by Arthur Conan Doyle
First published in the Liberty magazine, 18
December 1926 (US).
Sherlock Holmes was in a melancholy and
philosophic mood that morning. His alert practical nature was subject to such
reactions. 'Did you see him?' he asked. 'You mean the old fellow who has just
gone out?' 'Precisely.' 'Yes, I met him at the door.' 'What did you think of
him?' 'A pathetic, futile, broken creature.' 'Exactly, Watson. Pathetic and
futile. But is not all life pathetic and futile? Is not his story a microcosm
of the whole? We reach. We grasp. And what is left in our hands at the end? A
shadow. Or worse than a shadow - misery.' 'Is he one of your clients?' 'Well, I
suppose I may call him so. He has been sent on by the Yard. Just as medical men
occasionally send their incurables to a quack. They argue that they can do
nothing more, and that whatever happens the patient can be no worse than he
is.' 'What is the matter?' Holmes took a rather soiled card from the table. 'Josiah
Amberley. He says he was junior partner of Brickfall and Amberley, who are
manufacturers of artistic materials. You will see their names upon paint-boxes.
He made his little pile, retired from business at the age of sixty-one, bought
a house at Lewisham and settled down to rest after a life of ceaseless grind.
One would think his future was tolerably assured.' 'Yes, indeed.' Holmes
glanced over some notes which he had scribbled upon the back of an envelope.
'Retired in 1896, Watson. Early in 1897 he married a woman twenty years younger
than himself - a good-looking woman, too, if the photograph does not flatter. A
competence, a wife, leisure - it seemed a straight road which lay before him. And yet
within two years he is, as you have seen, as broken and miserable a creature as
crawls beneath the sun.' 'But what has happened?' 'The old story, Watson. A
treacherous friend and a fickle wife. It would appear that Amberley has one
hobby in life, and it is chess. Not far from him at Lewisham there lives a young
doctor who is also a chess-player. I have noted his name as Dr Ray Ernest.
Ernest was frequently in the house, and an intimacy between him and Mrs
Amberley was a natural sequence, for you must admit that our unfortunate client
has few outward graces, whatever his inner virtues may be. The couple went off
together last week - destination untraced. What is more, the faithless spouse
carried off the old man's deed-box as her personal luggage with a good part of
his life's savings within. Can we find the lady? Can we save the money? A
commonplace problem so far as it has developed, and yet a vital one for Josiah
Amberley.' 'What will you do about it?' 'Well, the immediate question, my dear
Watson, happens to be, What will you do? - if you will be good enough to understudy
me. You know that I am preoccupied with this case of the two Coptic Patriarchs,
which should come to a head to-day. I really have not time to go out to
Lewisham, and yet evidence taken on the spot has a special value. The old
fellow was quite insistent that I should go, but I explained my difficulty. He
is prepared to meet a representative.' 'By all means.' I answered. 'I confess I
don't see that I can be of much service, but I am willing to do my best.' And
so it was that on a summer afternoon I set forth to Lewisham, little dreaming
that within a week the affair in which I was engaging would be the eager debate
of all England. It was late that evening before I returned to Baker Street and
gave an account of my mission. Holmes lay with his gaunt figure stretched in
his deep chair, his pipe curling forth slow wreaths of acrid tobacco, while his
eyelids drooped over his eyes so lazily that he might almost have been asleep
were it not that at any halt or questionable passage of my narrative they half
lifted, and two grey eyes, as bright and keen as rapiers, transfixed me with
their searching glance. 'The Haven is the name of Mr Josiah Amberley's house,'
I explained. 'I think it would interest you, Holmes. It is like some penurious
patrician who has sunk into the company of his inferiors. You know that
particular quarter, the monotonous brick streets, the weary suburban highways.
Right in the middle of them, a little island of ancient culture and comfort,
lies this old home, surrounded by a high sun-baked wall, mottled with lichens
and topped with moss, the sort of wall-' 'Cut out the poetry, Watson,' said
Holmes, severely. 'I note that it was a high brick wall.'
'Exactly. I should not have known which was The
Haven had I not asked a lounger who was smoking in the street. I have reason
for mentioning him. He was a tall, dark, heavily-moustached, rather
military-looking man. He nodded in answer to my inquiry and gave me a curiously
questioning glance, which came back to my memory a little later. 'I had hardly
entered the gateway before I saw Mr Amberley coming down the drive. I only had
a glimpse of him this morning, and he certainly gave me the impression of a
strange creature, but when I saw him in full light his appearance was even more
abnormal.' 'I have, of course, studied it, and yet I should be interested to
have your impression,' said Holmes. 'He seemed to me like a man who was
literally bowed down by care. His back was curved as though he carried a heavy
burden. Yet he was not the weakling that I had at first imagined, for his
shoulders and chest have the framework of a giant, though his figure tapers
away into a pair of spindled legs.' 'Left shoe wrinkled, right one smooth.' 'I
did not observe that.' 'No, you wouldn't. I spotted his artificial limb. But
proceed.' 'I was struck by the snaky locks of grizzled hair which curled from
under his old straw hat, and his face with its fierce, eager expression and the
deeply-lined features.' 'Very good, Watson. What did he say?' 'He began pouring
out the story of his grievances. We walked down the drive together, and of
course I took a good look round. I have never seen a worse-kept place. The
garden was all running to seed, giving me an impression of wild neglect in
which the plants had been allowed to find the way of nature rather than of art.
How any decent woman could have tolerated such a state of things, I don't know.
The house, too, was slatternly to the last degree, but the poor man seemed
himself to be aware of it and to be trying to remedy it, for a great pot of
green paint stood in the centre of the hall and he was carrying a thick brush
in his left hand. He had been working on the woodwork. 'He took me into his
dingy sanctum, and we had a long chat. Of course, he was disappointed that you
had not come yourself. "I hardly expected," he said, "that so
humble an individual as myself, especially after my heavy financial loss, could
obtain the complete attention of so famous a man as Mr Sherlock Holmes."
'I assured him that the financial question did not arise. "No, of course,
it is art for art's sake with him," said he, "but even on the
artistic side of crime he might have found something here to study. And human
nature, Dr Watson-the black ingratitude of it all! When did I ever refuse one of
her requests? Was ever a woman so pampered? And that young man - he
might have been my own son. He had the run of my house. And yet see how they
have treated me! Oh, Dr Watson, it is a dreadful, dreadful world!" 'That
was the burden of his song for an hour or more. He had, it seems, no suspicion
of an intrigue. They lived alone save for a woman who comes in by the day and
leaves every evening at six. On that particular evening old Amberley, wishing
to give his wife a treat, had taken two upper circle seats at the Haymarket
Theatre. At the last moment she had complained of a headache and had refused to
go. He had gone alone. There seemed to be no doubt about the fact, for he
produced the unused ticket which he had taken for his wife.' 'That is
remarkable - most remarkable,' said Holmes, whose interest in the case seemed
to be rising. 'Pray continue, Watson. I find your narrative most arresting. Did
you personally examine this ticket? You did not, perchance, take the number?'
'It so happens that I did,' I answered with some pride. 'It chanced to be my
old school number, thirty-one, and so it stuck in my head.' 'Excellent, Watson!
His seat, then, was either thirty or thirty-two.' 'Quite so,' I answered, with
some mystification. 'And on B row.' 'That is most satisfactory. What else did
he tell you?' 'He showed me his strong-room, as he called it. It really is a
strong-room - like a bank - with iron door and shutter-burglar-proof, as he
claimed. However, the woman seems to have had a duplicate key, and between them
they had carried off some seven thousand pounds' worth of cash and securities.'
'Securities! How could they dispose of those?' 'He said that he had given the
police a list and that he hoped they would be unsaleable. He had got back from
the theatre about midnight, and found the place plundered, the door and window
open, and the fugitives gone. There was no letter or message, nor has he heard
a word since. He at once gave the alarm to the police.' Holmes brooded for some
minutes. 'You say he was painting. What was he painting?' 'Well, he was
painting the passage. But he had already painted the door and woodwork of this
room I spoke of.' 'Does it strike you as a strange occupation in the
circumstances?'
'"One must do something to ease an aching
heart." That was his own explanation. It was eccentric, no doubt, but he
is clearly an eccentric man. He tore up one of his wife's photographs in my
presence - tore it up furiously in a tempest of passion. "I never wish to
see her damned face again," he shrieked.' 'Anything more, Watson?' 'Yes,
one thing which struck me more than anything else. I had driven to the
Blackheath Station and had caught my train there, when just as it was starting
I saw a man dart into the carriage next to my own. You know that I have a quick
eye for faces, Holmes. It was undoubtedly the tall, dark man whom I had
addressed in the street. I saw him once more at London Bridge, and then I lost
him in the crowd. But I am convinced that he was following me.' 'No doubt! No
doubt!' said Holmes. 'A tall, dark, heavilymoustached man, you say, with
grey-tinted sunglasses?' 'Holmes, you are a wizard. I did not say so, but he
had grey-tinted sun-glasses.' 'And a Masonic tie-pin?' 'Holmes!' 'Quite simple,
my dear Watson. But let us get down to what is practical. I must admit to you
that the case, which seemed to me to be so absurdly simple as to be hardly
worth my notice, is rapidly assuming a very different aspect. It is true that
though in your mission you have missed everything of importance, yet even those
things which have obtruded themselves upon your notice give rise to serious
thought.' 'What have I missed?' 'Don't be hurt, my dear fellow. You know that I
am quite impersonal. No one else would have done better. Some possibly not so
well. But clearly you have missed some vital points. What is the opinion of the
neighbours about this man Amberley and his wife? That surely is of importance.
What of Dr Ernest? Was he the gay Lothario one would expect? With your natural
advantages, Watson, every lady is your helper and accomplice. What about the
girl at the post office, or the wife of the greengrocer? I can picture you
whispering soft nothings with the young lady at the "Blue Anchor",
and receiving hard somethings in exchange. All this you have left undone.' 'It
can still be done.' 'It has been done. Thanks to the telephone and the help of
the Yard, I can usually get my essentials without leaving this room. As a
matter of fact, my information confirms the man's story. He has the local
repute of being a miser as well as a harsh and exacting husband. That he had a
large sum of money in that strong-room of his is certain. So also is it that
young Dr Ernest, an unmarried man, played chess with Amberley, and probably played the fool
with his wife. All this seems plain sailing, and one would think that there was
no more to be said - and yet! - and yet!' 'Where lies the difficulty?' 'In my
imagination, perhaps. Well, leave it there, Watson. Let us escape from this
weary workaday world by the side door of music. Carina sings to-night at the
Albert Hall, and we still have time to dress, dine and enjoy.' In the morning I
was up betimes, but some toast crumbs and two empty eggshells told me that my
companion was earlier still. I found a scribbled note on the table. Dear
Watson, There are one or two points of contact which I should wish to establish
with Mr Josiah Amberley. When I have done so we can dismiss the case - or not.
I would only ask you to be on hand about three o'clock, as I conceive it
possible that I may want you. S. H. I saw nothing of Holmes all day, but at the
hour named he returned, grave, preoccupied and aloof. At such times it was
easier to leave him to himself. 'Has Amberley been here yet?' 'No.' 'Ah! I am
expecting him.' He was not disappointed, for presently the old fellow arrived
with a very worried and puzzled expression upon his austere face. 'I've had a
telegram, Mr Holmes. I can make nothing of it.' He handed it over, and Holmes
read it aloud. Come at once without fail. Can give you information as to your
recent loss. - ELMAN. The Vicarage. 'Dispatched at two-ten from Little
Purlington,' said Holmes. 'Little Purlington is in Essex, I believe, not far
from Frinton. Well, of course you will start at once. This is evidently from a
responsible person, the vicar of the place. Where is my Crockford? Yes, here we
have him. J. C. Elman, MA, Living of Mossmoor cum Little Purlington. Look up
the trains, Watson.' 'There is one at five-twenty from Liverpool Street.'
'Excellent. You had best go with him, Watson. He may need help or advice.
Clearly we have come to a crisis in this affair.' But our client seemed by no
means eager to start.
'It's perfectly absurd, Mr Holmes,' he said.
'What can this man possibly know of what has occurred? It is waste of time and
money.' 'He would not have telegraphed to you if he did not know something.
Wire at once that you are coming.' 'I don't think I shall go.' Holmes assumed
his sternest aspect. 'It would make the worst possible impression both on the
police and upon myself, Mr Amberley, if when so obvious a clue arose you should
refuse to follow it up. We should feel that you were not really in earnest in
this investigation.' Our client seemed horrified at the suggestion. 'Why, of
course I shall go if you look at it in that way,' said he. 'On the face of it,
it seems absurd to suppose that this parson knows anything, but if you think-'
'I do think,' said Holmes, with emphasis, and so we were launched upon our
journey. Holmes took me aside before we left the room and gave me one word of
counsel which showed that he considered the matter to be of importance.
'Whatever you do, see that he really does go,' said he. 'Should he break away
or return, get to the nearest telephone exchange and send the single word
"Bolted". I will arrange here that it shall reach me wherever I am.'
Little Purlington is not an easy place to reach, for it is on a branch line. My
remembrance of the journey is not a pleasant one, for the weather was hot, the
train slow, and my companion sullen and silent, hardly talking at all, save to
make an occasional sardonic remark as to the futility of our proceedings. When
we at last reached the little station it was a two-mile drive before we came to
the Vicarage, where a big, solemn, rather pompous clergyman received us in his
study. Our telegram lay before him. 'Well, gentlemen,' he asked, 'what can I do
for you?' 'We came,' I explained, 'in answer to your wire.' 'My wire! I sent no
wire.' 'I mean the wire which you sent to Mr Josiah Amberley about his wife and
his money.' 'If this is a joke, sir, it is a very questionable one,' said the
vicar angrily. 'I have never heard of the gentleman you name, and I have not
sent a wire to anyone.' Our client and I looked at each other in amazement.
'Perhaps there is some mistake,' said I, 'are there perhaps two vicarages? Here
is the wire itself, signed Elman, and dated from the Vicarage.'
'There is only one vicarage, sir, and only one
vicar, and this wire is a scandalous forgery, the origin of which shall
certainly be investigated by the police. Meanwhile, I can see no possible
object in prolonging this interview.' So Mr Amberley and I found ourselves on
the roadside in what seemed to me to be the most primitive village in England.
We made for the telegraph office, but it was already closed. There was a
telephone, however, at the little 'Railway Arms', and by it I got into touch
with Holmes, who shared in our amazement at the result of our journey. 'Most
singular!' said the distant voice. 'Most remarkable! I much fear, my dear
Watson, that there is no return train tonight. I have unwittingly condemned you
to the horrors of a country inn. However, there is always Nature, Watson -
Nature and Josiah Amberley - you can be in close commune with both.' I heard
his dry chuckle as he turned away. It was soon apparent to me that my
companion's reputation as a miser was not undeserved. He had grumbled at the
expense of the journey, had insisted upon travelling thirdclass, and was now
clamorous in his objections to the hotel bill. Next morning, when we did at last
arrive in London, it was hard to say which of us was in the worse humour. 'You
had best take Baker Street as we pass,' said I. 'Mr Holmes may have some fresh
instructions.' 'If they are not worth more than the last ones they are not of
much use,' said Amberley, with a malevolent scowl. None the less, he kept me
company. I had already warned Holmes by telegram of the hour of our arrival,
but we found a message waiting that he was at Lewisham, and would expect us
there. That was a surprise, but an even greater one was to find that he was not
alone in the sitting-room of our client. A stern-looking, impassive man sat
beside him, a dark man with grey-tinted glasses and a large Masonic pin
projecting from his tie. 'This is my friend Mr Barker,' said Holmes. 'He has
been interesting himself also in your business, Mr Josiah Amberley, though we
have been working independently. But we have both the same question to ask
you!' Mr Amberley sat down heavily. He sensed impending danger. I read it in
his straining eyes and his twitching features. 'What is the question, Mr
Holmes?' 'Only this: What did you do with the bodies?' The man sprang to his
feet with a hoarse scream. He clawed into the air with his bony hands. His
mouth was open and for the instant he looked like some horrible bird of prey.
In a flash we got a glimpse of the real Josiah Amberley, a misshapen demon with
a soul as distorted as his body. As he fell back into his chair he clapped his hand to his lips as if to
stifle a cough. Holmes sprang at his throat like a tiger, and twisted his face
towards the ground. A white pellet fell from between his gasping lips. 'No
short cuts, Josiah Amberley. Things must be done decently and in order. What
about it, Barker?' 'I have a cab at the door,' said our taciturn companion. 'It
is only a few hundred yards to the station. We will go together. You can stay
here, Watson. I shall be back within half an hour.' The old colourman had the
strength of a lion in that great trunk of his, but he was helpless in the hands
of the two experienced man-handlers. Wriggling and twisting, he was dragged to
the waiting cab, and I was left to my solitary vigil in the ill-omened house.
In less time than he had named, however, Holmes was back, in company with a
smart young police inspector. 'I've left Barker to look after the formalities,'
said Holmes. 'You had not met Barker, Watson. He is my hated rival upon the
Surrey shore. When you said a tall dark man it was not difficult for me to
complete the picture. He has several good cases to his credit, has he not,
Inspector?' 'He has certainly interfered several times,' the Inspector answered
with reserve. 'His methods are irregular, no doubt, like my own. The irregulars
are useful sometimes, you know. You, for example, with your compulsory warning
about whatever he said being used against him, could never have bluffed this
rascal into what is virtually a confession.' 'Perhaps not. But we get there all
the same, Mr Holmes. Don't imagine that we had not formed our own views of this
case, and that we would not have laid our hands on our man. You will excuse us
for feeling sore when you jump in with methods which we cannot use, and so rob
us of the credit.' 'There shall be no such robbery, MacKinnon. I assure you
that I efface myself from now onwards, and as to Barker, he had done nothing
save what I told him.' The Inspector seemed considerably relieved. 'That is
very handsome of you, Mr Holmes. Praise or blame can matter little to you, but
it is very different to us when the newspapers begin to ask questions.' 'Quite
so. But they are pretty sure to ask questions anyhow, so it would be as well to
have answers. What will you say, for example, when the intelligent and
enterprising reporter asks you what the exact points were which aroused your
suspicion, and finally gave you a certain conviction as to the real facts?' The
Inspector looked puzzled.
'We don't seem to have got any real facts yet,
Mr Holmes. You say that the prisoner, in the presence of three witnesses,
practically confessed, by trying to commit suicide, that he had murdered his
wife and her lover. What other facts have you?' 'Have you arranged for a
search?' 'There are three constables on their way.' 'Then you will soon get the
clearest fact of all. The bodies cannot be far away. Try the cellars and the
garden. It should not take long to dig up the likely places. This house is
older than the water-pipes. There must be a disused well somewhere. Try your
luck there.' 'But how did you know of it, and how was it done?' 'I'll show you
first how it was done, and then I will give the explanation which is due to
you, and even more to my long-suffering friend here, who has been invaluable
throughout. But, first, I would give you an insight into this man's mentality.
It is a very unusual one - so much so that I think his destination is more
likely to be Broadmoor than the scaffold. He has, to a high degree, the sort of
mind which one associates with the medieval Italian nature rather than with the
modern Briton. He was a miserable miser who made his wife so wretched by his
niggardly ways that she was a ready prey for any adventurer. Such a one came
upon the scene in the person of this chess-playing doctor. Amberley excelled at
chess - one mark, Watson, of a scheming mind. Like all misers, he was a jealous
man, and his jealousy became a frantic mania. Rightly or wrongly, he suspected
an intrigue. He determined to have his revenge, and he planned it with
diabolical cleverness. Come here!' Holmes led us along the passage with as much
certainty as if he had lived in the house, and halted at the open door of the
strong-room. 'Pooh! What an awful smell of paint!' cried the Inspector. 'That
was our first clue,' said Holmes. 'You can thank Dr Watson's observation for
that, though he failed to draw the inference. It set my foot upon the trail.
Why should this man at such a time be filling his house with strong odours?
Obviously, to cover some other smell which he wished to conceal - some guilty
smell which would suggest suspicions. Then came the idea of a room such as you see
here with the iron door and shutter - a hermetically sealed room. Put those two
facts together, and whither do they lead? I could only determine that by
examining the house myself. I was already certain that the case was serious,
for I had examined the box-office chart at the Haymarket Theatre - another of
Dr Watson's bull's-eyes - and ascertained that neither B thirty nor thirty-two
of the upper circle had been occupied that night. Therefore, Amberley had not
been to the theatre, and his alibi fell to the ground. He made a bad slip when
he allowed my astute friend to notice the number of the seat taken for his
wife. The question now arose how I might be able to examine the house. I sent
an agent to the most impossible village I could
think of, and summoned my man to it at such an
hour that he could not possibly get back. To prevent any miscarriage, Dr Watson
accompanied him. The good vicar's name I took, of course, out of my Crockford.
Do I make it all clear to you?' 'It is masterly,' said the Inspector, in an
awed voice. 'There being no fear of interruption I proceeded to burgle the
house. Burglary has always been an alternative profession, had I cared to adopt
it, and I have little doubt that I should have come to the front. Observe what
I found. You see the gas-pipe along the skirting here. Very good. It rises in
the angle of the wall, and there is a tap here in the corner. The pipe runs out
into the strong-room, as you can see, and ends in that plastered rose in the
centre of the ceiling, where it is concealed by the ornamentation. That end is
wide open. At any moment by turning the outside tap the room could be flooded
with gas. With door and shutter closed and the tap full on I would not give two
minutes of conscious sensation to anyone shut up in that little chamber. By
what devilish device he decoyed them there I do not know, but once inside the
door they were at his mercy.' The Inspector examined the pipe with interest.
'One of our officers mentioned the smell of gas,' said he, 'but, of course, the
window and door were open then, and the paint - or some of it - was already
about. He had begun the work of painting the day before, according to his
story. But what next, Mr Holmes?' 'Well, then came an incident which was rather
unexpected to myself. I was slipping through the pantry window in the early
dawn when I felt a hand inside my collar, and a voice said: "Now, you
rascal, what are you doing in there?" When I could twist my head round I
looked into the tinted spectacles of my friend and rival, Mr Barker. It was
curious foregathering, and set us both smiling. It seems that he had been
engaged by Dr Ray Ernest's family to make some investigations, and had come to
the same conclusion as to foul play. He had watched the house for some days,
and had spotted Dr Watson as one of the obviously suspicious characters who had
called there. He could hardly arrest Watson, but when he saw a man actually
climbing out of the pantry window there came a limit to his restraint. Of
course, I told him how matters stood and we continued the case together.' 'Why
him? Why not us?' 'Because it was in my mind to put that little test which
answered so admirably. I fear you would not have gone so far.' The Inspector
smiled. 'Well, maybe not. I understand that I have your word, Mr Holmes, that
you step right out of the case now and that you turn all your results over to
us.' 'Certainly, that is always my custom.'
'Well, in the name of the Force I thank you. It
seems a clear case, as you put it, and there can't be much difficulty over the
bodies.' 'I'll show you a grim little bit of evidence,' said Holmes, and I am
sure Amberley himself never observed it. You'll get results, Inspector, by
always putting yourself in the other fellow's place, and thinking what you
would do yourself. It takes some imagination, but it pays. Now, we will suppose
that you were shut up in this little room, had not two minutes to live, but
wanted to get even with the fiend who was probably mocking at you from the
other side of the door. What would you do?' 'Write a message.' 'Exactly. You
would like to tell people how you died. No use writing on paper. That would be
seen. If you wrote on the wall some eye might rest upon it. Now, look here!
Just above the skirting is scribbled with a purple indelible pencil: "We
we-" That's all.' 'What do you make of that?' 'Well, it's only a foot
above the ground. The poor devil was on the floor and dying when he wrote it.
He lost his senses before he could finish.' 'He was writing, "We were
murdered."' 'That's how I read it. If you find an indelible pencil on the
body-' 'We'll look out for it, you may be sure. But those securities? Clearly
there was no robbery at all. And yet he did possess those bonds. We verified
that.' 'You may be sure he has them hidden in a safe place. When the whole
elopement had passed into history he would suddenly discover them, and announce
that the guilty couple had relented and sent back the plunder or had dropped it
on the way.' 'You certainly seem to have met every difficulty,' said the
Inspector. 'Of course, he was bound to call us in, but why he should have gone
to you I can't understand.' 'Pure swank!' Holmes answered. 'He felt so clever
and so sure of himself that he imagined no one could touch him. He could say to
any suspicious neighbour, "Look at the steps I have taken. I have
consulted not only the police, but even Sherlock Holmes."' The Inspector
laughed. 'We must forgive you your "even", Mr Holmes,' said he, 'it's
as workmanlike a job as I can remember.' A couple of days later my friend tossed
across to me a copy of the bi-weekly North Surrey Observer. Under a series of
flaming headlines, which began with 'The Haven Horror' and ended with
'Brilliant Police Investigation', there was a packed column of
print which gave the first consecutive account of the affair. The concluding
paragraph is typical of the whole. It ran thus: The remarkable acumen by which
Inspector MacKinnon deduced from the smell of paint that some other smell, that
of gas, for example, might be concealed, the bold deduction that the
strong-room might also be the death-chamber, and the subsequent inquiry which
led to the discovery of the bodies in a disused well, cleverly concealed by a
dog-kennel, should live in the history of crime as a standing example of the
intelligence of our professional detectives. 'Well, well, MacKinnon is a good
fellow,' said Holmes, with a tolerant smile. 'You can file it in our archives,
Watson. Some day the true story may be told.'