How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the gardento the spot where he recovered his senses might have remainedforever a mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told usa very plain tale. He had evidently been carried down by twopersons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the otherunusually large ones. On the whole, it was most probable thatthe silent Englishman, being less bold or less murderous than hiscompanion, had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious manout of the way of danger.
“Well,” said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to returnonce more to London, “it has been a pretty business for me! I havelost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what have Igained?”
“Experience,” said Holmes, laughing. “Indirectly it may be ofvalue, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain thereputation of being excellent company for the remainder of yourexistence.”
The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor
The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, havelong ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles inwhich the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals haveeclipsed it, and their more piquant details have drawn the gossipsaway from this four-year-old drama. As I have reason to believe,however, that the full facts have never been revealed to the generalpublic, and as my friend Sherlock Holmes had a considerable sharein clearing the matter up, I feel that no memoir of him would becomplete without some little sketch of this remarkable episode.
It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the dayswhen I was still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street,that he came home from an afternoon stroll to find a letter onthe table waiting for him. I had remained indoors all day, for theweather had taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnalwinds, and the Jezail bullet which I had brought back in one ofmy limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign throbbed with dullpersistence. With my body in one easy-chair and my legs uponanother, I had surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers untilat last, saturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all asideand lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon theenvelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend’snoble correspondent could be.
“Here is a very fashionable epistle,” I remarked as he entered.
“Your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fishmongerand a tide-waiter.”
“Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety,”
he answered, smiling, “and the humbler are usually the moreinteresting. This looks like one of those unwelcome socialsummonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie.”
He broke the seal and glanced over the contents.
“Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all.”
“Not social, then?”
“No, distinctly professional.”
“And from a noble client?”
“One of the highest in England.”
“My dear fellow, I congratulate you.”
“I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status ofmy client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of hiscase. It is just possible, however, that that also may not be wantingin this new investigation. You have been reading the papersdiligently of late, have you not?”
“It looks like it,” said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in thecorner. “I have had nothing else to do.”
“It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. Iread nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. Thelatter is always instructive. But if you have followed recent events soclosely you must have read about Lord St. Simon and his wedding?”
“Oh, yes, with the deepest interest.”
“That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from LordSt. Simon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn overthese papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter. Thisis what he says:
“ ‘MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES: —Lord Backwater tellsme that I may place implicit reliance upon your judgment anddiscretion. I have determined, therefore, to call upon you and toconsult you in reference to the very painful event which has occurredin connection with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard,is acting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees noobjection to your co?peration, and that he even thinks that it mightbe of some assistance. I will call at four o’clock in the afternoon, and,should you have any other engagement at that time, I hope that youwill postpone it, as this matter is of paramount importance.
Yours faithfully,
“ ‘ST. SIMON.’
“It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen,and the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of inkupon the outer side of his right little finger,” remarked Holmes ashe folded up the epistle.
“He says four o’clock. It is three now. He will be here in anhour.”
“Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear uponthe subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts intheir order of time, while I take a glance as to who our client is.”
He picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of referencebeside the mantelpiece. “Here he is,” said he, sitting down andflattening it out upon his knee. “ Lord Robert Walsingham deVere St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral. Hum! Arms:
Azure, three caltrops in chief over a fess sable. Born in 1846. He’sforty-one years of age, which is mature for marriage. Was Under-Secretary for the colonies in a late administration. The Duke, hisfather, was at one time Secretary for Foreign Affairs. They inheritPlantagenet blood by direct descent, and Tudor on the distaff side.
Ha! Well, there is nothing very instructive in all this. I think that Imust turn to you Watson, for something more solid.”
“I have very little difficulty in finding what I want,” said I, “forthe facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable.
I feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew that you hadan inquiry on hand and that you disliked the intrusion of othermatters.”
