ADVENTURE II.

THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE

I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the

autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a

very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair.

With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when

Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door

behind me.



"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear

Watson," he said cordially.



"I was afraid that you were engaged."



"So I am. Very much so."



"Then I can wait in the next room."



"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and

helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no

doubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also."



The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of

greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small

fat-encircled eyes.



"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and

putting his fingertips together, as was his custom when in

judicial moods. "I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love

of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum

routine of everyday life. You have shown your relish for it by

the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you

will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own

little adventures."



"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," I

observed.



"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we

went into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary

Sutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary

combinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more

daring than any effort of the imagination."



"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting."



"You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my

view, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you

until your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to

be right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call

upon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to

be one of the most singular which I have listened to for some

time. You have heard me remark that the strangest and most unique

things are very often connected not with the larger but with the

smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for

doubt whether any positive crime has been committed. As far as I

have heard it is impossible for me to say whether the present

case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is

certainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to.

Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to

recommence your narrative. I ask you not merely because my friend

Dr. Watson has not heard the opening part but also because the

peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have every

possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some

slight indication of the course of events, I am able to guide

myself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my

memory. In the present instance I am forced to admit that the

facts are, to the best of my belief, unique."



The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some

little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the

inside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down the

advertisement column, with his head thrust forward and the paper

flattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man and

endeavored, after the fashion of my companion, to read the

indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.



I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor

bore every mark of being an average commonplace British

tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy gray

shepherd's check trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat,

unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy

Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as

an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a

wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether,

look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save

his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and

discontent upon his features.



Sherlock Holmes's quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook

his head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances.

"Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual

labour, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has

been in China, and that he has done a considerable amount of

writing lately, I can deduce nothing else."



Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger

upon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.



"How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr.

Holmes?" he asked. "How did you know, for example, that I did

manual labour. It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship's

carpenter."



"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger

than your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more

developed."



"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?"



"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,

especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you

use an arc-and-compass breastpin."



"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?"



"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for

five inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the

elbow where you rest it upon the desk?"



"Well, but China?"



"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right

wrist could only have been done in China. I have made a small

study of tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature

of the subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of a

delicate pink is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, I

see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter

becomes even more simple."



Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "I

thought at first that you had done something clever, but I see

that there was nothing in it, after all."



"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistake

in explaining. 'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and my

poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I

am so candid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?"



"Yes, I have got it now," he answered with his thick red finger

planted halfway down the column. "Here it is. This is what began

it all. You just read it for yourself, sir."



I took the paper from him and read as follows.



TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late

Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now

another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a

salary of 4 pounds a week for purely nominal services. All

red-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age

of twenty-one years, are eligible. Appiy in person on Monday, at

eleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7

Pope's Court, Fleet Street.



"What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated after I had twice

read over the extraordinary announcement.



Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when

in high spirits. "It is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?"

said he. "And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us

all about yourself, your household, and the effect which this

advertisement had upon your fortunes. You will first make a note,

Doctor, of the paper and the date."



"It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27, 1890. Just two months

ago."



"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?"



"Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock

Holmes," said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; "I have a small

pawnbroker's business at Coburg Square, near the City. It's not a

very large affair, and of late years it has not done more than

just give me a living. I used to be able to keep two assistants,

but now I only keep one; and I would have a job to pay him but

that he is willing to come for half wages so as to learn the

business."



"What is the name of this obliging youth?" asked Sherlock Holmes.



"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not such a youth,

either. It's hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter

assistant, Mr. Holmes; and I know very well that he could better

himself and earn twice what I am able to give him. But, after

all, if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?"



"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employee who

comes under the full market price. It is not a common experience

among employers in this age. I don't know that your assistant is

not as remarkable as your advertisement."



"Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr. Wilson. "Never was such a

fellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought

to be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar

like a rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his

main fault, but on the whole he's a good worker. There's no vice

in him."



"He is still with you, I presume?"



"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple

cooking and keeps the place clean--that's all I have in the

house, for I am a widower and never had any family. We live very

quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads

and pay our debts, if we do nothing more.



"The first thing that put us out was that advertisement.

Spaulding, he came down into the office just this day eight

weeks, with this very paper in his hand, and he says:



"'I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.'



"'Why that?' I asks.



"'Why,' says he, 'here's another vacancy on the League of the

Red-headed Men. It's worth quite a little fortune to any man who

gets it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than

there are men, so that the trustees are at their wits' end what

to do with the money. If my hair would only change color, here's

a nice little crib all ready for me to step into.'



"'Why, what is it, then?' I asked. You see. Mr. Holmes, I am a

very stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of

my having to go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting

my foot over the door-mat. In that way I didn't know much of what

was going on outside, and I was always glad of a bit of news.



"'Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?' he

asked with his eyes open.



"'Never.'




"'Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligibile yourself for one

of the vacancies.'



"'And what are they worth?' I asked.



"'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight,

and it need not interfere very much with one's other

occupations.'



"Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears,

for the business has not been over-good for some years, and an

extra couple of hundred would have been very handy.



"'Tell me all about it,' said I.



"'Well ' said he, showing me the advertisement, 'you can see for

yourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address

where you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out,

the League was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah

Hopkins, who was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself

red-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all red-headed men;

so when he died it was found that he had left his enormous

fortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions to apply the

interest to the providing of easy berths to men whose hair is of

that color. From all I hear it is splendid pay and very little to

do.'



"'But,' said I, 'there would be millions of red-headed men who

would apply.'



"'Not so many as you might think,' he answered. 'You see it is

really confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had

started from London when he was young, and he wanted to do the

old town a good turn. Then, again, I have heard it is no use your

applying if your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything but

real bright, blazing, fiery red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr.

Wilson, you would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly be

worth your while to put yourself out of the way for the sake of a

few hundred pounds.'



"Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves,

that my hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed

to me that if there was to be any competition in the matter I

stood as good a chance as any man that I had ever met. Vincent

Spaulding seemed to know so much about it that I thought he might

prove useful, so I just ordered him to put up the shutters for

the day and to come right away with me. He was very willing to

have a holiday, so we shut the business up and started off for

the address that was given us in the advertisement.



"I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From

north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in

his hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement.

Fleet Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope's Court

looked like a coster's orange barrow. I should not have thought

there were so many in the whole country as were brought together

by that single advertisement. Every shade of color they

were--straw, lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay;

but, as Spaulding said, there were not many who had the real

vivid flame-colored tint. When I saw how many were waiting, I

would have given it up in despair; but Spaulding would not hear

of it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed and

pulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up

to the steps which led to the office. There was a double stream

upon the stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back

dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found

ourselves in the office."



"Your experience has been a most entertaining one," remarked

Holmes as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge

pinch of snuff. "Pray continue your very interesting statement."



"There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs

and a deal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that

was even redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate

as he came up, and then he always managed to find some fault in

them which would disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem

to be such a very easy matter, after all. However, when our turn

came the little man was much more favorable to me than to any of

the others, and he closed the door as we entered, so that he

might have a private word with us.



"'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,' said my assistant, 'and he is

willing to fill a vacancy in the League.'



"'And he is admirably suited for it,' the other answered. 'He has

every requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so

fine.' He took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and

gazed at my hair until I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he

plunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my

success.



"'It would be injustice to hesitate,' said he. 'You will,

however, I am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.'

With that he seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until I

yelled with the pain. 'There is water in your eyes,' said he as

he released me. 'I perceive that all is as it should be. But we

have to be careful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and

once by paint. I could tell you tales of cobbler's wax which

would disgust you with human nature.' He stepped over to the

window and shouted through it at the top of his voice that the

vacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came up from below,

and the folk all trooped away in different directions until there

was not a red-head to be seen except my own and that of the

manager.



"'My name,' said he, 'is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of

the pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are

you a married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?'



"I answered that I had not.



"His face fell immediately.



"'Dear me!' he said gravely, 'that is very serious indeed! I am

sorry to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the

propagation and spread of the red-heads as well as for their

maintenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a

bachelor.'



"My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was

not to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for

a few minutes he said that it would be all right.



"'In the case of another,' said he, 'the objection might be

fatal, but we must stretch a point in favor of a man with such a

head of hair as yours. When shall you be able to enter upon your

new duties?'



"'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,'

said I.



"'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!' said Vincent Spaulding.

'I should be able to look after that for you.'



"'What would be the hours?' I asked.



"'Ten to two.'



"Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an evening, Mr.

Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just

before pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little in

the mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man,

and that he would see to anything that turned up.



"'That would suit me very well,' said I. 'And the pay?'



"'Is 4 pounds a week.'



"'And the work?'



"'Is purely nominal.'



"'What do you call purely nominal?'



"'Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the

building, the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole

position forever. The will is very clear upon that point. You

don't comply with the conditions if you budge from the office

during that time.'



"'It's only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,'

said I.



"'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan Ross; 'neither sickness

nor business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose

your billet.'



"'And the work?'



"'Is to copy out the Encyclopaedia Britannica. There is the first

volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and

blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be

ready to-morrow?'



"'Certainly,' I answered.



"'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you

once more on the important position which you have been fortunate

enough to gain.' He bowed me out of the room and I went home with

my assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased

at my own good fortune.



"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in

low spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the

whole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its

object might be I could not imagine. It seemed altogether past

belief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would pay

such a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the

Encyclopaedia Britannica. Vincent Spaulding did what he could to

cheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the

whole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a look

at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a

quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for

Pope's Court.



"Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as

possible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross

was there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off

upon the letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from

time to time to see that all was right with me. At two o'clock he

bade me good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I had

written, and locked the door of the office after me.



"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the

manager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my

week's work. It was the same next week, and the same the week

after. Every morning I was there at ten, and every afternoon I

left at two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming in only

once of a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at

all. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the room for an

instant, for I was not sure when he might come, and the billet

was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I would not risk

the loss of it.



"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about

Abbots and Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and

hoped with diligence that I might get on to the B's before very

long. It cost me something in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly

filled a shelf with my writings. And then suddenly the whole

business came to an end."



"To an end?"



"Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as

usual at ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a

little square of card-board hammered on to the middle of the

panel with a tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself."



He held up a piece of white card-board about the size of a sheet

of note-paper. It read in this fashion:



THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE



IS



DISSOLVED.



October 9, 1890.



Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the

rueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so

completely overtopped every other consideration that we both

burst out into a roar of laughter.



"I cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried our

client, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. "If you can

do nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere."



"No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from

which he had half risen. "I really wouldn't miss your case for

the world. It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you

will excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it.

Pray what steps did you take when you found the card upon the

door?"



"I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called

at the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything

about it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant

living on the ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me

what had become of the Red-headed League. He said that he had

never heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan

Ross was. He answered that the name was new to him.



"'Well,' said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.'



"'What, the red-headed man?'



"'Yes.'



"'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor

and was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new

premises were ready. He moved out yesterday.'



"'Where could I find him?'



"'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17

King Edward Street, near St. Paul's.'



"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was

a manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever

heard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross."



"And what did you do then?" asked Holmes.



"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my

assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say

that if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite

good enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place

without a struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough

to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right

away to you."



"And you did very wisely," said Holmes. "Your case is an

exceedingly remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it.

From what you have told me I think that it is possible that

graver issues hang from it than might at first sight appear."



"Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. "Why, I have lost four

pound a week."



"As far as you are personally concerned," remarked Holmes, "I do

not see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary

league. On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some

30 pounds, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have

gained on every subject which comes under the letter A. You have

lost nothing by them."



"No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are,

and what their object was in playing this prank--if it was a

prank--upon me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it

cost them two and thirty pounds."



"We shall endeavor to clear up these points for you. And, first,

one or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who

first called your attention to the advertisement--how long had he

been with you?"



"About a month then."



"How did he come?"



"In answer to an advertisement."



"Was he the only applicant?"



"No, I had a dozen."



"Why did you pick him?"



"Because he was handy and would come cheap."



"At half-wages, in fact."



"Yes."



"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?"



"Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face,

though he's not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon

his forehead."



Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. "I thought

as much," said he. "Have you ever observed that his ears are

pierced for earrings?"



"Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy had done it for him when he

was a lad."



"Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. "He is still

with you?"




"Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him."



"And has your business been attended to in your absence?"



"Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never very much to do of a

morning."



"That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an

opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is

Saturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion."



"Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor had left us, "what

do you make of it all?"



"I make nothing of it," I answered frankly. "It is a most

mysterious business."



"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is the less

mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless

crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is

the most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this

matter."



"What are you going to do, then?" I asked.



"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three pipe problem, and I

beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." He curled

himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his

hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his

black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird.

I had come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and

indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his

chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and put

his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.



"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," he

remarked. "What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare

you for a few hours?"



"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very

absorbing."



"Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City

first, and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that

there is a good deal of German music on the programme, which is

rather more to my taste than Italian or French. It is

introspective, and I want to introspect. Come along!"



We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short

walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular

story which we had listened to in the morning. It was a poky,

little, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy

two-storied brick houses looked out into a small railed-in

enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded

laurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and

uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with

"JABEZ WILSON" in white letters, upon a corner house, announced

the place where our red-headed client carried on his business.

Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side

and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between

puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down

again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally

he returned to the pawnbroker's, and, having thumped vigorously

upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up

to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a

bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step

in.



"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished to ask you how you would

go from here to the Strand."



"Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant promptly,

closing the door.



"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away. "He is,

in my judgment. the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring

I am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known

something of him before."



"Evidently," said I, "Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a good

deal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you

inquired your way merely in order that you might see him."



"Not him."



"What then?"



"The knees of his trousers."



"And what did you see?"



"What I expected to see."



"Why did you beat the pavement?"



"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We

are spies in an enemy's country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg

Square. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it."



The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the

corner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a

contrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was

one of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City

to the north and west. The roadway was blocked with the immense

stream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward,

while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of

pedestrians. It was difficult to realize as we looked at the line

of fine shops and stately business premises that they really

abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant square

which we had just quitted.



"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing

along the line, "I should like just to remember the order of the

houses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of

London. There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little

newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank,

the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building

depot. That carries us right on to the other block. And now,

Doctor, we've done our work, so it's time we had some play. A

sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where

all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no

red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums."



My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a

very capable perfomer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All

the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect

happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the

music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes

were as unlike those of Holmes, the sleuth-hound, Holmes the

relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was

possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature

alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and

astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction

against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally

predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from

extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was

never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been

lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his

black-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase

would suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning

power would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were

unacquainted with his methods would look askance at him as on a

man whose knowledge was not that of other mortals. When I saw him

that afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St. James's Hall I

felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set

himself to hunt down.



"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he remarked as we

emerged.



"Yes, it would be as well."



"And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This

business at Coburg Square is serious."



"Why serious?"



"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to

believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being

Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help

to-night."



"At what time?"



"Ten will be early enough."



"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."



"Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger,

so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved his

hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the

crowd.



I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbors, but I was

always oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings

with Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had

seen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that

he saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about to

happen, while to me the whole business was still confused and

grotesque. As I drove home to my house in Kensington I thought

over it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headed

copier of the Encyclopaedia down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg

Square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me.

What was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed?

Where were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from

Holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant was a

formidable man--a man who might play a deep game. I tried to

puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter aside

until night should bring an explanation.



It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my

way across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker

Street. Two hansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered

the passage I heard the sound of voices from above. On entering

his room I found Holmes in animated conversation with two men,

one of whom I recognized as Peter Jones, the official police

agent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a

very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat.



"Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his

peajacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack.

"Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me

introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is to be our companion in

to-night's adventure."



"We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see," said Jones in

his consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for

starting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do

the running down."



"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,"

observed Mr. Merryweather gloomily.



"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," said

the police agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, which

are, if he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical

and fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It

is not too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of

the Sholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly

correct than the official force."



"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said the

stranger with deference. "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber.

It is the first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I

have not had my rubber."



"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you will

play for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and

that the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather,

the stake will be some 30,000 pounds; and for you, Jones, it will

be the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands."



"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's a

young man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his

profession, and I would rather have my bracelets on him than on

any criminal in London. He's a remarkable man, is young John

Clay. His grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has been

to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning.as his fingers, and

though we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know where to

find the man himself. He'll crack a crib in Scotland one week,

and be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next.

I've been on his track for years and have never set eyes on him

yet."



"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night.

I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I

agree with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is

past ten, however, and quite time that we started. If you two

will take the first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the

second."



Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive

and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in

the afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit

streets until we emerged into Farrington Street.



"We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow

Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the

matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is

not a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession.

He has one positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as

tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we

are, and they are waiting for us."



We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had

found ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and,

following the guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a

narrow passage and through a side door, which he opened for us.

Within there was a small corridor, which ended in a very massive

iron gate. This also was opened, and led down a flight of winding

stone steps, which terminated at another formidable gate. Mr.

Merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then conducted us

down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening a

third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all

round with crates and massive boxes.



"You are not very vulnerable from above," Holmes remarked as he

held up the lantern and gazed about him.



"Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon

the flags which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quite

hollow!" he remarked, looking up in surprise.



"I must really ask you to be a little more quiet!" said Holmes

severely. "You have already imperilled the whole success of our

expedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit

down upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?"



The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a

very injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his

knees upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens,

began to examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few

seconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again

and put his glass in his pocket.



"We have at least an hour before us," he remarked, "for they can

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 carree, 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?"



"l 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's 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."



"So I see," the other answered with the utmost coolness. "I fancy

that my pal is all right, though I see you have got his

coat-tails."



"There are three men waiting for him at the door," said Holmes.



"Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. I

must compliment you."



"And I you," Holmes answered. "Your red-headed idea was very new

and effective."



"You'll see your pal again presently," said Jones. "He's quicker

at climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix the

derbies."



"I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,"

remarked our prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists.

"You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have

the goodness, also, when you address me always to say 'sir' and

'please.'"



"All right," said Jones with a stare and a snigger. "Well, would

you please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry

your Highness to the police-station?"



"That is better," said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping bow

to the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the

detective.



"Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather as we followed them

from the cellar, "I do not know how the bank can thank you or

repay you. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated

in the most complete manner one of the most determined attempts

at bank robbery that have ever come within my experience."



"I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr.

John Clay," said Holmes. "I have been at some small expense over

this matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond

that I am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in

many ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of

the Red-headed League."





"You see, Watson," he explained in the early hours of the morning

as we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, "it

was perfectly obvious from the first that the only possible

object of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement of

the League, and the copying of the Encyclopaedia, must be to get

this not over-bright pawnbroker out of the way for a number of

hours every day. It was a curious way of managing it, but,

really, it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method was

no doubt suggested to Clay's ingenious mind by the color of his

accomplice's hair. The 4 pounds a week was a lure which must draw

him, and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands?

They put in the advertisement, one rogue has the temporary

office, the other rogue incites the man to apply for it. and

together they manage to secure his absence every morning in the

week. From the time that I heard of the assistant having come for

half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive

for securing the situation."



"But how could you guess what the motive was?"



"Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a

mere vulgar intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. The

man's business was a small one, and there was nothing in his

house which could account for such elaborate preparations, and

such an expenditure as they were at. It must, then, be something

out of the house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant's

fondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into the

cellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tangled clew. Then

I made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that I

had to deal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in

London. He was doing something in the cellar--something which

took many hours a day for months on end. What could it be, once

more? I could think of nothing save that he was running a tunnel

to some other building.



"So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. I

surprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was

ascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind.

It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the

assistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had

never set eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at his

face. His knees were what I wished to see. You must yourself have

remarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of

those hours of burrowing. The only remaining point was what they

were burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw the City and

Suburban Bank abutted on our friend's premises, and felt that I

had solved my problem. When you drove home after the concert I

called upon Scotland Yard and upon the chairman of the bank

directors, with the result that you have seen."



"And how could you tell that they would make their attempt

to-night?" I asked.



"Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that

they cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence--in other

words, that they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential

that they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the

bullion might be removed. Saturday would suit them better than

any other day, as it would give them two days for their escape.

For all these reasons I expected them to come to-night."



"You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed in unfeigned

admiration "It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings

true."



"It saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning. "Alas! I already

feel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort

to escape from the commonplaces of existence. These little

problems help me to do so."



"And you are a benefactor of the race," said I.



He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, perhaps, after all, it is of

some little use," he remarked. " 'L'homme c'est rien--l'oeuvre

c'est tout,' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand."

****

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