The Five Orange Seeds

30 min

When I glance over my notes and records of the Sherlock Holmes cases between the years ’82 and ’90, I am faced by so many which present strange and interesting features that it is no easy matter to know which to choose and which to leave. Some, however, have already gained publicity through the papers, and others have not offered a field for those peculiar qualities which my friend possessed in so high a degree, and which it is the object of these papers to illustrate. Some, too, have baffled his analytical skill, and would be, as narratives, beginnings without an ending, while others have been but partially cleared up, and have their explanations founded rather upon conjecture and surmise than on that absolute logical proof which was so dear to him. There is, however, one of these last which was so remarkable in its details and so startling in its results that I am tempted to give some account of it in spite of the fact that there are points in connection with it which never have been, and probably never will be, entirely cleared up.

When I look over my notes and records of Sherlock Holmes’s cases between 1882 and 1890, I find so many with strange and interesting features. It is not easy to decide which to choose and which to leave out. Some, however, have already received publicity in the newspapers. Others did not give my friend the chance to show his extraordinary qualities, which these accounts are meant to illustrate. Some cases also defeated his analytical skill. As stories, they would have a beginning but no end. Others were only partly solved. Their explanations rested more on guesses and speculation than on the absolute logical proof he valued so highly. Yet one of these partly solved cases had such remarkable details and such startling results that I am tempted to describe it. I will do so even though some points have never been fully explained and probably never will be.

The year ’87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greater or less interest, of which I retain the records. Among my headings under this one twelve months I find an account of the adventure of the Paradol Chamber, of the Amateur Mendicant Society, who held a luxurious club in the lower vault of a furniture warehouse, of the facts connected with the loss of the British barque Sophy Anderson, of the singular adventures of the Grice Patersons in the island of Uffa, and finally of the Camberwell poisoning case. In the latter, as may be remembered, Sherlock Holmes was able, by winding up the dead man’s watch, to prove that it had been wound up two hours before, and that therefore the deceased had gone to bed within that time—a deduction which was of the greatest importance in clearing up the case. All these I may sketch out at some future date, but none of them present such singular features as the strange train of circumstances which I have now taken up my pen to describe.

In 1887, we had a long series of cases, some more interesting than others, and I kept records of them. For that year alone, my headings include the adventure of the Paradol Chamber and the Amateur Mendicant Society. The society maintained a luxurious club in the basement vault of a furniture warehouse. I also recorded the facts surrounding the loss of the British barque Sophy Anderson and the strange adventures of the Grice Patersons on the island of Uffa. Finally, there was the Camberwell poisoning case. In that case, as readers may remember, Sherlock Holmes wound the dead man’s watch. By doing so, he proved that it had been wound two hours earlier. The dead man had therefore gone to bed within those two hours. This deduction was crucial to solving the case. I may describe all these cases someday. But none has such strange features as the chain of events I have now taken up my pen to describe.

It was in the latter days of September, and the equinoctial gales had set in with exceptional violence. All day the wind had screamed and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that even here in the heart of great, hand-made London we were forced to raise our minds for the instant from the routine of life and to recognise the presence of those great elemental forces which shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilisation, like untamed beasts in a cage. As evening drew in, the storm grew higher and louder, and the wind cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney. Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime, while I at the other was deep in one of Clark Russell’s fine sea-stories until the howl of the gale from without seemed to blend with the text, and the splash of the rain to lengthen out into the long swash of the sea waves. My wife was on a visit to her mother’s, and for a few days I was a dweller once more in my old quarters at Baker Street.

It was late September, and the autumn storms had begun with exceptional violence. All day the wind had screamed and the rain had beaten against the windows. Even here, in the heart of vast, man-made London, we had to pause in our daily routines. For a moment, we recognised the great forces of nature. They shriek at mankind through the bars of civilisation like untamed beasts in a cage. As evening approached, the storm grew stronger and louder. The wind cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney. Sherlock Holmes sat gloomily on one side of the fireplace, cross-indexing his crime records. On the other side, I was deep in one of Clark Russell’s fine sea stories. The gale’s howl outside seemed to blend with the words on the page. The splash of rain seemed to stretch into the long wash of ocean waves. My wife was visiting her mother, so I was living once more in my old rooms on Baker Street for a few days.

“Why,” said I, glancing up at my companion, “that was surely the bell. Who could come to-night? Some friend of yours, perhaps?”

“Why,” I said, glancing up at my companion, “that was surely the bell. Who could be coming tonight? Maybe a friend of yours?”

“Except yourself I have none,” he answered. “I do not encourage visitors.”

“Other than you, I have none,” he answered. “I don’t encourage visitors.”

“A client, then?”

“If so, it is a serious case. Nothing less would bring a man out on such a day and at such an hour. But I take it that it is more likely to be some crony of the landlady’s.”

“If so, it is a serious case. Nothing less would bring a man out on a day like this, at this hour. But I think it is more likely to be a friend of the landlady’s.”

Sherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for there came a step in the passage and a tapping at the door. He stretched out his long arm to turn the lamp away from himself and towards the vacant chair upon which a newcomer must sit.

Sherlock Holmes was wrong, however. Footsteps sounded in the hallway, followed by a tap at the door. He stretched out his long arm and turned the lamp away from himself. He aimed it at the empty chair where the newcomer would have to sit.

“Come in!” said he.

“Come in!” he said.

The man who entered was young, some two-and-twenty at the outside, well-groomed and trimly clad, with something of refinement and delicacy in his bearing. The streaming umbrella which he held in his hand, and his long shining waterproof told of the fierce weather through which he had come. He looked about him anxiously in the glare of the lamp, and I could see that his face was pale and his eyes heavy, like those of a man who is weighed down with some great anxiety.

The man who entered was young, no more than twenty-two. He was well-groomed and neatly dressed, with a refined and delicate manner. His dripping umbrella and long, shiny raincoat showed the fierce weather he had come through. He looked around anxiously in the bright lamplight. I could see that his face was pale and his eyes were heavy, like those of a man burdened by great anxiety.

“I owe you an apology,” he said, raising his golden pince-nez to his eyes. “I trust that I am not intruding. I fear that I have brought some traces of the storm and rain into your snug chamber.”

“I owe you an apology,” he said, raising his gold pince-nez glasses to his eyes. “I hope I’m not intruding. I’m afraid I’ve brought some of the storm and rain into your cozy room.”

“Give me your coat and umbrella,” said Holmes. “They may rest here on the hook and will be dry presently. You have come up from the south-west, I see.”

“Give me your coat and umbrella,” said Holmes. “They can hang here on the hook and will soon be dry. I see you have come from the southwest.”

“Yes, from Horsham.”

“That clay and chalk mixture which I see upon your toe caps is quite distinctive.”

“That mixture of clay and chalk I see on the toes of your shoes is quite distinctive.”

“I have come for advice.”

“That is easily got.”

“That’s easy to get.”

“And help.”

“That is not always so easy.”

“That’s not always so easy.”

“I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I heard from Major Prendergast how you saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal.”

“I’ve heard of you, Mr. Holmes. Major Prendergast told me how you saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal.”

“Ah, of course. He was wrongfully accused of cheating at cards.”

“Ah, of course. He was falsely accused of cheating at cards.”

“He said that you could solve anything.”

“He said too much.”

“That you are never beaten.”

“That you are never defeated.”

“I have been beaten four times—three times by men, and once by a woman.”

“I have been beaten four times: three times by men, and once by a woman.”

“But what is that compared with the number of your successes?”

“But what is that compared to how many successes you have had?”

“It is true that I have been generally successful.”

“It’s true that I’ve generally been successful.”

“Then you may be so with me.”

“Then you can be that way with me.”

“I beg that you will draw your chair up to the fire and favour me with some details as to your case.”

“Please pull your chair up to the fire and tell me some details about your case.”

“It is no ordinary one.”

“It is not an ordinary one.”

“None of those which come to me are. I am the last court of appeal.”

“None of the ones that come to me are. I am the last resort.”

“And yet I question, sir, whether, in all your experience, you have ever listened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of events than those which have happened in my own family.”

“And yet, sir, I doubt that in all your experience you have heard of a more mysterious and inexplicable series of events than those that happened in my own family.”

“You fill me with interest,” said Holmes. “Pray give us the essential facts from the commencement, and I can afterwards question you as to those details which seem to me to be most important.”

“You have me very interested,” said Holmes. “Please give us the essential facts from the beginning. Then I can ask you about the details that seem most important to me.”

The young man pulled his chair up and pushed his wet feet out towards the blaze.

The young man pulled his chair closer and stretched his wet feet toward the fire.

“My name,” said he, “is John Openshaw, but my own affairs have, as far as I can understand, little to do with this awful business. It is a hereditary matter; so in order to give you an idea of the facts, I must go back to the commencement of the affair.

“My name is John Openshaw,” he said, “but as far as I understand, my own affairs have little to do with this awful business. It runs in the family. So, to explain the facts, I must go back to the beginning of the affair.

“You must know that my grandfather had two sons—my uncle Elias and my father Joseph. My father had a small factory at Coventry, which he enlarged at the time of the invention of bicycling. He was a patentee of the Openshaw unbreakable tire, and his business met with such success that he was able to sell it and to retire upon a handsome competence.

“You should know that my grandfather had two sons, my uncle Elias and my father Joseph. My father owned a small factory in Coventry. He expanded it around the time bicycles were invented. He held a patent for the Openshaw unbreakable tire. His business was so successful that he was able to sell it and retire comfortably.

“My uncle Elias emigrated to America when he was a young man and became a planter in Florida, where he was reported to have done very well. At the time of the war he fought in Jackson’s army, and afterwards under Hood, where he rose to be a colonel. When Lee laid down his arms my uncle returned to his plantation, where he remained for three or four years. About 1869 or 1870 he came back to Europe and took a small estate in Sussex, near Horsham. He had made a very considerable fortune in the States, and his reason for leaving them was his aversion to the negroes, and his dislike of the Republican policy in extending the franchise to them. He was a singular man, fierce and quick-tempered, very foul-mouthed when he was angry, and of a most retiring disposition. During all the years that he lived at Horsham, I doubt if ever he set foot in the town. He had a garden and two or three fields round his house, and there he would take his exercise, though very often for weeks on end he would never leave his room. He drank a great deal of brandy and smoked very heavily, but he would see no society and did not want any friends, not even his own brother.

“My uncle Elias emigrated to America as a young man and became a planter in Florida. He was reported to have done very well there. During the war he fought in Jackson’s army and later under Hood, rising to the rank of colonel. When Lee surrendered, my uncle returned to his plantation and stayed there for three or four years. Around 1869 or 1870, he returned to Europe and bought a small estate in Sussex, near Horsham. He had made a very large fortune in the States. He left because of his aversion to the negroes and his dislike of the Republican policy of giving them the vote. He was a strange man, fierce and quick-tempered, and he swore terribly when angry. He was also extremely private. In all the years he lived at Horsham, I doubt he ever set foot in the town. He had a garden and two or three fields around his house, where he would exercise. Yet he often went for weeks without leaving his room. He drank a great deal of brandy and smoked heavily, but he refused to see anyone. He wanted no friends, not even his own brother.

“He didn’t mind me; in fact, he took a fancy to me, for at the time when he saw me first I was a youngster of twelve or so. This would be in the year 1878, after he had been eight or nine years in England. He begged my father to let me live with him and he was very kind to me in his way. When he was sober he used to be fond of playing backgammon and draughts with me, and he would make me his representative both with the servants and with the tradespeople, so that by the time that I was sixteen I was quite master of the house. I kept all the keys and could go where I liked and do what I liked, so long as I did not disturb him in his privacy. There was one singular exception, however, for he had a single room, a lumber-room up among the attics, which was invariably locked, and which he would never permit either me or anyone else to enter. With a boy’s curiosity I have peeped through the keyhole, but I was never able to see more than such a collection of old trunks and bundles as would be expected in such a room.

“He didn’t mind me. In fact, he grew fond of me, because I was about twelve when he first saw me. That was in 1878, after he had been in England for eight or nine years. He begged my father to let me live with him, and he was very kind to me in his own way. When he was sober, he liked playing backgammon and checkers with me. He also made me his representative with the servants and the tradespeople. So by the time I was sixteen, I was practically master of the house. I kept all the keys and could go and do as I pleased, as long as I didn’t disturb his privacy. There was one odd exception, though. He had a storage room up in the attic that was always locked. He would never allow me or anyone else to enter it. With a boy’s curiosity, I peeped through the keyhole, but I could see only the old trunks and bundles one would expect to find there.

“One day—it was in March, 1883—a letter with a foreign stamp lay upon the table in front of the colonel’s plate. It was not a common thing for him to receive letters, for his bills were all paid in ready money, and he had no friends of any sort. ‘From India!’ said he as he took it up, ‘Pondicherry postmark! What can this be?’ Opening it hurriedly, out there jumped five little dried orange pips, which pattered down upon his plate. I began to laugh at this, but the laugh was struck from my lips at the sight of his face. His lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his skin the colour of putty, and he glared at the envelope which he still held in his trembling hand, ‘K. K. K.!’ he shrieked, and then, ‘My God, my God, my sins have overtaken me!’

“One day in March 1883, a letter with a foreign stamp lay on the table in front of the colonel’s plate. He rarely received letters because he paid all his bills in cash and had no friends of any kind. ‘From India!’ he said as he picked it up. ‘Pondicherry postmark! What can this be?’ He quickly opened it, and five little dried orange seeds jumped out and pattered onto his plate. I began to laugh, but the sight of his face stopped me. His jaw had dropped, his eyes were bulging, and his skin was the color of putty. He glared at the envelope he still held in his trembling hand. ‘K. K. K.!’ he shrieked, and then, ‘My God, my God, my sins have caught up with me!’

“‘What is it, uncle?’ I cried.

“‘Death,’ said he, and rising from the table he retired to his room, leaving me palpitating with horror. I took up the envelope and saw scrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just above the gum, the letter K three times repeated. There was nothing else save the five dried pips. What could be the reason of his overpowering terror? I left the breakfast-table, and as I ascended the stair I met him coming down with an old rusty key, which must have belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a small brass box, like a cashbox, in the other.

“‘Death,’ he said. He rose from the table and went to his room, leaving me trembling with horror. I picked up the envelope and saw three K’s scrawled in red ink on the inner flap, just above the gum. There was nothing else except the five dried seeds. Why was he so terrified? I left the breakfast table and went upstairs. As I climbed, I met him coming down. He had an old rusty key in one hand and a small brass box, like a cashbox, in the other. The key must have belonged to the attic.

“‘They may do what they like, but I’ll checkmate them still,’ said he with an oath. ‘Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my room to-day, and send down to Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.’

“‘They can do what they like, but I’ll still outmaneuver them,’ he said with a curse. ‘Tell Mary I’ll need a fire in my room today, and send for Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.’

“I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived I was asked to step up to the room. The fire was burning brightly, and in the grate there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned paper, while the brass box stood open and empty beside it. As I glanced at the box I noticed, with a start, that upon the lid was printed the treble K which I had read in the morning upon the envelope.

“I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived, I was asked to come upstairs to the room. The fire was burning brightly. In the grate was a pile of black, fluffy ashes, as if paper had been burned there. The brass box stood open and empty beside the fire. I glanced at the box and noticed the three Ks printed on its lid. I was startled because I had seen them on the envelope that morning.

“‘I wish you, John,’ said my uncle, ‘to witness my will. I leave my estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to my brother, your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to you. If you can enjoy it in peace, well and good! If you find you cannot, take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest enemy. I am sorry to give you such a two-edged thing, but I can’t say what turn things are going to take. Kindly sign the paper where Mr. Fordham shows you.’

“‘John, I want you to witness my will,’ said my uncle. ‘I leave my estate, with all its benefits and all its drawbacks, to my brother, your father. No doubt it will then pass to you. If you can enjoy it in peace, all well and good! If you find you cannot, take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your worst enemy. I’m sorry to give you something that cuts both ways, but I can’t say how things will turn out. Please sign the paper where Mr. Fordham shows you.’

“I signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it away with him. The singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest impression upon me, and I pondered over it and turned it every way in my mind without being able to make anything of it. Yet I could not shake off the vague feeling of dread which it left behind, though the sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed and nothing happened to disturb the usual routine of our lives. I could see a change in my uncle, however. He drank more than ever, and he was less inclined for any sort of society. Most of his time he would spend in his room, with the door locked upon the inside, but sometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy and would burst out of the house and tear about the garden with a revolver in his hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no man, and that he was not to be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by man or devil. When these hot fits were over, however, he would rush tumultuously in at the door and lock and bar it behind him, like a man who can brazen it out no longer against the terror which lies at the roots of his soul. At such times I have seen his face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though it were new raised from a basin.

“I signed the paper as instructed, and the lawyer took it away. As you can imagine, the strange incident made a deep impression on me. I thought about it from every angle, but I could make no sense of it. I could not shake the vague sense of dread it left me with. But the feeling grew less intense as the weeks passed and nothing disturbed our usual routine. “I could see a change in my uncle, however. He drank more than ever and had even less desire for company. He spent most of his time in his room, with the door locked from the inside. But sometimes he would come out in a drunken frenzy. He would burst out of the house and race around the garden with a revolver in his hand. He would scream that he feared no man. He said that no man or devil would pen him in like a sheep. “Once these fits of rage were over, however, he would rush back inside. He would lock and bar the door behind him. He was like a man who could no longer defy the terror deep in his soul. At such times, I have seen his face glisten with sweat, even on a cold day. It looked as though he had just lifted it from a basin.

“Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not to abuse your patience, there came a night when he made one of those drunken sallies from which he never came back. We found him, when we went to search for him, face downward in a little green-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden. There was no sign of any violence, and the water was but two feet deep, so that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity, brought in a verdict of ‘suicide.’ But I, who knew how he winced from the very thought of death, had much ado to persuade myself that he had gone out of his way to meet it. The matter passed, however, and my father entered into possession of the estate, and of some £ 14,000, which lay to his credit at the bank.”

“Well, to finish the story, Mr. Holmes, and not take up too much of your time, one night he went out drunk and never came back. When we searched for him, we found him face down in a small pool covered with green scum. It lay at the foot of the garden. There was no sign of violence, and the water was only two feet deep. So the jury, knowing how eccentric he was, returned a verdict of ‘suicide.’ But I knew how he shrank from the very thought of death. I found it hard to believe he had deliberately sought it out. The matter was put to rest, however, and my father inherited the estate and some £14,000 in the bank.”

“One moment,” Holmes interposed, “your statement is, I foresee, one of the most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me have the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and the date of his supposed suicide.”

“One moment,” Holmes interrupted. “I can see that your account will be one of the most remarkable I have ever heard. Tell me when your uncle received the letter and when his supposed suicide occurred.”

“The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. His death was seven weeks later, upon the night of May 2nd.”

“The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. He died seven weeks later, on the night of May 2.”

“Thank you. Pray proceed.”

“Thank you. Please continue.”

“When my father took over the Horsham property, he, at my request, made a careful examination of the attic, which had been always locked up. We found the brass box there, although its contents had been destroyed. On the inside of the cover was a paper label, with the initials of K. K. K. repeated upon it, and ‘Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register’ written beneath. These, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers which had been destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest, there was nothing of much importance in the attic save a great many scattered papers and note-books bearing upon my uncle’s life in America. Some of them were of the war time and showed that he had done his duty well and had borne the repute of a brave soldier. Others were of a date during the reconstruction of the Southern states, and were mostly concerned with politics, for he had evidently taken a strong part in opposing the carpet-bag politicians who had been sent down from the North.

“When my father took over the Horsham property, I asked him to examine the attic carefully. It had always been kept locked. We found the brass box there, although its contents had been destroyed. A paper label inside the lid bore the initials K. K. K. Beneath them were the words ‘Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register’. We assumed these words described the papers Colonel Openshaw had destroyed. Apart from that, there was little of importance in the attic. There were many scattered papers and notebooks about my uncle’s life in America. Some dated from the war. They showed that he had done his duty well and had a reputation as a brave soldier. Others dated from the reconstruction of the Southern states and dealt mostly with politics. He had evidently played a strong part in opposing the carpet-bag politicians sent down from the North.

“Well, it was the beginning of ’84 when my father came to live at Horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the January of ’85. On the fourth day after the new year I heard my father give a sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the breakfast-table. There he was, sitting with a newly opened envelope in one hand and five dried orange pips in the outstretched palm of the other one. He had always laughed at what he called my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he looked very scared and puzzled now that the same thing had come upon himself.

“Well, my father came to live at Horsham at the beginning of 1884. Everything went as well as possible for us until January 1885. On January 4, we were sitting together at breakfast when I heard him cry out in surprise. He held a newly opened envelope in one hand and five dried orange seeds in his other outstretched palm. He had always laughed at what he called my ridiculous story about the colonel. But now that the same thing had happened to him, he looked very scared and confused.

“‘Why, what on earth does this mean, John?’ he stammered.

“‘What on earth does this mean, John?’ he stammered.

“My heart had turned to lead. ‘It is K. K. K.,’ said I.

“My heart sank. ‘It is K. K. K.,’ I said.

“He looked inside the envelope. ‘So it is,’ he cried. ‘Here are the very letters. But what is this written above them?’

“He looked inside the envelope. ‘So it is,’ he cried. ‘Here are the very letters. But what is written above them?’

“‘Put the papers on the sundial,’ I read, peeping over his shoulder.

“‘Put the papers on the sundial,’ I read, looking over his shoulder.

“‘What papers? What sundial?’ he asked.

“‘The sundial in the garden. There is no other,’ said I; ‘but the papers must be those that are destroyed.’

“‘The sundial in the garden. There is no other,’ I said. ‘But the papers must be the ones that were destroyed.’

“‘Pooh!’ said he, gripping hard at his courage. ‘We are in a civilised land here, and we can’t have tomfoolery of this kind. Where does the thing come from?’

“‘Nonsense!’ he said, trying hard to stay brave. ‘We’re in a civilized country, and we can’t have this kind of nonsense. Where does the thing come from?’

“‘From Dundee,’ I answered, glancing at the postmark.

“‘From Dundee,’ I replied, glancing at the postmark.

“‘Some preposterous practical joke,’ said he. ‘What have I to do with sundials and papers? I shall take no notice of such nonsense.’

“‘Some ridiculous practical joke,’ he said. ‘What do sundials and papers have to do with me? I won't pay any attention to such nonsense.’

“‘I should certainly speak to the police,’ I said.

“‘I would certainly speak to the police,’ I said.

“‘And be laughed at for my pains. Nothing of the sort.’

“‘And get laughed at for my trouble. No way.’

“‘Then let me do so?’

“‘Then let me do it?’

“‘No, I forbid you. I won’t have a fuss made about such nonsense.’

“‘No, I forbid you. I won’t let you make a fuss over such nonsense.’

“It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate man. I went about, however, with a heart which was full of forebodings.

“It was no use arguing with him because he was very stubborn. But I went about with a heart full of dread.

“On the third day after the coming of the letter my father went from home to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is in command of one of the forts upon Portsdown Hill. I was glad that he should go, for it seemed to me that he was farther from danger when he was away from home. In that, however, I was in error. Upon the second day of his absence I received a telegram from the major, imploring me to come at once. My father had fallen over one of the deep chalk-pits which abound in the neighbourhood, and was lying senseless, with a shattered skull. I hurried to him, but he passed away without having ever recovered his consciousness. He had, as it appears, been returning from Fareham in the twilight, and as the country was unknown to him, and the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation in bringing in a verdict of ‘death from accidental causes.’ Carefully as I examined every fact connected with his death, I was unable to find anything which could suggest the idea of murder. There were no signs of violence, no footmarks, no robbery, no record of strangers having been seen upon the roads. And yet I need not tell you that my mind was far from at ease, and that I was well-nigh certain that some foul plot had been woven round him.

“Three days after the letter arrived, my father left home to visit an old friend, Major Freebody. The major commands one of the forts on Portsdown Hill. I was glad my father was going. It seemed to me that he would be safer away from home. But I was wrong. On the second day of his absence, I received a telegram from the major, begging me to come at once. My father had fallen into one of the deep chalk pits common in the area. He was lying unconscious, with a shattered skull. I hurried to him, but he died without ever regaining consciousness. It seems he had been returning from Fareham at twilight. He did not know the area, and the chalk pit was unfenced. So the jury had no hesitation in returning a verdict of ‘death from accidental causes.’ I carefully examined every fact connected with his death, but found nothing to suggest murder. There were no signs of violence, no footprints, no robbery, and no reports of strangers seen on the roads. And yet, I need not tell you that I was far from easy in my mind. I was almost certain that some evil plot had been woven around him.

“In this sinister way I came into my inheritance. You will ask me why I did not dispose of it? I answer, because I was well convinced that our troubles were in some way dependent upon an incident in my uncle’s life, and that the danger would be as pressing in one house as in another.

“In this sinister way, I came into my inheritance. You will ask why I did not get rid of it. I was convinced that our troubles were somehow connected to an incident in my uncle’s life. The danger would be just as great in one house as in another.

“It was in January, ’85, that my poor father met his end, and two years and eight months have elapsed since then. During that time I have lived happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope that this curse had passed away from the family, and that it had ended with the last generation. I had begun to take comfort too soon, however; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape in which it had come upon my father.”

“It was in January 1885 that my poor father died, and two years and eight months have passed since then. During that time, I have lived happily in Horsham. I had begun to hope that the curse had passed from the family and ended with the last generation. But I took comfort too soon. Yesterday morning, the blow fell in the very same way it had struck my father.”

The young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and turning to the table he shook out upon it five little dried orange pips.

The young man took a crumpled envelope from his vest. He turned to the table and shook five small, dried orange seeds onto it.

“This is the envelope,” he continued. “The postmark is London—eastern division. Within are the very words which were upon my father’s last message: ‘K. K. K.’; and then ‘Put the papers on the sundial.’”

“This is the envelope,” he continued. “The postmark is from London, eastern division. Inside are the very same words as in my father’s last message: ‘K. K. K.’ and then ‘Put the papers on the sundial.’”

“What have you done?” asked Holmes.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“To tell the truth”—he sank his face into his thin, white hands—“I have felt helpless. I have felt like one of those poor rabbits when the snake is writhing towards it. I seem to be in the grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil, which no foresight and no precautions can guard against.”

“To tell the truth,” he said, burying his face in his thin, pale hands, “I have felt helpless. I have felt like a poor rabbit as a snake slithers toward it. I seem to be caught in the grip of some unstoppable, relentless evil. No foresight or precautions can protect me from it.”

“Tut! tut!” cried Sherlock Holmes. “You must act, man, or you are lost. Nothing but energy can save you. This is no time for despair.”

“Come on!” cried Sherlock Holmes. “You must act, man, or you are lost. Only action can save you. This is no time to despair.”

“I have seen the police.”

“Ah!”

“But they listened to my story with a smile. I am convinced that the inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all practical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were really accidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected with the warnings.”

“But they smiled as they listened to my story. I am convinced that the inspector thinks all the letters are practical jokes. He also thinks my relatives’ deaths were accidents, as the jury said, and had nothing to do with the warnings.”

Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air. “Incredible imbecility!” he cried.

Holmes shook his fists in the air. “Unbelievable stupidity!” he cried.

“They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in the house with me.”

“But they have allowed a policeman to stay in the house with me.”

“Has he come with you to-night?”

“Did he come with you tonight?”

“No. His orders were to stay in the house.”

“No. He had orders to stay in the house.”

Again Holmes raved in the air.

Again, Holmes ranted into the air.

“Why did you come to me?” he said, “and, above all, why did you not come at once?”

“Why did you come to me?” he said. “And, most of all, why didn’t you come right away?”

“I did not know. It was only to-day that I spoke to Major Prendergast about my troubles and was advised by him to come to you.”

“I didn’t know. I only spoke to Major Prendergast about my troubles today, and he advised me to come to you.”

“It is really two days since you had the letter. We should have acted before this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, than that which you have placed before us—no suggestive detail which might help us?”

“It has actually been two days since you received the letter. We should have acted sooner. I suppose you have no more evidence than what you’ve already shown us? No detail that might give us a clue?”

“There is one thing,” said John Openshaw. He rummaged in his coat pocket, and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted paper, he laid it out upon the table. “I have some remembrance,” said he, “that on the day when my uncle burned the papers I observed that the small, unburned margins which lay amid the ashes were of this particular colour. I found this single sheet upon the floor of his room, and I am inclined to think that it may be one of the papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from among the others, and in that way has escaped destruction. Beyond the mention of pips, I do not see that it helps us much. I think myself that it is a page from some private diary. The writing is undoubtedly my uncle’s.”

“There is one thing,” said John Openshaw. He searched his coat pocket, drew out a piece of discolored, blue-tinted paper, and laid it on the table. “I remember something from the day my uncle burned the papers,” he said. “The small, unburned edges among the ashes were this same color. I found this single sheet on the floor of his room. I think it may be one of the papers that perhaps fluttered out from among the others. That would explain how it escaped the fire. Apart from the mention of pips, I don’t see how it helps us much. I think it is a page from a private diary. The handwriting is definitely my uncle’s.”

Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper, which showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from a book. It was headed, “March, 1869,” and beneath were the following enigmatical notices:

Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper. Its ragged edge showed that it had indeed been torn from a book. It was headed “March, 1869,” and below it were the following mysterious notes:

“4th. Hudson came. Same old platform.

“4th. Hudson arrived. Same old platform.

“7th. Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and John Swain of St. Augustine.

“7th. Sent the pips to McCauley, Paramore, and John Swain of St. Augustine.

“9th. McCauley cleared.

“10th. John Swain cleared.

“12th. Visited Paramore. All well.”

“12th. Visited Paramore. All is well.”

“Thank you!” said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning it to our visitor. “And now you must on no account lose another instant. We cannot spare time even to discuss what you have told me. You must get home instantly and act.”

“Thank you!” said Holmes, folding the paper and handing it back to our visitor. “Now you must not waste another moment. We do not even have time to discuss what you have told me. You must go home immediately and act.”

“What shall I do?”

“What should I do?”

“There is but one thing to do. It must be done at once. You must put this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass box which you have described. You must also put in a note to say that all the other papers were burned by your uncle, and that this is the only one which remains. You must assert that in such words as will carry conviction with them. Having done this, you must at once put the box out upon the sundial, as directed. Do you understand?”

“There is only one thing to do, and you must do it at once. Put the piece of paper you showed us into the brass box you described. Also put in a note saying that your uncle burned all the other papers and that this is the only one left. You must say this convincingly. Then put the box on the sundial at once, as instructed. Do you understand?”

“Entirely.”

“Completely.”

“Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. I think that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our web to weave, while theirs is already woven. The first consideration is to remove the pressing danger which threatens you. The second is to clear up the mystery and to punish the guilty parties.”

“Don’t think about revenge or anything like that for now. I think we may achieve it through the law. But we still have our web to weave, while theirs is already woven. Our first priority is to remove the immediate danger threatening you. Our second is to solve the mystery and punish those responsible.”

“I thank you,” said the young man, rising and pulling on his overcoat. “You have given me fresh life and hope. I shall certainly do as you advise.”

“Thank you,” said the young man, standing up and putting on his overcoat. “You have given me new life and hope. I’ll certainly do as you advise.”

“Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take care of yourself in the meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that you are threatened by a very real and imminent danger. How do you go back?”

“Don't waste a moment. Above all, take care of yourself in the meantime. I have no doubt that you are in very real and immediate danger. How will you get back?”

“By train from Waterloo.”

“It is not yet nine. The streets will be crowded, so I trust that you may be in safety. And yet you cannot guard yourself too closely.”

“It’s not yet nine. The streets will be crowded, so I hope you may be safe. But you can’t be too careful.”

“I am armed.”

“I’m armed.”

“That is well. To-morrow I shall set to work upon your case.”

“That is good. Tomorrow I will begin working on your case.”

“I shall see you at Horsham, then?”

“I'll see you at Horsham, then?”

“No, your secret lies in London. It is there that I shall seek it.”

“No, your secret is in London. That is where I will look for it.”

“Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news as to the box and the papers. I shall take your advice in every particular.” He shook hands with us and took his leave. Outside the wind still screamed and the rain splashed and pattered against the windows. This strange, wild story seemed to have come to us from amid the mad elements—blown in upon us like a sheet of sea-weed in a gale—and now to have been reabsorbed by them once more.

“Then I’ll visit you in a day or two with news about the box and the papers. I’ll follow your advice in every detail.” He shook hands with us and left. Outside, the wind still screamed, and the rain splashed and pattered against the windows. The strange, wild story seemed to have come to us from the raging storm, like a sheet of seaweed blown in by a gale. Now the storm seemed to have swallowed it up again.

Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk forward and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. Then he lit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the blue smoke-rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling.

Sherlock Holmes sat silently for a while, his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the red glow of the fire. Then he lit his pipe and leaned back in his chair. He watched the blue smoke rings chase each other up to the ceiling.

“I think, Watson,” he remarked at last, “that of all our cases we have had none more fantastic than this.”

“I think, Watson,” he said at last, “that none of our cases has been more fantastic than this one.”

“Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four.”

“Except, perhaps, the Sign of Four.”

“Well, yes. Save, perhaps, that. And yet this John Openshaw seems to me to be walking amid even greater perils than did the Sholtos.”

“Well, yes. Perhaps except for that. And yet John Openshaw seems to me to face even greater dangers than the Sholtos did.”

“But have you,” I asked, “formed any definite conception as to what these perils are?”

“But have you,” I asked, “formed any definite idea of what these dangers are?”

“There can be no question as to their nature,” he answered.

“There’s no doubt about what they are,” he answered.

“Then what are they? Who is this K. K. K., and why does he pursue this unhappy family?”

“Then what are they? Who is this K. K. K., and why is he pursuing this unfortunate family?”

Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the arms of his chair, with his finger-tips together. “The ideal reasoner,” he remarked, “would, when he had once been shown a single fact in all its bearings, deduce from it not only all the chain of events which led up to it but also all the results which would follow from it. As Cuvier could correctly describe a whole animal by the contemplation of a single bone, so the observer who has thoroughly understood one link in a series of incidents should be able to accurately state all the other ones, both before and after. We have not yet grasped the results which the reason alone can attain to. Problems may be solved in the study which have baffled all those who have sought a solution by the aid of their senses. To carry the art, however, to its highest pitch, it is necessary that the reasoner should be able to utilise all the facts which have come to his knowledge; and this in itself implies, as you will readily see, a possession of all knowledge, which, even in these days of free education and encyclopædias, is a somewhat rare accomplishment. It is not so impossible, however, that a man should possess all knowledge which is likely to be useful to him in his work, and this I have endeavoured in my case to do. If I remember rightly, you on one occasion, in the early days of our friendship, defined my limits in a very precise fashion.”

Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes, rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, and put his fingertips together. “The ideal reasoner,” he remarked, “could be shown a single fact and understand every aspect of it. From that fact, he could deduce the whole chain of events that led to it and all the results that would follow. Cuvier could correctly describe a whole animal by studying a single bone. In the same way, an observer who thoroughly understands one link in a series of events should be able to describe all the others accurately, both before and after it. “We have not yet grasped what reason alone can achieve. Problems that have baffled everyone who tried to solve them using their senses may be solved in the study. But to bring the art to its highest level, a reasoner must be able to use every fact he has learned. As you can readily see, this means possessing all knowledge, a rather rare accomplishment even in these days of free education and encyclopedias. It is not so impossible, however, for a man to possess all the knowledge likely to be useful in his work. I have tried to do just that. If I remember correctly, you once defined the limits of my knowledge very precisely, in the early days of our friendship.”

“Yes,” I answered, laughing. “It was a singular document. Philosophy, astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, I remember. Botany variable, geology profound as regards the mud-stains from any region within fifty miles of town, chemistry eccentric, anatomy unsystematic, sensational literature and crime records unique, violin-player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, and self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. Those, I think, were the main points of my analysis.”

“Yes,” I answered, laughing. “It was a strange document. I remember giving him zero for philosophy, astronomy, and politics. His knowledge of botany varied. His geology was profound when it came to mud stains from anywhere within fifty miles of town. His chemistry was eccentric, his anatomy unsystematic, and his knowledge of sensational literature and crime records unique. He played the violin, boxed, fenced, knew the law, and poisoned himself with cocaine and tobacco. Those, I think, were the main points of my analysis.”

Holmes grinned at the last item. “Well,” he said, “I say now, as I said then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic stocked with all the furniture that he is likely to use, and the rest he can put away in the lumber-room of his library, where he can get it if he wants it. Now, for such a case as the one which has been submitted to us to-night, we need certainly to muster all our resources. Kindly hand me down the letter K of the American Encyclopædia which stands upon the shelf beside you. Thank you. Now let us consider the situation and see what may be deduced from it. In the first place, we may start with a strong presumption that Colonel Openshaw had some very strong reason for leaving America. Men at his time of life do not change all their habits and exchange willingly the charming climate of Florida for the lonely life of an English provincial town. His extreme love of solitude in England suggests the idea that he was in fear of someone or something, so we may assume as a working hypothesis that it was fear of someone or something which drove him from America. As to what it was he feared, we can only deduce that by considering the formidable letters which were received by himself and his successors. Did you remark the postmarks of those letters?”

Holmes grinned at the last item. “Well,” he said, “I say now, as I said then, that a man should stock his little brain-attic with all the furniture he is likely to use. He can put the rest away in the storeroom of his library, where he can find it if he needs it. Now, for a case like the one brought to us tonight, we certainly need to gather all our resources. Please hand me the letter K volume of the American Encyclopædia on the shelf beside you. Thank you. “Now let us consider the situation and see what we can deduce from it. First, we may start with a strong presumption that Colonel Openshaw had a very strong reason for leaving America. Men at his age do not willingly change all their habits and exchange Florida’s charming climate for the lonely life of an English provincial town. His extreme love of solitude in England suggests that he feared someone or something. So we may assume, as a working hypothesis, that fear of someone or something drove him from America. As for what he feared, we can only deduce that by considering the alarming letters he and his successors received. Did you notice the postmarks on those letters?”

“The first was from Pondicherry, the second from Dundee, and the third from London.”

“From East London. What do you deduce from that?”

“From East London. What can you conclude from that?”

“They are all seaports. That the writer was on board of a ship.”

“They are all seaports. That means the writer was on a ship.”

“Excellent. We have already a clue. There can be no doubt that the probability—the strong probability—is that the writer was on board of a ship. And now let us consider another point. In the case of Pondicherry, seven weeks elapsed between the threat and its fulfilment, in Dundee it was only some three or four days. Does that suggest anything?”

“Excellent. We already have a clue. The writer was probably on board a ship. In fact, that is very likely. Now let us consider another point. In Pondicherry, seven weeks passed between the threat and its fulfillment. In Dundee, it was only three or four days. Does that suggest anything?”

“A greater distance to travel.”

“Farther to travel.”

“But the letter had also a greater distance to come.”

“But the letter also had farther to travel.”

“Then I do not see the point.”

“Then I don't see the point.”

“There is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man or men are is a sailing-ship. It looks as if they always send their singular warning or token before them when starting upon their mission. You see how quickly the deed followed the sign when it came from Dundee. If they had come from Pondicherry in a steamer they would have arrived almost as soon as their letter. But, as a matter of fact, seven weeks elapsed. I think that those seven weeks represented the difference between the mail-boat which brought the letter and the sailing vessel which brought the writer.”

“There is at least some reason to believe that the man or men are aboard a sailing ship. It looks as if they always send their strange warning or token ahead when they set out on their mission. You see how quickly the deed followed the warning from Dundee. If they had come from Pondicherry by steamship, they would have arrived almost as soon as their letter. But seven weeks passed. I think those seven weeks were the difference in travel time between the mail boat carrying the letter and the sailing ship carrying its writer.”

“It is possible.”

“More than that. It is probable. And now you see the deadly urgency of this new case, and why I urged young Openshaw to caution. The blow has always fallen at the end of the time which it would take the senders to travel the distance. But this one comes from London, and therefore we cannot count upon delay.”

“More than that. It is likely. Now you see how deadly urgent this new case is, and why I urged young Openshaw to be careful. The attack has always come after enough time for the senders to travel the distance. But this one comes from London, so we cannot count on any delay.”

“Good God!” I cried. “What can it mean, this relentless persecution?”

“Good God!” I cried. “What can this relentless persecution mean?”

“The papers which Openshaw carried are obviously of vital importance to the person or persons in the sailing-ship. I think that it is quite clear that there must be more than one of them. A single man could not have carried out two deaths in such a way as to deceive a coroner’s jury. There must have been several in it, and they must have been men of resource and determination. Their papers they mean to have, be the holder of them who it may. In this way you see K. K. K. ceases to be the initials of an individual and becomes the badge of a society.”

“The papers Openshaw carried are obviously vitally important to the person or people on the sailing ship. I think it is quite clear that there must be more than one of them. One man could not have caused two deaths in a way that deceived a coroner’s jury. Several people must have been involved, and they must have been resourceful and determined men. They intend to get their papers, whoever may have them. So you see, K. K. K. is not a person’s initials, but the badge of a society.”

“But of what society?”

“But which society?”

“Have you never—” said Sherlock Holmes, bending forward and sinking his voice—“have you never heard of the Ku Klux Klan?”

“Have you never,” said Sherlock Holmes, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “have you never heard of the Ku Klux Klan?”

“I never have.”

Holmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee. “Here it is,” said he presently:

Holmes turned the pages of the book on his knee. After a moment, he said, “Here it is”:

“‘Ku Klux Klan. A name derived from the fanciful resemblance to the sound produced by cocking a rifle. This terrible secret society was formed by some ex-Confederate soldiers in the Southern states after the Civil War, and it rapidly formed local branches in different parts of the country, notably in Tennessee, Louisiana, the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Its power was used for political purposes, principally for the terrorising of the negro voters and the murdering and driving from the country of those who were opposed to its views. Its outrages were usually preceded by a warning sent to the marked man in some fantastic but generally recognised shape—a sprig of oak-leaves in some parts, melon seeds or orange pips in others. On receiving this the victim might either openly abjure his former ways, or might fly from the country. If he braved the matter out, death would unfailingly come upon him, and usually in some strange and unforeseen manner. So perfect was the organisation of the society, and so systematic its methods, that there is hardly a case upon record where any man succeeded in braving it with impunity, or in which any of its outrages were traced home to the perpetrators. For some years the organisation flourished in spite of the efforts of the United States government and of the better classes of the community in the South. Eventually, in the year 1869, the movement rather suddenly collapsed, although there have been sporadic outbreaks of the same sort since that date.’

“‘Ku Klux Klan. The name comes from an imagined resemblance to the sound of cocking a rifle. Some former Confederate soldiers formed this terrible secret society in the Southern states after the Civil War. It quickly established local branches in different parts of the country. These included Tennessee, Louisiana, the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. The society used its power for political purposes. It chiefly terrorized negro voters and murdered or drove from the country those who opposed its views. Its attacks were usually preceded by a warning sent to the targeted man. The warning took a strange but generally recognized form. In some places it was a sprig of oak leaves, in others, melon seeds or orange pips. On receiving it, the victim could either openly renounce his former ways or flee the country. If he stood his ground, death would surely come, usually in some strange and unexpected way. The society’s organization was so perfect and its methods so systematic that hardly anyone on record defied it without suffering consequences. Nor were its attacks traced to the perpetrators in more than a handful of cases. For some years, the organization flourished despite the efforts of the United States government and the better classes of the Southern community. Eventually, in 1869, the movement collapsed rather suddenly, although there have been sporadic outbreaks of the same kind since then.’

“You will observe,” said Holmes, laying down the volume, “that the sudden breaking up of the society was coincident with the disappearance of Openshaw from America with their papers. It may well have been cause and effect. It is no wonder that he and his family have some of the more implacable spirits upon their track. You can understand that this register and diary may implicate some of the first men in the South, and that there may be many who will not sleep easy at night until it is recovered.”

“You will notice,” said Holmes, putting down the book, “that the society suddenly broke up when Openshaw left America with its papers. His departure may well have caused the breakup. It is no wonder that some of its more ruthless members are pursuing him and his family. As you can understand, this register and diary may implicate some of the most prominent men in the South. Many may not sleep easy until the papers are recovered.”

“Then the page we have seen—”

“Then the page we saw...”

“Is such as we might expect. It ran, if I remember right, ‘sent the pips to A, B, and C’—that is, sent the society’s warning to them. Then there are successive entries that A and B cleared, or left the country, and finally that C was visited, with, I fear, a sinister result for C. Well, I think, Doctor, that we may let some light into this dark place, and I believe that the only chance young Openshaw has in the meantime is to do what I have told him. There is nothing more to be said or to be done to-night, so hand me over my violin and let us try to forget for half an hour the miserable weather and the still more miserable ways of our fellow men.”

“Is what we might expect. If I remember correctly, it read, ‘sent the pips to A, B, and C.’ That meant they sent the society’s warning to those three people. Later entries say that A and B got away, or left the country. Finally, C was visited, with a sinister result for C, I fear. Well, Doctor, I think we may be able to shed some light on this mystery. For now, I believe young Openshaw’s only chance is to do what I told him. There is nothing more to say or do tonight. So hand me my violin, and let us try to forget the miserable weather for half an hour. Let us forget the still more miserable ways of our fellow men, too.”

It had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a subdued brightness through the dim veil which hangs over the great city. Sherlock Holmes was already at breakfast when I came down.

The weather had cleared that morning, and the sun shone softly through the haze hanging over the great city. Sherlock Holmes was already eating breakfast when I came downstairs.

“You will excuse me for not waiting for you,” said he; “I have, I foresee, a very busy day before me in looking into this case of young Openshaw’s.”

“Please excuse me for not waiting for you,” he said. “I expect a very busy day investigating young Openshaw’s case.”

“What steps will you take?” I asked.

“What will you do?” I asked.

“It will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries. I may have to go down to Horsham, after all.”

“It will depend heavily on what my first inquiries reveal. I may have to go to Horsham after all.”

“You will not go there first?”

“Aren’t you going there first?”

“No, I shall commence with the City. Just ring the bell and the maid will bring up your coffee.”

“No, I’ll start with the City. Just ring the bell and the maid will bring up your coffee.”

As I waited, I lifted the unopened newspaper from the table and glanced my eye over it. It rested upon a heading which sent a chill to my heart.

As I waited, I picked up the unopened newspaper from the table and glanced over it. My eye fell on a headline that sent a chill through my heart.

“Holmes,” I cried, “you are too late.”

“Holmes,” I cried, “you’re too late.”

“Ah!” said he, laying down his cup, “I feared as much. How was it done?” He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was deeply moved.

“Ah!” he said, putting down his cup. “I was afraid of that. How did it happen?” He spoke calmly, but I could see he was deeply moved.

“My eye caught the name of Openshaw, and the heading ‘Tragedy Near Waterloo Bridge.’ Here is the account:

“I noticed the name Openshaw and the headline ‘Tragedy Near Waterloo Bridge.’ Here is the account:

“‘Between nine and ten last night Police-Constable Cook, of the H Division, on duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help and a splash in the water. The night, however, was extremely dark and stormy, so that, in spite of the help of several passers-by, it was quite impossible to effect a rescue. The alarm, however, was given, and, by the aid of the water-police, the body was eventually recovered. It proved to be that of a young gentleman whose name, as it appears from an envelope which was found in his pocket, was John Openshaw, and whose residence is near Horsham. It is conjectured that he may have been hurrying down to catch the last train from Waterloo Station, and that in his haste and the extreme darkness he missed his path and walked over the edge of one of the small landing-places for river steamboats. The body exhibited no traces of violence, and there can be no doubt that the deceased had been the victim of an unfortunate accident, which should have the effect of calling the attention of the authorities to the condition of the riverside landing-stages.’”

“‘Between nine and ten last night, Police Constable Cook of the H Division was on duty near Waterloo Bridge. He heard a cry for help and a splash in the water. But the night was extremely dark and stormy. Despite help from several passersby, a rescue was impossible. The alarm was raised, however, and the water police eventually recovered the body. It was a young man named John Openshaw, who lived near Horsham. His name was found on an envelope in his pocket. It is thought that he may have been hurrying to catch the last train from Waterloo Station. In his haste and the extreme darkness, he may have lost his way and walked off a small river steamboat landing. The body showed no signs of violence. There can be no doubt that he was the victim of a tragic accident. The accident should draw the authorities’ attention to the condition of the riverside landings.’”

We sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes more depressed and shaken than I had ever seen him.

We sat in silence for several minutes. I had never seen Holmes so depressed and shaken.

“That hurts my pride, Watson,” he said at last. “It is a petty feeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride. It becomes a personal matter with me now, and, if God sends me health, I shall set my hand upon this gang. That he should come to me for help, and that I should send him away to his death—!” He sprang from his chair and paced about the room in uncontrollable agitation, with a flush upon his sallow cheeks and a nervous clasping and unclasping of his long thin hands.

“That hurts my pride, Watson,” he said at last. “It is a petty feeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride. This is personal now. If God keeps me healthy, I will catch this gang. To think that he came to me for help, and I sent him away to his death!” He sprang from his chair and paced around the room, unable to control his agitation. His pale cheeks were flushed, and he nervously clasped and unclasped his long, thin hands.

“They must be cunning devils,” he exclaimed at last. “How could they have decoyed him down there? The Embankment is not on the direct line to the station. The bridge, no doubt, was too crowded, even on such a night, for their purpose. Well, Watson, we shall see who will win in the long run. I am going out now!”

“They must be cunning devils,” he exclaimed at last. “How could they have lured him down there? The Embankment is not on the direct route to the station. No doubt the bridge was too crowded for their purpose, even on such a night. Well, Watson, we shall see who wins in the end. I’m going out now!”

“To the police?”

“No; I shall be my own police. When I have spun the web they may take the flies, but not before.”

“No, I’ll be my own police. Once I’ve spun the web, the police can take the flies, but not before.”

All day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in the evening before I returned to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes had not come back yet. It was nearly ten o’clock before he entered, looking pale and worn. He walked up to the sideboard, and tearing a piece from the loaf he devoured it voraciously, washing it down with a long draught of water.

I was busy with my professional work all day, and it was late evening before I returned to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes had not returned yet. He came in at nearly ten o’clock, looking pale and exhausted. He walked to the sideboard, tore a piece from the loaf, and ate it hungrily. Then he drank a long gulp of water.

“You are hungry,” I remarked.

“You are hungry,” I said.

“Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since breakfast.”

“Starving. I forgot. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast.”

“Nothing?”

“Not a bite. I had no time to think of it.”

“Not a bite. I didn't have time to think about it.”

“And how have you succeeded?”

“And how did you succeed?”

“Well.”

“You have a clue?”

“I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young Openshaw shall not long remain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put their own devilish trade-mark upon them. It is well thought of!”

“I have them in the palm of my hand. Young Openshaw will soon be avenged. Watson, let us put their own devilish trademark on them. That is a good idea!”

“What do you mean?”

He took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces he squeezed out the pips upon the table. Of these he took five and thrust them into an envelope. On the inside of the flap he wrote “S. H. for J. O.” Then he sealed it and addressed it to “Captain James Calhoun, Barque Lone Star, Savannah, Georgia.”

He took an orange from the cupboard, tore it apart, and squeezed the seeds onto the table. He took five seeds and put them in an envelope. On the inside of the flap he wrote “S. H. for J. O.” Then he sealed the envelope and addressed it to “Captain James Calhoun, Barque Lone Star, Savannah, Georgia.”

“That will await him when he enters port,” said he, chuckling. “It may give him a sleepless night. He will find it as sure a precursor of his fate as Openshaw did before him.”

“That will be waiting for him when he reaches port,” he said, chuckling. “It may give him a sleepless night. He will find it just as sure a sign of his fate as Openshaw did before him.”

“And who is this Captain Calhoun?”

“And who is Captain Calhoun?”

“The leader of the gang. I shall have the others, but he first.”

“The leader of the gang. I’ll get the others, but him first.”

“How did you trace it, then?”

He took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered with dates and names.

He took a large sheet of paper from his pocket. It was covered with dates and names.

“I have spent the whole day,” said he, “over Lloyd’s registers and files of the old papers, following the future career of every vessel which touched at Pondicherry in January and February in ’83. There were thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which were reported there during those months. Of these, one, the Lone Star, instantly attracted my attention, since, although it was reported as having cleared from London, the name is that which is given to one of the states of the Union.”

“I have spent the whole day,” he said, “looking through Lloyd’s registers and old newspaper files. I traced what happened to every vessel that stopped at Pondicherry in January and February of 1883. Thirty-six ships of considerable size were reported there during those months. One of them, the Lone Star, immediately caught my attention. Although it was reported to have sailed from London, its name is the nickname of one of the states of the Union.”

“Texas, I think.”

“I was not and am not sure which; but I knew that the ship must have an American origin.”

“I wasn't sure which then, and I'm still not sure. But I knew the ship must have come from America.”

“What then?”

“What happened then?”

“I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the barque Lone Star was there in January, ’85, my suspicion became a certainty. I then inquired as to the vessels which lay at present in the port of London.”

“I searched the Dundee records and found that the barque Lone Star was there in January 1885. My suspicion then became a certainty. I next asked which ships were currently in the port of London.”

“Yes?”

“The Lone Star had arrived here last week. I went down to the Albert Dock and found that she had been taken down the river by the early tide this morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I wired to Gravesend and learned that she had passed some time ago, and as the wind is easterly I have no doubt that she is now past the Goodwins and not very far from the Isle of Wight.”

“The Lone Star arrived here last week. I went down to the Albert Dock and found that she had left on the early tide this morning. She had been taken downriver, heading home to Savannah. I sent a telegram to Gravesend and learned that she had passed there some time ago. Since the wind is from the east, I have no doubt she is now past the Goodwins. She cannot be far from the Isle of Wight.”

“What will you do, then?”

“Oh, I have my hand upon him. He and the two mates, are as I learn, the only native-born Americans in the ship. The others are Finns and Germans. I know, also, that they were all three away from the ship last night. I had it from the stevedore who has been loading their cargo. By the time that their sailing-ship reaches Savannah the mail-boat will have carried this letter, and the cable will have informed the police of Savannah that these three gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder.”

“Oh, I have him within my grasp. I’ve learned that he and the two mates are the only native-born Americans on the ship. The others are Finns and Germans. I also know that all three were away from the ship last night. I heard it from the dockworker who has been loading their cargo. By the time their sailing ship reaches Savannah, the mail boat will have delivered this letter. The cable will also have informed the Savannah police that these three gentlemen are wanted here on a murder charge.”

There is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans, and the murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the orange pips which would show them that another, as cunning and as resolute as themselves, was upon their track. Very long and very severe were the equinoctial gales that year. We waited long for news of the Lone Star of Savannah, but none ever reached us. We did at last hear that somewhere far out in the Atlantic a shattered stern-post of a boat was seen swinging in the trough of a wave, with the letters “L. S.” carved upon it, and that is all which we shall ever know of the fate of the Lone Star.

Even the best human plans have a flaw, however. John Openshaw’s murderers would never receive the orange pips. The pips would have shown them that someone as cunning and determined as they were was on their trail. That year, the equinoctial storms were long and severe. We waited a long time for news of the Lone Star of Savannah, but none ever reached us. At last, we heard that a boat’s shattered stern-post had been seen far out in the Atlantic. It was tossing in the trough of a wave, with the letters “L. S.” carved on it. That is all we shall ever know of the fate of the Lone Star.