The Complete Sherlock Holmes

answered. ‘It took longer, being out of the ordinary.’
They both stopped and looked 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 round her. Then she called a
cab and got in. I was lucky enough to get another
and so to follow her. She got down at last at No.
36, Poultney Square, Brixton. I drove past, left my
cab at the corner of 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 up
with two men in it. They descended, took something
out of the van, and carried it up the steps to
the hall door. Mr. Holmes, it was a coffin.”
“Ah!”
“For an instant I was on the point of rushing in.
The door had been opened to admit the men and
their burden. It was the woman who had opened
it. But as I stood there she caught a glimpse 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 a few words upon a half-sheet of paper.
“We can do nothing legal without a warrant, and
you can serve the cause best by taking this note
down to the authorities and getting one. There
may be some difficulty, but I should think that the
sale of the jewellery should be sufficient. Lestrade
will see to all details.”
“But they may murder her in the meanwhile.
What could the coffin mean, and for whom could
it be but for her?”
“We will do all that can be done, Mr. Green.
Not a moment will be lost. Leave it in our hands.
Now Watson,” he added as our client hurried
away, “he will set the regular forces on the move.
We are, as usual, the irregulars, and we must take
our own line of action. The situation strikes me as
so desperate that the most extreme measures are
justified. Not a moment is to be lost in getting to
Poultney Square.
“Let us try to reconstruct the situation,” said
he as we drove swiftly past the Houses of Parliament
and over Westminster Bridge. “These villains
have coaxed this unhappy lady to London, after
The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax
820
first alienating her from her faithful maid. If she
has written any letters they have been intercepted.
Through some confederate they have engaged a
furnished house. Once inside it, they have made
her a prisoner, and they have become possessed of
the valuable jewellery which has been their object
from the first. Already they have begun to sell part
of it, which seems safe enough to them, since they
have no reason to think that anyone is interested
in the lady’s fate. When she is released she will, of
course, denounce them. Therefore, she must not
be released. But they cannot keep her under lock
and key forever. So murder is their only solution.”
“That seems very clear.”
“Now we will take another line of reasoning.
When you follow two separate chains of thought,
Watson, you will find some point of intersection
which should approximate to the truth. We will
start now, not from the lady but from the coffin
and argue backward. That incident proves,
I fear, beyond all doubt that the lady is dead.
It points also to an orthodox burial with proper
accompaniment of medical certificate and official
sanction. Had the lady been obviously murdered,
they would have buried her in 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 in some way which has deceived the doctor
and simulated a natural end—poisoning, perhaps.
And yet how strange that they should ever let a
doctor approach her unless he were a confederate,
which is hardly a credible proposition.”
“Could they have forged a medical certificate?”
“Dangerous, Watson, very dangerous. No, I
hardly see them doing that. Pull up, cabby! This is
evidently the undertaker’s, for we have just passed
the pawnbroker’s. Would go in, Watson? Your appearance
inspires confidence. Ask what hour the
Poultney Square funeral takes place to-morrow.”
The woman in the shop answered me without
hesitation that it was to be at eight o’clock in the
morning. “You see, Watson, no mystery; everything
above-board! In some way the legal forms
have undoubtedly been complied with, and they
think that they have little to fear. Well, there’s
nothing for it now but a direct frontal attack. Are
you armed?”
“My stick!”
“Well, well, we shall be strong enough. ‘Thrice
is he armed who hath his quarrel just.’ We simply
can’t afford to wait for the police or 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 have occasionally in the past.”