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                             THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS

     When I glance over my notes and records of the Sherlock Holmes
cases between the years '82 and '90, I am faced by so many which
present strange and interesting features that it is no easy matter to
know which to choose and which to leave.  Some, however, have already
gained publicity through the papers, and others have not offered a
field for those peculiar qualities which my friend possessed in so
high a degree, and which it is the object of these papers to
illustrate.  Some, too, have baffled his analytical skill, and would
be, as narratives, beginnings without an ending, while others have
been but partially cleared up, and have their explanations founded
rather upon conjecture and surmise than on that absolute logical proof
which was so dear to him.  There is, however, one of these last which
was so remarkable in its details and so startling in its results that
I am tempted to give some account of it in spite of the fact that
there are points in connection with it which never have been, and
probably never will be, entirely cleared up.
     The year '87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greater
or less interest, of which I retain the records.  Among my headings
under this one twelve months I find an account of the adventure of the
Paradol Chamber, of the Amateur Mendicant Society, who held a
luxurious club in the lower vault of a furniture warehouse, of the
facts connected with the loss of the British bark Sophy Anderson, of
the singular adventures of the Grice Patersons in the island of Uffa,
and finally of the Camberwell poisoning case.  In the latter, as may
be remembered, Sherlock Holmes was able, by winding up the dead man's
watch, to prove that it had been wound up two hours before, and that
therefore the deceased had gone to bed within that time -- a deduction
which was of the greatest importance in clearing up the case.  All
these I may sketch out at some future date, but none of them present
such singular features as the strange train of circumstances which I
have now taken up my pen to describe.
     It was in the latter days of September, and the equinoctial gales
had set in with exceptional violence.  All day the wind had screamed
and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that even here in the
heart of great, hand-made London we were forced to raise our minds for
the instant from the routine of life, and to recognize the presence of
those great elemental forces which shriek at mankind through the bars
of his civilization, like untamed beasts in a cage.  As evening drew
in, the storm grew higher and louder, and the wind cried and sobbed
like a child in the chimney.  Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side
of the fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime, while I at the
other was deep in one of Clark Russell's fine sea-stories until the
howl of the gale from without seemed to blend with the text, and the
splash of the rain to lengthen out into the long swash of the sea
waves.  My wife was on a visit to her mother's, and for a few days I
was a dweller once more in my old quarters at Baker Street.
     "Why," said I, glancing up at my companion, "that was surely the
bell.  Who could come to-night?  Some friend of yours, perhaps?"
     "Except yourself I have none," he answered.  "I do not encourage
visitors."
     "A client, then?"
     "If so, it is a serious case.  Nothing less would bring a man out
on such a day and at such an hour.  But I take it that it is more
likely to be some crony of the landlady's."
     Sherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for there
came a step in the passage and a tapping at the door.  He stretched
out his long arm to turn the lamp away from himself and towards the
vacant chair upon which a newcomer must sit.  "Come in!" said he.
     The man who entered was young, some two-and-twenty at the
outside, well-groomed and trimly clad, with something of refinement
and delicacy in his bearing.  The streaming umbrella which he held in
his hand, and his long shining waterproof told of the fierce weather
through which he had come.  He looked about him anxiously in the glare
of the lamp, and I could see that his face was pale and his eyes
heavy, like those of a man who is weighed down with some great
anxiety.
     "I owe you an apology," he said, raising his golden pince-nez to
his eyes.  "I trust that I am not intruding.  I fear that I have
brought some traces of the storm and rain into your snug chamber."
     "Give me your coat and umbrella," said Holmes.  "They may rest
here on the hook and will be dry presently.  You have come up from the
south-west, I see."
     "Yes, from Horsham."
     "That clay and chalk mixture which I see upon your toe caps is
quite distinctive."
     "I have come for advice."
     "That is easily got."
     "And help."
     "That is not always so easy."
     "I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes.  I heard from Major Prendergast
how you saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal."
     "Ah, of course.  He was wrongfully accused of cheating at
cards."
     "He said that you could solve anything."
     "He said too much."
     "That you are never beaten."
     "I have been beaten four times -- three times by men, and once by
a woman."
     "But what is that compared with the number of your successes?"
     "It is true that I have been generally successful."
     "Then you may be so with me."
     "I beg that you will draw your chair up to the fire and favour me
with some details as to your case."
     "It is no ordinary one."
     "None of those which come to me are.  I am the last court of
appeal."
     "And yet I question, sir, whether, in all your experience, you
have ever listened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of
events than those which have happened in my own family."
     "You fill me with interest," said Holmes.  "Pray give us the
essential facts from the commencement, and I can afterwards question
you as to those details which seem to me to be most important."
     The young man pulled his chair up and pushed his wet feet out
towards the blaze.
     "My name," said he, "is John Openshaw, but my own affairs have,
as far as I can understand, little to do with this awful business.  It
is a hereditary matter; so in order to give you an idea of the facts,
I must go back to the commencement of the affair.
     "You must know that my grandfather had two sons -- my uncle Elias
and my father Joseph.  My father had a small factory at Coventry,
which he enlarged at the time of the invention of bicycling.  He was a
patentee of the Openshaw unbreakable tire, and his business met with
such success that he was able to sell it and to retire upon a handsome
competence.
     "My uncle Elias emigrated to America when he was a young man and
became a planter in Florida, where he was reported to have done very
well.  At the time of the war he fought in Jackson's army, and
afterwards under Hood, where he rose to be a colonel.  When Lee laid
down his arms my uncle returned to his plantation, where he remained
for three or four years.  About 1869 or 1870 he came back to Europe
and took a small estate in Sussex, near Horsham.  He had made a very
considerable fortune in the States, and his reason for leaving them
was his aversion to the negroes, and his dislike of the Republican
policy in extending the franchise to them.  He was a singular man,
fierce and quick-tempered, very foul-mouthed when he was angry, and of
a most retiring disposition.  During all the years that he lived at
Horsham, I doubt if ever he set foot in the town.  He had a garden and
two or three fields round his house, and there he would take his
exercise, though very often for weeks on end he would never leave his
room.  He drank a great deal of brandy and smoked very heavily, but he
would see no society and did not want any friends, not even his own
brother.
     "He didn't mind me; in fact, he took a fancy to me, for at the
time when he saw me first I was a youngster of twelve or so.  This
would be in the year 1878, after he had been eight or nine years in
England.  He begged my father to let me live with him, and he was very
kind to me in his way.  When he was sober he used to be fond of
playing backgammon and draughts with me, and he would make me his
representative both with the servants and with the tradespeople, so
that by the time that I was sixteen I was quite master of the house.
I kept all the keys and could go where I liked and do what I liked, so
long as I did not disturb him in his privacy.  There was one singular
exception, however, for he had a single room, a lumber-room up among
the attics, which was invariably locked, and which he would never
permit either me or anyone else to enter.  With a boy's curiosity I
have peeped through the keyhole, but I was never able to see more than
such a collection of old trunks and bundles as would be expected in
such a room.
     "One day -- it was in March, 1883 -- a letter with a foreign
stamp lay upon the table in front of the colonel's plate.  It was not
a common thing for him to receive letters, for his bills were all paid
in ready money, and he had no friends of any sort.  'From India!' said
he as he took it up, 'Pondicherry postmark!  What can this be?'
Opening it hurriedly, out there jumped five little dried orange pips,
which pattered down upon his plate.  I began to laugh at this, but the
laugh was struck from my lips at the sight of his face.  His lip had
fallen, his eyes were protruding, his skin the colour of putty, and he
glared at the envelope which he still held in his trembling hand, 'K.
K. K.!' he shrieked, and then, 'My God, my God, my sins have overtaken
me!'
     "'What is it, uncle?' I cried.
     "'Death,' said he, and rising from the table he retired to his
room, leaving me palpitating with horror.  I took up the envelope and
saw scrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just above the gum, the
letter K three times repeated.  There was nothing else save the five
dried pips.  What could be the reason of his overpowering terror?  I
left the breakfast-table, and as I ascended the stair I met him coming
down with an old rusty key, which must have belonged to the attic, in
one hand, and a small brass box, like a cashbox, in the other.
     "'They may do what they like, but I'll checkmate them still,'
said he with an oath.  'Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my room
to-day, and send down to Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.'
     "I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived I was asked to
step up to the room.  The fire was burning brightly, and in the grate
there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned paper, while the
brass box stood open and empty beside it.  As I glanced at the box I
noticed, with a start, that upon the lid was printed the treble K
which I had read in the morning upon the envelope.
     "'I wish you, John,' said my uncle, 'to witness my will.  I leave
my estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to my
brother, your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to you.  If
you can enjoy it in peace, well and good!  If you find you cannot,
take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest enemy.  I am
sorry to give you such a two-edged thing, but I can't say what turn
things are going to take.  Kindly sign the paper where Mr. Fordham
shows you.'
     "I signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it away with
him.  The singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest
impression upon me, and I pondered over it and turned it every way in
my mind without being able to make anything of it.  Yet I could not
shake off the vague feeling of dread which it left behind, though the
sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed, and nothing happened to
disturb the usual routine of our lives.  I could see a change in my
uncle, however.  He drank more than ever, and he was less inclined for
any sort of society.  Most of his time he would spend in his room,
with the door locked upon the inside, but sometimes he would emerge in
a sort of drunken frenzy and would burst out of the house and tear
about the garden with a revolver in his hand, screaming out that he
was afraid of no man, and that he was not to be cooped up, like a
sheep in a pen, by man or devil.  When these hot fits were over,
however, he would rush tumultuously in at the door and lock and bar it
behind him, like a man who can brazen it out no longer against the
terror which lies at the roots of his soul.  At such times I have seen
his face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though it were
new raised from a basin.
     "Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not to
abuse your patience, there came a night when he made one of those
drunken sallies from which he never came back.  We found him, when we
went to search for him, face downward in a little green-scummed pool,
which lay at the foot of the garden.  There was no sign of any
violence, and the water was but two feet deep, so that the jury,
having regard to his known eccentricity, brought in a verdict of
'suicide.'  But I, who knew how he winced from the very thought of
death, had much ado to persuade myself that he had gone out of his way
to meet it.  The matter passed, however, and my father entered into
possession of the estate, and of some L14,000, which lay to his credit
at the bank."
     "One moment," Holmes interposed, "your statement is, I foresee,
one of the most remarkable to which I have ever listened.  Let me have
the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and the date of
his supposed suicide."
     "The letter arrived on March 10, 1883.  His death was seven weeks
later, upon the night of May 2d."
     "Thank you.  Pray proceed."
     "When my father took over the Horsham property, he, at my
request, made a careful examination of the attic, which had been
always locked up.  We found the brass box there, although its contents
had been destroyed.  On the inside of the cover was a paper label,
with the initials of K. K. K. repeated upon it, and 'Letters,
memoranda, receipts, and a register' written beneath.  These, we
presume, indicated the nature of the papers which had been destroyed
by Colonel Openshaw.  For the rest, there was nothing of much
importance in the attic save a great many scattered papers and
note-books bearing upon my uncle's life in America.  Some of them were
of the war time and showed that he had done his duty well and had
borne the repute of a brave soldier.  Others were of a date during the
reconstruction of the Southern states, and were mostly concerned with
politics, for he had evidently taken a strong part in opposing the
carpet-bag politicians who had been sent down from the North.
     "Well, it was the beginning of '84 when my father came to live at
Horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the January of
'85.  On the fourth day after the new year I heard my father give a
sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the breakfast-table.
There he was, sitting with a newly opened envelope in one hand and
five dried orange pips in the outstretched palm of the other one.  He
had always laughed at what he called my cock-and-bull story about the
colonel, but he looked very scared and puzzled now that the same thing
had come upon himself.
     "'Why, what on earth does this mean, John?' he stammered.
     "My heart had turned to lead.  'It is K. K. K.,' said I.
     "He looked inside the envelope.  'So it is,' he cried.  'Here are
the very letters.  But what is this written above them?'
     "'Put the papers on the sundial,' I read, peeping over his
shoulder.
     "'What papers?  What sundial?' he asked.
     "'The sundial in the garden.  There is no other,' said I; 'but
the papers must be those that are destroyed.'
     "'Pooh!' said he, gripping hard at his courage.  'We are in a
civilized land here, and we can't have tomfoolery of this kind.  Where
does the thing come from?'
     "'From Dundee,' I answered, glancing at the postmark.
     "'Some preposterous practical joke,' said he.  'What have I to do
with sundials and papers?  I shall take no notice of such nonsense.'
     "'I should certainly speak to the police,' I said.
     "'And be laughed at for my pains.  Nothing of the sort.'
     "'Then let me do so?'
     "'No, I forbid you.  I won't have a fuss made about such
nonsense.'
     "It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate
man.  I went about, however, with a heart which was full of
forebodings.
     "On the third day after the coming of the letter my father went
from home to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is in
command of one of the forts upon Portsdown Hill.  I was glad that he
should go, for it seemed to me that he was farther from danger when he
was away from home.  In that, however, I was in error.  Upon the
second day of his absence I received a telegram from the major,
imploring me to come at once.  My father had fallen over one of the
deep chalk-pits which abound in the neighbourhood, and was lying
senseless, with a shattered skull.  I hurried to him, but he passed
away without having ever recovered his consciousness.  He had, as it
appears, been returning from Fareham in the twilight, and as the
country was unknown to him, and the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had
no hesitation in bringing in a verdict of 'death from accidental
causes.'  Carefully as I examined every fact connected with his death,
I was unable to find anything which could suggest the idea of murder.
There were no signs of violence, no footmarks, no robbery, no record
of strangers having been seen upon the roads.  And yet I need not tell
you that my mind was far from at ease, and that I was well-nigh
certain that some foul plot had been woven round him.
     "In this sinister way I came into my inheritance.  You will ask
me why I did not dispose of it?  I answer, because I was well
convinced that our troubles were in some way dependent upon an
incident in my uncle's life, and that the danger would be as pressing
in one house as in another.
     "It was in January, '85, that my poor father met his end, and two
years and eight months have elapsed since then.  During that time I
have lived happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope that this curse
had passed away from the family, and that it had ended with the last
generation.  I had begun to take comfort too soon, however; yesterday
morning the blow fell in the very shape in which it had come upon my
father."
     The young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and
turning to the table he shook out upon it five little dried orange
pips.
     "This is the envelope," he continued.  "The postmark is London --
eastern division.  Within are the very words which were upon my
father's last message: 'K. K. K.'; and then 'Put the papers on the
sundial.'"
     "What have you done?" asked Holmes.
     "Nothing."
     "Nothing?"
     "To tell the truth" -- he sank his face into his thin, white
hands -- "I have felt helpless.  I have felt like one of those poor
rabbits when the snake is writhing towards it.  I seem to be in the
grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil, which no foresight and no
precautions can guard against."
     "Tut! tut!" cried Sherlock Holmes.  "You must act, man, or you
are lost.  Nothing but energy can save you.  This is no time for
despair."
     "I have seen the police."
     "Ah!"
     "But they listened to my story with a smile.  I am convinced that
the inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all
practical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were really
accidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected with the
warnings."
     Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air.  "Incredible
imbecility!" he cried.
     "They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in
the house with me."
     "Has he come with you to-night?"
     "No.  His orders were to stay in the house."
     Again Holmes raved in the air.
     "Why did you come to me," he cried, "and, above all, why did you
not come at once?"
     "I did not know.  It was only to-day that I spoke to Major
Prendergast about my troubles and was advised by him to come to you."
     "It is really two days since you had the letter.  We should have
acted before this.  You have no further evidence, I suppose, than that
which you have placed before us -- no suggestive detail which might
help us?"
     "There is one thing," said John Openshaw.  He rummaged in his
coat pocket, and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted
paper, he laid it out upon the table.  "I have some remembrance," said
he, "that on the day when my uncle burned the papers I observed that
the small, unburned margins which lay amid the ashes were of this
particular colour.  I found this single sheet upon the floor of his
room, and I am inclined to think that it may be one of the papers
which has, perhaps, fluttered out from among the others, and in that
way has escaped destruction.  Beyond the mention of pips, I do not see
that it helps us much.  I think myself that it is a page from some
private diary.  The writing is undoubtedly my uncle's."
     Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper,
which showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from a
book.  It was headed, "March, 1869," and beneath were the following
enigmatical notices:

   4th.  Hudson came.  Same old platform.
   7th.  Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and John Swain, of St.
Augustine.
   9th.  McCauley cleared.
  10th.  John Swain cleared.
  12th.  Visited Paramore.  All well.

     "Thank you!" said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning it
to our visitor.  "And now you must on no account lose another instant.
We cannot spare time even to discuss what you have told me.  You must
get home instantly and act."
     "What shall I do?"
     "There is but one thing to do.  It must be done at once.  You
must put this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass
box which you have described.  You must also put in a note to say that
all the other papers were burned by your uncle, and that this is the
only one which remains.  You must assert that in such words as will
carry conviction with them.  Having done this, you must at once put
the box out upon the sundial, as directed.  Do you understand?"
     "Entirely."
     "Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present.  I
think that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our web
to weave, while theirs is already woven.  The first consideration is
to remove the pressing danger which threatens you.  The second is to
clear up the mystery and to punish the guilty parties."
     "I thank you," said the young man, rising and pulling on his
overcoat.  "You have given me fresh life and hope.  I shall certainly
do as you advise."
     "Do not lose an instant.  And, above all, take care of yourself
in the meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that
you are threatened by a very real and imminent danger.  How do you go
back?"
     "By train from Waterloo."
     "It is not yet nine.  The streets will be crowded, so I trust
that you may be in safety.  And yet you cannot guard yourself too
closely."
     "I am armed."
     "That is well.  To-morrow I shall set to work upon your case."
     "I shall see you at Horsham, then?"
     "No, your secret lies in London.  It is there that I shall seek
it."
     "Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news
as to the box and the papers.  I shall take your advice in every
particular."  He shook hands with us and took his leave.  Outside the
wind still screamed and the rain splashed and pattered against the
windows.  This strange, wild story seemed to have come to us from amid
the mad elements -- blown in upon us like a sheet of sea-weed in a
gale -- and now to have been reabsorbed by them once more.
     Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk
forward and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire.  Then he lit
his pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the blue
smoke-rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling.
     "I think, Watson," he remarked at last, "that of all our cases we
have had none more fantastic than this."
     "Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four."
     "Well, yes.  Save, perhaps, that.  And yet this John Openshaw
seems to me to be walking amid even greater perils than did the
Sholtos."
     "But have you," I asked, "formed any definite conception as to
what these perils are?"
     "There can be no question as to their nature," he answered.
     "Then what are they?  Who is this K. K. K., and why does he
pursue this unhappy family?"
     Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the
arms of his chair, with his finger-tips together.  "The ideal
reasoner," he remarked, "would, when he had once been shown a single
fact in all its bearings, deduce from it not only all the chain of
events which led up to it but also all the results which would follow
from it.  As Cuvier could correctly describe a whole animal by the
contemplation of a single bone, so the observer who has thoroughly
understood one link in a series of incidents should be able to
accurately state all the other ones, both before and after.  We have
not yet grasped the results which the reason alone can attain to.
Problems may be solved in the study which have baffled all those who
have sought a solution by the aid of their senses.  To carry the art,
however, to its highest pitch, it is necessary that the reasoner
should be able to utilize all the facts which have come to his
knowledge; and this in itself implies, as you will readily see, a
possession of all knowledge, which, even in these days of free
education and encyclopaedias, is a somewhat rare accomplishment.  It
is not so impossible, however, that a man should possess all knowledge
which is likely to be useful to him in his work, and this I have
endeavoured in my case to do.  If I remember rightly, you on one
occasion, in the early days of our friendship, defined my limits in a
very precise fashion."
     "Yes," I answered, laughing.  "It was a singular document.
Philosophy, astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, I remember.
Botany variable, geology profound as regards the mud-stains from any
region within fifty miles of town, chemistry eccentric, anatomy
unsystematic, sensational literature and crime records unique,
violin-player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, and self-poisoner by cocaine
and tobacco.  Those, I think, were the main points of my analysis."
     Holmes grinned at the last item.  "Well," he said, "I say now, as
I said then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic stocked
with all the furniture that he is likely to use, and the rest he can
put away in the lumber-room of his library, where he can get it if he
wants it.  Now, for such a case as the one which has been submitted to
us to-night, we need certainly to muster all our resources.  Kindly
hand me down the letter K of the American Encyclopaedia which stands
upon the shelf beside you.  Thank you.  Now let us consider the
situation and see what may be deduced from it.  In the first place, we
may start with a strong presumption that Colonel Openshaw had some
very strong reason for leaving America.  Men at his time of life do
not change all their habits and exchange willingly the charming
climate of Florida for the lonely life of an English provincial town.
His extreme love of solitude in England suggests the idea that he was
in fear of someone or something, so we may assume as a working
hypothesis that it was fear of someone or something which drove him
from America.  As to what it was he feared, we can only deduce that by
considering the formidable letters which were received by himself and
his successors.  Did you remark the postmarks of those letters?"
     "The first was from Pondicherry, the second from Dundee, and the
third from London."
     "From East London.  What do you deduce from that?"
     "They are all seaports.  That the writer was on board of a
ship."
     "Excellent.  We have already a clue.  There can be no doubt that
the probability -- the strong probability -- is that the writer was on
board of a ship.  And now let us consider another point.  In the case
of Pondicherry, seven weeks elapsed between the threat and its
fulfillment, in Dundee it was only some three or four days.  Does that
suggest anything?"
     "A greater distance to travel."
     "But the letter had also a greater distance to come."
     "Then I do not see the point."
     "There is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man
or men are is a sailing-ship.  It looks as if they always sent their
singular warning or token before them when starting upon their
mission.  You see how quickly the deed followed the sign when it came
from Dundee.  If they had come from Pondicherry in a steamer they
would have arrived almost as soon as their letter.  But, as a matter
of fact, seven weeks elapsed.  I think that those seven weeks
represented the difference between the mail-boat which brought the
letter and the sailing vessel which brought the writer."
     "It is possible."
     "More than that.  It is probable.  And now you see the deadly
urgency of this new case, and why I urged young Openshaw to caution.
The blow has always fallen at the end of the time which it would take
the senders to travel the distance.  But this one comes from London,
and therefore we cannot count upon delay."
     "Good God!" I cried.  "What can it mean, this relentless
persecution?"
     "The papers which Openshaw carried are obviously of vital
importance to the person or persons in the sailing-ship.  I think that
it is quite clear that there must be more than one of them.  A single
man could not have carried out two deaths in such a way as to deceive
a coroner's jury.  There must have been several in it, and they must
have been men of resource and determination.  Their papers they mean
to have, be the holder of them who it may.  In this way you see K. K.
K. ceases to be the initials of an individual and becomes the badge of
a society."
     "But of what society?"
     "Have you never -- " said Sherlock Holmes, bending forward and
sinking his voice -- "have you never heard of the Ku Klux Klan?"
     "I never have."
     Holmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee.  "Here
it is," said he presently:

   "Ku Klux Klan.  A name derived from the fanciful resemblance to the
sound produced by cocking a rifle.  This terrible secret society was
formed by some ex-Confederate soldiers in the Southern states after
the Civil War, and it rapidly formed local branches in different parts
of the country, notably in Tennessee, Louisiana, the Carolinas,
Georgia, and Florida.  Its power was used for political purposes,
principally for the terrorizing of the negro voters and the murdering
and driving from the country of those who were opposed to its views.
Its outrages were usually preceded by a warning sent to the marked man
in some fantastic but generally recognized shape -- a sprig of
oak-leaves in some parts, melon seeds or orange pips in others.  On
receiving this the victim might either openly abjure his former ways,
or might fly from the country.  If he braved the matter out, death
would unfailingly come upon him, and usually in some strange and
unforeseen manner.  So perfect was the organization of the society,
and so systematic its methods, that there is hardly a case upon record
where any man succeeded in braving it with impunity, or in which any
of its outrages were traced home to the perpetrators.  For some years
the organization flourished in spite of the efforts of the United
States government and of the better classes of the community in the
South.  Eventually, in the year 1869, the movement rather suddenly
collapsed, although there have been sporadic outbreaks of the same
sort since that date.

     "You will observe," said Holmes, laying down the volume, "that
the sudden breaking up of the society was coincident with the
disappearance of Openshaw from America with their papers.  It may well
have been cause and effect.  It is no wonder that he and his family
have some of the more implacable spirits upon their track.  You can
understand that this register and diary may implicate some of the
first men in the South, and that there may be many who will not sleep
easy at night until it is recovered."
     "Then the page we have seen --"
     "Is such as we might expect.  It ran, if I remember right, 'sent
the pips to A, B, and C' -- that is, sent the society's warning to
them.  Then there are successive entries that A and B cleared, or left
the country, and finally that C was visited, with, I fear, a sinister
result for C.  Well, I think, Doctor, that we may let some light into
this dark place, and I believe that the only chance young Openshaw has
in the meantime is to do what I have told him.  There is nothing more
to be said or to be done to-night, so hand me over my violin and let
us try to forget for half an hour the miserable weather and the still
more miserable ways of our fellowmen."

     It had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a
subdued brightness through the dim veil which hangs over the great
city.  Sherlock Holmes was already at breakfast when I came down.
     "You will excuse me for not waiting for you," said he; "I have, I
foresee, a very busy day before me in looking into this case of young
Openshaw's."
     "What steps will you take?" I asked.
     "It will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries.
I may have to go down to Horsham, after all."
     "You will not go there first?"
     "No, I shall commence with the City.  Just ring the bell and the
maid will bring up your coffee."
     As I waited, I lifted the unopened newspaper from the table and
glanced my eye over it.  It rested upon a heading which sent a chill
to my heart.
     "Holmes," I cried, "you are too late."
     "Ah!" said he, laying down his cup, "I feared as much.  How was
it done?"  He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was deeply moved.
     "My eye caught the name of Openshaw, and the heading 'Tragedy
Near Waterloo Bridge.'  Here is the account:

   "Between nine and ten last night Police-Constable Cook, of the H
Division, on duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help and a
splash in the water.  The night, however, was extremely dark and
stormy, so that, in spite of the help of several passers-by, it was
quite impossible to effect a rescue.  The alarm, however, was given,
and, by the aid of the water-police, the body was eventually
recovered.  It proved to be that of a young gentleman whose name, as
it appears from an envelope which was found in his pocket, was John
Openshaw, and whose residence is near Horsham.  It is conjectured that
he may have been hurrying down to catch the last train from Waterloo
Station, and that in his haste and the extreme darkness he missed his
path and walked over the edge of one of the small landing-places for
river steamboats.  The body exhibited no traces of violence, and there
can be no doubt that the deceased had been the victim of an
unfortunate accident, which should have the effect of calling the
attention of the authorities to the condition of the riverside
landing-stages."

     We sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes more depressed and
shaken than I had ever seen him.
     "That hurts my pride, Watson," he said at last.  "It is a petty
feeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride.  It becomes a personal
matter with me now, and, if God sends me health, I shall set my hand
upon this gang.  That he should come to me for help, and that I should
send him away to his death --!"  He sprang from his chair and paced
about the room in uncontrollable agitation, with a flush upon his
sallow cheeks and a nervous clasping and unclasping of his long thin
hands.
     "They must be cunning devils," he exclaimed at last.  "How could
they have decoyed him down there?  The Embankment is not on the direct
line to the station.  The bridge, no doubt, was too crowded, even on
such a night, for their purpose.  Well, Watson, we shall see who will
win in the long run.  I am going out now!"
     "To the police?"
     "No; I shall be my own police.  When I have spun the web they may
take the flies, but not before."
     All day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in
the evening before I returned to Baker Street.  Sherlock Holmes had
not come back yet.  It was nearly ten o'clock before he entered,
looking pale and worn.  He walked up to the sideboard, and tearing a
piece from the loaf he devoured it voraciously, washing it down with a
long draught of water.
     "You are hungry," I remarked.
     "Starving.  It had escaped my memory.  I have had nothing since
breakfast."
     "Nothing?"
     "Not a bite.  I had no time to think of it."
     "And how have you succeeded?"
     "Well."
     "You have a clue?"
     "I have them in the hollow of my hand.  Young Openshaw shall not
long remain unavenged.  Why, Watson, let us put their own devilish
trade-mark upon them.  It is well thought of!"
     "What do you mean?"
     He took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces he
squeezed out the pips upon the table.  Of these he took five and
thrust them into an envelope.  On the inside of the flap he wrote "S.
H. for J. O."  Then he sealed it and addressed it to "Captain James
Calhoun, Bark Lone Star, Savannah, Georgia."
     "That will await him when he enters port," said he, chuckling.
"It may give him a sleepless night.  He will find it as sure a
precursor of his fate as Openshaw did before him."
     "And who is this Captain Calhoun?"
     "The leader of the gang.  I shall have the others, but he
first."
     "How did you trace it, then?"
     He took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered with
dates and names.
     "I have spent the whole day," said he, "over Lloyd's registers
and files of the old papers, following the future career of every
vessel which touched at Pondicherry in January and February in '83.
There were thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which were reported there
during those months.  Of these, one, the Lone Star, instantly
attracted my attention, since, although it was reported as having
cleared from London, the name is that which is given to one of the
states of the Union."
     "Texas, I think."
     "I was not and am not sure which; but I knew that the ship must
have an American origin."
     "What then?"
     "I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the bark
Lone Star was there in January, '85, my suspicion became a certainty.
I then inquired as to the vessels which lay at present in the port of
London."
     "Yes?"
     "The Lone Star had arrived here last week.  I went down to the
Albert Dock and found that she had been taken down the river by the
early tide this morning, homeward bound to Savannah.  I wired to
Gravesend and learned that she had passed some time ago, and as the
wind is easterly I have no doubt that she is now past the Goodwins and
not very far from the Isle of Wight."
     "What will you do, then?"
     "Oh, I have my hand upon him.  He and the two mates, are, as I
learn, the only native-born Americans in the ship.  The others are
Finns and Germans.  I know, also, that they were all three away from
the ship last night.  I had it from the stevedore who has been loading
their cargo.  By the time that their sailing-ship reaches Savannah the
mail-boat will have carried this letter, and the cable will have
informed the police of Savannah that these three gentlemen are badly
wanted here upon a charge of murder."
     There is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans,
and the murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the orange
pips which would show them that another, as cunning and as resolute as
themselves, was upon their track.  Very long and very severe were the
equinoctial gales that year.  We waited long for news of the Lone Star
of Savannah, but none ever reached us.  We did at last hear that
somewhere far out in the Atlantic a shattered stern-post of the boat
was seen swinging in the trough of a wave, with the letters "L. S."
carved upon it, and that is all which we shall ever know of the fate
of the Lone Star.