Sherlock Holmes and the Red-Headed League

I called on my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day last autumn and found him talking to a fat, red-faced, old man with bright red hair. Apologising for arriving at Holmes' flat unexpectedly, I was going to leave when he pulled me into the room and closed the door behind me.

"Don't apologise, Watson, you have come at just the right time", he said politely.

"I thought you were busy."

"I am."

"Then I can wait in the next room."

"Not at all. This gentleman – his name is Dr. Watson – has been my partner and helper in many of my most successful cases, and I'm sure he will be very useful to me in yours too."

The fat gentleman half got up out of his chair and nodded his head to me, with a quick questioning look in his small eyes.

"Try the sofa," said Holmes, sitting back down in his armchair and putting his fingertips together. His habit when he was thinking deeply.

"I know, Watson, that you share my love of everything strange and outside the routine of everyday life. You remember that I said the other day, that real life is always much more surprising than imagination. Now, Mr. Wilson here has told me this morning one of the most unusual stories I've ever listened to. You've heard me say that the strangest things are often connected not with major but with minor crimes, and occasionally even when there is no crime. It is impossible for me to say in Mr. Wilson's case whether there is a crime or not, but the events are certainly bizarre.

"Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you could start your story again. I ask you because my friend, Dr. Watson, has not heard the beginning and also because I want to understand every detail. Generally, when I hear a little about a mystery, I can think of thousands of similar cases. But, in this one the facts are unique."

"Here's the advert I was telling you about. This is what began it all. Just read it for yourself, sir."

I took the paper from him and read as follows:

'THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: Thanks to the will of Ezekiah Hopkins, of Boston, U.S.A., there is now another job open for a red-headed man at a salary of 4 pounds a week for minor services. All red-headed men above the age of twenty-one can apply on Monday, at eleven o'clock, to Mr. Ross, at the offices of the Red-Headed League, 7, Fleet Street, London.'

"What does this mean?" I said after I had read the extraordinary advert twice.

Holmes smiled: "It is a little strange, isn't it?" said he. "And now, Mr. Wilson, tell us all about yourself, your house, and the effect which this advertisement had on your life. First, make a note, Doctor, of the newspaper and the date."

"It is The London Morning News of April 27, 1890. Just two months ago."

"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?"

"Well," said Wilson, "I have a small business near the City, but recently it has only given me enough to survive. I used to have two assistants, but now I only keep one, and I only pay him half salary so he can learn the business."

"What is the name of this cheap young man?" asked Holmes.

"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not a young man, either. It's hard to say his age. He is a very clever assistant, Mr. Holmes, and I know that he could earn twice what I give him. But, if he's satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?"

"Yes. Why? You're very lucky to have an employee who works so cheaply. It's not usual these days."

"Oh, he makes mistakes, too' said Mr. Wilson. "He is crazy about photography. Taking pictures with a camera when he should be at work, and then going down into the cellar to develop his pictures. That is his main fault, but generally he's a good worker."

"He's still with you, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir. There are only two of us in the house. I am a widower and never had any children. Mr. Spaulding and I live very quietly. We can't afford to go out much. That advertisement changed things though. Spaulding came into the office a few weeks ago, with this paper in his hand, and he said:

"'I wish, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.'

"'Why's that?' I asked.

"'Well,' he said, 'here's another job at the League of Red-headed Men. There's a good salary for any man who gets it, and I understand there are more jobs than there are men, so the League doesn't know how to spend the money. If my hair were red, I would get a nice little job.'

"'Why, what is it, then?' I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very stay-at-home man and I was often weeks without leaving the house. So, I didn't know what was going on, and I was always glad to hear some news.’

"'Haven't you ever heard of the League of Red-headed Men? Spaulding asked with his eyes open.

"'Never.'

"'Well, I’m surprised, because you are ideally suited for one of their jobs.'

"'And what are they worth?' I asked.

"'Oh, a couple of hundred a year. The work is light and doesn’t interfere much with your other work.'

"Well, you can imagine that made me interested because my business hasn't been good for some years, and an extra couple of hundred would be very useful.

"'Tell me all about it,' I said.

"'Well,' he answered, showing me the advertisement, 'you can see for yourself that the League has a job opening, and there's the address where you should apply. As far as I know, the League was established by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was red-headed and had a great liking for all red-headed men. So when he died he left his enormous fortune to make the lives of men whose hair is that colour very comfortable. It’s fantastic pay and there’s very little to do.'

"'But,' I said, 'there would be millions of red-headed men who wanted to apply.'

"'Not so many as you might think,' he answered. 'You see it's limited to really red-headed Londoners. This American was from London, and he wanted to help red-headed men as he was so often laughed at for having red hair. I've heard it's no use applying if your hair is light red or dark red or anything but bright red. Now, if you want to apply, Mr. Wilson, just walk in. But perhaps a few hundred pounds make no difference to you.'

"So, gentlemen, I told him to come with me right away. He was very happy to have a day out of the shop, so we shut the business and set off for the address that was given in the advertisement.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I'd never seen so many red-haired men. From north, south, east and west, every man who had a touch of red in his hair had walked into the city to answer the advertisement. I didn't think there were so many in the whole country. Spaulding pulled and pushed until he got me through the crowd and right up to the office."

"There was nothing in the office except a couple of wooden chairs and a table, behind which sat a small man with a head even redder than mine. He said a few words to each applicant but then he always found some fault in them. Getting a job did not seem to be so very easy, after all. However, when he was ready to see us, the little man closed the door as we entered, so that he might have a private talk with us.

"'This is Mr. Wilson,' said my assistant, 'and he is happy to take a job in the League.'

"'And he is well suited for it,' the other answered. ‘I can't remember when I've seen hair so red. My name is Mr. Ross. When can you start your new duties?'

"'Well, it's a little difficult because I have a business already,' I said.

"'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!' said Vincent Spaulding. 'I can look after that for you.'

"'What are the hours?' I asked.

"'Ten to two.'

"Now my business is mostly done in the evening, Mr. Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, people's pay-days and so it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would manage anything that happened.

"'That would suit me very well. And the pay?'

"'...is 4 pounds a week.'

"'And the work?'

"'Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the whole time. If you leave, you lose your job forever. No excuse will do,' said Mr. Ross; 'not sickness nor business nor anything else. You must stay, or you lose your job.'

"'And the work?'

"'It's to copy out the encyclopaedia. There's the first volume of it. You must find your own pens and paper, but we give you this table and chair. Will you be ready tomorrow?'

"'Certainly,' I answered.

"'Then good-bye, Mr. Wilson, and let me congratulate you once more on your new job.'

"Well, I thought it over all day, and by evening I was miserable again; I told myself that it must be a joke. It seemed incredible that anyone would pay four pounds a week for doing nothing. However, in the morning I decided to have a look, so I set off for Fleet Street. Well, to my surprise, the table was ready for me, and Mr. Ross was there to see that I got to work. He started me at the letter ‘A' and then he left me, but he would visit from time to time to see that I was alright.

"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager came in and put down four pounds for my week's work. It was the same the next week and the week after. Gradually, Mr. Ross stopped coming in at all. Still, of course, I never left the room because I wasn't sure when he might come. Eight weeks passed like this. And then suddenly it all ended."

"Ended?"

"Yes, sir. This morning. I went to work as usual at ten o'clock but the door was locked, with a little notice on it. Here it is, you can read it for yourself."

It read: 'THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE IS CLOSED. October 9, 1890.'

Sherlock Holmes and I looked at this paper and the sad face behind it.

"What did you do when you found the card on the door?"

"I was shocked, sir. I didn't know what to do. Then I called at the offices nearby, but nobody seemed to know anything. Finally, I went to the landlord and I asked him if he could tell me what had happened to the Red-headed League. He said that he'd never heard of it. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. "'Oh. He was a lawyer and was using my room temporarily until his new office was ready. He moved out yesterday.'

"'I asked where I could find him but he didn’t know.'"

"And what did you do then?" asked Holmes.

"I went home, and I asked my assistant's advice. But he couldn't help me. He could only say that I would probably get a letter. But that wasn't good enough, Mr. Holmes. So, as I knew you gave advice to poor people who needed it, I came to you right away."

"Very clever!" said Holmes. "Your case is a strange one and I'll be happy to look into it."

"I've lost four pound a week. I want to find out who these people are and why they were playing this joke on me. It was a pretty expensive one for them."

"We'll try to answer these questions for you. And, first, one or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first showed you the advert – how long has he been with you?"

"About a month."

"How did he come?"

"In answer to an advert."

"Was he the only applicant?"

"No, I had more than ten."

"Why did you choose him?"

"Because he was cheap."

"At half-salary, in fact. What's he like, this Vincent Spaulding?"

"Small, no hair on his face, though he must be thirty. Has a white acid scar on his forehead."

"Hum!" said Holmes, in deep thought. "Is he still with you?"

"Oh, yes, sir. I have only just left him."

"And has your business been well looked after, while you were away?"

"Yes, sir. There's never very much to do in the morning."

"That's all, Mr. Wilson. I'll be happy to give you an opinion in a day or two. Today is Saturday, and I hope that by Monday everything will be clear."

"Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor left us, "what do you think about it all? Usually, the strangest things are, in fact, the easiest to explain. It is ordinary crimes which are really puzzling, just as a common face is the most difficult to remember. But I must be quick."

"What are you going to do, then?" I asked.

"To smoke," he answered. "Please don't speak to me for fifty minutes."

He sat in his chair, with his thin knees up and with his eyes closed. I'd decided he'd fallen asleep when he suddenly jumped out of his chair like a man who's made up his mind.

"Come with me. I'm going to the City and we can have some lunch on the way. Come along!"

A short walk took us to Mr. Wilson's shop. It was in a dirty, little street, with 'WILSON' in white letters, on the corner house. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side and looked it over, his eyes shining brightly. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down again to the corner, still looking carefully at the houses. Finally he returned to the shop, and, hitting the pavement hard with his walking stick two or three times, he went to the door and knocked. It was opened by a bright-looking young man, who asked him to come in.

"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wanted to ask you how to go from here to the City."

"Third right, fourth left' answered the assistant quickly, closing the door.

"Clearly," I said, "Mr. Wilson's assistant is important in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you asked your way only to see him."

"Not him."

"What then?"

"The knees of his trousers."

"And what did you see?"

"What I expected to see."

"Doctor, this isn't the time for talk. We know something of Mr. Wilson's street. Now, let's explore the parts behind it."

The road, when we turned round the corner, was as different as the front of a picture is to the back. It was one of the main roads of the City. The road was blocked with traffic, while the paths were crowded with people. It was difficult to believe, as we looked at the fine shops and expensive businesses, that they really were on the other side of Mr. Wilson's ugly little road.

"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner, "I would like to remember the positions of the houses here. There is the little newspaper shop, a branch of the City Bank and a restaurant. That takes us to the other block. And now, Doctor, we've done our work. You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor. And I have some important business to do which will take a few hours. There's going to be a serious crime. I believe that we'll be in time to stop it but, because today is Saturday, it makes things more difficult. I'll want your help tonight at ten. And I say, Doctor, there may be a little danger, so please put your revolver in your pocket." He disappeared immediately among the crowd.

I don't believe that I'm slower than anyone else, but I always felt stupid when I was with Holmes. I heard what he heard, I saw what he saw, but it was clear that he saw not only what had happened but also what was about to happen, while to me the whole business was still confusing.

It was a quarter past nine when I got to Holmes' flat. Two taxis were outside, and as I entered, I heard voices from above. In his room I found Holmes in lively conversation with two men. One was Peter Jones, the police inspector, while the other was a thin, sad-faced man, with a smart coat.

"We're all here," said Holmes, taking his heavy walking stick. "Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones? This is Mr. Moss, who's going to be our partner in tonight's adventure."

"I think," said Sherlock Holmes, "that tonight will be very exciting for you, Mr. Moss. The reward will be 30,000 pounds and for you, Jones, it will be a man you really want to arrest."

"John Clay, the thief and murderer. He's a young man, Mr. Moss, but he is at the top of his profession, and I would prefer to arrest him than any criminal in London. He's an unusual man. His grandfather was a lord, and he has been to Oxford University. His brain is as quick as his fingers, and though we see signs of him everywhere, we never know where to find the man. He'll rob a bank in Scotland one week and be in London the next. I've hunted him for years and have never seen him."

"I hope to introduce you tonight. It is past ten, however, and time to start. If you two take the first taxi, Watson and I will follow in the second."

Sherlock Holmes was not very talkative during the long drive but finally he said:

"We are close now. Moss is the director of City Bank. I thought it best to have Jones with us too. He's an idiot as a police officer. But he's as brave as a lion. Here we are, and they are waiting for us."

We reached the same crowded road as the morning. We paid the taxis and walked through a side door, which he opened for us, into the bank. Inside there was a huge gate. Mr. Moss stopped to light a lamp, and then took us down a dark, smelly hall, and into a cellar, which was full of boxes.

"The ceiling is very strong' Holmes said as he held up the lamp.

"So is the floor" said Mr. Moss, hitting his stick with it. "That's strange! It sounds quite hollow!" he said, looking up in surprise.

"I must ask you to be a little quieter!" said Holmes. "You have already risked our success. Please, sit down on one of those boxes, and stay out of the way."

"We have at least an hour to wait," he said, "because they can do nothing until Mr. Wilson is asleep in bed. Then they won't lose a minute, because they'll want to do their work very fast so that they have a lot of time to escape. Doctor, we are in the cellar of a London bank. Mr. Moss is the chairman, and he'll explain to you why there are reasons why the most professional criminals in the city are interested in this cellar at the moment."

"It is our French gold," whispered the director. "It might be robbed. Some months ago we borrowed 30,000 from the Bank of France. Everyone knows that we have not unpacked the money, and that it is still in our cellar. The box I'm sitting on has 2,000 in it. We have much more gold at the moment than is usual in a single branch, and the directors are quite worried about it."

"They're right!" said Holmes. "And now it is time we made our little plans. I expect that in the next hour the thieves will try to get in. Mr. Moss, we must sit in the dark. These are dangerous men and they may attack us unless we are careful. I shall stand behind this box, and you should hide behind those. Then, when I turn on a light, attack them. If they shoot, Watson, shoot them."

I put my revolver on the top of the wooden box behind me. Holmes left us in darkness.

"They have only one way to escape," whispered Holmes. "That is back into Mr. Wilson's house in the street behind us. I hope that you've done what I asked, Jones?"

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

"So, now we must be silent and wait."

It seemed a very long time! Afterwards I realised it was only an hour, yet it seemed like morning. My legs were stiff because I was afraid of changing my position. Then, suddenly my eyes saw a light. It became a long yellow line, and, finally, a hole opened and a hand appeared, a white hand, in the little area of light. For a minute the hand was out. Then it went away suddenly, and everything was dark again except the light between the stones.

That only lasted a moment. One of the heavy, white stones turned over on its side and left a square hole, and we could all see the light of a lamp. Over the edge, a boyish face looked about and then a man climbed out. In another moment he stood at the side of the hole and was pulling his friend up, small like himself, with a pale face and very red hair.

Sherlock Holmes jumped up and took the man by the collar. The other escaped down the hole, as Jones tried to grab his clothes. The light was on the thieves' revolver, but Holmes' walking stick came down on the man's hand, and the pistol dropped on the stone floor.

"It's no use, Clay," said Holmes calmly. "You have no chance at all."

"So I see," he answered coolly. "I imagine that my friend has escaped though."

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

"Oh! You have thought of everything."

Holmes answered. "Your red-headed idea was very clever."

"You'll see your friend again very soon," said Jones. “Give me your hands!”

"Please don't touch me with your dirty hands' said our prisoner. "You may not know that my uncle is a lord. Always call me 'sir'."

"All right," said Jones with a laugh. "Well, would you please, sir, walk upstairs, where we can get a taxi to take you to the police station?"

"That's better," said John Clay. He walked quietly off with the policeman.

"Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Moss as we followed them from the cellar, "I don't know how the bank can thank you. There's no doubt you have stopped one of the most professional robberies in the bank's history."

"I'm pleased I've had this very interesting evening and heard the strange story of the Red-headed League."

"You see, Watson' he explained in the early hours of the morning in his home, "it was obvious that the only reason for the advert by the League, and the copying of the 'encyclopaedia,' must be to get Mr. Wilson out of the way for a number of hours every day. It was a strange way of managing it, but, really, it is difficult to suggest a better one. The 4 pounds a week was very attractive to Wilson but it was nothing to them – they were playing for thousands! They put in the advertisement, rented an office and encouraged the man to apply for it. When I heard the assistant was coming for half salary, it was obvious he had a good reason for getting the job."

"But how could you guess what the motive was?"

"The man's business was a small one and there was nothing in his house to steal. It must be something outside the house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant's interest in photography and his disappearing into the cellar. The cellar! Then I asked about this mysterious assistant and found he was one of the coolest criminals in London. He was doing something in the cellar – something which took many hours a day. What could it be? I could only think of a tunnel to another building.

"I'd worked all this out when we went to visit Mr. Wilson's shop. I surprised you by hitting the pavement with my stick. I was finding out whether the cellar was in front or behind. It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the assistant answered it. I did not even look at his face. His knees were what I wanted to see. You must have noticed yourself how dirty they were. He spent long hours on his knees.

"The only other point was what they were digging for. I walked round the corner, saw the City Bank joined our friend's shop, and felt that I had solved my problem. When you drove home, I called the police and the chairman of the bank."

"And how did you know that they would try tonight?" I asked.

"Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that they no longer cared about getting Mr. Wilson out of the house - in other words, that they had finished their tunnel. But they had to use it soon, because it might be discovered, or the gold might be removed. Saturday was better than any other day, as it gave them two days for their escape. For all these reasons I expected them to come tonight."

"It made my day quite exciting," he said. "My life is spent in one long effort to escape from boredom. These little problems help me to do so."