“What is the game? You are here as a spy. You are an emissary ofHolmes. This is a trick that you are playing upon me. The fellow isdying I hear, so he sends his tools to keep watch upon me. You’vemade your way in here without leave, and, by God! you may find itharder to get out than to get in.”
He had sprung to his feet, and I stepped back, bracing myselffor an attack, for the man was beside himself with rage. He mayhave suspected me from the first; certainly this cross-examinationhad shown him the truth; but it was clear that I could not hope todeceive him. He dived his hand into a side-drawer and rummagedfuriously. Then something struck upon his ear, for he stoodlistening intently.
“Ah!” he cried. “Ah!” and dashed into the room behind him.
Two steps took me to the open door, and my mind will evercarry a clear picture of the scene within. The window leading outto the garden was wide open. Beside it, looking like some terribleghost, his head girt, with bloody bandages, his face drawn andwhite, stood Sherlock Holmes. The next instant he was throughthe gap, and I heard the crash of his body among the laurel bushesoutside. With a howl of rage the master of the house rushed afterhim to the open window.
And then! It was done in an instant, and yet I clearly saw it. Anarm—a woman’s arm—shot out from among the leaves. At thesame instant the Baron uttered a horrible cry—a yell which willalways ring in my memory. He clapped his two hands to his faceand rushed round the room, beating his head horribly against thewalls. Then he fell upon the carpet, rolling and writhing, whilescream after scream resounded through the house.
“Water! For God’s sake, water!” was his cry.
I seized a carafe from a side-table and rushed to his aid. At thesame moment the butler and several footmen ran in from the hall.
I remember that one of them fainted as I knelt by the injured manand turned that awful face to the light of the lamp. The vitriolwas eating into it everywhere and dripping from the ears and thechin. One eye was already white and glazed. The other was redand inflamed. The features which I had admired a few minutesbefore were now like some beautiful painting over which the artisthas passed a wet and foul sponge. They were blurred, discoloured,inhuman, terrible.
In a few words I explained exactly what had occurred, so far asthe vitriol attack was concerned. Some had climbed through thewindow and others had rushed out on to the lawn, but it was darkand it had begun to rain. Between his screams the victim ragedand raved against the avenger. “It was that hell-cat, Kitty Winter!”
he cried. “Oh, the she-devil! She shall pay for it! She shall pay! Oh,God in heaven, this pain is more than I can bear!”
I bathed his face in oil, put cotton wadding on the raw surfaces,and administered a hypodermic of morphia. All suspicion of mehad passed from his mind in the presence of this shock, and heclung to my hands as if I might have the power even yet to clearthose dead-fish eyes which glazed up at me. I could have weptover the ruin had I not remembered very clearly the vile lifewhich had led up to so hideous a change. It was loathsome tofeel the pawing of his burning hands, and I was relieved when hisfamily surgeon, closely followed by a specialist, came to relieveme of my charge. An inspector of police had also arrived, and tohim I handed my real card. It would have been useless as well asfoolish to do otherwise, for I was nearly as well known by sight atthe Yard as Holmes himself. Then I left that house of gloom andterror. Within an hour I was at Baker Street.
Holmes was seated in his familiar chair, looking very pale andexhausted. Apart from his injuries, even his iron nerves had beenshocked by the events of the evening, and he listened with horrorto my account of the Baron’s transformation.
“The wages of sin, Watson—the wages of sin!” said he. “Sooneror later it will always come. God knows, there was sin enough,”
he added, taking up a brown volume from the table. “Here is thebook the woman talked of. If this will not break off the marriage,nothing ever could. But it will, Watson. It must. No self-respectingwoman could stand it.”
“It is his love diary?”
“Or his lust diary. Call it what you will. The moment the womantold us of it I realized what a tremendous weapon was there if wecould but lay our hands on it. I said nothing at the time to indicatemy thoughts, for this woman might have given it away. But Ibrooded over it. Then this assault upon me gave me the chance ofletting the Baron think that no precautions need be taken againstme. That was all to the good. I would have waited a little longer,but his visit to America forced my hand. He would never have leftso compromising a document behind him. Therefore we had toact at once. Burglary at night is impossible. He takes precautions.
But there was a chance in the evening if I could only be sure thathis attention was engaged. That was where you and your bluesaucer came in. But I had to be sure of the position of the book,and I knew I had only a few minutes in which to act, for my timewas limited by your knowledge of Chinese pottery. Therefore Igathered the girl up at the last moment. How could I guess whatthe little packet was that she carried so carefully under her cloak?
I thought she had come altogether on my business, but it seemsshe had some of her own.”
“He guessed I came from you.”
“I feared he would. But you held him in play just long enoughfor me to get the book, though not long enough for an unobservedescape. Ah, Sir James, I am very glad you have come!”
Our courtly friend had appeared in answer to a previoussummons. He listened with the deepest attention to Holmes’saccount of what had occurred.
“You have done wonders—wonders!” he cried when he hadheard the narrative. “But if these injuries are as terrible as Dr.
Watson describes, then surely our purpose of thwarting themarriage is sufficiently gained without the use of this horriblebook.”
Holmes shook his head.
