Detective and mystery stories; Holmes, Sherlock (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Private investigators -- England -- Fiction
“My rings were put on his finger; but when it came to the wedding
ring,” he held out his muscular hand, “you can see for yourselves that
I had struck the limit. I have not moved it since the day I was
married, and it would have taken a file to get it off. I don’t know,
anyhow, that I should have cared to part with it; but if I had wanted
to I couldn’t. So we just had to leave that detail to take care of
itself. On the other hand, I brought a bit of plaster down and put it
where I am wearing one myself at this instant. You slipped up there,
Mr. Holmes, clever as you are; for if you had chanced to take off that
plaster you would have found no cut underneath it.
“Well, that was the situation. If I could lie low for a while and then
get away where I could be joined by my ‘widow’ we should have a chance
at last of living in peace for the rest of our lives. These devils
would give me no rest so long as I was above ground; but if they saw in
the papers that Baldwin had got his man, there would be an end of all
my troubles. I hadn’t much time to make it all clear to Barker and to
my wife; but they understood enough to be able to help me. I knew all
about this hiding place, so did Ames; but it never entered his head to
connect it with the matter. I retired into it, and it was up to Barker
to do the rest.
“I guess you can fill in for yourselves what he did. He opened the
window and made the mark on the sill to give an idea of how the
murderer escaped. It was a tall order, that; but as the bridge was up
there was no other way. Then, when everything was fixed, he rang the
bell for all he was worth. What happened afterward you know. And so,
gentlemen, you can do what you please; but I’ve told you the truth and
the whole truth, so help me God! What I ask you now is how do I stand
by the English law?”
There was a silence which was broken by Sherlock Holmes.
“The English law is in the main a just law. You will get no worse than
your deserts from that, Mr. Douglas. But I would ask you how did this
man know that you lived here, or how to get into your house, or where
to hide to get you?”
“I know nothing of this.”
Holmes’s face was very white and grave. “The story is not over yet, I
fear,” said he. “You may find worse dangers than the English law, or
even than your enemies from America. I see trouble before you, Mr.
Douglas. You’ll take my advice and still be on your guard.”
And now, my long-suffering readers, I will ask you to come away with me
for a time, far from the Sussex Manor House of Birlstone, and far also
from the year of grace in which we made our eventful journey which
ended with the strange story of the man who had been known as John
Douglas. I wish you to journey back some twenty years in time, and
westward some thousands of miles in space, that I may lay before you a
singular and terrible narrative—so singular and so terrible that you
may find it hard to believe that even as I tell it, even so did it
occur.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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