The colonel still stared at my friend like a man in a trance. “Youcunning, cunning fiend!” was all that he could say.
“I have not introduced you yet,” said Holmes. “This, gentlemen,is Colonel Sebastian Moran, once of Her Majesty’s Indian Army,and the best heavy-game shot that our Eastern Empire has everproduced. I believe I am correct Colonel, in saying that your bagof tigers still remains unrivalled?”
The fierce old man said nothing, but still glared at mycompanion. With his savage eyes and bristling moustache he waswonderfully like a tiger himself.
“I wonder that my very simple stratagem could deceive so old aSHIKARI,” said Holmes. “It must be very familiar to you. Haveyou not tethered a young kid under a tree, lain above it with yourrifle, and waited for the bait to bring up your tiger? This emptyhouse is my tree, and you are my tiger. You have possibly hadother guns in reserve in case there should be several tigers, or inthe unlikely supposition of your own aim failing you. These,” hepointed around, “are my other guns. The parallel is exact.”
Colonel Moran sprang forward with a snarl of rage, but theconstables dragged him back. The fury upon his face was terribleto look at.
“I confess that you had one small surprise for me,” said Holmes.
“I did not anticipate that you would yourself make use of thisempty house and this convenient front window. I had imaginedyou as operating from the street, where my friend, Lestrade andhis merry men were awaiting you. With that exception, all hasgone as I expected.”
Colonel Moran turned to the official detective.
“You may or may not have just cause for arresting me,” said he,“but at least there can be no reason why I should submit to thegibes of this person. If I am in the hands of the law, let things bedone in a legal way.”
“Well, that’s reasonable enough,” said Lestrade. “Nothingfurther you have to say, Mr. Holmes, before we go?”
Holmes had picked up the powerful air-gun from the floor, andwas examining its mechanism.
“An admirable and unique weapon,” said he, “noiseless andof tremendous power: I knew Von Herder, the blind Germanmechanic, who constructed it to the order of the late ProfessorMoriarty. For years I have been aware of its existence though Ihave never before had the opportunity of handling it. I commendit very specially to your attention, Lestrade and also the bulletswhich fit it.”
“You can trust us to look after that, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade,as the whole party moved towards the door. “Anything further tosay?”
“Only to ask what charge you intend to prefer?”
“What charge, sir? Why, of course, the attempted murder of Mr.
Sherlock Holmes.”
“Not so, Lestrade. I do not propose to appear in the matter atall. To you, and to you only, belongs the credit of the remarkablearrest which you have effected. Yes, Lestrade, I congratulate you!
With your usual happy mixture of cunning and audacity, you havegot him.”
“Got him! Got whom, Mr. Holmes?”
“The man that the whole force has been seeking in vain—Colonel Sebastian Moran, who shot the Honourable RonaldAdair with an expanding bullet from an air-gun through the openwindow of the second-floor front of No. 427 Park Lane, upon thethirtieth of last month. That’s the charge, Lestrade. And now,Watson, if you can endure the draught from a broken window, Ithink that half an hour in my study over a cigar may afford yousome profitable amusement.”
Our old chambers had been left unchanged through the supervisionof Mycroft Holmes and the immediate care of Mrs. Hudson.
As I entered I saw, it is true, an unwonted tidiness, but the oldlandmarks were all in their place. There were the chemical cornerand the acid-stained, deal-topped table. There upon a shelf wasthe row of formidable scrap-books and books of reference whichmany of our fellow-citizens would have been so glad to burn. Thediagrams, the violin-case, and the pipe-rack—even the Persianslipper which contained the tobacco—all met my eyes as I glancedround me. There were two occupants of the room—one, Mrs.
Hudson, who beamed upon us both as we entered—the other,the strange dummy which had played so important a part in theevening’s adventures. It was a wax-coloured model of my friend, soadmirably done that it was a perfect facsimile. It stood on a smallpedestal table with an old dressing-gown of Holmes’s so drapedround it that the illusion from the street was absolutely perfect.
“I hope you observed all precautions, Mrs. Hudson?” saidHolmes.
“I went to it on my knees, sir, just as you told me.”
“Excellent. You carried the thing out very well. Did you observewhere the bullet went?”
“Yes, sir. I’m afraid it has spoilt your beautiful bust, for it passedright through the head and flattened itself on the wall. I picked itup from the carpet. Here it is!”
Holmes held it out to me. “A soft revolver bullet, as youperceive, Watson. There’s genius in that, for who would expect tofind such a thing fired from an airgun? All right, Mrs. Hudson. Iam much obliged for your assistance. And now, Watson, let me seeyou in your old seat once more, for there are several points whichI should like to discuss with you.”
He had thrown off the seedy frockcoat, and now he was theHolmes of old in the mouse-coloured dressing-gown which hetook from his effigy.
“The old SHIKARI’s nerves have not lost their steadiness, norhis eyes their keenness,” said he, with a laugh, as he inspected theshattered forehead of his bust.
“Plumb in the middle of the back of the head and smackthrough the brain. He was the best shot in India, and I expect thatthere are few better in London. Have you heard the name?”
“No, I have not.”
“Well, well, such is fame! But, then, if I remember right, youhad not heard the name of Professor James Moriarty, who had oneof the great brains of the century. Just give me down my index ofbiographies from the shelf.”
He turned over the pages lazily, leaning back in his chair andblowing great clouds from his cigar.
