V.THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS

tformypains.Nothingofthesort.’ “‘Thenletmedoso?’ “‘No,Iforbidyou.Iwon’thaveafussmadeaboutsuchnonsense.’ “Itwasinvaintoarguewithhim,forhewasaveryobstinateman.Iwentabout,however,withaheartwhichwasfullofforebodings. “Onthethirddayafterthecomingofthelettermyfatherwentfromhometovisitanoldfriendofhis,MajorFreebody,whoisincommandofoneofthefortsuponPortsdownHill.Iwasgladthatheshouldgo,foritseemedtomethathewasfartherfromdangerwhenhewasawayfromhome.Inthat,however,Iwasinerror.UpontheseconddayofhisabsenceIreceivedatelegramfromthemajor,imploringmetocomeatonce.Myfatherhadfallenoveroneofthedeepchalk-pitswhichaboundintheneighbourhood,andwaslyingsenseless,withashatteredskull.Ihurriedtohim,buthepassedawaywithouthavingeverrecoveredhisconsciousness.Hehad,asitappears,beenreturningfromFarehaminthetwilight,andasthecountrywasunknowntohim,andthechalk-pitunfenced,thejuryhadnohesitationinbringinginaverdictof‘deathfromaccidentalcauses.’CarefullyasIexaminedeveryfactconnectedwithhisdeath,Iwasunabletofindanythingwhichcouldsuggesttheideaofmurder.Therewerenosignsofviolence,nofootmarks,norobbery,norecordofstrangershavingbeenseenupontheroads.AndyetIneednottellyouthatmymindwasfarfromatease,andthatIwaswell-nighcertainthatsomefoulplothadbeenwovenroundhim. “InthissinisterwayIcameintomyinheritance.YouwillaskmewhyIdidnotdisposeofit?Ianswer,becauseIwaswellconvincedthatourtroubleswereinsomewaydependentuponanincidentinmyuncle’slife,andthatthedangerwouldbeaspressinginonehouseasinanother. “ItwasinJanuary,’85,thatmypoorfathermethisend,andtwoyearsandeightmonthshaveelapsedsincethen.DuringthattimeIhavelivedhappilyatHorsham,andIhadbeguntohopethatthiscursehadpassedawayfromthefamily,andthatithadendedwiththelastgeneration.Ihadbeguntotakecomforttoosoon,howeveryesterdaymorningtheblowfellintheveryshapeinwhichithadcomeuponmyfather.” Theyoungmantookfromhiswaistcoatacrumpledenvelope,andturningtothetableheshookoutuponitfivelittledriedorangepips. “Thisistheenvelope,”hecontinued.“ThepostmarkisLondon—easterndivision.Withinaretheverywordswhichwereuponmyfather’slastmessage:‘K.K.K.’andthen‘Putthepapersonthesundial.’” “Whathaveyoudone?”askedHolmes. “Nothing.” “Nothing?” “Totellthetruth”—hesankhisfaceintohisthin,whitehands—“Ihavefelthelpless.Ihavefeltlikeoneofthosepoorrabbitswhenthesnakeiswrithingtowardsit.Iseemtobeinthegraspofsomeresistless,inexorableevil,whichnoforesightandnoprecautionscanguardagainst.” “Tut!tut!”criedSherlockHolmes.“Youmustact,man,oryouarelost.Nothingbutenergycansaveyou.Thisisnotimefordespair.” “Ihaveseenthepolice.” “Ah!” “Buttheylistenedtomystorywithasmile.Iamconvincedthattheinspectorhasformedtheopinionthatthelettersareallpracticaljokes,andthatthedeathsofmyrelationswerereallyaccidents,asthejurystated,andwerenottobeconnectedwiththewarnings.” Holmesshookhisclenchedhandsintheair.“Incredibleimbecility!”hecried. “Theyhave,however,allowedmeapoliceman,whomayremaininthehousewithme.” “Hashecomewithyouto-night?” “No.Hisordersweretostayinthehouse.” AgainHolmesravedintheair. “Whydidyoucometome?”hesaid,“and,aboveall,whydidyounotcomeatonce?” “Ididnotknow.Itwasonlyto-daythatIspoketoMajorPrendergastaboutmytroublesandwasadvisedbyhimtocometoyou.” “Itisreallytwodayssinceyouhadtheletter.Weshouldhaveactedbeforethis.Youhavenofurtherevidence,Isuppose,thanthatwhichyouhaveplacedbeforeus—nosuggestivedetailwhichmighthelpus?” “Thereisonething,”saidJohnOpenshaw.Herummagedinhiscoatpocket,and,drawingoutapieceofdiscoloured,blue-tintedpaper,helaiditoutuponthetable.“Ihavesomeremembrance,”saidhe,“thatonthedaywhenmyuncleburnedthepapersIobservedthatthesmall,unburnedmarginswhichlayamidtheasheswereofthisparticularcolour.Ifoundthissinglesheetuponthefloorofhisroom,andIaminclinedtothinkthatitmaybeoneofthepaperswhichhas,perhaps,flutteredoutfromamongtheothers,andinthatwayhasescapeddestruction.Beyondthementionofpips,Idonotseethatithelpsusmuch.Ithinkmyselfthatitisapagefromsomeprivatediary.Thewritingisundoubtedlymyuncle’s.” Holmesmovedthelamp,andwebothbentoverthesheetofpaper,whichshowedbyitsraggededgethatithadindeedbeentornfromabook.Itwasheaded,“March,1869,”andbeneathwerethefollowingenigmaticalnotices: “4th.Hudsoncame.Sameoldplatform. “7th.SetthepipsonMcCauley,Paramore,andJohnSwainofSt.Augustine. “9th.McCauleycleared. “10th.JohnSwaincleared. “12th.VisitedParamore.Allwell.” “Thankyou!”saidHolmes,foldingupthepaperandreturningittoourvisitor.“Andnowyoumustonnoaccountloseanotherinstant.Wecannotsparetimeeventodiscusswhatyouhavetoldme.Youmustgethomeinstantlyandact.” “WhatshallIdo?” “Thereisbutonethingtodo.Itmustbedoneatonce.Youmustputthispieceofpaperwhichyouhaveshownusintothebrassboxwhichyouhavedescribed.Youmustalsoputinanotetosaythatalltheotherpaperswereburnedbyyouruncle,andthatthisistheonlyonewhichremains.Youmustassertthatinsuchwordsaswillcarryconvictionwiththem.Havingdonethis,youmustatonceputtheboxoutuponthesundial,asdirected.Doyouunderstand?” “Entirely.” “Donotthinkofrevenge,oranythingofthesort,atpresent.Ithinkthatwemaygainthatbymeansofthelawbutwehaveourwebtoweave,whiletheirsisalreadywoven.Thefirstconsiderationistoremovethepressingdangerwhichthreatensyou.Thesecondistoclearupthemysteryandtopunishtheguiltyparties.” “Ithankyou,”saidtheyoungman,risingandpullingonhisovercoat.“Youhavegivenmefreshlifeandhope.Ishallcertainlydoasyouadvise.” “Donotloseaninstant.And,aboveall,takecareofyourselfinthemeanwhile,forIdonotthinkthattherecanbeadoubtthatyouarethreatenedbyaveryrealandimminentdanger.Howdoyougoback?” “BytrainfromWaterloo.” “Itisnotyetnine.Thestreetswillbecrowded,soItrustthatyoumaybeinsafety.Andyetyoucannotguardyourselftooclosely.” “Iamarmed.” “Thatiswell.To-morrowIshallsettoworkuponyourcase.” “IshallseeyouatHorsham,then?” “No,yoursecretliesinLondon.ItistherethatIshallseekit.” “ThenIshallcalluponyouinaday,orintwodays,withnewsastotheboxandthepapers.Ishalltakeyouradviceineveryparticular.”Heshookhandswithusandtookhisleave.Outsidethewindstillscreamedandtherainsplashedandpatteredagainstthewindows.Thisstrange,wildstoryseemedtohavecometousfromamidthemadelements—blowninuponuslikeasheetofsea-weedinagale—andnowtohavebeenreabsorbedbythemoncemore. SherlockHolmessatforsometimeinsilence,withhisheadsunkforwardandhiseyesbentupontheredglowofthefire.Thenhelithispipe,andleaningbackinhischairhewatchedthebluesmoke-ringsastheychasedeachotheruptotheceiling. “Ithink,Watson,”heremarkedatlast,“thatofallourcaseswehavehadnonemorefantasticthanthis.” “Save,perhaps,theSignofFour.” “Well,yes.Save,perh