May 15, 2025 • 26 mins
Dive into the final volume of Arthur Conan Doyles detective stories, where he bids a heartfelt farewell to his most renowned creation - Sherlock Holmes. These eclectic tales span different stages of Holmess life, including his retirement, and are narrated from varying perspectives, including Watson, Holmes, and an omnipotent narrator. While many stories showcase Holmess famed deductive reasoning, others highlight lesser-known aspects of his character, such as his compassion, empathy, and sense of humor. His rapport with Dr. Watson, while occasionally blunt, is marked by kindness, affection, and professional respect, painting a portrait of a profound and intricate friendship that captivates readers. (Summary by T. A. Copeland).
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
Section ten of the Case Book of Sherlock Holmes by
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This LibriVox according is in the
public domain. Read by Thomas Copeland, Story ten, The Adventure
of the Veiled Lodger. When one considers that mister Sherlock
Holmes was in active practice for twenty three years, and
(00:21):
that during seventeen of these I was allowed to co
operate with him and to keep notes of his doings,
it will be clear that I have a mass of
material at my command. The problem has always been not
to fined, but to choose. There is the long row
of year books, which phil a shelf, and there are
the despatch cases filled with documents, a perfect quarry for
(00:42):
the student. Not only a crime, but of the social
and official scandals of the late Victorian era. Concerning these latter,
I may say that the writers of agonized letters, who
beg that the honor of their families or the reputation
of famous forbears may not be touched, have nothing to fear.
The discretion and high sense of professional honor, which have
(01:03):
always distinguished my friend, are still at work in the
choice of these memoirs, and no confidence will be abused.
I deprecate, however, in the strongest way the attempts which
have been made lately to get at and to destroy
these papers. The source of these outrages is known, and
if they are repeated, I have mister Holmes's authority for
(01:23):
saying that the whole story concerning the politician, the lighthouse,
and the trained cormorant will be given to the public.
There is at least one reader who will understand. It
is not reasonable to suppose that every one of these
cases gave Holmes the opportunity of showing those curious gifts
of instinct and observation which I have endeavored to set
(01:45):
forth in these memoirs. Sometimes he had, with much effort
to pick the fruit. Sometimes it fell easily into his lap.
But the most terrible human tragedies were often involved in
these cases, which brought in the fewest personal offer opportunities.
And it is one of these which I now desire
to record. In telling it, I have made a slight
(02:07):
change of name and place, but otherwise the facts are
as stated. One forenoon, it was late in eighteen ninety six,
I received a hurried note from Holmes asking for my attendants.
When I arrived, I found him seated in a smoke
laden atmosphere, with an elderly, motherly woman of the buxom
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landlady type in the corresponding chair in front of him.
This is Missus Merriloaw of South Brixton, said my friend,
with the wave of the hand. Missus Merrilaw does not
object to tobacco, Watson, if you wish to indulge your
filthy habits. Missus Merrilow has an interesting story to tell
which may well lead to further developments in which your
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presence may be useful anything I can do. You will understand,
Missus Merrilaw, that if I come to Missus Rounder, I
shall prefer to have a witness. You will make her
understand that before we arrive. Lord bless you, mister Holmes,
said our visitor. She is that anxious to see you
that she might bring the whole parish at your heels.
(03:12):
Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let us
see that we have our facts correct before we start.
If we go over them, it will help doctor Watson
to understand the situation. You say that Missus Ronder has
been your lodger for seven years, and that you have
only once seen her face and I wish to god
I had not, said, Missus Merrilow, it was, I understand,
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terribly mutilated. Well, mister Holmes, you would hardly say it
was a face at all. That's how it looked. Our
milkman got a glimpse of her once peeping out of
the upper window, and he dropped his tin and the
milk all over the front garden. That is the kind
of face it is. When I saw her, I happened
on her unawares. She covered up quick, and then she said, now,
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missus Merrilow, you know at last why it is that
I never raise my veil. Do you know anything about
her history? Nothing at all. Did she give references when
she came, no, sir, But she gave hard cash, and
plenty of it, a quarter's rent right down on the
table in advance, and no arguing about terms. In these times,
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a poor woman like me can't have order to turn
down a chance like that. Did she give any reason
for choosing your house? Mine stands well back from the
road and is more private than most. Then again, I
only take the one, and I have no family of
my own. I reckon she had tried others and found
that mine suited her. Best. It's privacy she is after,
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and she is ready to pay for it. You say
that she never showed her face from first to last,
save on the one accidental occasion. Well, it is a
very remarkable story, most remarkable. And I don't wonder that
you want it examined. I don't won't, mister Holmes. I
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am quite satisfied so long as I get my rent.
You could not have a quieter lodger, or one who
gives less trouble. Then what has brought matters to a
head Her health, mister Holmes. She seems to be wasting
away and there's something terrible on her mind. Murder, she cries, murder.
And once I heard her, you cruel beast, you monster,
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she cried. It was in the night, and a fair
rang through the house and sent the shivers through me.
So I went to her in the morning. Missus Ronder,
I says, if you have anything that is troubling your soul.
There's the clergy, I says, and there's the police between them.
You should get some help for God's sake, not the police,
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says she and the clergy can't change what has passed.
And yet she says it would ease my mind. If
some one knew the truth before I died, well, says I.
If you won't have the regulars, there is this detective
if man what we read about begging your pardon, mister Holmes,
and she she fair jumped at it. That's the man,
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says she. I wonder I never thought of it before.
Bring him here, missus Merrilow. And if he won't come,
tell him I am the wife of Ronder's wild beasts.
Show say that and give him the name abbas Parva.
Here it is as she wrote it, abbas Parva. That
will bring him if he's the man I think he is,
And it will too, remarked Holmes. Very good, missus Merrilow,
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I should like to have a little chat with doctor Watson.
That will carry us till lunch time. About three o'clock,
you may expect to see us at your house in Brixton.
Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the room.
No other verb can describe Missus Merilow's method of progression
than Sherlock Holmes threw himself with fierce energy upon the
pile of commonplace books in the corner. For a few
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minutes there was a constant swish of the leaves, and
then with a grunt of satisfaction, he came upon what
he sought. So excited was he that he did not rise,
but sat upon the floor like some strange Buddha, with
crossed legs, the huge books all round him, and one
open upon his knees. The case worried me at the time, Watson.
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Here are my marginal notes to prove it. I confess
that I could make nothing of it, and yet I
was convinced that the coroner was wrong. Have you no
recollection of the abbas par of a tragedy? None, Holmes,
And yet you were with me then. But certainly my
own impression was very superficial, for there was nothing to
go by, and none of the parties had engaged my services.
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Perhaps you would care to read the papers? Could you
not give me the points? That is very easily done.
It will probably come back to your memory as I talk. Ronder,
of course, was a household word. He was the rival
of Wombwell and of Sanger, one of the greatest showmen
of his day. There is evidence, however, that he took
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to drink, and that both he and his show were
on the downgrade at the time. Of the great tragedy.
The caravan had halted for the night at Avesparba, which
is a small village in Berkshire, when this horror occurred.
They were on their way to Wimbledon, traveling by road,
and they were simply camping and not exhibiting, as the
place is so small a one that it would not
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have paid them to open. They had among their exhibits
a very fine North African lion, Sahara King was its name,
and it was the habit both of Ronder and his
wife to give exhibitions inside its cage. Here he sees
the photograph of the performance, by which you will perceive
that Ronder was a huge porcine person and that his
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wife was a very magnificent woman. It was deposed at
the inquest that there had been some signs that the
lion was dangerous, but as usual, familiarity begat contempt and
no notice was taken of the fact. It was usual
for either Ronder or his wife to feed the lion
at night. Sometimes one went, sometimes both, but they never
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allowed any one else to do it, for they believed
that so long as they were the food carriers, he
would regard them as benefactors. And would never molest them.
On this particular night seven years ago, they both went,
and of very terrible happening followed the details of which
have never been made clear. It seems that the whole
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camp was roused near midnight by the roars of the
animal and the screams of the woman. The different grooms
and employer rushed from their tents carrying lanterns, and by
their light an awful sight was revealed. Ronder lay with
the back of his head crushed in in deep claw
marks across his scalp, some ten yards from the cage,
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which was open. Close to the door of the cage
lay Missus Ronder upon her back, with the creature squatting
and snarling above her. It had torn her face in
such a fashion that it was never thought that she
could live. Several of the circus men, headed by Leonardo
the strong Man and Griggs the Clown, drove the creature
off with poles, upon which it sprang back into the
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cage and was at once locked in. How it had
got loose was a mystery. It was conjectured that the
pair intended to enter the cage, but that when the
door was loosed, the creature bounded out upon them. There
was no other point of interest in the evidence, save
that the woman, in a delirium of agony, kept screaming coward,
coward as she was carried back to the van in
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which they lived. It was six months before she was
fit to give evidence. But the inquest was duly held
with the obvious verdict of death by misadventure? What alternative
could be conceived? Said I, You may well say so.
And yet there were one or two points which worried
young Edmunds of the Berkshire Constabulary, a smart lad that
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he was sent later to Allahabad. That was how I
came into the matter, For he dropped in and smoked
a pipe or two over it, a thin yellow haired man. Exactly.
I was sure you would pick up the trail presently.
But what worried him? Well, we were both worried. It
was so deucedly difficult to reconstruct the affair. Look at
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it from the lion's point of view. He is liberated.
What does he do? He takes half a dozen bounds forward,
which brings him to Ronder. Ronder turns to fly. The
claw marks were on the back of his head, but
the lion strikes him down. Then, instead of bounding on
and escaping, he returns to the woman who was close
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to the cage, and he knocks her over and chews
her face up. Then again, those cries of hers would
seem to imply that her husband had in some way
failed her. What could the poor devil have done to
help her? You see the difficulty quite And then there
was another thing. It comes back to me now as
I think it over. There was some evidence that just
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at the time the lion roared and the woman screamed,
a man began shouting in terror. This man wondered, no doubt, well,
if his skull was smashed in, you would hardly expect
to hear from him again. There were at least two
witnesses who spoke of the cries of a man being
mingled with those of a woman. I should think the
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whole camp was crying out by then. As to the
other points, I think I could suggest a solution. I
should be glad to consider it. The two were together
ten yards from the cage when the lion got loose.
The man turned and was struck down. The woman conceived
the idea of getting into the cage and shutting the door.
It was her only refuge. She made for it, and
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just as she reached it, the beast bounded after her
and knocked her over. She was angry with her husband
for having encouraged the beast's rage by turning. If they
had faced it, they might have cowed it. Hence her
cries have coward brilliant Watson, only one flaw in your diamond.
(13:00):
What is the flaw, Holmes? If they were both ten
paces from the cage, how came the beast to get loose?
Is it possible that they had some enemy who loosed it?
And why should it attack them savagely when it was
in the habit of playing with them and doing tricks
with them inside the cage. Possibly the same enemy had
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done something to enrage it. Holmes looked thoughtful and remained
in silence for some moments. Well, Watson, there is this
to be said for your theory. Roonder was a man
of many enemies. Edmonds told me that in his cups
he was horrible, a huge bully of a man. He
cursed and slashed at every one who came in his way.
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I expect those cries about a monster of which our
visitor has spoken were nocturnal reminiscences of the deer departed. However,
our speculations are futile until we have all the facts.
There is a cold partridge on the sideboard, Watson, and
a bottle of montrachet. Let us renew our energies before
we make a fresh call upon them. When our hansom
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deposited us at the house of missus Merrilow, we found
that plump lady blocking up the open door of her
humble but retired abode. It was very clear that her
cheaply occupation was lest she should lose a valuable lodger,
and she implored us before showing us up, to say
and do nothing which could lead to so undesirable an end. Then,
having reassured her, we followed her up the straight, badly
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carpeted staircase, and were shown into the room of the
mysterious lodger. It was a close, musty, ill ventilated place,
as might be expected, since his inmates seldom left it.
From keeping beasts in a cage, the woman seemed, by
some retribution of fate, to have become herself a beast
in a cage. She sat now in a broken arm
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chair in the shadowy corner of the room. Long years
of inaction had coarsened the lines of her figure, but
at some period it must have been beautiful, and was
still full and voluptuous. A thick, dark veil covered her face,
but it was cut off close at her upper lip
and disclosed a perfectly shaped mouth and a delicately rounded chin.
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I could well conceive that she had indeed been a
very remarkable woman. Her voice, too, was well modulated and pleasing.
My name is not unfamiliar to you, mister Holmes, said she.
I thought that it would bring you. That is so, madam,
though I do not know how you were aware that
I was interested in your case. I learned it when
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I had recovered my health and was examined by mister Edmonds,
the county detective. I fear I lied to him. Perhaps
it would have been wiser had I told the truth.
It is usually wiser to tell the truth. But why
did you lie to him? Because the fate of some
one else depended upon it? I know that he was
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a very worthless being, and yet I would not have
his destruction upon my conscience. We have been so close,
so close, But has this impediment been removed? Yes, sir,
the person I allude to is dead, then why should
you not now tell the police anything you know? Because
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there is another person to be considered. That other person
is myself. I could not stand the scandal and publicity
which would come from a police examination. I have not
long to live, but I wish to die and disturbed,
and yet I wanted to find one man of judgment
to whom I could tell my terrible story, so that
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when I am gone or might be understood you compliment me, madam.
At the same time, I am a responsible person. I
do not promise you that, when you have spoken, I
may not myself think it my duty to refer the
case to the police. I think not, mister Holmes. I
know your character and methods too well, for I have
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followed your work for some years. Reading is the only
pleasure which fate has left me, and I miss little
which passes in the world. But in any case, I
will take my chance of the use which you may
make of my tragedy. It will ease my mind to
tell it, my friend, and I would be glad to
hear it. The woman arose and took from a drawer
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the photograph of a man. He was clearly a professional acrobat,
a man of magnificent physique, taken with his huge arms
folded across his swollen chest, and a smile breaking from
under his heavy mustache, the self satisfied smile of a
man of many conquests. This is Leonardo, she said, Leonardo,
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the strong man who gave evidence the same. And this
this is my husband. It was a dreadful face, a
human pig, or rather a human wild boar, for it
was formidable in his best chalice. One could imagine that
vile mouth clamping and foaming in its rage. And one
could conceive those small, vicious eyes darting pure malignancy as
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they looked forth upon the world. Ruffian, bully beast. It
was all written on that heavy, jowled face. Those two
pictures will help you, gentlemen, to understand the story. I
was a poor circus girl, brought up on the sawdust
and doing springs through the hoop before I was ten.
When I became a woman, this man loved me, if
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such lust as his can be called love, and in
an evil moment, I became his wife. From that day
I was in hell, and he the devil who tormented me.
There was no one in the show who did not
know of his treatment. He deserted me for others. He
tied me down and lashed me with his riding whip.
When I complained, they all pitied me, and they all
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loathed him, But what could they do. They feared him
one and all, for he was terrible at all times,
and murderous when he was drunk. Again and again, he
was had for assault and for cruelty to the beasts,
but he had plenty of money and the fines were
nothing to him. The best men all left us, and
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the show began to go down hill. It was only
Leonardo and I who kept it up, with little Jimmy Griggs,
the clown, poor devil. He had not much to be
funny about, but he did what he could to hold
things together. Then Leonardo came more and more into my life.
You see what he was like. I know now the
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poor spirit that was hidden in that splendid body. But
compared to my husband, he seemed like the angel Gabriel.
He pitied me and helped me till at last our
intimacy turned to love, deep, deep passionate love, such love
as I had dreamed of but never hoped to feel.
My husband suspected it, but I think that he was
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a coward as well as a bully, and that Leonardo
was the one man that he was afraid of. He
took revenge in his own way by torturing me more
than ever. One night, my cries brought Leonardo to the
door of our van. We were near tragedy that night,
and soon my lover and I understood that it could
not be avoided. My husband was not fit to live.
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We planned that he should die. Leonardo had a clever,
scheming brain. It was he who planned it. I did
not say that to blame him, for I was ready
to go with him every inch of the way. But
I should never have had the wit to think of
such a plan. We made a club. Leonardo made it,
and in the leaden head he fastened five long steel nails,
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the points outwards, with just such a spread as the
lion's paw. This was to give my husband his death blow,
and yet to leave the evidence that it was the
lion which we would loose, who had done the deed.
It was a pitch dark night when my husband and
I went down, as was our custom, to feel the beast.
We carried with us the raw meat in a zinc pail.
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Leonardo was waiting at the corner of the big van,
which we would have to pass before he reached the cage.
He was too slow, and we walked past him before
he could strike, but he followed us on tiptoe, and
I heard the crash as the club smashed my husband's scull.
My heart leaped with joy at the sound. I sprang
forward and I undid the catch which held the door
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of the great Lion's cage. And then the terrible thing happened.
You may have heard how quick these creatures are to
scent human blood, and how it excites them. Some strange
instinct had told the creature in one instant that a
human being had been slain. As I slipped the bars,
it bounded out and was on me. In an instant.
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Leonardo could have saved me. If he had rushed forward
and struck the beast with his club, he might have
cowed it. But the man lost his nerve. I heard
him shout in his terror, and then I saw him
turn and fly. At the same instant, the teeth of
the lion met in my face. Its hot, filthy breath
had already poisoned me, and it was hardly conscious of pain.
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With the palms of my hands, I tried to push
the great, steaming, blood stained jaws away from me, and
I screamed for help. I was conscious that the camp
was stirring, and then dimly I remember a group of men,
Leonardo Griggs and others, dragging me from under the creature's paws.
That was my last memory, mister Holmes, for many a
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weary month. When I came to myself and saw myself
in the mirror, I cursed that lion. Oh how I
cursed him, not because he had torn away my beauty,
but because he had not torn away my life. I
had but one desire, mister Holmes, and I had enough
money to gratify it. It was that I should cover
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myself so that my poor face should be seen by none,
and that I should dwell where none whom I had
ever known should find me. That was all that was
left to me to do. And that is what I
have done. A poor wounded beast that has crawled into
its hole to die. That is the end of Eugenia Wonder.
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We sat in silence for some time after the unhappy
woman had told her story. Then Holmes stretched out his
long arm and patted her hand with such a show
of sympathy as I had seldom known him to exhibit.
Poor girl, he said, poor girl, the ways of fate
are indeed hard to understand. If there is not some
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compensation hereafter, then the world is a cruel jest. But
what of this man Leonardo? I never saw him or
heard from him again. Perhaps I have been wrong to
feel so bitterly against him. He might as soon have
loved one of the freaks whom we carried round the
country as the thing which the lion had left. But
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a woman's love is not so easily set aside. He
had left me under the beast's claws. He had deserted
me in my need. And yet I could not bring
myself to give him to the gallows. For myself, I
cared nothing what became of me, What could be more
dreadful than my actual life. But I stood between Leonardo
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and his fate. And he is dead. He was drowned
last month when bathing near market. I saw his death
in the paper. And what did he do with this
five clawed club, which is the most singular and ingenious
part of all your story? I cannot tell, mister Holmes,
there is a chalk pit by the camp, with a
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deep green pool at the base of it, perhaps in
the depths of that pool. Well, well, it is of
little consequence. Now the case is closed, Yes, said the woman,
the case is closed. We had risen to go, But
there was something in the woman's voice which arrested Holmes's attention.
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He turns swift upon her. Your life is not your own,
he said, keep your hands off it. What use is
it to any one? How can you tell the example
of patient suffering is in itself the most precious of
all lessons to an impatient world. The woman's answer was
a terrible one. She raised her veil and stepped forward
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into the light. I wonder if you would bear it,
she said, It was horrible. No words can describe the
framework of a face when the face itself is gone.
Two living and beautiful brown eyes looking sadly out from
that grisly ruin did but make the view more awful.
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Holmes held up his hand in a gesture of pity
and protest, and together we left the room. Two days later,
when I called upon my friend, he pointed with some
pride to a small blue bottle upon his mantelpiece. I
picked it up. There was a red poison label a
pleasant almondy odor rose. When I opened it, prossic Acid
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said I exactly. It came by post. I send you
my temptation. I will follow your advice. That was the message,
I think, Watson, we can guess the name of the
brave woman who sent it. End of the Adventure of
(26:28):
the Veiled Lodger.
Section ten of the Case Book of Sherlock Holmes by
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This LibriVox according is in the
public domain. Read by Thomas Copeland, Story ten, The Adventure
of the Veiled Lodger. When one considers that mister Sherlock
Holmes was in active practice for twenty three years, and
(00:21):
that during seventeen of these I was allowed to co
operate with him and to keep notes of his doings,
it will be clear that I have a mass of
material at my command. The problem has always been not
to fined, but to choose. There is the long row
of year books, which phil a shelf, and there are
the despatch cases filled with documents, a perfect quarry for
(00:42):
the student. Not only a crime, but of the social
and official scandals of the late Victorian era. Concerning these latter,
I may say that the writers of agonized letters, who
beg that the honor of their families or the reputation
of famous forbears may not be touched, have nothing to fear.
The discretion and high sense of professional honor, which have
(01:03):
always distinguished my friend, are still at work in the
choice of these memoirs, and no confidence will be abused.
I deprecate, however, in the strongest way the attempts which
have been made lately to get at and to destroy
these papers. The source of these outrages is known, and
if they are repeated, I have mister Holmes's authority for
(01:23):
saying that the whole story concerning the politician, the lighthouse,
and the trained cormorant will be given to the public.
There is at least one reader who will understand. It
is not reasonable to suppose that every one of these
cases gave Holmes the opportunity of showing those curious gifts
of instinct and observation which I have endeavored to set
(01:45):
forth in these memoirs. Sometimes he had, with much effort
to pick the fruit. Sometimes it fell easily into his lap.
But the most terrible human tragedies were often involved in
these cases, which brought in the fewest personal offer opportunities.
And it is one of these which I now desire
to record. In telling it, I have made a slight
(02:07):
change of name and place, but otherwise the facts are
as stated. One forenoon, it was late in eighteen ninety six,
I received a hurried note from Holmes asking for my attendants.
When I arrived, I found him seated in a smoke
laden atmosphere, with an elderly, motherly woman of the buxom
(02:28):
landlady type in the corresponding chair in front of him.
This is Missus Merriloaw of South Brixton, said my friend,
with the wave of the hand. Missus Merrilaw does not
object to tobacco, Watson, if you wish to indulge your
filthy habits. Missus Merrilow has an interesting story to tell
which may well lead to further developments in which your
(02:49):
presence may be useful anything I can do. You will understand,
Missus Merrilaw, that if I come to Missus Rounder, I
shall prefer to have a witness. You will make her
understand that before we arrive. Lord bless you, mister Holmes,
said our visitor. She is that anxious to see you
that she might bring the whole parish at your heels.
(03:12):
Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let us
see that we have our facts correct before we start.
If we go over them, it will help doctor Watson
to understand the situation. You say that Missus Ronder has
been your lodger for seven years, and that you have
only once seen her face and I wish to god
I had not, said, Missus Merrilow, it was, I understand,
(03:34):
terribly mutilated. Well, mister Holmes, you would hardly say it
was a face at all. That's how it looked. Our
milkman got a glimpse of her once peeping out of
the upper window, and he dropped his tin and the
milk all over the front garden. That is the kind
of face it is. When I saw her, I happened
on her unawares. She covered up quick, and then she said, now,
(03:57):
missus Merrilow, you know at last why it is that
I never raise my veil. Do you know anything about
her history? Nothing at all. Did she give references when
she came, no, sir, But she gave hard cash, and
plenty of it, a quarter's rent right down on the
table in advance, and no arguing about terms. In these times,
(04:18):
a poor woman like me can't have order to turn
down a chance like that. Did she give any reason
for choosing your house? Mine stands well back from the
road and is more private than most. Then again, I
only take the one, and I have no family of
my own. I reckon she had tried others and found
that mine suited her. Best. It's privacy she is after,
(04:40):
and she is ready to pay for it. You say
that she never showed her face from first to last,
save on the one accidental occasion. Well, it is a
very remarkable story, most remarkable. And I don't wonder that
you want it examined. I don't won't, mister Holmes. I
(05:01):
am quite satisfied so long as I get my rent.
You could not have a quieter lodger, or one who
gives less trouble. Then what has brought matters to a
head Her health, mister Holmes. She seems to be wasting
away and there's something terrible on her mind. Murder, she cries, murder.
And once I heard her, you cruel beast, you monster,
(05:24):
she cried. It was in the night, and a fair
rang through the house and sent the shivers through me.
So I went to her in the morning. Missus Ronder,
I says, if you have anything that is troubling your soul.
There's the clergy, I says, and there's the police between them.
You should get some help for God's sake, not the police,
(05:44):
says she and the clergy can't change what has passed.
And yet she says it would ease my mind. If
some one knew the truth before I died, well, says I.
If you won't have the regulars, there is this detective
if man what we read about begging your pardon, mister Holmes,
and she she fair jumped at it. That's the man,
(06:07):
says she. I wonder I never thought of it before.
Bring him here, missus Merrilow. And if he won't come,
tell him I am the wife of Ronder's wild beasts.
Show say that and give him the name abbas Parva.
Here it is as she wrote it, abbas Parva. That
will bring him if he's the man I think he is,
And it will too, remarked Holmes. Very good, missus Merrilow,
(06:30):
I should like to have a little chat with doctor Watson.
That will carry us till lunch time. About three o'clock,
you may expect to see us at your house in Brixton.
Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the room.
No other verb can describe Missus Merilow's method of progression
than Sherlock Holmes threw himself with fierce energy upon the
pile of commonplace books in the corner. For a few
(06:53):
minutes there was a constant swish of the leaves, and
then with a grunt of satisfaction, he came upon what
he sought. So excited was he that he did not rise,
but sat upon the floor like some strange Buddha, with
crossed legs, the huge books all round him, and one
open upon his knees. The case worried me at the time, Watson.
(07:15):
Here are my marginal notes to prove it. I confess
that I could make nothing of it, and yet I
was convinced that the coroner was wrong. Have you no
recollection of the abbas par of a tragedy? None, Holmes,
And yet you were with me then. But certainly my
own impression was very superficial, for there was nothing to
go by, and none of the parties had engaged my services.
(07:39):
Perhaps you would care to read the papers? Could you
not give me the points? That is very easily done.
It will probably come back to your memory as I talk. Ronder,
of course, was a household word. He was the rival
of Wombwell and of Sanger, one of the greatest showmen
of his day. There is evidence, however, that he took
(07:59):
to drink, and that both he and his show were
on the downgrade at the time. Of the great tragedy.
The caravan had halted for the night at Avesparba, which
is a small village in Berkshire, when this horror occurred.
They were on their way to Wimbledon, traveling by road,
and they were simply camping and not exhibiting, as the
place is so small a one that it would not
(08:20):
have paid them to open. They had among their exhibits
a very fine North African lion, Sahara King was its name,
and it was the habit both of Ronder and his
wife to give exhibitions inside its cage. Here he sees
the photograph of the performance, by which you will perceive
that Ronder was a huge porcine person and that his
(08:42):
wife was a very magnificent woman. It was deposed at
the inquest that there had been some signs that the
lion was dangerous, but as usual, familiarity begat contempt and
no notice was taken of the fact. It was usual
for either Ronder or his wife to feed the lion
at night. Sometimes one went, sometimes both, but they never
(09:03):
allowed any one else to do it, for they believed
that so long as they were the food carriers, he
would regard them as benefactors. And would never molest them.
On this particular night seven years ago, they both went,
and of very terrible happening followed the details of which
have never been made clear. It seems that the whole
(09:24):
camp was roused near midnight by the roars of the
animal and the screams of the woman. The different grooms
and employer rushed from their tents carrying lanterns, and by
their light an awful sight was revealed. Ronder lay with
the back of his head crushed in in deep claw
marks across his scalp, some ten yards from the cage,
(09:45):
which was open. Close to the door of the cage
lay Missus Ronder upon her back, with the creature squatting
and snarling above her. It had torn her face in
such a fashion that it was never thought that she
could live. Several of the circus men, headed by Leonardo
the strong Man and Griggs the Clown, drove the creature
off with poles, upon which it sprang back into the
(10:07):
cage and was at once locked in. How it had
got loose was a mystery. It was conjectured that the
pair intended to enter the cage, but that when the
door was loosed, the creature bounded out upon them. There
was no other point of interest in the evidence, save
that the woman, in a delirium of agony, kept screaming coward,
coward as she was carried back to the van in
(10:28):
which they lived. It was six months before she was
fit to give evidence. But the inquest was duly held
with the obvious verdict of death by misadventure? What alternative
could be conceived? Said I, You may well say so.
And yet there were one or two points which worried
young Edmunds of the Berkshire Constabulary, a smart lad that
(10:51):
he was sent later to Allahabad. That was how I
came into the matter, For he dropped in and smoked
a pipe or two over it, a thin yellow haired man. Exactly.
I was sure you would pick up the trail presently.
But what worried him? Well, we were both worried. It
was so deucedly difficult to reconstruct the affair. Look at
(11:13):
it from the lion's point of view. He is liberated.
What does he do? He takes half a dozen bounds forward,
which brings him to Ronder. Ronder turns to fly. The
claw marks were on the back of his head, but
the lion strikes him down. Then, instead of bounding on
and escaping, he returns to the woman who was close
(11:35):
to the cage, and he knocks her over and chews
her face up. Then again, those cries of hers would
seem to imply that her husband had in some way
failed her. What could the poor devil have done to
help her? You see the difficulty quite And then there
was another thing. It comes back to me now as
I think it over. There was some evidence that just
(11:57):
at the time the lion roared and the woman screamed,
a man began shouting in terror. This man wondered, no doubt, well,
if his skull was smashed in, you would hardly expect
to hear from him again. There were at least two
witnesses who spoke of the cries of a man being
mingled with those of a woman. I should think the
(12:17):
whole camp was crying out by then. As to the
other points, I think I could suggest a solution. I
should be glad to consider it. The two were together
ten yards from the cage when the lion got loose.
The man turned and was struck down. The woman conceived
the idea of getting into the cage and shutting the door.
It was her only refuge. She made for it, and
(12:40):
just as she reached it, the beast bounded after her
and knocked her over. She was angry with her husband
for having encouraged the beast's rage by turning. If they
had faced it, they might have cowed it. Hence her
cries have coward brilliant Watson, only one flaw in your diamond.
(13:00):
What is the flaw, Holmes? If they were both ten
paces from the cage, how came the beast to get loose?
Is it possible that they had some enemy who loosed it?
And why should it attack them savagely when it was
in the habit of playing with them and doing tricks
with them inside the cage. Possibly the same enemy had
(13:23):
done something to enrage it. Holmes looked thoughtful and remained
in silence for some moments. Well, Watson, there is this
to be said for your theory. Roonder was a man
of many enemies. Edmonds told me that in his cups
he was horrible, a huge bully of a man. He
cursed and slashed at every one who came in his way.
(13:45):
I expect those cries about a monster of which our
visitor has spoken were nocturnal reminiscences of the deer departed. However,
our speculations are futile until we have all the facts.
There is a cold partridge on the sideboard, Watson, and
a bottle of montrachet. Let us renew our energies before
we make a fresh call upon them. When our hansom
(14:07):
deposited us at the house of missus Merrilow, we found
that plump lady blocking up the open door of her
humble but retired abode. It was very clear that her
cheaply occupation was lest she should lose a valuable lodger,
and she implored us before showing us up, to say
and do nothing which could lead to so undesirable an end. Then,
having reassured her, we followed her up the straight, badly
(14:30):
carpeted staircase, and were shown into the room of the
mysterious lodger. It was a close, musty, ill ventilated place,
as might be expected, since his inmates seldom left it.
From keeping beasts in a cage, the woman seemed, by
some retribution of fate, to have become herself a beast
in a cage. She sat now in a broken arm
(14:52):
chair in the shadowy corner of the room. Long years
of inaction had coarsened the lines of her figure, but
at some period it must have been beautiful, and was
still full and voluptuous. A thick, dark veil covered her face,
but it was cut off close at her upper lip
and disclosed a perfectly shaped mouth and a delicately rounded chin.
(15:14):
I could well conceive that she had indeed been a
very remarkable woman. Her voice, too, was well modulated and pleasing.
My name is not unfamiliar to you, mister Holmes, said she.
I thought that it would bring you. That is so, madam,
though I do not know how you were aware that
I was interested in your case. I learned it when
(15:36):
I had recovered my health and was examined by mister Edmonds,
the county detective. I fear I lied to him. Perhaps
it would have been wiser had I told the truth.
It is usually wiser to tell the truth. But why
did you lie to him? Because the fate of some
one else depended upon it? I know that he was
(15:57):
a very worthless being, and yet I would not have
his destruction upon my conscience. We have been so close,
so close, But has this impediment been removed? Yes, sir,
the person I allude to is dead, then why should
you not now tell the police anything you know? Because
(16:19):
there is another person to be considered. That other person
is myself. I could not stand the scandal and publicity
which would come from a police examination. I have not
long to live, but I wish to die and disturbed,
and yet I wanted to find one man of judgment
to whom I could tell my terrible story, so that
(16:39):
when I am gone or might be understood you compliment me, madam.
At the same time, I am a responsible person. I
do not promise you that, when you have spoken, I
may not myself think it my duty to refer the
case to the police. I think not, mister Holmes. I
know your character and methods too well, for I have
(17:00):
followed your work for some years. Reading is the only
pleasure which fate has left me, and I miss little
which passes in the world. But in any case, I
will take my chance of the use which you may
make of my tragedy. It will ease my mind to
tell it, my friend, and I would be glad to
hear it. The woman arose and took from a drawer
(17:23):
the photograph of a man. He was clearly a professional acrobat,
a man of magnificent physique, taken with his huge arms
folded across his swollen chest, and a smile breaking from
under his heavy mustache, the self satisfied smile of a
man of many conquests. This is Leonardo, she said, Leonardo,
(17:45):
the strong man who gave evidence the same. And this
this is my husband. It was a dreadful face, a
human pig, or rather a human wild boar, for it
was formidable in his best chalice. One could imagine that
vile mouth clamping and foaming in its rage. And one
could conceive those small, vicious eyes darting pure malignancy as
(18:09):
they looked forth upon the world. Ruffian, bully beast. It
was all written on that heavy, jowled face. Those two
pictures will help you, gentlemen, to understand the story. I
was a poor circus girl, brought up on the sawdust
and doing springs through the hoop before I was ten.
When I became a woman, this man loved me, if
(18:32):
such lust as his can be called love, and in
an evil moment, I became his wife. From that day
I was in hell, and he the devil who tormented me.
There was no one in the show who did not
know of his treatment. He deserted me for others. He
tied me down and lashed me with his riding whip.
When I complained, they all pitied me, and they all
(18:54):
loathed him, But what could they do. They feared him
one and all, for he was terrible at all times,
and murderous when he was drunk. Again and again, he
was had for assault and for cruelty to the beasts,
but he had plenty of money and the fines were
nothing to him. The best men all left us, and
(19:14):
the show began to go down hill. It was only
Leonardo and I who kept it up, with little Jimmy Griggs,
the clown, poor devil. He had not much to be
funny about, but he did what he could to hold
things together. Then Leonardo came more and more into my life.
You see what he was like. I know now the
(19:35):
poor spirit that was hidden in that splendid body. But
compared to my husband, he seemed like the angel Gabriel.
He pitied me and helped me till at last our
intimacy turned to love, deep, deep passionate love, such love
as I had dreamed of but never hoped to feel.
My husband suspected it, but I think that he was
(19:56):
a coward as well as a bully, and that Leonardo
was the one man that he was afraid of. He
took revenge in his own way by torturing me more
than ever. One night, my cries brought Leonardo to the
door of our van. We were near tragedy that night,
and soon my lover and I understood that it could
not be avoided. My husband was not fit to live.
(20:20):
We planned that he should die. Leonardo had a clever,
scheming brain. It was he who planned it. I did
not say that to blame him, for I was ready
to go with him every inch of the way. But
I should never have had the wit to think of
such a plan. We made a club. Leonardo made it,
and in the leaden head he fastened five long steel nails,
(20:42):
the points outwards, with just such a spread as the
lion's paw. This was to give my husband his death blow,
and yet to leave the evidence that it was the
lion which we would loose, who had done the deed.
It was a pitch dark night when my husband and
I went down, as was our custom, to feel the beast.
We carried with us the raw meat in a zinc pail.
(21:04):
Leonardo was waiting at the corner of the big van,
which we would have to pass before he reached the cage.
He was too slow, and we walked past him before
he could strike, but he followed us on tiptoe, and
I heard the crash as the club smashed my husband's scull.
My heart leaped with joy at the sound. I sprang
forward and I undid the catch which held the door
(21:26):
of the great Lion's cage. And then the terrible thing happened.
You may have heard how quick these creatures are to
scent human blood, and how it excites them. Some strange
instinct had told the creature in one instant that a
human being had been slain. As I slipped the bars,
it bounded out and was on me. In an instant.
(21:47):
Leonardo could have saved me. If he had rushed forward
and struck the beast with his club, he might have
cowed it. But the man lost his nerve. I heard
him shout in his terror, and then I saw him
turn and fly. At the same instant, the teeth of
the lion met in my face. Its hot, filthy breath
had already poisoned me, and it was hardly conscious of pain.
(22:08):
With the palms of my hands, I tried to push
the great, steaming, blood stained jaws away from me, and
I screamed for help. I was conscious that the camp
was stirring, and then dimly I remember a group of men,
Leonardo Griggs and others, dragging me from under the creature's paws.
That was my last memory, mister Holmes, for many a
(22:29):
weary month. When I came to myself and saw myself
in the mirror, I cursed that lion. Oh how I
cursed him, not because he had torn away my beauty,
but because he had not torn away my life. I
had but one desire, mister Holmes, and I had enough
money to gratify it. It was that I should cover
(22:49):
myself so that my poor face should be seen by none,
and that I should dwell where none whom I had
ever known should find me. That was all that was
left to me to do. And that is what I
have done. A poor wounded beast that has crawled into
its hole to die. That is the end of Eugenia Wonder.
(23:10):
We sat in silence for some time after the unhappy
woman had told her story. Then Holmes stretched out his
long arm and patted her hand with such a show
of sympathy as I had seldom known him to exhibit.
Poor girl, he said, poor girl, the ways of fate
are indeed hard to understand. If there is not some
(23:32):
compensation hereafter, then the world is a cruel jest. But
what of this man Leonardo? I never saw him or
heard from him again. Perhaps I have been wrong to
feel so bitterly against him. He might as soon have
loved one of the freaks whom we carried round the
country as the thing which the lion had left. But
(23:54):
a woman's love is not so easily set aside. He
had left me under the beast's claws. He had deserted
me in my need. And yet I could not bring
myself to give him to the gallows. For myself, I
cared nothing what became of me, What could be more
dreadful than my actual life. But I stood between Leonardo
(24:16):
and his fate. And he is dead. He was drowned
last month when bathing near market. I saw his death
in the paper. And what did he do with this
five clawed club, which is the most singular and ingenious
part of all your story? I cannot tell, mister Holmes,
there is a chalk pit by the camp, with a
(24:38):
deep green pool at the base of it, perhaps in
the depths of that pool. Well, well, it is of
little consequence. Now the case is closed, Yes, said the woman,
the case is closed. We had risen to go, But
there was something in the woman's voice which arrested Holmes's attention.
(24:59):
He turns swift upon her. Your life is not your own,
he said, keep your hands off it. What use is
it to any one? How can you tell the example
of patient suffering is in itself the most precious of
all lessons to an impatient world. The woman's answer was
a terrible one. She raised her veil and stepped forward
(25:22):
into the light. I wonder if you would bear it,
she said, It was horrible. No words can describe the
framework of a face when the face itself is gone.
Two living and beautiful brown eyes looking sadly out from
that grisly ruin did but make the view more awful.
(25:45):
Holmes held up his hand in a gesture of pity
and protest, and together we left the room. Two days later,
when I called upon my friend, he pointed with some
pride to a small blue bottle upon his mantelpiece. I
picked it up. There was a red poison label a
pleasant almondy odor rose. When I opened it, prossic Acid
(26:08):
said I exactly. It came by post. I send you
my temptation. I will follow your advice. That was the message,
I think, Watson, we can guess the name of the
brave woman who sent it. End of the Adventure of
(26:28):
the Veiled Lodger.
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