A study in scarlet
"No, sir."
"Then let us go and look at the room." With which
inconsequent remark he strode on into the house, followed by Gregson, whose
features expressed his astonishment.
A short passage, bare planked and dusty, led to the kitchen
and offices. Two doors opened out of it to the left and to the right. One of
these had obviously been closed for many weeks. The other belonged to the
dining-room, which was the apartment in which the mysterious affair had
occurred. Holmes walked in, and I followed him with that subdued feeling at my
heart which the presence of death inspires.
It was a large square room, looking all the larger from the
absence of all furniture. A vulgar flaring paper adorned the walls, but it was
blotched in places with mildew, and here and there great strips had become
detached and hung down, exposing the yellow plaster beneath. Opposite the door
was a showy fireplace, surmounted by a mantelpiece of imitation white marble.
On one corner of this was stuck the stump of a red wax candle. The solitary
window was so dirty that the light was hazy and uncertain, giving a dull grey
tinge to everything, which was intensified by the thick layer of dust which
coated the whole apartment.
All these details I observed afterwards. At present my attention
was centred upon the single grim motionless figure which lay stretched upon the
boards, with vacant sightless eyes staring up at the discoloured ceiling. It
was that of a man about forty-three or forty-four years of age, middle-sized,
broad shouldered, with crisp curling black hair, and a short stubbly beard. He
was dressed in a heavy broadcloth frock coat and waistcoat, with light-coloured
trousers, and immaculate collar and cuffs. A top hat, well brushed and trim,
was placed upon the floor beside him. His hands were clenched and his arms
thrown abroad, while his lower limbs were interlocked as though his death
struggle had been a grievous one. On his rigid face there stood an expression
of horror, and as it seemed to me, of hatred, such as I have never seen upon
human features. This malignant and terrible contortion, combined with the low
forehead, blunt nose, and prognathous jaw gave the dead man a singularly
simious and ape-like appearance, which was increased by his writhing, unnatural
posture. I have seen death in many forms, but never has it appeared to me in a
more fearsome aspect than in that dark grimy apartment, which looked out upon
one of the main arteries of suburban London.
Lestrade, lean and ferret-like as ever, was standing by the
doorway, and greeted my companion and myself.
"This case will make a stir, sir," he remarked.
"It beats anything I have seen, and I am no chicken."
"There is no clue?" said Gregson.
"None at all," chimed in Lestrade.
Sherlock Holmes approached the body, and, kneeling down,
examined it intently. "You are sure that there is no wound?" he
asked, pointing to numerous gouts and splashes of blood which lay all round.
"Positive!" cried both detectives.
