The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Page B

housekeeping
for him. Then there was a wonderful cook, he said, a half-breed whom
he had picked up in his travels, who could serve an excellent dinner.
I remember that he remarked what a queer household it was to find in
the heart of Surrey, and that I agreed with him, though it has proved a
good deal queerer than I thought.
    "I drove to the place—about two miles on the south side of Esher. The
house was a fair-sized one, standing back from the road, with a curving
drive which was banked with high evergreen shrubs. It was an old,
tumbledown building in a crazy state of disrepair. When the trap
pulled up on the grass-grown drive in front of the blotched and
weather-stained door, I had doubts as to my wisdom in visiting a man
whom I knew so slightly. He opened the door himself, however, and
greeted me with a great show of cordiality. I was handed over to the
manservant, a melancholy, swarthy individual, who led the way, my bag
in his hand, to my bedroom. The whole place was depressing. Our
dinner was tete-a-tete, and though my host did his best to be
entertaining, his thoughts seemed to continually wander, and he talked
so vaguely and wildly that I could hardly understand him. He
continually drummed his fingers on the table, gnawed his nails, and
gave other signs of nervous impatience. The dinner itself was neither
well served nor well cooked, and the gloomy presence of the taciturn
servant did not help to enliven us. I can assure you that many times
in the course of the evening I wished that I could invent some excuse
which would take me back to Lee.
    "One thing comes back to my memory which may have a bearing upon the
business that you two gentlemen are investigating. I thought nothing
of it at the time. Near the end of dinner a note was handed in by the
servant. I noticed that after my host had read it he seemed even more
distrait and strange than before. He gave up all pretence at
conversation and sat, smoking endless cigarettes, lost in his own
thoughts, but he made no remark as to the contents. About eleven I was
glad to go to bed. Some time later Garcia looked in at my door—the
room was dark at the time—and asked me if I had rung. I said that I
had not. He apologized for having disturbed me so late, saying that it
was nearly one o'clock. I dropped off after this and slept soundly all
night.
    "And now I come to the amazing part of my tale. When I woke it was
broad daylight. I glanced at my watch, and the time was nearly nine.
I had particularly asked to be called at eight, so I was very much
astonished at this forgetfulness. I sprang up and rang for the
servant. There was no response. I rang again and again, with the same
result. Then I came to the conclusion that the bell was out of order.
I huddled on my clothes and hurried downstairs in an exceedingly bad
temper to order some hot water. You can imagine my surprise when I
found that there was no one there. I shouted in the hall. There was
no answer. Then I ran from room to room. All were deserted. My host
had shown me which was his bedroom the night before, so I knocked at
the door. No reply. I turned the handle and walked in. The room was
empty, and the bed had never been slept in. He had gone with the rest.
The foreign host, the foreign footman, the foreign cook, all had
vanished in the night! That was the end of my visit to Wisteria Lodge."
    Sherlock Holmes was rubbing his hands and chuckling as he added this
bizarre incident to his collection of strange episodes.
    "Your experience is, so far as I know, perfectly unique," said he.
"May I ask, sir, what you did then?"
    "I was furious. My first idea was that I had been the victim of some
absurd practical joke. I packed my things, banged the hall door behind
me, and set off for Esher, with my bag in my hand. I called at Allan
Brothers', the chief land agents in the village, and found that it was
from this firm that the villa had been rented. It struck me that the
whole proceeding could hardly be for the purpose of