The Sign of the Four | Page 7

use of having powers, doctor,
when one has no field upon which to exert them? Crime is commonplace, existence is
commonplace, and no qualities save those which are commonplace have any function
upon earth."
I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade, when with a crisp knock our landlady
entered, bearing a card upon the brass salver.
"A young lady for you, sir," she said, addressing my companion.

"Miss Mary Morstan," he read. "Hum! I have no recollection of the name. Ask the young
lady to step up, Mrs. Hudson. Don't go, doctor. I should prefer that you remain."


Chapter II
The Statement of the Case

Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward composure of manner.
She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well gloved, and dressed in the most perfect
taste. There was, however, a plainness and simplicity about her costume which bore with
it a suggestion of limited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed and
unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull hue, relieved only by a suspicion
of white feather in the side. Her face had neither regularity of feature nor beauty of
complexion, but her expression was sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were
singularly spiritual and sympathetic. In an experience of women which extends over
many nations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a face which gave a
clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I could not but observe that as she took
the seat which Sherlock Holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, her hand quivered, and
she showed every sign of intense inward agitation.
"I have come to you, Mr. Holmes," she said, "because you once enabled my employer,
Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domestic complication. She was much impressed
by your kindness and skill."
"Mrs. Cecil Forrester," he repeated thoughtfully. "I believe that I was of some slight
service to her. The case, however, as I remember it, was a very simple one."
"She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the same of mine. I can hardly imagine
anything more strange, more utterly inexplicable, than the situation in which I find
myself."
Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He leaned forward in his chair with an
expression of extraordinary concentration upon his clear-cut, hawklike features. "State
your case," said he, in brisk, business tones.
I felt that my position was an embarrassing one. "You will, I am sure, excuse me," I said,
rising from my chair.
To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to detain me. "If your friend,"
she said, "would be good enough to stop, he might be of inestimable service to me."
I relapsed into my chair.

"Briefly," she continued, "the facts are these. My father was an officer in an Indian
regiment who sent me home when I was quite a child. My mother was dead, and I had no
relative in England. I was placed, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at
Edinburgh, and there I remained until I was seventeen years of age. In the year 1878 my
father, who was senior captain of his regiment, obtained twelve months' leave and came
home. He telegraphed to me from London that he had arrived all safe, and directed me to
come down at once, giving the Langham Hotel as his address. His message, as I
remember, was full of kindness and love. On reaching London I drove to the Langham,
and was informed that Captain Morstan was staying there, but that he had gone out the
night before and had not yet returned. I waited all day without news of him. That night,
on the advice of the manager of the hotel, I communicated with the police, and next
morning we advertised in all the papers. Our inquiries let to no result; and from that day
to this no word has ever been heard of my unfortunate father. He came home with his
heart full of hope, to find some peace, some comfort, and instead--" She put her hand to
her throat, and a choking sob cut short the sentence.
"The date?" asked Holmes, opening his note-book.
"He disappeared upon the 3d of December, 1878,--nearly ten years ago."
"His luggage?"
"Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to suggest a clue,--some clothes, some
books, and a considerable number of curiosities from the Andaman Islands. He had been
one of the officers in charge of the convict-guard there."
"Had he any friends in town?"
"Only one that we know of,--Major Sholto, of his own regiment, the 34th Bombay
Infantry. The major had retired some little time before, and lived at Upper