A. Conan Doyle

A Case Of Identity
A Scandal In Bohemia
His Wedded Wife

The Lock And Key Library

A Case Of Identity
A Conjurer's Confessions
A Flight Into Texas
A Formidable Weapon
A Mystery With A Moral
A Scandal In Bohemia
A Wish Unexpectedly Gratified
Addressed To The Advocate Who Defended Him At His Trial
Adventure Of The Black Fisherman
Adventures In The Secret Service Of The Post-office Department
An Aspirant For Congress
An Erring Shepherd
An Heiress From Redhorse
An Old Game Revived
By The Waters Of Paradise
Deception Explained By The Science Of Psychology
Facing The Arab's Pistol
Fact And Fable In Psychology
Fraudulent Spiritualism Unveiled[1]
His Wedded Wife
Horror: A True Tale
How Spirits Materialize
How The Tricks Succeeded
In The House Of Suddhoo
Introduction To A Mystery With A Moral
Introduction To Melmoth The Wanderer
Introduction To The Corpus Delicti
Matter Through Matter
Melmoth The Wanderer
Mind Reading In Public
My Own True Ghost Story
My Wife's Tempter
No 1 Branch Line: The Signal-man
On Being Found Out
Saint-germain The Deathless
Second Sight
Some Famous Exposures
The Avenger
The Baron's Quarry
The Closed Cabinet
The Corpus Delicti
The Dream Woman
The Fortune Of Seth Savage
The Fowl In The Pot
The Gold-bug
The Golden Ingot
The Great Valdez Sapphire
The Haunted And The Haunters Or The House And The Brain
The Hostler's Story Told By Himself
The Incantation
The Lost Duchess
The Magician Who Became An Ambassador
The Man And The Snake
The Man In The Iron Mask
The Methods Of A Doctor Of The Occult
The Minister's Black Veil
The Minor Canon
The Mortals In The House
The Name Of The Dead
The Notch On The Ax - A Story A La Mode
The Oblong Box
The Pavilion On The Links
The Pipe
The Puzzle
The Red-headed League
The Sending Of Dana Da
The Shadows On The Wall
The Story Continued By Percy Fairbank
Wieland's Madness
Wolfert Webber Or Golden Dreams

A Case Of Identity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had risen from his chair, and was standing between the parted blinds,
gazing down into the dull, neutral-tinted London street. Looking over his
shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite there stood a large woman
with a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large curling red feather in a
broad-brimmed hat which was tilted in a coquettish Duchess-of-Devonshire
fashion over her ear.

From under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous, hesitating
fashion at our windows, while her body oscillated backward and forward,
and her fingers fidgeted with her glove buttons. Suddenly, with a plunge,
as of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurried across the road, and we
heard the sharp clang of the bell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your father?" said Holmes. "Your stepfather, surely, since the name is

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

"And your mother is alive?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I see. Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, a gentleman
called Mr. Hosmer Angel?"

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


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

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

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

"Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?"

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

"What office?"

"That's the worst of it, Mr. Holmes; I don't know."

"Where did he live, then?"

"He slept on the premises."

"And you don't know his address?"

"No--except that it was Leadenhall Street."

"Where did you address your letters, then?"

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

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

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

"Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfather, returned to

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

"It missed him, then?"

"Yes, sir, for he had started to England just before it arrived."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

"And your father? Did you tell him?"

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

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

"Then you don't think I'll see him again?"

"I fear not."

"Then what has happened to him?"

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

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

"Thank you. And your address?"

"No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell."

"Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is your father's
place of business?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.

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

"It surprised me."

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

"And what else?" I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, by my
friend's incisive reasoning.

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

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

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

"They are typewritten," I remarked.

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

"Of what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta."

"No, no; the mystery!" I cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face, and a glitter of
moisture on his brow. "It--it's not actionable," he stammered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And how did you verify them?"

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

"And Miss Sutherland?"

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

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