I was forced to shake my head. To accept such praise was tolower one’s own standards.
“I was slow at the outset—culpably slow. Had the body beenfound in the water I could hardly have missed it. It was the towelwhich misled me. The poor fellow had never thought to dryhimself, and so I in turn was led to believe that he had never beenin the water. Why, then, should the attack of any water creaturesuggest itself to me? That was where I went astray. Well, well,Inspector, I often ventured to chaff you gentlemen of the policeforce, but Cyanea capillata very nearly avenged Scotland Yard.”
The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger
When one considers that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was in activepractice for twenty-three years, and that during seventeen ofthese I was allowed to cooperate with him and to keep notes ofhis doings, it will be clear that I have a mass of material at mycommand. The problem has always been not to find but to choose.
There is the long row of year-books which fill a shelf and thereare the dispatch-cases filled with documents, a perfect quarryfor the student not only of crime but of the social and officialscandals of the late Victorian era. Concerning these latter, I maysay that the writers of agonized letters, who beg that the honourof their families or the reputation of famous forebears may notbe touched, have nothing to fear. The discretion and high senseof professional honour which have always distinguished my friendare still at work in the choice of these memoirs, and no confidencewill be abused. I deprecate, however, in the strongest way theattempts which have been made lately to get at and to destroythese papers. The source of these outrages is known, and if theyare repeated I have Mr. Holmes’s authority for saying that thewhole story concerning the politician, the lighthouse, and thetrained cormorant will be given to the public. There is at least onereader who will understand.
It is not reasonable to suppose that every one of these casesgave Holmes the opportunity of showing those curious gifts ofinstinct and observation which I have endeavoured to set forth inthese memoirs. Sometimes he had with much effort to pick thefruit, sometimes it fell easily into his lap. But the most terriblehuman tragedies were often involved in those cases which broughthim the fewest personal opportunities, and it is one of these whichI now desire to record. In telling it, I have made a slight change ofname and place, but otherwise the facts are as stated.
One forenoon—it was late in 1896—I received a hurried notefrom Holmes asking for my attendance. When I arrived I foundhim seated in a smoke-laden atmosphere, with an elderly, motherlywoman of the buxom landlady type in the corresponding chair infront of him.
“This is Mrs. Merrilow, of South Brixton,” said my friend witha wave of the hand. “Mrs. Merrilow does not object to tobacco,Watson, if you wish to indulge your filthy habits. Mrs. Merrilowhas an interesting story to tell which may well lead to furtherdevelopments in which your presence may be useful.”
“Anything I can do——”
“You will understand, Mrs. Merrilow, that if I come to Mrs. Ronder I should prefer to have a witness. You will make herunderstand that before we arrive.”
“Lord bless you, Mr. Holmes,” said our visitor, “she is thatanxious to see you that you might bring the whole parish at yourheels!”
“Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let us see that wehave our facts correct before we start. If we go over them it willhelp Dr. Watson to understand the situation. You say that Mrs. Ronder has been your lodger for seven years and that you haveonly once seen her face.”
“And I wish to God I had not!” said Mrs. Merrilow.
“It was, I understand, terribly mutilated.”
“Well, Mr. Holmes, you would hardly say it was a face at all.
That’s how it looked. Our milkman got a glimpse of her oncepeeping out of the upper window, and he dropped his tin and themilk all over the front garden. That is the kind of face it is. WhenI saw her—I happened on her unawares—she covered up quick,and then she said, ‘Now, Mrs. Merrilow, you know at last why it isthat I never raise my veil.’ ”
“Do you know anything about her history?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Did she give references when she came?”
“No, sir, but she gave hard cash, and plenty of it. A quarter’s rentright down on the table in advance and no arguing about terms.
In these times a poor woman like me can’t afford to turn down achance like that.”
“Did she give any reason for choosing your house?”
“Mine stands well back from the road and is more private thanmost. Then, again, I only take the one, and I have no family of myown. I reckon she had tried others and found that mine suited herbest. It’s privacy she is after, and she is ready to pay for it.”
“You say that she never showed her face from first to last saveon the one accidental occasion. Well, it is a very remarkable story,most remarkable, and I don’t wonder that you want it examined.”
“I don’t, Mr. Holmes. I am quite satisfied so long as I get myrent. You could not have a quieter lodger, or one who gives lesstrouble.”
“Then what has brought matters to a head?”
“Her health, Mr. Holmes. She seems to be wasting away. Andthere’s something terrible on her mind. ‘Murder!’ she cries.
‘Murder!’ And once I heard her: ‘You cruel beast! You monster!’ shecried. It was in the night, and it fair rang through the house andsent the shivers through me. So I went to her in the morning. ‘