THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE

Arthur Conan Doyle

I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the
autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very
stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. With an
apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when Holmes pulled
me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me.

"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson,"
he said cordially.

"I was afraid that you were engaged."

"So I am. Very much so."

"Then I can wait in the next room."

"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and
helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that
he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also."

The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of
greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small
fat-encircled eyes.

"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and
putting his fingertips together, as was his custom when in judicial
moods. "I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is
bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday
life. You have shown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has
prompted you to chronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so,
somewhat to embellish so many of my own little adventures."

"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," I

observed.

"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went
into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that
for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life
itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of the
imagination."

"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting."

"You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view,
for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you until your
reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. Now,
Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this
morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the
most singular which I have listened to for some time. You have heard
me remark that the strangest and most unique things are very often
connected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes, and
occasionally, indeed, where there is room for doubt whether any
positive crime has been committed. As far as I have heard it is
impossible for me to say whether the present case is an instance of
crime or not, but the course of events is certainly among the most
singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would
have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask you not
merely because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the opening part
but also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to
have every possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have
heard some slight indication of the course of events, I am able to
guide myself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to
my memory. In the present instance I am forced to admit that the
facts are, to the best of my belief, unique."

The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some
little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the
inside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down the advertisement
column, with his head thrust forward and the paper flattened out upon
his knee, I took a good look at the man and endeavoured, after the
fashion of my companion, to read the indications which might be
presented by his dress or appearance.

I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore
every mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese,
pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy grey shepherd's check
trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front,
and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square
pierced bit of metal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat
and a faded brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a
chair beside him. Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing
remarkable about the man save his blazing red head, and the
expression of extreme chagrin and discontent upon his features.

Sherlock Holmes' quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his

head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. "Beyond the
obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labour, that he
takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and
that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can
deduce nothing else."

Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon
the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.

"How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr.
Holmes?" he asked. "How did you know, for example, that I did manual
labour. It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship's carpenter."

"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than
your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more
developed."

"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?"

"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,
especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use
an arc-and-compass breastpin."

"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?"

"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five
inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where
you rest it upon the desk?"

"Well, but China?"

"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist
could only have been done in China. I have made a small study of
tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature of the
subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of a delicate pink
is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin
hanging from your watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple."

Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "I
thought at first that you had done something clever, but I see that
there was nothing in it, after all."

"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistake in

explaining. 'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and my poor
little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so
candid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?"

"Yes, I have got it now," he answered with his thick red finger
planted halfway down the column. "Here it is. This is what began it
all. You just read it for yourself, sir."

I took the paper from him and read as follows:

"To the Red-headed League: On account of the bequest of the late

Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now
another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a
salary of £4 a week for purely nominal services. All red-headed men
who are sound in body and mind and above the age of twenty-one years,
are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at eleven o'clock, to Duncan
Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Pope's Court, Fleet Street."

"What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated after I had twice read
over the extraordinary announcement.

Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in
high spirits. "It is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?" said
he. "And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us all about
yourself, your household, and the effect which this advertisement had
upon your fortunes. You will first make a note, Doctor, of the paper
and the date."

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

"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?"

"Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,"

said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; "I have a small pawnbroker's
business at Coburg Square, near the City. It's not a very large
affair, and of late years it has not done more than just give me a
living. I used to be able to keep two assistants, but now I only keep
one; and I would have a job to pay him but that he is willing to come
for half wages so as to learn the business."

"What is the name of this obliging youth?" asked Sherlock Holmes.

"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not such a youth, either.
It's hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr.
Holmes; and I know very well that he could better himself and earn
twice what I am able to give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied,
why should I put ideas in his head?"

"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employee who comes
under the full market price. It is not a common experience among
employers in this age. I don't know that your assistant is not as
remarkable as your advertisement."

"Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr. Wilson. "Never was such a
fellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to
be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a
rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his main fault,
but on the whole he's a good worker. There's no vice in him."

"He is still with you, I presume?"

"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple

cooking and keeps the place clean--that's all I have in the house,
for I am a widower and never had any family. We live very quietly,
sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads and pay our
debts, if we do nothing more.

"The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding,
he came down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this
very paper in his hand, and he says:

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

"'Why that?' I asks.

"'Why,' says he, 'here's another vacancy on the League of the

Red-headed Men. It's worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets
it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than there are
men, so that the trustees are at their wits' end what to do with the
money. If my hair would only change colour, here's a nice little crib
all ready for me to step into.'

"'Why, what is it, then?' I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very
stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my having
to go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting my foot over
the door-mat. In that way I didn't know much of what was going on
outside, and I was always glad of a bit of news.

"'Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?' he asked
with his eyes open.

"'Never.'

"'Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of the
vacancies.'

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

"'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and
it need not interfere very much with one's other occupations.'
"Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for
the business has not been over-good for some years, and an extra
couple of hundred would have been very handy.

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

"'Well,' said he, showing me the advertisement, 'you can see for
yourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address
where you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out, the
League was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who
was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself red-headed, and he had
a great sympathy for all red-headed men; so when he died it was found
that he had left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with
instructions to apply the interest to the providing of easy berths to
men whose hair is of that colour. From all I hear it is splendid pay
and very little to do.'

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

apply.'

"'Not so many as you might think,' he answered. 'You see it is really

confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had started
from London when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town a
good turn. Then, again, I have heard it is no use your applying if
your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything but real bright,
blazing, fiery red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson, you would
just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put
yourself out of the way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.'

"Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my

hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that if
there was to be any competition in the matter I stood as good a
chance as any man that I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to
know so much about it that I thought he might prove useful, so I just
ordered him to put up the shutters for the day and to come right away
with me. He was very willing to have a holiday, so we shut the
business up and started off for the address that was given us in the
advertisement.

"I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From
north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his
hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. Fleet
Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope's Court looked like
a coster's orange barrow. I should not have thought there were so
many in the whole country as were brought together by that single
advertisement. Every shade of colour they were--straw, lemon, orange,
brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were
not many who had the real vivid flame-coloured tint. When I saw how
many were waiting, I would have given it up in despair; but Spaulding
would not hear of it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he
pushed and pulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and
right up to the steps which led to the office. There was a double
stream upon the stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back
dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found
ourselves in the office."

"Your experience has been a most entertaining one," remarked Holmes

as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of
snuff. "Pray continue your very interesting statement."
"There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a
deal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that was even
redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he came
up, and then he always managed to find some fault in them which would
disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very
easy matter, after all. However, when our turn came the little man
was much more favourable to me than to any of the others, and he
closed the door as we entered, so that he might have a private word
with us.

"'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,' said my assistant, 'and he is willing to

fill a vacancy in the League.'

"'And he is admirably suited for it,' the other answered. 'He has
every requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so
fine.' He took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and
gazed at my hair until I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he plunged
forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my success.

"'It would be injustice to hesitate,' said he. 'You will, however, I

am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.' With that he
seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until I yelled with the
pain. 'There is water in your eyes,' said he as he released me. 'I
perceive that all is as it should be. But we have to be careful, for
we have twice been deceived by wigs and once by paint. I could tell
you tales of cobbler's wax which would disgust you with human
nature.' He stepped over to the window and shouted through it at the
top of his voice that the vacancy was filled. A groan of
disappointment came up from below, and the folk all trooped away in
different directions until there was not a red-head to be seen except
my own and that of the manager.

"'My name,' said he, 'is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of the
pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a
married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?'

"I answered that I had not.

"His face fell immediately.

"'Dear me!' he said gravely, 'that is very serious indeed! I am sorry

to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the propagation
and spread of the red-heads as well as for their maintenance. It is
exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a bachelor.'

"My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was not
to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for a few
minutes he said that it would be all right.

"'In the case of another,' said he, 'the objection might be fatal,
but we must stretch a point in favour of a man with such a head of
hair as yours. When shall you be able to enter upon your new duties?'

"'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,' said

I.

"'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!' said Vincent Spaulding. 'I
should be able to look after that for you.'
"'What would be the hours?' I asked.

"'Ten to two.'

"Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an evening, Mr.

Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just before
pay-day; 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 see to anything that turned up.

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

"'Is £4 a week.'

"'And the work?'

"'Is purely nominal.'

"'What do you call purely nominal?'

"'Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building,

the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position
forever. The will is very clear upon that point. You don't comply
with the conditions if you budge from the office during that time.'

"'It's only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,'
said I.

"'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan Ross; 'neither sickness nor
business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your
billet.'

"'And the work?'

"'Is to copy out the "Encyclopaedia Britannica." There is the first

volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and
blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be
ready to-morrow?'

"'Certainly,' I answered.

"'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you once
more on the important position which you have been fortunate enough
to gain.' He bowed me out of the room and I went home with my
assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my
own good fortune.

"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in low
spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair
must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be I
could not imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that anyone could
make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing
anything so simple as copying out the 'Encyclopaedia Britannica.'
Vincent Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime I
had reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morning I
determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of
ink, and with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I
started off for Pope's Court.
"Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as
possible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was
there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off upon the
letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from time to time
to see that all was right with me. At two o'clock he bade me
good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I had written, and
locked the door of the office after me.

"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager
came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week's work.
It was the same next week, and the same the week after. Every morning
I was there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr.
Duncan Ross took to coming in only once of a morning, and then, after
a time, he did not come in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to
leave the room for an instant, for I was not sure when he might come,
and the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I
would not risk the loss of it.

"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots
and Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with
diligence that I might get on to the B's before very long. It cost me
something in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my
writings. And then suddenly the whole business came to an end."

"To an end?"

"Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as usual
at ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little
square of cardboard hammered on to the middle of the panel with a
tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself."

He held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet of

note-paper. It read in this fashion:

The Red-headed League

is
Dissolved
October 9, 1890.

Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful
face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely
overtopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a
roar of laughter.

"I cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried our client,
flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. "If you can do nothing
better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere."

"No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he
had half risen. "I really wouldn't miss your case for the world. It
is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my
saying so, something just a little funny about it. Pray what steps
did you take when you found the card upon the door?"

"I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at
the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it.
Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the
ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of
the Red-headed League. He said that he had never heard of any such
body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the
name was new to him.

"'Well,' said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.'

"'What, the red-headed man?'

"'Yes.'

"'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor and
was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises
were ready. He moved out yesterday.'

"'Where could I find him?'

"'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King
Edward Street, near St. Paul's.'

"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was a
manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard
of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross."

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

"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my

assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say
that if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite good
enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place without a
struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough to give advice
to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right away to you."

"And you did very wisely," said Holmes. "Your case is an exceedingly
remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you
have told me I think that it is possible that graver issues hang from
it than might at first sight appear."

"Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. "Why, I have lost four pound a
week."

"As far as you are personally concerned," remarked Holmes, "I do not
see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. On
the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some £30, to say
nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every
subject which comes under the letter A. You have lost nothing by
them."

"No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and
what their object was in playing this prank--if it was a prank--upon
me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two and
thirty pounds."

"We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And, first, one
or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first
called your attention to the advertisement--how long had he been with
you?"

"About a month then."

"How did he come?"

"In answer to an advertisement."

"Was he the only applicant?"

"No, I had a dozen."

"Why did you pick him?"

"Because he was handy and would come cheap."

"At half-wages, in fact."

"Yes."

"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?"

"Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face,

though he's not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his
forehead."

Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. "I thought as

much," said he. "Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced for
earrings?"

"Yes, sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he was a
lad."

"Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. "He is still with
you?"

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

"And has your business been attended to in your absence?"

"Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never very much to do of a

morning."

"That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion
upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday,
and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion."

"Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor had left us, "what do
you make of it all?"

"I make nothing of it," I answered frankly. "It is a most mysterious

business."

"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is the less
mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless
crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the
most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter."

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

"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three pipe problem, and I beg
that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." He curled himself up
in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and
there he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting
out like the bill of some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion
that he had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he
suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man who has
made up his mind and put his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.

"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," he remarked.

"What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few
hours?"

"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing."

"Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City first,
and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a good
deal of German music on the programme, which is rather more to my
taste than Italian or French. It is introspective, and I want to
introspect. Come along!"

We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short

walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story
which we had listened to in the morning. It was a poky, little,
shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick
houses looked out into a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of
weedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard fight
against a smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls
and a brown board with "Jabez Wilson" in white letters, upon a corner
house, announced the place where our red-headed client carried on his
business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one
side and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between
puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down
again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally he
returned to the pawnbroker's, and, having thumped vigorously upon the
pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up to the door
and knocked. It was instantly opened by a bright-looking,
clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step in.

"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished to ask you how you would go
from here to the Strand."

"Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant promptly, closing

the door.

"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away. "He is, in

my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am
not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something
of him before."

"Evidently," said I, "Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a good deal

in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you inquired
your way merely in order that you might see him."