you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadness andhorror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole towards your ownold wound and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed methat the ridiculous side of this method of settling internationalquestions had forced itself upon your mind. At this point I agreedwith you that it was preposterous and was glad to find that all mydeductions had been correct.”
“Absolutely!” said I. “And now that you have explained it, Iconfess that I am as amazed as before.”
“It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I shouldnot have intruded it upon your attention had you not shown someincredulity the other day. But I have in my hands here a littleproblem which may prove to be more difficult of solution than mysmall essay in thought reading. Have you observed in the paper ashort paragraph referring to the remarkable contents of a packetsent through the post to Miss Cushing, of Cross Street, Croydon?”
“No, I saw nothing.”
“Ah! then you must have overlooked it. Just toss it over to me.
Here it is, under the financial column. Perhaps you would be goodenough to read it aloud.”
I picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me and readthe paragraph indicated. It was headed “A Gruesome Packet.”
“Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross Street, Croydon, has beenmade the victim of what must be regarded as a peculiarly revoltingpractical joke unless some more sinister meaning should prove tobe attached to the incident. At two o’clock yesterday afternoona small packet, wrapped in brown paper, was handed in by thepostman. A cardboard box was inside, which was filled with coarsesalt. On emptying this, Miss Cushing was horrified to find twohuman ears, apparently quite freshly severed. The box had beensent by parcel post from Belfast upon the morning before. Thereis no indication as to the sender, and the matter is the moremysterious as Miss Cushing, who is a maiden lady of fifty, has led amost retired life, and has so few acquaintances or correspondentsthat it is a rare event for her to receive anything through thepost. Some years ago, however, when she resided at Penge, shelet apartments in her house to three young medical students,whom she was obliged to get rid of on account of their noisy andirregular habits. The police are of opinion that this outrage mayhave been perpetrated upon Miss Cushing by these youths, whoowed her a grudge and who hoped to frighten her by sending herthese relics of the dissecting-rooms. Some probability is lent tothe theory by the fact that one of these students came from thenorth of Ireland, and, to the best of Miss Cushing’s belief, fromBelfast. In the meantime, the matter is being actively investigated,1116 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
Mr. Lestrade, one of the very smartest of our detective officers,being in charge of the case.”
“So much for the Daily Chronicle,” said Holmes as I finishedreading. “Now for our friend Lestrade. I had a note from him thismorning, in which he says:
“I think that this case is very much in your line. We have everyhope of clearing the matter up, but we find a little difficulty ingetting anything to work upon. We have, of course, wired to theBelfast post-office, but a large number of parcels were handedin upon that day, and they have no means of identifying thisparticular one, or of remembering the sender. The box is a halfpoundbox of honeydew tobacco and does not help us in any way.
The medical student theory still appears to me to be the mostfeasible, but if you should have a few hours to spare I should bevery happy to see you out here. I shall be either at the house or inthe police-station all day.
“What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat andrun down to Croydon with me on the off chance of a case for yourannals?”
“I was longing for something to do.”
“You shall have it then. Ring for our boots and tell them toorder a cab. I’ll be back in a moment when I have changed mydressing-gown and filled my cigar-case.”
A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heatwas far less oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had senton a wire, so that Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like asever, was waiting for us at the station. A walk of five minutes tookus to Cross Street, where Miss Cushing resided.
It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat andprim, with whitened stone steps and little groups of apronedwomen gossiping at the doors. Halfway down, Lestrade stoppedand tapped at a door, which was opened by a small servant girl.
Miss Cushing was sitting in the front room, into which we wereushered. She was a placid-faced woman, with large, gentle eyes,and grizzled hair curving down over her temples on each side. Aworked antimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of colouredsilks stood upon a stool beside her.
“They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things,” said she asLestrade entered. “I wish that you would take them away altogether.”
“So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until my friend,Mr. Holmes, should have seen them in your presence.”
“Why in my presence, sir?”
“In case he wished to ask any questions.”
“What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I knownothing whatever about it?”
The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge 1117
“Quite so, madam,” said Holmes in his soothing way. “I have nodoubt that you have been annoyed more than enough already overthis business.”
“Indeed I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life.
It is something new for me to see my name in the papers and tofind the police in my house. I won’t have those things in here, Mr.
Lestrade. If you wish to see them you must go to the outhouse.”
It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind thehouse. Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box,with a piece of brown paper and some string. There was a benchat the end of the path, and we all sat down while Homes examinedone by one, the articles which Lestrade had handed to him.