“Of course it has moved,” said he. “Am I such a farcical bungler,Watson, that I should erect an obvious dummy, and expect thatsome of the sharpest men in Europe would be deceived by it? Wehave been in this room two hours, and Mrs. Hudson has madesome change in that figure eight times, or once in every quarterof an hour. She works it from the front, so that her shadow maynever be seen. Ah!” He drew in his breath with a shrill, excitedintake. In the dim light I saw his head thrown forward, his wholeattitude rigid with attention. Outside the street was absolutelydeserted. Those two men might still be crouching in the doorway,but I could no longer see them. All was still and dark, save onlyThe Return of Sherlock Holmes 861
that brilliant yellow screen in front of us with the black figureoutlined upon its centre. Again in the utter silence I heard thatthin, sibilant note which spoke of intense suppressed excitement.
An instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner ofthe room, and I felt his warning hand upon my lips. The fingerswhich clutched me were quivering. Never had I known my friendmore moved, and yet the dark street still stretched lonely andmotionless before us.
But suddenly I was aware of that which his keener senses hadalready distinguished. A low, stealthy sound came to my ears,not from the direction of Baker Street, but from the back of thevery house in which we lay concealed. A door opened and shut.
An instant later steps crept down the passage—steps which weremeant to be silent, but which reverberated harshly through theempty house. Holmes crouched back against the wall, and Idid the same, my hand closing upon the handle of my revolver.
Peering through the gloom, I saw the vague outline of a man, ashade blacker than the blackness of the open door. He stood foran instant, and then he crept forward, crouching, menacing, intothe room. He was within three yards of us, this sinister figure,and I had braced myself to meet his spring, before I realized thathe had no idea of our presence. He passed close beside us, stoleover to the window, and very softly and noiselessly raised it forhalf a foot. As he sank to the level of this opening, the light of thestreet, no longer dimmed by the dusty glass, fell full upon his face.
The man seemed to be beside himself with excitement. His twoeyes shone like stars, and his features were working convulsively.
He was an elderly man, with a thin, projecting nose, a high,bald forehead, and a huge grizzled moustache. An opera hat waspushed to the back of his head, and an evening dress shirt-frontgleamed out through his open overcoat. His face was gaunt andswarthy, scored with deep, savage lines. In his hand he carriedwhat appeared to be a stick, but as he laid it down upon the floorit gave a metallic clang. Then from the pocket of his overcoat hedrew a bulky object, and he busied himself in some task whichended with a loud, sharp click, as if a spring or bolt had falleninto its place. Still kneeling upon the floor he bent forward andthrew all his weight and strength upon some lever, with the resultthat there came a long, whirling, grinding noise, ending oncemore in a powerful click. He straightened himself then, and I sawthat what he held in his hand was a sort of gun, with a curiouslymisshapen butt. He opened it at the breech, put something in,and snapped the breech-lock. Then, crouching down, he restedthe end of the barrel upon the ledge of the open window, and Isaw his long moustache droop over the stock and his eye gleam as862 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
peered along the sights. I heard a little sigh of satisfaction as hecuddled the butt into his shoulder; and saw that amazing target,the black man on the yellow ground, standing clear at the end ofhis foresight. For an instant he was rigid and motionless. Thenhis finger tightened on the trigger. There was a strange, loud whizand a long, silvery tinkle of broken glass. At that instant Holmessprang like a tiger on to the marksman’s back, and hurled him flatupon his face. He was up again in a moment, and with convulsivestrength he seized Holmes by the throat, but I struck him on thehead with the butt of my revolver, and he dropped again upon thefloor. I fell upon him, and as I held him my comrade blew a shrillcall upon a whistle. There was the clatter of running feet upon thepavement, and two policemen in uniform, with one plain-clothesdetective, rushed through the front entrance and into the room.
“That you, Lestrade?” said Holmes.
“Yes, Mr. Holmes. I took the job myself. It’s good to see youback in London, sir.”
“I think you want a little unofficial help. Three undetectedmurders in one year won’t do, Lestrade. But you handled theMolesey Mystery with less than your usual—that’s to say, youhandled it fairly well.”
We had all risen to our feet, our prisoner breathing hard, with astalwart constable on each side of him. Already a few loiterers hadbegun to collect in the street. Holmes stepped up to the window,closed it, and dropped the blinds. Lestrade had produced twocandles, and the policemen had uncovered their lanterns. I wasable at last to have a good look at our prisoner.
It was a tremendously virile and yet sinister face which wasturned towards us. With the brow of a philosopher above andthe jaw of a sensualist below, the man must have started withgreat capacities for good or for evil. But one could not look uponhis cruel blue eyes, with their drooping, cynical lids, or uponthe fierce, aggressive nose and the threatening, deep-lined brow,without reading Nature’s plainest danger-signals. He took no heedof any of us, but his eyes were fixed upon Holmes’s face with anexpression in which hatred and amazement were equally blended.
You fiend!” he kept on muttering. “You clever, clever fiend!”