The Adventure of the Cardboard Box (2 page)

"Quite so, madam," said Holmes in his soothing way. "I have no doubt
that you have been annoyed more than enough already over this business."

"Indeed I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life. It is
something new for me to see my name in the papers and to find the
police in my house. I won't have those things in here, Mr. Lestrade.
If you wish to see them you must go to the outhouse."

It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the house.
Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a piece
of brown paper and some string. There was a bench at the end of the
path, and we all sat down while Homes examined one by one, the articles
which Lestrade had handed to him.

"The string is exceedingly interesting," he remarked, holding it up to
the light and sniffing at it. "What do you make of this string,
Lestrade?"

"It has been tarred."

"Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt,
remarked that Miss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can be
seen by the double fray on each side. This is of importance."

"I cannot see the importance," said Lestrade.

"The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and that
this knot is of a peculiar character."

"It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note of that effect,"
said Lestrade complacently.

"So much for the string, then," said Holmes, smiling, "now for the box
wrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. What, did you
not observe it? I think there can be no doubt of it. Address printed
in rather straggling characters: 'Miss S. Cushing, Cross Street,
Croydon.' Done with a broad-pointed pen, probably a J, and with very
inferior ink. The word 'Croydon' has been originally spelled with an
'i', which has been changed to 'y'. The parcel was directed, then, by
a man—the printing is distinctly masculine—of limited education and
unacquainted with the town of Croydon. So far, so good! The box is a
yellow, half-pound honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two
thumb marks at the left bottom corner. It is filled with rough salt of
the quality used for preserving hides and other of the coarser
commercial purposes. And embedded in it are these very singular
enclosures."

He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across his
knee he examined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forward
on each side of him, glanced alternately at these dreadful relics and
at the thoughtful, eager face of our companion. Finally he returned
them to the box once more and sat for a while in deep meditation.

"You have observed, of course," said he at last, "that the ears are not
a pair."

"Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke of some
students from the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to
send two odd ears as a pair."

"Precisely. But this is not a practical joke."

"You are sure of it?"

"The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in the
dissecting-rooms are injected with preservative fluid. These ears bear
no signs of this. They are fresh, too. They have been cut off with a
blunt instrument, which would hardly happen if a student had done it.
Again, carbolic or rectified spirits would be the preservatives which
would suggest themselves to the medical mind, certainly not rough salt.
I repeat that there is no practical joke here, but that we are
investigating a serious crime."

A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion's words and
saw the stern gravity which had hardened his features. This brutal
preliminary seemed to shadow forth some strange and inexplicable horror
in the background. Lestrade, however, shook his head like a man who is
only half convinced.

"There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt," said he, "but
there are much stronger reasons against the other. We know that this
woman has led a most quiet and respectable life at Penge and here for
the last twenty years. She has hardly been away from her home for a
day during that time. Why on earth, then, should any criminal send her
the proofs of his guilt, especially as, unless she is a most consummate
actress, she understands quite as little of the matter as we do?"

"That is the problem which we have to solve," Holmes answered, "and for
my part I shall set about it by presuming that my reasoning is correct,
and that a double murder has been committed. One of these ears is a
woman's, small, finely formed, and pierced for an earring. The other
is a man's, sun-burned, discoloured, and also pierced for an earring.
These two people are presumably dead, or we should have heard their
story before now. To-day is Friday. The packet was posted on Thursday
morning. The tragedy, then, occurred on Wednesday or Tuesday, or
earlier. If the two people were murdered, who but their murderer would
have sent this sign of his work to Miss Cushing? We may take it that
the sender of the packet is the man whom we want. But he must have some
strong reason for sending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason then?
It must have been to tell her that the deed was done! or to pain her,
perhaps. But in that case she knows who it is. Does she know? I
doubt it. If she knew, why should she call the police in? She might
have buried the ears, and no one would have been the wiser. That is
what she would have done if she had wished to shield the criminal. But
if she does not wish to shield him she would give his name. There is a
tangle here which needs straightening to." He had been talking in a
high, quick voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now he
sprang briskly to his feet and walked towards the house.

"I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing," said he.

"In that case I may leave you here," said Lestrade, "for I have another
small business on hand. I think that I have nothing further to learn
from Miss Cushing. You will find me at the police-station."

"We shall look in on our way to the train," answered Holmes. A moment
later he and I were back in the front room, where the impassive lady
was still quietly working away at her antimacassar. She put it down on
her lap as we entered and looked at us with her frank, searching blue
eyes.

"I am convinced, sir," she said, "that this matter is a mistake, and
that the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have said this
several times to the gentlemen from Scotland Yard, but he simply laughs
at me. I have not an enemy in the world, as far as I know, so why
should anyone play me such a trick?"

"I am coming to be of the same opinion, Miss Cushing," said Holmes,
taking a seat beside her. "I think that it is more than probable—" He
paused, and I was surprised, on glancing round to see that he was
staring with singular intentness at the lady's profile. Surprise and
satisfaction were both for an instant to be read upon his eager face,
though when she glanced round to find out the cause of his silence he
had become as demure as ever. I stared hard myself at her flat,
grizzled hair, her trim cap, her little gilt earrings, her placid
features; but I could see nothing which could account for my
companion's evident excitement.

"There were one or two questions—"

"Oh, I am weary of questions!" cried Miss Cushing impatiently.

"You have two sisters, I believe."

"How could you know that?"

"I observed the very instant that I entered the room that you have a
portrait group of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one of whom is
undoubtedly yourself, while the others are so exceedingly like you that
there could be no doubt of the relationship."

"Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary."

"And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool, of your
younger sister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward by
his uniform. I observe that she was unmarried at the time."

"You are very quick at observing."

"That is my trade."

"Well, you are quite right. But she was married to Mr. Browner a few
days afterwards. He was on the South American line when that was
taken, but he was so fond of her that he couldn't abide to leave her
for so long, and he got into the Liverpool and London boats."

"Ah, the Conqueror, perhaps?"

"No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see me
once. That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would
always take drink when he was ashore, and a little drink would send him
stark, staring mad. Ah! it was a bad day that ever he took a glass in
his hand again. First he dropped me, then he quarrelled with Sarah,
and now that Mary has stopped writing we don't know how things are
going with them."

It was evident that Miss Cushing had come upon a subject on which she
felt very deeply. Like most people who lead a lonely life, she was shy
at first, but ended by becoming extremely communicative. She told us
many details about her brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering
off on the subject of her former lodgers, the medical students, she
gave us a long account of their delinquencies, with their names and
those of their hospitals. Holmes listened attentively to everything,
throwing in a question from time to time.

"About your second sister, Sarah," said he. "I wonder, since you are
both maiden ladies, that you do not keep house together."

"Ah! you don't know Sarah's temper or you would wonder no more. I tried
it when I came to Croydon, and we kept on until about two months ago,
when we had to part. I don't want to say a word against my own sister,
but she was always meddlesome and hard to please, was Sarah."

"You say that she quarrelled with your Liverpool relations."

"Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. Why, she went up
there to live in order to be near them. And now she has no word hard
enough for Jim Browner. The last six months that she was here she
would speak of nothing but his drinking and his ways. He had caught
her meddling, I suspect, and given her a bit of his mind, and that was
the start of it."

"Thank you, Miss Cushing," said Holmes, rising and bowing. "Your
sister Sarah lives, I think you said, at New Street, Wallington?
Good-bye, and I am very sorry that you should have been troubled over a
case with which, as you say, you have nothing whatever to do."

There was a cab passing as we came out, and Holmes hailed it.

"How far to Wallington?" he asked.

"Only about a mile, sir."

"Very good. Jump in, Watson. We must strike while the iron is hot.
Simple as the case is, there have been one or two very instructive
details in connection with it. Just pull up at a telegraph office as
you pass, cabby."

Holmes sent off a short wire and for the rest of the drive lay back in
the cab, with his hat tilted over his nose to keep the sun from his
face. Our drive pulled up at a house which was not unlike the one which
we had just quitted. My companion ordered him to wait, and had his
hand upon the knocker, when the door opened and a grave young gentleman
in black, with a very shiny hat, appeared on the step.

"Is Miss Cushing at home?" asked Holmes.

"Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill," said he. "She has been
suffering since yesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. As her
medical adviser, I cannot possibly take the responsibility of allowing
anyone to see her. I should recommend you to call again in ten days."
He drew on his gloves, closed the door, and marched off down the street.

"Well, if we can't we can't," said Holmes, cheerfully.

"Perhaps she could not or would not have told you much."

"I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only wanted to look at her.
However, I think that I have got all that I want. Drive us to some
decent hotel, cabby, where we may have some lunch, and afterwards we
shall drop down upon friend Lestrade at the police-station."

We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk
about nothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he had
purchased his own Stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundred
guineas, at a Jew broker's in Tottenham Court Road for fifty-five
shillings. This led him to Paganini, and we sat for an hour over a
bottle of claret while he told me anecdote after anecdote of that
extraordinary man. The afternoon was far advanced and the hot glare
had softened into a mellow glow before we found ourselves at the
police-station. Lestrade was waiting for us at the door.

"A telegram for you, Mr. Holmes," said he.

"Ha! It is the answer!" He tore it open, glanced his eyes over it,
and crumpled it into his pocket. "That's all right," said he.

"Have you found out anything?"

"I have found out everything!"

"What!" Lestrade stared at him in amazement. "You are joking."

"I was never more serious in my life. A shocking crime has been
committed, and I think I have now laid bare every detail of it."

"And the criminal?"

Holmes scribbled a few words upon the back of one of his visiting cards
and threw it over to Lestrade.

"That is the name," he said. "You cannot effect an arrest until
to-morrow night at the earliest. I should prefer that you do not
mention my name at all in connection with the case, as I choose to be
only associated with those crimes which present some difficulty in
their solution. Come on, Watson." We strode off together to the
station, leaving Lestrade still staring with a delighted face at the
card which Holmes had thrown him.

"The case," said Sherlock Holmes as we chatted over our cigars that
night in our rooms at Baker Street, "is one where, as in the
investigations which you have chronicled under the names of 'A Study in
Scarlet' and of 'The Sign of Four,' we have been compelled to reason
backward from effects to causes. I have written to Lestrade asking him
to supply us with the details which are now wanting, and which he will
only get after he had secured his man. That he may be safely trusted
to do, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is as
tenacious as a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do, and
indeed, it is just this tenacity which has brought him to the top at
Scotland Yard."