By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
“Well, Mrs. Warren, I cannot see that you have
any particular cause for uneasiness, nor do I understand
why I, whose time is of some value, should interfere
in the matter. I really have other things to
engage me.” So spoke Sherlock Holmes and
turned back to the great scrapbook in which he was
arranging and indexing some of his recent material.
But the landlady had the pertinacity and also the
cunning of her sex. She held her ground firmly.
“You arranged an affair for a lodger of mine
last year,” she said—“Mr. Fairdale
Hobbs.”
“Ah, yes—a simple matter.”
“But he would never cease talking of it—your
kindness, sir, and the way in which you brought light
into the darkness. I remembered his words when
I was in doubt and darkness myself. I know you
could if you only would.”
Holmes was accessible upon the side of flattery, and
also, to do him justice, upon the side of kindliness.
The two forces made him lay down his gum-brush with
a sigh of resignation and push back his chair.
“Well, well, Mrs. Warren, let us hear about
it, then. You don’t object to tobacco,
I take it? Thank you, Watson—the matches!
You are uneasy, as I understand, because your new lodger
remains in his rooms and you cannot see him.
Why, bless you, Mrs. Warren, if I were your lodger
you often would not see me for weeks on end.”
“No doubt, sir; but this is different.
It frightens me, Mr. Holmes. I can’t
sleep for fright. To hear his quick step moving
here and moving there from early morning to late at
night, and yet never to catch so much as a glimpse
of him—it’s more than I can stand.
My husband is as nervous over it as I am, but he is
out at his work all day, while I get no rest from it.
What is he hiding for? What has he done?
Except for the girl, I am all alone in the house
with him, and it’s more than my nerves can stand.”
Holmes leaned forward and laid his long, thin fingers
upon the woman’s shoulder. He had an almost
hypnotic power of soothing when he wished. The
scared look faded from her eyes, and her agitated
features smoothed into their usual commonplace.
She sat down in the chair which he had indicated.
“If I take it up I must understand every detail,”
said he. “Take time to consider.
The smallest point may be the most essential.
You say that the man came ten days ago and paid you
for a fortnight’s board and lodging?”
“He asked my terms, sir. I said fifty
shillings a week. There is a small sitting-room
and bedroom, and all complete, at the top of the house.”
“Well?”
“He said, ’I’ll pay you five pounds
a week if I can have it on my own terms.’
I’m a poor woman, sir, and Mr. Warren earns
little, and the money meant much to me. He took
out a ten-pound note, and he held it out to me then
and there. ’You can have the same every
fortnight for a long time to come if you keep the terms,’
he said. ‘If not, I’ll have no more
to do with you.’
