It was late that evening before I returned to Baker Street andgave an account of my mission. Holmes lay with his gaunt figurestretched in his deep chair, his pipe curling forth slow wreathsof acrid tobacco, while his eyelids drooped over his eyes so lazilythat he might almost have been asleep were it not that at any haltor questionable passage of my narrative they half lifted, and twogray eyes, as bright and keen as rapiers, transfixed me with theirsearching glance.
“The Haven is the name of Mr. Josiah Amberley’s house,”
1402 The Complete Sherlock Holmes explained. “I think it would interest you, Holmes. It is likesome penurious patrician who has sunk into the company of hisinferiors. You know that particular quarter, the monotonous brickstreets, the weary suburban highways. Right in the middle ofthem, a little island of ancient culture and comfort, lies this oldhome, surrounded by a high sun-baked wall mottled with lichensand topped with moss, the sort of wall——”
“Cut out the poetry, Watson,” said Holmes severely. “I note thatwas a high brick wall.”
“Exactly. I should not have known which was The Haven had Inot asked a lounger who was smoking in the street. I have a reasonfor mentioning him. He was a tall, dark, heavily moustached,rather military-looking man. He nodded in answer to my inquiryand gave me a curiously questioning glance, which came back tomy memory a little later.
“I had hardly entered the gateway before I saw Mr. Amberleycoming down the drive. I only had a glimpse of him this morning,and he certainly gave me the impression of a strange creature,but when I saw him in full light his appearance was even moreabnormal.”
“I have, of course, studied it, and yet I should be interested tohave your impression,” said Holmes.
“He seemed to me like a man who was literally bowed down bycare. His back was curved as though he carried a heavy burden.
Yet he was not the weakling that I had at first imagined, for hisshoulders and chest have the framework of a giant, though hisfigure tapers away into a pair of spindled legs.”
“Left shoe wrinkled, right one smooth.”
“I did not observe that.”
“No, you wouldn’t. I spotted his artificial limb. But proceed.”
“I was struck by the snaky locks of grizzled hair which curledfrom under his old straw hat, and his face with its fierce, eagerexpression and the deeply lined features.”
“Very good, Watson. What did he say?”
“He began pouring out the story of his grievances. We walkeddown the drive together, and of course I took a good look round.
have never seen a worse-kept place. The garden was all runningto seed, giving me an impression of wild neglect in which theplants had been allowed to find the way of Nature rather thanof art. How any decent woman could have tolerated such a stateof things, I don’t know. The house, too, was slatternly to the lastdegree, but the poor man seemed himself to be aware of it andto be trying to remedy it, for a great pot of green paint stood inthe centre of the hall, and he was carrying a thick brush in his lefthand. He had been working on the woodwork.
The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes 1403“He took me into his dingy sanctum, and we had a long chat.
Of course, he was disappointed that you had not come yourself. ‘Ihardly expected,’ he said, ‘that so humble an individual as myself,especially after my heavy financial loss, could obtain the completeattention of so famous a man as Mr. Sherlock Holmes.’
“I assured him that the financial question did not arise. ‘Noof course, it is art for art’s sake with him,’ said he, ‘but even onthe artistic side of crime he might have found something here tostudy. And human nature, Dr. Watson—the black ingratitude of itall! When did I ever refuse one of her requests? Was ever a womanso pampered? And that young man—he might have been my ownson. He had the run of my house. And yet see how they havetreated me! Oh, Dr. Watson, it is a dreadful, dreadful world!’
“That was the burden of his song for an hour or more. He had,it seems, no suspicion of an intrigue. They lived alone save for awoman who comes in by the day and leaves every evening at six.
On that particular evening old Amberley, wishing to give his wife atreat, had taken two upper circle seats at the Haymarket Theatre.
At the last moment she had complained of a headache and hadrefused to go. He had gone alone. There seemed to be no doubtabout the fact, for he produced the unused ticket which he hadtaken for his wife.”
“That is remarkable—most remarkable,” said Holmes, whoseinterest in the case seemed to be rising. “Pray continue, Watson.
I find your narrative most arresting. Did you personally examinethis ticket? You did not, perchance, take the number?”
“It so happens that I did,” I answered with some pride. “Itchanced to be my old school number, thirty-one, and so is stuck inmy head.”
“Excellent, Watson! His seat, then, was either thirty or thirtytwo.”
“Quite so,” I answered with some mystification. “And on B row.”
“That is most satisfactory. What else did he tell you?”
“He showed me his strong-room, as he called it. It really is astrong-room—like a bank—with iron door and shutter—burglarproof,as he claimed. However, the woman seems to have had aduplicate key, and between them they had carried off some seventhousand pounds’ worth of cash and securities.”
“Securities! How could they dispose of those?”
“He said that he had given the police a list and that he hopedthey would be unsaleable. He had got back from the theatre aboutmidnight and found the place plundered, the door and windowopen, and the fugitives gone. There was no letter or message,nor has he heard a word since. He at once gave the alarm to thepolice.”
1404 The Complete Sherlock Holmes Holmes brooded for some minutes.
“You say he was painting. What was he painting?”
“Well, he was painting the passage. But he had already paintedthe door and woodwork of this room I spoke of.”
“Does it not strike you as a strange occupation in the circumstances?”