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Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principal
foolish freak when he was at college; for having read De
Quincey's description of his dreams and sensations, he had
same effects. He found, as so many more have done, that the
years he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of
man.
One night--it was in June, '89--there came a ring to my bell,
about the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the
clock. I sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work
down in her lap and made a little face of disappointment.
"A patient!" said she. "You'll have to go out."
We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps
some dark-colored stuff, with a black veil, entered the room.
"You will excuse my calling so late," she began, and then,
suddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms
such trouble!" she cried; "I do so want a little help."
"Why," said my wife, pulling up her veil, "it is Kate Whitney.
How you startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when
you came in."
"I didn't know what to do, so l came straight to you." That was
always the way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds
to a light-house.
"It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wine
and water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or
should you rather that I sent James off to bed?"
"Oh, no, no! I want the doctor's advice and help, too. It's about
Isa. He has not been home for two days. I am so frightened about
him!"
It was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her
husband's trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend
as we could find. Did she know where her husband was? Was it
possible that we could bring him back to her?
It seems that it was. She had the surest information that of late
farthest east of the City. Hitherto his orgies had always been
shattered, in the evening. But now the spell had been upon him
eight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the
dregs of the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off the
effects. There he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the Bar
of Gold, in Upper Swandam Lane. But what was she to do? How could
she, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a place and
pluck her husband out from among the ruffians who surrounded him?
There was the case, and of course there was but one way out of
it. Might I not escort her to this place? And then, as a second
thought, why should she come at all? I was Isa Whitney's medical
better if I were alone. I promised her on my word that I would
send him home in a cab within two hours if he were indeed at the
address which she had given me. And so in ten minutes I had left
my armchair and cheery sitting-room17 behind me, and was speeding
the time, though the future only could show how strange it was to
be.
But there was no great difficulty in the first stage of my
of London Bridge. Between a slop-shop and a gin-shop, approached
by a steep flight of steps leading down to a black gap like the
mouth of a cave, I found the den of which I was in search.
Ordering my cab to wait, I passed down the steps, worn hollow in
the centre by the ceaseless tread of drunken feet; and by the
and made my way into a long, low room, thick and heavy with the
Through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying
thrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a
dark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black
the metal pipes. The most lay silent, but some muttered to
themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low,
which on a three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin old
his knees, staring into the fire.
As I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe
"Thank you. I have not come to stay," said I. "There is a friend
of mine here, Mr. Isa Whitney, and I wish to speak with him."
There was a movement and an exclamation38 from my right, and
peering through the gloom I saw Whitney, pale, haggard, and
unkempt, staring out at me.
"My God! It's Watson," said he. He was in a pitiable state of
reaction, with every nerve in a twitter. "I say, Watson, what
o'clock is it?"
"Nearly eleven."
"Of what day?"
"Of Friday, June 19th."
"Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. What
d'you want to frighten the chap for?" He sank his face onto his
"I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waiting
this two days for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!"
"So I am. But you've got mixed, Watson, for I have only been here
a few hours, three pipes, four pipes--I forget how many. But I'll
go home with you. I wouldn't frighten Kate--poor little Kate.
Give me your hand! Have you a cab?"
"Yes, I have one waiting."
"Then I shall go in it. But I must owe something. Find what I
owe, Watson. I am all off color. I can do nothing for myself."
I walked down the narrow passage between the double row of
the tall man who sat by the brazier I felt a sudden pluck at my
skirt, and a low voice whispered, "Walk past me, and then look
back at me." The words fell quite distinctly upon my ear. I
glanced down. They could only have come from the old man at my
side, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very
his knees, as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his
fingers. I took two steps forward and looked back. It took all my
self-control to prevent me from breaking out into a cry of
astonishment42. He had turned his back so that none could see him
but I. His form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull
grinning at my surprise, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He
made a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he
into a doddering, loose-lipped senility.
"Holmes!" I whispered, "what on earth are you doing in this den?"
"As low as you can," he answered; "I have excellent ears. If you
would have the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend
of yours I should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with
you."
"I have a cab outside."
"Then pray send him home in it. You may safely trust him, for he
recommend you also to send a note by the cabman to your wife to
say that you have thrown in your lot with me. If you will wait
outside, I shall be with you in five minutes."
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