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back as rich colonials to England, and we bought
country estates. For more than twenty years we have
led peaceful and useful lives, and we hoped that our
past was forever buried. Imagine, then, my feelings
when in the seaman who came to us I recognized
instantly the man who had been picked off the wreck.
He had tracked us down somehow, and had set himself to
live upon our fears. You will understand now how it
was that I strove to keep the peace with him, and you
will in some measure sympathize with me in the fears
which fill me, now that he has gone from me to his
other victim with threats upon his tongue.'

"Underneath is written in a hand so shaky as to be
hardly legible, 'Beddoes writes in cipher to say H.
Has told all. Sweet Lord, have mercy on our souls!'


"That was the narrative which I read that night to
young Trevor, and I think, Watson, that under the
circumstances it was a dramatic one. The good fellow
was heart-broken at it, and went out to the Terai tea
planting, where I hear that he is doing well. As to
the sailor and Beddoes, neither of them was ever heard
of again after that day on which the letter of warning
was written. They both disappeared utterly and
completely. No complaint had been lodged with the
police, so that Beddoes had mistaken a threat for a
deed. Hudson had been seen lurking about, and it was
believed by the police that he had done away with
Beddoes and had fled. For myself I believe that the
truth was exactly the opposite. I think that it is
most probable that Beddoes, pushed to desperation and
believing himself to have been already betrayed, had
revenged himself upon Hudson, and had fled from the
country with as much money as he could lay his hands
on. Those are the facts of the case, Doctor, and if
they are of any use to your collection, I am sure that
they are very heartily at your service."



Adventure V


The Musgrave Ritual


An anomaly which often struck me in the character of
my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his
methods of thought he was the neatest and most
methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a
certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less
in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that
ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I
am in the least conventional in that respect myself.
The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on
the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition, has
made me rather more lax than befits a medical man.
But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who
keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in
the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered
correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the
very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to
give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too,
that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air
pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors,
would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a

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