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A Study In Scarlet by Arthur Conan Doyle

Part 3 out of 3

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stoneware jar with water, for he knew by experience that the
mountain wells were few and far between. He had hardly
completed his arrangements before the farmer returned with
his daughter all dressed and ready for a start. The greeting
between the lovers was warm, but brief, for minutes were
precious, and there was much to be done.

"We must make our start at once," said Jefferson Hope,
speaking in a low but resolute voice, like one who realizes
the greatness of the peril, but has steeled his heart to meet
it. "The front and back entrances are watched, but with
caution we may get away through the side window and across
the fields. Once on the road we are only two miles from the
Ravine where the horses are waiting. By daybreak we should
be half-way through the mountains."

"What if we are stopped," asked Ferrier.

Hope slapped the revolver butt which protruded from the front
of his tunic. "If they are too many for us we shall take two
or three of them with us," he said with a sinister smile.

The lights inside the house had all been extinguished, and
from the darkened window Ferrier peered over the fields which
had been his own, and which he was now about to abandon for
ever. He had long nerved himself to the sacrifice, however,
and the thought of the honour and happiness of his daughter
outweighed any regret at his ruined fortunes. All looked so
peaceful and happy, the rustling trees and the broad silent
stretch of grain-land, that it was difficult to realize that
the spirit of murder lurked through it all. Yet the white
face and set expression of the young hunter showed that in
his approach to the house he had seen enough to satisfy him
upon that head.

Ferrier carried the bag of gold and notes, Jefferson Hope had
the scanty provisions and water, while Lucy had a small
bundle containing a few of her more valued possessions.
Opening the window very slowly and carefully, they waited
until a dark cloud had somewhat obscured the night, and then
one by one passed through into the little garden. With bated
breath and crouching figures they stumbled across it, and
gained the shelter of the hedge, which they skirted until
they came to the gap which opened into the cornfields. They
had just reached this point when the young man seized his two
companions and dragged them down into the shadow, where they
lay silent and trembling.

It was as well that his prairie training had given Jefferson
Hope the ears of a lynx. He and his friends had hardly
crouched down before the melancholy hooting of a mountain owl
was heard within a few yards of them, which was immediately
answered by another hoot at a small distance. At the same
moment a vague shadowy figure emerged from the gap for which
they had been making, and uttered the plaintive signal cry
again, on which a second man appeared out of the obscurity.

"To-morrow at midnight," said the first who appeared to be in
authority. "When the Whip-poor-Will calls three times."

"It is well," returned the other. "Shall I tell Brother Drebber?"

"Pass it on to him, and from him to the others. Nine to seven!"

"Seven to five!" repeated the other, and the two figures
flitted away in different directions. Their concluding words
had evidently been some form of sign and countersign. The
instant that their footsteps had died away in the distance,
Jefferson Hope sprang to his feet, and helping his companions
through the gap, led the way across the fields at the top of
his speed, supporting and half-carrying the girl when her
strength appeared to fail her.

"Hurry on! hurry on!" he gasped from time to time. "We are
through the line of sentinels. Everything depends on speed.
Hurry on!"

Once on the high road they made rapid progress. Only once
did they meet anyone, and then they managed to slip into a
field, and so avoid recognition. Before reaching the town
the hunter branched away into a rugged and narrow footpath
which led to the mountains. Two dark jagged peaks loomed
above them through the darkness, and the defile which led
between them was the Eagle Canon in which the horses were
awaiting them. With unerring instinct Jefferson Hope picked
his way among the great boulders and along the bed of a
dried-up watercourse, until he came to the retired corner,
screened with rocks, where the faithful animals had been
picketed. The girl was placed upon the mule, and old Ferrier
upon one of the horses, with his money-bag, while Jefferson
Hope led the other along the precipitous and dangerous path.

It was a bewildering route for anyone who was not accustomed
to face Nature in her wildest moods. On the one side a great
crag towered up a thousand feet or more, black, stern, and
menacing, with long basaltic columns upon its rugged surface
like the ribs of some petrified monster. On the other hand a
wild chaos of boulders and debris made all advance
impossible. Between the two ran the irregular track, so
narrow in places that they had to travel in Indian file, and
so rough that only practised riders could have traversed it
at all. Yet in spite of all dangers and difficulties, the
hearts of the fugitives were light within them, for every
step increased the distance between them and the terrible
despotism from which they were flying.

They soon had a proof, however, that they were still within
the jurisdiction of the Saints. They had reached the very
wildest and most desolate portion of the pass when the girl
gave a startled cry, and pointed upwards. On a rock which
overlooked the track, showing out dark and plain against the
sky, there stood a solitary sentinel. He saw them as soon as
they perceived him, and his military challenge of "Who goes
there?" rang through the silent ravine.

"Travellers for Nevada," said Jefferson Hope, with his hand
upon the rifle which hung by his saddle.

They could see the lonely watcher fingering his gun, and
peering down at them as if dissatisfied at their reply.

"By whose permission?" he asked.

"The Holy Four," answered Ferrier. His Mormon experiences
had taught him that that was the highest authority to which
he could refer.

"Nine from seven," cried the sentinel.

"Seven from five," returned Jefferson Hope promptly,
remembering the countersign which he had heard in the garden.

"Pass, and the Lord go with you," said the voice from above.
Beyond his post the path broadened out, and the horses were
able to break into a trot. Looking back, they could see the
solitary watcher leaning upon his gun, and knew that they had
passed the outlying post of the chosen people, and that
freedom lay before them.

CHAPTER V.

THE AVENGING ANGELS.

ALL night their course lay through intricate defiles and over
irregular and rock-strewn paths. More than once they lost
their way, but Hope's intimate knowledge of the mountains
enabled them to regain the track once more. When morning
broke, a scene of marvellous though savage beauty lay before
them. In every direction the great snow-capped peaks hemmed
them in, peeping over each other's shoulders to the far
horizon. So steep were the rocky banks on either side of
them, that the larch and the pine seemed to be suspended over
their heads, and to need only a gust of wind to come hurtling
down upon them. Nor was the fear entirely an illusion, for
the barren valley was thickly strewn with trees and boulders
which had fallen in a similar manner. Even as they passed, a
great rock came thundering down with a hoarse rattle which
woke the echoes in the silent gorges, and startled the weary
horses into a gallop.

As the sun rose slowly above the eastern horizon, the caps of
the great mountains lit up one after the other, like lamps at
a festival, until they were all ruddy and glowing. The
magnificent spectacle cheered the hearts of the three
fugitives and gave them fresh energy. At a wild torrent
which swept out of a ravine they called a halt and watered
their horses, while they partook of a hasty breakfast. Lucy
and her father would fain have rested longer, but Jefferson
Hope was inexorable. "They will be upon our track by this
time," he said. "Everything depends upon our speed. Once
safe in Carson we may rest for the remainder of our lives."

During the whole of that day they struggled on through the
defiles, and by evening they calculated that they were more
than thirty miles from their enemies. At night-time they
chose the base of a beetling crag, where the rocks offered
some protection from the chill wind, and there huddled
together for warmth, they enjoyed a few hours' sleep. Before
daybreak, however, they were up and on their way once more.
They had seen no signs of any pursuers, and Jefferson Hope
began to think that they were fairly out of the reach of the
terrible organization whose enmity they had incurred. He
little knew how far that iron grasp could reach, or how soon
it was to close upon them and crush them.

About the middle of the second day of their flight their
scanty store of provisions began to run out. This gave the
hunter little uneasiness, however, for there was game to be
had among the mountains, and he had frequently before had to
depend upon his rifle for the needs of life. Choosing a
sheltered nook, he piled together a few dried branches and
made a blazing fire, at which his companions might warm
themselves, for they were now nearly five thousand feet above
the sea level, and the air was bitter and keen. Having
tethered the horses, and bade Lucy adieu, he threw his gun
over his shoulder, and set out in search of whatever chance
might throw in his way. Looking back he saw the old man and
the young girl crouching over the blazing fire, while the
three animals stood motionless in the back-ground. Then the
intervening rocks hid them from his view.

He walked for a couple of miles through one ravine after
another without success, though from the marks upon the bark
of the trees, and other indications, he judged that there
were numerous bears in the vicinity. At last, after two or
three hours' fruitless search, he was thinking of turning
back in despair, when casting his eyes upwards he saw a sight
which sent a thrill of pleasure through his heart. On the
edge of a jutting pinnacle, three or four hundred feet above
him, there stood a creature somewhat resembling a sheep in
appearance, but armed with a pair of gigantic horns.
The big-horn -- for so it is called -- was acting, probably,
as a guardian over a flock which were invisible to the hunter;
but fortunately it was heading in the opposite direction,
and had not perceived him. Lying on his face, he rested his
rifle upon a rock, and took a long and steady aim before drawing
the trigger. The animal sprang into the air, tottered for a
moment upon the edge of the precipice, and then came crashing
down into the valley beneath.

The creature was too unwieldy to lift, so the hunter
contented himself with cutting away one haunch and part of
the flank. With this trophy over his shoulder, he hastened
to retrace his steps, for the evening was already drawing in.
He had hardly started, however, before he realized the
difficulty which faced him. In his eagerness he had wandered
far past the ravines which were known to him, and it was no
easy matter to pick out the path which he had taken.
The valley in which he found himself divided and sub-divided
into many gorges, which were so like each other that it was
impossible to distinguish one from the other. He followed
one for a mile or more until he came to a mountain torrent
which he was sure that he had never seen before. Convinced
that he had taken the wrong turn, he tried another, but with
the same result. Night was coming on rapidly, and it was
almost dark before he at last found himself in a defile which
was familiar to him. Even then it was no easy matter to keep
to the right track, for the moon had not yet risen, and the
high cliffs on either side made the obscurity more profound.
Weighed down with his burden, and weary from his exertions,
he stumbled along, keeping up his heart by the reflection
that every step brought him nearer to Lucy, and that he
carried with him enough to ensure them food for the remainder
of their journey.

He had now come to the mouth of the very defile in which he
had left them. Even in the darkness he could recognize the
outline of the cliffs which bounded it. They must, he
reflected, be awaiting him anxiously, for he had been absent
nearly five hours. In the gladness of his heart he put his
hands to his mouth and made the glen re-echo to a loud halloo
as a signal that he was coming. He paused and listened for
an answer. None came save his own cry, which clattered up
the dreary silent ravines, and was borne back to his ears in
countless repetitions. Again he shouted, even louder than
before, and again no whisper came back from the friends whom
he had left such a short time ago. A vague, nameless dread
came over him, and he hurried onwards frantically, dropping
the precious food in his agitation.

When he turned the corner, he came full in sight of the spot
where the fire had been lit. There was still a glowing pile
of wood ashes there, but it had evidently not been tended
since his departure. The same dead silence still reigned all
round. With his fears all changed to convictions, he hurried
on. There was no living creature near the remains of the
fire: animals, man, maiden, all were gone. It was only too
clear that some sudden and terrible disaster had occurred
during his absence -- a disaster which had embraced them all,
and yet had left no traces behind it.

Bewildered and stunned by this blow, Jefferson Hope felt his
head spin round, and had to lean upon his rifle to save
himself from falling. He was essentially a man of action,
however, and speedily recovered from his temporary impotence.
Seizing a half-consumed piece of wood from the smouldering
fire, he blew it into a flame, and proceeded with its help to
examine the little camp. The ground was all stamped down by
the feet of horses, showing that a large party of mounted men
had overtaken the fugitives, and the direction of their
tracks proved that they had afterwards turned back to Salt
Lake City. Had they carried back both of his companions with
them? Jefferson Hope had almost persuaded himself that they
must have done so, when his eye fell upon an object which
made every nerve of his body tingle within him. A little way
on one side of the camp was a low-lying heap of reddish soil,
which had assuredly not been there before. There was no
mistaking it for anything but a newly-dug grave. As the
young hunter approached it, he perceived that a stick had
been planted on it, with a sheet of paper stuck in the cleft
fork of it. The inscription upon the paper was brief, but to
the point:

JOHN FERRIER,
FORMERLY OF SALT LAKE CITY, {22}
Died August 4th, 1860.

The sturdy old man, whom he had left so short a time before,
was gone, then, and this was all his epitaph. Jefferson Hope
looked wildly round to see if there was a second grave, but
there was no sign of one. Lucy had been carried back by
their terrible pursuers to fulfil her original destiny, by
becoming one of the harem of the Elder's son. As the young
fellow realized the certainty of her fate, and his own
powerlessness to prevent it, he wished that he, too, was
lying with the old farmer in his last silent resting-place.

Again, however, his active spirit shook off the lethargy
which springs from despair. If there was nothing else left
to him, he could at least devote his life to revenge.
With indomitable patience and perseverance, Jefferson Hope
possessed also a power of sustained vindictiveness, which he
may have learned from the Indians amongst whom he had lived.
As he stood by the desolate fire, he felt that the only one
thing which could assuage his grief would be thorough and
complete retribution, brought by his own hand upon his
enemies. His strong will and untiring energy should, he
determined, be devoted to that one end. With a grim, white
face, he retraced his steps to where he had dropped the food,
and having stirred up the smouldering fire, he cooked enough
to last him for a few days. This he made up into a bundle,
and, tired as he was, he set himself to walk back through the
mountains upon the track of the avenging angels.

For five days he toiled footsore and weary through the
defiles which he had already traversed on horseback.
At night he flung himself down among the rocks, and snatched a
few hours of sleep; but before daybreak he was always well on
his way. On the sixth day, he reached the Eagle Canon, from
which they had commenced their ill-fated flight. Thence he
could look down upon the home of the saints. Worn and
exhausted, he leaned upon his rifle and shook his gaunt hand
fiercely at the silent widespread city beneath him. As he
looked at it, he observed that there were flags in some of
the principal streets, and other signs of festivity. He was
still speculating as to what this might mean when he heard
the clatter of horse's hoofs, and saw a mounted man riding
towards him. As he approached, he recognized him as a Mormon
named Cowper, to whom he had rendered services at different
times. He therefore accosted him when he got up to him, with
the object of finding out what Lucy Ferrier's fate had been.

"I am Jefferson Hope," he said. "You remember me."

The Mormon looked at him with undisguised astonishment --
indeed, it was difficult to recognize in this tattered,
unkempt wanderer, with ghastly white face and fierce,
wild eyes, the spruce young hunter of former days.
Having, however, at last, satisfied himself as to his identity,
the man's surprise changed to consternation.

"You are mad to come here," he cried. "It is as much as my
own life is worth to be seen talking with you. There is a
warrant against you from the Holy Four for assisting the
Ferriers away."

"I don't fear them, or their warrant," Hope said, earnestly.
"You must know something of this matter, Cowper. I conjure
you by everything you hold dear to answer a few questions.
We have always been friends. For God's sake, don't refuse
to answer me."

"What is it?" the Mormon asked uneasily. "Be quick.
The very rocks have ears and the trees eyes."

"What has become of Lucy Ferrier?"

"She was married yesterday to young Drebber. Hold up, man,
hold up, you have no life left in you."

"Don't mind me," said Hope faintly. He was white to the very
lips, and had sunk down on the stone against which he had
been leaning. "Married, you say?"

"Married yesterday -- that's what those flags are for on the
Endowment House. There was some words between young Drebber
and young Stangerson as to which was to have her. They'd
both been in the party that followed them, and Stangerson had
shot her father, which seemed to give him the best claim; but
when they argued it out in council, Drebber's party was the
stronger, so the Prophet gave her over to him. No one won't
have her very long though, for I saw death in her face yesterday.
She is more like a ghost than a woman. Are you off, then?"

"Yes, I am off," said Jefferson Hope, who had risen from his
seat. His face might have been chiselled out of marble,
so hard and set was its expression, while its eyes glowed with
a baleful light.

"Where are you going?"

"Never mind," he answered; and, slinging his weapon over his
shoulder, strode off down the gorge and so away into the
heart of the mountains to the haunts of the wild beasts.
Amongst them all there was none so fierce and so dangerous as
himself.

The prediction of the Mormon was only too well fulfilled.
Whether it was the terrible death of her father or the
effects of the hateful marriage into which she had been
forced, poor Lucy never held up her head again, but pined
away and died within a month. Her sottish husband, who had
married her principally for the sake of John Ferrier's
property, did not affect any great grief at his bereavement;
but his other wives mourned over her, and sat up with her the
night before the burial, as is the Mormon custom. They were
grouped round the bier in the early hours of the morning,
when, to their inexpressible fear and astonishment, the door
was flung open, and a savage-looking, weather-beaten man in
tattered garments strode into the room. Without a glance or
a word to the cowering women, he walked up to the white
silent figure which had once contained the pure soul of Lucy
Ferrier. Stooping over her, he pressed his lips reverently
to her cold forehead, and then, snatching up her hand, he
took the wedding-ring from her finger. "She shall not be
buried in that," he cried with a fierce snarl, and before an
alarm could be raised sprang down the stairs and was gone.
So strange and so brief was the episode, that the watchers
might have found it hard to believe it themselves or persuade
other people of it, had it not been for the undeniable fact
that the circlet of gold which marked her as having been a
bride had disappeared.

For some months Jefferson Hope lingered among the mountains,
leading a strange wild life, and nursing in his heart the
fierce desire for vengeance which possessed him. Tales were
told in the City of the weird figure which was seen prowling
about the suburbs, and which haunted the lonely mountain
gorges. Once a bullet whistled through Stangerson's window
and flattened itself upon the wall within a foot of him. On
another occasion, as Drebber passed under a cliff a great
boulder crashed down on him, and he only escaped a terrible
death by throwing himself upon his face. The two young
Mormons were not long in discovering the reason of these
attempts upon their lives, and led repeated expeditions into
the mountains in the hope of capturing or killing their
enemy, but always without success. Then they adopted the
precaution of never going out alone or after nightfall, and
of having their houses guarded. After a time they were able
to relax these measures, for nothing was either heard or seen
of their opponent, and they hoped that time had cooled his
vindictiveness.

Far from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented it.
The hunter's mind was of a hard, unyielding nature, and the
predominant idea of revenge had taken such complete
possession of it that there was no room for any other
emotion. He was, however, above all things practical. He
soon realized that even his iron constitution could not stand
the incessant strain which he was putting upon it. Exposure
and want of wholesome food were wearing him out. If he died
like a dog among the mountains, what was to become of his
revenge then? And yet such a death was sure to overtake him
if he persisted. He felt that that was to play his enemy's
game, so he reluctantly returned to the old Nevada mines,
there to recruit his health and to amass money enough to
allow him to pursue his object without privation.

His intention had been to be absent a year at the most, but a
combination of unforeseen circumstances prevented his leaving
the mines for nearly five. At the end of that time, however,
his memory of his wrongs and his craving for revenge were
quite as keen as on that memorable night when he had stood by
John Ferrier's grave. Disguised, and under an assumed name,
he returned to Salt Lake City, careless what became of his
own life, as long as he obtained what he knew to be justice.
There he found evil tidings awaiting him. There had been a
schism among the Chosen People a few months before, some of
the younger members of the Church having rebelled against the
authority of the Elders, and the result had been the
secession of a certain number of the malcontents, who had
left Utah and become Gentiles. Among these had been Drebber
and Stangerson; and no one knew whither they had gone.
Rumour reported that Drebber had managed to convert a large
part of his property into money, and that he had departed a
wealthy man, while his companion, Stangerson, was
comparatively poor. There was no clue at all, however,
as to their whereabouts.

Many a man, however vindictive, would have abandoned all
thought of revenge in the face of such a difficulty, but
Jefferson Hope never faltered for a moment. With the small
competence he possessed, eked out by such employment as he
could pick up, he travelled from town to town through the
United States in quest of his enemies. Year passed into
year, his black hair turned grizzled, but still he wandered
on, a human bloodhound, with his mind wholly set upon the one
object upon which he had devoted his life. At last his
perseverance was rewarded. It was but a glance of a face in
a window, but that one glance told him that Cleveland in Ohio
possessed the men whom he was in pursuit of. He returned to
his miserable lodgings with his plan of vengeance all
arranged. It chanced, however, that Drebber, looking from
his window, had recognized the vagrant in the street, and had
read murder in his eyes. He hurried before a justice of the
peace, accompanied by Stangerson, who had become his private
secretary, and represented to him that they were in danger of
their lives from the jealousy and hatred of an old rival.
That evening Jefferson Hope was taken into custody, and not
being able to find sureties, was detained for some weeks.
When at last he was liberated, it was only to find that
Drebber's house was deserted, and that he and his secretary
had departed for Europe.

Again the avenger had been foiled, and again his concentrated
hatred urged him to continue the pursuit. Funds were
wanting, however, and for some time he had to return to work,
saving every dollar for his approaching journey. At last,
having collected enough to keep life in him, he departed for
Europe, and tracked his enemies from city to city, working
his way in any menial capacity, but never overtaking the
fugitives. When he reached St. Petersburg they had departed
for Paris; and when he followed them there he learned that
they had just set off for Copenhagen. At the Danish capital
he was again a few days late, for they had journeyed on to
London, where he at last succeeded in running them to earth.
As to what occurred there, we cannot do better than quote the
old hunter's own account, as duly recorded in Dr. Watson's
Journal, to which we are already under such obligations.

CHAPTER VI.

A CONTINUATION OF THE REMINISCENCES OF JOHN WATSON, M.D.

OUR prisoner's furious resistance did not apparently indicate
any ferocity in his disposition towards ourselves, for on
finding himself powerless, he smiled in an affable manner,
and expressed his hopes that he had not hurt any of us in the
scuffle. "I guess you're going to take me to the police-station,"
he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. "My cab's at the door.
If you'll loose my legs I'll walk down to it. I'm not so light
to lift as I used to be."

Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if they thought
this proposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once took
the prisoner at his word, and loosened the towel which we had
bound round his ancles. {23} He rose and stretched his legs,
as though to assure himself that they were free once more.
I remember that I thought to myself, as I eyed him, that I had
seldom seen a more powerfully built man; and his dark
sunburned face bore an expression of determination and energy
which was as formidable as his personal strength.

"If there's a vacant place for a chief of the police,
I reckon you are the man for it," he said, gazing with
undisguised admiration at my fellow-lodger. "The way you
kept on my trail was a caution."

"You had better come with me," said Holmes to the two detectives.

"I can drive you," said Lestrade.

"Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. You too, Doctor,
you have taken an interest in the case and may as well stick
to us."

I assented gladly, and we all descended together. Our
prisoner made no attempt at escape, but stepped calmly into
the cab which had been his, and we followed him. Lestrade
mounted the box, whipped up the horse, and brought us in a
very short time to our destination. We were ushered into a
small chamber where a police Inspector noted down our
prisoner's name and the names of the men with whose murder he
had been charged. The official was a white-faced unemotional
man, who went through his duties in a dull mechanical way.
"The prisoner will be put before the magistrates in the
course of the week," he said; "in the mean time, Mr.
Jefferson Hope, have you anything that you wish to say?
I must warn you that your words will be taken down, and may
be used against you."

"I've got a good deal to say," our prisoner said slowly.
"I want to tell you gentlemen all about it."

"Hadn't you better reserve that for your trial?" asked the
Inspector.

"I may never be tried," he answered. "You needn't look
startled. It isn't suicide I am thinking of. Are you a
Doctor?" He turned his fierce dark eyes upon me as he asked
this last question.

"Yes; I am," I answered.

"Then put your hand here," he said, with a smile, motioning
with his manacled wrists towards his chest.

I did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinary
throbbing and commotion which was going on inside. The walls
of his chest seemed to thrill and quiver as a frail building
would do inside when some powerful engine was at work. In
the silence of the room I could hear a dull humming and
buzzing noise which proceeded from the same source.

"Why," I cried, "you have an aortic aneurism!"

"That's what they call it," he said, placidly. "I went to a
Doctor last week about it, and he told me that it is bound to
burst before many days passed. It has been getting worse for
years. I got it from over-exposure and under-feeding among
the Salt Lake Mountains. I've done my work now, and I don't
care how soon I go, but I should like to leave some account
of the business behind me. I don't want to be remembered as
a common cut-throat."

The Inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion
as to the advisability of allowing him to tell his story.

"Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immediate danger?"
the former asked, {24}

"Most certainly there is," I answered.

"In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests
of justice, to take his statement," said the Inspector.
"You are at liberty, sir, to give your account, which I again
warn you will be taken down."

"I'll sit down, with your leave," the prisoner said, suiting
the action to the word. "This aneurism of mine makes me
easily tired, and the tussle we had half an hour ago has not
mended matters. I'm on the brink of the grave, and I am not
likely to lie to you. Every word I say is the absolute truth,
and how you use it is a matter of no consequence to me."

With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back in his chair and
began the following remarkable statement. He spoke in a calm
and methodical manner, as though the events which he narrated
were commonplace enough. I can vouch for the accuracy of the
subjoined account, for I have had access to Lestrade's note-book,
in which the prisoner's words were taken down exactly as they
were uttered.

"It don't much matter to you why I hated these men," he said;
"it's enough that they were guilty of the death of two human
beings -- a father and a daughter -- and that they had,
therefore, forfeited their own lives. After the lapse of
time that has passed since their crime, it was impossible for
me to secure a conviction against them in any court. I knew
of their guilt though, and I determined that I should be
judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one. You'd have
done the same, if you have any manhood in you, if you had
been in my place.

"That girl that I spoke of was to have married me twenty
years ago. She was forced into marrying that same Drebber,
and broke her heart over it. I took the marriage ring from
her dead finger, and I vowed that his dying eyes should rest
upon that very ring, and that his last thoughts should be of
the crime for which he was punished. I have carried it about
with me, and have followed him and his accomplice over two
continents until I caught them. They thought to tire me out,
but they could not do it. If I die to-morrow, as is likely
enough, I die knowing that my work in this world is done,
and well done. They have perished, and by my hand.
There is nothing left for me to hope for, or to desire.

"They were rich and I was poor, so that it was no easy matter
for me to follow them. When I got to London my pocket was
about empty, and I found that I must turn my hand to
something for my living. Driving and riding are as natural
to me as walking, so I applied at a cabowner's office, and
soon got employment. I was to bring a certain sum a week to
the owner, and whatever was over that I might keep for
myself. There was seldom much over, but I managed to scrape
along somehow. The hardest job was to learn my way about,
for I reckon that of all the mazes that ever were contrived,
this city is the most confusing. I had a map beside me
though, and when once I had spotted the principal hotels and
stations, I got on pretty well.

"It was some time before I found out where my two gentlemen
were living; but I inquired and inquired until at last I
dropped across them. They were at a boarding-house at
Camberwell, over on the other side of the river. When once I
found them out I knew that I had them at my mercy. I had
grown my beard, and there was no chance of their recognizing
me. I would dog them and follow them until I saw my opportunity.
I was determined that they should not escape me again.

"They were very near doing it for all that. Go where they
would about London, I was always at their heels. Sometimes I
followed them on my cab, and sometimes on foot, but the
former was the best, for then they could not get away from
me. It was only early in the morning or late at night that I
could earn anything, so that I began to get behind hand with
my employer. I did not mind that, however, as long as I
could lay my hand upon the men I wanted.

"They were very cunning, though. They must have thought that
there was some chance of their being followed, for they would
never go out alone, and never after nightfall. During two
weeks I drove behind them every day, and never once saw them
separate. Drebber himself was drunk half the time, but
Stangerson was not to be caught napping. I watched them late
and early, but never saw the ghost of a chance; but I was not
discouraged, for something told me that the hour had almost
come. My only fear was that this thing in my chest might
burst a little too soon and leave my work undone.

"At last, one evening I was driving up and down Torquay
Terrace, as the street was called in which they boarded, when
I saw a cab drive up to their door. Presently some luggage
was brought out, and after a time Drebber and Stangerson
followed it, and drove off. I whipped up my horse and kept
within sight of them, feeling very ill at ease, for I feared
that they were going to shift their quarters. At Euston
Station they got out, and I left a boy to hold my horse, and
followed them on to the platform. I heard them ask for the
Liverpool train, and the guard answer that one had just gone
and there would not be another for some hours. Stangerson
seemed to be put out at that, but Drebber was rather pleased
than otherwise. I got so close to them in the bustle that I
could hear every word that passed between them. Drebber said
that he had a little business of his own to do, and that if
the other would wait for him he would soon rejoin him. His
companion remonstrated with him, and reminded him that they
had resolved to stick together. Drebber answered that the
matter was a delicate one, and that he must go alone.
I could not catch what Stangerson said to that, but the other
burst out swearing, and reminded him that he was nothing more
than his paid servant, and that he must not presume to
dictate to him. On that the Secretary gave it up as a bad
job, and simply bargained with him that if he missed the last
train he should rejoin him at Halliday's Private Hotel;
to which Drebber answered that he would be back on the platform
before eleven, and made his way out of the station.

"The moment for which I had waited so long had at last come.
I had my enemies within my power. Together they could
protect each other, but singly they were at my mercy. I did
not act, however, with undue precipitation. My plans were
already formed. There is no satisfaction in vengeance unless
the offender has time to realize who it is that strikes him,
and why retribution has come upon him. I had my plans
arranged by which I should have the opportunity of making the
man who had wronged me understand that his old sin had found
him out. It chanced that some days before a gentleman who
had been engaged in looking over some houses in the Brixton
Road had dropped the key of one of them in my carriage.
It was claimed that same evening, and returned; but in the
interval I had taken a moulding of it, and had a duplicate
constructed. By means of this I had access to at least one
spot in this great city where I could rely upon being free
from interruption. How to get Drebber to that house was the
difficult problem which I had now to solve.

"He walked down the road and went into one or two liquor
shops, staying for nearly half-an-hour in the last of them.
When he came out he staggered in his walk, and was evidently
pretty well on. There was a hansom just in front of me,
and he hailed it. I followed it so close that the nose of my
horse was within a yard of his driver the whole way.
We rattled across Waterloo Bridge and through miles of streets,
until, to my astonishment, we found ourselves back in the
Terrace in which he had boarded. I could not imagine what
his intention was in returning there; but I went on and
pulled up my cab a hundred yards or so from the house.
He entered it, and his hansom drove away. Give me a glass
of water, if you please. My mouth gets dry with the talking."

I handed him the glass, and he drank it down.

"That's better," he said. "Well, I waited for a quarter of
an hour, or more, when suddenly there came a noise like
people struggling inside the house. Next moment the door was
flung open and two men appeared, one of whom was Drebber, and
the other was a young chap whom I had never seen before.
This fellow had Drebber by the collar, and when they came to
the head of the steps he gave him a shove and a kick which
sent him half across the road. `You hound,' he cried,
shaking his stick at him; `I'll teach you to insult an honest
girl!' He was so hot that I think he would have thrashed
Drebber with his cudgel, only that the cur staggered away
down the road as fast as his legs would carry him. He ran as
far as the corner, and then, seeing my cab, he hailed me and
jumped in. `Drive me to Halliday's Private Hotel,' said he.

"When I had him fairly inside my cab, my heart jumped so with
joy that I feared lest at this last moment my aneurism might
go wrong. I drove along slowly, weighing in my own mind what
it was best to do. I might take him right out into the
country, and there in some deserted lane have my last
interview with him. I had almost decided upon this, when he
solved the problem for me. The craze for drink had seized
him again, and he ordered me to pull up outside a gin palace.
He went in, leaving word that I should wait for him. There
he remained until closing time, and when he came out he was
so far gone that I knew the game was in my own hands.

"Don't imagine that I intended to kill him in cold blood.
It would only have been rigid justice if I had done so,
but I could not bring myself to do it. I had long determined
that he should have a show for his life if he chose to take
advantage of it. Among the many billets which I have filled
in America during my wandering life, I was once janitor and
sweeper out of the laboratory at York College. One day the
professor was lecturing on poisions, {25} and he showed his
students some alkaloid, as he called it, which he had
extracted from some South American arrow poison, and which
was so powerful that the least grain meant instant death.
I spotted the bottle in which this preparation was kept, and
when they were all gone, I helped myself to a little of it.
I was a fairly good dispenser, so I worked this alkaloid into
small, soluble pills, and each pill I put in a box with a
similar pill made without the poison. I determined at the
time that when I had my chance, my gentlemen should each have
a draw out of one of these boxes, while I ate the pill that
remained. It would be quite as deadly, and a good deal less
noisy than firing across a handkerchief. From that day I had
always my pill boxes about with me, and the time had now come
when I was to use them.

"It was nearer one than twelve, and a wild, bleak night,
blowing hard and raining in torrents. Dismal as it was
outside, I was glad within -- so glad that I could have
shouted out from pure exultation. If any of you gentlemen
have ever pined for a thing, and longed for it during twenty
long years, and then suddenly found it within your reach, you
would understand my feelings. I lit a cigar, and puffed at
it to steady my nerves, but my hands were trembling, and my
temples throbbing with excitement. As I drove, I could see
old John Ferrier and sweet Lucy looking at me out of the
darkness and smiling at me, just as plain as I see you all in
this room. All the way they were ahead of me, one on each
side of the horse until I pulled up at the house in the
Brixton Road.

"There was not a soul to be seen, nor a sound to be heard,
except the dripping of the rain. When I looked in at the window,
I found Drebber all huddled together in a drunken sleep.
I shook him by the arm, `It's time to get out,' I said.

"`All right, cabby,' said he.

"I suppose he thought we had come to the hotel that he had
mentioned, for he got out without another word, and followed
me down the garden. I had to walk beside him to keep him
steady, for he was still a little top-heavy. When we came
to the door, I opened it, and led him into the front room.
I give you my word that all the way, the father and the
daughter were walking in front of us.

"`It's infernally dark,' said he, stamping about.

"`We'll soon have a light,' I said, striking a match and
putting it to a wax candle which I had brought with me.
`Now, Enoch Drebber,' I continued, turning to him, and
holding the light to my own face, `who am I?'

"He gazed at me with bleared, drunken eyes for a moment, and
then I saw a horror spring up in them, and convulse his whole
features, which showed me that he knew me. He staggered back
with a livid face, and I saw the perspiration break out upon
his brow, while his teeth chattered in his head. At the
sight, I leaned my back against the door and laughed loud and
long. I had always known that vengeance would be sweet, but
I had never hoped for the contentment of soul which now
possessed me.

"`You dog!' I said; `I have hunted you from Salt Lake City to
St. Petersburg, and you have always escaped me. Now, at last
your wanderings have come to an end, for either you or I
shall never see to-morrow's sun rise.' He shrunk still
further away as I spoke, and I could see on his face that he
thought I was mad. So I was for the time. The pulses in my
temples beat like sledge-hammers, and I believe I would have
had a fit of some sort if the blood had not gushed from my
nose and relieved me.

"`What do you think of Lucy Ferrier now?' I cried, locking
the door, and shaking the key in his face. `Punishment has
been slow in coming, but it has overtaken you at last.'
I saw his coward lips tremble as I spoke. He would have begged
for his life, but he knew well that it was useless.

"`Would you murder me?' he stammered.

"`There is no murder,' I answered. `Who talks of murdering
a mad dog? What mercy had you upon my poor darling, when you
dragged her from her slaughtered father, and bore her away to
your accursed and shameless harem.'

"`It was not I who killed her father,' he cried.

"`But it was you who broke her innocent heart,' I shrieked,
thrusting the box before him. `Let the high God judge
between us. Choose and eat. There is death in one and life
in the other. I shall take what you leave. Let us see if
there is justice upon the earth, or if we are ruled by chance.'

"He cowered away with wild cries and prayers for mercy, but I
drew my knife and held it to his throat until he had obeyed
me. Then I swallowed the other, and we stood facing one
another in silence for a minute or more, waiting to see which
was to live and which was to die. Shall I ever forget the
look which came over his face when the first warning pangs
told him that the poison was in his system? I laughed as I
saw it, and held Lucy's marriage ring in front of his eyes.
It was but for a moment, for the action of the alkaloid is
rapid. A spasm of pain contorted his features; he threw his
hands out in front of him, staggered, and then, with a hoarse
cry, fell heavily upon the floor. I turned him over with my
foot, and placed my hand upon his heart. There was no
movement. He was dead!

"The blood had been streaming from my nose, but I had taken
no notice of it. I don't know what it was that put it into
my head to write upon the wall with it. Perhaps it was some
mischievous idea of setting the police upon a wrong track,
for I felt light-hearted and cheerful. I remembered a German
being found in New York with RACHE written up above him, and
it was argued at the time in the newspapers that the secret
societies must have done it. I guessed that what puzzled the
New Yorkers would puzzle the Londoners, so I dipped my finger
in my own blood and printed it on a convenient place on the
wall. Then I walked down to my cab and found that there was
nobody about, and that the night was still very wild. I had
driven some distance when I put my hand into the pocket in
which I usually kept Lucy's ring, and found that it was not
there. I was thunderstruck at this, for it was the only
memento that I had of her. Thinking that I might have
dropped it when I stooped over Drebber's body, I drove back,
and leaving my cab in a side street, I went boldly up to the
house -- for I was ready to dare anything rather than lose
the ring. When I arrived there, I walked right into the arms
of a police-officer who was coming out, and only managed to
disarm his suspicions by pretending to be hopelessly drunk.

"That was how Enoch Drebber came to his end. All I had to do
then was to do as much for Stangerson, and so pay off John
Ferrier's debt. I knew that he was staying at Halliday's
Private Hotel, and I hung about all day, but he never came
out. {26} fancy that he suspected something when Drebber
failed to put in an appearance. He was cunning, was
Stangerson, and always on his guard. If he thought he could
keep me off by staying indoors he was very much mistaken.
I soon found out which was the window of his bedroom, and early
next morning I took advantage of some ladders which were
lying in the lane behind the hotel, and so made my way into
his room in the grey of the dawn. I woke him up and told him
that the hour had come when he was to answer for the life he
had taken so long before. I described Drebber's death to
him, and I gave him the same choice of the poisoned pills.
Instead of grasping at the chance of safety which that
offered him, he sprang from his bed and flew at my throat.
In self-defence I stabbed him to the heart. It would have
been the same in any case, for Providence would never have
allowed his guilty hand to pick out anything but the poison.

"I have little more to say, and it's as well, for I am about
done up. I went on cabbing it for a day or so, intending to
keep at it until I could save enough to take me back to
America. I was standing in the yard when a ragged youngster
asked if there was a cabby there called Jefferson Hope, and
said that his cab was wanted by a gentleman at 221B, Baker
Street. I went round, suspecting no harm, and the next thing
I knew, this young man here had the bracelets on my wrists,
and as neatly snackled {27} as ever I saw in my life. That's
the whole of my story, gentlemen. You may consider me to be
a murderer; but I hold that I am just as much an officer of
justice as you are."

So thrilling had the man's narrative been, and his manner was
so impressive that we had sat silent and absorbed. Even the
professional detectives, _blase_ {28} as they were in every detail
of crime, appeared to be keenly interested in the man's story.
When he finished we sat for some minutes in a stillness which
was only broken by the scratching of Lestrade's pencil as he
gave the finishing touches to his shorthand account.

"There is only one point on which I should like a little more
information," Sherlock Holmes said at last. "Who was your
accomplice who came for the ring which I advertised?"

The prisoner winked at my friend jocosely. "I can tell my own
secrets," he said, "but I don't get other people into trouble.
I saw your advertisement, and I thought it might be a plant,
or it might be the ring which I wanted. My friend volunteered
to go and see. I think you'll own he did it smartly."

"Not a doubt of that," said Holmes heartily.

"Now, gentlemen," the Inspector remarked gravely, "the forms
of the law must be complied with. On Thursday the prisoner
will be brought before the magistrates, and your attendance
will be required. Until then I will be responsible for him."
He rang the bell as he spoke, and Jefferson Hope was led off
by a couple of warders, while my friend and I made our way
out of the Station and took a cab back to Baker Street.

CHAPTER VII.

THE CONCLUSION.

WE had all been warned to appear before the magistrates
upon the Thursday; but when the Thursday came there was no
occasion for our testimony. A higher Judge had taken the
matter in hand, and Jefferson Hope had been summoned before
a tribunal where strict justice would be meted out to him.
On the very night after his capture the aneurism burst,
and he was found in the morning stretched upon the floor
of the cell, with a placid smile upon his face, as though
he had been able in his dying moments to look back upon
a useful life, and on work well done.

"Gregson and Lestrade will be wild about his death,"
Holmes remarked, as we chatted it over next evening.
"Where will their grand advertisement be now?"

"I don't see that they had very much to do with his capture,"
I answered.

"What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence,"
returned my companion, bitterly. "The question is, what can
you make people believe that you have done. Never mind,"
he continued, more brightly, after a pause. "I would not have
missed the investigation for anything. There has been no
better case within my recollection. Simple as it was, there
were several most instructive points about it."

"Simple!" I ejaculated.

"Well, really, it can hardly be described as otherwise," said
Sherlock Holmes, smiling at my surprise. "The proof of its
intrinsic simplicity is, that without any help save a few
very ordinary deductions I was able to lay my hand upon the
criminal within three days."

"That is true," said I.

"I have already explained to you that what is out of the
common is usually a guide rather than a hindrance.
In solving a problem of this sort, the grand thing is to be able
to reason backwards. That is a very useful accomplishment,
and a very easy one, but people do not practise it much.
In the every-day affairs of life it is more useful to
reason forwards, and so the other comes to be neglected.
There are fifty who can reason synthetically for one who can
reason analytically."

"I confess," said I, "that I do not quite follow you."

"I hardly expected that you would. Let me see if I can make
it clearer. Most people, if you describe a train of events
to them, will tell you what the result would be. They can
put those events together in their minds, and argue from them
that something will come to pass. There are few people,
however, who, if you told them a result, would be able to
evolve from their own inner consciousness what the steps were
which led up to that result. This power is what I mean when
I talk of reasoning backwards, or analytically."

"I understand," said I.

"Now this was a case in which you were given the result and
had to find everything else for yourself. Now let me
endeavour to show you the different steps in my reasoning.
To begin at the beginning. I approached the house, as you
know, on foot, and with my mind entirely free from all
impressions. I naturally began by examining the roadway, and
there, as I have already explained to you, I saw clearly the
marks of a cab, which, I ascertained by inquiry, must have
been there during the night. I satisfied myself that it was
a cab and not a private carriage by the narrow gauge of the
wheels. The ordinary London growler is considerably less
wide than a gentleman's brougham.

"This was the first point gained. I then walked slowly down
the garden path, which happened to be composed of a clay
soil, peculiarly suitable for taking impressions. No doubt
it appeared to you to be a mere trampled line of slush, but
to my trained eyes every mark upon its surface had a meaning.
There is no branch of detective science which is so important
and so much neglected as the art of tracing footsteps.
Happily, I have always laid great stress upon it, and much
practice has made it second nature to me. I saw the heavy
footmarks of the constables, but I saw also the track of the
two men who had first passed through the garden. It was easy
to tell that they had been before the others, because in
places their marks had been entirely obliterated by the
others coming upon the top of them. In this way my second
link was formed, which told me that the nocturnal visitors
were two in number, one remarkable for his height (as I
calculated from the length of his stride), and the other
fashionably dressed, to judge from the small and elegant
impression left by his boots.

"On entering the house this last inference was confirmed.
My well-booted man lay before me. The tall one, then, had done
the murder, if murder there was. There was no wound upon the
dead man's person, but the agitated expression upon his face
assured me that he had foreseen his fate before it came upon
him. Men who die from heart disease, or any sudden natural
cause, never by any chance exhibit agitation upon their
features. Having sniffed the dead man's lips I detected a
slightly sour smell, and I came to the conclusion that he had
had poison forced upon him. Again, I argued that it had been
forced upon him from the hatred and fear expressed upon his
face. By the method of exclusion, I had arrived at this
result, for no other hypothesis would meet the facts. Do not
imagine that it was a very unheard of idea. The forcible
administration of poison is by no means a new thing in
criminal annals. The cases of Dolsky in Odessa, and of
Leturier in Montpellier, will occur at once to any toxicologist.

"And now came the great question as to the reason why.
Robbery had not been the object of the murder, for nothing
was taken. Was it politics, then, or was it a woman? That
was the question which confronted me. I was inclined from
the first to the latter supposition. Political assassins are
only too glad to do their work and to fly. This murder had,
on the contrary, been done most deliberately, and the
perpetrator had left his tracks all over the room, showing
that he had been there all the time. It must have been a
private wrong, and not a political one, which called for such
a methodical revenge. When the inscription was discovered
upon the wall I was more inclined than ever to my opinion.
The thing was too evidently a blind. When the ring was
found, however, it settled the question. Clearly the
murderer had used it to remind his victim of some dead or
absent woman. It was at this point that I asked Gregson
whether he had enquired in his telegram to Cleveland as
to any particular point in Mr. Drebber's former career.
He answered, you remember, in the negative.

"I then proceeded to make a careful examination of the room,
which confirmed me in my opinion as to the murderer's height,
and furnished me with the additional details as to the
Trichinopoly cigar and the length of his nails. I had
already come to the conclusion, since there were no signs of
a struggle, that the blood which covered the floor had burst
from the murderer's nose in his excitement. I could perceive
that the track of blood coincided with the track of his feet.
It is seldom that any man, unless he is very full-blooded,
breaks out in this way through emotion, so I hazarded the opinion
that the criminal was probably a robust and ruddy-faced man.
Events proved that I had judged correctly.

"Having left the house, I proceeded to do what Gregson had
neglected. I telegraphed to the head of the police at Cleveland,
limiting my enquiry to the circumstances connected with the
marriage of Enoch Drebber. The answer was conclusive.
It told me that Drebber had already applied for the protection
of the law against an old rival in love, named Jefferson Hope,
and that this same Hope was at present in Europe.
I knew now that I held the clue to the mystery in my hand,
and all that remained was to secure the murderer.

"I had already determined in my own mind that the man who had
walked into the house with Drebber, was none other than the
man who had driven the cab. The marks in the road showed me
that the horse had wandered on in a way which would have been
impossible had there been anyone in charge of it. Where,
then, could the driver be, unless he were inside the house?
Again, it is absurd to suppose that any sane man would carry
out a deliberate crime under the very eyes, as it were, of a
third person, who was sure to betray him. Lastly, supposing
one man wished to dog another through London, what better
means could he adopt than to turn cabdriver. All these
considerations led me to the irresistible conclusion that
Jefferson Hope was to be found among the jarveys of the
Metropolis.

"If he had been one there was no reason to believe that he
had ceased to be. On the contrary, from his point of view,
any sudden chance would be likely to draw attention to
himself. He would, probably, for a time at least, continue
to perform his duties. There was no reason to suppose that
he was going under an assumed name. Why should he change his
name in a country where no one knew his original one? I
therefore organized my Street Arab detective corps, and sent
them systematically to every cab proprietor in London until
they ferreted out the man that I wanted. How well they
succeeded, and how quickly I took advantage of it, are still
fresh in your recollection. The murder of Stangerson was an
incident which was entirely unexpected, but which could
hardly in any case have been prevented. Through it, as you
know, I came into possession of the pills, the existence of
which I had already surmised. You see the whole thing is a
chain of logical sequences without a break or flaw."

"It is wonderful!" I cried. "Your merits should be publicly
recognized. You should publish an account of the case.
If you won't, I will for you."

"You may do what you like, Doctor," he answered. "See here!"
he continued, handing a paper over to me, "look at this!"

It was the _Echo_ for the day, and the paragraph to which he
pointed was devoted to the case in question.

"The public," it said, "have lost a sensational treat through
the sudden death of the man Hope, who was suspected of the
murder of Mr. Enoch Drebber and of Mr. Joseph Stangerson.
The details of the case will probably be never known now,
though we are informed upon good authority that the crime was
the result of an old standing and romantic feud, in which
love and Mormonism bore a part. It seems that both the
victims belonged, in their younger days, to the Latter Day
Saints, and Hope, the deceased prisoner, hails also from Salt
Lake City. If the case has had no other effect, it, at
least, brings out in the most striking manner the efficiency
of our detective police force, and will serve as a lesson to
all foreigners that they will do wisely to settle their feuds
at home, and not to carry them on to British soil. It is an
open secret that the credit of this smart capture belongs
entirely to the well-known Scotland Yard officials, Messrs.
Lestrade and Gregson. The man was apprehended, it appears,
in the rooms of a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who has
himself, as an amateur, shown some talent in the detective
line, and who, with such instructors, may hope in time to
attain to some degree of their skill. It is expected that
a testimonial of some sort will be presented to the two
officers as a fitting recognition of their services."

"Didn't I tell you so when we started?" cried Sherlock Holmes
with a laugh. "That's the result of all our Study in Scarlet:
to get them a testimonial!"

"Never mind," I answered, "I have all the facts in my journal,
and the public shall know them. In the meantime you must make
yourself contented by the consciousness of success,
like the Roman miser --

"`Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo
Ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplor in arca.'"

-------------
* Heber C. Kemball, in one of his sermons, alludes
to his hundred wives under this endearing epithet.

----------------------- End of Text ---------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------Textual notes------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
{1} {Frontispiece, with the caption: "He examined with his glass
the word upon the wall, going over every letter of it with
the most minute exactness." (_Page_ 23.)}
{2} {"JOHN H. WATSON, M.D.": the initial letters in the name are
capitalized, the other letters in small caps. All chapter
titles are in small caps. The initial words of chapters are
in small caps with first letter capitalized.}
{3} {"lodgings.": the period should be a comma, as in later editions.}
{4} {"hoemoglobin": should be haemoglobin. The o&e are concatenated.}
{5} {"221B": the B is in small caps}
{6} {"THE LAURISTON GARDEN MYSTERY": the table-of-contents lists
this chapter as "...GARDENS MYSTERY" -- plural, and probably
more correct.}
{7} {"brought."": the text has an extra double-quote mark}
{8} {"individual --": illustration this page, with the caption:
"As he spoke, his nimble fingers were flying here, there,
and everywhere."}
{9} {"manoeuvres": the o&e are concatenated.}
{10} {"Patent leathers": the hyphen is missing.}
{11} {"condonment": should be condonement.}
{12} {"Boheme": the first "e" has a backward accent (\) above it.}
{13} {"wages.": ending quote is missing.}
{14} {"the first.": ending quote is missing.}
{15} {"make much of...": Other editions complete this sentence with
an "it." But there is a gap in the text at this point, and,
given the context, it may have actually been an interjection,
a dash. The gap is just the right size for the characters
"it." and the start of a new sentence, or for a "----"}
{16} {"tho cushion": "tho" should be "the"}
{17} {"_outre_": the e has a forward accent (/) above it.}
{18} {"canons": the first n has a tilde above it, as do all other
occurrences of this word.}
{19} {"shoving": later editions have "showing". The original is
clearly superior.}
{20} {"stared about...": illustration, with the caption: "One of them
seized the little girl, and hoisted her upon his shoulder."}
{21} {"upon the": illustration, with the caption: "As he watched
it he saw it writhe along the ground."}
{22} {"FORMERLY...": F,S,L,C in caps, other letters in this line
in small caps.}
{23} {"ancles": ankles.}
{24} {"asked,": should be "asked."}
{25} {"poisions": should be "poisons"}
{26} {"...fancy": should be "I fancy". There is a gap in the text.}
{27} {"snackled": "shackled" in later texts.}
{28} {"_blase_": the e has a forward accent (/) above it.}
------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------ End Textual Notes ---------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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