"Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it.I had my net drawn tightly round Mr.Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole in the middle of it.He was able to prove an alibi which could not be shaken.From the time that he left his brothers room he was never out of sight of someone or other.So it could not be he who climbed over roofs and through trapdoors.It's a very dark case, and my professional credit is at stake.I should be very glad of a little assistance.""We all need help sometimes," said I.
"Your friend, Mr.Sherlock Holmes, is a wonderful man, sir," said he in a husky and confidential voice."He's a man who is not to be beat.I have known that young man go into a good many cases, but Inever saw the case yet that he could not throw a light upon.He is irregular in his methods and a little quick perhaps in jumping at theories, but, on the whole, I think he would have made a most promising officer, and I don't care who knows it.I have had a wire from him this morning, by which I understand that he has got some clue to this Sholto business.Here is his message."He took the telegram out of his pocket and handed it to me.It was dated from Poplar at twelve o'clock.
Go to Baker Street at once [it said].If I have not returned, wait for me.I am close on the track of the Sholto gang.You can come with us to-night if you want to be in at the finish.
"This sounds well.He has evidently picked up the scent again," said I.
"Ah, then he has been at fault too," exclaimed Jones with evident satisfaction."Even the best of us are thrown off sometimes.Of course this may prove to be a false alarm but it is my duty as an officer of the law to allow no chance to slip.But there is someone at the door.Perhaps this is he."A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great wheezing and rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for breath.Once or twice he stopped, as though the climb were too much for him, but at last he made his way to our door and entered.His appearance corresponded to the sounds which we had heard.He was an aged man, clad in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his throat.His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and his breathing was painfully asthmatic.As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his shoulders heaved in the effort to draw the air into his lungs.He had a coloured scarf round his chin, and I could see little of his face save a pair of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows and long gray side-whiskers.Altogether he gave me the impression of a respectable master mariner who had fallen into years and poverty.
"What is it, my man?" I asked.
He looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age.
"Is Mr.Sherlock Holmes here?" said he.
"No; but I am acting for him.You can tell me any message you have for him.""It was to him himself I was to tell it," said he.
"But I tell you that I am acting for him.Was it about Mordecai Smith's boat?""Yes.I knows well where it is.An' I knows where the men he is after are.An' I knows where the treasure is.I knows all about it.""Then tell me, and I shall let him know.""It was to him I was to tell it," he repeated with the petulant obstinacy of a very old man.
"Well, you must wait for him."
"No, no; I ain't goin' to lose a whole day to please no one.If Mr.Holmes ain't here, then Mr.Holmes must find it all out for himself.I don't care about the look of either of you, and I won't tell a word."He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front of him.
