Kabanata Kabanata 3 · The Yellow Face

. The Yellow Face

In publishing these short sketches based upon the numerous cases

in which my companion’s singular gifts have made us the listeners

to, and eventually the actors in, some strange drama, it is only

natural that I should dwell rather upon his successes than upon

his failures. And this not so much for the sake of his

reputation—for, indeed, it was when he was at his wits’ end that

his energy and his versatility were most admirable—but because

where he failed it happened too often that no one else succeeded,

and that the tale was left forever without a conclusion. Now and

again, however, it chanced that even when he erred, the truth was

still discovered. I have noted of some half-dozen cases of the

kind, of which the Affair of the Second Stain and that which I am

now about to recount are the two which present the strongest

features of interest.

Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for exercise’s

sake. Few men were capable of greater muscular effort, and he was

undoubtedly one of the finest boxers of his weight that I have

ever seen; but he looked upon aimless bodily exertion as a waste

of energy, and he seldom bestirred himself save when there was

some professional object to be served. Then he was absolutely

untiring and indefatigable. That he should have kept himself in

training under such circumstances is remarkable, but his diet was

usually of the sparest, and his habits were simple to the verge

of austerity. Save for the occasional use of cocaine, he had no

vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest against the

monotony of existence when cases were scanty and the papers

uninteresting.

One day in early spring he had so far relaxed as to go for a walk

with me in the Park, where the first faint shoots of green were

breaking out upon the elms, and the sticky spear-heads of the

chestnuts were just beginning to burst into their five-fold

leaves. For two hours we rambled about together, in silence for

the most part, as befits two men who know each other intimately.

It was nearly five before we were back in Baker Street once more.

“Beg pardon, sir,” said our page-boy, as he opened the door.

“There’s been a gentleman here asking for you, sir.”

Holmes glanced reproachfully at me. “So much for afternoon

walks!” said he. “Has this gentleman gone, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Didn’t you ask him in?”

“Yes, sir; he came in.”

“How long did he wait?”

“Half an hour, sir. He was a very restless gentleman, sir,

a-walkin’ and a-stampin’ all the time he was here. I was waitin’

outside the door, sir, and I could hear him. At last he outs into

the passage, and he cries, ‘Is that man never goin’ to come?’

Those were his very words, sir. ‘You’ll only need to wait a

little longer,’ says I. ‘Then I’ll wait in the open air, for I

feel half choked,’ says he. ‘I’ll be back before long.’ And with

that he ups and he outs, and all I could say wouldn’t hold him

back.”

“Well, well, you did your best,” said Holmes, as we walked into

our room. “It’s very annoying, though, Watson. I was badly in

need of a case, and this looks, from the man’s impatience, as if

it were of importance. Halloa! That’s not your pipe on the table.

He must have left his behind him. A nice old briar with a good

long stem of what the tobacconists call amber. I wonder how many

real amber mouthpieces there are in London. Some people think

that a fly in it is a sign. Well, he must have been disturbed in

his mind to leave a pipe behind him which he evidently values

highly.”

“How do you know that he values it highly?” I asked.

“Well, I should put the original cost of the pipe at seven and

sixpence. Now it has, you see, been twice mended, once in the

wooden stem and once in the amber. Each of these mends, done, as

you observe, with silver bands, must have cost more than the pipe

did originally. The man must value the pipe highly when he

prefers to patch it up rather than buy a new one with the same

money.”

“Anything else?” I asked, for Holmes was turning the pipe about

in his hand, and staring at it in his peculiar pensive way.

He held it up and tapped on it with his long, thin fore-finger,

as a professor might who was lecturing on a bone.

“Pipes are occasionally of extraordinary interest,” said he.

“Nothing has more individuality, save perhaps watches and

bootlaces. The indications here, however, are neither very marked

nor very important. The owner is obviously a muscular man,

left-handed, with an excellent set of teeth, careless in his

habits, and with no need to practise economy.”

My friend threw out the information in a very offhand way, but I

saw that he cocked his eye at me to see if I had followed his

reasoning.

“You think a man must be well-to-do if he smokes a seven-shilling

pipe,” said I.

“This is Grosvenor mixture at eightpence an ounce,” Holmes

answered, knocking a little out on his palm. “As he might get an

excellent smoke for half the price, he has no need to practise

economy.”

“And the other points?”

“He has been in the habit of lighting his pipe at lamps and

gas-jets. You can see that it is quite charred all down one side.

Of course a match could not have done that. Why should a man hold

a match to the side of his pipe? But you cannot light it at a

lamp without getting the bowl charred. And it is all on the right

side of the pipe. From that I gather that he is a left-handed

man. You hold your own pipe to the lamp, and see how naturally

you, being right-handed, hold the left side to the flame. You

might do it once the other way, but not as a constancy. This has

always been held so. Then he has bitten through his amber. It

takes a muscular, energetic fellow, and one with a good set of

teeth, to do that. But if I am not mistaken I hear him upon the

stair, so we shall have something more interesting than his pipe

to study.”

An instant later our door opened, and a tall young man entered

the room. He was well but quietly dressed in a dark-grey suit,

and carried a brown wide-awake in his hand. I should have put him

at about thirty, though he was really some years older.

“I beg your pardon,” said he, with some embarrassment; “I suppose

I should have knocked. Yes, of course I should have knocked. The

fact is that I am a little upset, and you must put it all down to

that.” He passed his hand over his forehead like a man who is

half dazed, and then fell rather than sat down upon a chair.

“I can see that you have not slept for a night or two,” said

Holmes, in his easy, genial way. “That tries a man’s nerves more

than work, and more even than pleasure. May I ask how I can help

you?”

“I wanted your advice, sir. I don’t know what to do and my whole

life seems to have gone to pieces.”

“You wish to employ me as a consulting detective?”

“Not that only. I want your opinion as a judicious man—as a man

of the world. I want to know what I ought to do next. I hope to

God you’ll be able to tell me.”

He spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts, and it seemed to me

that to speak at all was very painful to him, and that his will

all through was overriding his inclinations.

“It’s a very delicate thing,” said he. “One does not like to

speak of one’s domestic affairs to strangers. It seems dreadful

to discuss the conduct of one’s wife with two men whom I have

never seen before. It’s horrible to have to do it. But I’ve got

to the end of my tether, and I must have advice.”

“My dear Mr. Grant Munro—” began Holmes.

Our visitor sprang from his chair. “What!” he cried, “you know my

name?”

“If you wish to preserve your _incognito_,” said Holmes, smiling,

“I would suggest that you cease to write your name upon the

lining of your hat, or else that you turn the crown towards the

person whom you are addressing. I was about to say that my friend

and I have listened to a good many strange secrets in this room,

and that we have had the good fortune to bring peace to many

troubled souls. I trust that we may do as much for you. Might I

beg you, as time may prove to be of importance, to furnish me

with the facts of your case without further delay?”

Our visitor again passed his hand over his forehead, as if he

found it bitterly hard. From every gesture and expression I could

see that he was a reserved, self-contained man, with a dash of

pride in his nature, more likely to hide his wounds than to

expose them. Then suddenly, with a fierce gesture of his closed

hand, like one who throws reserve to the winds, he began.

“The facts are these, Mr. Holmes,” said he. “I am a married man,

and have been so for three years. During that time my wife and I

have loved each other as fondly and lived as happily as any two

that ever were joined. We have not had a difference, not one, in

thought or word or deed. And now, since last Monday, there has

suddenly sprung up a barrier between us, and I find that there is

something in her life and in her thought of which I know as

little as if she were the woman who brushes by me in the street.

We are estranged, and I want to know why.

“Now there is one thing that I want to impress upon you before I

go any further, Mr. Holmes. Effie loves me. Don’t let there be

any mistake about that. She loves me with her whole heart and

soul, and never more than now. I know it. I feel it. I don’t want

to argue about that. A man can tell easily enough when a woman

loves him. But there’s this secret between us, and we can never

be the same until it is cleared.”

“Kindly let me have the facts, Mr. Munro,” said Holmes, with some

impatience.

“I’ll tell you what I know about Effie’s history. She was a widow

when I met her first, though quite young—only twenty-five. Her

name then was Mrs. Hebron. She went out to America when she was

young, and lived in the town of Atlanta, where she married this

Hebron, who was a lawyer with a good practice. They had one

child, but the yellow fever broke out badly in the place, and

both husband and child died of it. I have seen his death

certificate. This sickened her of America, and she came back to

live with a maiden aunt at Pinner, in Middlesex. I may mention

that her husband had left her comfortably off, and that she had a

capital of about four thousand five hundred pounds, which had

been so well invested by him that it returned an average of seven

per cent. She had only been six months at Pinner when I met her;

we fell in love with each other, and we married a few weeks

afterwards.

“I am a hop merchant myself, and as I have an income of seven or

eight hundred, we found ourselves comfortably off, and took a

nice eighty-pound-a-year villa at Norbury. Our little place was

very countrified, considering that it is so close to town. We had

an inn and two houses a little above us, and a single cottage at

the other side of the field which faces us, and except those

there were no houses until you got half way to the station. My

business took me into town at certain seasons, but in summer I

had less to do, and then in our country home my wife and I were

just as happy as could be wished. I tell you that there never was

a shadow between us until this accursed affair began.

“There’s one thing I ought to tell you before I go further. When

we married, my wife made over all her property to me—rather

against my will, for I saw how awkward it would be if my business

affairs went wrong. However, she would have it so, and it was

done. Well, about six weeks ago she came to me.

“‘Jack,’ said she, ‘when you took my money you said that if ever

I wanted any I was to ask you for it.’

“‘Certainly,’ said I. ‘It’s all your own.’

“‘Well,’ said she, ‘I want a hundred pounds.’

“I was a bit staggered at this, for I had imagined it was simply

a new dress or something of the kind that she was after.

“‘What on earth for?’ I asked.

“‘Oh,’ said she, in her playful way, ‘you said that you were only

my banker, and bankers never ask questions, you know.’

“‘If you really mean it, of course you shall have the money,’

said I.

“‘Oh, yes, I really mean it.’

“‘And you won’t tell me what you want it for?’

“‘Some day, perhaps, but not just at present, Jack.’

“So I had to be content with that, though it was the first time

that there had ever been any secret between us. I gave her a

check, and I never thought any more of the matter. It may have

nothing to do with what came afterwards, but I thought it only

right to mention it.

“Well, I told you just now that there is a cottage not far from

our house. There is just a field between us, but to reach it you

have to go along the road and then turn down a lane. Just beyond

it is a nice little grove of Scotch firs, and I used to be very

fond of strolling down there, for trees are always a neighbourly

kind of things. The cottage had been standing empty this eight

months, and it was a pity, for it was a pretty two-storied place,

with an old-fashioned porch and honeysuckle about it. I have

stood many a time and thought what a neat little homestead it

would make.

“Well, last Monday evening I was taking a stroll down that way,

when I met an empty van coming up the lane, and saw a pile of

carpets and things lying about on the grass-plot beside the

porch. It was clear that the cottage had at last been let. I

walked past it, and wondered what sort of folk they were who had

come to live so near us. And as I looked I suddenly became aware

that a face was watching me out of one of the upper windows.

“I don’t know what there was about that face, Mr. Holmes, but it

seemed to send a chill right down my back. I was some little way

off, so that I could not make out the features, but there was

something unnatural and inhuman about the face. That was the

impression that I had, and I moved quickly forwards to get a

nearer view of the person who was watching me. But as I did so

the face suddenly disappeared, so suddenly that it seemed to have

been plucked away into the darkness of the room. I stood for five

minutes thinking the business over, and trying to analyze my

impressions. I could not tell if the face were that of a man or a

woman. It had been too far from me for that. But its colour was

what had impressed me most. It was of a livid chalky white, and

with something set and rigid about it which was shockingly

unnatural. So disturbed was I that I determined to see a little

more of the new inmates of the cottage. I approached and knocked

at the door, which was instantly opened by a tall, gaunt woman

with a harsh, forbidding face.

“‘What may you be wantin’?’ she asked, in a Northern accent.

“‘I am your neighbour over yonder,’ said I, nodding towards my

house. ‘I see that you have only just moved in, so I thought that

if I could be of any help to you in any—’

“‘Ay, we’ll just ask ye when we want ye,’ said she, and shut the

door in my face. Annoyed at the churlish rebuff, I turned my back

and walked home. All evening, though I tried to think of other

things, my mind would still turn to the apparition at the window

and the rudeness of the woman. I determined to say nothing about

the former to my wife, for she is a nervous, highly strung woman,

and I had no wish that she would share the unpleasant impression

which had been produced upon myself. I remarked to her, however,

before I fell asleep, that the cottage was now occupied, to which

she returned no reply.

“I am usually an extremely sound sleeper. It has been a standing

jest in the family that nothing could ever wake me during the

night. And yet somehow on that particular night, whether it may

have been the slight excitement produced by my little adventure

or not I know not, but I slept much more lightly than usual. Half

in my dreams I was dimly conscious that something was going on in

the room, and gradually became aware that my wife had dressed

herself and was slipping on her mantle and her bonnet. My lips

were parted to murmur out some sleepy words of surprise or

remonstrance at this untimely preparation, when suddenly my

half-opened eyes fell upon her face, illuminated by the

candle-light, and astonishment held me dumb. She wore an

expression such as I had never seen before—such as I should have

thought her incapable of assuming. She was deadly pale and

breathing fast, glancing furtively towards the bed as she

fastened her mantle, to see if she had disturbed me. Then,

thinking that I was still asleep, she slipped noiselessly from

the room, and an instant later I heard a sharp creaking which

could only come from the hinges of the front door. I sat up in

bed and rapped my knuckles against the rail to make certain that

I was truly awake. Then I took my watch from under the pillow. It

was three in the morning. What on this earth could my wife be

doing out on the country road at three in the morning?

“I had sat for about twenty minutes turning the thing over in my

mind and trying to find some possible explanation. The more I

thought, the more extraordinary and inexplicable did it appear. I

was still puzzling over it when I heard the door gently close

again, and her footsteps coming up the stairs.

“‘Where in the world have you been, Effie?’ I asked as she

entered.

“She gave a violent start and a kind of gasping cry when I spoke,

and that cry and start troubled me more than all the rest, for

there was something indescribably guilty about them. My wife had

always been a woman of a frank, open nature, and it gave me a

chill to see her slinking into her own room, and crying out and

wincing when her own husband spoke to her.

“‘You awake, Jack!’ she cried, with a nervous laugh. ‘Why, I

thought that nothing could awake you.’

“‘Where have you been?’ I asked, more sternly.

“‘I don’t wonder that you are surprised,’ said she, and I could

see that her fingers were trembling as she undid the fastenings

of her mantle. ‘Why, I never remember having done such a thing in

my life before. The fact is that I felt as though I were choking,

and had a perfect longing for a breath of fresh air. I really

think that I should have fainted if I had not gone out. I stood

at the door for a few minutes, and now I am quite myself again.’

“All the time that she was telling me this story she never once

looked in my direction, and her voice was quite unlike her usual

tones. It was evident to me that she was saying what was false. I

said nothing in reply, but turned my face to the wall, sick at

heart, with my mind filled with a thousand venomous doubts and

suspicions. What was it that my wife was concealing from me?

Where had she been during that strange expedition? I felt that I

should have no peace until I knew, and yet I shrank from asking

her again after once she had told me what was false. All the rest

of the night I tossed and tumbled, framing theory after theory,

each more unlikely than the last.

“I should have gone to the City that day, but I was too disturbed

in my mind to be able to pay attention to business matters. My

wife seemed to be as upset as myself, and I could see from the

little questioning glances which she kept shooting at me that she

understood that I disbelieved her statement, and that she was at

her wits’ end what to do. We hardly exchanged a word during

breakfast, and immediately afterwards I went out for a walk, that

I might think the matter out in the fresh morning air.

“I went as far as the Crystal Palace, spent an hour in the

grounds, and was back in Norbury by one o’clock. It happened that

my way took me past the cottage, and I stopped for an instant to

look at the windows, and to see if I could catch a glimpse of the

strange face which had looked out at me on the day before. As I

stood there, imagine my surprise, Mr. Holmes, when the door

suddenly opened and my wife walked out.

“I was struck dumb with astonishment at the sight of her; but my

emotions were nothing to those which showed themselves upon her

face when our eyes met. She seemed for an instant to wish to

shrink back inside the house again; and then, seeing how useless

all concealment must be, she came forward, with a very white face

and frightened eyes which belied the smile upon her lips.

“‘Ah, Jack,’ she said, ‘I have just been in to see if I can be of

any assistance to our new neighbours. Why do you look at me like

that, Jack? You are not angry with me?’

“‘So,’ said I, ‘this is where you went during the night.’

“‘What do you mean?’ she cried.

“‘You came here. I am sure of it. Who are these people, that you

should visit them at such an hour?’

“‘I have not been here before.’

“‘How can you tell me what you know is false?’ I cried. ‘Your

very voice changes as you speak. When have I ever had a secret

from you? I shall enter that cottage, and I shall probe the

matter to the bottom.’

“‘No, no, Jack, for God’s sake!’ she gasped, in uncontrollable

emotion. Then, as I approached the door, she seized my sleeve and

pulled me back with convulsive strength.

“‘I implore you not to do this, Jack,’ she cried. ‘I swear that I

will tell you everything some day, but nothing but misery can

come of it if you enter that cottage.’ Then, as I tried to shake

her off, she clung to me in a frenzy of entreaty.

“‘Trust me, Jack!’ she cried. ‘Trust me only this once. You will

never have cause to regret it. You know that I would not have a

secret from you if it were not for your own sake. Our whole lives

are at stake in this. If you come home with me, all will be well.

If you force your way into that cottage, all is over between us.’

“There was such earnestness, such despair, in her manner that her

words arrested me, and I stood irresolute before the door.

“‘I will trust you on one condition, and on one condition only,’

said I at last. ‘It is that this mystery comes to an end from

now. You are at liberty to preserve your secret, but you must

promise me that there shall be no more nightly visits, no more

doings which are kept from my knowledge. I am willing to forget

those which are passed if you will promise that there shall be no

more in the future.’

“‘I was sure that you would trust me,’ she cried, with a great

sigh of relief. ‘It shall be just as you wish. Come away—oh, come

away up to the house.’

“Still pulling at my sleeve, she led me away from the cottage. As

we went I glanced back, and there was that yellow livid face

watching us out of the upper window. What link could there be

between that creature and my wife? Or how could the coarse, rough

woman whom I had seen the day before be connected with her? It

was a strange puzzle, and yet I knew that my mind could never

know ease again until I had solved it.

“For two days after this I stayed at home, and my wife appeared

to abide loyally by our engagement, for, as far as I know, she

never stirred out of the house. On the third day, however, I had

ample evidence that her solemn promise was not enough to hold her

back from this secret influence which drew her away from her

husband and her duty.

“I had gone into town on that day, but I returned by the 2.40

instead of the 3.36, which is my usual train. As I entered the

house the maid ran into the hall with a startled face.

“‘Where is your mistress?’ I asked.

“‘I think that she has gone out for a walk,’ she answered.

“My mind was instantly filled with suspicion. I rushed upstairs

to make sure that she was not in the house. As I did so I

happened to glance out of one of the upper windows, and saw the

maid with whom I had just been speaking running across the field

in the direction of the cottage. Then of course I saw exactly

what it all meant. My wife had gone over there, and had asked the

servant to call her if I should return. Tingling with anger, I

rushed down and hurried across, determined to end the matter once

and forever. I saw my wife and the maid hurrying back along the

lane, but I did not stop to speak with them. In the cottage lay

the secret which was casting a shadow over my life. I vowed that,

come what might, it should be a secret no longer. I did not even

knock when I reached it, but turned the handle and rushed into

the passage.

“It was all still and quiet upon the ground floor. In the kitchen

a kettle was singing on the fire, and a large black cat lay

coiled up in the basket; but there was no sign of the woman whom

I had seen before. I ran into the other room, but it was equally

deserted. Then I rushed up the stairs, only to find two other

rooms empty and deserted at the top. There was no one at all in

the whole house. The furniture and pictures were of the most

common and vulgar description, save in the one chamber at the

window of which I had seen the strange face. That was comfortable

and elegant, and all my suspicions rose into a fierce bitter

flame when I saw that on the mantelpiece stood a copy of a

full-length photograph of my wife, which had been taken at my

request only three months ago.

“I stayed long enough to make certain that the house was

absolutely empty. Then I left it, feeling a weight at my heart

such as I had never had before. My wife came out into the hall as

I entered my house; but I was too hurt and angry to speak with

her, and pushing past her, I made my way into my study. She

followed me, however, before I could close the door.

“‘I am sorry that I broke my promise, Jack,’ said she; ‘but if

you knew all the circumstances I am sure that you would forgive

me.’

“‘Tell me everything, then,’ said I.

“‘I cannot, Jack, I cannot,’ she cried.

“‘Until you tell me who it is that has been living in that

cottage, and who it is to whom you have given that photograph,

there can never be any confidence between us,’ said I, and

breaking away from her, I left the house. That was yesterday, Mr.

Holmes, and I have not seen her since, nor do I know anything

more about this strange business. It is the first shadow that has

come between us, and it has so shaken me that I do not know what

I should do for the best. Suddenly this morning it occurred to me

that you were the man to advise me, so I have hurried to you now,

and I place myself unreservedly in your hands. If there is any

point which I have not made clear, pray question me about it.

But, above all, tell me quickly what I am to do, for this misery

is more than I can bear.”

Holmes and I had listened with the utmost interest to this

extraordinary statement, which had been delivered in the jerky,

broken fashion of a man who is under the influence of extreme

emotions. My companion sat silent for some time, with his chin

upon his hand, lost in thought.

“Tell me,” said he at last, “could you swear that this was a

man’s face which you saw at the window?”

“Each time that I saw it I was some distance away from it, so

that it is impossible for me to say.”

“You appear, however, to have been disagreeably impressed by it.”

“It seemed to be of an unnatural colour, and to have a strange

rigidity about the features. When I approached, it vanished with

a jerk.”

“How long is it since your wife asked you for a hundred pounds?”

“Nearly two months.”

“Have you ever seen a photograph of her first husband?”

“No; there was a great fire at Atlanta very shortly after his

death, and all her papers were destroyed.”

“And yet she had a certificate of death. You say that you saw

it.”

“Yes; she got a duplicate after the fire.”

“Did you ever meet any one who knew her in America?”

“No.”

“Did she ever talk of revisiting the place?”

“No.”

“Or get letters from it?”

“No.”

“Thank you. I should like to think over the matter a little now.

If the cottage is now permanently deserted we may have some

difficulty. If, on the other hand, as I fancy is more likely, the

inmates were warned of your coming, and left before you entered

yesterday, then they may be back now, and we should clear it all

up easily. Let me advise you, then, to return to Norbury, and to

examine the windows of the cottage again. If you have reason to

believe that it is inhabited, do not force your way in, but send

a wire to my friend and me. We shall be with you within an hour

of receiving it, and we shall then very soon get to the bottom of

the business.”

“And if it is still empty?”

“In that case I shall come out to-morrow and talk it over with

you. Good-by; and, above all, do not fret until you know that you

really have a cause for it.”

“I am afraid that this is a bad business, Watson,” said my

companion, as he returned after accompanying Mr. Grant Munro to

the door. “What do you make of it?”

“It had an ugly sound,” I answered.

“Yes. There’s blackmail in it, or I am much mistaken.”

“And who is the blackmailer?”

“Well, it must be the creature who lives in the only comfortable

room in the place, and has her photograph above his fireplace.

Upon my word, Watson, there is something very attractive about

that livid face at the window, and I would not have missed the

case for worlds.”

“You have a theory?”

“Yes, a provisional one. But I shall be surprised if it does not

turn out to be correct. This woman’s first husband is in that

cottage.”

“Why do you think so?”

“How else can we explain her frenzied anxiety that her second one

should not enter it? The facts, as I read them, are something

like this: This woman was married in America. Her husband

developed some hateful qualities; or shall we say that he

contracted some loathsome disease, and became a leper or an

imbecile? She flies from him at last, returns to England, changes

her name, and starts her life, as she thinks, afresh. She has

been married three years, and believes that her position is quite

secure, having shown her husband the death certificate of some

man whose name she has assumed, when suddenly her whereabouts is

discovered by her first husband; or, we may suppose, by some

unscrupulous woman who has attached herself to the invalid. They

write to the wife, and threaten to come and expose her. She asks

for a hundred pounds, and endeavours to buy them off. They come

in spite of it, and when the husband mentions casually to the

wife that there are new-comers in the cottage, she knows in some

way that they are her pursuers. She waits until her husband is

asleep, and then she rushes down to endeavour to persuade them to

leave her in peace. Having no success, she goes again next

morning, and her husband meets her, as he has told us, as she

comes out. She promises him then not to go there again, but two

days afterwards the hope of getting rid of those dreadful

neighbours was too strong for her, and she made another attempt,

taking down with her the photograph which had probably been

demanded from her. In the midst of this interview the maid rushed

in to say that the master had come home, on which the wife,

knowing that he would come straight down to the cottage, hurried

the inmates out at the back door, into the grove of fir-trees,

probably, which was mentioned as standing near. In this way he

found the place deserted. I shall be very much surprised,

however, if it is still so when he reconnoitres it this evening.

What do you think of my theory?”

“It is all surmise.”

“But at least it covers all the facts. When new facts come to our

knowledge which cannot be covered by it, it will be time enough

to reconsider it. We can do nothing more until we have a message

from our friend at Norbury.”

But we had not a very long time to wait for that. It came just as

we had finished our tea. “The cottage is still tenanted,” it

said. “Have seen the face again at the window. Will meet the

seven o’clock train, and will take no steps until you arrive.”

He was waiting on the platform when we stepped out, and we could

see in the light of the station lamps that he was very pale, and

quivering with agitation.

“They are still there, Mr. Holmes,” said he, laying his hand hard

upon my friend’s sleeve. “I saw lights in the cottage as I came

down. We shall settle it now once and for all.”

“What is your plan, then?” asked Holmes, as he walked down the

dark tree-lined road.

“I am going to force my way in and see for myself who is in the

house. I wish you both to be there as witnesses.”

“You are quite determined to do this, in spite of your wife’s

warning that it is better that you should not solve the mystery?”

“Yes, I am determined.”

“Well, I think that you are in the right. Any truth is better

than indefinite doubt. We had better go up at once. Of course,

legally, we are putting ourselves hopelessly in the wrong; but I

think that it is worth it.”

It was a very dark night, and a thin rain began to fall as we

turned from the high road into a narrow lane, deeply rutted, with

hedges on either side. Mr. Grant Munro pushed impatiently

forward, however, and we stumbled after him as best we could.

“There are the lights of my house,” he murmured, pointing to a

glimmer among the trees. “And here is the cottage which I am

going to enter.”

We turned a corner in the lane as he spoke, and there was the

building close beside us. A yellow bar falling across the black

foreground showed that the door was not quite closed, and one

window in the upper story was brightly illuminated. As we looked,

we saw a dark blur moving across the blind.

“There is that creature!” cried Grant Munro. “You can see for

yourselves that some one is there. Now follow me, and we shall

soon know all.”

We approached the door; but suddenly a woman appeared out of the

shadow and stood in the golden track of the lamp-light. I could

not see her face in the darkness, but her arms were thrown out in

an attitude of entreaty.

“For God’s sake, don’t Jack!” she cried. “I had a presentiment

that you would come this evening. Think better of it, dear! Trust

me again, and you will never have cause to regret it.”

“I have trusted you too long, Effie,” he cried, sternly. “Leave

go of me! I must pass you. My friends and I are going to settle

this matter once and forever!” He pushed her to one side, and we

followed closely after him. As he threw the door open an old

woman ran out in front of him and tried to bar his passage, but

he thrust her back, and an instant afterwards we were all upon

the stairs. Grant Munro rushed into the lighted room at the top,

and we entered at his heels.

It was a cosey, well-furnished apartment, with two candles

burning upon the table and two upon the mantelpiece. In the

corner, stooping over a desk, there sat what appeared to be a

little girl. Her face was turned away as we entered, but we could

see that she was dressed in a red frock, and that she had long

white gloves on. As she whisked round to us, I gave a cry of

surprise and horror. The face which she turned towards us was of

the strangest livid tint, and the features were absolutely devoid

of any expression. An instant later the mystery was explained.

Holmes, with a laugh, passed his hand behind the child’s ear, a

mask peeled off from her countenance, and there was a little coal

black negress, with all her white teeth flashing in amusement at

our amazed faces. I burst out laughing, out of sympathy with her

merriment; but Grant Munro stood staring, with his hand clutching

his throat.

“My God!” he cried. “What can be the meaning of this?”

“I will tell you the meaning of it,” cried the lady, sweeping

into the room with a proud, set face. “You have forced me,

against my own judgment, to tell you, and now we must both make

the best of it. My husband died at Atlanta. My child survived.”

“Your child?”

She drew a large silver locket from her bosom. “You have never

seen this open.”

“I understood that it did not open.”

She touched a spring, and the front hinged back. There was a

portrait within of a man strikingly handsome and

intelligent-looking, but bearing unmistakable signs upon his

features of his African descent.

“That is John Hebron, of Atlanta,” said the lady, “and a nobler

man never walked the earth. I cut myself off from my race in

order to wed him, but never once while he lived did I for an

instant regret it. It was our misfortune that our only child took

after his people rather than mine. It is often so in such

matches, and little Lucy is darker far than ever her father was.

But dark or fair, she is my own dear little girlie, and her

mother’s pet.” The little creature ran across at the words and

nestled up against the lady’s dress. “When I left her in

America,” she continued, “it was only because her health was

weak, and the change might have done her harm. She was given to

the care of a faithful Scotch woman who had once been our

servant. Never for an instant did I dream of disowning her as my

child. But when chance threw you in my way, Jack, and I learned

to love you, I feared to tell you about my child. God forgive me,

I feared that I should lose you, and I had not the courage to

tell you. I had to choose between you, and in my weakness I

turned away from my own little girl. For three years I have kept

her existence a secret from you, but I heard from the nurse, and

I knew that all was well with her. At last, however, there came

an overwhelming desire to see the child once more. I struggled

against it, but in vain. Though I knew the danger, I determined

to have the child over, if it were but for a few weeks. I sent a

hundred pounds to the nurse, and I gave her instructions about

this cottage, so that she might come as a neighbour, without my

appearing to be in any way connected with her. I pushed my

precautions so far as to order her to keep the child in the house

during the daytime, and to cover up her little face and hands so

that even those who might see her at the window should not gossip

about there being a black child in the neighbourhood. If I had

been less cautious I might have been more wise, but I was half

crazy with fear that you should learn the truth.

“It was you who told me first that the cottage was occupied. I

should have waited for the morning, but I could not sleep for

excitement, and so at last I slipped out, knowing how difficult

it is to awake you. But you saw me go, and that was the beginning

of my troubles. Next day you had my secret at your mercy, but you

nobly refrained from pursuing your advantage. Three days later,

however, the nurse and child only just escaped from the back door

as you rushed in at the front one. And now to-night you at last

know all, and I ask you what is to become of us, my child and

me?” She clasped her hands and waited for an answer.

It was a long ten minutes before Grant Munro broke the silence,

and when his answer came it was one of which I love to think. He

lifted the little child, kissed her, and then, still carrying

her, he held his other hand out to his wife and turned towards

the door.

“We can talk it over more comfortably at home,” said he. “I am

not a very good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one

than you have given me credit for being.”

Holmes and I followed them down the lane, and my friend plucked

at my sleeve as we came out.

“I think,” said he, “that we shall be of more use in London than

in Norbury.”

Not another word did he say of the case until late that night,

when he was turning away, with his lighted candle, for his

bedroom.

“Watson,” said he, “if it should ever strike you that I am

getting a little over-confident in my powers, or giving less

pains to a case than it deserves, kindly whisper ‘Norbury’ in my

ear, and I shall be infinitely obliged to you.”

IV.