World of Education/World of Education.iso/world_s/sherfun.zip/REDHEAD

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  SHERLOCK HOLMES

  THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE

  by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

       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 fingertips 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 acknowledges 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 endeavoured, 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 over-clean 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 labour, 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
  labour? 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 that you have tattooed immediately above your right
  wrist could only have been done in China. I have made a small study of
  tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature 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 ignotum 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,
  Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now another vacancy open which
  entitles a member of the League to a salary of L4 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 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 colour, 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 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 colour. 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 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 colour they were-straw, lemon, orange,
  brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were
  not many who had the real vivid flame-coloured 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 favourable 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 favour 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
  should 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 evening, 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 L4 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-bye, 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
  bedtime 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 Armour and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with
  diligence that I might get on to the B's 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 card-board hammered on to the middle of the panel
  with a tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself."

       He held up a piece of white card-board about the size of a sheet
  of note-paper. It read in this fashion:
                    The Red-Headed League
                            is
                         Dissolved.
                       October 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 other 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 L30, 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 endeavour 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 hawk-like 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 the 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 travelled 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 enclosure, 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 conveyed 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 Mortimers, 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

       "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 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 neighbours' 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 an, from the
  extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the Encyclopedia
  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 to 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 L30,000; 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 Farrington 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 imperilled 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 30,000 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 2,000 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 am 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
  yourselves 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  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 in-breath 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 centre 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 colour of his accomplice's hair. The L4 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 clue. 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 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 cest
  tout,' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand."

                                THE END