THE COMPLETE SHERLOCK HOLMES

                         ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES


                             THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS

WHEN I glance over my notes and records of the Sherlock Holmes cases between
the years '82 and '90, I am faced by so many which present strange and
interesting features that it is no easy matter to know which to choose and
which to leave.  Some, however, have already gained publicity through the
papers, and others have not offered a field for those peculiar qualities which
my friend possessed in so high a degree, and which it is the object of these
papers to illustrate.  Some, too, have baffled his analytical skill, and would
be, as narratives, beginnings without an ending, while others have been but
partially cleared up, and have their explanations founded rather upon
conjecture and surmise than on that absolute logical proof which was so dear
to him.  There is, however, one of these last which was so remarkable in its
details and so startling in its results that I am tempted to give some account
of it in spite of the fact that there are points in connection with it which
never have been, and probably never will be, entirely cleared up.
     The year '87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greater or less
interest, of which I retain the records.  Among my headings under this one
twelve months I find an account of the adventure of the Paradol Chamber, of
the Amateur Mendicant Society, who held a luxurious club in the lower vault of
a furniture warehouse, of the facts connected with the loss of the British
bark Sophy Anderson, of the singular adventures of the Grice Patersons in the
island of Uffa, and finally of the Camberwell poisoning case.  In the latter,
as may be remembered, Sherlock Holmes was able, by winding up the dead man's
watch, to prove that it had been wound up two hours before, and that therefore
the deceased had gone to bed within that time--a deduction which was of the
greatest importance in clearing up the case.  All these I may sketch out at
some future date, but none of them present such singular features as the
strange train of circumstances which I have now taken up my pen to describe.
     It was in the latter days of September, and the equinoctial gales had set
in with exceptional violence.  All day the wind had screamed and the rain had
beaten against the windows, so that even here in the heart of great, hand-made
London we were forced to raise our minds for the instant from the routine of
life, and to recognize the presence of those great elemental forces which
shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilization, like untamed beasts in
a cage.  As evening drew in, the storm grew higher and louder, and the wind
cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney.  Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at
one side of the fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime, while I at the
other was deep in one of Clark Russell's fine sea-stories until the howl of
the gale from without seemed to blend with the text, and the splash of the
rain to lengthen out into the long swash of the sea waves.  My wife was on a
visit to her mother's, and for a few days I was a dweller once more in my old
quarters at Baker Street.
     "Why," said I, glancing up at my companion, "that was surely the bell.
Who could come to-night?  Some friend of yours, perhaps?"
     "Except yourself I have none," he answered.  "I do not encourage
visitors."
     "A client, then?"
     "If so, it is a serious case.  Nothing less would bring a man out on such
a day and at such an hour.  But I take it that it is more likely to be some
crony of the landlady's."
     Sherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for there came a
step in the passage and a tapping at the door.  He stretched out his long arm
to turn the lamp away from himself and towards the vacant chair upon which a
newcomer must sit.  "Come in!" said he.
     The man who entered was young, some two-and-twenty at the outside,
well-groomed and trimly clad, with something of refinement and delicacy in his
bearing.  The streaming umbrella which he held in his hand, and his long
shining waterproof told of the fierce weather through which he had come.  He
looked about him anxiously in the glare of the lamp, and I could see that his
face was pale and his eyes heavy, like those of a man who is weighed down with
some great anxiety.
     "I owe you an apology," he said, raising his golden pince-nez to his
eyes.  "I trust that I am not intruding.  I fear that I have brought some
traces of the storm and rain into your snug chamber."
     "Give me your coat and umbrella," said Holmes.  "They may rest here on
the hook and will be dry presently.  You have come up from the south-west, I
see."
     "Yes, from Horsham."
     "That clay and chalk mixture which I see upon your toe caps is quite
distinctive."
     "I have come for advice."
     "That is easily got."
     "And help."
     "That is not always so easy."
     "I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes.  I heard from Major Prendergast how you
saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal."
     "Ah, of course.  He was wrongfully accused of cheating at cards."
     "He said that you could solve anything."
     "He said too much."
     "That you are never beaten."
     "I have been beaten four times--three times by men, and once by a woman."
     "But what is that compared with the number of your successes?"
     "It is true that I have been generally successful."
     "Then you may be so with me."
     "I beg that you will draw your chair up to the fire and favour me with
some details as to your case."
     "It is no ordinary one."
     "None of those which come to me are.  I am the last court of appeal."
     "And yet I question, sir, whether, in all your experience, you have ever
listened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of events than those
which have happened in my own family."
     "You fill me with interest," said Holmes.  "Pray give us the essential
facts from the commencement, and I can afterwards question you as to those
details which seem to me to be most important."
     The young man pulled his chair up and pushed his wet feet out towards the
blaze.
     "My name," said he, "is John Openshaw, but my own affairs have, as far as
I can understand, little to do with this awful business.  It is a hereditary
matter; so in order to give you an idea of the facts, I must go back to the
commencement of the affair.
     "You must know that my grandfather had two sons--my uncle Elias and my
father Joseph.  My father had a small factory at Coventry, which he enlarged
at the time of the invention of bicycling.  He was a patentee of the Openshaw
unbreakable tire, and his business met with such success that he was able to
sell it and to retire upon a handsome competence.
     "My uncle Elias emigrated to America when he was a young man and became a
planter in Florida, where he was reported to have done very well.  At the time
of the war he fought in Jackson's army, and afterwards under Hood, where he
rose to be a colonel.  When Lee laid down his arms my uncle returned to his
plantation, where he remained for three or four years.  About 1869 or 1870 he
came back to Europe and took a small estate in Sussex, near Horsham.  He had
made a very considerable fortune in the States, and his reason for leaving
them was his aversion to the negroes, and his dislike of the Republican policy
in extending the franchise to them.  He was a singular man, fierce and
quick-tempered, very foul-mouthed when he was angry, and of a most retiring
disposition.  During all the years that he lived at Horsham, I doubt if ever
he set foot in the town.  He had a garden and two or three fields round his
house, and there he would take his exercise, though very often for weeks on
end he would never leave his room.  He drank a great deal of brandy and smoked
very heavily, but he would see no society and did not want any friends, not
even his own brother.
     "He didn't mind me; in fact, he took a fancy to me, for at the time when
he saw me first I was a youngster of twelve or so.  This would be in the year
1878, after he had been eight or nine years in England.  He begged my father
to let me live with him, and he was very kind to me in his way.  When he was
sober he used to be fond of playing backgammon and draughts with me, and he
would make me his representative both with the servants and with the
tradespeople, so that by the time that I was sixteen I was quite master of the
house.  I kept all the keys and could go where I liked and do what I liked, so
long as I did not disturb him in his privacy.  There was one singular
exception, however, for he had a single room, a lumber-room up among the
attics, which was invariably locked, and which he would never permit either me
or anyone else to enter.  With a boy's curiosity I have peeped through the
keyhole, but I was never able to see more than such a collection of old trunks
and bundles as would be expected in such a room.
     "One day--it was in March, 1883--a letter with a foreign stamp lay upon
the table in front of the colonel's plate.  It was not a common thing for him
to receive letters, for his bills were all paid in ready money, and he had no
friends of any sort.  'From India!' said he as he took it up, 'Pondicherry
postmark!  What can this be?'  Opening it hurriedly, out there jumped five
little dried orange pips, which pattered down upon his plate.  I began to
laugh at this, but the laugh was struck from my lips at the sight of his face.
His lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his skin the colour of putty,
and he glared at the envelope which he still held in his trembling hand, 'K.
K. K.!' he shrieked, and then, 'My God, my God, my sins have overtaken me!'
     "'What is it, uncle?' I cried.
     "'Death,' said he, and rising from the table he retired to his room,
leaving me palpitating with horror.  I took up the envelope and saw scrawled
in red ink upon the inner flap, just above the gum, the letter K three times
repeated.  There was nothing else save the five dried pips.  What could be the
reason of his overpowering terror?  I left the breakfast-table, and as I
ascended the stair I met him coming down with an old rusty key, which must
have belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a small brass box, like a
cashbox, in the other.
     "'They may do what they like, but I'll checkmate them still,' said he
with an oath.  'Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my room to-day, and send
down to Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.'
     "I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived I was asked to step up
to the room.  The fire was burning brightly, and in the grate there was a mass
of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned paper, while the brass box stood open and
empty beside it.  As I glanced at the box I noticed, with a start, that upon
the lid was printed the treble K which I had read in the morning upon the
envelope.
     "'I wish you, John,' said my uncle, 'to witness my will.  I leave my
estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to my brother, your
father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to you.  If you can enjoy it in
peace, well and good!  If you find you cannot, take my advice, my boy, and
leave it to your deadliest enemy.  I am sorry to give you such a two-edged
thing, but I can't say what turn things are going to take.  Kindly sign the
paper where Mr. Fordham shows you.'
     "I signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it away with him.
The singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest impression upon me,
and I pondered over it and turned it every way in my mind without being able
to make anything of it.  Yet I could not shake off the vague feeling of dread
which it left behind, though the sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed,
and nothing happened to disturb the usual routine of our lives.  I could see a
change in my uncle, however.  He drank more than ever, and he was less
inclined for any sort of society.  Most of his time he would spend in his
room, with the door locked upon the inside, but sometimes he would emerge in a
sort of drunken frenzy and would burst out of the house and tear about the
garden with a revolver in his hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no
man, and that he was not to be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by man or
devil.  When these hot fits were over, however, he would rush tumultuously in
at the door and lock and bar it behind him, like a man who can brazen it out
no longer against the terror which lies at the roots of his soul.  At such
times I have seen his face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as
though it were new raised from a basin.
     "Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not to abuse your
patience, there came a night when he made one of those drunken sallies from
which he never came back.  We found him, when we went to search for him, face
downward in a little green-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden.
There was no sign of any violence, and the water was but two feet deep, so
that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity, brought in a verdict
of 'suicide.'  But I, who knew how he winced from the very thought of death,
had much ado to persuade myself that he had gone out of his way to meet it.
The matter passed, however, and my father entered into possession of the
estate, and of some L14,000, which lay to his credit at the bank."
     "One moment," Holmes interposed, "your statement is, I foresee, one of
the most remarkable to which I have ever listened.  Let me have the date of
the reception by your uncle of the letter, and the date of his supposed
suicide."
     "The letter arrived on March 10, 1883.  His death was seven weeks later,
upon the night of May 2d."
     "Thank you.  Pray proceed."
     "When my father took over the Horsham property, he, at my request, made a
careful examination of the attic, which had been always locked up.  We found
the brass box there, although its contents had been destroyed.  On the inside
of the cover was a paper label, with the initials of K. K. K. repeated upon
it, and 'Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register' written beneath.
These, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers which had been destroyed
by Colonel Openshaw.  For the rest, there was nothing of much importance in
the attic save a great many scattered papers and note-books bearing upon my
uncle's life in America.  Some of them were of the war time and showed that he
had done his duty well and had borne the repute of a brave soldier.  Others
were of a date during the reconstruction of the Southern states, and were
mostly concerned with politics, for he had evidently taken a strong part in
opposing the carpet-bag politicians who had been sent down from the North.
     "Well, it was the beginning of '84 when my father came to live at
Horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the January of '85.
On the fourth day after the new year I heard my father give a sharp cry of
surprise as we sat together at the breakfast-table.  There he was, sitting
with a newly opened envelope in one hand and five dried orange pips in the
outstretched palm of the other one.  He had always laughed at what he called
my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he looked very scared and
puzzled now that the same thing had come upon himself.
     "'Why, what on earth does this mean, John?' he stammered.
     "My heart had turned to lead.  'It is K. K. K.,' said I.
     "He looked inside the envelope.  'So it is,' he cried.  'Here are the
very letters.  But what is this written above them?'
     "'Put the papers on the sundial,' I read, peeping over his shoulder.
     "'What papers?  What sundial?' he asked.
     "'The sundial in the garden.  There is no other,' said I; 'but the papers
must be those that are destroyed.'
     "'Pooh!' said he, gripping hard at his courage.  'We are in a civilized
land here, and we can't have tomfoolery of this kind.  Where does the thing
come from?'
     "'From Dundee,' I answered, glancing at the postmark.
     "'Some preposterous practical joke,' said he.  'What have I to do with
sundials and papers?  I shall take no notice of such nonsense.'
     "'I should certainly speak to the police,' I said.
     "'And be laughed at for my pains.  Nothing of the sort.'
     "'Then let me do so?'
     "'No, I forbid you.  I won't have a fuss made about such nonsense.'
     "It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate man.  I
went about, however, with a heart which was full of forebodings.
     "On the third day after the coming of the letter my father went from home
to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is in command of one of the
forts upon Portsdown Hill.  I was glad that he should go, for it seemed to me
that he was farther from danger when he was away from home.  In that, however,
I was in error.  Upon the second day of his absence I received a telegram from
the major, imploring me to come at once.  My father had fallen over one of the
deep chalk-pits which abound in the neighbourhood, and was lying senseless,
with a shattered skull.  I hurried to him, but he passed away without having
ever recovered his consciousness.  He had, as it appears, been returning from
Fareham in the twilight, and as the country was unknown to him, and the
chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation in bringing in a verdict of
'death from accidental causes.'  Carefully as I examined every fact connected
with his death, I was unable to find anything which could suggest the idea of
murder.  There were no signs of violence, no footmarks, no robbery, no record
of strangers having been seen upon the roads.  And yet I need not tell you
that my mind was far from at ease, and that I was well-nigh certain that some
foul plot had been woven round him.
     "In this sinister way I came into my inheritance.  You will ask me why I
did not dispose of it?  I answer, because I was well convinced that our
troubles were in some way dependent upon an incident in my uncle's life, and
that the danger would be as pressing in one house as in another.
     "It was in January, '85, that my poor father met his end, and two years
and eight months have elapsed since then.  During that time I have lived
happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope that this curse had passed away
from the family, and that it had ended with the last generation.  I had begun
to take comfort too soon, however; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very
shape in which it had come upon my father."
     The young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and turning to
the table he shook out upon it five little dried orange pips.
     "This is the envelope," he continued.  "The postmark is London--eastern
division.  Within are the very words which were upon my father's last message:
'K. K. K.'; and then 'Put the papers on the sundial.'"
     "What have you done?" asked Holmes.
     "Nothing."
     "Nothing?"
     "To tell the truth"--he sank his face into his thin, white hands--"I have
felt helpless.  I have felt like one of those poor rabbits when the snake is
writhing towards it.  I seem to be in the grasp of some resistless, inexorable
evil, which no foresight and no precautions can guard against."
     "Tut!  tut!" cried Sherlock Holmes.  "You must act, man, or you are lost.
Nothing but energy can save you.  This is no time for despair."
     "I have seen the police."
     "Ah!"
     "But they listened to my story with a smile.  I am convinced that the
inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all practical jokes, and
that the deaths of my relations were really accidents, as the jury stated, and
were not to be connected with the warnings."
     Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air.  "Incredible imbecility!" he
cried.
     "They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in the house
with me."
     "Has he come with you to-night?"
     "No.  His orders were to stay in the house."
     Again Holmes raved in the air.
     "Why did you come to me," he cried, "and, above all, why did you not come
at once?"
     "I did not know.  It was only to-day that I spoke to Major Prendergast
about my troubles and was advised by him to come to you."
     "It is really two days since you had the letter.  We should have acted
before this.  You have no further evidence, I suppose, than that which you
have placed before us--no suggestive detail which might help us?"
     "There is one thing," said John Openshaw.  He rummaged in his coat
pocket, and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted paper, he laid it
out upon the table.  "I have some remembrance," said he, "that on the day when
my uncle burned the papers I observed that the small, unburned margins which
lay amid the ashes were of this particular colour.  I found this single sheet
upon the floor of his room, and I am inclined to think that it may be one of
the papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from among the others, and in
that way has escaped destruction.  Beyond the mention of pips, I do not see
that it helps us much.  I think myself that it is a page from some private
diary.  The writing is undoubtedly my uncle's."
     Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper, which
showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from a book.  It was
headed, "March, 1869," and beneath were the following enigmatical notices:

           4th.  Hudson came.  Same old platform.
           7th.  Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and John Swain, of St.
                   Augustine.
           9th.  McCauley cleared.
          10th.  John Swain cleared.
          12th.  Visited Paramore.  All well.

     "Thank you!" said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning it to our
visitor.  "And now you must on no account lose another instant.  We cannot
spare time even to discuss what you have told me.  You must get home instantly
and act."
     "What shall I do?"
     "There is but one thing to do.  It must be done at once.  You must put
this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass box which you have
described.  You must also put in a note to say that all the other papers were
burned by your uncle, and that this is the only one which remains.  You must
assert that in such words as will carry conviction with them.  Having done
this, you must at once put the box out upon the sundial, as directed.  Do you
understand?"
     "Entirely."
     "Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present.  I think
that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our web to weave, while
theirs is already woven.  The first consideration is to remove the pressing
danger which threatens you.  The second is to clear up the mystery and to
punish the guilty parties."
     "I thank you," said the young man, rising and pulling on his overcoat.
"You have given me fresh life and hope.  I shall certainly do as you advise."
     "Do not lose an instant.  And, above all, take care of yourself in the
meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that you are
threatened by a very real and imminent danger.  How do you go back?"
     "By train from Waterloo."
     "It is not yet nine.  The streets will be crowded, so I trust that you
may be in safety.  And yet you cannot guard yourself too closely."
     "I am armed."
     "That is well.  To-morrow I shall set to work upon your case."
     "I shall see you at Horsham, then?"
     "No, your secret lies in London.  It is there that I shall seek it."
     "Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news as to the
box and the papers.  I shall take your advice in every particular."  He shook
hands with us and took his leave.  Outside the wind still screamed and the
rain splashed and pattered against the windows.  This strange, wild story
seemed to have come to us from amid the mad elements--blown in upon us like a
sheet of sea-weed in a gale--and now to have been reabsorbed by them once
more.
     Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk forward
and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire.  Then he lit his pipe, and
leaning back in his chair he watched the blue smoke-rings as they chased each
other up to the ceiling.
     "I think, Watson," he remarked at last, "that of all our cases we have
had none more fantastic than this."
     "Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four."
     "Well, yes.  Save, perhaps, that.  And yet this John Openshaw seems to me
to be walking amid even greater perils than did the Sholtos."
     "But have you," I asked, "formed any definite conception as to what these
perils are?"
     "There can be no question as to their nature," he answered.
     "Then what are they?  Who is this K. K. K., and why does he pursue this
unhappy family?"
     Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the arms of
his chair, with his finger-tips together.  "The ideal reasoner," he remarked,
"would, when he had once been shown a single fact in all its bearings, deduce
from it not only all the chain of events which led up to it but also all the
results which would follow from it.  As Cuvier could correctly describe a
whole animal by the contemplation of a single bone, so the observer who has
thoroughly understood one link in a series of incidents should be able to
accurately state all the other ones, both before and after.  We have not yet
grasped the results which the reason alone can attain to.  Problems may be
solved in the study which have baffled all those who have sought a solution by
the aid of their senses.  To carry the art, however, to its highest pitch, it
is necessary that the reasoner should be able to utilize all the facts which
have come to his knowledge; and this in itself implies, as you will readily
see, a possession of all knowledge, which, even in these days of free
education and encyclopaedias, is a somewhat rare accomplishment.  It is not so
impossible, however, that a man should possess all knowledge which is likely
to be useful to him in his work, and this I have endeavoured in my case to do.
If I remember rightly, you on one occasion, in the early days of our
friendship, defined my limits in a very precise fashion."
     "Yes," I answered, laughing.  "It was a singular document.  Philosophy,
astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, I remember.  Botany variable,
geology profound as regards the mud-stains from any region within fifty miles
of town, chemistry eccentric, anatomy unsystematic, sensational literature and
crime records unique, violin-player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, and
self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco.  Those, I think, were the main points of
my analysis."
     Holmes grinned at the last item.  "Well," he said, "I say now, as I said
then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic stocked with all the
furniture that he is likely to use, and the rest he can put away in the
lumber-room of his library, where he can get it if he wants it.  Now, for such
a case as the one which has been submitted to us to-night, we need certainly
to muster all our resources.  Kindly hand me down the letter K of the American
Encyclopaedia which stands upon the shelf beside you.  Thank you.  Now let us
consider the situation and see what may be deduced from it.  In the first
place, we may start with a strong presumption that Colonel Openshaw had some
very strong reason for leaving America.  Men at his time of life do not change
all their habits and exchange willingly the charming climate of Florida for
the lonely life of an English provincial town.  His extreme love of solitude
in England suggests the idea that he was in fear of someone or something, so
we may assume as a working hypothesis that it was fear of someone or something
which drove him from America.  As to what it was he feared, we can only deduce
that by considering the formidable letters which were received by himself and
his successors.  Did you remark the postmarks of those letters?"
     "The first was from Pondicherry, the second from Dundee, and the third
from London."
     "From East London.  What do you deduce from that?"
     "They are all seaports.  That the writer was on board of a ship."
     "Excellent.  We have already a clue.  There can be no doubt that the
probability--the strong probability--is that the writer was on board of a
ship.  And now let us consider another point.  In the case of Pondicherry,
seven weeks elapsed between the threat and its fulfillment, in Dundee it was
only some three or four days.  Does that suggest anything?"
     "A greater distance to travel."
     "But the letter had also a greater distance to come."
     "Then I do not see the point."
     "There is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man or men
are is a sailing-ship.  It looks as if they always sent their singular warning
or token before them when starting upon their mission.  You see how quickly
the deed followed the sign when it came from Dundee.  If they had come from
Pondicherry in a steamer they would have arrived almost as soon as their
letter.  But, as a matter of fact, seven weeks elapsed.  I think that those
seven weeks represented the difference between the mail-boat which brought the
letter and the sailing vessel which brought the writer."
     "It is possible."
     "More than that.  It is probable.  And now you see the deadly urgency of
this new case, and why I urged young Openshaw to caution.  The blow has always
fallen at the end of the time which it would take the senders to travel the
distance.  But this one comes from London, and therefore we cannot count upon
delay."
     "Good God!" I cried.  "What can it mean, this relentless persecution?"
     "The papers which Openshaw carried are obviously of vital importance to
the person or persons in the sailing-ship.  I think that it is quite clear
that there must be more than one of them.  A single man could not have carried
out two deaths in such a way as to deceive a coroner's jury.  There must have
been several in it, and they must have been men of resource and determination.
Their papers they mean to have, be the holder of them who it may.  In this way
you see K. K. K. ceases to be the initials of an individual and becomes the
badge of a society."
     "But of what society?"
     "Have you never--" said Sherlock Holmes, bending forward and sinking his
voice--"have you never heard of the Ku Klux Klan?"
     "I never have."
     Holmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee.  "Here it is,"
said he presently:

               "Ku Klux Klan.  A name derived from the fanciful resemblance to
          the sound produced by cocking a rifle.  This terrible secret society
          was formed by some ex-Confederate soldiers in the Southern states
          after the Civil War, and it rapidly formed local branches in
          different parts of the country, notably in Tennessee, Louisiana, the
          Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida.  Its power was used for political
          purposes, principally for the terrorizing of the negro voters and
          the murdering and driving from the country of those who were opposed
          to its views.  Its outrages were usually preceded by a warning sent
          to the marked man in some fantastic but generally recognized shape--
          a sprig of oak-leaves in some parts, melon seeds or orange pips in
          others.  On receiving this the victim might either openly abjure his
          former ways, or might fly from the country.  If he braved the matter
          out, death would unfailingly come upon him, and usually in some
          strange and unforeseen manner.  So perfect was the organization of
          the society, and so systematic its methods, that there is hardly a
          case upon record where any man succeeded in braving it with
          impunity, or in which any of its outrages were traced home to the
          perpetrators.  For some years the organization flourished in spite
          of the efforts of the United States government and of the better
          classes of the community in the South.  Eventually, in the year
          1869, the movement rather suddenly collapsed, although there have
          been sporadic outbreaks of the same sort since that date.

     "You will observe," said Holmes, laying down the volume, "that the sudden
breaking up of the society was coincident with the disappearance of Openshaw
from America with their papers.  It may well have been cause and effect.  It
is no wonder that he and his family have some of the more implacable spirits
upon their track.  You can understand that this register and diary may
implicate some of the first men in the South, and that there may be many who
will not sleep easy at night until it is recovered."
     "Then the page we have seen-- --"
     "Is such as we might expect.  It ran, if I remember right, 'sent the pips
to A, B, and C'--that is, sent the society's warning to them.  Then there are
successive entries that A and B cleared, or left the country, and finally that
C was visited, with, I fear, a sinister result for C.  Well, I think, Doctor,
that we may let some light into this dark place, and I believe that the only
chance young Openshaw has in the meantime is to do what I have told him.
There is nothing more to be said or to be done to-night, so hand me over my
violin and let us try to forget for half an hour the miserable weather and the
still more miserable ways of our fellowmen."

     It had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a subdued
brightness through the dim veil which hangs over the great city.  Sherlock
Holmes was already at breakfast when I came down.
     "You will excuse me for not waiting for you," said he; "I have, I
foresee, a very busy day before me in looking into this case of young
Openshaw's."
     "What steps will you take?" I asked.
     "It will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries.  I may
have to go down to Horsham, after all."
     "You will not go there first?"
     "No, I shall commence with the City.  Just ring the bell and the maid
will bring up your coffee."
     As I waited, I lifted the unopened newspaper from the table and glanced
my eye over it.  It rested upon a heading which sent a chill to my heart.
     "Holmes," I cried, "you are too late."
     "Ah!" said he, laying down his cup, "I feared as much.  How was it done?"
He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was deeply moved.
     "My eye caught the name of Openshaw, and the heading 'Tragedy Near
Waterloo Bridge.'  Here is the account:

               "Between nine and ten last night Police-Constable Cook, of the
          H Division, on duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help and a
          splash in the water.  The night, however, was extremely dark and
          stormy, so that, in spite of the help of several passers-by, it was
          quite impossible to effect a rescue.  The alarm, however, was given,
          and, by the aid of the water-police, the body was eventually
          recovered.  It proved to be that of a young gentleman whose name, as
          it appears from an envelope which was found in his pocket, was John
          Openshaw, and whose residence is near Horsham.  It is conjectured
          that he may have been hurrying down to catch the last train from
          Waterloo Station, and that in his haste and the extreme darkness he
          missed his path and walked over the edge of one of the small
          landing-places for river steamboats.  The body exhibited no traces
          of violence, and there can be no doubt that the deceased had been
          the victim of an unfortunate accident, which should have the effect
          of calling the attention of the authorities to the condition of the
          riverside landing-stages."

     We sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes more depressed and shaken than
I had ever seen him.
     "That hurts my pride, Watson," he said at last.  "It is a petty feeling,
no doubt, but it hurts my pride.  It becomes a personal matter with me now,
and, if God sends me health, I shall set my hand upon this gang.  That he
should come to me for help, and that I should send him away to his death--
--!"  He sprang from his chair and paced about the room in uncontrollable
agitation, with a flush upon his sallow cheeks and a nervous clasping and
unclasping of his long thin hands.
     "They must be cunning devils," he exclaimed at last.  "How could they
have decoyed him down there?  The Embankment is not on the direct line to the
station.  The bridge, no doubt, was too crowded, even on such a night, for
their purpose.  Well, Watson, we shall see who will win in the long run.  I am
going out now!"
     "To the police?"
     "No; I shall be my own police.  When I have spun the web they may take
the flies, but not before."
     All day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in the
evening before I returned to Baker Street.  Sherlock Holmes had not come back
yet.  It was nearly ten o'clock before he entered, looking pale and worn.  He
walked up to the sideboard, and tearing a piece from the loaf he devoured it
voraciously, washing it down with a long draught of water.
     "You are hungry," I remarked.
     "Starving.  It had escaped my memory.  I have had nothing since
breakfast."
     "Nothing?"
     "Not a bite.  I had no time to think of it."
     "And how have you succeeded?"
     "Well."
     "You have a clue?"
     "I have them in the hollow of my hand.  Young Openshaw shall not long
remain unavenged.  Why, Watson, let us put their own devilish trade-mark upon
them.  It is well thought of!"
     "What do you mean?"
     He took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces he squeezed
out the pips upon the table.  Of these he took five and thrust them into an
envelope.  On the inside of the flap he wrote "S. H. for J. O."  Then he
sealed it and addressed it to "Captain James Calhoun, Bark Lone Star,
Savannah, Georgia."
     "That will await him when he enters port," said he, chuckling.  "It may
give him a sleepless night.  He will find it as sure a precursor of his fate
as Openshaw did before him."
     "And who is this Captain Calhoun?"
     "The leader of the gang.  I shall have the others, but he first."
     "How did you trace it, then?"
     He took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered with dates
and names.
     "I have spent the whole day," said he, "over Lloyd's registers and files
of the old papers, following the future career of every vessel which touched
at Pondicherry in January and February in '83.  There were thirty-six ships of
fair tonnage which were reported there during those months.  Of these, one,
the Lone Star, instantly attracted my attention, since, although it was
reported as having cleared from London, the name is that which is given to one
of the states of the Union."
     "Texas, I think."
     "I was not and am not sure which; but I knew that the ship must have an
American origin."
     "What then?"
     "I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the bark Lone Star
was there in January, '85, my suspicion became a certainty.  I then inquired
as to the vessels which lay at present in the port of London."
     "Yes?"
     "The Lone Star had arrived here last week.  I went down to the Albert
Dock and found that she had been taken down the river by the early tide this
morning, homeward bound to Savannah.  I wired to Gravesend and learned that
she had passed some time ago, and as the wind is easterly I have no doubt that
she is now past the Goodwins and not very far from the Isle of Wight."
     "What will you do, then?"
     "Oh, I have my hand upon him.  He and the two mates, are, as I learn, the
only native-born Americans in the ship.  The others are Finns and Germans.  I
know, also, that they were all three away from the ship last night.  I had it
from the stevedore who has been loading their cargo.  By the time that their
sailing-ship reaches Savannah the mail-boat will have carried this letter, and
the cable will have informed the police of Savannah that these three gentlemen
are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder."
     There is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans, and the
murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the orange pips which would
show them that another, as cunning and as resolute as themselves, was upon
their track.  Very long and very severe were the equinoctial gales that year.
We waited long for news of the Lone Star of Savannah, but none ever reached
us.  We did at last hear that somewhere far out in the Atlantic a shattered
stern-post of the boat was seen swinging in the trough of a wave, with the
letters "L. S." carved upon it, and that is all which we shall ever know of
the fate of the Lone Star.