VI.THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP

agerness,andsmoothingitoutuponthetablehedrewoverthelampandexamineditintently.Ihadleftmychairandwasgazingatitoverhisshoulder.TheenvelopewasaverycoarseoneandwasstampedwiththeGravesendpostmarkandwiththedateofthatveryday,orratherofthedaybefore,foritwasconsiderablyaftermidnight. “Coarsewriting,”murmuredHolmes.“Surelythisisnotyourhusband’swriting,madam.” “No,buttheenclosureis.” “Iperceivealsothatwhoeveraddressedtheenvelopehadtogoandinquireastotheaddress.” “Howcanyoutellthat?” “Thename,yousee,isinperfectlyblackink,whichhasdrieditself.Therestisofthegreyishcolour,whichshowsthatblotting-paperhasbeenused.Ifithadbeenwrittenstraightoff,andthenblotted,nonewouldbeofadeepblackshade.Thismanhaswrittenthename,andtherehasthenbeenapausebeforehewrotetheaddress,whichcanonlymeanthathewasnotfamiliarwithit.Itis,ofcourse,atrifle,butthereisnothingsoimportantastrifles.Letusnowseetheletter.Ha!therehasbeenanenclosurehere!” “Yes,therewasaring.Hissignet-ring.” “Andyouaresurethatthisisyourhusband’shand?” “Oneofhishands.” “One?” “Hishandwhenhewrotehurriedly.Itisveryunlikehisusualwriting,andyetIknowitwell.” “‘Dearestdonotbefrightened.Allwillcomewell.Thereisahugeerrorwhichitmaytakesomelittletimetorectify.Waitinpatience.—NEVILLE.’Writteninpenciluponthefly-leafofabook,octavosize,nowater-mark.Hum!Postedto-dayinGravesendbyamanwithadirtythumb.Ha!Andtheflaphasbeengummed,ifIamnotverymuchinerror,byapersonwhohadbeenchewingtobacco.Andyouhavenodoubtthatitisyourhusband’shand,madam?” “None.Nevillewrotethosewords.” “Andtheywerepostedto-dayatGravesend.Well,Mrs.St.Clair,thecloudslighten,thoughIshouldnotventuretosaythatthedangerisover.” “Buthemustbealive,Mr.Holmes.” “Unlessthisisacleverforgerytoputusonthewrongscent.Thering,afterall,provesnothing.Itmayhavebeentakenfromhim.” “No,noitis,itishisveryownwriting!” “Verywell.Itmay,however,havebeenwrittenonMondayandonlypostedto-day.” “Thatispossible.” “Ifso,muchmayhavehappenedbetween.” “Oh,youmustnotdiscourageme,Mr.Holmes.Iknowthatalliswellwithhim.ThereissokeenasympathybetweenusthatIshouldknowifevilcameuponhim.OntheverydaythatIsawhimlasthecuthimselfinthebedroom,andyetIinthedining-roomrushedupstairsinstantlywiththeutmostcertaintythatsomethinghadhappened.DoyouthinkthatIwouldrespondtosuchatrifleandyetbeignorantofhisdeath?” “Ihaveseentoomuchnottoknowthattheimpressionofawomanmaybemorevaluablethantheconclusionofananalyticalreasoner.Andinthisletteryoucertainlyhaveaverystrongpieceofevidencetocorroborateyourview.Butifyourhusbandisaliveandabletowriteletters,whyshouldheremainawayfromyou?” “Icannotimagine.Itisunthinkable.” “AndonMondayhemadenoremarksbeforeleavingyou?” “No.” “AndyouweresurprisedtoseehiminSwandamLane?” “Verymuchso.” “Wasthewindowopen?” “Yes.” “Thenhemighthavecalledtoyou?” “Hemight.” “Heonly,asIunderstand,gaveaninarticulatecry?” “Yes.” “Acallforhelp,youthought?” “Yes.Hewavedhishands.” “Butitmighthavebeenacryofsurprise.Astonishmentattheunexpectedsightofyoumightcausehimtothrowuphishands?” “Itispossible.” “Andyouthoughthewaspulledback?” “Hedisappearedsosuddenly.” “Hemighthaveleapedback.Youdidnotseeanyoneelseintheroom?” “No,butthishorriblemanconfessedtohavingbeenthere,andtheLascarwasatthefootofthestairs.” “Quiteso.Yourhusband,asfarasyoucouldsee,hadhisordinaryclotheson?” “Butwithouthiscollarortie.Idistinctlysawhisbarethroat.” “HadheeverspokenofSwandamLane?” “Never.” “Hadheevershowedanysignsofhavingtakenopium?” “Never.” “Thankyou,Mrs.St.Clair.ThosearetheprincipalpointsaboutwhichIwishedtobeabsolutelyclear.Weshallnowhavealittlesupperandthenretire,forwemayhaveaverybusydayto-morrow.” Alargeandcomfortabledouble-beddedroomhadbeenplacedatourdisposal,andIwasquicklybetweenthesheets,forIwaswearyaftermynightofadventure.SherlockHolmeswasaman,however,who,whenhehadanunsolvedproblemuponhismind,wouldgofordays,andevenforaweek,withoutrest,turningitover,rearranginghisfacts,lookingatitfromeverypointofviewuntilhehadeitherfathomeditorconvincedhimselfthathisdatawereinsufficient.Itwassoonevidenttomethathewasnowpreparingforanall-nightsitting.Hetookoffhiscoatandwaistcoat,putonalargebluedressing-gown,andthenwanderedabouttheroomcollectingpillowsfromhisbedandcushionsfromthesofaandarmchairs.WiththeseheconstructedasortofEasterndivan,uponwhichheperchedhimselfcross-legged,withanounceofshagtobaccoandaboxofmatcheslaidoutinfrontofhim.InthedimlightofthelampIsawhimsittingthere,anoldbriarpipebetweenhislips,hiseyesfixedvacantlyuponthecorneroftheceiling,thebluesmokecurlingupfromhim,silent,motionless,withthelightshininguponhisstrong-setaquilinefeatures.SohesatasIdroppedofftosleep,andsohesatwhenasuddenejaculationcausedmetowakeup,andIfoundthesummersunshiningintotheapartment.Thepipewasstillbetweenhislips,thesmokestillcurledupward,andtheroomwasfullofadensetobaccohaze,butnothingremainedoftheheapofshagwhichIhadseenuponthepreviousnight. “Awake,Watson?”heasked. “Yes.” “Gameforamorningdrive?” “Certainly.” “Thendress.Nooneisstirringyet,butIknowwherethestable-boysleeps,andweshallsoonhavethetrapout.”Hechuckledtohimselfashespoke,hiseyestwinkled,andheseemedadifferentmantothesombrethinkerofthepreviousnight. AsIdressedIglancedatmywatch.Itwasnowonderthatnoonewasstirring.Itwastwenty-fiveminutespastfour.IhadhardlyfinishedwhenHolmesreturnedwiththenewsthattheboywasputtinginthehorse. “Iwanttotestalittletheoryofmine,”saidhe,pullingonhisboots.“Ithink,Watson,thatyouarenowstandinginthepresenceofoneofthemostabsolutefoolsinEurope.IdeservetobekickedfromheretoCharingCross.ButIthinkIhavethekeyoftheaffairnow.” “Andwhereisit?”Iasked,smiling. “Inthebathroom,”heanswered.“Oh,yes,Iamnotjoking,”hecontinued,seeingmylookofincredulity.“Ihavejustbeenthere,andIhavetakenitout,andIhavegotitinthisGladstonebag.Comeon,myboy,andweshallseewhetheritwillnotfitthelock.” Wemadeourwaydownstairsasquietlyaspossible,andoutintothebrightmorningsunshine.Intheroadstoodourhorseandtrap,withthehalf-cladstable-boywaitingatthehead.Webothsprangin,andawaywedasheddowntheLondonRoad.Afewcountrycartswerestirring,bearinginvegetablestothemetropolis,butthelinesofvillasoneithersidewereassilentandlifelessassomecityinadream. “Ithasbeeninsomepointsasingularcase,”saidHolmes,flickingthehorseonintoagallop.“IconfessthatIhavebeenasblindasamole,butitisbettertolearnwisdomlatethannevertolearnitatall.” IntowntheearliestriserswerejustbeginningtolooksleepilyfromtheirwindowsaswedrovethroughthestreetsoftheSurreyside.PassingdowntheWaterlooBridgeRoadwecrossedovertheriver,anddashingupWellingtonStreetwheeledsharplytotherightandfoundourselvesinBowStreet.SherlockHolmeswaswellknowntotheforce,andthetwoconstablesatthedoorsalutedhim.Oneofthemheldthehorse’sheadwhiletheotherledusin. “Whoisonduty?”askedHolmes. “InspectorBradstreet,sir.” “Ah,Bradstreet,howareyou?”Atall,stoutofficialhadcomedownthestone-flaggedpassage,inapeakedcapandfroggedjacket.“Iwishtohaveaquietwordwithyou,Bradstreet.” “Certainly,Mr.Holmes.Stepintomyroomhere.” Itwasasmall,office-likeroom,withahugeledgeruponthetable,andatelephoneprojectingfromthewall.Theinspectorsatdownathisdesk. “WhatcanIdoforyou,Mr.Holmes?” “Icalledaboutthatbeggarman,Boone—theonewhowaschargedwithbeingconcernedinthedisappearanceofMr.NevilleSt.Clair,ofLee.” “Yes.Hewasbroughtupandremandedforfurtherinquiries.” “SoIheard.Youhavehimhere?” “Inthecells.” “Ishequiet?” “Oh,hegivesnotrouble.Butheisadirtyscoundrel.” “Dirty?” “Yes,itisallwecandotomakehimwashhishands,andhisfaceisasblackasatinker’s.Well,whenoncehiscasehasbeensettled,hewillhavearegularprisonbathandIthink,ifyousawhim,youwouldagreewithmethatheneededit.” “Ishouldliketoseehimverymuch.” “Wouldyou?Thatiseasilydone.Comethisway.Youcanleaveyourbag.” “No,IthinkthatI’lltakeit.” “Verygood.Comethisway,ifyouplease.”Heledusdownapassage,openedabarreddoor,passeddownawindingstair,andbroughtustoawhitewashedcorridorwithalineofdoorsoneachside. “Thethirdontherightishis,”saidtheinspector.“Hereitis!”Hequietlyshotbackapanelintheupperpartofthedoorandglancedthrough. “Heisasleep,”saidhe.“Youcanseehimverywell.” Webothputoureyestot