DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
scream and threw himself down with his face to the pillow.

"Great heavens!" cried the inspector, "it is, indeed, the missing
man. I know him from the photograph."

The prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons
himself to his destiny. "Be it so," said he. "And pray what am I
charged with?"

"With making away with Mr. Neville St.--Oh, come, you can't be
charged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of
it," said the inspector with a grin. "Well, I have been twenty-seven
years in the force, but this really takes the cake."

"If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then it is obvious that no crime has
been committed, and that, therefore, I am illegally detained."

"No crime, but a very great error has been committed," said Holmes.
"You would have done better to have trusted your wife."

"It was not the wife; it was the children," groaned the prisoner.
"God help me, I would not have them ashamed of their father. My God!
What an exposure! What can I do?"

Sherlock Holmes sat down beside him on the couch and patted him
kindly on the shoulder.

"If you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up," said he,
"of course you can hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand, if you
convince the police authorities that there is no possible case
against you, I do not know that there is any reason that the details
should find their way into the papers. Inspector Bradstreet would, I
am sure, make notes upon anything which you might tell us and submit
it to the proper authorities. The case would then never go into court
at all."

"God bless you!" cried the prisoner passionately. "I would have
endured imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left my
miserable secret as a family blot to my children.

"You are the first who have ever heard my story. My father was a
schoolmaster in Chesterfield, where I received an excellent
education. I travelled in my youth, took to the stage, and finally
became a reporter on an evening paper in London. One day my editor
wished to have a series of articles upon begging in the metropolis,
and I volunteered to supply them. There was the point from which all
my adventures started. It was only by trying begging as an amateur
that I could get the facts upon which to base my articles. When an
actor I had, of course, learned all the secrets of making up, and had
been famous in the green-room for my skill. I took advantage now of
my attainments. I painted my face, and to make myself as pitiable as
possible I made a good scar and fixed one side of my lip in a twist
by the aid of a small slip of flesh-coloured plaster. Then with a red
head of hair, and an appropriate dress, I took my station in the
business part of the city, ostensibly as a match-seller but really as
a beggar. For seven hours I plied my trade, and when I returned home
in the evening I found to my surprise that I had received no less
than 26s. 4d.

"I wrote my articles and thought little more of the matter until,
some time later, I backed a bill for a friend and had a writ served
upon me for £25. I was at my wit's end where to get the money, but a
sudden idea came to me. I begged a fortnight's grace from the
creditor, asked for a holiday from my employers, and spent the time
in begging in the City under my disguise. In ten days I had the money
and had paid the debt.

"Well, you can imagine how hard it was to settle down to arduous work
at £2 a week when I knew that I could earn as much in a day by
smearing my face with a little paint, laying my cap on the ground,
and sitting still. It was a long fight between my pride and the
money, but the dollars won at last, and I threw up reporting and sat
day after day in the corner which I had first chosen, inspiring pity
by my ghastly face and filling my pockets with coppers. Only one man
knew my secret. He was the keeper of a low den in which I used to
lodge in Swandam Lane, where I could every morning emerge as a
squalid beggar and in the evenings transform myself into a
well-dressed man about town. This fellow, a Lascar, was well paid by
me for his rooms, so that I knew that my secret was safe in his
possession.

"Well, very soon I found that I was saving considerable sums of
money. I do not mean that any beggar in the streets of London could
earn £700 a year--which is less than my average takings--but I had
exceptional advantages in my power of making up, and also in a
facility of repartee, which improved by practice and made me quite a
recognised character in the City. All day a stream of pennies, varied
by silver, poured in upon me, and it was a very bad day in which I
failed to take £2.

"As I grew richer I grew more ambitious, took a house in the country,
and eventually married, without anyone having a suspicion as to my
real occupation. My dear wife knew that I had business in the City.
She little knew what.

"Last Monday I had finished for the day and was dressing in my room
above the opium den when I looked out of my window and saw, to my
horror and astonishment, that my wife was standing in the street,
with her eyes fixed full upon me. I gave a cry of surprise, threw up
my arms to cover my face, and, rushing to my confidant, the Lascar,

scream and threw himself down with his face to the pillow.

"Great heavens!" cried the inspector, "it is, indeed, the missing

man. I know him from the photograph."

The prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons

himself to his destiny. "Be it so," said he. "And pray what am I

charged with?"

"With making away with Mr. Neville St.--Oh, come, you can't be

charged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of

it," said the inspector with a grin. "Well, I have been twenty-seven

years in the force, but this really takes the cake."

"If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then it is obvious that no crime has

been committed, and that, therefore, I am illegally detained."

"No crime, but a very great error has been committed," said Holmes.

"You would have done better to have trusted your wife."

"It was not the wife; it was the children," groaned the prisoner.

"God help me, I would not have them ashamed of their father. My God!

What an exposure! What can I do?"

Sherlock Holmes sat down beside him on the couch and patted him

kindly on the shoulder.

"If you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up," said he,

"of course you can hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand, if you

convince the police authorities that there is no possible case

against you, I do not know that there is any reason that the details

should find their way into the papers. Inspector Bradstreet would, I

am sure, make notes upon anything which you might tell us and submit

it to the proper authorities. The case would then never go into court

at all."

"God bless you!" cried the prisoner passionately. "I would have

endured imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left my

miserable secret as a family blot to my children.

"You are the first who have ever heard my story. My father was a

schoolmaster in Chesterfield, where I received an excellent

education. I travelled in my youth, took to the stage, and finally

became a reporter on an evening paper in London. One day my editor

wished to have a series of articles upon begging in the metropolis,

and I volunteered to supply them. There was the point from which all

my adventures started. It was only by trying begging as an amateur

that I could get the facts upon which to base my articles. When an

actor I had, of course, learned all the secrets of making up, and had

been famous in the green-room for my skill. I took advantage now of

my attainments. I painted my face, and to make myself as pitiable as

possible I made a good scar and fixed one side of my lip in a twist

by the aid of a small slip of flesh-coloured plaster. Then with a red

head of hair, and an appropriate dress, I took my station in the

business part of the city, ostensibly as a match-seller but really as

a beggar. For seven hours I plied my trade, and when I returned home

in the evening I found to my surprise that I had received no less

than 26s. 4d.

"I wrote my articles and thought little more of the matter until,

some time later, I backed a bill for a friend and had a writ served

upon me for £25. I was at my wit's end where to get the money, but a

sudden idea came to me. I begged a fortnight's grace from the

creditor, asked for a holiday from my employers, and spent the time

in begging in the City under my disguise. In ten days I had the money

and had paid the debt.

"Well, you can imagine how hard it was to settle down to arduous work

at £2 a week when I knew that I could earn as much in a day by

smearing my face with a little paint, laying my cap on the ground,

and sitting still. It was a long fight between my pride and the

money, but the dollars won at last, and I threw up reporting and sat

day after day in the corner which I had first chosen, inspiring pity

by my ghastly face and filling my pockets with coppers. Only one man

knew my secret. He was the keeper of a low den in which I used to

lodge in Swandam Lane, where I could every morning emerge as a

squalid beggar and in the evenings transform myself into a

well-dressed man about town. This fellow, a Lascar, was well paid by

me for his rooms, so that I knew that my secret was safe in his

possession.

"Well, very soon I found that I was saving considerable sums of

money. I do not mean that any beggar in the streets of London could

earn £700 a year--which is less than my average takings--but I had

exceptional advantages in my power of making up, and also in a

facility of repartee, which improved by practice and made me quite a

recognised character in the City. All day a stream of pennies, varied

by silver, poured in upon me, and it was a very bad day in which I

failed to take £2.

"As I grew richer I grew more ambitious, took a house in the country,

and eventually married, without anyone having a suspicion as to my

real occupation. My dear wife knew that I had business in the City.

She little knew what.

"Last Monday I had finished for the day and was dressing in my room

above the opium den when I looked out of my window and saw, to my

horror and astonishment, that my wife was standing in the street,

with her eyes fixed full upon me. I gave a cry of surprise, threw up

my arms to cover my face, and, rushing to my confidant, the Lascar,