For two days the Hon. Philip Green (he was, I may mention,the son of the famous admiral of that name who commanded theSea of Azof fleet in the Crimean War) brought us no news. Onthe evening of the third he rushed into our sitting-room, pale,trembling, with every muscle of his powerful frame quivering withexcitement.
“We have him! We have him!” he cried.
He was incoherent in his agitation. Holmes soothed him with afew words and thrust him into an armchair.
“Come, now, give us the order of events,” said he.
“She came only an hour ago. It was the wife, this time, but thependant she brought was the fellow of the other. She is a tall, palewoman, with ferret eyes.”
“That is the lady,” said Holmes.
“She left the office and I followed her. She walked up theKennington Road, and I kept behind her. Presently she went intoa shop. Mr. Holmes, it was an undertaker’s.”
My companion started. “Well?” he asked in that vibrant voicewhich told of the fiery soul behind the cold gray face.
“She was talking to the woman behind the counter. I entered aswell. ‘It is late,’ I heard her say, or words to that effect. The womanwas excusing herself. ‘It should be there before now,’ she answered.
‘It took longer, being out of the ordinary.’ They both stopped andlooked at me, so I asked some questions and then left the shop.”
“You did excellently well. What happened next?”
“The woman came out, but I had hid myself in a doorway.
Her suspicions had been aroused, I think, for she looked roundher. Then she called a cab and got in. I was lucky enough to getanother and so to follow her. She got down at last at No. 36,Poultney Square, Brixton. I drove past, left my cab at the cornerof the square, and watched the house.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“The windows were all in darkness save one on the lower floor.
The blind was down, and I could not see in. I was standing there,wondering what I should do next, when a covered van drove upwith two men in it. They descended, took something out of thevan, and carried it up the steps to the hall door. Mr. Holmes, itwas a coffin.”
“Ah!”
“For an instant I was on the point of rushing in. The doorhad been opened to admit the men and their burden. It was thewoman who had opened it. But as I stood there she caught aglimpse of me, and I think that she recognized me. I saw her start,and she hastily closed the door. I remembered my promise to you,and here I am.”
“You have done excellent work,” said Holmes, scribbling afew words upon a half-sheet of paper. “We can do nothing legalwithout a warrant, and you can serve the cause best by taking thisnote down to the authorities and getting one. There may be somedifficulty, but I should think that the sale of the jewellery shouldbe sufficient. Lestrade will see to all details.”
“But they may murder her in the meanwhile. What could thecoffin mean, and for whom could it be but for her?”
“We will do all that can be done, Mr. Green. Not a momentwill be lost. Leave it in our hands. Now Watson,” he added as ourclient hurried away, “he will set the regular forces on the move.
We are, as usual, the irregulars, and we must take our own lineof action. The situation strikes me as so desperate that the mostextreme measures are justified. Not a moment is to be lost ingetting to Poultney Square.
“Let us try to reconstruct the situation,” said he as we droveswiftly past the Houses of Parliament and over WestminsterBridge. “These villains have coaxed this unhappy lady to London,after first alienating her from her faithful maid. If she haswritten any letters they have been intercepted. Through someconfederate they have engaged a furnished house. Once inside it,they have made her a prisoner, and they have become possessedof the valuable jewellery which has been their object from thefirst. Already they have begun to sell part of it, which seems safeenough to them, since they have no reason to think that anyoneis interested in the lady’s fate. When she is released she will, ofcourse, denounce them. Therefore, she must not be released. Butthey cannot keep her under lock and key forever. So murder istheir only solution.”
“That seems very clear.”
“Now we will take another line of reasoning. When you followtwo separate chains of thought, Watson, you will find somepoint of intersection which should approximate to the truth. Wewill start now, not from the lady but from the coffin and arguebackward. That incident proves, I fear, beyond all doubt thatthe lady is dead. It points also to an orthodox burial with properaccompaniment of medical certificate and official sanction. Hadthe lady been obviously murdered, they would have buried herin a hole in the back garden. But here all is open and regular.
What does this mean? Surely that they have done her to death insome way which has deceived the doctor and simulated a naturalend—poisoning, perhaps. And yet how strange that they shouldever let a doctor approach her unless he were a confederate, whichis hardly a credible proposition.”
“Could they have forged a medical certificate?”
“Dangerous, Watson, very dangerous. No, I hardly see themdoing that. Pull up, cabby! This is evidently the undertaker’s, forwe have just passed the pawnbroker’s. Would you go in, Watson?
Your appearance inspires confidence. Ask what hour the PoultneySquare funeral takes place to-morrow.”
The woman in the shop answered me without hesitation thatit was to be at eight o’clock in the morning. “You see, Watson,no mystery; everything above-board! In some way the legal formshave undoubtedly been complied with, and they think that theyhave little to fear. Well, there’s nothing for it now but a directfrontal attack. Are you armed?”
“My stick!”
“Well, well, we shall be strong enough. ‘Thrice is he armed whohath his quarrel just.’ We simply can’t afford to wait for the policeor to keep within the four corners of the law. You can drive off,cabby. Now, Watson, we’ll just take our luck together, as we haveoccasionally done in the past.”
