself for her money,” said he, “and he enjoyed the use of the money of the daughter as long as she lived with them. It was a considerable sum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would have made a serious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it. The daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate and warm-hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that with her fair personal advantages, and her little income, she would not be allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage would mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her stepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course of keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company of people of her own age. But soon he found that that would not answer forever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and finally announced her positive intention of going to a certain ball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives an idea more creditable to his head than to his heart. With the connivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself, covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with a moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that clear voice into an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the girl’s short sight, he appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off other lovers by making love himself.”

“The man married a woman much older than himself for her money,” he said. “He also had the use of her daughter’s money as long as she lived with them. It was a considerable sum for people in their position, and losing it would have made a serious difference. It was worth making an effort to keep it. “The daughter was kind and pleasant, as well as affectionate and warm-hearted. Given her good looks and small income, it was clear that she would not remain single for long. But her marriage would mean the loss of a hundred pounds a year. So what does her stepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course. He keeps her at home and forbids her to seek the company of people her own age. “But he soon found that this would not work forever. She grew restless and insisted on her rights. Finally, she announced that she was determined to go to a particular ball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He comes up with an idea that reflects better on his intelligence than on his heart. “With his wife’s knowledge and help, he disguises himself. He covers those sharp eyes with tinted glasses and masks his face with a moustache and bushy whiskers. He lowers that clear voice to a suggestive whisper. The girl’s short sight makes the disguise doubly secure. He appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel and keeps other suitors away by courting her himself.”

“It was only a joke at first,” groaned our visitor. “We never thought that she would have been so carried away.”

“It was just a joke at first,” our visitor groaned. “We never thought she would get so carried away.”

“Very likely not. However that may be, the young lady was very decidedly carried away, and, having quite made up her mind that her stepfather was in France, the suspicion of treachery never for an instant entered her mind. She was flattered by the gentleman’s attentions, and the effect was increased by the loudly expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel began to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. There were meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the girl’s affections from turning towards anyone else. But the deception could not be kept up forever. These pretended journeys to France were rather cumbrous. The thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young lady’s mind and prevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to come. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and hence also the allusions to a possibility of something happening on the very morning of the wedding. James Windibank wished Miss Sutherland to be so bound to Hosmer Angel, and so uncertain as to his fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, she would not listen to another man. As far as the church door he brought her, and then, as he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a four-wheeler and out at the other. I think that was the chain of events, Mr. Windibank!”

“Very likely not. In any case, the young lady was completely swept away. She was certain her stepfather was in France, so she never suspected any deception. She was flattered by the gentleman’s attention, and her mother’s enthusiastic praise only encouraged her. Then Mr. Angel began to visit. Clearly, the affair had to be taken as far as possible if it was to have a real effect. They met, and they became engaged. The engagement would make sure she did not give her affections to anyone else. But the deception could not go on forever. These pretend trips to France were rather troublesome. Clearly, the affair had to end dramatically. The ending would leave a lasting impression on the young lady and keep her from considering another suitor for some time. That is why she was made to swear loyalty on a New Testament. That is also why Mr. Angel hinted that something might happen on the very morning of the wedding. James Windibank wanted Miss Sutherland to feel so bound to Hosmer Angel, and so uncertain of his fate, that she would not listen to another man for at least ten years. He brought her as far as the church door. Then, since he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished. He used the old trick of stepping in at one door of a four-wheeled cab and out at the other. I believe that is what happened, Mr. Windibank!”

Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while Holmes had been talking, and he rose from his chair now with a cold sneer upon his pale face.

Our visitor had regained some of his confidence while Holmes was talking. Now he rose from his chair, a cold sneer on his pale face.

“It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes,” said he, “but if you are so very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is you who are breaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothing actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door locked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal constraint.”

“It may be true, or it may not be, Mr. Holmes,” he said. “But if you’re so clever, you should know that you’re the one breaking the law now, not me. I haven’t done anything you could sue me for from the start. But as long as you keep that door locked, you could be sued for assault and unlawful restraint.”

“The law cannot, as you say, touch you,” said Holmes, unlocking and throwing open the door, “yet there never was a man who deserved punishment more. If the young lady has a brother or a friend, he ought to lay a whip across your shoulders. By Jove!” he continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon the man’s face, “it is not part of my duties to my client, but here’s a hunting crop handy, and I think I shall just treat myself to—” He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he could grasp it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavy hall door banged, and from the window we could see Mr. James Windibank running at the top of his speed down the road.

“The law cannot touch you, as you say,” said Holmes, unlocking the door and throwing it open. “Yet no man has ever deserved punishment more. If the young lady has a brother or a friend, he ought to whip you across the shoulders. Good Lord!” he continued, his face reddening at the sight of the man’s bitter sneer. “It’s not part of my duty to my client, but there’s a hunting crop handy. I think I’ll just treat myself to...” He took two quick steps toward the crop, but before he could grab it, footsteps clattered wildly down the stairs. The heavy front door slammed, and we could see Mr. James Windibank running down the road as fast as he could.

“There’s a cold-blooded scoundrel!” said Holmes, laughing, as he threw himself down into his chair once more. “That fellow will rise from crime to crime until he does something very bad, and ends on a gallows. The case has, in some respects, been not entirely devoid of interest.”

“There’s a cold-blooded scoundrel!” said Holmes, laughing as he threw himself back into his chair. “That fellow will commit worse and worse crimes until he does something very bad and ends up on the gallows. In some ways, the case has not been entirely without interest.”

“I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning,” I remarked.

“I can't quite follow all the steps of your reasoning now,” I said.

“Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr. Hosmer Angel must have some strong object for his curious conduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who really profited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the stepfather. Then the fact that the two men were never together, but that the one always appeared when the other was away, was suggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice, which both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My suspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in typewriting his signature, which, of course, inferred that his handwriting was so familiar to her that she would recognise even the smallest sample of it. You see all these isolated facts, together with many minor ones, all pointed in the same direction.”

“Well, of course, it was obvious from the start that Mr. Hosmer Angel must have had a strong reason for his strange behavior. It was equally clear that, as far as we could see, only the stepfather really benefited from what happened. Then there was the fact that the two men were never together. One always appeared when the other was away, which was suggestive. The tinted glasses and unusual voice were suggestive too. Both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. All my suspicions were confirmed by his strange decision to type his signature. That suggested, of course, that she knew his handwriting well enough to recognize even the smallest sample. You see, all these separate facts, along with many minor ones, pointed in the same direction.”

“And how did you verify them?”

“And how did you check them?”

“Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. I knew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printed description. I eliminated everything from it which could be the result of a disguise—the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I sent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform me whether it answered to the description of any of their travellers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and I wrote to the man himself at his business address asking him if he would come here. As I expected, his reply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but characteristic defects. The same post brought me a letter from Westhouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that the description tallied in every respect with that of their employé, James Windibank. Voilà tout!”

“Once I had identified my man, it was easy to find confirmation. I knew the firm he worked for. I took the printed description and removed everything that could be part of a disguise: the whiskers, glasses, and voice. I sent the description to the firm and asked whether it matched any of their traveling salesmen. I had already noticed the typewriter’s peculiarities. I wrote to the man at his business address and asked him to come here. As I expected, his reply was typed and showed the same minor but distinctive defects. The same mail brought a letter from Westhouse & Marbank of Fenchurch Street. They said the description matched their employee James Windibank in every respect. Voilà tout!”

“And Miss Sutherland?”

“If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the old Persian saying, ‘There is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.’ There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the world.”

“If I tell her, she will not believe me. You may remember the old Persian saying, ‘There is danger for anyone who takes a tiger cub, and danger also for anyone who snatches a delusion from a woman.’ Hafiz has as much sense and knowledge of the world as Horace.”