Ronder,’ I says, ‘if you have anything that is troubling your soul,there’s the clergy,’ I says, ‘and there’s the police. Between them youshould get some help.’ ‘For God’s sake, not the police!’ says she, ‘andthe clergy can’t change what is past. And yet,’ she says, ‘it wouldease my mind if someone knew the truth before I died.’ ‘Well,’ says I,‘if you won’t have the regulars, there is this detective man what weread about’ —beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Holmes. And she, she fairjumped at it. ‘That’s the man,’ says she. ‘I wonder I never thought ofit before. Bring him here, Mrs. Merrilow, and if he won’t come, tellhim I am the wife of Ronder’s wild beast show. Say that, and givehim the name Abbas Parva. Here it is as she wrote it, Abbas Parva.
‘That will bring him if he’s the man I think he is.’ ”
“And it will, too,” remarked Holmes. “Very good, Mrs. Merrilow.
I should like to have a little chat with Dr. Watson. That will carryus till lunch-time. About three o’clock you may expect to see us atyour house in Brixton.”
Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the room—no otherverb can describe Mrs. Merrilow’s method of progression—thanSherlock Holmes threw himself with fierce energy upon the pile ofcommonplace books in the corner. For a few minutes there was aconstant swish of the leaves, and then with a grunt of satisfactionhe came upon what he sought. So excited was he that he did notrise, but sat upon the floor like some strange Buddha, with crossedlegs, the huge books all round him, and one open upon his knees.
“The case worried me at the time, Watson. Here are mymarginal notes to prove it. I confess that I could make nothing ofit. And yet I was convinced that the coroner was wrong. Have youno recollection of the Abbas Parva tragedy?”
“None, Holmes.”
“And yet you were with me then. But certainly my own impressionwas very superficial. For there was nothing to go by, and none ofthe parties had engaged my services. Perhaps you would care toread the papers?”
“Could you not give me the points?”
“That is very easily done. It will probably come back to yourmemory as I talk. Ronder, of course, was a household word. Hewas the rival of Wombwell, and of Sanger, one of the greatestshowmen of his day. There is evidence, however, that he took todrink, and that both he and his show were on the down grade atthe time of the great tragedy. The caravan had halted for the nightat Abbas Parva, which is a small village in Berkshire, when thishorror occurred. They were on their way to Wimbledon, travellingby road, and they were simply camping and not exhibiting, as theplace is so small a one that it would not have paid them to open.
“They had among their exhibits a very fine North African lion.
Sahara King was its name, and it was the habit, both of Ronderand his wife, to give exhibitions inside its cage. Here, you see, isa photograph of the performance by which you will perceive thatRonder was a huge porcine person and that his wife was a verymagnificent woman. It was deposed at the inquest that therehad been some signs that the lion was dangerous, but, as usual,familiarity begat contempt, and no notice was taken of the fact.
“It was usual for either Ronder or his wife to feed the lion atnight. Sometimes one went, sometimes both, but they neverallowed anyone else to do it, for they believed that so long as theywere the food-carriers he would regard them as benefactors andwould never molest them. On this particular night, seven yearsago, they both went, and a very terrible happening followed, thedetails of which have never been made clear.
“It seems that the whole camp was roused near midnight by theroars of the animal and the screams of the woman. The differentgrooms and employees rushed from their tents, carrying lanterns,and by their light an awful sight was revealed. Ronder lay, withthe back of his head crushed in and deep claw-marks across hisscalp, some ten yards from the cage, which was open. Close to thedoor of the cage lay Mrs. Ronder upon her back, with the creaturesquatting and snarling above her. It had torn her face in such afashion that it was never thought that she could live. Several ofthe circus men, headed by Leonardo, the strong man, and Griggs,the clown, drove the creature off with poles, upon which it sprangback into the cage and was at once locked in. How it had gotloose was a mystery. It was conjectured that the pair intended toenter the cage, but that when the door was loosed the creaturebounded out upon them. There was no other point of interestin the evidence save that the woman in a delirium of agony keptscreaming, ‘Coward! Coward!’ as she was carried back to the vanin which they lived. It was six months before she was fit to giveevidence, but the inquest was duly held, with the obvious verdictof death from misadventure.”
“What alternative could be conceived?” said I.
“You may well say so. And yet there were one or two pointswhich worried young Edmunds, of the Berkshire Constabulary. Asmart lad that! He was sent later to Allahabad. That was how I cameinto the matter, for he dropped in and smoked a pipe or two over it.”
“A thin, yellow-haired man?”
“Exactly. I was sure you would pick up the trail presently.”
“But what worried him?”
“Well, we were both worried. It was so deucedly difficult toreconstruct the affair. Look at it from the lion’s point of view.
He is liberated. What does he do? He takes half a dozen boundsforward, which brings him to Ronder. Ronder turns to fly—theclaw-marks were on the back of his head—but the lion strikes himdown. Then, instead of bounding on and escaping, he returns tothe woman, who was close to the cage, and he knocks her overand chews her face up. Then, again, those cries of hers would seemto imply that her husband had in some way failed her. What couldthe poor devil have done to help her? You see the difficulty?”
“Quite.”
“And then there was another thing. It comes back to me nowas I think it over. There was some evidence that just at the timethe lion roared and the woman screamed, a man began shouting interror.”
