yes to the lighted window and
again experienced almost as great a surprise as before.
i clutched holmes's arm and pointed upwards.
"the shadow has moved!" i cried.
it was, indeed, no longer the profile, but the back, which
was turned towards us.
three years had certainly not smoothed the asperities of
his temper or his impatience with a less active
intelligence than his own.
"of course it has moved," said he. "am i such a farcical
bungler, watson, that i should erect an obvious dummy and
expect that some of the sharpest men in europe would be
deceived by it? we have been in this room two hours, and
mrs. hudson has made some change in that figure eight
times, or once in every quarter of an hour. she works it
from the front so that her shadow may never be seen. ah!"
he drew in his breath with a shrill, excited intake.
in the dim light i saw his head thrown forward, his whole
attitude rigid with attention. outside, the street was
absolutely deserted. those two men might still be
crouching in the doorway, but i could no longer see them.
all was still and dark, save only that brilliant yellow
screen in front of us with the black figure outlined upon
its centre. again in the utter silence i heard that thin,
sibilant note which spoke of intense suppressed excitement.
an instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner
of the room, and i felt his warning hand upon my lips. the
fingers which clutched me were quivering. never had i
known my friend more moved, and yet the dark street still
stretched lonely and motionless before us.
but suddenly i was aware of that which his keener senses
had already distinguished. a low, stealthy sound came to
my ears, not from the direction of baker street, but from
the back of the very house in which we lay concealed. a
door opened and shut. an instant later steps crept down
the passage -- steps which were meant to be silent, but
which reverberated harshly through the empty house. holmes
crouched back against the wall and i did the same, my hand
closing upon the handle of my revolver. peering through
the gloom, i saw the vague outline of a man, a shade
blacker than the blackness of the open door. he stood for
an instant, and then he crept forward, crouching, menacing,
into the room. he was within three yards of us, this
sinister figure, and i had braced myself to meet his
spring, before i realized that he had no idea of our
presence. he passed close beside us, stole over to the
window, and very softly and noiselessly raised it for half
a foot. as he sank to the level of this opening the light
of the street, no longer dimmed by the dusty glass, fell
full upon his face. the man seemed to be beside himself
with excitement. his two eyes shone like stars and his
features were working convulsively. he was an elderly man,
with a thin, projecting nose, a high, bald forehead, and a
huge grizzled moustache. an opera-hat was pushed to the
back of his head, and an evening dress shirt-front gleamed
out through his open overcoat. his face was gaunt and
swarthy, scored with deep, savage lines. in his hand he
carried what appeared to be a stick, but as he laid it down
upon the floor it gave a metallic clang. then from the
pocket of his overcoat he drew a bulky object, and he
busied himself in some task which ended with a loud, sharp
click, as if a spring or bolt had fallen into its place.
still kneeling upon the floor he bent forward and threw all
his weight and strength upon some lever, with the result
that there came a long, whirling, grinding noise, ending
once more in a powerful click. he straightened himself
then, and i saw that what he held in his hand was a sort of
gun, with a curiously misshapen butt. he opened it at the
breech, put something in, and snapped the breech-block.
then, crouching down, he rested the end of the barrel upon
the ledge of the open window, and i saw his long moustache
droop over the stock and his eye gleam as it peered along
the sights. i heard a little sigh of satisfaction as he
cuddled the butt into his shoulder, and saw that amazing
target, the black man on the yellow ground, standing clear
at the end of his fore sight. for an instant he was rigid
and motionless. then his finger tightened on the trigger.
there was a strange, loud whiz and a long, silvery tinkle
of broken glass. at that instant holmes sprang like a
tiger on to the marksman's back and hurled him flat upon
his face. he was up again in a moment, and with convulsive
strength he seized holmes by the throat; but i struck him
on the head with the butt of my revolver and he dropped
again upon the floor. i fell upon him, and as i held him
my comrade blew a shrill call upon a whistle. there was
the clatter of running feet upon the pavement, and two
policemen in uniform, with one plain-c
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