The Adventure of the Red Circle | Page 9

that way, does it not? Here he is, sending out messages to an
accomplice--there are several of his gang in London. Then suddenly, just as by your own
account he was telling them that there was danger, he broke short off. What could it mean
except that from the window he had suddenly either caught sight of us in the street, or in
some way come to understand how close the danger was, and that he must act right away
if he was to avoid it? What do you suggest, Mr. Holmes?"
"That we go up at once and see for ourselves."
"But we have no warrant for his arrest."
"He is in unoccupied premises under suspicious circumstances," said Gregson. "That is
good enough for the moment. When we have him by the heels we can see if New York
can't help us to keep him. I'll take the responsibility of arresting him now."
Our official detectives may blunder in the matter of intelligence, but never in that of
courage. Gregson climbed the stair to arrest this desperate murderer with the same
absolutely quiet and businesslike bearing with which he would have ascended the official
staircase of Scotland Yard. The Pinkerton man had tried to push past him, but Gregson
had firmly elbowed him back. London dangers were the privilege of the London force.
The door of the left-hand flat upon the third landing was standing ajar. Gregson pushed it
open. Within all was absolute silence and darkness. I struck a match and lit the detective's
lantern. As I did so, and as the flicker steadied into a flame, we all gave a gasp of surprise.
On the deal boards of the carpetless floor there was outlined a fresh track of blood. The
red steps pointed towards us and led away from an inner room, the door of which was
closed. Gregson flung it open and held his light full blaze in front of him, while we all
peered eagerly over his shoulders.
In the middle of the floor of the empty room was huddled the figure of an enormous man,
his clean-shaven, swarthy face grotesquely horrible in its contortion and his head
encircled by a ghastly crimson halo of blood, lying in a broad wet circle upon the white
woodwork. His knees were drawn up, his hands thrown out in agony, and from the centre
of his broad, brown, upturned throat there projected the white haft of a knife driven
blade- deep into his body. Giant as he was, the man must have gone down like a

pole-axed ox before that terrific blow. Beside his right hand a most formidable
horn-handled, two-edged dagger lay upon the floor, and near it a black kid glove.
"By George! it's Black Gorgiano himself!" cried the American detective. "Someone has
got ahead of us this time."
"Here is the candle in the window, Mr. Holmes," said Gregson. "Why, whatever are you
doing?"
Holmes had stepped across, had lit the candle, and was passing it backward and forward
across the window-panes. Then he peered into the darkness, blew the candle out, and
threw it on the floor.
"I rather think that will be helpful," said he. He came over and stood in deep thought
while the two professionals were examining the body. "You say that three people came
out form the flat while you were waiting downstairs," said he at last. "Did you observe
them closely?"
"Yes, I did."
"Was there a fellow about thirty, black-bearded, dark, of middle size?"
"Yes; he was the last to pass me."
"That is your man, I fancy. I can give you his description, and we have a very excellent
outline of his footmark. That should be enough for you."
"Not much, Mr. Holmes, among the millions of London."
"Perhaps not. That is why I thought it best to summon this lady to your aid."
We all turned round at the words. There, framed in the doorway, was a tall and beautiful
woman--the mysterious lodger of Bloomsbury. Slowly she advanced, her face pale and
drawn with a frightful apprehension, her eyes fixed and staring, her terrified gaze riveted
upon the dark figure on the floor.
"You have killed him!" she muttered. "Oh, Dio mio, you have killed him!" Then I heard a
sudden sharp intake of her breath, and she sprang into the air with a cry of joy. Round
and round the room she danced, her hands clapping, her dark eyes gleaming with
delighted wonder, and a thousand pretty Italian exclamations pouring from her lips. It
was terrible and amazing to see such a woman so convulsed with joy at such a sight.
Suddenly she stopped and gazed at us all with a questioning stare.
"But you! You are police, are you not? You have killed Giuseppe Gorgiano.