The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes (30 page)

person receiving the message might be expected to recognize some specific weapon to which

the words must refer. It is sufficient to add that the gun found beside the body of Josua

Ferrers is unique to the members of the Sicilian secret societies.

"When he went to the assignation Ferrers carried the gun with him, not as a weapon but

as a peace-offering valuable only for what it contained rolled up in the butt. Bearing in mind

what we now know, I am in no doubt that it was a paper or document that named the Grand

Master of the
Mala Vita
and which by some unhappy chance had fallen into his hands

during his Sicilian membership. To destroy it was useless. He had seen the name and he

was doomed. But, though his own life was already forfeited, he was playing for the life of

his daughter. Ferrers can have had no idea of the actual identity of the assassin who had

been selected for the work beyond the fact that the unknown must of necessity be a

fellow-member.

"Concealed in the fork of the tree above the prearranged meeting place, the murderer

lay in wait as a leopard waits for a sheep and, when his victim halted beneath him, he drew

his knife and, leaping to the ground, seized him from behind and cut his throat. When he had

searched Ferrers' body for the paper and eventually found it in
the butt of the gun, his

loathsome task was completed. He forgot, however, that in doing it he had left his heel-

marks on the turf and two threads from his brown tweed coat on the rough bark of the

tree."

As Sherlock Holmes ceased speaking, the silence of death fell on that darkening room.

Then, stretching out one long, thin arm, he pointed silently at the shadowy figure of James

Tonston.

"There stands the murderer of Josua Ferrers," he said in a quiet voice.

Tonston stepped forward, a smile upon his pale face.

"You are wrong," he said steadily. "The executioner of Josua Ferrers."

For a moment, he stood before us meeting our horrified stares with the serenity of one whose

duty has been meritoriously fulfilled. Then, with a rattle of handcuffs, the constable leapt upon

his man.

Tonston made no attempt to struggle, and with his hands manacled before him, he was

accompanying his captor to the door when my friend's voice brought them to a halt.

"What have you done with it?" he demanded.

The prisoner looked at him silently.

"I ask," continued Holmes, "because if you have not destroyed it then it is best that I

destroy it myself, and that unread."

"Rest assured that the paper is already destroyed," said James Tonston, "and that the

Mala Vita
preserves the secrets of the
Mala Vita.
In parting, take this word of warning to

heart. It is that you know too much. Though your life may be an honoured one, Mr. Sherlock

Holmes, it is most unlikely to be a long one." Then, with a cold smile in his grey eyes, he

passed from the room.

It was an hour later and a full moon was rising when my friend and I, after parting from

Dr. Nordham, turned our backs upon Abbotstanding, now gaunt and black against the night

sky, and set out on foot towards Beaulieu village, where we planned to stay at the inn and take

the morning train back to town.

I shall long remember that wonderful five miles' walk along a road all dappled with white

fire and deepest shadow where the great trees met above our heads and the forest deer

peered at us from the clumps of glistening bracken. Holmes walked with his chin upon his

breast and it was not until we were descending the hill above the village that he broke his silence.

It was little enough that he said then but for some reason his words have remained in my mind.

"You know me sufficiently well, Watson, to acquit me of all false sentiment," said he,

"when I confess that there is an urge upon me tonight to walk for a while in the ruined

cloisters of Beaulieu Abbey. It was the abode of men who lived and died at peace with

themselves and with each other. We have seen much evil in our time, not least of which is the

misuse of noble qualities such as loyalty, courage and determination for purposes that are in

themselves ignoble. But the older I grow the more forcibly is it borne in upon me that just as

these hills, and moonlit woods have outlived the ruins that now lie before us, so too must our

virtues which are sprung from God survive our vices which, like the Dark Angels, spring

from man. Surely. Watson, this is the ultimate promise."

I am retained in this case of the Ferrers

FROM "THE PRIORY SCHOOL"

10

The Adventure of the Two Women

I see from my note-book that it was late in September, 1886, shortly before my departure to

Dartmoor with Sir Henry Baskerville, that my attention was first drawn to that curious affair,

since termed "The Blackmailing Case," which threatened to involve one of the most revered

names in England. Even at this late date, Sherlock Holmes has urged me to spare no pains to

conceal the real identity of the personage concerned and, in my recital of the events, I shall

certainly do my best to observe his wishes in this matter. Indeed, I am as sensitive as he is to

the fact that, owing to the many cases in which we have been concerned over the years, we have

been of necessity the depositaries of many strange confidences and secrets which, should they

become known to the world, could only arouse scandal and amazement. Our honour is

therefore deeply involved and I shall make very sure that no inadvertent word of mine shall

point the finger of accusation at any one of those men and women, in high life or in low, who

have poured out their troubles to us in our modest Baker Street chambers.

I recall that it was on a late September morning when I was first introduced to the

adventure which forms the subject of this narrative. It was a grey, depressing day with a hint

of early fog in the air and, having been summoned to a patient in Seaton Place, I was walking

back to our lodgings when I became aware of a small street urchin slinking along at my heels.

As he drew level I recognized the lad as one of the Baker Street irregulars, as Holmes termed

the group of grubby little boys whom he employed on odd occasions to act as his eyes and

ears amid the purlieus of the London streets.

"Hullo, Billy," I said.

The lad returned no sign of recognition.

"Got a match, Guv'nor?" he demanded, exhibiting a frayed cigarette-end. I gave him a box

and, on handing it back to me, he raised his eyes for an instant to my face. "For God's sake,

Doctor," he whispered swiftly, "tell Mr. Holmes to watch out for Footman Boyce." Then,

with a surly nod, he slouched on his way.

I was not displeased to be the bearer of this cryptic message to my friend, for it had been

apparent to me for some days past from his alternating moods of energy and absorption and his

deplorable consumption of tobacco that Holmes was engaged upon a case. Contrary to his

usual practice, however, he had not invited me to share his confidences, and I must confess

that my sudden precipitation into the affair, irrespective of Holmes's wishes, caused me no small

satisfaction.

On entering our sitting-room, I found him lounging in his arm-chair before the fireplace, still

clad in his purple dressing-gown, his grey, heavy-lidded eyes staring thoughtfully at the

ceiling through a haze of tobacco smoke while one long, thin arm, dangling a letter between

its finger-tips, hung down the side of his chair. An envelope, embossed, I noticed, with a coronet,

lay on the floor.

"Ah, Watson," he said petulantly. "You are back earlier than I expected."

"Perhaps it is as well for you, Holmes," I replied, a trifle nettled at his tone, and proceeded

to give the message with which I had been entrusted. Holmes raised his eyebrows.

"This is most curious," said he. "What can Footman Boyce have to do with the matter?"

"As I know nothing about it, I am hardly in a position to answer your question," I

remarked.

"Upon my soul, a distinct touch, Watson!" he replied, with a dry chuckle. "If I have not

taken you already into my confidence, my dear fellow, it was not for any lack of faith in you.

The affair is, however, of a most delicate nature and I preferred to feel my way a little before

inviting
your invaluable assistance."

"There is no need for you to explain further," I began warmly.

"Tut, Watson, I have reached a complete impasse. Possibly, it may prove one of those

instances where an active mind may overreach, while a merely reflective one, functioning largely

on the obvious—" he lapsed into a brooding silence for a moment, then springing to his feet, he

strode over to the window.

"I am faced with one of the most dangerous cases of blackmail in all my experience," he

cried. "I take it that you are familiar with the name of the Duke of Carringford?"

"You mean the late Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs?"

"Precisely."

"But he died some three years ago," I observed.

"Doubtless it will surprise you to learn, Watson, that I am aware of that fact," replied

Holmes testily. "But to continue. A few days past I received a note from the duchess, his

widow, couched in such urgent terms that I was constrained to comply with her request to call

upon her at her house in Portland Place. I found her a woman of more than ordinary

intelligence and what you would term beauty, but overwhelmed by the fearsome blow

which, striking literally overnight, now threatens her with the complete social and financial

destruction of herself and her daughter. And the irony of the situation is the more terrible

because her destruction comes from no fault of her own."

"One moment," I interposed, picking up a newspaper from the couch. "There is a reference

to the duchess in today's
Telegraph,
announcing the engagement of her daughter, Lady Mary

Gladsdale, to Sir James Fortesque, the cabinet minister."

"Quite so. There lies the beautifully tempered point in this sword of Damocles." Holmes

drew two sheets of paper, pinned together, from the pocket of his dressing-gown and tossed

them across to me. "What do you make of those, Watson?" he said.

"One is a copy of a marriage certificate between Henry Corwyn Gladsdale, bachelor, and

Françoise Pelletan, spinster, dated June 12th, 1848 and issued at Valence in France," I

observed, glancing through the documents. "The other would appear to be the entry of the

same marriage in the Valence church registry. Who was this Henry Gladsdale?"

"He became Duke of Carringford upon the death of his uncle in 1854," said Holmes

grimly, "and five years later took to wife the Lady Constance Ellington, at present Duchess

of Carringford."

"Then he was a widower."

To my surprise, Holmes drove his fist violently into the palm of his hand. "There is the

diabolical cruelty of it, Watson," he cried. "We do not know! Indeed, the duchess is now

told for the first time of this secret marriage made in her husband's youth when he was

staying on the Continent. She is informed that his first wife is alive and ready if necessary to

come forward, that her own marriage is bigamous, her position spurious, and the status of her

child illegitimate."

"What, after thirty-eight years! This is monstrous, Holmes!"

"Add to that, Watson, that ignorance is not innocence in the eyes of society or the law. As

to the lapse of time, it is claimed that the French wife, after her husband's sudden

disappearance, did not associate Mr. Henry Gladsdale with the Duke of Carringford.

Nevertheless, it is unlikely that I would engage in an affair of this nature were it not for the

introduction of a more sinister element."

"I noticed that in speaking of the first wife coming forward you used the term 'if necessary.'

So it is blackmail and doubtless for a large sum of money."

"We are moving in deeper waters, Watson. No money is demanded. The price of silence

lies in the duchess' delivery of certain copies of state papers now lying in a sealed box in the

strong-room of Lloyds Bank in Oxford Street."

"Preposterous, Holmes!"

"Not so preposterous. Remember that the late duke was Under Secretary for Foreign

Affairs and that it is not unknown for great servants of the Crown to preserve copies of papers

and memoranda when the originals themselves are safely lodged in the custody of the State.

There are many reasons why a man in the duke's position might keep copies of certain

documents which, innocent enough at the time, may become under the changing circumstances

of later years matters of utmost gravity if viewed by a foreign, and perhaps unfriendly,

government. This unhappy lady is faced with the choice of an act of treason to her country as a

price for this marriage certificate or a public exposure followed by the ruination of one of the

most revered names in England and the destruction of two innocent women, one of them on

the eve of her marriage. And the devil of it is, Watson, that I am powerless to help them."