Some time ago I read a very interesting work by Arthur Conan Doyle called “The Yellow Face,” created in one thousand eight hundred and ninety-three.
The main character of the story is Mr. Grant Monroe, who turned to Mr. Sherlock Holmes for help. Having married Effie, he learned that in her youth she lived in America, where she had a husband and child, provided for a comfortable existence for life. However, they both died of yellow fever, and Effie herself inherited the entire fortune. Having married again, the girl transferred all these countless funds to the account of her new lover, Mr. Monroe, although their family did not need these funds, because Grant owns a business selling hops. Monroe was against such initiative of his wife. But recently Effie asked for a large sum of money for unspecified needs. The plot of the story is that a strange, unfriendly couple of people settled in front of the Monroe family's house. The husband's face was unnaturally yellow, and his wife did not accept any help from the new neighbors.
But after some time, Mr. Grant caught his Effie that she had repeatedly appeared in the house of this strange couple. She refused to answer questions and became very secretive. But one day, upon entering the couple's house, Mr. Monroe saw a portrait of his wife on the wall, which she did not comment on. The great Sherlock Holmes thought deeply about this situation. And after some time he came to the conclusion that Effie’s ex-husband lived in the cottage opposite, who in fact did not die of fever, and who, quite possibly, was blackmailing the woman. Entering the mysterious house with the main character, Holmes notices a very yellow-sallow-looking girl there. Here Effie considered it necessary to admit that her ex-husband was of Negroid race, he really died, but the daughter, who inherited her skin color from her father, survived.
However, Effie, having met Mr. Grant, was afraid to admit that she had a black child. The story ends with Mr. Monroe hugging and kissing his daughter, albeit not his own, recognizing her and taking her into his upbringing.
I really liked this work. It, in my opinion, is about the fact that there is no point in hiding the truth, that it will, in any case, come to light, and the consequences of still concealing it can be serious and irreparable. I recommend reading it!
New exciting adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson! Family legends, a thirst for wealth, secrets that must be kept at all costs... The famous detective solves incredibly complicated cases and fearlessly enters into battle with the greatest villain of his time.
yellow face
By publishing these short essays about the strange, sometimes dramatic events that my friend and I witnessed and even participated in, I naturally dwell more often on his successes than on his defeats. However, sometimes it happened that Holmes made a mistake, and the truth somehow surfaced. I have in my archives records of five or six such cases, and the story I am about to tell is one of them.
Sherlock Holmes rarely exercised for the sake of training. Few could match his muscle power, and he was undoubtedly one of the best boxers in his weight class. But tension without a definite purpose always seemed to him a waste of energy, and he rarely showed activity unless some interesting matter was in his field of vision. At the same time, I have never met a more tireless person than my friend. It is surprising that he managed to keep himself in such excellent shape, since Holmes ate moderately and lived modestly, if not Spartanly.
One day in early spring, during one of these periods of forced idleness, Holmes and I went for a walk in the park. For two hours we wandered along the paths, almost without speaking, as befits two men who know each other perfectly. It was almost five when we returned to Baker Street.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the footman, opening the door. - A gentleman came to see you.
Holmes glanced reproachfully at me.
“So much for walks,” he said with annoyance. – Has this gentleman already left?
- Yes, sir.
“Didn’t you suggest he wait?”
- Yes, sir, and he waited for you for about half an hour. Only this gentleman turned out to be very nervous. Entering the house, he began to run from corner to corner, and sometimes stopped and stamped his foot. I stood at the door, sir, and heard everything. Then he went out into the corridor and shouted: “Is this gentleman ever going to come back?” “Sir, wait a little longer, he will be there soon,” I tell him. And he: “I’d rather wait in the fresh air. I'll be back soon". After that he left.
“Well, you did everything you could,” said Holmes, and we headed into the living room. - That's bad luck, Watson. It's time to get down to some business, and this man, judging by his behavior, has serious business. But what do I see! The nervous gentleman must have left his pipe with us - and a very good one at that. A heather head, with a fine amber mouthpiece,—this one costs seven and a half shillings, no less. It seemed like our guest was actually very worried about forgetting something he treasured so much.
“How do you know that he values her so much?” – I asked.
– You see, Watson, this pipe was repaired twice – once the head, the second time the mouthpiece. In both cases, silver ties were applied. Each of these repairs costs more than the pipe itself. If a person decides to have his phone repaired instead of buying a new one for the same money, it means he values it.
Holmes picked up the receiver and tapped it with his index finger, like a professor showing medical students a bone.
“Nothing says more about a man than his pipe,” said Holmes. - Just a watch and laces. The owner of this one is a man of strong build, left-handed, has excellent teeth, is somewhat careless and is far from poor.
My friend said this casually, but I noticed how he glanced at me to see if I was following his reasoning.
“Do you think that if a man smokes a seven-shilling pipe, that means he is rich?” – I asked.
“In the cup is the remains of a mixture of tobacco, which the merchants call Grosvenor, and charge eight pence an ounce for it,” said Holmes, pouring some of the contents of the pipe into his palm. “You can find excellent tobacco that costs half as much, so you don’t have to skimp.”
– How did you guess the rest?
– He tends to light his cigarette from lamps and gas jets. As you can see, the tube is burned on one side. This mark is on the right side of the pipe, from which I conclude that the smoker is left-handed. Try to light a cigarette yourself from a lamp, and you, a right-hander, will bring the pipe to the fire with your left side. Next we see that the mouthpiece is bitten through. Only a strong man with strong teeth is capable of this... If I'm not mistaken, these are just his steps on the stairs. Now we will see an object more interesting for research than a pipe.
The next second the door swung open and a tall young man entered the room. He was wearing a dark gray suit and holding a brown wide-brimmed felt hat in his hand. I would have given him about thirty, but in reality he was a little older.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, embarrassed. “I guess I should have knocked.” Of course I should have knocked, but I'm a little upset, so please forgive me.
He quickly ran his hand over his forehead and sank into a chair. Although I should have said “collapsed.”
“I see you haven’t slept for several days,” Holmes said sympathetically. “It’s more exhausting than work.” How can I help you?
- I need advice, sir. I don't know what to do, my life is lost.
– Do you need detective advice?
- Not only. You are an intelligent person, and I am interested in your opinion... The opinion of a person who knows life. And I really hope that you will help me.
He spoke in quick and abrupt phrases, and it seemed to me that speech was difficult for him.
“You see, this is a deeply personal matter,” our visitor began. – It’s not so pleasant... no, it’s just terrible when you have to discuss your wife’s behavior with people you see for the first time in your life! But I just need to consult someone.
“Dear Mr. Munro...” said Holmes. At this our guest jumped up from his chair.
- How! Do you know my name?! - he cried.
“If you want to remain anonymous,” Holmes smiled, “I advise you to give up the habit of writing your name on the lining of your hat.” My friend and I heard a lot of such things and managed to help many to restore peace of mind. I see that your case is urgent, so I advise you to start straight with the facts.
Our visitor again clutched his forehead, as if he were faced with a difficult task. Every movement revealed him as a closed, uncommunicative man with heightened sensitivity, accustomed to hiding his wounds rather than showing them off. Suddenly, with a desperate look, he waved his hand and began to tell the story.
- Here are the facts. IM married. Already three years. All this time, my wife and I lived happily and loved each other as deeply as only a man and a woman can love each other. We never even argued with her; harmony reigned in everything. But since last Monday, it’s like a wall has grown between us. It seems to me that something unknown to me has appeared in my wife’s life. Mr. Holmes, before my very eyes she is turning into a woman completely unknown to me. And I want to know what's going on here. Effie loves me with all her heart as she has never loved me before, I can feel it. But she has a secret... And until I find out what it is, there will be a stone on my soul.
“Get to the point, Mr. Munro,” said Holmes impatiently.
“When I first met Effie, she was a widow, although she was barely twenty-five. Then she had a different last name. In her early youth, Effie went to America and lived in Atlanta. There she married Mr. Habron, a lawyer with a good practice. They had a son, but a yellow fever epidemic claimed the lives of both the child and the husband. I saw their death certificate. After this, Effie could not stay in America. She returned to England and settled with her aunt, an old maid, in the town of Pinner, in Middlesex. Effie's husband inherited about four and a half thousand pounds, which they successfully invested and brought in seven percent a year. When I met her, she had only lived in Pinner for six months. We fell in love and got married a few weeks later.
I myself sell hops, my income is seven or eight hundred pounds, and we have enough money. We rented a nice villa in Norbury - it looks like a cozy country house, although it is close to the city. Higher on the hill there is an inn and two more houses; There is a cottage behind the field that adjoins our villa. These are all our neighbors. There are more houses halfway to the station. On business, I sometimes have to go to the city, but in the summer I have less work, so I spend all my time with my wife, and every minute brings us real happiness. That was until it all started...
I need to tell you something before I tell you any further. When we got married, my wife transferred all her property to my name... I was against it, but she insisted, and we agreed that I would be like her banker and would give her as much as she needed at any moment.
“Jack,” she once said, “when we signed the documents, you said that I could take any amount from this money.” “Well, of course,” I answered. “It’s your money.” “Well,” Effie said then. “I need a hundred pounds.”
I was taken aback because I thought she wanted to buy a new dress or something like that.
“Lord, why do you need so much?” – I asked. “Oh,” said Effie, turning the conversation into a joke, “you said that you would be my banker, and bankers should not question their clients!” “Of course you will get the money,” I said. “And yet, why did you need them?” “You’ll find out someday, Jack,” she smiled, “but not now.”
I had to be satisfied with this answer. I wrote Effie a check and never thought about it again.
I have already said that there is a cottage not far from our house. We are separated from it by a field, but to get to the cottage, you first need to walk along a paved road, then turn onto a dirt road. Behind the cottage there is a small pine forest. I love walking in the forest and go there often. For the past eight months, the cottage - a beautiful two-story building of old architecture - has been empty, everything around it is overgrown with honeysuckle. I stopped there more than once, thinking how great it would be to live in such a picturesque place.
Last Monday I decided to take a walk to the forest, and on a country road I came across an empty van. Having reached the cottage, I saw that household items, carpets, and some bales were lying on the grass near the porch. I decided that the house had finally been handed over to residents, and I moved on, thinking about what kind of people would move in next to us. Raising my head, I noticed a face in one of the upper windows of the cottage.
I can't explain what was wrong with that face, Mr. Holmes, but the sight of it sent shivers down my spine. I couldn’t make out the features, but it just seemed somehow inhuman to me. I decided to go back to get a better look at who was watching me, but barely took a couple of steps when the face disappeared - as if it had dissolved in the darkness. I didn’t understand who it was, a man or a woman, but what struck me most was the complexion. It was completely yellow and lifeless. This bothered me so much that I went up to the house and knocked. The door was opened by a tall, thin woman with an unfriendly face.
"What you need?" – she asked. “I’m your neighbor,” I said and nodded towards my house. “I saw that you had just arrived, and I decided that if you needed help...” “If we need you, we will call you,” she snapped and slammed the door.
After such an answer, I lost all desire to go for a walk, I turned around and went home.
All evening, no matter how hard I tried to distract myself, my thoughts returned to the face in the window and to the strange rudeness of the woman. I decided not to tell my wife anything about the vision in the window because Effie is a very impressionable woman. But I told her before going to bed that there were new tenants in the cottage. She didn't react to this at all.
I usually sleep like the logs. But that night (the unusual incident must have had an effect on me after all) I did not sleep as soundly as always. In my sleep I felt some movement in the room. Opening my eyes slightly, I saw that my wife, fully dressed and wearing a hat, was fastening her coat. This surprised me, I was about to ask her where she was going so early, but then through half-closed eyelids I saw her face, illuminated by a candle. He had an expression on him that I had never seen before. Effie was as pale as death, breathing rapidly and sneaking glances at the bed, checking to see if I was awake. Finally, she silently slipped out of the room, and a second later I heard the creak of the front door. I stood up and took out my watch from under the pillow. It was three o'clock in the morning. What could my wife be doing at three o'clock in the morning on a deserted road?
I sat on the bed for twenty minutes, trying to understand something or find an explanation for what I saw. But the more I thought, the more inexplicable my wife’s behavior seemed to me. I was still at a loss when the door creaked again and footsteps were heard on the stairs.
"Where have you been, Effie?" – I asked when my wife entered the bedroom.
Hearing my voice, she screamed in fear. Her fear alarmed me much more than anything else, because behind it was a feeling of guilt. Effie had always been a sincere, open person, so when I saw her sneaking into her own bedroom like a criminal, it shocked me.
“Jack, you're not sleeping! – she exclaimed with a nervous laugh. “And I thought a cannon wouldn’t wake you up.” - "Where have you been?" – I asked sternly. “I understand you’re surprised,” Effie said, throwing off her cloak. I noticed how her fingers were shaking. - This is the first time this has happened to me. I suddenly felt that I was starting to choke, and I really wanted fresh air. I stood at the door for a couple of minutes and I felt better.”
Her voice was somehow strange, and I guessed that she was not telling the truth. I didn’t question her and turned to the wall. My heart ached, thousands of the worst suspicions swarmed in my head. What could my wife be hiding from me? Where did she go? I realized that until I found out the truth, I would not calm down. I couldn't sleep until the morning, coming up with the most incredible explanations for Effie's behavior.
I had to go to town that day, but I just couldn’t bring myself to think about business. My wife seemed to be just as nervous as I was. From the quick glances she furtively cast at me, it was clear that she understood that I did not believe her. We were both silent at breakfast. Then I went out for a walk to think about what had happened.
I walked for a short time and returned to Norbury by one o'clock in the afternoon. On the way home, passing by a neighbor’s cottage, I stopped and began to peer to see if that strange face that I had seen yesterday would flash through the window. Suddenly the door of the house opened and my wife came out.
I was dumbfounded, but my feelings could not be compared with what was reflected on her face when our eyes met. At the first moment, Effie recoiled, as if she wanted to rush back into the cottage, but, realizing that I had already noticed her, she walked towards me. She forced a smile, but at the same time her eyes widened in fear.
“Jack, it's you! - Effie exclaimed. “And I decided to go to my new neighbors and ask if they need help.” Why are you looking at me like that?" “So this is where you went at night,” I said. "What are you saying?!" - Effie cried. “You came here, I'm sure. Who are these people? Why do you come here at night?” - “I’ve never been here before.” - “This is a deliberate lie! – I shouted. “I feel like you’re deceiving me.” Now I’ll go in there and find out what’s going on here.” - “No, no, Jack, for God’s sake! “She literally choked with excitement, and when I headed towards the door, she desperately grabbed my sleeve. “I beg you, Jack, don’t do this!” When I tried to free myself, Effie clung to me even tighter and her eyes filled with tears. “Trust me, Jack! - she begged. - Believe it just once, and you will never regret it. You should know that if I hide something from you, I do it for your sake! Our lives, yours and mine, depend on it. If we leave here now, everything will be fine. If you enter this house, it’s all over between us.”
“I will believe you, but on one condition,” I finally said. “I want all this to end from this moment.” You don't have to say anything if you want, but you have to promise that the night walks will stop. I will forgive you if you promise that this will never happen again.” - “I knew that you would believe me! – Effie exclaimed with great relief. - Everything will be as you want. Let's go home soon."
Without letting go of my sleeve, she led me away from the cottage. When we walked away a little, I looked back. A frozen yellow face looked at us from the upper window. What could my wife and this creature have in common? I knew that my heart would not rest until I received an answer.
For the next two days I did not go anywhere, and my wife seemed to be fulfilling the terms of our agreement: she did not leave the house at all. But on the third day I received proof that she had broken her oath.
That day I went to the city, but returned not by the train that leaves at three thirty-six, as I usually did, but a little earlier, at two forty. Entering the house, I came across a maid, who froze in her tracks when she saw me.
“Where is the mistress?” – I asked. “I think she went for a walk,” she said in a trembling voice.
I rushed upstairs to make sure Effie wasn't home. Taking a casual glance out the window, I noticed that the maid with whom I had just spoken was rushing straight across the field towards the cottage. Everything immediately became clear: the wife went to that house again and asked the maid to let me know if I suddenly returned. Seized with anger, I rushed downstairs, intending to put an end to this matter once and for all. I met my wife and maid on a side road - they were hurrying back, but I didn’t even stop to talk to them. Nothing could stop me at that second. When I reached the cottage I didn't even knock. He pulled open the door and burst into the corridor.
It was quiet downstairs. In the kitchen there was a kettle on the fire, and a large black cat was sleeping curled up in a basket. The surly woman was nowhere to be seen. I ran into the next room, but there was no one there either. Then I rushed upstairs, but found no one there either. The house was empty! The rooms were furnished with rough simplicity, and only one, the one in the window of which I saw a strange face, bore the imprint of good taste. There my suspicions flared up with renewed vigor, as on the mantelpiece I saw a full-length photograph of my wife. This photograph was taken just three months ago at my request, and a copy of it was here.
I did not leave the cottage until I was sure that there was really no one there. I returned home with a heavy heart. Never before have I felt so sad. My wife was waiting for me in the hall, but I silently walked past her and headed into the office. Effie followed in before I locked the door.
“Jack, I broke my promise,” she said. “But if you knew everything, you would forgive me.” - “So tell me!” – I shouted. "I can't, Jack!" – she moaned. “Until I find out who lives in this house and who you gave your photo to, I cannot trust you,” I snapped and left the house.
It happened yesterday, Mr. Holmes, and I haven't seen Effie since. I'm so shocked that I just don't know what to do next. This morning it suddenly occurred to me that you are the person who can help me. I trust you completely. If I missed anything, please ask any questions. I just beg you, tell me what should I do?
Holmes and I listened with great interest. Mr. Munro spoke with indescribable emotion. When he had finished, Holmes sat in silence for some time.
“Tell me,” he finally spoke, “are you sure that you saw exactly a human face in the window?”
– Both times the distance was quite large, so I can’t say for sure. I was struck by his unnatural color and frozen expression. As soon as I approached, the face immediately disappeared.
- How long ago did your wife ask you for a hundred pounds?
- About two months.
-Have you ever seen a photograph of her first husband?
- No. Soon after his death, all of his wife's papers were burned in a fire in Atlanta.
– But the death certificate was preserved, you mentioned that you saw it.
– It was a duplicate made after the fire.
– Did you meet anyone who knew her in America?
– And she didn’t receive any letters from there?
- Never.
- Thank you. Now I need to think a little. If the cottage's inhabitants have escaped, we may have difficulties. But if yesterday they simply left the house for a while because they were warned about your approach, we can easily figure it out. My advice is this: go back to Norbury and take a close look at the cottage windows. Once you are sure that its inhabitants are in place, do not try to get inside, but send us a telegram. We will arrive within the hour and be done with this matter.
– What if there’s no one there?
“Then I’ll come tomorrow and we’ll discuss further actions.” Most importantly, don't worry unless you're sure there's a reason for it.
“I’m afraid things are bad, Watson,” my friend sighed, closing the door behind Mr. Munro. - What do you think of it?
“It’s an unpleasant story,” I said.
- Looks like blackmail.
– Who do you think is the blackmailer?
“Most likely the creature that lives in a decently furnished room and keeps a photograph of Mrs. Munro on the mantelpiece.” Honestly, Watson, I'm very interested in this ghostly face!
– Do you already have a hypothesis?
- Yes, preliminary. And I will be very surprised if it is not confirmed. Mrs. Munro's first husband lives in the cottage.
- Why did you decide so?
How else can we explain her passionate reluctance to let her current husband in? It goes something like this. This woman got married in America. Then something happened to her husband - let's say he contracted some terrible disease or lost his mind. She decides to run away from him, returns to England, changes her name and starts a new life, believing that there is nothing more to worry about. Then her address somehow becomes known to her first husband or some woman who intends to use the unfortunate disabled person for her own purposes. One of them writes a letter to Munro’s wife threatening to reveal her secret, and she takes a hundred pounds from her husband to pay off the blackmailers. This is not enough, and they still come to England. When her husband tells Mrs. Munro that new inhabitants have settled in the neighboring cottage, she realizes that these are the same people. After waiting for her husband to fall asleep, the woman slips out of the house and rushes to the cottage to persuade the blackmailers to leave her alone. Having achieved nothing, she returns there the next day and, leaving the cottage, runs into her husband. She vows not to go there again, but the desire to get rid of the scary neighbors haunts her, and two days later she makes a new attempt. Perhaps, at the request of the blackmailers, she brings a photograph with her. The conversation in the cottage is interrupted by a maid. She reports that Mr. Munro has returned home, and Mrs. Munro, realizing that he himself will appear any minute, takes the inhabitants of the house out the back door and hides them in a pine forest, which is nearby. That's why Mr. Munro didn't find anyone there. However, I will be very surprised if today it turns out that the house is still empty. What do you think of my version?
– All these are just assumptions.
– At least all the facts are explained. If new details emerge, we will have time to make amendments. And now all that remains is to wait for news from Norbury.
We didn't have to wait long. The telegram was delivered as soon as we finished our tea. “The cottage is inhabitable again,” it said. “I saw a face in the window again.” I will meet the seven o'clock train. I won’t do anything until you arrive.”
Mr. Munro was waiting for us on the platform. As soon as we got out of the carriage, he rushed towards us, and we saw that he was pale and extremely excited.
“They're still there, Mr. Holmes.” “Munro grabbed my friend by the elbow. “On the way here I saw light in the windows.
– And what do you intend to do? - Holmes asked when we got out onto the road.
“I’ll break into the house and find out who’s hiding there.” I would like you to be present as witnesses.
– And you are ready to do this, despite your wife’s words that revealing this secret is not in your interests?
- Yes, I'm ready.
- Well, in my opinion, you have the right to do so. Truth is better than uncertainty. Go upstairs immediately. Of course, our actions go against the law, but I think the game is worth the candle.
The evening turned out to be dark. It was drizzling. From the main road we turned onto a narrow lane lined with dense bushes. Mr. Munro walked confidently forward, and we silently followed him, trying to keep up.
“That’s my home,” he whispered, pointing to the light sparkling between the tree branches. “And this is the cottage I’m about to enter.”
The country road, having described an arc, led us to the building. A yellow beam falling on the ground indicated that the cottage door was ajar. One of the windows on the top floor was brightly lit. Suddenly a shadow slid across the curtain covering the window.
- See! - Munro exclaimed. – There’s someone there! Follow me, now we will find out everything.
We approached the door, but at that same second a female figure appeared from somewhere out of the darkness and stepped onto the illuminated path. In the darkness I couldn't see her face, but I noticed how she folded her hands pleadingly.
- For God's sake, don't do this, Jack! - she exclaimed. “I knew you would come here this night.” Trust me, darling, and you will never regret it.
– I believed you for too long, Effie! - Munro snapped. - Let me pass! I'm with my friends and we're going to end this once and for all!
He pushed his wife aside and rushed towards the house. When Munro jerked the door open, another woman ran towards him and tried to block the passage, but he pushed her away, and the next second we were already climbing the stairs. Finally Munro ran into a lighted room on the second floor.
It was a small but cozy room. It was lit by two candles on the table and two on the fireplace. In the corner, leaning over the desk, sat a little girl. Her face was not visible, because when we entered the room, the girl was looking away, but we saw that she was wearing a red dress and long, elbow-length white gloves. When the girl turned around towards the noise, I involuntarily screamed. Her face was an eerie deathly color and seemed sculpted from clay. But in the next second the mystery was solved. Holmes, laughing, stepped towards the girl, passed his hand behind her ear, the mask came off, and the coal-black face of a little black woman was revealed to our eyes. Slightly opening her mouth, in which her snow-white teeth sparkled, she looked in surprise at our distorted faces. Munro froze motionless, his hand clutching his throat.
- My God! – he finally cried out. - What does it mean?
- I will explain. “His wife stepped decisively into the room. Her lips were tightly compressed, her head was raised proudly. “I tried to dissuade you, but you did it your way.” Now we have to decide what to do next. My husband died in Atlanta. But the child survived.
- Your child?
She took off the silver medallion that hung around her neck, pressed the spring, and the lid of the medallion bounced off. Inside was a photograph of an amazingly handsome man, whose facial features unmistakably revealed him as a descendant of Africans.
“This is John Habron from Atlanta,” the lady said. “I married him because that land had never seen a more worthy man, and while he was alive, I never regretted it. We were unlucky that the characteristics of his race prevailed in our child, but this happens often. Little Lucy is much darker than her father. But whatever she is, dark or light, this is my daughter.
At these words, the little girl ran up to the woman and buried herself in her dress.
“I left her in America only because,” continued Mrs. Munro, “she was in poor health and the change of climate might harm her.” I entrusted Lucy to a devoted servant, but not for a second did I even think about giving up the child. When you and I met, Jack, and I realized that I loved you, I was afraid to tell you everything. May God forgive me, I was afraid of losing you, and I didn’t have the courage. I had to choose between you and her, and I chose you. For three years I hid her existence, but I kept in touch with the nanny and knew that everything was fine with Lucy. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore and decided to bring her here for at least a couple of weeks. I sent the nurse a hundred pounds and instructed her to rent the cottage. Out of caution, I told her not to let the child go outside during the day and to cover Lucy’s face and hands so that rumors about the black child would not spread around the area. Maybe I really lost my head from fear that you would find out the truth. Now you know everything, and I ask you, what will happen to us, to the child and to me?
Mrs. Munro clasped her hands and waited for an answer.
At least ten minutes passed before her husband broke the silence, and it still gives me pleasure to remember his answer. Munro picked up the girl, kissed her and extended his hand to his wife.
“Let’s talk about this at home, it’s much more comfortable there,” he said and turned to the door. “I’m not a perfect person, Effie, but I’m not a scoundrel either.”
While the whole company was walking along the road, Holmes pushed me in the side.
“In my opinion,” he whispered, “we are needed more in London than in Norbury.”
He did not say another word about this matter until late in the evening.
“Watson,” Holmes turned to me as he opened his bedroom door with a lit candle in his hand, “if you ever notice that I’m starting to turn up my nose, just whisper to me: “Norbury.” I will be grateful to you.
In the early spring of 1888, Dr. Watson invites Sherlock Holmes for a walk in the park. Upon returning to Baker Street, they learn from the footman boy that they were visited by a certain very nervous gentleman, who, after waiting for Holmes for some time, left the house, promising to return soon. The nervous guest forgot his smoking pipe in the living room, and Holmes, using his deductive method, makes several subsequently confirmed conclusions about the appearance and character of the guest.
The nervous visitor turns out to be Mr. Monroe, a hops merchant. He asks Holmes to help him sort out a difficult family situation. Three years ago, Monroe meets a certain Effie Hebron, a twenty-five-year-old widow of a lawyer from Atlanta, USA. At one time, a yellow fever epidemic broke out in Atlanta, during which Effie’s husband and child died, after which she moved to her aunt in England, where she met Monroe. Monroe and Effie fell in love, got married and lived happily, renting a villa in Norbury. An important detail is that after marriage, Effie transferred all the money to Monroe for use with the condition: at any time she can ask her husband for a certain amount, without explaining why she needs it.
Six weeks before Monroe's visit to Holmes, the following happens: Effie asked Monroe for £100, but refused to explain why she needed this amount. A few more days later, during a walk, Monroe sees that the uninhabited cottage, located next to the villa where he and his wife live, is inhabited by someone, since there are many bundles and suitcases near the cottage.
Interested, Monroe walks around the cottage, hoping to see his new neighbors, but suddenly in the second floor window he catches a glimpse of a terrible, deathly yellow face. Monroe decides to meet her neighbors, but the woman who opens the door dryly and rudely cuts off Monroe’s attempts to talk to her. At night, Monroe, disturbed by the vision of a terrible yellow face, sleeps very poorly. And suddenly he realizes that his wife is sneaking out of the house somewhere in the middle of the night. Upon her return, Monroe directly asks her about this, but her wife clumsily lies to him that she allegedly just went out to get some fresh air.
The next day, Monroe, returning home after a short absence, sees his wife leaving the mysterious cottage. The wife explains this by saying that she simply came to visit the new neighbors, but when Monroe tries to enter the cottage, Effie begs him not to do so. Monroe agrees, but sets a condition for his wife: to never visit this strange house again. And when he and his wife go to their villa, Monroe turns around and sees someone with a terrible yellow face watching them through the window.
Two days later, Monroe, returning from work early, does not find his wife at home. Rightly judging that she is most likely in the mysterious house, Monroe breaks into the cottage, but finds no one there. But in the room where the mysterious creature with a yellow face was supposed to be, Monroe discovers a photo of his wife, taken at his insistence three months ago. Returning home, Monroe accuses his wife of breaking his promise and leaves home. After this, Monroe goes to London for help from Sherlock Holmes.
Extremely interested in this story, Holmes questions Monroe about Effie's first husband. But Monroe confirms that he saw his death certificate. Next, Holmes suggests that Monroe return home, carefully monitor the strange house, but make no more attempts to break into it. And Holmes himself promises to come tomorrow with Watson for the final resolution of this mysterious case.
After Monroe leaves, Holmes explains to Watson his vision of this riddle. Most likely, Effie Monroe's first husband did not die, but turned out to be either mentally ill or a leper. And, perhaps, someone, knowing this terrible secret, brought her first husband to England, settled him in a cottage and began to blackmail Effie with this, extorting money. This scenario, Holmes firmly believes, is the most logical.
The next evening, Holmes and Watson arrive in Norbury, where Monroe meets them. He reports that he was watching the mysterious house and offers to go there immediately to find out everything. Just before the door of the cottage, their path is blocked by Effie Monroe, who begs her husband not to go inside. However, Monroe does not listen to her and the three of them, along with Holmes and Watson, enter a room on the second floor, where they find a little girl standing with her back to them, wearing a red dress and long white gloves. When the girl turns her face towards them, it becomes clear that the “terrible yellow face” is a mask put on the child. Holmes takes off the girl's mask and it turns out that the girl is a black woman.
Effie Monroe, who came in next, explains everything. This is her daughter from her first marriage, who survived the fever epidemic and whom Effie secretly brought from the United States because she really missed her little daughter. Effie settled her daughter with a devoted maid nearby in a cottage. John Hebron, Effie's first husband, was a black man, and at that time, due to racial prejudice, marriage between people of different skin colors was considered shameful, as was having a “black” child with a “white” woman. But Mr. Monroe behaves extremely nobly, he takes the girl and his wife by the hand and offers to talk about everything at home. It is obvious that the marriage, which had been shaken, was successfully restored and the little black girl will find her second father in Monroe.
Holmes invites Watson to leave unnoticed, and after returning home he asks Watson to remind him of this incident if it suddenly seems to Watson that Holmes is either relying too much on his abilities or is not thoroughly investigating a mystery. So Holmes makes it clear that even a great detective can sometimes make mistakes, and that even a great detective needs to be reminded of this from time to time.
Incredible! - exclaimed the colonel. - Just unbelieveble! It’s as if you saw everything with your own eyes!
And lastly, to dot all the i’s. It occurred to me that such a cautious man as Stracker would not undertake such a complex operation as piercing the ear tendon without first practicing. Who could he have practiced on in King's Pyland? I saw the sheep in the pen and asked the groom if anything had happened to them lately. His answer exactly confirmed my assumption. I was even surprised myself.
Now I understand everything completely, Mr. Holmes?
In London I went to a dressmaker and showed her a photograph of Straker. She recognized him immediately and said that he was one of her regular customers and his name was Mr. Derbyshire. His wife is a big fashionista and loves expensive clothes. I have no doubt that he got deeply into debt and decided to commit a crime precisely because of this woman.
“You didn’t explain only one thing,” said the colonel, “where was the horse?”
Ah, the horse... She ran away and was taken in by one of your neighbors. I think we should show him some leniency. We're passing through Clapham now, aren't we? So it's about ten minutes to Victoria Station. If you come to our place to smoke a cigar, Colonel, I will be happy to supplement my story with the details that interest you.
yellow face
The Yellow Face
First published in the Strand Magazine, Feb. 1893,
with 7 illustrations by Sidney Paget.
It is quite natural that, in preparing for publication these short essays, which are based on those numerous cases when the peculiar talent of my friend prompted me to eagerly listen to his account of some unusual drama, and sometimes to become a participant in it myself, that I This is why I often dwell on his successes rather than his failures. I do this not out of concern for his reputation, no: after all, it was precisely when the task puzzled him that he especially surprised me with his energy and versatility of talent. The reason I do this is that where Holmes failed, too often it turned out that no one else succeeded, and then the story remained without resolution. At times, however, it also happened that my friend was mistaken, but the truth was still revealed. I have recorded five or six cases of this kind, and among them two seem to be the most striking and interesting - the case of the second stain and the story that I am about to tell now.
Sherlock Holmes rarely trained for the sake of training. There are few men more capable of exerting all their muscular strength, and at his weight he was indisputably one of the best boxers I have ever known; but in the aimless exertion of bodily strength he saw a waste of energy, and sometimes he could not be moved from his place, except in those cases when it came to his profession. It was then that he was completely tireless and relentless, although it would seem that this required constant and unremitting training; but, it is true, he always observed extreme moderation in food and in his habits, and was sternly simple. He was not committed to any vices, and if he occasionally resorted to cocaine, it was only as a protest against the monotony of life, when mysterious cases became rare and the newspapers did not offer anything interesting.
One day in early spring he was so relaxed that he went with me for a walk in the park during the day. Fragile green shoots were just emerging from the elms, and the sticky spear-shaped buds of the chestnuts had already begun to unfold into pentadigital leaves. We walked together for two hours, mostly in silence, as befits two men who know each other perfectly. It was about five when we returned to Baker Street.
“Allow me to report, sir,” said our footman, opening the door for us. - A gentleman came here and asked you, sir.
Holmes looked at me reproachfully.
So you had a walk in the middle of the day! - he said. - So he left, this gentleman?
Didn't you invite him to come over?
He proposed, sir, he came in and waited.
How long did he wait?
Half an hour, sir. He was a very restless gentleman, sir, he kept pacing while he was here, stamping his foot. I was waiting outside the door, sir, and I could hear everything. Finally he went out into the corridor and shouted: “Why won’t he ever come, this man?” These are his exact words, sir. And I told him: “You just need to wait a little longer.” “So,” he says, “I’ll wait in the fresh air, otherwise I’m just suffocating!” I’ll come back again in a little while,” with that he got up and left, and no matter what I told him, there was no way to stop him.
“Okay, okay, you did what you could,” Holmes said, walking with me into our common living room. - How annoying it turned out, Watson! I desperately need some interesting business, and this, apparently, is what it is, judging by the gentleman’s impatience. Hey! The pipe on the table is not yours! So it was he who left his. A good old heather root pipe with a long stem, the kind that tobacco shops call amber. I would like to know how many chibouks made of real amber there are in London! Others think that the sign is a fly. You know, a whole industry has arisen - introducing a fake fly into fake amber. He was, however, very upset if he forgot his pipe here, which he obviously treasures very much.
How do you know that he values her very much? - I asked.
A pipe like this costs seven and a half shillings new. Meanwhile, as you can see, it has been repaired twice: once the wooden part was repaired, the other time the amber part. The repair, mind you, both times cost more than the pipe itself - here it is intercepted in two places by a silver ring. A person must value his pipe very much if he chooses to repair it twice instead of buying a new one for the same money.
Anything else? - I asked, seeing that Holmes was twirling the pipe in his hand and looking at it thoughtfully, somehow in his own way. He held it high and tapped it with his long, slender forefinger, the way a professor might tap a bone while giving a lecture.
He held it up.
Pipes are usually very interesting,” he said. - Nothing else contains so much individuality, except, perhaps, a watch and shoelaces. Here, however, the instructions are not very pronounced and not very significant. The owner is obviously a strong man with excellent teeth, left-handed, sloppy and not inclined to save money.
My friend threw out this information casually, as if in passing, but I saw that he glanced sideways at me, checking whether I was following his reasoning.
Do you think a man is not short of money if he smokes a seven-shilling pipe? - I asked.
“He smokes Grosvenor mixture at eight pence an ounce,” Holmes replied, drumming his pipe on his head and knocking some tobacco into his palm. - But you can buy excellent tobacco for half this price - which means he doesn’t have to make savings.
What about other points?
He has a habit of lighting a cigarette using a lamp and a gas burner. You can see that the tube is heavily charred on one side. A match, of course, wouldn't do that. Why on earth would a person hold the match to the side when lighting a pipe? But you won’t be able to light a cigarette from a lamp without scorching the heads. And she is scorched on the right side. From this I deduce that its owner is left-handed. Try lighting a cigarette yourself with a lamp and see how, naturally, being right-handed, you bring the pipe to the fire with its left side. Sometimes you may do the opposite, but you won’t do this every time. This tube was always presented with the right side. Next, look, he gnawed right through the amber. Only a strong, energetic person with excellent teeth can do this. But I think I hear his footsteps on the stairs, so we’ll have something more interesting to look at than the pipe.
We approached the door, but suddenly a woman stepped out of the darkness and stood in the golden strip of light falling from the lamp. In the darkness I could not make out her face, but her outstretched hands expressed a plea.
- For God's sake, Jack, stop! - she screamed. “I had a feeling you would come tonight.” Don't think anything bad, dear! Trust me again and you will never have to regret it.
- I trusted you for too long, Effie! - he said sternly.
- Let me go! I'll come in anyway. Me and my friends, we decided to end this once and for all.
He pulled her away, and we followed him, not lagging behind. As soon as he opened the door, an elderly woman ran straight towards him and tried to get in his way, but he pushed her away, and a moment later all three of us were walking up the stairs. Grant Munro flew into the illuminated room on the second floor, followed by us.
The room was cozy, well furnished, two candles were burning on the table and two more on the fireplace. In the corner, bent over the desk, sat a little girl. Her face, when we entered, was turned in the other direction; we only saw that she was wearing a red dress and long white gloves. When she quickly rushed towards us, I screamed in horror and surprise. She turned her face towards us of the strangest deathly color, and its features were devoid of any expression. A moment later, the mystery was solved. Holmes, laughing, ran his hand behind the girl’s ear, the mask came off, and the jet-black black girl flashed all her white teeth, laughing merrily at our surprised appearance. Sharing her amusement, I laughed loudly, but Grant Munro stood with his eyes rolling out of his head and his hand clutching his throat.
- God! - he shouted, - what does this mean?
“I’ll tell you what this means,” the woman announced, entering the room with proud determination on her face. “You force me to tell you my secret, even though it seems unreasonable to me.” Now let's decide together how to deal with this. My husband in Atlanta died. My child survived.
- Your child!
She took out a silver medallion hidden on her chest.
-You never looked inside.
“I thought it wouldn’t open.”
She pressed the spring and the front flap of the medallion bounced back. Below it was a portrait of a man with a strikingly handsome and delicate face, although his features showed unmistakable signs of African origin.
“This is John Hebron from Atlanta,” said the woman, “and there was no nobler man on earth.” By marrying him, I broke away from my people, but while he was alive, I never regretted it for a minute. We were unlucky - our only child did not go into my family, but rather into his. This often happens in mixed marriages, and little Lucy is much blacker than her father was. But black or white, she is my dear, my dear little girl, and my mother loves her very much! “At these words, the girl ran up to her and buried her face in her dress.