Lt. Oser proved to be a surprise to me. I had built up a rather romantic mental image of the gentleman on the basis of Miss Naismith's obvious delight in his arrival. I escorted Miss Naismith around to Baker Street to greet him on the evening of his landing, his day having been spent on the business at Scotland Yard.
The man who stood upon the hearth rug at our entry was in late middle age, with thinning sandy hair shot through with grey, and twinkling blue eyes deep set under tufted brows. He had clearly been a muscular athlete, much outdoors, in his youth, but the more recent comforts of city life had broadened his figure. Except for a certain pugnacity of jaw and keenness of glance, one might have taken him for a shopkeeper contemplating retirement.
"Cordelia, you are a sight for sore eyes," he smiled at Miss Naismith, and took her awkwardly by the hand. "Mr. Holmes has been telling me about your troubles. You all right, girl?"
She smiled in return and gave a quick nod. "I... I'm feeling better each day. I still can't remember everything, though a little bit more comes back every time..." She searched his face, a little desperately it seemed to me, and there was a tension in her. "I remember Boston, and New York."
"Do you remember Crazy Callaghan, and your poor old dad?"
She hesitated. "No."
He cocked his head and studied her a moment, lips pursed. "I see."
Holmes dragged another chair around and rang for tea, and we all sat down around the cold fireplace.
"I take it then," I said to the lieutenant, "that you knew Miss Naismith as a young girl."
Lt. Oser chuckled. "Yes, although it would be just as true to say I knew her as a young boy-or a young hooligan."
"What?" I'm afraid I must have looked as bewildered as I felt, for Holmes smiled behind his hand.
"Lt. Oser has a remarkable story to tell, Watson," said the detective. "Much that was murky becomes clear. Listen."
Lt. Oser looked uncertainly at Miss Naismith. "I don't know. Do you think I should talk to this doctor-feller, Stein, first? I don't want to say something upsetting."
"I definitely think you should see Dr. Stein before you return to New York," said Holmes. "However, I spoke with him yesterday about your visit, and asked him very much the same question. Boiled down, his reply was that the upsetting parts would have to be gone through sooner or later, and that sooner was just as good as later. Also, I feel Miss Naismith has a right to know what we know, and Dr. Watson is here. But perhaps we should let Miss Naismith decide."
We turned to this lady, who was curled up in the basket chair in sad, solemn attentiveness. "Go ahead," she said tonelessly.
"That's my Cord," said Lt. Oser. "I've never known her to shirk a difficulty yet. She stuck with her old Dad right down to the bitter end in that dirty little border hole. But I'm getting my story hind end first.
"I should tell you, gentlemen, that I was a territorial marshal in New Mexico back in '84 when I first met this lady. I guess she must have been about 16 then, though I took her for younger. Those were the bad old days in those parts. I was back last year-to think how the place has changed in one lifetime! I felt like a time-traveler in one of those writer-feller's books. Her old dad-he was an Englishman, he'd been a doctor in California before his wife died and the dipsomania got to him-had a bee in his bonnet about her safety, not that he was too far out, and had her dress up to pass off as his son. They were good at it, too. I knew 'em a year and a half before I tumbled to it.
"They were hooked up with a feller named Crazy Callaghan. Prospecting, they said, though Callaghan made more money off cards, till somebody caught him at it one day in a bar in Mexico and shot him. That was later, though, after Doc Naismith had died and Cordelia went to Boston to her mama's cousin.
"Now, what old Doc was prospecting for turned out to be two fellers who'd done him a bad turn, I might say a very bad turn, in California. This situation first came to my attention when one of the two was found hanging from a tree just down the mountain from Cloudcroft. This was in '86. When we finally got him identified I was inclined to think that someone had done the community a service, and let it go at that, but my old devil curiosity was aroused, and one thing led to another.
"Now, I had about caught up with Doc Naismith and Callaghan at a little town not far from Taos when a peculiar thing happened. A feller by the name of Nelson Ball, who was wanted by the Texas Rangers in connection with a mail robbery, came up to me and asked to turn himself in. Now, this feller had been successfully evading the law all over the West for a number of years, so you can imagine it struck me as a bit out of character. It was hard to tell with a hard-boiled so-and-so like Ball, but it came to me the man was scared of something-more scared than he was of the law. So I broke off to escort him up to jail in Taos.
"One night about a day's ride from Taos, Crazy Callaghan dropped in on our camp. He just seemed to want to jaw over old times and take a cup of coffee with me. Now, I didn't trust Callaghan further than I could toss him, but I was damned if I could figure out what his game was this time. I fell asleep puzzling over it, and woke with a hell of a headache to find that Ball and Callaghan had bolted, except they seemed to have left Ball's horse behind-found it all saddled and bridled, grazing loose where mine was picketed.
"I sat down and thought it over for a while, then got up for a look-see. I can't say I was really surprised when I found Ball's body shot full of holes in a little gully about a mile from my camp. His gun had fired twice. So I took him on up to Taos, and after a day's more thought, got a warrant sworn out for Doc Naismith. Friends are friends, but the law's the law.
"I overtook 'em in a little border town. Old Doc was dying of the fits by then. I was surprised he'd lasted that long. Callaghan went over the border, but Cordelia of course stayed with her dad, nursing him as best she could. I lent her some money, and we saw the thing through to the end and had him buried decently.
"Now, I'd found out the only relative Miss Cordelia had in the world besides her dad was a cousin of her mama's in the East. So I took her up to Santa Fe, bought her a dress and a one-way ticket to Boston, and put her on the train. She was inclined to kick at first, till I pointed out to her that Crazy Callaghan was never known to carry any other weapon but a shotgun, being a lousy aim and scared to death of snakes, and old Doc was so shaky at the end he couldn't have hit a barn at ten feet. Then she got more reasonable and did as I asked. You gentlemen both have already heard part of that story, so I'm not giving anything away; besides, it's ancient history now, and you are gentlemen.
"Later when I moved east so my wife could be with her people, I ran into Cordelia in New York and was pleased to see how well my good turn had come out. So it was no surprise when she caught on to that snake Helmuth that she brought her story to me. The rest you know. Though I'll swear I'd have pulled her out of there like a shot if I'd known how things were going to turn out."
Partway through this narrative Miss Naismith had folded her arms around her knees and turned her face from us. When she turned it back in the ensuing silence, her features were under control, although her cheeks were wet.
"Tea?" offered Holmes without comment.
"Thank you." She took the cup and drank from it. The simple domestic action seemed to help her pull herself together. "Thank you, Cal," she went on in a steadier voice. "It comes back. In jumbled bits, but it does come back. I suppose it must."
Sherlock Holmes searched for a word of comfort. "Miss Naismith, there may have been times of horror, but you shouldn't try to put away your past. It made you what you are, and what you are is nothing to be ashamed of."