The Return of Sherlock Holmes | Page 8

which were meant to be silent, but which
reverberated harshly through the empty house. Holmes crouched back
against the wall, and I did the same, my hand closing upon the handle
of my revolver. Peering through the gloom, I saw the vague outline of a
man, a shade blacker than the blackness of the open door. He stood for
an instant, and then he crept forward, crouching, menacing, into the
room. He was within three yards of us, this sinister figure, and I had
braced myself to meet his spring, before I realized that he had no idea
of our presence. He passed close beside us, stole over to the window,
and very softly and noiselessly raised it for half a foot. As he sank to
the level of this opening, the light of the street, no longer dimmed by
the dusty glass, fell full upon his face. The man seemed to be beside
himself with excitement. His two eyes shone like stars, and his features
were working convulsively. He was an elderly man, with a thin,
projecting nose, a high, bald forehead, and a huge grizzled moustache.
An opera hat was pushed to the back of his head, and an evening dress
shirt-front gleamed out through his open overcoat. His face was gaunt
and swarthy, scored with deep, savage lines. In his hand he carried

what appeared to be a stick, but as he laid it down upon the floor it
gave a metallic clang. Then from the pocket of his overcoat he drew a
bulky object, and he busied himself in some task which ended with a
loud, sharp click, as if a spring or bolt had fallen into its place. Still
kneeling upon the floor he bent forward and threw all his weight and
strength upon some lever, with the result that there came a long,
whirling, grinding noise, ending once more in a powerful click. He
straightened himself then, and I saw that what he held in his hand was a
sort of gun, with a curiously misshapen butt. He opened it at the breech,
put something in, and snapped the breech-lock. Then, crouching down,
he rested the end of the barrel upon the ledge of the open window, and I
saw his long moustache droop over the stock and his eye gleam as it
peered along the sights. I heard a little sigh of satisfaction as he cuddled
the butt into his shoulder; and saw that amazing target, the black man
on the yellow ground, standing clear at the end of his foresight. For an
instant he was rigid and motionless. Then his finger tightened on the
trigger. There was a strange, loud whiz and a long, silvery tinkle of
broken glass. At that instant Holmes sprang like a tiger on to the
marksman's back, and hurled him flat upon his face. He was up again in
a moment, and with convulsive strength he seized Holmes by the throat,
but I struck him on the head with the butt of my revolver, and he
dropped again upon the floor. I fell upon him, and as I held him my
comrade blew a shrill call upon a whistle. There was the clatter of
running feet upon the pavement, and two policemen in uniform, with
one plain-clothes detective, rushed through the front entrance and into
the room.
"That you, Lestrade?" said Holmes.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. I took the job myself. It's good to see you back in
London, sir."
"I think you want a little unofficial help. Three undetected murders in
one year won't do, Lestrade. But you handled the Molesey Mystery
with less than your usual--that's to say, you handled it fairly well."
We had all risen to our feet, our prisoner breathing hard, with a stalwart
constable on each side of him. Already a few loiterers had begun to

collect in the street. Holmes stepped up to the window, closed it, and
dropped the blinds. Lestrade had produced two candles, and the
policemen had uncovered their lanterns. I was able at last to have a
good look at our prisoner.
It was a tremendously virile and yet sinister face which was turned
towards us. With the brow of a philosopher above and the jaw of a
sensualist below, the man must have started with great capacities for
good or for evil. But one could not look upon his cruel blue eyes, with
their drooping, cynical lids, or upon the fierce, aggressive nose and the
threatening, deep-lined brow, without reading Nature's plainest
danger-signals. He took no heed of any of us, but his eyes were fixed
upon Holmes's face with an expression in which hatred and amazement
were equally blended. "You fiend!" he kept on muttering. "You clever,
clever fiend!"
"Ah, Colonel!" said Holmes, arranging his rumpled collar.