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Egerton Castle

The Red-headed League

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
Bourgonef
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



The Red-headed League








I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of
last year, and found him in deep conversation with a very stout,
florid-faced elderly gentleman, with fiery red hair. With an apology for
my intrusion, I was about to withdraw, when Holmes pulled me abruptly into
the room and closed the door behind me.

"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson," he
said, cordially.

"I was afraid that you were engaged."

"So I am. Very much so."

"Then I can wait in the next room."

"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and helper in
many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that he will be of
the utmost use to me in yours also."

The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of greeting,
with a quick little questioning glance from his small, fat-encircled eyes.

"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair, and putting
his finger tips together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. "I
know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and
outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. You have
shown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to
chronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so
many of my own little adventures."

"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," I observed.

"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went into
the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that for
strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life itself,
which is always far more daring than any effort of the imagination."

"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting."

"You did, doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, for
otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you, until your reason
breaks down under them and acknowledge me to be right. Now, Mr. Jabez
Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this morning, and to
begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most singular which I
have listened to for some time. You have heard me remark that the
strangest and most unique things are very often connected not with the
larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there
is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been committed. As far as
I have heard, it is impossible for me to say whether the present case is
an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is certainly among
the most singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you
would have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask you, not
merely because my friend, Dr. Watson, has not heard the opening part, but
also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have
every possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some
slight indication of the course of events I am able to guide myself by the
thousands of other similar cases which occur to my memory. In the present
instance I am forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of my
belief, unique."

The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little
pride, and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of
his greatcoat. As he glanced down the advertisement column, with his head
thrust forward, and the paper flattened out upon his knee, I took a good
look at the man, and endeavored, after the fashion of my companion, to
read the indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.

I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore
every mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese,
pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy gray shepherd's check trousers, a
not overclean black frock coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab
waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of
metal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top hat and a faded brown
overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him.
Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man
save his blazing red head and the expression of extreme chagrin and
discontent upon his features.

Sherlock Holmes's quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his head
with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. "Beyond the obvious
facts that he has at some time done manual labor, that he takes snuff,
that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and that he has done a
considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else."

Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the
paper, but his eyes upon my companion.

"How, in the name of good fortune, did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?" he
asked. "How did you know, for example, that I did manual labor? It's as
true as gospel, for I began as a ship's carpenter."

"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than your
left. You have worked with it and the muscles are more developed."

"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?"

"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,
especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use an
arc and compass breastpin."

"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?"

"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five
inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where you
rest it upon the desk."

"Well, but China?"

"The fish which you have tattooed immediately above your wrist could only
have been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoo marks, and
have even contributed to the literature of the subject. That trick of
staining the fishes' scales of a delicate pink is quite peculiar to China.
When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch chain, the
matter becomes even more simple."

Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "I thought at
first that you had done something clever, but I see that there was nothing
in it after all."

"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistake in
explaining. 'Omne ignotom pro magnifico,' you know, and my poor little
reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid. Can
you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?"

"Yes, I have got it now," he answered, with his thick, red finger planted
halfway down the column. "Here it is. This is what began it all. You just
read it for yourself, sir."

I took the paper from him and read as follows:

"To the Red-headed League: On account of the bequest of the late
Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pa., U.S.A., there is now another
vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a salary of
four pounds a week for purely nominal services. All red-headed
men who are sound in body and mind and above the age of
twenty-one years are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at
eleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7
Pope's Court, Fleet Street."

"What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated, after I had twice read over
the extraordinary announcement.

Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in high
spirits. "It is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?" said he. "And
now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch, and tell us all about yourself,
your household, and the effect which this advertisement had upon your
fortunes. You will first make a note, doctor, of the paper and the date."

"It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27, 1890. Just two months ago."

"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson."

"Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said
Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead, "I have a small pawnbroker's business
at Saxe-Coburg Square, near the City. It's not a very large affair, and of
late years it has not done more than just give me a living. I used to be
able to keep two assistants, but now I only keep one; and I would have a
job to pay him but that he is willing to come for half wages, so as to
learn the business."

"What is the name of this obliging youth?" asked Sherlock Holmes.

"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not such a youth either. It's
hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. Holmes;
and I know very well that he could better himself, and earn twice what I
am able to give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should I put
ideas in his head?"

"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employee who comes
under the full market price. It is not a common experience among employers
in this age. I don't know that your assistant is not as remarkable as your
advertisement."

"Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr. Wilson. "Never was such a fellow
for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to be improving
his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit into its hole
to develop his pictures. That is his main fault; but, on the whole, he's a
good worker. There's no vice in him."

"He is still with you, I presume?"

"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking,
and keeps the place clean--that's all I have in the house, for I am a
widower, and never had any family. We live very quietly, sir, the three of
us; and we keep a roof over our heads, and pay our debts, if we do nothing
more.

"The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, he
came down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very paper
in his hand, and he says:

"'I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.'

"'Why that?' I asks.

"'Why,' says he, 'here's another vacancy on the League of the Red-headed
Men. It's worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets it, and I
understand that there are more vacancies than there are men, so that the
trustees are at their wits' end what to do with the money. If my hair
would only change color here's a nice little crib all ready for me to step
into.'

"'Why, what is it, then?' I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very
stay-at-home man, and, as my business came to me instead of my having to
go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting my foot over the door
mat. In that way I didn't know much of what was going on outside, and I
was always glad of a bit of news.

"'Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?' he asked,
with his eyes open.

"'Never.'

"'Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of the
vacancies.'

"'And what are they worth?' I asked.

"'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and it
need not interfere very much with one's other occupations.'

"Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for the
business has not been over good for some years, and an extra couple of
hundred would have been very handy.

"'Tell me all about it,' said I.

"'Well,' said he, showing me the advertisement, 'you can see for yourself
that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address where you should
apply for particulars. As far as I can make out, the League was founded by
an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was very peculiar in his
ways. He was himself red-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all
red-headed men; so, when he died, it was found that he had left his
enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions to apply the
interest to the providing of easy berths to men whose hair is of that
color. From all I hear it is splendid pay, and very little to do.'

"'But,' said I, 'there would be millions of red-headed men who would
apply.'

"'Not so many as you might think,' he answered. 'You see it is really
confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had started from
London when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town a good turn.
Then, again, I have heard it is of no use your applying if your hair is
light red, or dark red, or anything but real, bright, blazing, fiery red.
Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson, you would just walk in; but
perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put yourself out of the way
for the sake of a few hundred pounds.'

"Now it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my hair
is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that, if there
was to be any competition in the matter, I stood as good a chance as any
man that I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so much about it
that I thought he might prove useful, so I just ordered him to put up the
shutters for the day, and to come right away with me. He was very willing
to have a holiday, so we shut the business up, and started off for the
address that was given us in the advertisement.

"I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From north,
south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his hair had
tramped into the City to answer the advertisement. Fleet Street was choked
with red-headed folk, and Pope's Court looked like a coster's orange
barrow. I should not have thought there were so many in the whole country
as were brought together by that single advertisement. Every shade of
color they were--straw, lemon, orange, brick, Irish setter, liver, clay;
but, as Spaulding said, there were not many who had the real vivid
flame-colored tint. When I saw how many were waiting, I would have given
it up in despair; but Spaulding would not hear of it. How he did it I
could not imagine, but he pushed and pulled and butted until he got me
through the crowd, and right up to the steps which led to the office.
There was a double stream upon the stair, some going up in hope, and some
coming back dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could, and soon found
ourselves in the office."

"Your experience has been a most entertaining one," remarked Holmes, as
his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff.
"Pray continue your very interesting statement."

"There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a deal
table, behind which sat a small man, with a head that was even redder than
mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he came up, and then he
always managed to find some fault in them which would disqualify them.
Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy matter after all.
However, when our turn came, the little man was much more favorable to me
than to any of the others, and he closed the door as we entered, so that
he might have a private word with us.

"'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,' said my assistant, 'and he is willing to fill
a vacancy in the League.'

"'And he is admirably suited for it,' the other answered. 'He has every
requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so fine.' He took a
step backward, cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my hair until I
felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he plunged forward, wrung my hand, and
congratulated me warmly on my success.

"'It would be injustice to hesitate,' said he. 'You will, however, I am
sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.' With that he seized my
hair in both his hands, and tugged until I yelled with the pain. 'There is
water in your eyes,' said he, as he released me. 'I perceive that all is
as it should be. But we have to be careful, for we have twice been
deceived by wigs and once by paint. I could tell you tales of cobbler's
wax which would disgust you with human nature.' He stepped over to the
window and shouted through it at the top of his voice that the vacancy was
filled. A groan of disappointment came up from below, and the folk all
trooped away in different directions, until there was not a red head to be
seen except my own and that of the manager.

"'My name,' said he, 'is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of the
pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a married
man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?'

"I answered that I had not.

"His face fell immediately.

"'Dear me!' he said, gravely, 'that is very serious indeed! I am sorry to
hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the propagation and spread
of the red heads as well as for their maintenance. It is exceedingly
unfortunate that you should be a bachelor.'

"My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was not to
have the vacancy after all; but, after thinking it over for a few
minutes, he said that it would be all right.

"'In the case of another,' said he, 'the objection might be fatal, but we
must stretch a point in favor of a man with such a head of hair as yours.
When shall you be able to enter upon your new duties?'

"'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,' said I.

"'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!' said Vincent Spaulding. 'I shall
be able to look after that for you.'

"'What would be the hours?' I asked.

"'Ten to two.'

"Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an evening, Mr. Holmes,
especially Thursday and Friday evenings, which is just before pay day; so
it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings. Besides, I
knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would see to anything
that turned up.

"'That would suit me very well,' said I. 'And the pay?'

"'Is four pounds a week.'

"'And the work?'

"'Is purely nominal.'

"'What do you call purely nominal?'

"'Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the
whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. The
will is very clear upon that point. You don't comply with the conditions
if you budge from the office during that time.'

"'It's only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,' said I.

"'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan Ross, 'neither sickness, nor
business, nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your
billet.'

"'And the work?'

"'Is to copy out the "Encyclopaedia Britannica." There is the first volume
of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and blotting
paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be ready to-morrow?'

"'Certainly,' I answered.

"'Then, good-by, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you once more
on the important position which you have been fortunate enough to gain.'
He bowed me out of the room, and I went home with my assistant hardly
knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my own good fortune.

"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in low
spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair must
be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be I could not
imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that anyone could make such a
will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything so simple as
copying out the 'Encyclopaedia Britannica.' Vincent Spaulding did what he
could to cheer me up, but by bed time I had reasoned myself out of the
whole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a look at it
anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a quill pen and seven
sheets of foolscap paper I started off for Pope's Court.

"Well, to my surprise and delight everything was as right as possible. The
table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was there to see that
I got fairly to work. He started me off upon the letter A, and then he
left me; but he would drop in from time to time to see that all was right
with me. At two o'clock he bade me good-day, complimented me upon the
amount that I had written, and locked the door of the office after me.

"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager came
in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week's work. It was the
same next week, and the same the week after. Every morning I was there at
ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to
coming in only once of a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come
in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the room for an
instant, for I was not sure when he might come, and the billet was such a
good one, and suited me so well, that I would not risk the loss of it.

"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots, and
Archery, and Armor, and Architecture, and Attica, and hoped with diligence
that I might get on to the Bs before very long. It cost me something in
foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my writings. And
then suddenly the whole business came to an end."

"To an end?"

"Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as usual at
ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little square of
cardboard hammered onto the middle of the panel with a tack. Here it is,
and you can read for yourself."

He held up a piece of white cardboard, about the size of a sheet of note
paper. It read in this fashion:

"THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE IS DISSOLVED.
Oct. 9, 1890."

Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful face
behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely overtopped
every consideration that we both burst out into a roar of laughter.

"I cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried our client,
flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. "If you can do nothing
better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere."

"No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he had
half risen. "I really wouldn't miss your case for the world. It is most
refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my saying so,
something just a little funny about it. Pray what steps did you take when
you found the card upon the door?"

"I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at the
offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it. Finally,
I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the ground floor,
and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of the Red-headed
League. He said that he had never heard of any such body. Then I asked him
who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the name was new to him.

"'Well' said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.'

"'What, the red-headed man?'

"'Yes.'

"'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor, and was
using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises were
ready. He moved out yesterday.'

"'Where could I find him?'

"'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King Edward
Street, near St. Paul's.'

"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was a
manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard of
either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross."

"And what did you do then?" asked Holmes.

"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my assistant.
But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that if I waited I
should hear by post. But that was not quite good enough, Mr. Holmes. I did
not wish to lose such a place without a struggle, so, as I had heard that
you were good enough to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I
came right away to you."

"And you did very wisely," said Holmes. "Your case is an exceedingly
remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you have
told me I think that it is possible that graver issues hang from it than
might at first sight appear."

"Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. "Why, I have lost four pound a
week."

"As far as you are personally concerned," remarked Holmes, "I do not see
that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. On the
contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some thirty pounds, to say
nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject
which comes under the letter A. You have lost nothing by them."

"No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and what
their object was in playing this prank--if it was a prank--upon me. It was
a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two-and-thirty pounds."

"We shall endeavor to clear up these points for you. And, first, one or
two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first called your
attention to the advertisement--how long had he been with you?"

"About a month then."

"How did he come?"

"In answer to an advertisement."

"Was he the only applicant?"

"No, I had a dozen."

"Why did you pick him?"

"Because he was handy and would come cheap."

"At half wages, in fact."

"Yes."

"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?"

"Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face, though
he's not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his forehead."

Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. "I thought as

much," said he. "Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced for
earrings?"

"Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy had done it for him when he was a lad."

"Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. "He is still with you?"

"Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him."

"And has your business been attended to in your absence?"

"Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never very much to do of a morning."

"That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion upon
the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, and I hope
that by Monday we may come to a conclusion."

"Well, Watson," said Holmes, when our visitor had left us, "what do you
make of it all?"

"I make nothing of it," I answered frankly. "It is a most mysterious
business."

"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious
it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are
really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to
identify. But I must be prompt over this matter."

"What are you going to do, then?" I asked.

"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three-pipe problem, and I beg that
you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." He curled himself up in his
chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawklike nose, and there he sat
with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill
of some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion that he had dropped
asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his
chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind, and put his pipe
down upon the mantelpiece.

"Sarasate plays at St. James's Hall this afternoon," he remarked. "What do
you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few hours?"

"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing."

"Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City first, and we
can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a good deal of
German music on the programme, which is rather more to my taste than
Italian or French. It is introspective, and I want to introspect. Come
along!"

We traveled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short walk took
us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story which we had
listened to in the morning. It was a poky, little, shabby-genteel place,
where four lines of dingy, two-storied brick houses looked out into a
small railed-in inclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass, and a few clumps
of faded laurel bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and
uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with JABEZ
WILSON in white letters, upon a corner house, announced the place where
our red-headed client carried on his business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in
front of it with his head on one side, and looked it all over, with his
eyes shining brightly between puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the
street, and then down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the
houses. Finally he returned to the pawnbroker's and, having thumped
vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up
to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a bright-looking,
clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step in.

"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished to ask you how you would go from
here to the Strand."

"Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant, promptly, closing the
door.

"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away. "He is, in my
judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am not sure
that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something of him
before."

"Evidently," said I, "Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a good deal in
this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you inquired your
way merely in order that you might see him."

"Not him."

"What then?"

"The knees of his trousers."

"And what did you see?"

"What I expected to see."

"Why did you beat the pavement?"

"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are
spies in an enemy's country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square. Let
us now explore the parts which lie behind it."

The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner from
the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to it as the
front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the main arteries which
convey the traffic of the City to the north and west. The roadway was
blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowing in a double tide
inward and outward, while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm
of pedestrians. It was difficult to realize, as we looked at the line of
fine shops and stately business premises, that they really abutted on the
other side upon the faded and stagnant square which we had just quitted.

"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner, and glancing along the
line, "I should like just to remember the order of the houses here. It is
a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London. There is Mortimer's,
the tobacconist; the little newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City
and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's
carriage-building depot. That carries us right on to the other block. And
now, doctor, we've done our work, so it's time we had some play. A
sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where all is
sweetness, and delicacy, and harmony, and there are no red-headed clients
to vex us with their conundrums."

My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very
capable performer, but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the afternoon
he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving
his long thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling face
and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Holmes the
sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal
agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual
nature alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and
astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction against the
poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally predominated in him. The
swing of his nature took him from extreme languor to devouring energy;
and, as I knew well, he was never so truly formidable as when, for days on
end, he had been lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his
black-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase would
suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise
to the level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his
methods would look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that
of other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the music
at St. James's Hall, I felt that an evil time might be coming upon those
whom he had set himself to hunt down.

"You want to go home, no doubt, doctor," he remarked, as we emerged.

"Yes, it would be as well."

"And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This business
at Saxe-Coburg Square is serious."

"Why serious?"

"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to believe
that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being Saturday rather
complicates matters. I shall want your help to-night."

"At what time?"

"Ten will be early enough."

"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."

"Very well. And, I say, doctor! there may be some little danger, so kindly
put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved his hand, turned on his
heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.

I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbors, but I was always
oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with Sherlock
Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what he had seen,
and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly not only what
had happened, but what was about to happen, while to me the whole
business was still confused and grotesque. As I drove home to my house in
Kensington I thought over it all, from the extraordinary story of the
red-headed copier of the "Encyclopaedia" down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg
Square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me. What was
this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed? Where were we going,
and what were we to do? I had the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced
pawnbroker's assistant was a formidable man--a man who might play a deep
game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair, and set the
matter aside until night should bring an explanation.

It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my way across
the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two hansoms were
standing at the door, and, as I entered the passage, I heard the sound of
voices from above. On entering his room, I found Holmes in animated
conversation with two men, one of whom I recognized as Peter Jones, the
official police agent; while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man,
with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock coat.

"Ha! our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket, and
taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. "Watson, I think you know Mr.
Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is
to be our companion in to-night's adventure."

"We're hunting in couples again, doctor, you see," said Jones, in his
consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a
chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him do the running down."

"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase," observed
Mr. Merryweather gloomily.

"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," said the
police agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, which are, if he
won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and fantastic, but
he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not too much to say that
once or twice, as in that business of the Sholto murder and the Agra
treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the official force."

"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right!" said the stranger, with
deference. "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is the first
Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I have not had my rubber."

"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you will play for a
higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the play will
be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will be some thirty
thousand pounds; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you wish
to lay your hands."

"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's a young man,
Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and I would
rather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in London. He's a
remarkable man, is young John Clay. His grandfather was a Royal Duke, and
he himself has been to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning as his
fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know
where to find the man himself. He'll crack a crib in Scotland one week,
and be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next. I've been
on his track for years, and have never set eyes on him yet."

"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night. I've had
one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I agree with you that
he is at the head of his profession. It is past ten, however, and quite
time that we started. If you two will take the first hansom, Watson and I
will follow in the second."

Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive, and lay
back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the afternoon. We
rattled through an endless labyrinth of gaslit streets until we emerged
into Farringdon Street.

"We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow Merryweather
is a bank director and personally interested in the matter. I thought it
as well to have Jones with us also. He is not a bad fellow, though an
absolute imbecile in his profession. He has one positive virtue. He is as
brave as a bulldog, and as tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws
upon anyone. Here we are, and they are waiting for us."

We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had found
ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and following the
guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage, and through
a side door which he opened for us. Within there was a small corridor,
which ended in a very massive iron gate. This also was opened, and led
down a flight of winding stone steps, which terminated at another
formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then
conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening a
third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all round with
crates and massive boxes.

"You are not very vulnerable from above," Holmes remarked, as he held up
the lantern and gazed about him.

"Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon the flags
which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!" he
remarked, looking up in surprise.

"I must really ask you to be a little more quiet," said Holmes severely.
"You have already imperiled the whole success of our expedition. Might I
beg that you would have the goodness to sit down upon one of those boxes,
and not to interfere?"

The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a very
injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his knees upon
the floor, and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began to examine
minutely the cracks between the stones. A few seconds sufficed to satisfy
him, for he sprang to his feet again, and put his glass in his pocket.

"We have at least an hour before us," he remarked, "for they can hardly
take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed. Then they will
not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work the longer time they
will have for their escape. We are at present, doctor--as no doubt you
have divined--in the cellar of the City branch of one of the principal
London banks. Mr. Merryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will
explain to you that there are reasons why the more daring criminals of
London should take a considerable interest in this cellar at present."

"It is our French gold," whispered the director. "We have had several
warnings that an attempt might be made upon it."

"Your French gold?"

"Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources, and
borrowed, for that purpose, thirty thousand napoleons from the Bank of
France. It has become known that we have never had occasion to unpack the
money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The crate upon which I
sit contains two thousand napoleons packed between layers of lead foil.
Our reserve of bullion is much larger at present than is usually kept in a
single branch office, and the directors have had misgivings upon the
subject."

"Which were very well justified," observed Holmes.

"And now it is time that we arranged our little plans. I expect that
within an hour matters will come to a head. In the meantime, Mr.
Merryweather, we must put the screen over that dark lantern."

"And sit in the dark?"

"I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and I thought
that, as we were a partie carree, you might have your rubber after all.
But I see that the enemy's preparations have gone so far that we cannot
risk the presence of a light. And, first of all, we must choose our
positions. These are daring men, and, though we shall take them at a
disadvantage, they may do us some harm, unless we are careful. I shall
stand behind this crate, and do you conceal yourself behind those. Then,
when I flash a light upon them, close in swiftly. If they fire, Watson,
have no compunction about shooting them down."

I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behind which
I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front of his lantern, and
left us in pitch darkness--such an absolute darkness as I have never
before experienced. The smell of hot metal remained to assure us that the
light was still there, ready to flash out at a moment's notice. To me,
with my nerves worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something
depressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold, dank air of
the vault.

"They have but one retreat," whispered Holmes. "That is back through the
house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have done what I asked you,
Jones?"

"I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door."

"Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent and wait."

What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards, it was but an hour
and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must have almost gone,
and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs were weary and stiff, for I
feared to change my position, yet my nerves were worked up to the highest
pitch of tension, and my hearing was so acute that I could not only hear
the gentle breathing of my companions, but I could distinguish the deeper,
heavier inbreath of the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note of the
bank director. From my position I could look over the case in the
direction of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light.

At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then it
lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without any
warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared, a white,
almost womanly hand, which felt about in the center of the little area of
light. For a minute or more the hand, with its writhing fingers,
protruded out of the floor. Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it
appeared, and all was dark again save the single lurid spark, which marked
a chink between the stones.

Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending, tearing
sound, one of the broad white stones turned over upon its side, and left a
square, gaping hole, through which streamed the light of a lantern. Over
the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish face, which looked keenly about
it, and then, with a hand on either side of the aperture, drew itself
shoulder-high and waist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. In
another instant he stood at the side of the hole, and was hauling after
him a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face and a
shock of very red hair.

"It's all clear," he whispered. "Have you the chisel and the bags? Great
Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I'll swing for it!"

Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the collar. The
other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of rending cloth as Jones
clutched at his skirts. The light flashed upon the barrel of a revolver,
but Holmes's hunting crop came down on the man's wrist, and the pistol
clinked upon the stone floor.

"It's no use, John Clay," said Holmes blandly, "you have no chance at
all."

"So I see," the other answered, with the utmost coolness. "I fancy that my
pal is all right, though I see you have got his coat-tails."

"There are three men waiting for him at the door," said Holmes.

"Oh, indeed. You seem to have done the thing very completely. I must
compliment you."

"And I you," Holmes answered. "Your red-headed idea was very new and
effective."

"You'll see your pal again presently," said Jones. "He's quicker at
climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix the derbies."

"I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands," remarked our
prisoner, as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists. "You may not be
aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have the goodness also, when
you address me, always to say 'sir' and 'please.'"

"All right," said Jones, with a stare and a snigger. "Well, would you
please, sir, march upstairs where we can get a cab to carry your highness
to the police station?"

"That is better," said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping bow to the
three of us, and walked quietly off in the custody of the detective.

"Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather, as we followed them from the
cellar, "I do not know how the bank can thank you or repay you. There is
no doubt that you have detected and defeated in the most complete manner
one of the most determined attempts at bank robbery, that have ever come
within my experience."

"I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr. John
Clay," said Holmes. "I have been at some small expense over this matter,
which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond that I am amply repaid
by having had an experience which is in many ways unique, and by hearing
the very remarkable narrative of the Red-headed League."

* * * * *

"You see, Watson," he explained, in the early hours of the morning, as we
sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, "it was perfectly
obvious from the first that the only possible object of this rather
fantastic business of the advertisement of the League, and the copying of
the 'Encyclopaedia,' must be to get this not over-bright pawnbroker out of
the way for a number of hours every day. It was a curious way of managing
it, but really it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method was
no doubt suggested to Clay's ingenious mind by the color of his
accomplice's hair. The four pounds a week was a lure which must draw him,
and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands? They put in the
advertisement, one rogue has the temporary office, the other rogue incites
the man to apply for it, and together they manage to secure his absence
every morning in the week. From the time that I heard of the assistant
having come for half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong
motive for securing the situation."

"But how could you guess what the motive was?"

"Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a mere vulgar
intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. The man's business was a
small one, and there was nothing in his house which could account for such
elaborate preparations, and such an expenditure as they were at. It must
then be something out of the house. What could it be? I thought of the
assistant's fondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into the
cellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tangled clew. Then I made
inquiries as to this mysterious assistant, and found that I had to deal
with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in London. He was doing
something in the cellar--something which took many hours a day for months
on end. What could it be, once more? I could think of nothing save that he
was running a tunnel to some other building.

"So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. I surprised
you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was ascertaining whether
the cellar stretched out in front or behind. It was not in front. Then I
rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the assistant answered it. We have had
some skirmishes, but we had never set eyes upon each other before. I
hardly looked at his face. His knees were what I wished to see. You must
yourself have remarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They
spoke of those hours of burrowing. The only remaining point was what they
were burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw that the City and
Suburban Bank abutted on our friend's premises, and felt that I had solved
my problem. When you drove home after the concert I called upon Scotland
Yard, and upon the chairman of the bank directors, with the result that
you have seen."

"And how could you tell that they would make their attempt to-night?" I
asked.

"Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that they
cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence; in other words, that
they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential that they should use
it soon, as it might be discovered, or the bullion might be removed.
Saturday would suit them better than any other day, as it would give them
two days for their escape. For all these reasons I expected them to come
to-night."

"You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed, in unfeigned admiration.
"It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true."

"It saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning. "Alas! I already feel it
closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort to escape from the
commonplaces of existence. These little problems help me to do so."

"And you are a benefactor of the race," said I. He shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, perhaps, after all, it is of some little use," he remarked.
"'L'homme c'est rien--l'oeuvre c'est tout,' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to
Georges Sands."





Next: The Baron's Quarry

Previous: A Scandal In Bohemia



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