Detective and mystery stories; Holmes, Sherlock (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Private investigators -- England -- Fiction
“‘For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what I should do. My
first impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but I could not
but recognise that there was every chance that I would be accused of
his murder. His death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in his
head, would be black against me. Again, an official inquiry could not
be made without bringing out some facts about the treasure, which I was
particularly anxious to keep secret. He had told me that no soul upon
earth knew where he had gone. There seemed to be no necessity why any
soul ever should know.
“‘I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking up, I saw my
servant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He stole in and bolted the door
behind him. “Do not fear, Sahib,” he said. “No one need know that you
have killed him. Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?” “I did
not kill him,” said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head and smiled. “I heard
it all, Sahib,” said he. “I heard you quarrel, and I heard the blow.
But my lips are sealed. All are asleep in the house. Let us put him
away together.” That was enough to decide me. If my own servant could
not believe my innocence, how could I hope to make it good before
twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and I disposed of
the body that night, and within a few days the London papers were full
of the mysterious disappearance of Captain Morstan. You will see from
what I say that I can hardly be blamed in the matter. My fault lies in
the fact that we concealed not only the body, but also the treasure,
and that I have clung to Morstan’s share as well as to my own. I wish
you, therefore, to make restitution. Put your ears down to my mouth.
The treasure is hidden in—’
“At this instant a horrible change came over his expression; his eyes
stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled, in a voice which I can
never forget, ‘Keep him out! For Christ’s sake keep him out!’ We both
stared round at the window behind us upon which his gaze was fixed. A
face was looking in at us out of the darkness. We could see the
whitening of the nose where it was pressed against the glass. It was a
bearded, hairy face, with wild cruel eyes and an expression of
concentrated malevolence. My brother and I rushed towards the window,
but the man was gone. When we returned to my father his head had
dropped and his pulse had ceased to beat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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