"'I will tell you how Morstan died,' he continued.'He had suffered for years from a weak heart, but he concealed it from every one.I alone knew it.When in India, he and I, through a remarkable chain of circumstances, came into possession of a considerable treasure.I brought it over to England, and on the night of Morstan's arrival he came straight over here to claim his share.He walked over from the station, and was admitted by my faithful Lal Chowdar, who is now dead.Morstan and I had a difference of opinion as to the division of the treasure, and we came to heated words.Morstan had sprung out of his chair in a paroxy** of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand to his side, his face turned a dusky hue, and he fell backwards, cutting his head against the corner of the treasure-chest.When I stooped over him I found, to my horror, that he was dead.
"'For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what I should do.
My first impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but I could not but recognize that there was every chance that I would be accused of his murder.His death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in his head, would be black against me.Again, an official inquiry could not be made without bringing out some facts about the treasure, which I was particularly anxious to keep secret.He had told me that no soul upon earth knew where he had gone.There seemed to be no necessity why any soul ever should know.
"'I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking up, I saw my servant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway.He stole in and bolted the door behind him."Do not fear, Sahib," he said."No one need know that you have killed him.Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?" "I did not kill him," said I.Lal Chowdar shook his head and smiled."I heard it all, Sahib," said he."I heard you quarrel, and I heard the blow.But my lips are sealed.All are asleep in the house.Let us put him away together." That was enough to decide met.If my own servant could not believe my innocence, how could I hope to make it good before twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and I disposed of the body that night, and within a few days the London papers were full of the mysterious disappearance of Captain Morstan.You will see from what I say that I can hardly be blamed in the matter.My fault lies in the fact that we concealed not only the body, but also the treasure, and that I have clung to Morstan's share as well as to my own.I wish you, therefore, to make restitution.Put your ears down to my mouth.The treasure is hidden in--' At this instant a horrible change came over his expression; his eyes stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled, in a voice which I can never forget, 'Keep him out! For Christ's sake keep him out!' We both stared round at the window behind us upon which his gaze was fixed.A face was looking in at us out of the darkness.We could see the whitening of the nose where it was pressed against the glass.It was a bearded, hairy face, with wild cruel eyes and an expression of concentrated malevolence.My brother and I rushed towards the window, but the man was gone.When we returned to my father his head had dropped and his pulse had ceased to beat.
"We searched the garden that night, but found no sign of the intruder, save that just under the window a single footmark was visible in the flower-bed.But for that one trace, we might have thought that our imaginations had conjured up that wild, fierce face.We soon, however, had another and a more striking proof that there were secret agencies at work all round us.The window of my father's room was found open in the morning, his cupboards and boxes had been rifled, and upon his chest was fixed a torn piece of paper, with the words 'The sign of the four' scrawled across it.What the phrase meant, or who our secret visitor may have been, we never knew.As far as we can judge, none of my father's property had been actually stolen, though everything had been turned out.My brother and I naturally associated this peculiar incident with the fear which haunted my father during his life; but it is still a complete mystery to us."The little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffed thoughtfully for a few moments.We had all sat absorbed, listening to his extraordinary narrative.At the short account of her father's death Miss Morstan had turned deadly white, and for a moment I feared that she was about to faint.She rallied however, on drinking a glass of water which I quietly poured out for her from a Venetian carafe upon the side-table.Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair with an abstracted expression and the lids drawn low over his glittering eyes.As I glanced at him I could not but think how on that very day he had complained bitterly of the commonplaceness of life.Here at least was a problem which would tax his sagacity to the utmost.Mr.Thaddeus Sholto looked from one to the other of us with an obvious pride at the effect which his story had produced, and then continued between the puffs of his overgrown pipe.
