Fairy tale «The Red-Headed League» — page 7

The light flashedupon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes' hunting crop camedown on the man's wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stonefloor.

"It's no use, John Clay," said Holmes blandly. "You have nochance at all."

"So I see," the other answered with the utmost coolness. "I fancythat my pal is all right, though I see you have got hiscoat-tails."

"There are three men waiting for him at the door," said Holmes.

"Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. Imust compliment you."

"And I you," Holmes answered. "Your red-headed idea was very newand effective."

"You'll see your pal again presently," said Jones. "He's quickerat climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix thederbies."

"I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,"remarked our prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists."You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Havethe goodness, also, when you address me always to say 'sir' and'please.'"

"All right," said Jones with a stare and a snigger. "Well, wouldyou please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carryyour Highness to the police-station?"

"That is better," said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping bowto the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of thedetective.

"Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather as we followed themfrom the cellar, "I do not know how the bank can thank you orrepay you. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeatedin the most complete manner one of the most determined attemptsat bank robbery that have ever come within my experience."

"I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr.John Clay," said Holmes. "I have been at some small expense overthis matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyondthat I am amply repaid by having had an experience which is inmany ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative ofthe Red-headed League."

"You see, Watson," he explained in the early hours of the morningas we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, "itwas perfectly obvious from the first that the only possibleobject of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement ofthe League, and the copying of the 'Encyclopaedia,' must be to getthis not over-bright pawnbroker out of the way for a number ofhours every day. It was a curious way of managing it, but,really, it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method wasno doubt suggested to Clay's ingenious mind by the colour of hisaccomplice's hair. The 4 pounds a week was a lure which must drawhim, and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands?They put in the advertisement, one rogue has the temporaryoffice, the other rogue incites the man to apply for it, andtogether they manage to secure his absence every morning in theweek. From the time that I heard of the assistant having come forhalf wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motivefor securing the situation."

"But how could you guess what the motive was?"

"Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected amere vulgar intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. Theman's business was a small one, and there was nothing in hishouse which could account for such elaborate preparations, andsuch an expenditure as they were at. It must, then, be somethingout of the house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant'sfondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into thecellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tangled clue. ThenI made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that Ihad to deal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals inLondon. He was doing something in the cellar--something whichtook many hours a day for months on end. What could it be, oncemore? I could think of nothing save that he was running a tunnelto some other building.

"So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. Isurprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I wasascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind.It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, theassistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we hadnever set eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at hisface. His knees were what I wished to see. You must yourself haveremarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke ofthose hours of burrowing. The only remaining point was what theywere burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw the City andSuburban Bank abutted on our friend's premises, and felt that Ihad solved my problem. When you drove home after the concert Icalled upon Scotland Yard and upon the chairman of the bankdirectors, with the result that you have seen."

"And how could you tell that they would make their attemptto-night?" I asked.

"Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign thatthey cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence--in otherwords, that they had completed their tunnel. But it was essentialthat they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or thebullion might be removed. Saturday would suit them better thanany other day, as it would give them two days for their escape.For all these reasons I expected them to come to-night."

"You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed in unfeignedadmiration. "It is so long a chain, and yet every link ringstrue."

"It saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning. "Alas! I alreadyfeel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effortto escape from the commonplaces of existence. These littleproblems help me to do so."

"And you are a benefactor of the race," said I.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, perhaps, after all, it is ofsome little use," he remarked. "'L'homme c'est rien--l'oeuvrec'est tout,' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand."