The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
1
The Adventure of the
Cardboard Box
By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
2
In choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable mental
qualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeavoured, as far as
possible, to select those which presented the minimum of sensationalism,
while offering a fair field for his talents. It is, however, unfortunately
impossible entirely to separate the sensational from the criminal, and a
chronicler is left in the dilemma that he must either sacrifice details which
are essential to his statement and so give a false impression of the problem,
or he must use matter which chance, and not choice, has provided him
with. With this short preface I shall turn to my notes of what proved to
be a strange, though a peculiarly terrible, chain of events.
It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was like an oven,
and the glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork of the house
across the road was painful to the eye. It was hard to believe that these
were the same walls which loomed so gloomily through the fogs of winter.
Our blinds were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading
and re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. For
myself, my term of service in India had trained me to stand heat better
than cold, and a thermometer at ninety was no hardship. But the morning
paper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of
town, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle of
Southsea. A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my
holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented
the slightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in the very center of five
millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and running through
them, responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime.
Appreciation of nature found no place among his many gifts, and his only
change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to
track down his brother of the country.
Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation I had tossed
side the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair I fell into a brown
study. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts:
"You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a most preposterous
way of settling a dispute."
"Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then suddenly realizing how he
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
3
had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and stared
at him in blank amazement.
"What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything which I
could have imagined."
He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
"You remember," said he, "that some little time ago when I read you
the passage in one of Poe's sketches in which a close reasoner follows the
unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matter
as a mere tour-de-force of the author. On my remarking that I was
constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity."
"Oh, no!"
"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with
your eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enter
upon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity of
reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been
in rapport with you."
But I was still far from satisfied. "In the example which you read to
me," said I, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of the
man whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap of
stones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seated quietly
in my chair, and what clues can I have given you?"
"You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as the
means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithful
servants."
"Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from my
features?"
"Your features and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourself
recall how your reverie commenced?"
"No, I cannot."
"Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was
the action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with a
vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newly
framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in your face
that a train of thought had been started. But it did not lead very far.
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
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Your eyes flashed across tho the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher
which stands upon the top of your books. Then you glanced up at the
wall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if
the portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space and correspond
with Gordon's picture there."
"You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed.
"So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts went
back to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying the
character in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but you
continued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You were
recalling the incidents of Beecher's career. I was well aware that you
could not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook on
behalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember your
expressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he was
received by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about
it that I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also.
When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, I
suspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when I
observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clenched I
was positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which was
shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again, your face
grew sadder, you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadness
and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole towards your own
old wound and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that the
ridiculous side of this method of settling international questions had forced
itself upon your mind. At this point I agreed with you that it was
preposterous and was glad to find that all my deductions had been
correct."
"Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have explained it, I confess
that I am as amazed as before."
"It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should not
have intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulity
the other day. But I have in my hands here a little problem which may
prove to be more difficult of solution than my small essay I thought
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
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reading. Have you observed in the paper a short paragraph referring to
the remarkable contents of a packet sent 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 good enough to
read it aloud."
I picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me and read the
paragraph indicated. It was headed, "A Gruesome Packet."
"Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross Street, Croydon, has been made
the victim of what must be regarded as a peculiarly revolting practical joke
unless some more sinister meaning should prove to be attached to the
incident. At two o'clock yesterday afternoon a small packet, wrapped in
brown paper, was handed in by the postman. A cardboard box was inside,
which was filled with coarse salt. On emptying this, Miss Cushing was
horrified to find two human ears, apparently quite freshly severed. The
box had been sent by parcel post from Belfast upon the morning before.
There is no indication as to the sender, and the matter is the more
mysterious as Miss Cushing, who is a maiden lady of fifty, has led a most
retired life, and has so few acquaintances or corespondents that it is a rare
event for her to receive anything through the post. Some years ago,
however, when she resided at Penge, she let apartments in her house to
three young medical students, whom she was obliged to get rid of on
account of their noisy and irregular habits. The police are of opinion that
this outrage may have been perpetrated upon Miss Cushing by these
youths, who owed her a grudge and who hoped to frighten her by sending
her these relics of the dissecting-rooms. Some probability is lent to the
theory by the fact that one of these students came from the north of Ireland,
and, to the best of Miss Cushing's belief, from Belfast. In the meantime,
the matter is being actively investigated, 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 finished reading.
"Now for our friend Lestrade. I had a note from him this morning, in
which he says:
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
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"I think that this case is very much in your line. We have every hope
of clearing the matter up, but we find a little difficulty in getting anything
to work upon. We have, of course, wired to the Belfast post-office, but a
large number of parcels were handed in upon that day, and they have no
means of identifying this particular one, or of remembering the sender.
The box is a half-pound box of honeydew tobacco and does not help us in
any way. The medical student theory still appears to me to be the most
feasible, but if you should have a few hours to spare I should be very
happy to see you out here. I shall be either at the house or in the police-
station all day.
"What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat and run
down to Croydon with me on the off chance of a case for your annals?"
"I was longing for something to do."
"You shall have it then. Ring for our boots and tell them to order a
cab. I'll be back in a moment when I have changed my dressing-gown
and filled my cigar-case."
A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat was far
less oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had sent on a wire, so
that Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret- like as ever, was waiting
for us at the station. A walk of five minutes took us to Cross Street,
where Miss Cushing resided.
It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and prim, with
whitened stone steps and little groups of aproned women gossiping at the
doors. Halfway down, Lestrade stopped and tapped at a door, which was
opened by a small servant girl. Miss Cushing was sitting in the front
room, into which we were ushered. She was a placid-faced woman, with
large, gentle eyes, and grizzled hair curving down over her temples on
each side. A worked antimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of
coloured silks stood upon a stool beside her.
"They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things," said she as Lestrade
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?"
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
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"In case he wished to ask any questions."
"What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I know
nothing whatever about it?"
"Quite so, madam," said Holmes in his soothing way. "I have no
doubt that you have been annoyed more than enough already over this
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 to find the police
in my house. I won't have those things I 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 the house.
Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a piece of
brown paper and some string. There was a bench at the end of the path,
and we all sat down while Homes examined one by one, the articles which
Lestrade had handed to him.
"The string is exceedingly interesting," he remarked, holding it up to
the light and sniffing at it. "What do you make of this string, Lestrade?"
"It has been tarred."
"Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt,
remarked that Miss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can be
seen by the double fray on each side. This is of importance."
"I cannot see the importance," said Lestrade.
"The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and that this
knot is of a peculiar character."
"It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note of that effect," said
Lestrade complacently.
"So much for the string, then," said Holmes, smiling, "now for the box
wrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. What, did you not
observe it? I think there can be no doubt of it. Address printed in rather
straggling characters: 'Miss S. Cushing, Cross Street, Croydon.' Done
with a broad-pointed pen, probably a J, and with very inferior ink. The
word 'Croydon' has been originally spelled with an 'i', which has been
changed to 'y'. The parcel was directed, then, by a man--the printing is
distinctly masculine--of limited education and unacquainted with the town
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
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of Croydon. So far, so good! The box is a yellow, half-pound
honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two thumb marks at the left
bottom corner. It is filled with rough salt of the quality used for
preserving hides and other of the coarser commercial purposes. And
embedded in it are these very singular enclosures."
He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across his
knee he examined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forward
on each side of him, glanced alternately at these dreadful relics and at the
thoughtful, eager face of our companion. Finally he returned them to the
box once more and sat for a while in deep meditation.
"You have observed, of course," said he at last, "that the ears are not a
pair."
"Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke of some
students from the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to send
two odd ears as a pair."
"Precisely. But this is not a practical joke."
"You are sure of it?"
"The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in the dissecting-
rooms are injected with preservative fluid. These ears bear no signs of
this. They are fresh, too. They have been cut off with a blunt
instrument, which would hardly happen if a student had done it. Again,
carbolic or rectified spirits would be the preservatives which would
suggest themselves to the medical mind, certainly not rough salt. I repeat
that there is no practical joke here, but that we are investigating a serious
crime."
A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion's words
and saw the stern gravity which had hardened his features. This brutal
preliminary seemed to shadow forth some strange and inexplicable horror
in the background. Lestrade, however, shook his head like a man who is
only half convinced.
"There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt," said he, "but there
are much stronger reasons against the other. We know that this woman
has led a most quiet and respectable life at Penge and here for the last
twenty years. She has hardly been away from her home for a day during
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
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that time. Why on earth, then, should any criminal send her the proofs of
his guilt, especially as, unless she is a most consummate actress, she
understands quite as little of the matter as we do?"
"That is the problem which we have to solve," Holmes answered, "and
for my part I shall set about it by presuming that my reasoning is correct,
and that a double murder has been committed. One of these ears is a
woman's, small, finely formed, and pierced for an earring. The other is a
man's, sun-burned, discoloured, and also pierced for an earring. These
two people are presumably dead, or we should have heard their story
before now. To-day is Friday. The packet was posted on Thursday
morning. The tragedy, then, occurred on Wednesday or Tuesday, or
earlier. If the two people were murdered, who but their murderer would
have sent this sign of his work to Miss Cushing? We may take it that the
sender of the packet is the man whom we want. But he must have some
strong reason for sending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason then?
It must have been to tell her that the deed was done! or to pain her,
perhaps. But in that case she knows who it is. Does she know? I
doubt it. If she knew, why should she cal the police in? She might have
buried the ears, and no one would have been the wiser. That is what she
would have done if she had wished to shield the criminal. But if she does
not wish to shield him she would give his name. There is a tangle here
which needs straightening to." He had been talking in a high, quick
voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now he sprang briskly
to his feet and walked towards the house.
"I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing," said he.
"In that case I may leave you here," said Lestrade, "for I have another
small business on hand. I think that I have nothing further to learn form
Miss Cushing. You will find me at the police-station."
"We shall look in on our way to the train," answered Holmes. A
moment later he and I were back in the front room, where the impassive
lady was still quietly working away at her antimacassar. She put it down
on her lap as we entered and looked at us with her frank, searching blue
eyes.
"I am convinced, sir," she said, "that this matter is a mistake, and that
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
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the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have said this several times to
the gentlemen from Scotland Yard, but he simply laughs at me. I have
not an enemy in the world, as far as I know, so why should anyone play
me such a trick?"
"I am coming to be of the same opinion, Miss Cushing," said Holmes,
taking a seat beside her. "I think that it is more than probable--" He
paused, and I was surprised, on glancing round to see that he was staring
with singular intentness at the lady's profile. Surprise and satisfaction
were both for an instant to be read upon his eager face, though when she
glanced round to find out the cause of his silence he had become as
demure as ever. I stared hard myself at her flat, grizzled hair, her trim
cap, her little gilt earrings, her placid features; but I could see nothing
which could account for my companion's evident excitement.
"There were one or two questions--"
"Oh, I am weary of questions!" cried Miss Cushing impatiently.
"You have two sisters, I believe."
"How could you know that?"
"I observed the very instant that I entered the room that you have a
portrait group of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one of whom is
undoubtedly yourself, while the others are so exceedingly like you that
there could be no doubt of the relationship."
"Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary."
"And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool, of your
younger sister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward by
his uniform. I observe that she was unmarried at the time."
"You are very quick at observing."
"That is my trade."
"Well, you are quite right. But she was married to Mr. Browner a few
days afterwards. He was on the South American line when that was
taken, but he was so fond of her that he couldn't abide to leave her for so
long, and he got into the Liverpool and London boats."
"Ah, the Conqueror, perhaps?"
"No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see me
once. That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
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always take drink wh
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