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The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
VIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECKLED BAND
On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have
during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock
Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange,
but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of
his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate
himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual,
and even the fantastic. Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot
recall any which presented more singular features than that which was
associated with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke
Moran. The events in question occurred in the early days of my
association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in
Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them upon record
before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time, from which I
have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death of
the lady to whom the pledge was given. It is perhaps as well that the
facts should now come to light, for I have reasons to know that there
are widespread rumours as to the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which
tend to make the matter even more terrible than the truth.
It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning to find
Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was
a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me
that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some
surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself
regular in my habits.
"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, "but it's the common
lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon
me, and I on you."
"What is it, then--a fire?"
"No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a
considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is
waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander about
the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up
out of their beds, I presume that it is something very pressing which
they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case,
you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at
any rate, that I should call you and give you the chance."
"My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything."
I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional
investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as
intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis with which he
unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw
on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend
down to the sitting-room. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled,
who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered.
"Good-morning, madam," said Holmes cheerily. "My name is Sherlock
Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson, before
whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am glad to see
that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light the fire. Pray draw
up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot coffee, for I observe
that you are shivering."
"It is not cold which makes me shiver," said the woman in a low voice,
changing her seat as requested.
"What, then?"
"It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror." She raised her veil as she
spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable state of
agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with restless frightened eyes,
like those of some hunted animal. Her features and figure were those
of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot with premature grey, and
her expression was weary and haggard. Sherlock Holmes ran her over
with one of his quick, all-comprehensive glances.
"You must not fear," said he soothingly, bending forward and patting
her forearm. "We shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You
have come in by train this morning, I see."
"You know me, then?"
"No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of
your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had a good
drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the
station."
The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my
companion.
"There is no mystery, my dear madam," said he, smiling. "The left arm
of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. The
marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a dog-cart which
throws up mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the left-hand
side of the driver."
"Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct," said she.
"I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at twenty past,
and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I can stand this
strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues. I have no one to
turn to--none, save only one, who cares for me, and he, poor fellow,
can be of little aid. I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes; I have heard of
you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you helped in the hour of her sore need.
It was from her that I had your address. Oh, sir, do you not think
that you could help me, too, and at least throw a little light through
the dense darkness which surrounds me? At present it is out of my
power to reward you for your services, but in a month or six weeks I
shall be married, with the control of my own income, and then at least
you shall not find me ungrateful."
Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small
case-book, which he consulted.
"Farintosh," said he. "Ah yes, I recall the case; it was concerned
with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time, Watson. I can
only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote the same care to your
case as I did to that of your friend. As to reward, my profession is
its own reward; but you are at liberty to defray whatever expenses I
may be put to, at the time which suits you best. And now I beg that
you will lay before us everything that may help us in forming an
opinion upon the matter."
"Alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror of my situation lies in
the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions depend so
entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to another, that
even he to whom of all others I have a right to look for help and
advice looks upon all that I tell him about it as the fancies of a
nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can read it from his soothing
answers and averted eyes. But I have heard, Mr. Holmes, that you can
see deeply into the manifold wickedness of the human heart. You may
advise me how to walk amid the dangers which encompass me."
"I am all attention, madam."
"My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who is
the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in England, the
Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border of Surrey."
Holmes nodded his head. "The name is familiar to me," said he.
"The family was at one time among the richest in England, and the
estates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north, and
Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, four successive
heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition, and the family
ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the days of the Regency.
Nothing was left save a few acres of ground, and the
two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under a heavy
mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence there, living the
horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his only son, my
stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new conditions,
obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled him to take a
medical degree and went out to Calcutta, where, by his professional
skill and his force of character, he established a large practice. In
a fit of anger, however, caused by some robberies which had been
perpetrated in the house, he beat his native butler to death and
narrowly escaped a capital sentence. As it was, he suffered a long
term of imprisonment and afterwards returned to England a morose and
disappointed man.
"When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner, the
young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery. My
sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years old at the
time of my mother's re-marriage. She had a considerable sum of
money--not less than 1000 pounds a year--and this she bequeathed to
Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with him, with a provision that
a certain annual sum should be allowed to each of us in the event of
our marriage. Shortly after our return to England my mother died--she
was killed eight years ago in a railway accident near Crewe. Dr.
Roylott then abandoned his attempts to establish himself in practice
in London and took us to live with him in the old ancestral house at
Stoke Moran. The money which my mother had left was enough for all our
wants, and there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.
"But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time.
Instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our neighbours,
who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of Stoke Moran back
in the old family seat, he shut himself up in his house and seldom
came out save to indulge in ferocious quarrels with whoever might
cross his path. Violence of temper approaching to mania has been
hereditary in the men of the family, and in my stepfather's case it
had, I believe, been intensified by his long residence in the tropics.
A series of disgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the
police-court, until at last he became the terror of the village, and
the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of immense
strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.
"Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a
stream, and it was only by paying over all the money which I could
gather together that I was able to avert another public exposure. He
had no friends at all save the wandering gipsies, and he would give
these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few acres of bramble-covered
land which represent the family estate, and would accept in return the
hospitality of their tents, wandering away with them sometimes for
weeks on end. He has a passion also for Indian animals, which are sent
over to him by a correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah
and a baboon, which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by
the villagers almost as much as their master.
"You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and I had
no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with us, and for
a long time we did all the work of the house. She was but thirty at
the time of her death, and yet her hair had already begun to whiten,
even as mine has."
"Your sister is dead, then?"
"She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish to
speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which I have
described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own age and
position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother's maiden sister, Miss
Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we were occasionally
allowed to pay short visits at this lady's house. Julia went there at
Christmas two years ago, and met there a half-pay major of marines, to
whom she became engaged. My stepfather learned of the engagement when
my sister returned and offered no objection to the marriage; but
within a fortnight of the day which had been fixed for the wedding,
the terrible event occurred which has deprived me of my only
companion."
Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes
closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids now
and glanced across at his visitor.
"Pray be precise as to details," said he.
"It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful time is
seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have already said,
very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The bedrooms in this
wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms being in the central
block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms the first is Dr. Roylott's,
the second my sister's, and the third my own. There is no
communication between them, but they all open out into the same
corridor. Do I make myself plain?"
"Perfectly so."
"The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That fatal
night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we knew that he
had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by the smell of
the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom to smoke. She left
her room, therefore, and came into mine, where she sat for some time,
chatting about her approaching wedding. At eleven o'clock she rose to
leave me, but she paused at the door and looked back.
"'Tell me, Helen,' said she, 'have you ever heard anyone whistle in
the dead of the night?'
"'Never,' said I.
"'I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in your
sleep?'
"'Certainly not. But why?'
"'Because during the last few nights I have always, about three in the
morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper, and it has
awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from--perhaps from the next
room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would just ask you
whether you had heard it.'
"'No, I have not. It must be those wretched gipsies in the
plantation.'
"'Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you did
not hear it also.'
"'Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.'
"'Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.' She smiled back
at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her key turn in
the lock."
"Indeed," said Holmes. "Was it your custom always to lock yourselves
in at night?"
"Always."
"And why?"
"I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah and a
baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors were locked."
"Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement."