The Red-Headed League, Part 2: A Street Full of Red HairHolmes laughed quietly. “It is a little off the beaten track, isn’t it?” he said. “Now, Mr. Wilson, tell us all about yourself and the effect this advertisement had on your fortunes.” “Well, Mr. Holmes,” said Jabez Wilson, wiping his forehead, “I have a small pawnbroker’s business at Saxe-Coburg Square, near the City. In recent years it has only just given me a living. I keep one assistant. I could hardly pay him, but he is willing to work for half wages so that he can learn the business. His name is Vincent Spaulding. I know very well that he could earn twice what I am able to give him. But if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?” “Why indeed? You are lucky to have an employee who works for less than the market price. I wonder if your assistant is not as remarkable as your advertisement.” “Oh, he has his faults,” said Mr. Wilson. “He is mad about photography. He is always taking pictures and then diving down into the cellar, like a rabbit into its hole, to develop them. But on the whole he’s a good worker. “Eight weeks ago, Spaulding came into the office with this very paper in his hand and said, ‘I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man! Here’s another place free in the League of the Red-Headed Men. It’s worth a little fortune to any man who gets it.’ “I asked him what he meant. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very stay-at-home man, and I don’t know much about what goes on outside. “He told me, ‘The League was started by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was very strange in his ways. He had red hair himself, and he felt great sympathy for all red-headed men. When he died, he left his huge fortune to give easy jobs to men with hair of that colour. The pay is splendid, and there is very little to do.’ “‘But,’ said I, ‘there would be millions of red-headed men who would apply.’ “He answered, ‘Not so many as you might think. It is only for grown men from London. And it is no use applying if your hair is anything but real, bright, blazing, fiery red.’ “Now, gentlemen, as you can see for yourselves, my hair is a very full and rich colour. So I told Spaulding to close the shop for the day, and we set off for the address in the advertisement. “I never hope to see such a sight again, Mr. Holmes. From north, south, east and west, every man with any red in his hair had come into the City to answer the advertisement. Fleet Street was choked with red-headed people. Every shade was there: straw, lemon, orange, brick. But, as Spaulding said, not many had the real, bright, flame-coloured shade. When I saw how many were waiting, I wanted to give up. But Spaulding would not hear of it. He pushed and pulled until he got me through the crowd and right up to the steps of the office. Some men were going up the stairs in hope, and some were coming down in disappointment. Soon we found ourselves inside the office itself.”
