Sherlock Holmes: A case of Identity
Originally published in The Strand Magazine in September 1891.
"My dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes, as we had been sitting on either side of the fire, in his lodgings, "life is stranger than anything which the man could invent. We would not care things of common place existence. If we could fly out of the window hand in hand, hover over the city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at queer things which are going on, the great coincidences, they would all make fiction."
"And yet I am not convinced of it," I answered. The cases, that the papers expose are bald and vulgur. We have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the result is neither fascinating nor artistic."
"A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realistic effect," said Holmes, "this is wanting in police reports."
I smiled and shook my head. "I can quite understand you thinking so," said I, picking up the morning paper from the ground. "Here is the first heading upon which I come. 'A husband's cruelty to his wife.' There is a half column print, but I know without reading it that it is all familiar to me. There is of course the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady, the crudest of journalists could invent nothing more crude." [1]
"Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument," said Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eyes down it. "This is Dundas seperation case, and as it happens, I was engaged in clearing up some small points in connection with it. The husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the conduct complained was that he has drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling them at his wife, which is not an action likely to occur to the imagination of average story teller. Take a pinch of snuff doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over you in your example."
He held out his snuff box of old gold with a great amethyst in the centre of the lid. Its splendor was in such contrast to his homely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting upon it.
"Ah," said he, "I forgot to tell you. It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my assistance in the case of Irene Adler."
"And the ring?" I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which sparkled upon his finger.
"It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in which I served them was such a delicacy that I cannot confide it even to you."
"And have you any on hand just now?" asked I.
"Some ten or twelve, but none of them are of any interest. But they are important. Though unimportant there is scope for observation and analysis which give charm to an investigation. The larger crimes are apt to be simpler, for the bigger crimes, more obvious is the motive. In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter, which has been referred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing which presents any interesting feature. It is possible, however, that I may have something better before long, for this is one of my clients."
He has risen from his chair, and was standing between the parted blinds, gazing down into neutral-tinted London street. Looking over his shoulder, I saw on the pavement opposite there stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was tilted in a Duchess-of-Devonshire [2] fashion over her ear. From under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at our windows, while her body oscillated backward and forward, and her fingers fidgetted with her glove buttons. Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer leaving the bank, she hurried accross the road, and we heard the sharp clang of bell.
"I have seen those symptoms before," said Holmes throwing his cigerette into the fire. "Oscillation upon the pavement always means an affair de coeur [3] She would like advice, but is not so sure that the matter is not too delicate for communication. And yet even here we may take it that there is a love matter, but that maiden is not so much angry as perplexed or grieved. But here she comes in person to resolve our doubts."
As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons [4] entered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself loomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed merchant man behind a tiny pilot-boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with the easy courtesy for which he is remarkable, and having closed the door, bowed her into an armchair, he looked her over in the minute, and yet abstracted fashion which was peculiar to him.
"Do you not find," he said, "that with your short sight it is little trying to do so much typewriting?"
"I did at first," she answered first, "but now I know where the letters are without looking. Then suddenly realising the full purport of his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear and astonishment upon her broad good humoured face. "You have heard about me, Mr Holmes," she cried, "else how could you know all that?"
"Never mind," said Mr Holmes, laughing, "it is my business to know things. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others overlook. If not why should you come to consult me?"
"I came to know of you from Mrs Etherege, whose husband you found so easy when the police had given up him for dead. Oh, Mr Holmes, I wish you would do as much for me. I am not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in my own right, besides the little I make by the machine, and I would give it all to know what has become of Mr Hosmer Angel."
"Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?" asked Sherlock Holmes, with his finger tips together, and his eyes to the ceiling.
Again a startled look came over the vacant face of Miss Mary Sutherland.
"Yes, I did bang out of the house," she said, "for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr Windibank, my father took it all. He would not go to the police, and he would not go to you, he would do nothing. And he says there is no harm in it. It made me mad, and I came right away to you."
"Your father," said Holmes, "your step father, surely, since the name is different."
"Yes, my step-father. I call him father, though it sounds funny, too, for he is only five years and two months older than myself."
"And your mother is alive?"
"Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr Holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death, and a man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father was a plumber in the Tottenham court Road, and he left a tidy business behind him, which mother carried on with Mr Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr Windibank came he made her sell the business, for he was very superior, being a traveller in wines. They got 4700 pounds for the goodwill and interest which wasn't near as much as father could have got if he had been alive."
Sherlock Holmes listened to this narrative with great attention.
"You own the little income," he asked, "does it come out of the business?"
"Oh no, sir. It is quite separate, and was left me by my uncle Ned in Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying four and a half per cent. Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can only touch the interest."
"You interest me extremely," said Holmes. "And since you draw a so large a sum, you travel and indulge yourself in every way. I think a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about 60 pounds."
"I could do with much less than that, Mr Holmes, but you understand that as long as I live at home I don't wish to be a burden to them, and so they have the use of money just while I am staying with them. Of course that is only just for the time. Mr Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it over to mother, and I find I can do pretty well with what I earn at typewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can do fifteen to twenty sheet a day."
"You have made your position very clear to me," said Holmes. "This is my friend Doctor Watson before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Now kindly tell us about your connection with Mr Hosmer Angel."
A flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face, and she picked nervously at the fringe of her jacket.
"I met him first at the gasfitter's ball. They used to send father tickets when he was alive. And then afterwards they remembered us, and sent them to mother. Mr Windibank did not wish us to go. He never did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I wanted so much as to join a Sunday school treat. But this time I was set on going, and I would go; for what right he had to prevent? He said the folk were not fit for us to know, all father's friends were to be there. And he said that I had nothing fit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never taken out of the drawer. At last when nothing else would do, he went off to France for business of the firm, but we went, mother and I with Mr Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it was there I met Mr Hosmer Angel."
"I suppose," said Holmes, "when Mr Windibank came back from France he was very annoyed at your having gone to ball."
"Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember, and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denying anything to a woman, for she would have her way."
"I see. And then after gasfitter's ball you met, as I understand, a gentleman called Mr Hosmer Angel."
"Yes sir," I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if we had got home all safe, and after that we met him --- that is to say Mr Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after that father came back again, and Hosmer Angel coul not come to the house any more."
"No?"
"Well, you know, father didn't like anything of the sort. We wouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But then, I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to begin with, and I had not got mine yet."
"But, how about Mr Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt to see you?"
"Well, father is going off again to France, in a week, and Hosmer wrote that it would be safer and better not to see each other until he had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he used to write every day. I took the letters in the morning, and there was no need for the father to know."
"Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?"
"Ho yes, Mr Holmes. We were engaged after the first week we took. Hosmer --Mr Angel was a cashier in an office in Leadenhall street and ---"
"What office?"
"That I don't know."
"Where did he live, then?"
"He slept on the premises."
"And you don't know his address?"
"No. Except that it was Leadenhall."
"Where did you address your letters, then?"
"To the Leadenhall street post office, to be left till called for." He said that if they were sent to the office, he would be chaffed by all other about having letters from a lady, so I have offered to typewrite them, like he did his."
"It was most suggestive," said Holmes. "It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important. Can you remember any other little things about Mr Hosmer Angel?"
" He was a very shy man, Mr Holmes. He would rather walk with me in the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to be conspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he was. Even his voice was gentle. He's had the quinsy and swollen glands [5] when he was young, he told me, and it had left him with weak throat, and a hesitating whispering fashion of speech. He is always well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes are weak, just as mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare."
"Well, and what happened when Windibank, your stepfather returned to France?"
"Mr Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that we should marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnest, and made me swear, with my hands on the Testament, that whatever happened I would always be true to him. Mother said he was quite right to make me swear, and that it was a sign of passion. Mother was all in his favour from the first, and was even fonder of him than I was. Then, when they talked of marrying within the week, I began to ask about the father, but they both said never to mind about father, but just tell him afterwards, and mother said she would take it all right with him. I didn't quite like that, Mr Holmes. So I wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the company has its French offices, but the letter came back to me the very morning of the wedding."
"It missed, then?"
"Yes, sir; for he had started to England just before it arrived."
"Ha! That was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then, for the Friday. Was it to be in church?"
"Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St Saviour's, near King's Cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the St Pancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were two of us, he put us both into it, and stepped himself into a four-wheeler, which happened to be the only cab in the street. We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler drove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and when the cabman got down from the box and looked, there was no one there! The cabman said that he could not imagine what had become of him, for he had seen him get in with his own eyes. That was last Friday, Mr Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything since then to throw any light upon what became of him."
"It seems to me that you have been shamefully treated," said Holmes.
"Oh no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, all the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to be true; and even if something quite unforeseen occurred to separate us I was always to remember that I was pledged to him, and that he would claim his pledge sooner and later. It seemed strange to talk for a wedding morning; but what has happened since gives a meaning to it."
"Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is then, that some unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?"
"Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, else he would not have talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw happened."
"But you have no notion as to what it could have been?"
"None."
"One more question. How did your mother take the matter?"
"She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the matter again."
"And your father? did you tell him?"
"Yes; he seemed to think that something had happened, and that I should hear of Hosmer again."
"I shall glance into your case," said Holmes, rising; "and I have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. Let the weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind dwell upon it further. Above all, try to let Mr Hosmer Angel vanish from your memory, as he has vanished from your life."
"And you don't think I will see him again?"
"I fear not."
"Then, what has happened to him?"
"Leave that question to me. I should like an accurate description of him, any letters of which you can spare."
"I have advertised for him in last Saturday's Chronicle" said she. "Here is the clip, and here are the four letters"
"Thank you, and your address?"
"No.31 Lyon Palace Camberwell."
"Mr Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is your father's place of business?"
"He travels for Westhouse and Marbank, the great claret importers of Fenchurch Street."
"Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given you. Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it to affect your life."
"You are very kind, Mr Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be true to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back."
For all the foolish hat and the vacant face, there was something noble in her noble faith which compelled our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon the table, and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever summoned.
Sherlock Holmes sat silently for a few minutes with his finger tips pressed together, his legs stretched out and his gaze directed to the ceiling. He took his pipe and lit it, leaned back in his chair; the thick blue smoke curling upward.
"Quite interesting," he observed. "I found her more interesting than her problem. You will find parallel cases if you consult my index."
"You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisible to me."
"Not invisible, but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know where to look, and so you missed all that was important. Now what did you gather from the woman's appearance?"
"Well, she had a slate coloured, broad brimmed straw hat, with a feather of brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beads sewen upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were grayish and were worn through at the right forefinger. Her boots I didn't observe. She had small round hanging gold ear rings, and a general air of being well to do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy going way."
Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly, and chuckled.
"Upon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have hit upon the method, though you have missed some important points. You have a quick eye for colour. As you observe she had a plush upon her sleeves, which is a most useful material for showing traces. The double line little above the wrist, where the typist presses against the table was beautifully defined. The sewing machine of the hand type leaves similar marks, but only on the left arm, and the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the broadest part, as this was. Then, at her face, the dint of a pince nez at either side of the nose is the mark of spectacles for short-sight."
"It surprised me."
"The boots which she was wearing," continued Holmes, "were not unlike each other, they were really odd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe cap, and the other a plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower buttons out of five, and the other at the first, third and fifth. She was otherwise neatly dressed, has come away from home in a hurry with odd boots and half buttoned."
"And what else?" I asked with keen interest.
"She had written a note before leaving home, but after being fully dressed. Her right glove was torn at the forfinger. But the both gloves and fingers were stained with violet ink. She had written in a hurry, that caused to dip the pen deeply. It must have been this morning, because the mark is bright and clear upon the fingers."
"Now, let us come to the description of Hosmer Angel as given in the advertisement," said Holmes handing over the clip to me.
I held the little printed slip to the light, and read the contents:
"Missing. On the morning of the 14th, a gentleman named Hosmer Angel. About 5ft. 7 in. height; strongly built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy black side whiskers and mustach; tinted glasses, slight infirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen, in black frock coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and gray Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots, known to have been employed in an office in Leadenhall street. Anybody bringing," etc., etc.
"That will do," said Holmes. "As to the letter, they are common place. No clue in them to Mr Hosmer Angel. There is one remarkable point, which will no doubt strike you."
"They are typewritten," I remarked.
"Not only that, the signature too. Look at the neat little 'Hosmer Angel' at the bottom. There is a date. But the address is in complete, only Leadenhall street. The point about the signature is suggestive -- in fact, we may call it conclusive."
"Of what?"
"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon the case?"
"I cannot say. Perhaps he may deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were instituted."
"No. That is not the point. However, I shall write two letters, which should settle the matter. One is a firm in the city, and the other is the young lady's step-father, Mr Windibank, asking him whether he could meet us here at six o'clock in the evening. Until the answers to those letters come, we will put our little problem upon the shelf."
I left him then, with the hope that by the next evening, he would bring the identity of Miss Miss Mary Sutherland's bridegroom.
I was busy with my profession the next day, but as soon as I was free by six o'clock I sprang into a hansom and drove to Baker street. I found Sherlock Holmes alone in his armchair. A formidable array of bottles and test-tubes with the punget smell told me that he had spent his days in the chemical work which was so dear to him.
"Well, have you solved it?" I asked as I entered.
"Yes. It was a bisulphate of baryta."
"No, no, the mystery!" I cried.
Oh, that! I thought of the salt I have been working upon. There was no mystery in the matter, though, as I said yesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawback is that there is no law, I fear, that can touch the scoundrel."
"Who was he then, what was his object?"
The question was hardly out of my mouth, when we heard a heavy footfall in the passage, and a tap at the door.
"This is the girl's step-father, Mr James Windibank," said Holmes. "He has written to me to say that he would be here at six. Come in!"
A sturdy, middle sized fellow, some thirty years of age, clean shaven and sallow skinned, with a bland insinuating manner and a pair of wonderfully sharp, penetrating gray eyes, entered. He shot a questioning glance at each of us, placed his shiny top hat upon the sideboard, and with a slight bow, sidled down into the nearest chair.
"Good evening, Mr James Windibank," said Mr Holmes. "I think that this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment with me."
"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite my own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has troubled you about this little matter, for I think it is far better not to wash linen of the sort in public. It was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable, impulsive girl as you might have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I did not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the official police, but it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised abroad. Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you find this Hosmer Angel?"
"On the contrary," said Holmes, quietly, I have every reason to believe that I will succeed in discovering Mr Hosmer Angel."
Mr Windibank gave a violent start, and dropped his gloves. "I am delighted to hear it," he said.
"It is a curious thing," remarked Holmes, "that a typewriter has really quite as much individuality as a man's handwriting. Unless they are quite new no two of them write exactly alike. Some letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one side. Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr Windibank, that in every case there is some little slurring over the 'e', and a slight defect in the tail of the 'r.' There are fourteen other charecteristics, but those are more obvious."
"We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office, and no doubt it is a little worn," our visitor returned, glancing keenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes.
"And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study, Mr Windibank," Holmes continued. "I think of writing another little monograph some of these days on the typewriter and its relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted some little attention. I have here four letters which purported to have come from the missing man. They are all typewritten. In each case, not only are the 'e's slurred and the 'r's tailless, but you will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lense, that the fourteen other characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well."
Mr Windibank sprang out of his chair, and picked up his hat. I cannot waste time over this kind of fantastic talk, Mr Holmes," he said. "If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know when you have done it."
"Certainly," said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in the door. "I let you know then, that I have caught him!"
"What! Where?" shouted Mr Windibank, turning white to his lips, and glancing about him like a rat in a trap.
"Oh, it won't do --- really it won't do," said Holmes, sauvely. There is no possible getting out of it, Mr Windibank. It is quite too transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that it was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That's right! Sit down and let us talk over."
Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face, and a glitter of moisture on his brow. "It -- it's not actionable," he stammered.
"I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves, Mr Windibank, it was cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a petty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the course of events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong."
The man huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his breast, like one who is utterly crushed.
"The man married a woman very much older than himself for her money, said Holmes, "and he enjoyed the use of the money of the daughter as long as she lived with them. It was a considerable sum, for the people in their position, and the loss of it would have made a serious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it. The daughter was of a good amiable disposition, but affectionate and warm in her ways, so that it was evident that with her fair personal advantages and her little income, she would not remain single long. Her marriage would mean the loss of a hundred a year, and what does her stepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course of keeping her at home, and forbidding her to seek the company of people of her own age. Soon he found that it is not an answer for ever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights, announced her intention of going to certain ball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives an idea more creditable to his head than to his heart. With the connivance and assistance of his wife, he disguised himself, covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with a mustach and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that clear voice into an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the girl's short-sight, appears himself as Mr Hosmer Angel, and keeps off her other lovers by making love himself."
"It was only a joke at first," groaned our visitor. "We never thought she would have been so carried away."
"Very likely not. However, she was carried away. Since she thought you were in France, she was not aware of your treachery. There were meetings and engagements to embellish the drama. She was flattered by the gentleman's attentions, and the effect was increased by the admiration of her mother. But the drama must have an end. And the end must have an everlasting impression in the girl's mind, to prevent her from looking upon another suitor. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and hence also the allusions to possibility of something happening on the morning of the wedding. As far as the church door he brought her, and then, as he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished away by the trick of stepping in at one door of a four-wheeler, and out at the other. That was the chain of events, Mr Windibank!"
The visitor had recovered something of his self, while Holmes had been talking, and now he rose from his chair with a cold sneer upon his pale face.
"It may be so, or it may not, Mr Holmes," said he, but if you are so sharp, you ought to be sharp enough to know, that it is you, who are breaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothing actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door locked, you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal constraint."
"The law cannot, as you say, touch you," said Holmes, unlocking and throwing open the door, "yet there never was a man who deserved punishment more. If the young lady had a brother, he ought to lay whip across your shoulders."
There was bitter sneer upon the man's face. "By Jove! It is not part of my duties to my client, but there's a hunting crop handy, and I think I shall just treat myself to --" He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he could grasp it, there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavy hall door banged, and from the window we could see Mr James Windibank running at the top of his speed down the road.
End of the Story
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[1].This was at the infancy of democracy. Now it has again fallen to the same level.
[2]. Georgiana Cavendish Duches of Devonshire was an English aristocrat.
[3]. Affair de coeur: love affair
[4]. A boy in buttons: a boy servent in livery.
[5]. Quinsy and Swollen glands: Peritonsillar abscess, an infection behind tonsils
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