elapt1c/ElapticAI-512 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 149M
him, curious to learn what this new quest might be which seemed to tax
his powers so sorely, and yet afraid to break in upon the current of
his thoughts. We had driven several miles, and were beginning to get to
the fringe of the belt of suburban villas, when he shook himself,
shrugged his shoulders, and lit up his pipe with the air of a man who
has satisfied himself that he is acting for the best.

“You have a grand gift of silence, Watson, said he. “It makes you
quite invaluable as a companion. ’Pon my word, it is a great thing for
me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are not
over-pleasant. I was wondering what I should say to this dear little
woman to-night when she meets me at the door.

“You forget that I know nothing about it.

“I shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case before we get
to Lee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow I can get nothing to
go upon. There’s plenty of thread, no doubt, but I can’t get the end of
it into my hand. Now, I’ll state the case clearly and concisely to you,
Watson, and maybe you can see a spark where all is dark to me.

“Proceed, then.

“Some years ago—to be definite, in May, 1884—there came to Lee a
gentleman, Neville St. Clair by name, who appeared to have plenty of
money. He took a large villa, laid out the grounds very nicely, and
lived generally in good style. By degrees he made friends in the
neighbourhood, and in 1887 he married the daughter of a local brewer,
by whom he now has two children. He had no occupation, but was
interested in several companies and went into town as a rule in the
morning, returning by the 5:14 from Cannon Street every night. Mr. St.
Clair is now thirty-seven years of age, is a man of temperate habits, a
good husband, a very affectionate father, and a man who is popular with
all who know him. I may add that his whole debts at the present moment,
as far as we have been able to ascertain, amount to £ 88 10s., while
he has £ 220 standing to his credit in the Capital and Counties Bank.
There is no reason, therefore, to think that money troubles have been
weighing upon his mind.

“Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into town rather earlier than
usual, remarking before he started that he had two important
commissions to perform, and that he would bring his little boy home a
box of bricks. Now, by the merest chance, his wife received a telegram
upon this same Monday, very shortly after his departure, to the effect
that a small parcel of considerable value which she had been expecting
was waiting for her at the offices of the Aberdeen Shipping Company.
Now, if you are well up in your London, you will know that the office
of the company is in Fresno Street, which branches out of Upper Swandam
Lane, where you found me to-night. Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch,
started for the City, did some shopping, proceeded to the company’s
office, got her packet, and found herself at exactly 4:35 walking
through Swandam Lane on her way back to the station. Have you followed
me so far?

“It is very clear.

“If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly hot day, and Mrs. St. Clair
walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab, as she did
not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself. While she was
walking in this way down Swandam Lane, she suddenly heard an
ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her husband looking down
at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoning to her from a second-floor
window. The window was open, and she distinctly saw his face, which she
describes as being terribly agitated. He waved his hands frantically to
her, and then vanished from the window so suddenly that it seemed to
her that he had been plucked back by some irresistible force from
behind. One singular point which struck her quick feminine eye was that
although he wore some dark coat, such as he had started to town in, he
had on neither collar nor necktie.

“Convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down the
steps—for the house was none other than the opium den in which you
found me to-night—and running through the front room she attempted to
ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. At the foot of the
stairs, however, she met this Lascar scoundrel of whom I have spoken,
who thrust her back and, aided by a Dane, who acts as assistant there,
pushed her out into the street. Filled with the most maddening doubts
and fears, she rushed down the lane and, by rare good-fortune, met in
Fresno Street a number of constables with an inspector, all on their
way to their beat. The inspector and two men accompanied her back, and
in spite of the continued resistance of the proprietor, they made their
way to the room in which Mr. St. Clair had last been seen. There was no
sign of him there. In fact, in the whole of that floor there was no one
to be found save a crippled wretch of hideous aspect, who, it seems,
made his home there. Both he and the Lascar stoutly swore that no one
else had been in the front room during the afternoon. So determined was
their denial that the inspector was staggered, and had almost come to
believe that Mrs. St. Clair had been deluded when, with a cry, she
sprang at a small deal box which lay upon the table and tore the lid
from it. Out there fell a cascade of children’s bricks. It was the toy
which he had promised to bring home.

“This discovery, and the evident confusion which the cripple showed,
made the inspector realise that the matter was serious. The rooms were
carefully examined, and results all pointed to an abominable crime. The
front room was plainly furnished as a sitting-room and led into a small
bedroom, which looked out upon the back of one of the wharves. Between
the wharf and the bedroom window is a narrow strip, which is dry at low
tide but is covered at high tide with at least four and a half feet of
water. The bedroom window was a broad one and opened from below. On

him, curious to learn what this new quest might be which seemed to tax

his powers so sorely, and yet afraid to break in upon the current of

his thoughts. We had driven several miles, and were beginning to get to

the fringe of the belt of suburban villas, when he shook himself,

shrugged his shoulders, and lit up his pipe with the air of a man who

has satisfied himself that he is acting for the best.

“You have a grand gift of silence, Watson, said he. “It makes you

quite invaluable as a companion. ’Pon my word, it is a great thing for

me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are not

over-pleasant. I was wondering what I should say to this dear little

woman to-night when she meets me at the door.

“You forget that I know nothing about it.

“I shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case before we get

to Lee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow I can get nothing to

go upon. There’s plenty of thread, no doubt, but I can’t get the end of

it into my hand. Now, I’ll state the case clearly and concisely to you,

Watson, and maybe you can see a spark where all is dark to me.

“Proceed, then.

“Some years ago—to be definite, in May, 1884—there came to Lee a

gentleman, Neville St. Clair by name, who appeared to have plenty of

money. He took a large villa, laid out the grounds very nicely, and

lived generally in good style. By degrees he made friends in the

neighbourhood, and in 1887 he married the daughter of a local brewer,

by whom he now has two children. He had no occupation, but was

interested in several companies and went into town as a rule in the

morning, returning by the 5:14 from Cannon Street every night. Mr. St.

Clair is now thirty-seven years of age, is a man of temperate habits, a

good husband, a very affectionate father, and a man who is popular with

all who know him. I may add that his whole debts at the present moment,

as far as we have been able to ascertain, amount to £ 88 10s., while

he has £ 220 standing to his credit in the Capital and Counties Bank.

There is no reason, therefore, to think that money troubles have been

weighing upon his mind.

“Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into town rather earlier than

usual, remarking before he started that he had two important

commissions to perform, and that he would bring his little boy home a

box of bricks. Now, by the merest chance, his wife received a telegram

upon this same Monday, very shortly after his departure, to the effect

that a small parcel of considerable value which she had been expecting

was waiting for her at the offices of the Aberdeen Shipping Company.

Now, if you are well up in your London, you will know that the office

of the company is in Fresno Street, which branches out of Upper Swandam

Lane, where you found me to-night. Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch,

started for the City, did some shopping, proceeded to the company’s

office, got her packet, and found herself at exactly 4:35 walking

through Swandam Lane on her way back to the station. Have you followed

me so far?

“It is very clear.

“If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly hot day, and Mrs. St. Clair

walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab, as she did

not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself. While she was

walking in this way down Swandam Lane, she suddenly heard an

ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her husband looking down

at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoning to her from a second-floor

window. The window was open, and she distinctly saw his face, which she

describes as being terribly agitated. He waved his hands frantically to

her, and then vanished from the window so suddenly that it seemed to

her that he had been plucked back by some irresistible force from

behind. One singular point which struck her quick feminine eye was that

although he wore some dark coat, such as he had started to town in, he

had on neither collar nor necktie.

“Convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down the

steps—for the house was none other than the opium den in which you

found me to-night—and running through the front room she attempted to

ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. At the foot of the

stairs, however, she met this Lascar scoundrel of whom I have spoken,

who thrust her back and, aided by a Dane, who acts as assistant there,

pushed her out into the street. Filled with the most maddening doubts

and fears, she rushed down the lane and, by rare good-fortune, met in

Fresno Street a number of constables with an inspector, all on their

way to their beat. The inspector and two men accompanied her back, and

in spite of the continued resistance of the proprietor, they made their

way to the room in which Mr. St. Clair had last been seen. There was no

sign of him there. In fact, in the whole of that floor there was no one

to be found save a crippled wretch of hideous aspect, who, it seems,

made his home there. Both he and the Lascar stoutly swore that no one

else had been in the front room during the afternoon. So determined was

their denial that the inspector was staggered, and had almost come to

believe that Mrs. St. Clair had been deluded when, with a cry, she

sprang at a small deal box which lay upon the table and tore the lid

from it. Out there fell a cascade of children’s bricks. It was the toy

which he had promised to bring home.

“This discovery, and the evident confusion which the cripple showed,

made the inspector realise that the matter was serious. The rooms were

carefully examined, and results all pointed to an abominable crime. The

front room was plainly furnished as a sitting-room and led into a small

bedroom, which looked out upon the back of one of the wharves. Between

the wharf and the bedroom window is a narrow strip, which is dry at low

tide but is covered at high tide with at least four and a half feet of

water. The bedroom window was a broad one and opened from below. On