
                       THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
                      The Adventure of the Speckled Band
      On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have
      during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend
      Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number
      merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did
      rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth,
      he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did
      not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic.  Of all
      these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which presented
      more singular features than that which was associated with the
      well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran.  The
      events in question occurred in the early days of my association
      with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in Baker
      Street.  It is possible that I might have placed them upon record
      before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time, from which
      I have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death
      of the lady to whom the pledge was given.  It is perhaps as well
      that the facts should now come to light, for I have reasons to
      know that there are widespread rumours as to the death of Dr.
      Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even more terrible
      than the truth.

          It was early in April in the year `83 that I woke one morning
      to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my
      bed.  He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the
      mantelpiece showed me that it; was only a quarter-past seven, I
      blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little
      resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.

          "Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, "but it's the
      common lot this morning.  Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she
      retorted upon me, and I on you."

          "What is it, then--a fire?"

          "No; a client.  It seems that a young lady has arrived in a
      considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me.  She
      is waiting now in the sitting-room.  Now, when young ladies wander
      about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy
      people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something very
      pressing which they have to communicate.  Should it prove to be an
      interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the
      outset.  I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and give
      you the chance."

          "My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything."

          I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his
      professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions,
      as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis,
      with which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to him.
      I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to
      accompany my friend down to the sitting-room.  A lady dressed in
      black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose
      as we entered.

          "Good-morning, madam," said Holmes cheerily.  "My name is
      Sherlock Holmes.  This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr.
      Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself.  Ha!
      I am glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light
      the fire.  Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot
      coffee, for I observe that you are shivering."

          "It is not cold which makes me shiver," said the woman in a
      low voice, changing her seat as requested.

          "What, then?"

          "It is fear, Mr. Holmes.  It is terror."  She raised her veil
      as she spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable
      state of agitation, her face all drawn and gray, with restless,
      frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal.  Her features
      and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot
      with premature gray, and her expression was weary and haggard.
      Sherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick,
      all-comprehensive glances.

          "You must not fear," said he soothingly, bending forward and
      patting her forearm.  "We shall soon set matters right, I have no
      doubt.  You have come in by train this morning, I see."

          "You know me, then?"

          "No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the
      palm of your left glove.  You must have started early, and yet you
      had a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you
      reached the station."

          The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my
      companion.

          "There is no mystery, my dear madam," said he, smiling.  "The
      left arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than
      seven places.  The marks are perfectly fresh.  There is no vehicle
      save a dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only
      when you sit on the left-hand side of the driver."

          "Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct,"
      said she.  "I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at
      twenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo.  Sir, I
      can stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues.
      I have no one to turn to--none, save only one, who cares for me,
      and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid.  I have heard of you,
      Mr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you
      helped in the hour of her sore need.  It was from her that I had
      your address.  Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me,
      too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness
      which surrounds me?  At present it is out of my power to reward
      you for your services, but in a month or six weeks I shall be
      married, with the control of my own income, and then at least you
      shall not find me ungrateful."

          Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small
      case-book, which he consulted.

          "Farintosh," said he.  "Ah yes, I recall the case; it was
      concerned with an opal tiara.  I think it was before your time,
      Watson.  I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote
      the same care to your case as I did to that of your friend.  As to
      reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty to
      defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which suits
      you best.  And now I beg that you will lay before us everything
      that may help us in forming an opinion upon the matter."

          "Alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror of my situation
      lies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions
      depend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to
      another, that even he to whom of all others I have a right to look
      for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about it as the
      fancies of a nervous woman.  He does not say so, but I can read it
      from his soothing answers and averted eyes.  But I have heard, Mr.
      Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold wickedness of
      the human heart.  You may advise me how to walk amid the dangers
      which encompass me."

          "I am all attention, madam."

          "My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather,
      who is the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in
      England, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border of
      Surrey."

          Holmes nodded his head.  "The name is familiar to me," said
      he.

          "The family was at one time among the richest in England, and
      the estates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north,
      and Hampshire in the west.  In the last century, however, four
      successive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition, and
      the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the days
      of the Regency.  Nothing was left save a few acres of ground, and
      the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under a
      heavy mortgage.  The last squire dragged out his existence there,
      living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his only
      son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new
      conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled him
      to take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta, where, by his
      professional skill and his force of character, he established a
      large practice.  In a fit of anger, however, caused by some
      robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he beat his
      native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital sentence.
      As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and afterwards
      returned to England a morose and disappointed man.

          "When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother Mrs.
      Stoner, the young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal
      Artillery.  My sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two
      years old at the time of my mother's re-marriage.  She had a
      considerable sum of money--not less than 1000 pounds a year--and
      this she bequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with
      him, with a provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed
      to each of us in the event of our marriage.  Shortly after our
      return to England my mother died--she was killed eight years ago
      in a railway accident near Crewe.  Dr. Roylott then abandoned his
      attempts to establish himself in practice in London and took us to
      live with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran.  The
      money which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and
      there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.

          "But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this
      time.  Instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our
      neighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of
      Stoke Moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in his
      house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious quarrels
      with whoever might cross his path.  Violence of temper approaching
      to mania has been hereditary in the men of the family, and in my
      stepfather's case it had, I believe, been intensified by his long
      residence in the tropics.  A series of disgraceful brawls took
      place, two of which ended in the police-court, until at last he
      became the terror of the village, and the folks would fly at his
      approach, for he is a man of immense strength, and absolutely
      uncontrollable in his anger.

          "Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into
      a stream, and it was only by paying over all the money which I
      could gather together that I was able to avert another public
      exposure.  He had no friends at all save the wandering gypsies,
      and he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few
      acres of bramble-covered land which represent the family estate
      and would accept in return the hospitality of their tents,
      wandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end.  He has a
      passion also for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by a
      correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon,
      which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by the
      villagers almost as much as their master.

          "You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and
      I had no great pleasure in our lives.  No servant would stay with
      us, an for a long time we did all the work of the house.  She was
      but thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already
      begun to whiten, even as mine has."

          "Your sister is dead, then?"

          "She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I
      wish to speak to you.  You can understand that, living the life
      which I have described, we were little likely to see anyone of our
      own age and position.  We had, however, an aunt, my mother's
      maiden sister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and
      we were occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady's
      house.  Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met there
      a half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged.  My
      stepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned and
      offered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of
      the day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event
      occurred which has deprived me of my only companion."

          Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his
      eyes closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his
      lids now and glanced across at his visitor.

          "Pray be precise as to details," said he.

          "It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful
      time is seared into my memory.  The manor-house is, as I have
      already said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited.  The
      bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms
      being in the central block of the buildings.  Of these bedrooms
      the first is Dr. Roylott's, the second my sister's, and the third
      my own.  There is no communication between them, but they all open
      out into the same corridor.  Do I make myself plain?"

          "Perfectly so."

          "The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn.  That
      fatal night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we knew
      that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by the
      smell of the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom to
      smoke.  She left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where
      she sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding.  At
      eleven o'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door
      and looked back.

          "`Tell me, Helen,' said she, `have you ever heard anyone
      whistle in the dead of the night?'

          "`Never,' said I.

          "`I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in
      your sleep?'  "`Certainly not.  But why?'

          "`Because during the last few nights I have always, about
      three in the morning, heard a low, clear whistle.  I am a light
      sleeper, and it has awakened me.  I cannot tell where it came from
      --perhaps from the next room, perhaps from the lawn.  I thought
      that I would just ask you whether you had heard it.'

          "`No, I have not.  It must be those wretched gypsies in the
      plantation.'

          "`Very likely.  And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that
      you did not hear it also.'

          `Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.'

          "`Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.'  She
      smiled back at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard
      her key turn in the lock."

          "Indeed," said Holmes.  "Was it your custom always to lock
      yourselves in at night?"

          "Always."

          "And why?"

          "I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a
      cheetah and a baboon.  We had no feeling of security unless our
      doors were locked."

          "Quite so.  Pray proceed with your statement."

          "I could not sleep that night.  A vague feeling of impending
      misfortune impressed me.  My sister and I, you will recollect,
      were twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two
      souls which are so closely allied.  It was a wild night.  The wind
      was howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing
      against the windows.  Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale,
      there burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman.  I knew
      that it was my sister's voice.  I sprang from my bed, wrapped a
      shawl round me, and rushed into the corridor.  As I opened my door
      I seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and a
      few moments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had
      fallen.  As I ran down the passage, my sister's door was unlocked,
      and evolved slowly upon its hinges.  I stared at it
      horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to issue from it.  By
      the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister appear at the
      opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands groping for
      help, her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a drunkard.
      I ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that moment her
      knees seemed to give way and she fell to the ground.  She writhed
      as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were dreadfully
      convulsed.  At first I thought that she had not recognized me, but
      as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out in a voice which I
      shall never forget, `Oh my God!  Helen!  It was the band!  The
      speckled band!'  There was something else which she would fain
      have said, and she stabbed with her finger into the air in the
      direction of the doctor's room, but a fresh convulsion seized her
      and choked her words.  I rushed out, calling loudly for my
      stepfather, and I met him hastening from his room in his
      dressing-gown.  When he reached my sister's side she was
      unconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent
      for medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for
      she slowly sank and died without having recovered her
      consciousness.  Such was the dreadful end of my beloved sister."

          "One moment," said Holmes; "are you sure about this whistle
      and metallic sound?  Could you swear to it?"

          "That was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry.  It
      is my strong impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash
      of the gale and the creaking of an old house, I may possibly have
      been deceived."

          "Was your sister dressed?"

          "No, she was in her night-dress.  In her right hand was found
      the charred stump of a match, and in her left a match-box."

          "Showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when
      the alarm took place.  That is important.  And what conclusions
      did the coroner come to?"

          "He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott's
      conduct had long been notorious in the county, but he was unable
      to find any satisfactory cause of death.  My evidence showed that
      the door had been fastened upon the inner side, and the windows
      were blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars, which
      were secured every night.  The walls were carefully sounded, and
      were shown to be quite solid all round, and the flooring was also
      thoroughly examined, with the same result.  The chimney is wide,
      but is barred up by four large staples.  It is certain, therefore,
      that my sister was quite alone when she met her end.  Besides,
      there were no marks of any violence upon her."

          "How about poison?"

          "The doctors examined her for it, but without success."

          "What do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?"

          "It is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock,
      though what it was that frightened her I cannot imagine."

          "Were there gypsies in the plantation at the time?"

          "Yes, there are nearly always some there."

          "Ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a band--a
      speckled band?"

          "Sometimes I have thought that it was merely the wild talk of
      delirium, sometimes that it may have referred to some band of
      people, perhaps to these very gypsies in the plantation.  I do not
      know whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them wear
      over their heads might have suggested the strange adjective which
      she used."

          Holmes shook his head like a man who is far from being
      satisfied.

          "These are very deep waters," said he; "pray go on with your
      narrative."

          "Two years have passed since then, and my life has been until
      lately lonelier than ever.  A month ago, however, a dear friend,
      whom I have known for many years, has done me the honour to ask my
      hand in marriage.  His name is Armitage--Percy Armitage--the
      second son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading.  My
      stepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to
      be married in the course of the spring.  Two days ago some repairs
      were started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom wall
      has been pierced, so that I have had to move into the chamber in
      which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed in which she
      slept.  Imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last night, as I
      lay awake, thinking over her terrible fate, I suddenly heard in
      the silence of the night the low whistle which had been the herald
      of her own death.  I sprang up and lit the lamp, but nothing was
      to be seen in the room.  I was too shaken to go to bed again,
      however, so I dressed, and as soon as it was daylight I slipped
      down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which is opposite, and
      drove to Leatherhead, from whence I have come on this morning with
      the one object of seeing you and asking your advice."

          "You have done wisely," said my friend.  "But have you told me
      all?"

          "Yes, all."

          "Miss Roylott, you have not.  You are screening your
      stepfather."

          "Why, what do you mean?"

          For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which
      fringed the hand that lay upon our visitor's knee.  Five little
      livid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed
      upon the white wrist.

          "You have been cruelly used," said Holmes.

          The lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist.
      "He is a hard man," she said, "and perhaps he hardly knows his own
      strength."

          There was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin
      upon his hands and stared into the crackling fire.

          "This is a very deep business," he said at last.  "There are a
      thousand details which I should desire to know before I decide
      upon our course of action.  Yet we have not a moment to lose.  If
      we were to come to Stoke Moran today, would it be possible for us
      to see over these rooms without the knowledge of your stepfather?"

          "As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some
      most important business.  It is probable that he will be away all
      day, and that there would be nothing to disturb you.  We have a
      housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could easily
      get her out of the way."

          "Excellent.  You are not averse to this trip, Watson?"

          "By no means."

          "Then we shall both come.  What are you going to do yourself?"

          "I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I
      am in town.  But I shall return by the twelve o'clock train, so as
      to be there in time for your coming."

          "And you may expect us early in the afternoon.  I have myself
      some small business matters to attend to.  Will you not wait and
      breakfast?"

          "No, I must go.  My heart is lightened already since I have
      confided my trouble to you.  I shall look forward to seeing you
      again this afternoon."  She dropped her thick black veil over her
      face and glided from the room.

          "And what do you think of it all, Watson?" asked Sherlock
      Holmes, leaning back in his chair.

          "It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business."

          "Dark enough and sinister enough."

          "Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and
      walls are sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are
      impassable, then her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when
      she met her mysterious end."

          "What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, an what of
      the very peculiar words of the dying woman?"

          "I cannot think."

          "When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence
      of a band of gypsies who are on intimate terms with this old
      doctor, the fact that we have every reason to believe that the
      doctor has an interest in preventing his stepdaughter's marriage,
      the dying allusion to a band, and, finally, the fact that Miss
      Helen Stoner heard a metallic clang, which might have been caused
      by one of those metal bars that secured the shutters falling back
      into its place, I think that there is good ground to think that
      the mystery may be cleared along those lines."

          "But what, then, did the gypsies do?"

          "I cannot imagine."

          "I see many objections to any such theory."

          "And so do I.  It is precisely for that reason that we are
      going to Stoke Moran this day.  I want to see whether the
      objections are fatal, or if they may be explained away.  But what
      in the name of the devil!"

          The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact
      that our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man
      had framed himself in the aperture.  His costume was a peculiar
      mixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a
      black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and pair of high gaiters, with a
      hunting-crop swinging in his hand.  So tall was he that his hat
      actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his breadth
      seemed to span it across from side to side.  A large face, seared
      with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and marked
      with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other of us,
      while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin, fleshless
      nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old bird of
      prey.

          "Which of you is Holmes?" asked this apparition.

          "My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me," said my
      companion quietly.

          "I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran."

          "Indeed, Doctor," said Holmes blandly.  "Pray take a seat."

          "I will do nothing of the kind.  My stepdaughter has been
      here.  I have traced her.  What has she been saying to you?"

          "It is a little cold for the time of the year," said Holmes.

          "What has she been saying to you?" screamed the old man
      furiously.

          "But I have heard that the crocuses promise well," continued
      my companion imperturbably.

          "Ha!  You put me off, do you?" said our new visitor, taking a
      step forward and shaking his hunting-crop.  "I know you, you
      scoundrel!  I have heard of you before.  You are Holmes, the
      meddler."

          My friend smiled.

          "Holmes, the busybody!"

          His smile broadened.

          "Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!"

          Holmes chuckled heartily.  "Your conversation is most
      entertaining," said he.  "When you go out close the door, for
      there is a decided draught."

          "I will go when I have said my say.  Don't you dare to meddle
      with my affairs.  I know that Miss Stoner has been here.  I traced
      her!  I am a dangerous man to fall foul of!  See here."  He
      stepped swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a
      curve with his huge brown hands.

          "See that you keep yourself out of my grip," he snarled, and
      hurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the
      room.

          "He seems a very amiable person," said Holmes, laughing.  "I
      am not quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown
      him that my grip was not much more feeble than his own."  As he
      spoke he picked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort,
      straightened it out again.

          "Fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the
      official detective force!  This incident gives zest to our
      investigation, however, and I only trust that our little friend
      will not suffer from her imprudence in allowing this brute to
      trace her.  And now, Watson, we shall order breakfast, and
      afterwards I shall walk down to Doctors' Commons, where I hope to
      get some data which may help us in this matter."

          It was nearly one o'clock when Sherlock Holmes returned from
      his excursion.  He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper,
      scrawled over with notes and figures.

          "I have seen the will of the deceased wife," said he.  "To
      determine its exact meaning I have been obliged to work out the
      present prices of the investments with which it is concerned.  The
      total income, which at the time of the wife's death was little
      short of 1100 pounds, is now, through the fall in agricultural prices,
      not more than 750 pounds.  Each daughter can claim an income of 250
      pounds, in case of marriage.  It is evident, therefore, that if both
      girls had married, this beauty would have had a mere pittance, while
      even one of them would cripple him to a very serious extent.  My
      morning's work has not been wasted, since it has proved that he
      has the very strongest motives for standing in the way of anything
      of the sort.  And now, Watson, this is too serious for dawdling,
      especially as the old man is aware that we are interesting
      ourselves in his affairs; so if you are ready, we shall call a cab
      and drive to Waterloo.  I should be very much obliged if you would
      slip your revolver into your pocket.  An Eley's No. 2 is an
      excellent argument with gentlemen who can twist steel pokers into
      knots.  That and a tooth-brush are, I think, all that we need."

          At Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for
      Leatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove
      for four or five miles through the lovely Surrey lanes.  It was a
      perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the
      heavens.  The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out
      their first green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant
      smell of the moist earth.  To me at least there was a strange
      contrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this sinister
      quest upon which we were engaged.  My companion sat in the front
      of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over his eyes,
      and his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the deepest thought.
      Suddenly, however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder, and
      pointed over the meadows.

          "Look there!" said he.

          A heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope,
      thickening into a grove at the highest point.  From amid the
      branches there jutted out the gray gables and high roof-tree of a
      very old mansion.

          "Stoke Moran?" said he.

          "Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott,"
      remarked the driver.

          "There is some building going on there," said Holmes; "that is
      where we are going."

          "There's the village," said the driver, pointing to a cluster
      of roofs some distance to the left; "but if you want to get to the
      house, you'll find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by
      the foot-path over the fields.  There it is, where the lady is
      walking."

          "And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner," observed Holmes,
      shading his eyes.  "Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest."

          We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its
      way to Leatherhead.

          "I thought it as well," said Holmes as we climbed the stile,
      "that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or
      on some definite business.  It may stop his gossip.
      Good-afternoon, Miss Stoner.  You see that we have been as good as
      our word."

          Our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with
      a face which spoke her joy.  "I have been waiting so eagerly for
      you," she cried, shaking hands with us warmly.  "All has turned
      out splendidly.  Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely
      that he will be back before evening."

          "We have had the pleasure of making the doctor's
      acquaintance," said Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out
      what had occurred.  Miss Stoner turned white to the lips as she
      listened.

          "Good heavens!" she cried, "he has followed me, then."

          "So it appears."

          "He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him.
      What will he say when he returns?"

          "He must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone
      more cunning than himself upon his track.  You must lock yourself
      up from him to-night.  If he is violent, we shall take you away to
      your aunt's at Harrow.  Now, we must make the best use of our
      time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to
      examine."

          The building was of gray, lichen-blotched stone, with high
      central portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab,
      thrown out on each side.  In one of these wings the windows were
      broken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partly
      caved in, a picture of ruin.  The central portion was in little
      better repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively modern,
      and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke curling up from
      the chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided.  Some
      scaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and the
      stone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of any
      workmen at the moment of our visit.  Holmes walked slowly up and
      down the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention the
      outsides of the windows.

          "This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to
      sleep, the centre one to your sister's, and the one next to the
      main building to Dr. Roylott's chamber?"

          "Exactly so.  But I am now sleeping in the middle one."

          "Pending the alterations, as I understand.  By the way, there
      does not seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end
      wall."

          "There were none.  I believe that it was an excuse to move me
      from my room."

          "Ah! that is suggestive.  Now, on the other side of this
      narrow wing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open.
      There are windows in it, of course?"

          "Yes, but very small ones.  Too narrow for anyone to pass
      through."

          "As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were
      unapproachable from that side.  Now, would you have the kindness
      to go into your room and bar your shutters?"

          Miss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination
      through the open window, endeavoured in every way to force the
      shutter open, but without success.  There was no slit through
      which a knife could be passed to raise the bar.  Then with his
      lens he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built
      firmly into the massive masonry.  "Hum!" said he, scratching his
      chin in some perplexity, "my theory certainly presents some
      difficulties.  No one could pass these shutters if they were
      bolted.  Well, we shall see if the inside throws any light upon
      the matter."

          A small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which
      the three bedrooms opened.  Holmes refused to examine the third
      chamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in which Miss
      Stoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister had met with her
      fate.  It was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a
      gaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses.  A
      brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow
      white-counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the
      left-hand side of the window.  These articles, with two small
      wicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save for
      a square of Wilton carpet in the centre.  The boards round and the
      panelling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and
      discoloured that it may have dated from the original building of
      the house.  Holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat
      silent, while his eyes travelled round and round and up and down,
      taking in every detail of the apartment.

          "Where does that bell communicate with?" he asked at last,
      pointing to a thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the
      tassel actually lying upon the pillow.

          "It goes to the housekeeper's room."

          "It looks newer than the other things?"

          "Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago."

          "Your sister asked for it, I suppose?"

          "No, I never heard of her using it.  We used always to get
      what we wanted for ourselves."

          "Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull
      there.  You will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy
      myself as to this floor."  He threw himself down upon his face
      with his lens in his hand and crawled swiftly backward and
      forward, examining minutely the cracks between the boards.  Then
      he did the same with the wood-work with which the chamber was
      panelled.  Finally he walked over to the bed and spent some time
      in staring at it and in running his eye up and down the wall.
      Finally he took the bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug.

          "Why, it's a dummy," said he.

          "Won't it ring?"

          "No, it is not even attached to a wire.  This is very
      interesting.  You can see now that it is fastened to a hook just
      above where the little opening for the ventilator is."

          "How very absurd!  I never noticed that before."

          "Very strange!" muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope "There
      are one or two very singular points about this room.  For example,
      what a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another
      room, when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated with
      the outside air!"

          "That is also quite modern," said the lady.

          "Done about the same time as the bell-rope?" remarked Holmes.

          "Yes, there were several little changes carried out about that
      time."

          "They seem to have been of a most interesting character--
      dummy bell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate.  With
      your permission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches
      into the inner apartment."

          Dr. Grimesby Roylott's chamber was larger than that of his
      stepdaughter, but was as plainly furnished.  A camp-bed, a small
      wooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, an
      armchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, a
      round table, and a large iron safe were the principal things which
      met the eye.  Holmes walked slowly round and examined each and all
      of them with the keenest interest.

          "What's in here?" he asked, tapping the safe.

          "My stepfather's business papers."

          "Oh! you have seen inside, then?"

          "Only once, some years ago.  I remember that it was full of
      papers."

          "There isn't a cat in it, for example?"

          "No.  What a strange idea!"

          "Well, look at this!"  He took up a small saucer of milk which
      stood on the top of it.

          "No; we don't keep a cat.  But there is a cheetah and baboon."

          "Ah, yes, of course!  Well, a cheetah is just a big cat and
      yet a saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants,
      I daresay.  There is one point which I should wish to determine."
      He squatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the
      seat of it with the greatest attention.

          "Thank you.  That is quite settled," said he, rising and
      putting his lens in his pocket.  "Hello!  Here is something
      interesting!"

          The object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung
      on one corner of the bed.  The lash, however, was curled upon
      itself and tied so as to make a loop of whipcord.

          "What do you make of that, Watson?"

          "It's a common enough lash.  But I don't know why it should be
      tied."

          "That is not quite so common, is it?  Ah, me! it's a wicked
      world, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the
      worst of all.  I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner,
      and with your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn."

          I had never seen my friend's face so grim or his brow so dark
      as it was when we turned from the scene of this investigation.  We
      had walked several times up and down the lawn, neither Miss Stoner
      nor myself liking to break in upon his thoughts before he roused
      himself from his reverie.

          "It is very essential, Miss Stoner," said he, "that you should
      absolutely follow my advice in every respect."

          "I shall most certainly do so."

          "The matter is too serious for any hesitation.  Your life may
      depend upon your compliance."

          "I assure you that I am in your hands."

          "In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night
      in your room."

          Both Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment.

          "Yes, it must be so.  Let me explain.  I believe that that is
      the village inn over there?"

          "Yes, that is the Crown."

          "Very good.  Your windows would be visible from there?"

          "Certainly."

          "You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a
      headache, when your stepfather comes back.  Then when you hear him
      retire for the night, you must open the shutters of your window,
      undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a signal to us, and then
      withdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to want into
      the room which you used to occupy.  I have no doubt that, in spite
      of the repairs, you could manage there for one night."

          "Oh, yes, easily."

          "The rest you will leave in our hands."

          "But what will you do?"

          "We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall
      investigate the cause of this noise which has disturbed you."

          "I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up your
      mind," said Miss Stoner, laying her hand upon my companion's
      sleeve.

          "Perhaps I have."

          "Then, for pity's sake, tell me what was the cause of my
      sister's death."

          "I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak."

          "You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct,
      and if she died from some sudden fright."

          "No, I do not think so.  I think that there was probably some
      more tangible cause.  And now, Miss Stoner, we must leave you, for
      if Dr. Roylott returned and saw us our journey would be in vain.
      Good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I have told you
      you may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers
      that threaten you."

          Sherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom
      and sitting-room at the Crown Inn.  They were on the upper floor,
      and from our window we could command a view of the avenue gate,
      and of the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor House.  At dusk we
      saw Dr. Grimesby Roylott drive past, his huge form looming up
      beside the little figure of the lad who drove him.  The boy had
      some slight difficulty in undoing the heavy iron gates, and we
      heard the hoarse roar of the doctor's voice and saw the fury with
      which he shook his clinched fists at him.  The trap drove on, and
      a few minutes later we saw a sudden light spring up among the
      trees as the lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms.

          "Do you know, Watson," said Holmes as we sat together in the
      gathering darkness, "I have really some scruples as to taking you
      to-night.  There is a distinct element of danger."

          "Can I be of assistance?"

          "Your presence might be invaluable."

          "Then I shall certainly come."

          "It is very kind of you."

          "You speak of danger.  You have evidently seen more in these
      rooms than was visible to me."

          "No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more.  I
      imagine that you saw all that I did."

          "I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose
      that could answer I confess is more than I can imagine."

          "You saw the ventilator, too?"

          "Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing
      to have a small opening between two rooms.  It was so small that a
      rat could hardly pass through."

          "I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came
      to Stoke Moran."

          "My dear Holmes!"

          "Oh, yes, I did.  You remember in her statement she said that
      her sister could smell Dr. Roylott's cigar.  Now, of course that
      suggested at once that there must be a communication between the
      two rooms.  It could only be a small one, or it would have been
      remarked upon at the coroner's inquiry.  I deduced a ventilator."

          "But what harm can there be in that?"

          "Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates.  A
      ventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the
      bed dies.  Does not that strike you?"

          "I cannot as yet see any connection."

          "Did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?"

          "No."

          "It was clamped to the floor.  Did you ever see a bed fastened
          like that before?"

          "I cannot say that I have."

          "The lady could not move her bed.  It must always be in the
      same relative position to the ventilator and to the rope--or so we
      may call it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull."

          "Holmes," I cried, "I seem to see dimly what you are hinting
      at.  We are only just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible
      crime."

          "Subtle enough and horrible enough.  When a doctor does go
      wrong he is the first of criminals.  He has nerve and he has
      knowledge.  Palmer and Pritchard were among the heads of their
      profession.  This man strikes even deeper, but I think, Watson,
      that we shall be able to strike deeper still.  But we shall have
      horrors enough before the night is over; for goodness' sake let us
      have a quiet pipe and turn our minds for a few hours to something
      more cheerful."

          About nine o'clock the light among the trees was extinguished,
      and all was dark in the direction of the Manor House.  Two hours
      passed slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of
      eleven, a single bright light shone out right in front of us.

          "That is our signal," said Holmes, springing to his feet; "it
      comes from the middle window."

          As we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord,
      explaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance,
      and that it was possible that we might spend the night there.  A
      moment later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing in
      our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us through
      the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand.

          There was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for
      unrepaired breaches gaped in the old park wall.  Making our way
      among the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about
      to enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel bushes
      there darted what seemed to be a hideous an distorted child, who
      threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and then ran
      swiftly across the lawn into the darkness.

          "My God!" I whispered; "did you see it?"

          Holmes was for the moment as startled as I.  His hand closed
      like a vise upon my wrist in his agitation.  Then he broke into a
      low laugh and put his lips to my ear.

          "It is a nice household," he murmured.  "That is the baboon."

          I had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected.
      There was a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our
      shoulders at any moment.  I confess that I felt easier in my mind
      when, after following Holmes's example and slipping off my shoes,
      I found myself inside the bedroom.  My companion noiselessly
      closed the shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and cast his
      eyes round the room.  All was as we had seen it in the daytime.
      Then creeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, he
      whispered into my ear again so gently that it was all that I could
      do to distinguish the words:

          "The least sound would be fatal to our plans."

          I nodded to show that I had heard.

          "We must sit without light.  He would see it through the
      ventilator."

          I nodded again.

          "Do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it.  Have
      your pistol ready in case we should need it.  I will sit on the
      side of the bed, and you in that chair."

          I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.

          Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed
      upon the bed beside him.  By it he laid the box of matches and the
      stump of a candle.  Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left
      in darkness.

          How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil?  I could not hear
      sound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my
      companion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same
      state of nervous tension in which was myself.  The shutters cut
      off the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.
      From outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at
      our very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that the
      cheetah was indeed at liberty.  Far away we could hear the deep
      tones of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of an
      hour.  How long they seemed, those quarters!  Twelve struck, and
      one and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for
      whatever might befall.

          Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the
      direction of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was
      succeeded by a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal.
      Someone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern.  I heard a gentle
      sound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though the
      smell grew stronger.  For half an hour I sat with straining ears.
      Then suddenly another sound became audible--a very gentle,
      soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping
      continually from a kettle.  The instant that we heard it, Holmes
      sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with his
      cane at the bell-pull.

          "You see it, Watson?" he yelled.  "You see it?"

          But I saw nothing.  At the moment when Holmes struck the light
      I heard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into
      my weary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at
      which my friend lashed so savagely.  I could, however, see that
      his face was deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing.

          He had ceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator
      when suddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most
      horrible cry to which I have ever listened.  It swelled up louder
      and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled
      in the one dreadful shriek.  They say that away down in the
      village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the
      sleepers from their beds.  It struck cold to our hearts, and I
      stood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it
      had died away into the silence from which it rose.

          "What can it mean?" I gasped.

          "It means that it is all over," Holmes answered.  "And
      perhaps, after all, it is for the best.  Take your pistol, and we
      will enter Dr. Roylott's room.

          With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the
      corridor.  Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply
      from within.  Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his
      heels, with the cocked pistol in my hand.

          It was a singular sight which met our eyes.  On the table
      stood a dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a
      brilliant beam of light upon the iron safe, the door of which was
      ajar.  Beside this table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr.  Grimesby
      Roylott clad in a long gray dressing-gown, his bare ankles
      protruding beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless Turkish
      slippers.  Across his lap lay the short stock with the long lash
      which we had noticed during the day.  His chin was cocked upward
      and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner
      of the ceiling.  Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band,
      with brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his
      head.  As we entered he made neither sound nor motion.

          "The band! the speckled band!" whispered Holmes.

          I took a step forward.  In an instant his strange headgear
      began to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the
      squat diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.

          "It is a swamp adder!" cried Holmes; "the deadliest snake in
      India.  He has died within ten seconds of being bitten.  Violence
      does, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls
      into the pit which he digs for another.  Let us thrust this
      creature back into its den, and we can then remove Miss Stoner to
      some place of shelter and let the county police know what has
      happened."

          As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man's
      lap, and throwing the noose round the reptile's neck he drew it
      from its horrid perch and, carrying it at arm's length, threw it
      into the iron safe, which he closed upon it.

          Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott,
      of Stoke Moran.  It is not necessary that I should prolong a
      narrative which has already run to too great a length by telling
      how we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed
      her by the morning train to the care of her good aunt at Harrow,
      of how the slow process of official inquiry came to the conclusion
      that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly playing with a
      dangerous pet.  The little which I had yet to learn of the case
      was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled back next day.

          "I had," said he, "come to an entirely erroneous conclusion
      which shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason
      from insufficient data.  The presence of the gypsies, and the use
      of the word `band,' which was used by the poor girl, no doubt to
      explain the appearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of
      by the light of her match, were sufficient to put me upon an
      entirely wrong scent.  I can only claim the merit that I instantly
      reconsidered my position when, however, it became clear to me that
      whatever danger threatened an occupant of the room could not come
      either from the window or the door.  My attention was speedily
      drawn, as I have already remarked to you, to this ventilator, and
      to the bell-rope which hung down to the bed.  The discovery that
      this was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to the floor,
      instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was there as a
      bridge for something passing through the hole and coming to the
      bed.  The idea of a snake instantly occurred to me, and when I
      coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was furnished with a
      supply of creatures from India, I felt that I was probably on the
      right track.  The idea of using a form of poison which could not
      possibly be discovered by any chemical test was just such a one as
      would occur to a clever and ruthless man who had had an Eastern
      training.  The rapidity with which such a poison would take effect
      would also, from his point of view, be an advantage.  It would be
      a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could distinguish the two little
      dark punctures which would show where the poison fangs had done
      their work.  Then I thought of the whistle.  Of course he must
      recall the snake before the morning light revealed it to the
      victim.  He had trained it, probably by the use of the milk which
      we saw, to return to him when summoned.  He would put it through
      this ventilator at the hour that he thought best, with the
      certainty that it would crawl down the rope and land on the bed.
      It might or might not bite the occupant, perhaps she might escape
      every night for a week, but sooner or later she must fall a
      victim.

          "I had come to these conclusions before ever I had entered his
      room.  An inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in
      the habit of standing on it, which of course would be necessary in
      order that he should reach the ventilator.  The sight of the safe,
      the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to
      finally dispel any doubts which may have remained.  The metallic
      clang heard by Miss Stoner was obviously caused by her stepfather
      hastily closing the door of his safe upon its terrible occupant.
      Having once made up my mind, you know the steps which I took in
      order to put the matter to the proof.  I heard the creature hiss
      as I have no doubt that you did also, and I instantly lit the
      light and attacked it."

          "With the result of driving it through the ventilator."

          "And also with the result of causing it to turn upon its
      master at the other side.  Some of the blows of my cane came home
      and roused it snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first
      person it saw.  In this way I am no doubt indirectly responsible
      for Dr. Grimesby Roylott's death, and I cannot say that it is
      likely to weigh very heavily upon my conscience."

