The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes Read Free Page A

clock. But Charles, uttering a stifled cry,
    rushed towards the fireplace. Lifting the heavy walking-stick, he brought it crashing down on
    the hood of the clock, and rained blow after blow until the clock fell in tinkling ruins on
    the hearth.
    "Then he turned round and walked slowly back. Without a word of explanation he took
    out a pocketbook, gave to M. Branger a bank-note which would ten times over have paid for
    the clock, and began lightly to speak of other matters.
    "You may well imagine, Mr. Holmes, that we stood as though stunned. My impression
    was that Lady Mayo, for all her dignity, was frightened. Yet I swear Charles had not
    been frightened; he had been merely furious and determined. At this point I caught sight
    of Charles's manservant, who was standing in the background amid luggage. He is a
    small, spare man with mutton-chop whiskers; and upon his face there was an expression only
    of embarrassment and, though it hurts me to breathe the word, of deep shame.
    "No word was spoken at the time, and the incident was forgotten. For two days Charles was
    his usual serene self. On the third morning, when we met him in the dining-room for breakfast,
    it happened again.
    "The windows of the dining-room had their heavy curtains partly drawn against the dazzle of
    sun on the first snow. The room was fairly well filled with other guests taking breakfast. Only
    then did I remark that Charles, who had just returned from a morning walk, still carried the
    malacca stick in his hand.
    " 'Breathe this air, madame!' he was saying gaily to Lady Mayo. 'You will find it as
    invigorating as any food or drink!'
    "At this he paused, and glanced towards one of the windows. Plunging past us, he struck
    heavily at the curtain and then tore it aside to disclose the ruins of a large clock shaped like a
    smiling sun-face. I think I should have fainted if Lady Mayo had not grasped my arm."
    Miss Forsythe, who had removed her gloves, now pressed her hands against her cheeks.
    "But not only does Charles smash clocks," she went on. "He buries them in the snow, and
    even hides them in the cupboard of his own room."
    Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, and his head sunk
    into a cushion, but he now half opened his lids.
    "In the cupboard?" exclaimed he, frowning. "This is even more singular! How did you
    become aware of the circumstance?"
    "To my shame, Mr. Holmes, I was reduced to questioning his servant."
    "To your shame?"
    "I had no right to do so. In my humble position, Charles would never—that is, I could
    mean nothing to him! I had no right!"
    "You had every right, Miss Forsythe," answered Holmes kindly. "Then you questioned the
    servant, whom you describe as a small, spare man with muttonchop whiskers. His name?"
    "His name is Trepley, I believe. More than once I have heard Charles address him as
    'Trep." And I vow, Mr. Holmes, he is the faithfullest creature alive. Even the sight of his
    dogged English face was a comfort to me. He knew, he felt, he sensed my—my interest, and he
    told me that his master had buried or concealed five other clocks. Though he refused to say so,
    I could tell he shared my fears. Yet Charles is not mad! He is not! You yourself must admit
    that, because of the final incident."
    "Yes?"
    "It took place only four days ago. You must know that Lady Mayo's suite included a
    small drawing-room containing a piano. I am passionately devoted to music, and it was my
    habit to play to Lady Mayo and Charles after tea. On this occasion I had scarcely begun to
    play when a hotel servant entered with a letter for Charles."
    "One moment. Did you observe the postmark?"
    "Yes; it was foreign." Miss Forsythe spoke in some surprise. "But surely it was of no
    importance, since you—"
    "Since I—what?"
    A sudden touch of bewilderment was manifest in our client's expression, and then, as
    though , to drive away some perplexity, she hurried on with her narrative.
    "Charles tore open the letter,