DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
may be thrown at him by the passers-by. This is the man whom we now
learn to have been the lodger at the opium den, and to have been the
last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in quest."

"But a cripple!" said I. "What could he have done single-handed
against a man in the prime of life?"

"He is a cripple in the sense that he walks with a limp; but in other
respects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man. Surely
your medical experience would tell you, Watson, that weakness in one
limb is often compensated for by exceptional strength in the others."

"Pray continue your narrative."

"Mrs. St. Clair had fainted at the sight of the blood upon the
window, and she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her
presence could be of no help to them in their investigations.
Inspector Barton, who had charge of the case, made a very careful
examination of the premises, but without finding anything which threw
any light upon the matter. One mistake had been made in not arresting
Boone instantly, as he was allowed some few minutes during which he
might have communicated with his friend the Lascar, but this fault
was soon remedied, and he was seized and searched, without anything
being found which could incriminate him. There were, it is true, some
blood-stains upon his right shirt-sleeve, but he pointed to his
ring-finger, which had been cut near the nail, and explained that the
bleeding came from there, adding that he had been to the window not
long before, and that the stains which had been observed there came
doubtless from the same source. He denied strenuously having ever
seen Mr. Neville St. Clair and swore that the presence of the clothes
in his room was as much a mystery to him as to the police. As to Mrs.
St. Clair's assertion that she had actually seen her husband at the
window, he declared that she must have been either mad or dreaming.
He was removed, loudly protesting, to the police-station, while the
inspector remained upon the premises in the hope that the ebbing tide
might afford some fresh clue.

"And it did, though they hardly found upon the mud-bank what they had
feared to find. It was Neville St. Clair's coat, and not Neville St.
Clair, which lay uncovered as the tide receded. And what do you think
they found in the pockets?"

"I cannot imagine."

"No, I don't think you would guess. Every pocket stuffed with pennies
and half-pennies--421 pennies and 270 half-pennies. It was no wonder
that it had not been swept away by the tide. But a human body is a
different matter. There is a fierce eddy between the wharf and the
house. It seemed likely enough that the weighted coat had remained
when the stripped body had been sucked away into the river."

"But I understand that all the other clothes were found in the room.
Would the body be dressed in a coat alone?"

"No, sir, but the facts might be met speciously enough. Suppose that
this man Boone had thrust Neville St. Clair through the window, there
is no human eye which could have seen the deed. What would he do
then? It would of course instantly strike him that he must get rid of
the tell-tale garments. He would seize the coat, then, and be in the
act of throwing it out, when it would occur to him that it would swim
and not sink. He has little time, for he has heard the scuffle
downstairs when the wife tried to force her way up, and perhaps he
has already heard from his Lascar confederate that the police are
hurrying up the street. There is not an instant to be lost. He rushes
to some secret hoard, where he has accumulated the fruits of his
beggary, and he stuffs all the coins upon which he can lay his hands
into the pockets to make sure of the coat's sinking. He throws it
out, and would have done the same with the other garments had not he
heard the rush of steps below, and only just had time to close the
window when the police appeared."

"It certainly sounds feasible."

"Well, we will take it as a working hypothesis for want of a better.
Boone, as I have told you, was arrested and taken to the station, but
it could not be shown that there had ever before been anything
against him. He had for years been known as a professional beggar,
but his life appeared to have been a very quiet and innocent one.
There the matter stands at present, and the questions which have to
be solved--what Neville St. Clair was doing in the opium den, what
happened to him when there, where is he now, and what Hugh Boone had
to do with his disappearance--are all as far from a solution as ever.
I confess that I cannot recall any case within my experience which
looked at the first glance so simple and yet which presented such
difficulties."

While Sherlock Holmes had been detailing this singular series of
events, we had been whirling through the outskirts of the great town
until the last straggling houses had been left behind, and we rattled
along with a country hedge upon either side of us. Just as he
finished, however, we drove through two scattered villages, where a
few lights still glimmered in the windows.

"We are on the outskirts of Lee," said my companion. "We have touched
on three English counties in our short drive, starting in Middlesex,
passing over an angle of Surrey, and ending in Kent. See that light
among the trees? That is The Cedars, and beside that lamp sits a
woman whose anxious ears have already, I have little doubt, caught
the clink of our horse's feet."

may be thrown at him by the passers-by. This is the man whom we now

learn to have been the lodger at the opium den, and to have been the

last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in quest."

"But a cripple!" said I. "What could he have done single-handed

against a man in the prime of life?"

"He is a cripple in the sense that he walks with a limp; but in other

respects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man. Surely

your medical experience would tell you, Watson, that weakness in one

limb is often compensated for by exceptional strength in the others."

"Pray continue your narrative."

"Mrs. St. Clair had fainted at the sight of the blood upon the

window, and she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her

presence could be of no help to them in their investigations.

Inspector Barton, who had charge of the case, made a very careful

examination of the premises, but without finding anything which threw

any light upon the matter. One mistake had been made in not arresting

Boone instantly, as he was allowed some few minutes during which he

might have communicated with his friend the Lascar, but this fault

was soon remedied, and he was seized and searched, without anything

being found which could incriminate him. There were, it is true, some

blood-stains upon his right shirt-sleeve, but he pointed to his

ring-finger, which had been cut near the nail, and explained that the

bleeding came from there, adding that he had been to the window not

long before, and that the stains which had been observed there came

doubtless from the same source. He denied strenuously having ever

seen Mr. Neville St. Clair and swore that the presence of the clothes

in his room was as much a mystery to him as to the police. As to Mrs.

St. Clair's assertion that she had actually seen her husband at the

window, he declared that she must have been either mad or dreaming.

He was removed, loudly protesting, to the police-station, while the

inspector remained upon the premises in the hope that the ebbing tide

might afford some fresh clue.

"And it did, though they hardly found upon the mud-bank what they had

feared to find. It was Neville St. Clair's coat, and not Neville St.

Clair, which lay uncovered as the tide receded. And what do you think

they found in the pockets?"

"I cannot imagine."

"No, I don't think you would guess. Every pocket stuffed with pennies

and half-pennies--421 pennies and 270 half-pennies. It was no wonder

that it had not been swept away by the tide. But a human body is a

different matter. There is a fierce eddy between the wharf and the

house. It seemed likely enough that the weighted coat had remained

when the stripped body had been sucked away into the river."

"But I understand that all the other clothes were found in the room.

Would the body be dressed in a coat alone?"

"No, sir, but the facts might be met speciously enough. Suppose that

this man Boone had thrust Neville St. Clair through the window, there

is no human eye which could have seen the deed. What would he do

then? It would of course instantly strike him that he must get rid of

the tell-tale garments. He would seize the coat, then, and be in the

act of throwing it out, when it would occur to him that it would swim

and not sink. He has little time, for he has heard the scuffle

downstairs when the wife tried to force her way up, and perhaps he

has already heard from his Lascar confederate that the police are

hurrying up the street. There is not an instant to be lost. He rushes

to some secret hoard, where he has accumulated the fruits of his

beggary, and he stuffs all the coins upon which he can lay his hands

into the pockets to make sure of the coat's sinking. He throws it

out, and would have done the same with the other garments had not he

heard the rush of steps below, and only just had time to close the

window when the police appeared."

"It certainly sounds feasible."

"Well, we will take it as a working hypothesis for want of a better.

Boone, as I have told you, was arrested and taken to the station, but

it could not be shown that there had ever before been anything

against him. He had for years been known as a professional beggar,

but his life appeared to have been a very quiet and innocent one.

There the matter stands at present, and the questions which have to

be solved--what Neville St. Clair was doing in the opium den, what

happened to him when there, where is he now, and what Hugh Boone had

to do with his disappearance--are all as far from a solution as ever.

I confess that I cannot recall any case within my experience which

looked at the first glance so simple and yet which presented such

difficulties."

While Sherlock Holmes had been detailing this singular series of

events, we had been whirling through the outskirts of the great town

until the last straggling houses had been left behind, and we rattled

along with a country hedge upon either side of us. Just as he

finished, however, we drove through two scattered villages, where a

few lights still glimmered in the windows.

"We are on the outskirts of Lee," said my companion. "We have touched

on three English counties in our short drive, starting in Middlesex,

passing over an angle of Surrey, and ending in Kent. See that light

among the trees? That is The Cedars, and beside that lamp sits a

woman whose anxious ears have already, I have little doubt, caught

the clink of our horse's feet."