V.THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS

gedmyfathertoletmelivewithhimandhewasverykindtomeinhisway.Whenhewassoberheusedtobefondofplayingbackgammonanddraughtswithme,andhewouldmakemehisrepresentativebothwiththeservantsandwiththetradespeople,sothatbythetimethatIwassixteenIwasquitemasterofthehouse.IkeptallthekeysandcouldgowhereIlikedanddowhatIliked,solongasIdidnotdisturbhiminhisprivacy.Therewasonesingularexception,however,forhehadasingleroom,alumber-roomupamongtheattics,whichwasinvariablylocked,andwhichhewouldneverpermiteithermeoranyoneelsetoenter.Withaboy’scuriosityIhavepeepedthroughthekeyhole,butIwasneverabletoseemorethansuchacollectionofoldtrunksandbundlesaswouldbeexpectedinsucharoom. “Oneday—itwasinMarch,1883—aletterwithaforeignstamplayuponthetableinfrontofthecolonel’splate.Itwasnotacommonthingforhimtoreceiveletters,forhisbillswereallpaidinreadymoney,andhehadnofriendsofanysort.‘FromIndia!’saidheashetookitup,‘Pondicherrypostmark!Whatcanthisbe?’Openingithurriedly,outtherejumpedfivelittledriedorangepips,whichpattereddownuponhisplate.Ibegantolaughatthis,butthelaughwasstruckfrommylipsatthesightofhisface.Hisliphadfallen,hiseyeswereprotruding,hisskinthecolourofputty,andheglaredattheenvelopewhichhestillheldinhistremblinghand,‘K.K.K.!’heshrieked,andthen,‘MyGod,myGod,mysinshaveovertakenme!’ “‘Whatisit,uncle?’Icried. “‘Death,’saidhe,andrisingfromthetableheretiredtohisroom,leavingmepalpitatingwithhorror.Itookuptheenvelopeandsawscrawledinredinkupontheinnerflap,justabovethegum,theletterKthreetimesrepeated.Therewasnothingelsesavethefivedriedpips.Whatcouldbethereasonofhisoverpoweringterror?Ileftthebreakfast-table,andasIascendedthestairImethimcomingdownwithanoldrustykey,whichmusthavebelongedtotheattic,inonehand,andasmallbrassbox,likeacashbox,intheother. “‘Theymaydowhattheylike,butI’llcheckmatethemstill,’saidhewithanoath.‘TellMarythatIshallwantafireinmyroomto-day,andsenddowntoFordham,theHorshamlawyer.’ “Ididasheordered,andwhenthelawyerarrivedIwasaskedtostepuptotheroom.Thefirewasburningbrightly,andinthegratetherewasamassofblack,fluffyashes,asofburnedpaper,whilethebrassboxstoodopenandemptybesideit.AsIglancedattheboxInoticed,withastart,thatuponthelidwasprintedthetrebleKwhichIhadreadinthemorningupontheenvelope. “‘Iwishyou,John,’saidmyuncle,‘towitnessmywill.Ileavemyestate,withallitsadvantagesandallitsdisadvantages,tomybrother,yourfather,whenceitwill,nodoubt,descendtoyou.Ifyoucanenjoyitinpeace,wellandgood!Ifyoufindyoucannot,takemyadvice,myboy,andleaveittoyourdeadliestenemy.Iamsorrytogiveyousuchatwo-edgedthing,butIcan’tsaywhatturnthingsaregoingtotake.KindlysignthepaperwhereMr.Fordhamshowsyou.’ “Isignedthepaperasdirected,andthelawyertookitawaywithhim.Thesingularincidentmade,asyoumaythink,thedeepestimpressionuponme,andIponderedoveritandturnediteverywayinmymindwithoutbeingabletomakeanythingofit.YetIcouldnotshakeoffthevaguefeelingofdreadwhichitleftbehind,thoughthesensationgrewlesskeenastheweekspassedandnothinghappenedtodisturbtheusualroutineofourlives.Icouldseeachangeinmyuncle,however.Hedrankmorethanever,andhewaslessinclinedforanysortofsociety.Mostofhistimehewouldspendinhisroom,withthedoorlockedupontheinside,butsometimeshewouldemergeinasortofdrunkenfrenzyandwouldburstoutofthehouseandtearaboutthegardenwitharevolverinhishand,screamingoutthathewasafraidofnoman,andthathewasnottobecoopedup,likeasheepinapen,bymanordevil.Whenthesehotfitswereover,however,hewouldrushtumultuouslyinatthedoorandlockandbaritbehindhim,likeamanwhocanbrazenitoutnolongeragainsttheterrorwhichliesattherootsofhissoul.AtsuchtimesIhaveseenhisface,evenonacoldday,glistenwithmoisture,asthoughitwerenewraisedfromabasin. “Well,tocometoanendofthematter,Mr.Holmes,andnottoabuseyourpatience,therecameanightwhenhemadeoneofthosedrunkensalliesfromwhichhenevercameback.Wefoundhim,whenwewenttosearchforhim,facedownwardinalittlegreen-scummedpool,whichlayatthefootofthegarden.Therewasnosignofanyviolence,andthewaterwasbuttwofeetdeep,sothatthejury,havingregardtohisknowneccentricity,broughtinaverdictof‘suicide.’ButI,whoknewhowhewincedfromtheverythoughtofdeath,hadmuchadotopersuademyselfthathehadgoneoutofhiswaytomeetit.Thematterpassed,however,andmyfatherenteredintopossessionoftheestate,andofsome￡14,000,whichlaytohiscreditatthebank.” “Onemoment,”Holmesinterposed,“yourstatementis,Iforesee,oneofthemostremarkabletowhichIhaveeverlistened.Letmehavethedateofthereceptionbyyouruncleoftheletter,andthedateofhissupposedsuicide.” “TheletterarrivedonMarch10,1883.Hisdeathwassevenweekslater,uponthenightofMay2nd.” “Thankyou.Prayproceed.” “WhenmyfathertookovertheHorshamproperty,he,atmyrequest,madeacarefulexaminationoftheattic,whichhadbeenalwayslockedup.Wefoundthebrassboxthere,althoughitscontentshadbeendestroyed.Ontheinsideofthecoverwasapaperlabel,withtheinitialsofK.K.K.repeateduponit,and‘Letters,memoranda,receipts,andaregister’writtenbeneath.These,wepresume,indicatedthenatureofthepaperswhichhadbeendestroyedbyColonelOpenshaw.Fortherest,therewasnothingofmuchimportanceintheatticsaveagreatmanyscatteredpapersandnote-booksbearinguponmyuncle’slifeinAmerica.Someofthemwereofthewartimeandshowedthathehaddonehisdutywellandhadbornethereputeofabravesoldier.OtherswereofadateduringthereconstructionoftheSouthernstates,andweremostlyconcernedwithpolitics,forhehadevidentlytakenastrongpartinopposingthecarpet-bagpoliticianswhohadbeensentdownfromtheNorth. “Well,itwasthebeginningof’84whenmyfathercametoliveatHorsham,andallwentaswellaspossiblewithusuntiltheJanuaryof’85.OnthefourthdayafterthenewyearIheardmyfathergiveasharpcryofsurpriseaswesattogetheratthebreakfast-table.Therehewas,sittingwithanewlyopenedenvelopeinonehandandfivedriedorangepipsintheoutstretchedpalmoftheotherone.Hehadalwayslaughedatwhathecalledmycock-and-bullstoryaboutthecolonel,buthelookedveryscaredandpuzzlednowthatthesamethinghadcomeuponhimself. “‘Why,whatonearthdoesthismean,John?’hestammered. “Myhearthadturnedtolead.‘ItisK.K.K.,’saidI. “Helookedinsidetheenvelope.‘Soitis,’hecried.‘Herearetheveryletters.Butwhatisthiswrittenabovethem?’ “‘Putthepapersonthesundial,’Iread,peepingoverhisshoulder. “‘Whatpapers?Whatsundial?’heasked. “‘Thesundialinthegarden.Thereisnoother,’saidI‘butthepapersmustbethosethataredestroyed.’ “‘Pooh!’saidhe,grippinghardathiscourage.‘Weareinacivilisedlandhere,andwecan’thavetomfooleryofthiskind.Wheredoesthethingcomefrom?’ “‘FromDundee,’Ianswered,glancingatthepostmark. “‘Somepreposterouspracticaljoke,’saidhe.‘WhathaveItodowithsundialsandpapers?Ishalltakenonoticeofsuchnonsense.’ “‘Ishouldcertainlyspeaktothepolice,’Isaid. “‘Andbelaugheda