“It shows, my dear Watson, that we are dealing with anexceptionally astute and dangerous man. The Rev. Dr. Shlessinger,missionary from South America, is none other than Holy Peters,one of the most unscrupulous rascals that Australia has everevolved—and for a young country it has turned out some veryfinished types. His particular specialty is the beguiling of lonelyladies by playing upon their religious feelings, and his so-calledwife, an Englishwoman named Fraser, is a worthy helpmate. Thenature of his tactics suggested his identity to me, and this physicalpeculiarity—he was badly bitten in a saloon-fight at Adelaidein ‘89—confirmed my suspicion. This poor lady is in the handsof a most infernal couple, who will stick at nothing, Watson.
That she is already dead is a very likely supposition. If not, she isundoubtedly in some sort of confinement and unable to write toMiss Dobney or her other friends. It is always possible that shenever reached London, or that she has passed through it, but theformer is improbable, as, with their system of registration, it is noteasy for foreigners to play tricks with the Continental police; andthe latter is also unlikely, as these rouges could not hope to findany other place where it would be as easy to keep a person underrestraint. All my instincts tell me that she is in London, but as wehave at present no possible means of telling where, we can onlytake the obvious steps, eat our dinner, and possess our souls inpatience. Later in the evening I will stroll down and have a wordwith friend Lestrade at Scotland Yard.”
But neither the official police nor Holmes’s own small but veryefficient organization sufficed to clear away the mystery. Amid thecrowded millions of London the three persons we sought were ascompletely obliterated as if they had never lived. Advertisementswere tried, and failed. Clues were followed, and led to nothing.
Every criminal resort which Shlessinger might frequent was drawnin vain. His old associates were watched, but they kept clear ofhim. And then suddenly, after a week of helpless suspense therecame a flash of light. A silver-and-brilliant pendant of old Spanishdesign had been pawned at Bovington’s, in Westminster Road. Thepawner was a large, clean-shaven man of clerical appearance. Hisname and address were demonstrably false. The ear had escapednotice, but the deion was surely that of Shlessinger.
Three times had our bearded friend from the Langhamcalled for news—the third time within an hour of this freshdevelopment. His clothes were getting looser on his great body.
He seemed to be wilting away in his anxiety. “If you will only giveme something to do!” was his constant wail. At last Holmes couldoblige him.
“He has begun to pawn the jewels. We should get him now.”
The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge 1191
“But does this mean that any harm has befallen the Lady Frances?”
Holmes shook his head very gravely.
“Supposing that they have held her prisoner up to now, it is clearthat they cannot let her loose without their own destruction. Wemust prepare for the worst.”
“What can I do?”
“These people do not know you by sight?”
“No.”
“It is possible that he will go to some other pawnbroker in thefuture. In that case, we must begin again. On the other hand, hehas had a fair price and no questions asked, so if he is in need ofready-money he will probably come back to Bovington’s. I willgive you a note to them, and they will let you wait in the shop. Ifthe fellow comes you will follow him home. But no indiscretion,and, above all, no violence. I put you on your honour that you willtake no step without my knowledge and consent.”
For two days the Hon. Philip Green (he was, I may mention,the son of the famous admiral of that name who commanded theSea of Azof fleet in the Crimean War) brought us no news. Onthe evening of the third he rushed into our sitting-room, pale,trembling, with every muscle of his powerful frame quivering withexcitement.
“We have him! We have him!” he cried.
He was incoherent in his agitation. Holmes soothed him with afew words and thrust him into an armchair.
“Come, now, give us the order of events,” said he.
“She came only an hour ago. It was the wife, this time, but thependant she brought was the fellow of the other. She is a tall, palewoman, with ferret eyes.”
“That is the lady,” said Holmes.
“She left the office and I followed her. She walked up theKennington Road, and I kept behind her. Presently she went intoa shop. Mr. Holmes, it was an undertaker’s.”
My companion started. “Well?” he asked in that vibrant voicewhich told of the fiery soul behind the cold gray face.
“She was talking to the woman behind the counter. I entered aswell. ‘It is late,’ I heard her say, or words to that effect. The womanwas excusing herself. ‘It should be there before now,’ she answered.
‘It took longer, being out of the ordinary.’ They both stopped andlooked at me, so I asked some questions and then left the shop.”
“You did excellently well. What happened next?”
“The woman came out, but I had hid myself in a doorway.
Her suspicions had been aroused, I think, for she looked roundher. Then she called a cab and got in. I was lucky enough to getanother and so to follow her. She got down at last at No. 36,1192 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
Poultney Square, Brixton. I drove past, left my cab at the cornerof the square, and watched the house.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“The windows were all in darkness save one on the lower floor.
The blind was down, and I could not see in. I was standing there,wondering what I should do next, when a covered van drove upwith two men in it. They descended, took something out of thevan, and carried it up the steps to the hall door. Mr. Holmes, itwas a coffin.”
“Ah!”
