He swung a huge knotted lump of a fist under my friend’s nose.
Holmes examined it closely with an air of great interest.
“Were you born so?” he asked. “Or did it come by degrees?”
It may have been the icy coolness of my friend, or it may havebeen the slight clatter which I made as I picked up the poker. Inany case, our visitor’s manner became less flamboyant.
“Well, I’ve given you fair warnin’,” said he. “I’ve a friend that’sinterested out Harrow way—you know what I’m meaning—and hedon’t intend to have no buttin’ in by you. Got that? You ain’t thelaw, and I ain’t the law either, and if you come in I’ll be on handalso. Don’t you forget it.”
“I’ve wanted to meet you for some time,” said Holmes. “I won’task you to sit down, for I don’t like the smell of you, but aren’t youSteve Dixie, the bruiser?”
“That’s my name, Masser Holmes, and you’ll get put through itfor sure if you give me any lip.”
“It is certainly the last thing you need,” said Holmes, staringat our visitor’s hideous mouth. “But it was the killing of youngPerkins outside the Holborn Bar——What! you’re not going?”
The negro had sprung back, and his face was leaden. “I won’tlisten to no such talk,” said he. “What have I to do with thisere Perkins, Masser Holmes? I was trainin’ at the Bull Ring inBirmingham when this boy done gone get into trouble.”
“Yes, you’ll tell the magistrate about it, Steve,” said Holmes. “I’vebeen watching you and Barney Stockdale——”
“So help me the Lord! Masser Holmes——”
“That’s enough. Get out of it. I’ll pick you up when I want you.”
“Good-mornin’, Masser Holmes. I hope there ain’t no hardfeelin’s about this ’ere visit?”
“There will be unless you tell me who sent you.”
“Why, there ain’t no secret about that, Masser Holmes. It wasthat same gen’l’man that you have just done gone mention.”
“And who set him on to it?”
“S’elp me. I don’t know, Masser Holmes. He just say, ‘Steve, yougo see Mr. Holmes, and tell him his life ain’t safe if he go downHarrow way.’ That’s the whole truth.” Without waiting for anyfurther questioning, our visitor bolted out of the room almost asprecipitately as he had entered. Holmes knocked out the ashes ofhis pipe with a quiet chuckle.
“I am glad you were not forced to break his woolly head,Watson. I observed your manoeuvres with the poker. But he isreally rather a harmless fellow, a great muscular, foolish, blusteringbaby, and easily cowed, as you have seen. He is one of the SpencerThe Case Book of Sherlock Holmes 1287John gang and has taken part in some dirty work of late which Imay clear up when I have time. His immediate principal, Barney,is a more astute person. They specialize in assaults, intimidation,and the like. What I want to know is, who is at the back of themon this particular occasion?”
“But why do they want to intimidate you?”
“It is this Harrow Weald case. It decides me to look into thematter, for if it is worth anyone’s while to take so much trouble,there must be something in it.”
“But what is it?”
“I was going to tell you when we had this comic interlude. Hereis Mrs. Maberley’s note. If you care to come with me we will wireher and go out at once.”
DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES [I read]:
I have had a succession of strange incidents occur to me inconnection with this house, and I should much value your advice.
You would find me at home any time to-morrow. The house iswithin a short walk of the Weald Station. I believe that my latehusband, Mortimer Maberley, was one of your early clients.
Yours faithfully,
MARY MABERLEY.
The address was “The Three Gables, Harrow Weald.”
“So that’s that!” said Holmes. “And now, if you can spare thetime, Watson, we will get upon our way.”
A short railway journey, and a shorter drive, brought us tothe house, a brick and timber villa, standing in its own acre ofundeveloped grassland. Three small projections above the upperwindows made a feeble attempt to justify its name. Behind was agrove of melancholy, half-grown pines, and the whole aspect of theplace was poor and depressing. None the less, we found the house tobe well furnished, and the lady who received us was a most engagingelderly person, who bore every mark of refinement and culture.
“I remember your husband well, madam,” said Holmes, “thoughit is some years since he used my services in some trifling matter.”
“Probably you would be more familiar with the name of my sonDouglas.”
Holmes looked at her with great interest.
“Dear me! Are you the mother of Douglas Maberley? I knew himslightly. But of course all London knew him. What a magnificentcreature he was! Where is he now?”
“Dead, Mr. Holmes, dead! He was attache at Rome, and he diedthere of pneumonia last month.”
“I am sorry. One could not connect death with such a man. Ihave never known anyone so vitally alive. He lived intensely—every fibre of him!”
1288 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
“Too intensely, Mr. Holmes. That was the ruin of him. Youremember him as he was—debonair and splendid. You did not seethe moody, morose, brooding creature into which he developed.
His heart was broken. In a single month I seemed to see mygallant boy turn into a worn-out cynical man.”
“A love affair—a woman?”
“Or a fiend. Well, it was not to talk of my poor lad that I askedyou to come, Mr. Holmes.”
“Dr. Watson and I are at your service.”
“There have been some very strange happenings. I have been inthis house more than a year now, and as I wished to lead a retiredlife I have seen little of my neighbours. Three days ago I had a callfrom a man who said that he was a house agent. He said that thishouse would exactly suit a client of his, and that if I would partwith it money would be no object. It seemed to me very strangeas there are several empty houses on the market which appear tobe equally eligible, but naturally I was interested in what he said.
