THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE – BY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE – PART XII “It is our French gold,” whispered the director. “We have had several warnings that an attempt might be made upon it.” “Your French gold?” “Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources, and borrowed, for that purpose, thirty thousand napoleons from the Bank of France. It has become known that we have never had occasion to unpack the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The crate upon which I sit contains two thousand napoleons packed between layers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is much longer at present than is usually kept in a single branch office, and the directors have had misgivings upon the subject.” “Which were very well justified,” observed Holmes. “And now it is time that we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an hour matters will come to a head. In the meantime, Mr. Merry-weather, we must put the screen over that dark lantern.” “And sit in the dark?” “I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and I thought that, as we were a partie carrée, you might have your rubber after all. But I see that the enemy’s preparations have gone so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light. And, first of all, we must choose our positions. These are daring men, and, though we shall take at a disadvantage they may do us some harm, unless we are careful. I shall stand behind this crate, and do you conceal yourself behind those. Then, when I flash a light upon them, close in swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no compunction about shooting them down.” I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behind which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front of his lantern, and left us in pitch darkness – such an absolute darkness as I have never before experienced. The smell of hot metal remained to assure us that the light was still there, ready to flash out at a moment’s notice. To me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air of the vault.”They have but one retreat,” whispered Holmes. “That is back through the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that I hope that you have done what I asked you, Jones?” “I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door.” “Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent and wait.” What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but an hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must have almost gone, and the dawn breaking above us. My limbs were weary and stiff, for I feared to change my position, yet my nerves were worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my hearing was so acute that I could not only hear the gentle breathing of my companions, but I could distinguish the deeper, heavier in-breath of the bulky Jones from the thin sighing note of the bank director. From my position I could look over the case in the direction of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light. At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then it lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared, a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the centre of the little area of light. For a minute or more the hand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark again save the single lurid spark, which marked a chink between the stones. Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending, tearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon its side, and left a square, gaping hole, through which streamed the light of a lantern. Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish face, which looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand on either side of the aperture, drew itself shoulder high and waist high, until one knee rested upon the edge. In another instant he stood at the side of the hole, and was hauling after him a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face and a shock of very red hair. “It’s all clear,” he whispered. “Have you the chisel, and the bags. Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I’ll swing for it!” Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the collar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of rending cloth as Jones clutched at his skirts. The light flashed upon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes’s hunting-crop came down on the man’s wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stone floor. “it’ no use, John Clay,” said Holmes blandly; “you have no change at all.” “So I see,” the other answered with the utmost coolness. “I fancy that my pal is all right, though I see you have got his coat-tails.” “There are three men waiting for him at the door,” said Holmes. “Oh, indeed. You seem to have done the thing very completely. I must compliment you.” “And I you,” Holmes answered. “Your red-headed idea was very new and effective.” “You’ll see your pal again presently,” said Jones. “He’s quicker at climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix the derbies.” “I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,” remarked our prisoner, as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists. “You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have the goodness also when you address me always to say ‘sir’ and ‘please.’” “All right,” said Jones, with a stare and a snigger. “Well, would you pleased, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry your highness to the police station.” “That is better,” said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping of us, and bow to the three of us, and walked quietly off in the custody of the detective. “Really, Mr. Holmes,” said Merry-weather, as we followed them from the cellar, “I do not know how the bank can thank you or repay you. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated in the most complete manner one of the most determined attempts at bank robbery that ever come within my experience.” “I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr. John Clay,” said Holmes. “I have been at some small expense over this matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond that I am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in many ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of the Red-headed League.” GLOSSARY: com•punc•tion (k m-p ngk sh n) n. = 1. A strong uneasiness caused by a sense of guilt. Foil = (often in combination) metal beaten or rolled into very thin paper-like sheets Misgiving [mɪsˈgɪvɪŋ] n (often plural) = a feeling of uncertainty, apprehension, or doubt Partie carrée = (here) a group of 4 people
Posted on: Fri, 20 Sep 2013 02:50:51 +0000
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