A Study in Scarlet - Part 1, Chapter 3: The Lauriston Garden Mystery

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Part one, Chapter three of A Study in Scarlet presented
by Dream Audio Books. A Study in Scarlet by Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle, Part one, Chapter three, The Lauriston Garden Mystery.
I confess that I was considerably startled by this fresh
proof of the practical nature of my companion's theories. My

(00:21):
respect for his powers of analysis increased wondrously. There still
remained some lurking suspicion in my mind, however, that the
whole thing was a pre arranged episode intended to dazzle me.
Though what earthly object he could have in taking me
in was past my comprehension. When I looked at him,
he had finished reading the note, and his eyes had
assumed the vacant, lack luster expression which showed mental abstraction.

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How in the world did you deduce that, I asked, deduce? What?
Said he petulantly, Why that he was a retired sergeant
of marines. I have no time for trifles, he answered brusquely, Then,
with a smile, excuse my rudeness. You broke the thread
of my thoughts. But perhaps it is as well so

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you actually were not able to see that that man
was a sergeant of marines. No. Indeed, it was easier
to know it than to explain why I know it.
If you were asked to prove that two and two
made four, you might find some difficulty. And yet you
are quite sure of the fact. Even across the street
I could see a great blue anchor tattooed on the

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back of the fellow's hand that smacked of the sea.
He had a military carriage, however, and regulation side whiskers
there we have the marine. He was a man with
some amount of self importance and a certain air of command.
You must have observed the way in which he held
his head and swung his cane. A steady, respectable, middle
aged man too, on the face of him, all facts

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which led me to believe that he had been a sergeant. Wonderful,
I ejaculated commonplace, said Holmes, though I thought from his
expression that he was pleased at my evident surprise and admiration.
I said, just now that there were no criminals. It
appears that I am wrong. Look at this, he threw

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me over, the note which the commissionaire had brought. Why,
I cried as I cast my eye over it. This
is terrible. It does seem to be a little out
of the common, He remarked, calmly, would you mind reading
it to me aloud? This is the letter which I
read to him, My dear mister Sherlock Holmes, there has

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been a bad business during the night at three Larstow Gardens,
off the Brixton Road. Our man on the beach saw
a light there about two in the morning, and as
the house was an empty one suspected that something was amiss.
He found the door open, and in the front room,
which is bare of furniture, discovered the body of a gentleman,
well dressed and having cards in his pocket bearing the

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name of Enoch J. Drebber Cleveland, Ohio U. S A.
There had been no robbery, nor is there any evidence
as to how the man met his death. There are
marks of blood in the room, but there is no
wound upon his person. We are at a loss as
to how he came into the empty house. Indeed, the
whole affair is a puzzler. If you can come round

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to the house any time before twelve you will find
me there. I have left everything in statue quo until
I hear from you. If you are unable to come,
I shall give you fuller details, and would esteem it
a great kindness if you would favor me with your
opinions yours faithfully to bias Gregson. Gregson is the smartest
of the Scotland yarders, my friend remarked. He and Lestrade

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are the pick of a bad lot. They are both
quick and energetic, but conventional. Shockingly so, they have their
knives into one another too. They are as jealous as
a pair of professional beauties. There will be some fun
over this case if they are both put upon the scent.
I was amazed at the calm way in which he
rippled on. Surely there is not a moment to be lost,

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I cried, Shall I go and order you a cab?
I'm not sure about whether I shall go. I am
the most incurably lazy devil that ever stood in shoe leather,
that is when the fit is on me. For I
can be spry enough at times. Why it is just
such a chance as you have been longing for, my
dear fellow, What does it matter to me? Supposing I

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unravel the whole matter? You may be sure that Gregson,
Lestrade and company will pocket all the credit that comes
of being an unofficial personage. But he begs you to
help him. Yes, he knows that I am his superior
and acknowledges it to me. But he would cut his
tongue out before he would own it to any third person. However,

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we may as well go and have a look. I
shall work it out on my own hook. I may
have a laugh at them if I have nothing else.
Come on. He hustled on his overcoat and bustled about
in a way that showed that an energetic fit had
superseded the apathetic one. Get your hat, he said, you
wish me to come, yes, if you have nothing better

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to do. A minute later we were both in a hansom,
driving furiously for the Brixton Road. It was a foggy,
cloudy morning, and a dun colored veil hung over the housetops,
looking like the reflection of the mud colored streets beneath.
My companion was in the best of spirits and prattled
away about cremona fiddles and the difference between a strativarius

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and an amati. As for myself, I was silent. For
the dull weather and the melancholy business upon which we
were engaged depressed my spirits. You don't seem to give
much thought to the matter in hand, I said, at last,
interrupting Holmes's musical disquisition. No data yet, he answered. It

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is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all
the evidence. It biases the judgment. You will have your
data soon, I remarked, pointing with my finger. This is
the Brixton Road, and that is the house. If I
am not very much mistaken, so it is Stop, driver, stop.
We were still a hundred yards or so from it,

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but he insisted upon our alighting, and we finished our
journey upon foot. Number three Loarston Gardens wore an ill
omened and minatory look. It was one of four which
stood back some little way from the street, two being
occupied and two empty. The latter looked out with three
tiers of vacant, melancholy windows, which were blank and dreary,

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save that here and there a two lette card had
developed like a cataract upon the bleared panes. A small garden,
sprinkled over with a scattered eruption of sickly plants, separated
each of these houses from the street, and was traversed
by a narrow pathway, yellowish in color and consisting apparently
of a mixture of clay and of gravel. The whole

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place was very sloppy from the rain which had fallen
through the night. The garden was bounded by a three
foot brick wall, with a fringe of wood rails upon
the top, and against this wall was leaning a stalwart
police constable, surrounded by a small knot of loafers, who
craned their necks and strained their eyes in the vain
hope of catching some glimpse of the proceedings within. I

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had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would at once have hurried
into the house and plunged into a study of the mystery.
Nothing appeared to be further from his intention. With an
air of nonchalance, which, under the circumstances seemed to me
to border upon affectation, he lounged up and down the pavement,
engaged vacantly at the ground, the sky, the opposite houses,

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and the line of railings. Having finished his scrutiny, he
proceeded slowly down the path, or rather down the fringe
of grass which flanked the path, keeping his eyes riveted
upon the ground. Twice he stopped, and once I saw
him smile, and heard him utter an exclamation of satisfaction.
There were many marks of footsteps upon the wet clayey soil,

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but since the police had been coming and going over it,
I was unable to see how my companion could hope
to learn anything from it. Still, I had had such
extraordinary evidence of the quickness of his perceptive faculties that
I had no doubt that he could see a great
deal which was hidden from me. At the door of
the house, we were met by a tall, white faced,
flaxen haired man with a note book in his hand,

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who rushed forward and wrung my companion's hand with effusion.
It is indeed kind of you to come, he said,
I have had everything left untouched except that, my friend answered,
pointing at the pathway, if a herd of buffaloes had
passed along, there could not be a greater mess. No doubt, however,

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you had drawn your own conclusions, Gregson before you permitted this.
I have had so much to do inside the house,
the detective said, evasively, My colleague, mister Lestrade, is here.
I had relied upon him to look after this. Holmes
glanced at me and raised his eyebrows sardonically. With two

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such men as yourself and Lestrade upon the ground. There
will not be much for a third party to find out,
he said. Gregson rubbed his hands in a self satisfied way.
I think we have done all that can be done,
he answered. It's a queer case, though, and I knew
your taste for such things. You did not come here

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in a cab, asked Sherlock Holmes, No sir, nor Lestrade,
No sir. Then let us go and look at the room,
with which, in consequent remark he strode on into the house,
followed by Gregson, whose features expressed his astonishment. A short passage,
bare plank and dusty, led to the kitchen in offices.

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Two doors opened out of it, to the left and
to the right. One of these had obviously been closed
for many weeks. The other belonged to the dining room,
which was the apartment in which the mysterious affair had occurred.
Holmes walked in, and I followed him with that subdued
feeling at my heart which the presence of death inspires.
It was a large, square room, looking all the larger

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from the absence of all furniture. A vulgar flaring paper
adorned the walls, but it was blotched in places with mildew,
and here and there great strips had become detached and
hung down, exposing the yellow plaster. Beneath opposite the door
was a showy fireplace, surmounted by a mantelpiece of imitation
white marble. On one corner of this was struck the

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stump of a red wax candle. The solitary window was
so dirty that the light was hazy and uncertain, giving
a dull gray tinge to everything, which was intensified by
the thick layer of dust which cooded the whole apartment.
All these details I observed afterwards. At present, my attention
was centered upon the single, grim, motionless figure which lay

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stretched upon the boards, with vacant, sightless eyes, staring up
at the discolored ceiling. It was that of a man
about forty three or forty four years of age, middle sized,
broad shouldered, with crisp, curling black hair and a short,
stubbly beard. He was dressed in a heavy broadcloth frock
coat and waistcoat, with light colored trousers and immaculate collar

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and cuffs. A top hat, well brushed and trim was
placed upon the floor beside him. His hands were clenched
and his arms thrown abroad, while his lower limbs were interlocked,
as though his death struggle had been a grievous one.
On his rigid face there stood an expression of horror,
and as it seemed to me, of hatred such as
I have never seen upon human features. This malignant and

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terrible contortion, combined with the low forehead, blunt nose, and
prognathous jaw, gave the dead man a singularly simious and
apelike appearance, which was increased by his writhing, unnatural posture.
I have seen death in many forms, but never has
it appeared to me in a more fearsome aspect than
in that dark, grimmy apartment which looked out upon one

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of the main arteries of suburban London. Lestrade, lean and
ferret like as ever, was standing by the doorway and
greeted my companion and myself. This case will make a
stir er, sir, he remarked. It meets anything I have seen,
and I am no chicken. There is no clue, said Gregson,

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none at all. Chimed in Lestrade. Charlot Calms approached the
body and, kneeling down, examined it intently. You are sure
that there is no wound, he asked, pointing to numerous
gouts and splashes of blood which lay all round. Positive
cried both detectives. Then, of course this blood belongs to

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a second individual, presumably the murderer. If murder has been committed.
It reminds me of the circumstances attendant on the death
of von Jelssen in Utrecht in the year thirty four.
Do you remember the case, Gregson, No, sir, read it up,
you really should. There is nothing new under the sun.
It has all been done before. As he spoke, his

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nimble fingers were flying here, there and everywhere, feeling, pressing, unbuttoning, examining,
while his eyes wore the same far away expression which
I have already remarked upon. So swiftly was the examination
made that one would hardly have guessed the minuteness with
which it was conducted. Finally, he sniffed the dead man's lips,
and then glanced at the soles of his patent leather boots.

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He has not been moved at all, he asked, No
more than was necessary for the purpose of our examination.
You can take him to the mortuary now, he said,
there is nothing more to be learned. Gregson had a
stretcher and four men at hand at his call. They
entered the room and the stranger was lifted and carried out.

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As there raised him, a ring tinkled down and rolled
across the floor. Lestrade grabbed it up and stared at
it with mystified eyes. There's been a woman here, he cried.
It's a woman's wedding ring. He held it out as
he spoke, upon the palm of his hand. We all
gathered round him and gazed at it. There could be
no doubt that that circlet of plain gold had once

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adorned the finger of a bride. This complicates matters, said Gregson.
Heaven knows they were complicated enough before. You're sure it
doesn't simplify them, observed Holmes. There's nothing to be learned
by staring at it. What did you find in his pockets?
We have it all here, said Gregson, pointing to a

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litter of objects upon one of the bottom steps of
the stairs. A gold watch number nine seven one six
three by Barroad of London Gold Albert chain, very heavy
and solid gold ring with masonic device, gold pen, bulldog's
head with Rubies's Eyes, Russian leather card case with cards

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of Enoch J. Drebber of Cleveland, corresponding with the E. J. D.
Upon the linen no purse but loose money to the
extent of seven pounds. Thirteen pocket edition of Boccaccio's De Cameron,
with name of Joseph Stangerson upon the fly leaf two letters,
one address to E. J. Drubber in one to Joseph
Stangerson at what address American Exchange strand to be left

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till called for. They are both from the Guayon Steamship
Company and refer to the sailing of their boats from Liverpool.
It is clear that this unfortunate man was about to
return to New York. Have you made any inquiries as
to this man, Stangerson? I did it at once, sir,
said Gregson. I have had advertisements sent to all the newspapers,

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and one of my men has gone to the American Exchange,
but he has not returned yet. Have you sent to Cleveland?
We telegraphed this morning. How did you word your inquiries?
We simply detailed the circumstances and said that we should
be glad of any information which could help us. You
did not ask for particulars on any point which appeared

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to you to be crucial. I asked about Stangerson, nothing else.
Is there no circumstance on which this whole case appears
to hinge? Will you not telegraph again? I have said
all I have to say, said Gregson in an offended voice.
Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself and appeared to be about

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to make some remark when Lestrade, who had been in
the front room while we were holding this conversation in
the hall, reappeared upon the scene, rubbing his hands in
a pompous and self satisfied manner. Mister Gregson, he said,
I have just made a discovery of the highest importance,
and one which would have been overlooked had I not
made a careful examination of the walls. The little Man's

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eyes sparkled as he spoke, and he was evidently in
a state of suppressed exultation at having scored a point
against his colleague. Come here, he said, bustling back into
the room, the atmosphere of which felt clearer since the
removal of its ghastly inmate. Now stand there. He struck
a match on his boot and held it up against

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the wall. Look at that, he said triumphantly. I have
remarked that the paper had fallen away in parts. In
this particular corner of the room, a large piece had
peeled off, leaving a yellow square of coarse plastering Across
this bare space. There was scrawled in blood red letters
a single word R A C h E. What do

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you think of that? Cried the detective, with the air
of a showman exhibiting his show. This was overlooked because
it was in the darkest corner of the room and
no one thought of looking there. The murderer has written
it with his or her own blood. See this smear
where it has trickled down the wall. That disposes of
the idea of suicide. Anyhow, why was that corner chosen

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to write it on? I will tell you. See that
candle on the mantelpiece. It was lit at the time,
and if it was lit, this corner would be the
brightest instead of the darkest portion of the wall. And
what does it mean now that you have found it,
asked Gregson in a depreciatory voice. Mean why it means
that the writer was going to put the female name Rachel,

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but was disturbed before he or she had time to
finish you mark my words. When this case comes to
be cleared up, you will find that a woman named
Rachel has something to do with it. It is all
very well for you to laugh, mister Sherlock Holmes. You
may be very smart and clever, but the old hound
is the best. When all is said and done, I
really beg your pardon, said my companion, who had ruffled

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the little man's temper by bursting into an explosion of laughter.
You certainly have the credit of being the first of
us to find this out, and as you say, it
bears every mark of having been written by the other
participant in last night's mystery. I have not had time
to examine this room yet, but with your permission, I
shall do so now. As he spoke, he whipped a

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tape measure and a large round magnifying glass from his pocket.
With these two implements, he trotted noiselessly about the room,
sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling, and once lying flat upon his face.
So in roast was WASI with his occupation that he
appeared to have forgotten our presence, for he chattered away
to himself under his breath. The whole time, keeping up

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a running fire of exclamations, groans, whistles, and little cries
suggestive of encouragement and of hope. As I watched him,
I was irresistibly reminded of a pure blooded, well trained fox,
sound as it dashes backward and forward through the cupboard,
whining in its eagerness until it comes across the lost scent.
For twenty minutes or more, he continued his researches, measuring

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with the most exact care the distance between marks which
were entirely invisible to me, and occasionally applying his tape
to the walls in an equally incomprehensible manner. In one place,
he gathered up very carefully a little pile of gray
dust from the floor and packed it away in an envelope. Finally,
he examined with its glass the word upon the wall,

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going over every letter of it with the most minute exactness.
This done, he appeared to be satisfied, for he replaced
his tape in his glass in his pocket. They say
that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains, he remarked,
with a smile. It's a very bad definition, but it
does apply to detective work. Gregson and Lestrade had watched

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the maneuvers of their amateur companion with considerable curiosity and
some contempt. They evidently failed to appreciate the fact which
I had begun to realize that Sherlock Holmes's smallest actions
were all directed towards some definite and practical end. What
do you think of it, sir, they both asked. It

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would be robbing you of the credit of the case
if I were to presume to help. You remarked, my friend,
you are doing so well now that it would be
a pity for any one to interfere. There was a
world of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke. If
you will let me know how your investigations go, he continued,
I shall be happy to give you any help I can.

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In the meantime, I should like to speak to the
constable who found the body. Can you give me his name?
In a Lestrade glanced at his note book, John Rant.
He said, he is off duty now. You will find
him at forty six Audley Court, Kensington, park Gate. Holmes
took a note of the address. Come along, doctor, he said,

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we shall go and look him up. I'll tell you
one thing which may help you in the case, he continued,
turning to the two detectives. There has been a murder done,
and the murderer was a man. He was more than
six feet high, was in the prime of life, had
small feet for his height, wore coarse, square toed boots,
and smoked a trichinopoly cigar. He came here with his

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victim in a four wheeled cab, which was drawn by
a horse, with three old shoes and one new one
on his off fore leg, and all probability. The murderer
had a florid face, and the finger nails of his
right hand were remarkably long. These are only a few indications,
but they may assist you. Lestrade and Gregson glanced at
each other with an incredulous smile. If this man was murdered,

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how was it done? Asked the former poison said Sherlock
Holmes curtly, and strode off. One other thing, Lestrade, he added,
turning round at the door. Raqueh is the German for revenge,
So don't lose your time looking for miss Rachel, with
which Parthian shot. He walked away, leaving the two rivals
open mouthed behind him. End of Part one Chapter three,