My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a

very capable perfomer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All

the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect

happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the

music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes

were as unlike those of Holmes, the sleuth-hound, Holmes the

relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was

possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature

alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and

astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction

against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally

predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from

extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was

never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been

lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his

black-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase

would suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning

power would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were

unacquainted with his methods would look askance at him as on a

man whose knowledge was not that of other mortals. When I saw him

that afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St. James's Hall I

felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set

himself to hunt down.

"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he remarked as we

emerged.

"Yes, it would be as well."

"And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This

business at Coburg Square is serious."

"Why serious?"

"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to

believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being

Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help

to-night."

"At what time?"

"Ten will be early enough."

"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."

"Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger,

so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved his

hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the

crowd.

I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbors, but I was

always oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings

with Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had

seen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that

he saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about to

happen, while to me the whole business was still confused and

grotesque. As I drove home to my house in Kensington I thought

over it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headed

copier of the Encyclopaedia down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg

Square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me.

What was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed?

Where were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from

Holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant was a

formidable man--a man who might play a deep game. I tried to

puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter aside

until night should bring an explanation.

It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my

way across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker

Street. Two hansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered

the passage I heard the sound of voices from above. On entering

his room I found Holmes in animated conversation with two men,

one of whom I recognized as Peter Jones, the official police

agent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a

very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat.

"Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his

peajacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack.

"Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me

introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is to be our companion in

to-night's adventure."

"We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see," said Jones in

his consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for

starting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do

the running down."

"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,"

observed Mr. Merryweather gloomily.

"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," said

the police agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, which

are, if he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical

and fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It

is not too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of

the Sholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly

correct than the official force."

"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said the

stranger with deference. "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber.

It is the first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I

have not had my rubber."

"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you will

play for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and

that the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather,

the stake will be some 30,000 pounds; and for you, Jones, it will

be the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands."

"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's a

young man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his

profession, and I would rather have my bracelets on him than on

any criminal in London. He's a remarkable man, is young John

Clay. His grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has been

to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning.as his fingers, and

though we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know where to

find the man himself. He'll crack a crib in Scotland one week,

and be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next.

I've been on his track for years and have never set eyes on him

yet."

"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night.

I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I

agree with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is

past ten, however, and quite time that we started. If you two

will take the first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the

second."

Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive

and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in

the afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit

streets until we emerged into Farrington Street.

"We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow

Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the

matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is

not a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession.

He has one positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as

tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we

are, and they are waiting for us."

We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had

found ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and,

following the guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a

narrow passage and through a side door, which he opened for us.

Within there was a small corridor, which ended in a very massive

iron gate. This also was opened, and led down a flight of winding

stone steps, which terminated at another formidable gate. Mr.

Merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then conducted us

down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening a

third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all

round with crates and massive boxes.

"You are not very vulnerable from above," Holmes remarked as he

held up the lantern and gazed about him.

"Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon

the flags which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quite

hollow!" he remarked, looking up in surprise.

"I must really ask you to be a little more quiet!" said Holmes

severely. "You have already imperilled the whole success of our

expedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit

down upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?"

The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a

very injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his

knees upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens,

began to examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few

seconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again

and put his glass in his pocket.

"We have at least an hour before us," he remarked, "for they can

hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed.

Then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their

work the longer time they will have for their escape. We are at

present, Doctor--as no doubt you have divined--in the cellar of

the City branch of one of the principal London banks. Mr.

Merryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will explain to

you that there are reasons why the more daring criminals of

London should take a considerable interest in this cellar at

present."

"It is our French gold," whispered the director. "We have had

several warnings that an attempt might be made upon it."

"Your French gold?"

"Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources

and borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of

France. It has become known that we have never had occasion to

unpack the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The

crate upon which I sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed between

layers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is much larger at

present than is usually kept in a single branch office, and the

directors have had misgivings upon the subject."

"Which were very well justified," observed Holmes. "And now it is

time that we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an

hour matters will come to a head. In the meantime Mr.

Merryweather, we must put the screen over that dark lantern."

"And sit in the dark?"

"I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and

I thought that, as we were a partie carree, you might have your

rubber after all. But I see that the enemy's preparations have

gone so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light. And,

first of all, we must choose our positions. These are daring men,

and though we shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us

some harm unless we are careful. I shall stand behind this crate,

and do you conceal yourselves behind those. Then, when I flash a

light upon them, close in swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no

compunction about shooting them down."

I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case

behind which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front

of his lantern and left us in pitch darkness--such an absolute

darkness as I have never before experienced. The smell of hot

metal remained to assure us that the light was still there, ready

to flash out at a moment's notice. To me, with my nerves worked

up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and

subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air of the

vault.

"They have but one retreat," whispered Holmes. "That is back

through the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have

done what I asked you, Jones?"

"l have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door."

"Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent

and wait."

What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but

an hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must

have almost gone. and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs

were weary and stiff, for I feared to change my position; yet my

nerves were worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my

hearing was so acute that I could not only hear the gentle

breathing of my companions, but I could distinguish the deeper,

heavier in-breath of the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note

of the bank director. From my position I could look over the case

in the direction of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint

of a light.

At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then

it lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then,

without any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand

appeared; a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the

centre of the little area of light. For a minute or more the

hand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then

it was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark

again save the single lurid spark which marked a chink between

the stones.

Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending,

tearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon

its side and left a square, gaping hole, through which streamed

the light of a lantern. Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut,

boyish face, which looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand

on either side of the aperture, drew itself shoulder-high and

waist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. In another

instant he stood at the side of the hole and was hauling after

him a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face

and a shock of very red hair.

"It's all clear," he whispered. "Have you the chisel and the

bags? Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I'll swing for it!"

Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the

collar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of

rending cloth as Jones clutched at his skirts. The light flashed

upon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes's hunting crop came

down on the man's wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stone

floor.

"It's no use, John Clay," said Holmes blandly. "You have no

chance at all."

"So I see," the other answered with the utmost coolness. "I fancy

that my pal is all right, though I see you have got his

coat-tails."

"There are three men waiting for him at the door," said Holmes.

"Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. I

must compliment you."

"And I you," Holmes answered. "Your red-headed idea was very new

and effective."

"You'll see your pal again presently," said Jones. "He's quicker

at climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix the

derbies."

"I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,"

remarked our prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists.

"You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have

the goodness, also, when you address me always to say 'sir' and

'please.'"

"All right," said Jones with a stare and a snigger. "Well, would

you please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry

your Highness to the police-station?"

"That is better," said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping bow

to the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the

detective.

"Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather as we followed them

from the cellar, "I do not know how the bank can thank you or

repay you. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated

in the most complete manner one of the most determined attempts

at bank robbery that have ever come within my experience."

"I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr.

John Clay," said Holmes. "I have been at some small expense over

this matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond

that I am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in

many ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of

the Red-headed League."