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with a long, sharp nose?
The station-master laughed heartily. “No, sir, Dr. Becher is an
Englishman, and there isn’t a man in the parish who has a better-lined
waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him, a patient, as I
understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if a little good
Berkshire beef would do him no harm.
The station-master had not finished his speech before we were all
hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low hill, and
there was a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us,
spouting fire at every chink and window, while in the garden in front
three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep the flames under.
“That’s it! cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. “There is the
gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That second
window is the one that I jumped from.
“Well, at least, said Holmes, “you have had your revenge upon them.
There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which, when it was
crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls, though no doubt
they were too excited in the chase after you to observe it at the time.
Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for your friends of last night,
though I very much fear that they are a good hundred miles off by now.
And Holmes’ fears came to be realised, for from that day to this no
word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the sinister
German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning a peasant had met
a cart containing several people and some very bulky boxes driving
rapidly in the direction of Reading, but there all traces of the
fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes’ ingenuity failed ever to
discover the least clue as to their whereabouts.
The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements which
they had found within, and still more so by discovering a newly severed
human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor. About sunset,
however, their efforts were at last successful, and they subdued the
flames, but not before the roof had fallen in, and the whole place been
reduced to such absolute ruin that, save some twisted cylinders and
iron piping, not a trace remained of the machinery which had cost our
unfortunate acquaintance so dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin
were discovered stored in an out-house, but no coins were to be found,
which may have explained the presence of those bulky boxes which have
been already referred to.
How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to the
spot where he recovered his senses might have remained forever a
mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a very plain
tale. He had evidently been carried down by two persons, one of whom
had remarkably small feet and the other unusually large ones. On the
whole, it was most probable that the silent Englishman, being less bold
or less murderous than his companion, had assisted the woman to bear
the unconscious man out of the way of danger.
“Well, said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return once
more to London, “it has been a pretty business for me! I have lost my
thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what have I gained?
“Experience, said Holmes, laughing. “Indirectly it may be of value,
you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the reputation of
being excellent company for the remainder of your existence.
X. THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR
The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have long
ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which
the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have eclipsed it, and
their more piquant details have drawn the gossips away from this
four-year-old drama. As I have reason to believe, however, that the
full facts have never been revealed to the general public, and as my
friend Sherlock Holmes had a considerable share in clearing the matter
up, I feel that no memoir of him would be complete without some little
sketch of this remarkable episode.
It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I was
still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came home from
an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waiting for him. I
had remained indoors all day, for the weather had taken a sudden turn
to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the jezail bullet which I had
brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign
throbbed with dull persistence. With my body in one easy-chair and my
legs upon another, I had surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers
until at last, saturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all
aside and lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the
envelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend’s noble
correspondent could be.
“Here is a very fashionable epistle, I remarked as he entered. “Your
morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fish-monger and a
tide-waiter.
“Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety, he
answered, smiling, “and the humbler are usually the more interesting.
This looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call upon
a man either to be bored or to lie.