A Study in Scarlet - Part 1, Chapter 7: Light in the Darkness

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Part one, Chapter seven of A Study in Scarlet. This
is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the
public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit
LibriVox dot org. Recorded by Laurie Ann Walden. A Study
in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Cunnan Doyle, Part one, Chapter seven,

(00:21):
Light in the Darkness. The intelligence with which Lestrade greeted
us was so momentous and so unexpected, that we were
all three fairly dumbfounded. Gregson sprang out of his chair
and upset the remainder of his whisky in water. I
stared in silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were compressed
and his brows drawn down over his eyes. Stangerson too,

(00:45):
he muttered the plot dickens. It was quite thick enough before,
grumbled Lestrade, taking a chair. I seem to have dropped
into a sort of council of war. Are you Are
you sure of this piece of intelligence? Stammered Gregson. I
have just come from his room, said Lestrade. I was

(01:05):
the first to discover what had occurred. We have been
hearing Gregson's view of the matter, Holmes observed, would you
mind letting us know what you have seen and done.
I have no objection, Lestrade answered, seating himself. I freely
confess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson was
concerned in the death of Drebber. This fresh development has

(01:27):
shown me that I was completely mistaken. Full of the
one idea, I set myself to find out what had
become of the secretary. They had been seen together at
Euston Station about half past eight on the evening of
the third. At two in the morning, Drebber had been
found in the Brixton Road. The question which confronted me
was to find out how Stangerson had been employed between

(01:48):
eight thirty and the time of the crime, and what
had become of him. Afterwards. A telegraphed to Liverpool, giving
a description of the man, and warning them to keep
a watch upon the American boats, then to work, calling
upon all the hotels and lodging houses in the vicinity
of Euston. You see, I argued that if Drebber and
his companion had become separated, the natural course for the

(02:10):
latter would be to put up somewhere in the vicinity
for the night, and then to hang about the station
again next morning. They would be likely to agree on
some meeting place beforehand, remarked Holmes. So it proved I
spent the whole of yesterday evening and making inquiries entirely
without avail. This morning I began very early, and at

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eight o'clock I reached Halliday's private hotel in Little George Street.
On my inquiry as to whether a mister Stangerson was
living there, they at once answered me in the affirmative,
no doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting.
They said, he has been waiting for a gentleman for
two days. Where is he now? I asked, He is

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upstairs in bed. He wished to be called at nine.
I will go up and see him at once, I said.
It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake
his nerves and lead him to say something unguarded. The
Boots volunteered to show me the room. It was on
the second floor, and there was a small card leading
up to it. The Boots pointed out the door to

(03:14):
me and was about to go downstairs again when I
saw something that made me feel sickish, in spite of
my twenty years experience. From under the door there curled
a little red ribbon of blood which had meandered across
the passage and formed a little pool along the skirting
at the other side. I gave a cry which brought
the boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it.

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The door was locked on the inside, but we put
our shoulders to it and knocked it in. The window
of the room was open, and beside the window, all
huddled up, lay the body of a man in his
night dress. He was quite dead, and had been for
some time, for his limbs were rigid and cold. When
we turned him over, the boots recognized him at once
as being the same gentleman who had engaged the room

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under the name of Joseph's Bangerson. The cause of death
was a deep stab in the left side, which must
have penetrated the heart. And now comes the strangest part
of the affair. What do you suppose was above the
murdered man? I felt a creeping of the flesh and
a presentiment of coming horror. Even before Sherlock Holmes answered

(04:20):
the word rachaeh written in letters of blood. He said,
that was it, said Lestrade, in an awe struck voice,
and we were all silent for a while. There was
something so methodical and so incomprehensible about the deeds of
this unknown assassin that it imparted a fresh ghastliness to
his crimes. My nerves, which were steady enough on the

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field of battle, tingled as I thought of it. The
man was seen continued lestrade. A milk boy, passing on
his way to the dairy, happened to walk down the
lane which leads from the mews at the back of
the hotel. He noticed that a ladder, which usually lay there,
was raised against one of the windows of the second floor,
which was wide open. After passing, he looked back and

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saw a man descend the ladder. He came down so
quietly and openly that the boy imagined him to be
some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. He
took no particular notice of him, beyond thinking in his
own mind that it was early for him to be
at work. He has an impression that the man was tall,
had a reddish face, and was dressed in a long
brownish coat. He must have stayed in the room some

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little time after the murder, for we found blood stained
water in the basin where he had washed his hands
and marks on the sheets where he had deliberately wiped
his knife. I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description
of the murderer, which tallied so exactly with his own.
There was, however, no trace of exultation or satisfaction upon
his face. Did you find nothing in the room which

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could furnish a clue to the murderer? He asked nothing.
Stangerson had drebber's purse in his pocket, but it seemed
that this was usual, as he did all the paying.
There was eighty odd pounds in it, but nothing had
been taken. Whatever the motives of these extraordinary crimes, robbery
is certainly not one of them. There were no papers

(06:12):
or memoranda in the murdered man's pocket, except a single telegram,
dated from Cleveland about a month ago, and containing the
words j H is in Europe. There was no name
appended to this message, and was there nothing else? Holmes
asked nothing of any importance. The man's novel, with which

(06:33):
he had read himself to sleep, was lying upon the bed,
and his pipe was on a chair beside him. There
was a glass of water on the table, and on
the window sill a small chip ointment box containing a
couple of pills. Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with
an exclamation of delight the last link, he cried exultantly,

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My case is complete. The two detectives stared at him
in amazement. I have now in my hands, my companion,
said confidently, all the threads which have formed such a tangle.
There are, of course details to be filled in, but
I am as certain of all the main facts from
the time that Drebber parted from Stangerson at the station

(07:15):
up to the discovery of the body of the latter,
as if I had seen them with my own eyes.
I will give you a proof of my knowledge. Could
you lay your hand upon those pills? I have them,
said Lestrade, producing a small white box. I took them
and the purse and the telegram, intending to have them
put in a place of safety at the police station.

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It was the merest chance my taking these pills, for
I am bound to say that I do not attach
any importance to them. Give them here, said Holmes, now, doctor,
turning to me, are those ordinary pills? They certainly were not.
They were of a pearly gray color, small round, and
almost transparent against the light from their lightness and transparency.

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I should imagine that they are soluble in water, I remarked.
Precisely so, answered Holmes. Now, would you mind going down
and fetching that poor little devil of a terrier which
has been bad so long, and which the landlady wanted
you to put out of its pain? Yesterday? I went
downstairs and carried the dog upstairs in my arms. Its

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labored breathing and glazing eye showed that it was not
far from its end. Indeed, its snow white muzzle proclaimed
that it had already exceeded the usual term of canine existence.
I placed it upon a cushion on the rug. I
will now cut one of these pills in two, said Holmes,
and drawing his pen knife, he suited the action to
the word. One half we return into the box for

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future purposes. The other half I will place in this
wine glass, in which is a teaspoonful of water. You
perceive that our friend the doctor, is right, and that
it readily dissolves. This may be very interesting, said Lestrade,
in the injured tone of one who suspects that he
is being laughed at. I cannot see, however, what it

(09:06):
has to do with the death of mister Joseph Stangerson. Patience,
my friend, patience, you will find in time that it
has everything to do with it. I shall now add
a little milk to make the mixture palatable, and on
presenting it to the dog, we find that he laps
it up readily enough. As he spoke, he turned the
contents of the wine glass into a saucer and placed

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it in front of the terrier, who speedily licked it dry.
Sherlock Holmes's earnest demeanor had so far convinced us that
we all sat in silence, watching the animal intently and
expecting some startling effect. None such appeared. However, the dog
continued to lie stretched upon the cushion, breathing in a
labored way, but apparently neither the better nor the worse

(09:50):
for its draft. Holmes had taken out his watch, and
as minute followed minute without result, an expression of the
utmost chagrin and disappointment appeared upon his features. He gnawed
his lip, drummed his fingers upon the table, and showed
every other symptom of acute impatience. So great was his
emotion that I felt sincerely sorry for him. While the

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two detectives smiled derisively by no means, displeased at this
check which he had met. It can't be a coincidence,
he cried at last, springing from his chair and pacing
wildly up and down the room. It is impossible that
it should be a mere coincidence. The very pills which
I suspected in the case of Drebber are actually found

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after the death of Stangerson, and yet they are inert.
What can it mean? Surely my whole chain of reasoning
cannot have been false. It is impossible, and yet this
wretched dog is none the worse. Ah, I have it.
I have it. With a perfect shriek of delight, he
rushed to the box, cut the other pill into, dissolved it,

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added milk, and presented it to the terrier. The unfortunate
creature's tongue seemed hardly to have been moistened in it before.
It gave a convulsive shiver in every limb, and lay
as rigid and lifeless as if it had been struck
by lightning. Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath and wiped
the perspiration from his forehead. I should have more faith,

(11:15):
he said, I ought to know by this time that
when a fact appears to be opposed to a long
train of deductions, it invariably proves to be capable of
bearing some other interpretation. Of the two pills in that box,
one was of the most deadly poison, and the other
was entirely harmless. I ought to have known that before
ever I saw the box at all. This last statement

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appeared to me to be so startling that I could
hardly believe that he was, in his sober senses, there
was the dead dog. However, to prove that his conjecture
had been correct. It seemed to me that the mists
in my own mind were gradually clearing away, and I
began to have a dim, vague perception of the truth.
All this seems strange to you, continued Holmes, because you failed,

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at the beginning of the inquiry to grasp the importance
of the single real clue which was presented to you.
I had the good fortune to seize upon that, and
everything which has occurred since then has served to confirm
my original supposition, and indeed was the logical sequence of it. Hence,
things which have perplexed you and made the case more
obscure have served to enlighten me and to strengthen my conclusions.

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It is a mistake to confound strangeness with mystery. The
most commonplace crime is often the most mysterious because it
presents no new or special features from which deductions may
be drawn. This murder would have been infinitely more difficult
to unravel had the body of the victim been simply
found lying in the roadway without any of those u
trey and sensational accompaniments which have rendered it remarkable. These

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strange details, far from making the case more difficult, have
really had the effect of making it less. So mister Gregson,
who had listened to this address with considerable impatience, could
contain himself nolae longer look here, mister Sherlock Holmes, he said,
we are all ready to acknowledge that you are a
smart man, and that you have your own methods of working.

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We want something more than mere theory in preaching. Now,
though it is a case of taking the man, I
have made my case out, and it seems I was wrong.
Young Charpontier could not have been engaged in this second affair.
Lestrode went after his man Stangerson, and it appears that
he was wrong too. You have thrown out hints here

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and hints there, and seem to know more than we do.
But the time has come when we feel that we
have a right to ask you straight how much you
do know of the business? Can you name the man
who did it? I cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, Sir,
remarked Lestrade. We have both tried, and we have both failed.
You have remarked more than once since I have been

(13:53):
in the room, that you had all the evidence which
you require. Surely you will not withhold it any longer.
Any delay in arresting the assassin, I observed, might give
him time to perpetrate some fresh atrocity. Thus pressed by us,
all Holmes showed signs of irresolution. He continued to walk
up and down the room, with his head sunk on

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his chest and his brows drawn down, as was his
habit when lost in thought. There will be no more murders,
he said at last, stopping abruptly and facing us. You
can put that consideration out of the question. You have
asked me if I know the name of the assassin,
I do. The mere knowing of his name is a
small thing, however, compared with the power of laying our

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hands upon him. This I expect very shortly to do.
I have good hopes of managing it through my own arrangements.
But it is a thing which needs delicate handling. For
we have a shrewd and desperate man to deal with,
who is supported, as I have had occasion to prove
by another, who is as clever as himself. As long
as this man has no idea that any one can

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have a clue, there is some chance of securing him.
But if he had the slightest suspicion, he would change
his name and vanish in an instant among the four
million inhabitants of this great city. Without meaning to hurt
either of your feelings, I am bound to say that
I consider these men to be more than a match
for the official force, and that is why I have

(15:19):
not asked your assistance. If I fail, I shall of
course incur all the blame due to this omission. But
that I am prepared for at present. I am ready
to promise that the instant that I can communicate with
you without endangering my own combinations, I shall do so.
Gregson and Lestrade seem to be far from satisfied by

(15:40):
this assurance or by the depreciating allusion to the police force.
The former had flushed up to the roots of his
flaxen hair, while the other's beady eyes glistened with curiosity
and resentment. Neither of them had time to speak, however,
before there was a tap at the door, and the
spokesman of the street arabs. Young Wiggins introduced his insignificant

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and unsavory person. Please, sir, he said, touching his forelock.
I have the cab downstairs. Good boy, said Holmes, blandly.
Why don't you introduce this pattern at Scotland Yard, he continued,
taking a pair of steel handcuffs from a drawer. See
how beautifully the spring works. They fasten in an instant.

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The old pattern is good enough, remarked lestrade. If we
can only find the man to put them on. Very good,
very good, said Holmes, smiling. The cabman may as well
help me with my boxes. Just ask him to step up. Wiggins,
I was surprised to find my companion speaking as though
he were about to set out on a journey, since
he had not said anything to me about it. There

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was a small portmanteau in the room, and this he
pulled out and began to strap. He was busily engaged
at it when the cabman entered the room. Just give
me a help with this buckle, cabman, he said, kneeling
over his task and never turning his head. The fellow
came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air, and put
down his hands to assist. At that instant, there was

(17:08):
a sharp click, the jangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmes
sprang to his feet again. Gentlemen, he cried, with flashing eyes,
let me introduce you to mister Jefferson Hope, the murderer
of Enoch Drebber and of Joseph Stangerson. The whole thing
occurred in a moment so quickly that I had no
time to realize it. I have a vivid recollection of

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that instant, of Holmes's triumphant expression and the ring of
his voice, of the cabman's dazed, savage face as he
glared at the glittering handcuffs which had appeared, as if
by magic, upon his wrists. For a second or two
we might have been a group of statues. Then, with
an inarticulate roar of fury, the prisoner wrenched himself free
from Holmes's grasp and hurled himself through the window. Woodwork

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and glass gave way before him. But before he got
quite through, Gregson, Lestrade, and Holmes sprang upon him like
so many staghounds. He was dragged back into the room,
and then commenced a terrific conflict. So powerful and so
fierce was he that the four of us were shaken
off again and again. He appeared to have the convulsive

(18:15):
strength of a man in an epileptic fit. His face
and hands were terribly mangled by his passage through the glass,
but loss of blood had no effect in diminishing his resistance.
It was not until Lestrade succeeded in getting his hand
inside his neckcloth and half strangling him that we made
him realize that his struggles were of no avail. And
even then we felt no security until we had pinioned

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his feet as well as his hands. That done, we
rose to our feet, breathless and panting. We have his cab,
said Sherlock Holmes. It will serve to take him to
Scotland Yard. And now, gentlemen, he continued, with a pleasant smile,
we have reached the end of our little mystery. You
are very welcome to put any questions that you like

(18:59):
to me now, and there is no danger that I
will refuse to answer them. End of Part one, Chapter seven,