Publisher: New York : P. Subjects Doyle, Arthur Conan, -- Dummies Bookselling -- Specimens. Dummies Bookselling More like this Similar Items. Allow this favorite library to be seen by others Keep this favorite library private. Find a copy in the library Finding libraries that hold this item Conan Doyle's best books.
Remember me on this computer. Cancel Forgot your password? Print book : English : Sherlock Holmes ed View all editions and formats. Doyle, Arthur Conan, -- Similar Items. Online version: Doyle, Arthur Conan, He is aware of his genius, but does not feel the need to boast about it, more than happy to let others take credit for his work. It would seem as long as a few people, like Watson know and accept the truth then he is happy.
Even so, it seems as though he is getting bored of what he is doing, very rarely seeing the need to leave the house to investigate, but when he is presented with a more than interesting case and with a little cajoling from Watson he begins to investigate what becomes their first case together. Conan-Doyle is a great storyteller, keeping the reader enthralled and bringing them back again and again so that the pages seem to fly by!
The world of which he is writing is modern to him, so there are some lovely touches that help open the world to another time for us. The resolution to the story is satisfying, although it might be considered slightly annoying to watch Holmes start to work it out, but not reveal everything until he talks Watson through it at the end.
There is an unusual set up in that we get the murder and mystery, see it virtually resolved, then get thrown back in time to another continent as we are shown the events that led up to the murder, before having Holmes and Watson back to wrap it up. It is an interesting device to use, but it does come across a quite a break, snapping the reader out of the story and then back in again. I will not deny that the story as presented is interesting, but it seems an odd way of going about it. The revelation itself is a good one. It shows that things are not as clear cut as they might have seemed and the sympathies of the reader well this one were not where I would have thought they would have been.
There is a little bit of a rather neat wrap up, but it did not detract from the story too much. Most importantly you can see why Holmes and Watson were to become the iconic figures they deserved. Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase. Here we have the first appearance of Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, in this the first of only four novels as the rest of the tales were short stories. Nowadays everyone has heard of Holmes, but this was published with very little interest from the public. Another reason also is rather ironic as mention is made in this book of Lecoq a fictional French detective who was arguably the most famous detective in the world until Holmes eventually usurped him from his place, and the creator and author of him and other crime tales, Emile Gaboriau, in which the structure of this novel does bear some resemblance to its format.
Watson returns from Afghanistan suffering injuries after the Second Afghanistan War. Looking for somewhere to rent in London a former friend and colleague of his points him in the direction of a certain Sherlock Holmes who is looking for someone to share rooms with, thus creating that famous partnership that we are all aware of. It does take some time for Watson to realise what his flatmate does for a living, but he does soon pick up on his rather vain conceit.
With a mysterious murder committed Watson finds himself with Holmes investigating, whilst both Gregson and Lestrade from the Yard of course mess things up with false conclusions. Not as well written as stories that were to come later this still does make for an enjoyable read as we see Holmes in his element, solving crimes that seem to others to be impossible of solution. Also, for those who are coming to the Sherlock stories for the very first time this does show you how they came to be living and working together.
In all then this is still very much an enjoyable read that should give you much pleasure. These are only a few indications, but they may assist you. It was one o'clock when we left No. Sherlock Holmes led me to the nearest telegraph office, whence he dispatched a long telegram. He then hailed a cab, and ordered the driver to take us to the address given us by Lestrade. The very first thing which I observed on arriving there was that a cab had made two ruts with its wheels close to the kerb.
Now, up to last night, we have had no rain for a week, so that those wheels which left such a deep impression must have been there during the night. There were the marks of the horse's hoofs, too, the outline of one of which was far more clearly cut than that of the other three, showing that that was a new shoe.
Since the cab was there after the rain began, and was not there at any time during the morning - I have Gregson's word for that - it follows that it must have been there during the night, and, therefore, that it brought those two individuals to the house. It is a simple calculation enough, though there is no use my boring you with figures. I had this fellow's stride both on the clay outside and on the dust within.
Then I had a way of checking my calculation.
A Study in Scarlet [illustrated] | D&R - Kültür, Sanat ve Eğlence Dünyası
When a man writes on a wall, his instinct leads him to write about the level of his own eyes. Now that writing was just over six feet from the ground. It was child's play. That was the breadth of a puddle on the garden walk which he had evidently walked across. Patent-leather boots had gone round, and Square-toes had hopped over. There is no mystery about it at all.
I am simply applying to ordinary life a few of those precepts of observation and deduction which I advocated in that article. Is there anything else that puzzles you? My glass allowed me to observe that the plaster was slightly scratched in doing it, which would not have been the case if the man's nail had been trimmed. I gathered up some scattered ash from the floor.
It was dark in colour and flakey - such an ash as is only made by a Trichinopoly. I have made a special study of cigar ashes - in fact, I have written a monograph upon the subject. I flatter myself that I can distinguish at a glance the ash of any known brand either of cigar or of tobacco. It is just in such details that the skilled detective differs from the Gregson and Lestrade type. You must not ask me that at the present state of the affair. I passed my hand over my brow.
How came these two men - if there were two men - into an empty house? What has become of the cabman who drove them? How could one man compel another to take poison? Where did the blood come from?
What was the object of the murderer, since robbery had no part in it? How came the woman's ring there? I confess that I cannot see any possible way of reconciling all these facts. As to poor Lestrade's discovery, it was simply a blind intended to put the police upon a wrong track, by suggesting Socialism and secret societies. It was not done by a German. The A, if you noticed, was printed somewhat after the German fashion. Now, a real German invariably prints in the Latin character, so that we may safely say that this was not written by one, but by a clumsy imitator who overdid his part.
It was simply a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong channel. I'm not going to tell you much more of the case, Doctor. You know a conjurer gets no credit once he has explained his trick; and if I show you too much of my method of working, you will come to the conclusion that I am a very ordinary individual after all. My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the earnest way in which I uttered them. I had already observed that he was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty.
When they got inside, they walked up and down the room - or rather, Patent-leathers stood still while Square-toes walked up and down. I could read all that in the dust; and I could read that as he walked he grew more and more excited. That is shown by the increased length of his strides. He was talking all the while, and working himself up, no doubt, into a fury. Then the tragedy occurred. I've told you all I know myself now, for the rest is mere surmise and conjecture.
We have a good working basis, however, on which to start. We must hurry up, for I want to go to Halle's concert to hear Norman-Neruda this afternoon. This conversation had occurred while our cab had been threading its way through a long succession of dingy streets and dreary byways. In the dingiest and dreariest of them our driver suddenly came to a stand.
Audley Court was not an attractive locality. The narrow passage led us into a quadrangle paved with flags and lined by sordid dwellings. We picked our way among groups of dirty children, and through lines of discoloured linen, until we came to Number 46, the door of which was decorated with a small slip of brass on which the name Rance was engraved.
On inquiry we found that the constable was in bed, and we were shown into a little front parlour to await his coming. He appeared presently, looking a little irritable at being disturbed in his slumbers. Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and played with it pensively. Rance sat down on the horsehair sofa, and knitted his brows, as though determined not to omit anything in his narrative.
At eleven there was a fight at the White Hart; but bar that all was quiet enough on the beat. At one o'clock it began to rain, and I met Harry Murcher - him who has the Holland Grove beat - and we stood together at the corner of Henrietta Street a-talkin's Presently - maybe about two or a little after - I thought I would take a look round and see that all was right down the Brixton Road. It was precious dirty and lonely. Not a soul did I meet all the way down, though a cab or two went past me. I was a-strollin' down, thinkin' between ourselves how uncommon handy a four of gin hot would be, when suddenly the glint of a light caught my eye in the window of that same house.
Now, I knew that them two houses in Lauriston Gardens was empty on account of him that owns them who won't have the drains seed to, though the very last tenant what lived in one of them died o' typhoid fever. I was knocked all in a heap, therefore, at seeing a light in the window, and I suspected as something was wrong. When I got to the door-'. Rance gave a violent jump, and stared at Sherlock Holmes with the utmost amazement upon his features.
Ye see when I got up to the door, it was so still and lonesome, that I thought I'd be none the worse for some one with me. I ain't afeard of anything on this side o' the grave, but I thought that maybe it was him that died o' the typhoid inspecting the drains what killed him. The thought gave me a kind o' turn, and I walked back to the gate to see if I could see Murcher's lantern, but there wasn't no sign of him nor of anyone else. Then I pulled myself together and went back and pushed the door open. All was quiet inside, so I went into the room where the light was a-burnin'.
There was a candle flickerin' on the mantelpiece - a red wax one - and by its light I saw-'. You walked round the room several times, and you knelt down by the body, and then you walked through and tried the kitchen door, and then-'. John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and suspicion in his eyes. Holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the constable. Go on, though. What did you do next? Rance resumed his seat, without, however, losing his mystified expression. The constable's features broadened into a grin.
He was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin' up ag'in the railings, and a-singin' at the pitch o' his lungs about Columbine's New-fangled Banner, or some such stuff. He couldn't stand, far less help. John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression. He was a long chap, with a red face, the lower part muffied round-'. That head of yours should be for use as well as ornament. You might have gained your sergeant's stripes last night. The man whom you held in your hands is the man who holds the clue of this mystery, and whom we are seeking.
There is no use of arguing about it now; I tell you that it is so. Come along, Doctor. We started off for the cab together, leaving our informant incredulous, but obviously uncomfortable. Just to think of his having such an incomparable bit of good luck, and not taking advantage of it. It is true that the description of this man tallies with your idea of the second party in this mystery. But why should he come back to the house after leaving it? That is not the way of criminals.
If we have no other way of catching him, we can always bait our line with the ring. I shall have him, Doctor - I'll lay you two to one that I have him. I must thank you for it all. I might not have gone but for you, and so have missed the finest study I ever came across: a study in scarlet, eh? Why shouldn't we use a little art jargon? There's the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it.
And now for lunch, and then for Norman Neruda. Her attack and her bowing are splendid. What's that little thing of Chopin's she plays so magnificently: Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay. Leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound carolled away like a lark while I meditated upon the manysidedness of the human mind.
Our morning's exertions had been too much for my weak health, and I was tired out in the afternoon. After Holmes's departure for the concert, I lay down upon the sofa and endeavoured to get a couple of hours' sleep. It was a useless attempt. My mind had been too much excited by all that had occurred, and the strangest fancies and surmises crowded into it.
Every time that I closed my eyes I saw before me the distorted, baboon-like countenance of the murdered man. So sinister was the impression which that face had produced upon me that I found it difficult to feel anything but gratitude for him who had removed its owner from the world.
If ever human features bespoke vice of the most malignant type, they were certainly those of Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland. Still, I recognized that justice must be done, and that the depravity of the victim was no condonement in the eyes of the law. The more I thought of it the more extraordinary did my companion's hypothesis, that the man had been poisoned, appear. I remembered how he had sniffed his lips, and had no doubt that he had detected something which had given rise to the idea.
Then, again, if not poison, what had caused the man's death, since there was neither wound nor marks of strangulation? But, on the other hand, whose blood was that which lay so thickly upon the floor? There were no signs of a struggle, nor had the victim any weapon with which he might have wounded an antagonist.
As long as all these questions were unsolved, I felt that sleep would be no easy matter, either for Holmes or myself. His quiet, selfconfident manner convinced me that he had already formed a theory which explained all the facts, though what it was I could not for an instant conjecture. He was very late in returning - so late that I knew that the concert could not have detained him all the time. Dinner was on the table before he appeared. He claims that the power of producing and appreciating it existed among the human race long before the power of speech was arrived at.
Perhaps that is why we are so subtly influenced by it. There are vague memories in our souls of those misty centuries when the world was in its childhood. You're not looking quite yourself. This Brixton Road affair has upset you. I saw my own comrades hacked to pieces at Maiwand without losing my nerve. There is a mystery about this which stimulates the imagination; where there is no imagination there is no horror.
Have you seen the evening paper? It does not mention the fact that when the man was raised up a woman's wedding-ring fell upon the floor. It is just as well it does not. He threw the paper across to me and I glanced at the place indicated. It was the first announcement in the 'Found' column. It is almost a facsimile.
If he does not come himself, he will send an accomplice. If my view of the case is correct, and I have every reason to believe that it is, this man would rather risk anything than lose the ring. According to my notion he dropped it while stooping over Drebber's body, and did not miss it at the time. After leaving the house he discovered his loss and hurried back, but found the police already in possession, owing to his own folly in leaving the candle burning. He had to pretend to be drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might have been aroused by his appearance at the gate. Now put yourself in that man's place.
On thinking the matter over, it must have occurred to him that it was possible that he had lost the ring in the road after leaving the house. What would he do then? He would eagerly look out for the evening papers in the hope of seeing it among the articles found. His eye, of course, would alight upon this. He would be overjoyed. Why should he fear a trap? There would be no reason in his eyes why the finding of the ring should be connected with the murder. He would come. He will come. You shall see him within an hour. He will be a desperate man; and though I shall take him unawares, it is as well to be ready for anything.
I went to my bed-room and followed his advice. When I returned with the pistol, the table had been cleared, and Holmes was engaged in his favourite occupation of scraping upon his violin. My view of the case is the correct one. When the fellow comes, speak to him in an ordinary way. Leave the rest to me. Don't frighten him by looking at him too hard. He will probably be here in a few minutes. Open the door slightly. That will do. Now put the key on the inside. Thank you! Charles's head was still firm on his shoulders when this little brown-backed volume was struck off.
On the flyleaf, in very faded ink, is written "Ex libris Gulielmi Whyte. Some pragmatical seventeenth-century lawyer, I suppose.
A Study In Scarlet
His writing has a legal twist about it. Here comes our man, I think. As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. Sherlock Holmes rose softly and moved his chair in the direction of the door. We heard the servant pass along the hall, and the sharp click of the latch as she opened it. We could not hear the servant's reply, but the door closed, and someone began to ascend the stairs. The footfall was an uncertain and shuffling one.
A look of surprise passed over the face of my companion as he listened to it. It came slowly along the passage, and there was a feeble tap at the door. At my summons, instead of the man of violence whom we expected, a very old and wrinkled woman hobbled into the apartment.
She appeared to be dazzled by the sudden blaze of light, and after dropping a curtsey, she stood blinking at us with her bleared eyes and fumbling in her pocket with nervous shaky fingers. I glanced at my companion, and his face had assumed such a disconsolate expression that it was all I could do to keep my countenance.
The old crone drew out an evening paper, and pointed at our advertisement. It belongs to my girl Sally, as was married only this time twelve-month, which her husband is steward aboard a Union boat, and what he'd say if he come 'ome and found her without her ring is more than I can think, he being short enough at the best o' times, but more especially when he has the drink. If it please you, she went to the circus last night along with-'. That's the ring. The old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from her little red-rimmed eyes.
With many mumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude the old crone packed it away in her pocket, and shuffled off down the stairs Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet the moment that she was gone and rushed into his room. He returned in a few seconds enveloped in an ulster and a cravat. Wait up for me. Looking through the window I could see her walking feebly along the other side, while her pursuer dogged her some little distance behind. It was close upon nine when he set out. Ten o'clock passed, and I heard the footsteps of the maid as they pattered off to bed.
Eleven, and the more stately tread of the landlady passed my door, bound for the same destination.
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It was close upon twelve before I heard the sharp sound of his latch-key. The instant he entered I saw by his face that he had not been successful. Amusement and chagrin seemed to be struggling for the mastery, until the former suddenly carried the day, and he burst into a hearty laugh. I can afford to laugh, because I know that I will be even with them in the long run. That creature had gone a little way when she began to limp and show every sign of being footsore. Presently she came to a halt, and hailed a four-wheeler which was passing.
I managed to be close to her so as to hear the address, but I need not have been so anxious, for she sang it out loud enough to be heard at the other side of the street: "Drive to 13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch," she cried. This begins to look genuine, I thought, and having seen her safely inside, I perched myself behind. That's an art which every detective should be an expert at. Well, away we rattled, and never drew rein until we reached the street in question.
I hopped off before we came to the door, and strolled down the street in an easy lounging way. I saw the cab pull up. The driver jumped down, and I saw him open the door and stand expectantly. Nothing came out though. When I reached him, he was groping about frantically in the empty cab, and giving vent to the finest assorted collection of oaths that ever I listened to. There was no sign or trace of his passenger, and I fear it will be some time before he gets his fare. On inquiring at Number 13 we found that the house belonged to a respectable paperhanger, named Keswick, and that no one of the name either of Sawyer or Dennis had ever been heard of there.
It must have been a young man, and an active one, too, besides being an incomparable actor. The get-up was inimitable. He saw that he was followed, no doubt, and used this means of giving me the slip. It shows that the man we are after is not as lonely as I imagined he was, but has friends who are ready to risk something for him. Now, Doctor, you are looking done-up. Take my advice and turn in. I was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyed his injunction.
I left Holmes seated in front of the smouldering fire, and long into the watches of the night I heard the low, melancholy wailings of his violin, and knew that he was still pondering over the strange problem which he had set himself to unravel. The papers next day were full of the 'Brixton Mystery', as they termed it. Each had a long account of the affair, and some had leaders upon it in addition. There was some information in them which was new to me.
I still retain in my scrap-book numerous clippings and extracts bearing upon the case. Here is a condensation of a few of them. The Daily Telegraph remarked that in the history of crime there had seldom been a tragedy which presented stranger features. The German name of the victim, the absence of all other motive, and the sinister inscription on the wall, all pointed to its perpetration by political refugees and revolutionists. The Socialists had many branches in America, and the deceased had, no doubt, infringed their unwritten laws, and been tracked down by them.
After alluding airily to the Vehmgericht, aqua tofana, Carbonari, the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, the Darwinian theory, the principles of Malthus, and the Ratcliff Highway murders, the article concluded by admonishing the Government and advocating a closer watch over foreigners in England. The Standard commented upon the fact that lawless outrages of the sort usually occurred under a Liberal Administration. They arose from the unsettling of the minds of the masses, and the consequent weakening of all authority.
The deceased was an American gentleman who had been residing for some weeks in the Metropolis. He was accompanied in his travels by his private secretary, Mr Joseph Stangerson. The two bade adieu to their landlady upon Tuesday, the 4th inst. They were afterwards seen together upon the platform. Nothing more is known of them until Mr Drebber's body was, as recorded, discovered in an empty house in the Brixton Road, many miles from Euston. How he came there, or how he met his fate, are questions which are still involved in mystery. Nothing is known of the whereabouts of Stangerson. We are glad to learn that Mr Lestrade and Mr Gregson, of Scotland Yard, are both engaged upon the case, and it is confidently anticipated that these well-known officers will speedily throw light upon the matter.
The Daily News observed that there was no doubt as to the crime being a political one. The despotism and hatred of Liberalism which animated the Continental Governments had had the effect of driving to our shores a number of men who might have made excellent citizens were they not soured by the recollection of all that they had undergone. Among these men there was a stringent code of honour, any infringement of which was punished by death. Every effort should be made to find the secretary, Stangerson, and to ascertain some particulars of the habits of the deceased.
A great step had been gained by the discovery of the address of the house at which he had boarded - a result which was entirely due to the acuteness and energy of Mr Gregson of Scotland Yard. Sherlock Holmes and I read these notices over together at breakfast, and they appeared to afford him considerable amusement. If the man is caught, it will be on account of their exertions; if he escapes, it will be in spite of their exertions. It's heads I win and tails you lose. Whatever they do, they will have followers.
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Have you found it, Wiggins? You must keep on until you do. Here are your wages. He waved his hand, and they scampered away downstairs like so many rats, and we heard their shrill voices next moment in the street. These youngsters, however, go everywhere, and hear everything. They are as sharp as needles, too; all they want is organization.
It is merely a matter of time. Here is Gregson coming down the road with beatitude written upon every feature of his face.
Bound for us, I know. Yes, he is stopping. There he is! There was a violent peal at the bell, and in a few seconds the fair-haired detective came up the stairs, three steps at a time, and burst into our sitting-room. I have made the whole thing as clear as day.
Why, sir, we have the man under lock and key. Will you have some whiskey and water? The tremendous exertions which I have gone through during the last day or two have worn me out. Not so much bodily exertion, you understand, as the strain upon the mind. You will appreciate that, Mr Sherlock Holmes, for we are both brain-workers. The detective seated himself in the arm-chair, and puffed complacently at his cigar.
Then suddenly he slapped his thigh in a paroxysm of amusement. He is after the secretary Stangerson, who had no more to do with the crime than the babe unborn. I have no doubt that he has caught him by this time. Of course, Doctor Watson, this is strictly between ourselves. The first difficulty which we had to contend with was the finding of this American's antecedents. Some people would have waited until their advertisements were answered, or until parties came forward and volunteered information.
That is not Tobias Gregson's way of going to work. You remember the hat beside the dead man? He looked over his books, and came on it at once. Thus I got his address. Her daughter was in the room, too - an uncommonly fine girl she is, too; she was looking red about the eyes and her lips trembled as I spoke to her. That didn't escape my notice.
I began to smell a rat. You know that feeling, Mr Sherlock Holmes, when you come upon the right scent - a kind of thrill in your nerves. Drebber, of Cleveland? She didn't seem able to get out a word. The daughter burst into tears. I felt more than ever that these people knew something of the matter. He was to catch the first. Her features turned perfectly livid. It was some seconds before she could get out the single word "Yes" - and when it did come it was in a husky, unnatural tone.
We did see Mr Drebber again. Besides, you do not know how much we know of it. Do not imagine that my agitation on behalf of my son arises from any fear lest he should have had a hand in this terrible affair. He is utterly innocent of it. My dread is, however, that in your eyes and in the eyes of others he may appear to be compromised. That, however, is surely impossible. His high character, his profession, his antecedents would all forbid it. Having once decided to speak, I will tell you all without omitting any particular.
He and his secretary, Mr Stangerson, had been travelling on the Continent. I noticed a 'Copenhagen' label upon each of their trunks, showing that that had been their last stopping place. Stangerson was a quiet, reserved man, but his employer, I am sorry to say, was far otherwise. He was coarse in his habits and brutish in his ways.
The very night of his arrival he became very much the worse for drink, and, indeed, after twelve o'clock in the day he could hardly ever be said to be sober. His manners towards the maid-servants were disgustingly free and familiar. Worst of all, he speedily assumed the same attitude towards my daughter Alice, and spoke to her more than once in a way which, fortunately, she is too innocent to understand.
On one occasion he actually seized her in his arms and embraced her - an outrage which caused his own secretary to reproach him for his unmanly conduct. They were paying a pound a day each - fourteen pounds a week, and this is the slack season.
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I am a widow, and my boy in the Navy has cost me much. I grudged to lose the money. I acted for the best. This last was too much, however, and I gave him notice to leave on account of it. That was the reason of his going.
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My son is on leave just now, but I did not tell him anything of all this, for his temper is violent, and he is passionately fond of his sister. When I closed the door behind them a load seemed to be lifted from my mind. Alas, in less than an hour there was a ring at the bell, and I learned that Mr Drebber had returned.
He was much excited, and evidently the worse for drink. He forced his way into the room, where I was sitting with my daughter, and made some incoherent remark about having missed the train. He then turned to Alice, and before my very face proposed to her that she should fly with him. I have money enough and to spare.
Never mind the old girl here, but come along with me now straight away. You shall live like a princess. I screamed, and at that moment my son Arthur came into the room. What happened then I do not know. I heard oaths and the confused sounds of a scuffle. I was too terrified to raise my head. When I did look up I saw Arthur standing in the doorway laughing, with a stick in his hand. The next morning we heard of Mr Drebber's mysterious death. At times she spoke so low that I could hardly catch the words. I made shorthand notes of all that she said, however, so that there should be no possibility of a mistake.
Fixing her with my eye in a way which I always found effective with women, I asked her at what hour her son returned. I found out where Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers with me, and arrested him. When I touched him on the shoulder and warned him to come quietly with us, he answered us as bold as brass: "I suppose you are arresting me for being concerned in the death of that scoundrel Drebber," he said. We had said nothing to him about it, so that his alluding to it had a most suspicious aspect.
It was a stout oak cudgel. When there, a fresh altercation arose between them, in the course of which Drebber received a blow from the stick, in the pit of the stomach perhaps, which killed him without leaving any mark. The night was so wet that no one was about, so Charpentier dragged the body of his victim into the empty house. As to the candle, and the blood, and the writing on the wall, and the ring, they may all be so many tricks to throw the police on to the wrong scent. We shall make something of you yet.