Free The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes by John Dickson Carr, Adrian Conan Doyle

dear."
    "I'm seventy-six years old. But I've got no more imagination," said the old man, proudly,
    "than one of them wax figures. Me imagine it? Me, that's been night-watchman since long
    before the museum was took where it is now, and was still here in Baker Street?"
    The newcomers paused. The ancient visitor, squat and stubborn-looking in his rain-sodden
    brown greatcoat and shepherd's check trousers, was a solid man of the people with fine white
    hair. The girl was different. Graceful and lissom, with fair hair and grey eyes encircled by black
    lashes, she wore a simple costume of blue with narrow white frills at the wrists and throat.
    There was grace as well as timidity in her gestures.
    Yet her delicate hands trembled. Very prettily she identified Holmes and myself,
    apologizing for this late call.
    "My—my name is Eleanor Baxter," she added; "and, as you may have gathered, my poor
    grandfather is the night attendant at Madame Taupin's exhibition of wax figures in the
    Marylebone Road." She broke off. "Oh! Your poor ankle!"
    "My injury is nothing, Miss Baxter," said Holmes. "You are both very welcome. Watson,
    our guests' coats, the umbrella; so. Now, you may be seated here in front of me. Though I
    have a crutch of sorts here, I am sure you will forgive me if I remain where I am. You were
    saying?"
    Miss Baxter, who had been looking fixedly at the little table in evident distress at her
    grandfather's words, now gave a start and changed colour as she found Holmes's keen eye
    upon her.
    "Sir, are you acquainted with Madame Taupin's waxworks?"
    "It is justly famous."
    "Do forgive me!" Eleanor Baxter blushed. "My meaning was, have you ever visited it?"
    "Hum! I fear I am too much like our countrymen. Let some place be remote or inaccessible,
    and the Englishman will lose his life to find it. But he will not even look at it when it lies
    within a few hundred yards of his own front door. Have you visited Madame Taupin's,
    Watson?"
    "No, I am afraid not," I replied. "Though I have heard much of the underground Room of
    Horrors. It is said that the management offers a large sum of money to anyone who will
    spend a night there."
    The stubborn-looking old man, who to a medical eye showed symptoms of strong physical
    pain, nevertheless chuckled hoarsely as he sat down.
    "Lord bless you, sir, don't you believe a word of that nonsense."
    "It is not true, then?"
    "Not a bit, sir. They wouldn't even let you do it. 'Cos a sporting gentleman might light a
    cigar or what not, and they're feared to death of fire."
    "Then I take it," said Holmes, "that you are not unduly troubled by the Room of Horrors?"
    "No, sir; never in general. The' even got old Charlie Peace there. He's with Marwood,
    too, the hangman what turned Charlie off not eleven years ago—but they're friendly like."
    His voice went higher. "But fair's fair, sir; and I don't like it a bit when those blessed
    wax figures begin to play a hand of cards!"
    A drive of rain rattled against the windows. Holmes leaned forward.
    "The wax figures, you say, have been playing at cards?"
    "Yes, sir. Word of Sam Baxter!"
    "Are all the wax figures engaged in this card game, or only some of them?"
    "Only two, sir."
    "How do you know this, Mr. Baxter? Did you see them?"
    "Lord, sir, I should hope not! But what am I to think, when one of 'em has discarded
    from his hand, or taken a trick, and the cards are all mucked up on the table? Maybe I
    ought to explain, sir?"
    "Pray do," invited Holmes, with some satisfaction.
    "You see, sir, in the course of a night I make only one or two rounds down in the
    Room of Horrors. It's one big room, with dim lights. The reason I don't make more rounds
    is 'cos of my rheumatics. Folks don't know how cruel you can suffer from rheumatics!
    Double you up, they do."
    "Dear me!" murmured Holmes sympathetically, pushing the tin of shag toward the old
    man.
    "Anyway, sir! My Nellie there is a good girl, in spite of her eddication and the fine work
    she does.