“Ah, I see you know my whole story. I need hide nothing fromyou. I swear to you, Mr. Holmes, that there never was in thisworld a man who loved a woman with a more wholehearted lovethan I had for Frances. I was a wild youngster, I know—not worsethan others of my class. But her mind was pure as snow. She couldnot bear a shadow of coarseness. So, when she came to hear ofthings that I had done, she would have no more to say to me. Andyet she loved me—that is the wonder of it!—loved me well enoughto remain single all her sainted days just for my sake alone. Whenthe years had passed and I had made my money at Barberton Ithought perhaps I could seek her out and soften her. I had heardthat she was still unmarried, I found her at Lausanne and tried allI knew. She weakened, I think, but her will was strong, and whennext I called she had left the town. I traced her to Baden, andthen after a time heard that her maid was here. I’m a rough fellow,fresh from a rough life, and when Dr. Watson spoke to me as hedid I lost hold of myself for a moment. But for God’s sake tell mewhat has become of the Lady Frances.”
“That is for us to find out,” said Sherlock Holmes with peculiargravity. “What is your London address, Mr. Green?”
“The Langham Hotel will find me.”
“Then may I recommend that you return there and be on handin case I should want you? I have no desire to encourage falsehopes, but you may rest assured that all that can be done will bedone for the safety of Lady Frances. I can say no more for theinstant. I will leave you this card so that you may be able to keepin touch with us. Now, Watson, if you will pack your bag I willcable to Mrs. Hudson to make one of her best efforts for twohungry travellers at 7:30 to-morrow.”
A telegram was awaiting us when we reached our Baker Streetrooms, which Holmes read with an exclamation of interest andthrew across to me. “Jagged or torn,” was the message, and theplace of origin, Baden.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It is everything,” Holmes answered. “You may remember myseemingly irrelevant question as to this clerical gentleman’s leftear. You did not answer it.”
“I had left Baden and could not inquire.”
“Exactly. For this reason I sent a duplicate to the manager of theEnglischer Hof, whose answer lies here.”
“What does it show?”
“It shows, my dear Watson, that we are dealing with anexceptionally astute and dangerous man. The Rev. Dr. Shlessinger,missionary from South America, is none other than Holy Peters,one of the most unscrupulous rascals that Australia has everevolved—and for a young country it has turned out some veryfinished types. His particular specialty is the beguiling of lonelyladies by playing upon their religious feelings, and his so-calledwife, an Englishwoman named Fraser, is a worthy helpmate. Thenature of his tactics suggested his identity to me, and this physicalpeculiarity—he was badly bitten in a saloon-fight at Adelaidein ‘89—confirmed my suspicion. This poor lady is in the handsof a most infernal couple, who will stick at nothing, Watson.
That she is already dead is a very likely supposition. If not, she isundoubtedly in some sort of confinement and unable to write toMiss Dobney or her other friends. It is always possible that shenever reached London, or that she has passed through it, but theformer is improbable, as, with their system of registration, it is noteasy for foreigners to play tricks with the Continental police; andthe latter is also unlikely, as these rouges could not hope to findany other place where it would be as easy to keep a person underrestraint. All my instincts tell me that she is in London, but as wehave at present no possible means of telling where, we can onlytake the obvious steps, eat our dinner, and possess our souls inpatience. Later in the evening I will stroll down and have a wordwith friend Lestrade at Scotland Yard.”
But neither the official police nor Holmes’s own small but veryefficient organization sufficed to clear away the mystery. Amid thecrowded millions of London the three persons we sought were ascompletely obliterated as if they had never lived. Advertisementswere tried, and failed. Clues were followed, and led to nothing.
Every criminal resort which Shlessinger might frequent was drawnin vain. His old associates were watched, but they kept clear ofhim. And then suddenly, after a week of helpless suspense therecame a flash of light. A silver-and-brilliant pendant of old Spanishdesign had been pawned at Bovington’s, in Westminster Road. Thepawner was a large, clean-shaven man of clerical appearance. Hisname and address were demonstrably false. The ear had escapednotice, but the description was surely that of Shlessinger.
Three times had our bearded friend from the Langhamcalled for news—the third time within an hour of this freshdevelopment. His clothes were getting looser on his great body.
He seemed to be wilting away in his anxiety. “If you will only giveme something to do!” was his constant wail. At last Holmes couldoblige him.
“He has begun to pawn the jewels. We should get him now.”
“But does this mean that any harm has befallen the Lady Frances?”
Holmes shook his head very gravely.
“Supposing that they have held her prisoner up to now, it is clearthat they cannot let her loose without their own destruction. Wemust prepare for the worst.”
“What can I do?”
“These people do not know you by sight?”
“No.”
“It is possible that he will go to some other pawnbroker in thefuture. In that case, we must begin again. On the other hand, hehas had a fair price and no questions asked, so if he is in need ofready-money he will probably come back to Bovington’s. I willgive you a note to them, and they will let you wait in the shop. Ifthe fellow comes you will follow him home. But no indiscretion,and, above all, no violence. I put you on your honour that you willtake no step without my knowledge and consent.”
