It is not reasonable to suppose that every one of these casesgave Holmes the opportunity of showing those curious gifts ofinstinct and observation which I have endeavoured to set forth inthese memoirs. Sometimes he had with much effort to pick thefruit, sometimes it fell easily into his lap. But the most terriblehuman tragedies were often involved in those cases which broughthim the fewest personal opportunities, and it is one of these whichnow desire to record. In telling it, I have made a slight change ofname and place, but otherwise the facts are as stated.
One forenoon—it was late in 1896—I received a hurried notefrom Holmes asking for my attendance. When I arrived I foundhim seated in a smoke-laden atmosphere, with an elderly, motherlywoman of the buxom landlady type in the corresponding chair infront of him.
“This is Mrs. Merrilow, of South Brixton,” said my friend withwave of the hand. “Mrs. Merrilow does not object to tobacco,Watson, if you wish to indulge your filthy habits. Mrs. Merrilowhas an interesting story to tell which may well lead to furtherdevelopments in which your presence may be useful.”
“Anything I can do——”
“You will understand, Mrs. Merrilow, that if I come to Mrs.
Ronder I should prefer to have a witness. You will make herunderstand that before we arrive.”
“Lord bless you, Mr. Holmes,” said our visitor, “she is thatanxious to see you that you might bring the whole parish at yourheels!”
“Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let us see that wehave our facts correct before we start. If we go over them it willhelp Dr. Watson to understand the situation. You say that Mrs.
Ronder has been your lodger for seven years and that you haveonly once seen her face.”
The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes 1379
“And I wish to God I had not!” said Mrs. Merrilow.
“It was, I understand, terribly mutilated.”
“Well, Mr. Holmes, you would hardly say it was a face at all.
That’s how it looked. Our milkman got a glimpse of her oncepeeping out of the upper window, and he dropped his tin and themilk all over the front garden. That is the kind of face it is. WhenI saw her—I happened on her unawares—she covered up quick,and then she said, ‘Now, Mrs. Merrilow, you know at last why it isthat I never raise my veil.’ ”
“Do you know anything about her history?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Did she give references when she came?”
“No, sir, but she gave hard cash, and plenty of it. A quarter’s rentright down on the table in advance and no arguing about terms.
In these times a poor woman like me can’t afford to turn down achance like that.”
“Did she give any reason for choosing your house?”
“Mine stands well back from the road and is more private thanmost. Then, again, I only take the one, and I have no family of myown. I reckon she had tried others and found that mine suited herbest. It’s privacy she is after, and she is ready to pay for it.”
“You say that she never showed her face from first to last saveon the one accidental occasion. Well, it is a very remarkable story,most remarkable, and I don’t wonder that you want it examined.”
“I don’t, Mr. Holmes. I am quite satisfied so long as I get myrent. You could not have a quieter lodger, or one who gives lesstrouble.”
“Then what has brought matters to a head?”
“Her health, Mr. Holmes. She seems to be wasting away. Andthere’s something terrible on her mind. ‘Murder!’ she cries.
‘Murder!’ And once I heard her: ‘You cruel beast! You monster!’ shecried. It was in the night, and it fair rang through the house andsent the shivers through me. So I went to her in the morning. ‘Mrs.
Ronder,’ I says, ‘if you have anything that is troubling your soul,there’s the clergy,’ I says, ‘and there’s the police. Between them youshould get some help.’ ‘For God’s sake, not the police!’ says she, ‘andthe clergy can’t change what is past. And yet,’ she says, ‘it wouldease my mind if someone knew the truth before I died.’ ‘Well,’ says I,‘if you won’t have the regulars, there is this detective man what weread about’ —beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Holmes. And she, she fairjumped at it. ‘That’s the man,’ says she. ‘I wonder I never thought ofit before. Bring him here, Mrs. Merrilow, and if he won’t come, tellhim I am the wife of Ronder’s wild beast show. Say that, and givehim the name Abbas Parva. Here it is as she wrote it, Abbas Parva.
‘That will bring him if he’s the man I think he is.’
The Complete Sherlock Holmes
“And it will, too,” remarked Holmes. “Very good, Mrs. Merrilow.
should like to have a little chat with Dr. Watson. That will carryus till lunch-time. About three o’clock you may expect to see us atyour house in Brixton.”
Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the room—no otherverb can describe Mrs. Merrilow’s method of progression—thanSherlock Holmes threw himself with fierce energy upon the pile ofcommonplace books in the corner. For a few minutes there was aconstant swish of the leaves, and then with a grunt of satisfactionhe came upon what he sought. So excited was he that he did notrise, but sat upon the floor like some strange Buddha, with crossedlegs, the huge books all round him, and one open upon his knees.
“The case worried me at the time, Watson. Here are mymarginal notes to prove it. I confess that I could make nothing ofit. And yet I was convinced that the coroner was wrong. Have youno recollection of the Abbas Parva tragedy?”
“None, Holmes.”
“And yet you were with me then. But certainly my own impressionwas very superficial. For there was nothing to go by, and none ofthe parties had engaged my services. Perhaps you would care toread the papers?”
“Could you not give me the points?”
