DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
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 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 carrée, 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 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 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' 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."

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 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 carrée, 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 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 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' 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."