VI.THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP

IsaWhitney,brotherofthelateEliasWhitney,D.D.,PrincipaloftheTheologicalCollegeofSt.George’s,wasmuchaddictedtoopium.Thehabitgrewuponhim,asIunderstand,fromsomefoolishfreakwhenhewasatcollegeforhavingreadDeQuincey’sdescriptionofhisdreamsandsensations,hehaddrenchedhistobaccowithlaudanuminanattempttoproducethesameeffects.Hefound,assomanymorehavedone,thatthepracticeiseasiertoattainthantogetridof,andformanyyearshecontinuedtobeaslavetothedrug,anobjectofmingledhorrorandpitytohisfriendsandrelatives.Icanseehimnow,withyellow,pastyface,droopinglids,andpin-pointpupils,allhuddledinachair,thewreckandruinofanobleman. Onenight—itwasinJune,’89—therecamearingtomybell,aboutthehourwhenamangiveshisfirstyawnandglancesattheclock.Isatupinmychair,andmywifelaidherneedle-workdowninherlapandmadealittlefaceofdisappointment. “Apatient!”saidshe.“You’llhavetogoout.” Igroaned,forIwasnewlycomebackfromawearyday. Weheardthedooropen,afewhurriedwords,andthenquickstepsuponthelinoleum.Ourowndoorflewopen,andalady,cladinsomedark-colouredstuff,withablackveil,enteredtheroom. “Youwillexcusemycallingsolate,”shebegan,andthen,suddenlylosingherself-control,sheranforward,threwherarmsaboutmywife’sneck,andsobbeduponhershoulder.“Oh,I’minsuchtrouble!”shecried“Idosowantalittlehelp.” “Why,”saidmywife,pullingupherveil,“itisKateWhitney.Howyoustartledme,Kate!Ihadnotanideawhoyouwerewhenyoucamein.” “Ididn’tknowwhattodo,soIcamestraighttoyou.”Thatwasalwaystheway.Folkwhowereingriefcametomywifelikebirdstoalighthouse. “Itwasverysweetofyoutocome.Now,youmusthavesomewineandwater,andsitherecomfortablyandtellusallaboutit.OrshouldyouratherthatIsentJamesofftobed?” “Oh,no,no!Iwantthedoctor’sadviceandhelp,too.It’saboutIsa.Hehasnotbeenhomefortwodays.Iamsofrightenedabouthim!” Itwasnotthefirsttimethatshehadspokentousofherhusband’strouble,tomeasadoctor,tomywifeasanoldfriendandschoolcompanion.Wesoothedandcomfortedherbysuchwordsaswecouldfind.Didsheknowwhereherhusbandwas?Wasitpossiblethatwecouldbringhimbacktoher? Itseemsthatitwas.Shehadthesurestinformationthatoflatehehad,whenthefitwasonhim,madeuseofanopiumdeninthefarthesteastoftheCity.Hithertohisorgieshadalwaysbeenconfinedtooneday,andhehadcomeback,twitchingandshattered,intheevening.Butnowthespellhadbeenuponhimeight-and-fortyhours,andhelaythere,doubtlessamongthedregsofthedocks,breathinginthepoisonorsleepingofftheeffects.Therehewastobefound,shewassureofit,attheBarofGold,inUpperSwandamLane.Butwhatwasshetodo?Howcouldshe,ayoungandtimidwoman,makeherwayintosuchaplaceandpluckherhusbandoutfromamongtheruffianswhosurroundedhim? Therewasthecase,andofcoursetherewasbutonewayoutofit.MightInotescorthertothisplace?Andthen,asasecondthought,whyshouldshecomeatall?IwasIsaWhitney’smedicaladviser,andassuchIhadinfluenceoverhim.IcouldmanageitbetterifIwerealone.IpromisedheronmywordthatIwouldsendhimhomeinacabwithintwohoursifhewereindeedattheaddresswhichshehadgivenme.AndsointenminutesIhadleftmyarmchairandcheerysitting-roombehindme,andwasspeedingeastwardinahansomonastrangeerrand,asitseemedtomeatthetime,thoughthefutureonlycouldshowhowstrangeitwastobe. Buttherewasnogreatdifficultyinthefirststageofmyadventure.UpperSwandamLaneisavilealleylurkingbehindthehighwharveswhichlinethenorthsideoftherivertotheeastofLondonBridge.Betweenaslop-shopandagin-shop,approachedbyasteepflightofstepsleadingdowntoablackgaplikethemouthofacave,IfoundthedenofwhichIwasinsearch.Orderingmycabtowait,Ipasseddownthesteps,wornhollowinthecentrebytheceaselesstreadofdrunkenfeetandbythelightofaflickeringoil-lampabovethedoorIfoundthelatchandmademywayintoalong,lowroom,thickandheavywiththebrownopiumsmoke,andterracedwithwoodenberths,liketheforecastleofanemigrantship. Throughthegloomonecoulddimlycatchaglimpseofbodieslyinginstrangefantasticposes,bowedshoulders,bentknees,headsthrownback,andchinspointingupward,withhereandthereadark,lack-lustreeyeturneduponthenewcomer.Outoftheblackshadowsthereglimmeredlittleredcirclesoflight,nowbright,nowfaint,astheburningpoisonwaxedorwanedinthebowlsofthemetalpipes.Themostlaysilent,butsomemutteredtothemselves,andotherstalkedtogetherinastrange,low,monotonousvoice,theirconversationcomingingushes,andthensuddenlytailingoffintosilence,eachmumblingouthisownthoughtsandpayinglittleheedtothewordsofhisneighbour.Atthefartherendwasasmallbrazierofburningcharcoal,besidewhichonathree-leggedwoodenstooltheresatatall,thinoldman,withhisjawrestinguponhistwofists,andhiselbowsuponhisknees,staringintothefire. AsIentered,asallowMalayattendanthadhurriedupwithapipeformeandasupplyofthedrug,beckoningmetoanemptyberth. “Thankyou.Ihavenotcometostay,”saidI.“Thereisafriendofminehere,Mr.IsaWhitney,andIwishtospeakwithhim.” Therewasamovementandanexclamationfrommyright,andpeeringthroughthegloom,IsawWhitney,pale,haggard,andunkempt,staringoutatme. “MyGod!It’sWatson,”saidhe.Hewasinapitiablestateofreaction,witheverynerveinatwitter.“Isay,Watson,whato’clockisit?” “Nearlyeleven.” “Ofwhatday?” “OfFriday,June19th.” “Goodheavens!IthoughtitwasWednesday.ItisWednesday.Whatd’youwanttofrightenachapfor?”Hesankhisfaceontohisarmsandbegantosobinahightreblekey. “ItellyouthatitisFriday,man.Yourwifehasbeenwaitingthistwodaysforyou.Youshouldbeashamedofyourself!” “SoIam.Butyou’vegotmixed,Watson,forIhaveonlybeenhereafewhours,threepipes,fourpipes—Iforgethowmany.ButI’llgohomewithyou.Iwouldn’tfrightenKate—poorlittleKate.Givemeyourhand!Haveyouacab?” “Yes,Ihaveonewaiting.” “ThenIshallgoinit.ButImustowesomething.FindwhatIowe,Watson.Iamalloffcolour.Icandonothingformyself.” Iwalkeddownthenarrowpassagebetweenthedoublerowofsleepers,holdingmybreathtokeepoutthevile,stupefyingfumesofthedrug,andlookingaboutforthemanager.AsIpassedthetallmanwhosatbythebrazierIfeltasuddenpluckatmyskirt,andalowvoicewhispered,“Walkpastme,andthenlookbackatme.”Thewordsfellquitedistinctlyuponmyear.Iglanceddown.Theycouldonlyhavecomefromtheoldmanatmyside,andyethesatnowasabsorbedasever,verythin,verywrinkled,bentwithage,anopiumpipedanglingdownfrombetweenhisknees,asthoughithaddroppedinsheerlassitudefromhisfingers.Itooktwostepsforwardandlookedback.Ittookallmyself-controltopreventmefrombreakingoutintoacryofastonishment.HehadturnedhisbacksothatnonecouldseehimbutI.Hisformhadfilledout,hiswrinklesweregone,thedulleyeshadregainedtheirfire,andthere,sittingbythefireandgrinningatmysurprise,wasnoneotherthanSherlockHolmes.Hemadeaslightmotiontometoapproachhim,andinstantly,asheturnedhisfacehalfroundtothecompanyoncemore,subsidedintoadoddering,loose-lippedsenility. “Holmes!”Iwhispered,“whatonearthareyoudoinginthisden?” “Aslowasyoucan,”heanswered“Ihaveexcellentears.IfyouwouldhavethegreatkindnesstogetridofthatsottishfriendofyoursIshouldbeexceedinglygladtohavealittletalkwithyou.” “Ihaveacaboutside.” “Thenpraysendhimhomeinit.Youmaysafelytrusthim,forheappearstobetoolimptogetintoanymischief.Ishouldrecommendyoualsotosendanotebythecabmantoyourwifetosaythatyouhavethrowninyourlotwithme.Ifyouwillwaitoutside,Ishallbewithyouinfiveminutes.” ItwasdifficulttorefuseanyofSherlockHolmes’requests,fortheywerealwayssoexceedinglydefinite,andputforwardwithsuchaquietairofmastery.Ifelt,however,thatwhenWhitneywasonceconfinedinthecabmymissionwaspracticallyaccomplishedandfortherest,Icouldnotwishanythingbetterthantobeassociatedwithmyfriendinoneofthosesingularadventureswhichwerethenormalconditionofhisexistence.InafewminutesIhadwrittenmynote,paidWhitney’sbill,ledhimouttothecab,andseenhimdriventhroughthedarkness.Inaveryshorttimeadecrepitfigurehademergedfromtheopiumden,andIwaswalkingdownthestreetwithSherlockHolmes.Fortwostreetsheshuffledalongwithabentbackandanuncertainfoot.Then,glancingquicklyround,hestraightenedhimselfoutandburstintoaheartyfitoflaughter. “Isuppose,Watson,”saidhe,“thatyouimaginethatIhaveaddedopium-smokingtococaineinjections,andalltheotherlittleweaknessesonwhichyouhavefavouredmewithyourmedicalviews.” “Iwascertainlysurprisedtofindyouthere.” “ButnotmoresothanItofindyou.” “Icametofindafriend.” “AndItofindanenemy.” “Anenemy?” “Yesoneofmynaturalenemies,or,shallIsay,mynaturalprey.Briefly,Watson,Iaminthemidstofaveryremarkableinquiry,andIhavehopedtofindaclueintheincoherentram