MISCELLANY No 55
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE: THE RED-HEADED
LEAGUE
A
Sherlock Holmes Case.
(The
Narrator is Dr Watson)
ADVENTURE
II. THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me.
“You
could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson,” he said
cordially.
“I
was afraid that you were engaged.”
“So
I am. Very much so.”
“Then
I can wait in the next room.”
“Not
at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and helper in many of
my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that he will be of the utmost use
to me in yours also.”
The
stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of greeting, with a
quick little questioning glance from his small fat-encircled eyes.
“Try
the settee,” said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and putting his
fingertips together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. “I know, my dear
Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the
conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. You have shown your relish
for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you will
excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own little
adventures.”
“Your
cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me,” I observed.
“You
will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went into the very
simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that for strange effects and
extraordinary combinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more
daring than any effort of the imagination.”
“A
proposition which I took the liberty of doubting.”
“You
did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, for otherwise I
shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you until your reason breaks down under
them and acknowledges me to be right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good
enough to call upon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to
be one of the most singular which I have listened to for some time. You have
heard me remark that the strangest and most unique things are very often
connected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally,
indeed, where there is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been
committed. As far as I have heard, it is impossible for me to say whether the
present case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is
certainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr.
Wilson, you would have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask
you not merely because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the opening part but
also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have every possible
detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some slight indication of
the course of events, I am able to guide myself by the thousands of other
similar cases which occur to my memory. In the present instance I am forced to
admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief, unique.”
The
portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little pride and
pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of his greatcoat.
As he glanced down the advertisement column, with his head thrust forward and
the paper flattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man and
endeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to read the indications which
might be presented by his dress or appearance.
I
did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore every mark
of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He
wore rather baggy grey shepherd’s check trousers, a not over-clean black
frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy
Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as an ornament. A
frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay
upon a chair beside him. Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing
remarkable about the man save his blazing red head, and the expression of
extreme chagrin and discontent upon his features.
Sherlock
Holmes’ quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his head with a smile as
he noticed my questioning glances. “Beyond the obvious facts that he has at
some time done manual labour, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that
he has been in China, and that he has done a considerable amount of writing
lately, I can deduce nothing else.”
Mr.
Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the paper, but
his eyes upon my companion.
“How,
in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?” he asked. “How
did you know, for example, that I did manual labour. It’s as true as gospel,
for I began as a ship’s carpenter.”
“Your
hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than your left. You
have worked with it, and the muscles are more developed.”
“Well,
the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?”
“I
won’t insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that, especially as,
rather against the strict rules of your order, you use an arc-and-compass
breastpin.”
“Ah,
of course, I forgot that. But the writing?”
“What
else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five inches, and the
left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where you rest it upon the desk?”
“Well,
but China?”
“The
fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist could only have
been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoo marks and have even
contributed to the literature of the subject. That trick of staining the
fishes’ scales of a delicate pink is quite peculiar to China. When, in
addition, I see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter
becomes even more simple.”
Mr.
Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. “Well, I never!” said he. “I thought at first
that you had done something clever, but I see that there was nothing in it
after all.”
“I
begin to think, Watson,” said Holmes, “that I make a mistake in explaining. ‘Omne
ignotum pro magnifico,’ you know, and my poor little reputation, such as it
is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid. Can you not find the
advertisement, Mr. Wilson?”
“Yes,
I have got it now,” he answered with his thick red finger planted halfway down
the column. “Here it is. This is what began it all. You just read it for
yourself, sir.”
I
took the paper from him and read as follows:
“TO
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late Ezekiah Hopkins,
of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now another vacancy open which
entitles a member of the League to a salary of £4 a week for purely nominal
services. All red-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age
of twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at eleven
o’clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Pope’s Court, Fleet
Street.”
“What
on earth does this mean?” I ejaculated after I had twice read over the
extraordinary announcement.
Holmes
chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in high spirits. “It
is a little off the beaten track, isn’t it?” said he. “And now, Mr. Wilson, off
you go at scratch and tell us all about yourself, your household, and the
effect which this advertisement had upon your fortunes. You will first make a
note, Doctor, of the paper and the date.”
“It
is The Morning Chronicle of April 27, 1890. Just two months ago.”
“Very
good. Now, Mr. Wilson?”
“Well,
it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said Jabez Wilson,
mopping his forehead; “I have a small pawnbroker’s business at Coburg Square,
near the City. It’s not a very large affair, and of late years it has not done
more than just give me a living. I used to be able to keep two assistants, but
now I only keep one; and I would have a job to pay him but that he is willing
to come for half wages so as to learn the business.”
“What
is the name of this obliging youth?” asked Sherlock Holmes.
“His
name is Vincent Spaulding, and he’s not such a youth, either. It’s hard to say
his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. Holmes; and I know very
well that he could better himself and earn twice what I am able to give him.
But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?”
“Why,
indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employé who comes under the full
market price. It is not a common experience among employers in this age. I
don’t know that your assistant is not as remarkable as your advertisement.”
“Oh,
he has his faults, too,” said Mr. Wilson. “Never was such a fellow for
photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to be improving his
mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit into its hole to
develop his pictures. That is his main fault, but on the whole he’s a good
worker. There’s no vice in him.”
“He
is still with you, I presume?”
“Yes,
sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking and keeps the
place clean—that’s all I have in the house, for I am a widower and never had
any family. We live very quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over
our heads and pay our debts, if we do nothing more.
“The
first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, he came down
into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very paper in his hand,
and he says:
“ ‘I
wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.’
“ ‘Why
that?’ I asks.
“ ‘Why,’
says he, ‘here’s another vacancy on the League of the Red-headed Men. It’s
worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets it, and I understand that
there are more vacancies than there are men, so that the trustees are at their
wits’ end what to do with the money. If my hair would only change colour,
here’s a nice little crib all ready for me to step into.’
“ ‘Why,
what is it, then?’ I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very stay-at-home man,
and as my business came to me instead of my having to go to it, I was often
weeks on end without putting my foot over the door-mat. In that way I didn’t
know much of what was going on outside, and I was always glad of a bit of news.
“ ‘Have
you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?’ he asked with his eyes open.
“ ‘Never.’
“ ‘Why,
I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of the vacancies.’
“ ‘And
what are they worth?’ I asked.
“ ‘Oh,
merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and it need not
interfere very much with one’s other occupations.’
“Well,
you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for the business has
not been over good for some years, and an extra couple of hundred would have
been very handy.
“ ‘Tell
me all about it,’ said I.
“ ‘Well,’
said he, showing me the advertisement, ‘you can see for yourself that the
League has a vacancy, and there is the address where you should apply for
particulars. As far as I can make out, the League was founded by an American
millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself
red-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all red-headed men; so, when he
died, it was found that he had left his enormous fortune in the hands of
trustees, with instructions to apply the interest to the providing of easy
berths to men whose hair is of that colour. From all I hear it is splendid pay
and very little to do.’
“ ‘But,’
said I, ‘there would be millions of red-headed men who would apply.’
“ ‘Not
so many as you might think,’ he answered. ‘You see it is really confined to
Londoners, and to grown men. This American had started from London when he was
young, and he wanted to do the old town a good turn. Then, again, I have heard
it is no use your applying if your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything
but real bright, blazing, fiery red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson,
you would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put
yourself out of the way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.’
“Now,
it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my hair is of a
very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that if there was to be any
competition in the matter I stood as good a chance as any man that I had ever
met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so much about it that I thought he might
prove useful, so I just ordered him to put up the shutters for the day and to
come right away with me. He was very willing to have a holiday, so we shut the
business up and started off for the address that was given us in the
advertisement.
“I
never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From north, south,
east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his hair had tramped into
the city to answer the advertisement. Fleet Street was choked with red-headed
folk, and Pope’s Court looked like a coster’s orange barrow. I should not have
thought there were so many in the whole country as were brought together by
that single advertisement. Every shade of colour they were—straw, lemon,
orange, brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were
not many who had the real vivid flame-coloured tint. When I saw how many were
waiting, I would have given it up in despair; but Spaulding would not hear of
it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed and pulled and butted
until he got me through the crowd, and right up to the steps which led to the
office. There was a double stream upon the stair, some going up in hope, and
some coming back dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found
ourselves in the office.”
“Your
experience has been a most entertaining one,” remarked Holmes as his client
paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff. “Pray continue your
very interesting statement.”
“There
was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a deal table,
behind which sat a small man with a head that was even redder than mine. He
said a few words to each candidate as he came up, and then he always managed to
find some fault in them which would disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not
seem to be such a very easy matter, after all. However, when our turn came the
little man was much more favourable to me than to any of the others, and he
closed the door as we entered, so that he might have a private word with us.
“ ‘This
is Mr. Jabez Wilson,’ said my assistant, ‘and he is willing to fill a vacancy
in the League.’
“ ‘And
he is admirably suited for it,’ the other answered. ‘He has every requirement.
I cannot recall when I have seen anything so fine.’ He took a step backward,
cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my hair until I felt quite bashful.
Then suddenly he plunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on
my success.
“ ‘It
would be injustice to hesitate,’ said he. ‘You will, however, I am sure, excuse
me for taking an obvious precaution.’ With that he seized my hair in both his
hands, and tugged until I yelled with the pain. ‘There is water in your eyes,’
said he as he released me. ‘I perceive that all is as it should be. But we have
to be careful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and once by paint. I
could tell you tales of cobbler’s wax which would disgust you with human
nature.’ He stepped over to the window and shouted through it at the top of his
voice that the vacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came up from
below, and the folk all trooped away in different directions until there was
not a red-head to be seen except my own and that of the manager.
“ ‘My
name,’ said he, ‘is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of the pensioners upon
the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a married man, Mr. Wilson? Have
you a family?’
“I
answered that I had not.
“His
face fell immediately.
“ ‘Dear
me!’ he said gravely, ‘that is very serious indeed! I am sorry to hear you say
that. The fund was, of course, for the propagation and spread of the red-heads
as well as for their maintenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that you should
be a bachelor.’
“My
face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was not to have the
vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for a few minutes he said that it
would be all right.
“ ‘In
the case of another,’ said he, ‘the objection might be fatal, but we must
stretch a point in favour of a man with such a head of hair as yours. When
shall you be able to enter upon your new duties?’
“ ‘Well,
it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,’ said I.
“ ‘Oh,
never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!’ said Vincent Spaulding. ‘I should be able
to look after that for you.’
“ ‘What
would be the hours?’ I asked.
“ ‘Ten
to two.’
“Now
a pawnbroker’s business is mostly done of an evening, Mr. Holmes, especially
Thursday and Friday evening, which is just before pay-day; so it would suit me
very well to earn a little in the mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant
was a good man, and that he would see to anything that turned up.
“ ‘That
would suit me very well,’ said I. ‘And the pay?’
“ ‘Is
£4 a week.’
“ ‘And
the work?’
“ ‘Is
purely nominal.’
“ ‘What
do you call purely nominal?’
“ ‘Well,
you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the whole time. If
you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. The will is very clear upon
that point. You don’t comply with the conditions if you budge from the office
during that time.’
“ ‘It’s
only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,’ said I.
“ ‘No
excuse will avail,’ said Mr. Duncan Ross; ‘neither sickness nor business nor
anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your billet.’
“ ‘And
the work?’
“ ‘Is
to copy out the Encyclopaedia Britannica. There is the first volume of
it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and blotting-paper, but we
provide this table and chair. Will you be ready to-morrow?’
“ ‘Certainly,’
I answered.
“ ‘Then,
good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you once more on the
important position which you have been fortunate enough to gain.’ He bowed me
out of the room and I went home with my assistant, hardly knowing what to say
or do, I was so pleased at my own good fortune.
“Well,
I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in low spirits again;
for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair must be some great hoax
or fraud, though what its object might be I could not imagine. It seemed
altogether past belief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would
pay such a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the Encyclopaedia
Britannica. Vincent Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by
bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morning I
determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and
with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for Pope’s
Court.
“Well,
to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as possible. The table was
set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was there to see that I got fairly to
work. He started me off upon the letter A, and then he left me; but he would
drop in from time to time to see that all was right with me. At two o’clock he
bade me good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I had written, and
locked the door of the office after me.
“This
went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager came in and
planked down four golden sovereigns for my week’s work. It was the same next
week, and the same the week after. Every morning I was there at ten, and every
afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming in only once
of a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at all. Still, of
course, I never dared to leave the room for an instant, for I was not sure when
he might come, and the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that
I would not risk the loss of it.
“Eight
weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots and Archery and
Armour and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with diligence that I might get
on to the B’s before very long. It cost me something in foolscap, and I had
pretty nearly filled a shelf with my writings. And then suddenly the whole
business came to an end.”
“To
an end?”
“Yes,
sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as usual at ten o’clock,
but the door was shut and locked, with a little square of cardboard hammered on
to the middle of the panel with a tack. Here it is, and you can read for
yourself.”
He
held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet of note-paper. It
read in this fashion:
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
IS
DISSOLVED.
October 9, 1890.
Sherlock
Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful face behind it,
until the comical side of the affair so completely overtopped every other
consideration that we both burst out into a roar of laughter.
“I
cannot see that there is anything very funny,” cried our client, flushing up to
the roots of his flaming head. “If you can do nothing better than laugh at me,
I can go elsewhere.”
“No,
no,” cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he had half
risen. “I really wouldn’t miss your case for the world. It is most refreshingly
unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my saying so, something just a little
funny about it. Pray what steps did you take when you found the card upon the
door?”
“I
was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at the offices
round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it. Finally, I went to
the landlord, who is an accountant living on the ground floor, and I asked him
if he could tell me what had become of the Red-headed League. He said that he
had never heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He
answered that the name was new to him.
“ ‘Well,’
said I, ‘the gentleman at No. 4.’
“ ‘What,
the red-headed man?’
“ ‘Yes.’
“ ‘Oh,’
said he, ‘his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor and was using my room
as a temporary convenience until his new premises were ready. He moved out
yesterday.’
“ ‘Where
could I find him?’
“ ‘Oh,
at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King Edward Street,
near St. Paul’s.’
“I
started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was a manufactory of
artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard of either Mr. William
Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.”
“And
what did you do then?” asked Holmes.
“I
went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my assistant. But he
could not help me in any way. He could only say that if I waited I should hear
by post. But that was not quite good enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose
such a place without a struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough
to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right away to you.”
“And
you did very wisely,” said Holmes. “Your case is an exceedingly remarkable one,
and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you have told me I think that
it is possible that graver issues hang from it than might at first sight
appear.”
“Grave
enough!” said Mr. Jabez Wilson. “Why, I have lost four pound a week.”
“As
far as you are personally concerned,” remarked Holmes, “I do not see that you
have any grievance against this extraordinary league. On the contrary, you are,
as I understand, richer by some £30, to say nothing of the minute
knowledge which you have gained on every subject which comes under the letter
A. You have lost nothing by them.”
“No,
sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and what their object
was in playing this prank—if it was a prank—upon me. It was a pretty expensive
joke for them, for it cost them two and thirty pounds.”
“We
shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And, first, one or two
questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first called your attention
to the advertisement—how long had he been with you?”
“About
a month then.”
“How
did he come?”
“In
answer to an advertisement.”
“Was
he the only applicant?”
“No,
I had a dozen.”
“Why
did you pick him?”
“Because
he was handy and would come cheap.”
“At
half wages, in fact.”
“Yes.”
“What
is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?”
“Small,
stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face, though he’s not short
of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his forehead.”
Holmes
sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. “I thought as much,” said he.
“Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced for earrings?”
“Yes,
sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he was a lad.”
“Hum!”
said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. “He is still with you?”
“Oh,
yes, sir; I have only just left him.”
“And
has your business been attended to in your absence?”
“Nothing
to complain of, sir. There’s never very much to do of a morning.”
“That
will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion upon the subject
in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, and I hope that by Monday we
may come to a conclusion.”
“Well,
Watson,” said Holmes when our visitor had left us, “what do you make of it
all?”
To be concluded
