Текст книги "The Mammoth Book of the Lost Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes"

Автор книги: Denis O. Smith

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“But why?” I repeated. “I understand all that you are saying about Martin trying to make Professor Palfreyman appear insane, but what could he possibly hope to gain by murdering the man or driving him to suicide? Was it simply some form of vengeance for the death of Strange?”

Holmes shook his head. “I very much doubt it,” said he. “According to Professor Palfreyman’s account, no one really mourned Strange’s passing, let alone harboured any grievance about it. The professor wrote his account for Miss Calloway about thirty years after the events he described in it, and it is evident that in those thirty years he had not encountered any ill feeling over the matter, so I think we may take it that there is none. It seems apparent, then, that Martin was using the Macedonian business – ‘the Smiling Face’ – simply as a means of achieving his aim, and that his true motives lay elsewhere.”

“But what on earth could those motives be?” I asked in some puzzlement.

“There are certain facts you may be overlooking,” responded Holmes after a moment. “In the first place, Georgina Calloway is the professor’s only known relative, and as such would, upon his death, inherit anything he possessed.”

“I admit that that hadn’t occurred to me,” I said.

“In the second place,” Holmes continued, “you must remember that although Martin was working on his thesis under the guidance of the archaeology department, that had not previously been his principal field of study. He had studied art and history of art, and was no doubt something of an expert in that field. Perhaps, I speculated, while helping Miss Calloway to sort and catalogue the professor’s random heaps of paintings, sculptures and drawings, as she described to us, Martin had come across something which he, and he alone, recognized as being of immense value. If so, that might have provided the motive for his wicked plan. He would have realized that he could not hope to get away with simply stealing what he wanted, but if he could get rid of the older man and persuade Miss Calloway to marry him, then he could get his hands on a possible fortune.”

“It is certainly an interesting notion, and it would make sense,” said Gregson. “There is usually avarice at the bottom of this sort of crime. Do you have any evidence for it, Mr Holmes, or is it just speculation?”

“I had a quick look through some of the things in one of the professor’s old tin trunks when I was examining the study earlier,” replied Holmes. “I am no expert on art, but there were a large number of sheets there which looked to me suspiciously like pages from a notebook of Leonardo da Vinci’s. He generally wrote backwards, you know, Gregson. I think he referred to it as ‘mirror writing’. It is quite distinctive. On another large, folded sheet there is what looks to me like a series of preliminary sketches for his celebrated painting, The Virgin of the Rocks.”

“Great Heavens!” I cried. “That is incredible!”

“Indeed,” said Holmes. “There are things in the professor’s battered old trunk that would probably fetch more at auction than we three could earn in a lifetime!”

“Good Lord!” said Gregson. “That is, I suppose, enough to tempt some men to any sort of wickedness. But Martin was an intelligent, educated man,” he added with a shake of his head, “a young gentleman and graduate of Oxford University! You would have thought he would be above that sort of temptation.”

“Perhaps there are things about his character that we don’t yet know,” said Holmes. “Now,” he continued, rising to his feet, “our investigation is completed, and we come to the most difficult part of the business.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I must explain the true facts of the case to Miss Calloway, Watson. It is undoubtedly my responsibility to do so, but it is not a responsibility I particularly welcome. You will come with me, old man?”

“Of course.”

“As to Martin,” Holmes continued, addressing Inspector Gregson, “I recommend a thorough investigation into his antecedents. There may be dark secrets there, unknown to anyone. But the terrible, simple truth is that once evil enters into the heart of a man, it cannot easily be eradicated, but will drive all else out, and poison every fibre of his being.”

Sherlock Holmes’s speculations as to Martin’s character and antecedents were very soon borne out. Two days after the events recorded above, a firm of solicitors in the Temple handed in to Scotland Yard a sealed letter, which had been left with them the previous Friday by Professor Palfreyman, with the instruction that, in the event of his sudden death, it should be handed at once to the authorities. In this letter the professor mentioned that one of his valuable artefacts, a primitive oil lamp of Phoenician origin, was missing from the house, and although he had no proof, he could not see how anyone but Timothy Martin could have taken it. He also mentioned that he had seen Martin, believing himself to be unobserved, looking through other things in the house in what the professor described as “a sly and furtive manner”. The professor had therefore come to have strong suspicions about the man and his motives, but had felt unable, without further proof, to voice them, for fear of alienating the affections of Miss Calloway, who, he believed, had developed a liking for Martin, and whose affections he had come to value above all else.

The suspicions the professor had harboured about Martin had led him to speculate that it was Martin who had sent him the tile and the letter with the face on it. Indeed, he was, he said, “practically certain” that the handwriting on the envelope of the first letter, although disguised, was Martin’s. As to why Martin should have sent these things to him, the professor admitted he had no idea. This had led him to speculate further that Martin was perhaps simply, as he put it, “one of those strange people one encounters occasionally, who have a warped and vicious cast of mind, who smile a lot, but seem devoid of all real human emotion, and who lie almost every time they open their mouths. ‘‘If so,” the professor concluded, “he keeps his true nature well hidden, especially from Miss Calloway.”

Subsequently, when the police made a thorough examination of Martin’s lodgings in Bloomsbury, they found Professor Palfreyman’s Phoenician oil lamp there and, among numerous other things, a small early sketch by Poussin, later identified as having also been taken from Bluebell Cottage. Another surprising find was a small oval framed portrait by Nicholas Hilliard of the Earl of Essex, dating from around 1590, which was at length identified as having been stolen from St Aidan’s College, Oxford, three years previously, at the time Martin had been an undergraduate there. In the course of that robbery – which had remained a perfect mystery until this discovery – one of the college servants had been so severely beaten about the head that he had been unable to work again for nearly a year.

Of Georgina Calloway, I am pleased to say, I have happier information to record. She eventually recovered from the shock and horror of what had taken place at Bluebell Cottage, and was offered a position with Professor Ainscow similar to the one she had held with Professor Palfreyman, which she accepted. She remained in that position for nearly three years, while at the same time pursuing her studies in botany. During this period we kept in touch, she dined with us a number of times, and I had the privilege of escorting her to the theatre on two or three occasions. Then, with the kind assistance of Professor Ainscow, she at last succeeded in gaining a position at the Royal Botanical Institute at Kew, where to the best of my knowledge she remains to this day.

The Adventure of

THE FOURTH GLOVE

THE LATCHMERE DIAMOND is without doubt one of the most celebrated gems ever to have found its way to England. Unearthed in some remote corner of India, it is first recorded in Golconda, from where it passed to the trading post at Madras. There it was purchased, in 1783, by Samuel Tollington, later the third Viscount Latchmere, who had been travelling in the Far East with his uncle, Sir George Tollington, the well-known diplomat. Its arrival in England later that year created a sensation, for it was the largest diamond ever seen, and everyone, from the King downwards, wished to behold this prodigy. However, within six months of its arrival, the first of many attempts to steal it had been made. A second attempt was made in 1792, which cost the viscount his life, and a third in 1799, during which two of the robbers were killed. The tumultuous period of the Napoleonic Wars proved a relatively quiet time for the Latchmere Diamond, but in 1819 another attempt was made to steal it, and in 1834 yet another, which again cost the robbers their lives.

In 1842, the fifth viscount had the diamond re-cut and mounted as a pendant, to be worn by each future viscountess on her wedding day, but this change in the diamond’s appearance brought no change in its violent history, for within six months it was stolen, and was not recovered for three years. In 1865, a further attempt was made upon the diamond, in which two of the robbers and one of Viscount Latchmere’s servants were killed. Throughout this history of violence, the diamond was also gaining the reputation of being an unlucky possession for the Tollington family. Indeed, the first tragedy had struck before the diamond even reached these shores, when Sir George Tollington was lost at sea in a terrible storm off the coast of Madagascar when returning from India, and, in addition to the viscount who was murdered in 1792, two more to bear that title also met an untimely end, one in a riding accident and one who was drowned while sailing on the Solent.

Like most people, I imagine, I had read the history of this fabulous stone with mere idle curiosity, never thinking for a moment that I should ever have any personal connection with it. Yet, surprisingly, in early October 1885, that was precisely what happened, as a result of my sharing chambers with the renowned detective Mr Sherlock Holmes.

We were seated at breakfast, on a fine, crisp autumn morning. The dawn mist had already cleared, and the bright sun gave promise of a fine day. But this attractive prospect outside our sitting-room window aroused mixed feelings in my own breast. The wound in my leg, which I had brought back with me as an unwanted memento of my service in Afghanistan, had begun to throb painfully in recent days and became worse whenever I tried to walk. I was thus condemned, on what promised to be the loveliest day of the autumn, to a day spent in a chair by the fire with my left leg raised up on a cushion. It will be readily imagined what a thoroughly depressing prospect this was, and why I applied myself with unusual zeal to the morning papers, in an effort to distract my mind.

“It says here,” I remarked to my companion as a small paragraph caught my eye, “that the Latchmere Pendant has disappeared and is believed stolen.”

Holmes looked up from the papers he was studying and raised his eyebrow. “Surely not again?” said he in a languid tone. “Was anyone injured?”

“It doesn’t say so. It is thought that the pendant was taken during Saturday night from Lady Latchmere’s private dressing room.”

“That is one blessing, anyhow! So great has been the violence done for the sake of that ill-starred lump of crystal that I have sometimes thought it should be mounted not in gold but in blood! Are there any details?”

“Nothing of interest. It says that the viscount and viscountess were entertaining a small weekend party at Latchmere Hall in Hertfordshire, their guests being the Rajah of Banniphur, the Honourable Miss Arabella Norman, Mr Peter Brocklehurst and Miss Matilda Wiltshire – whoever they may be.”

There had been a ring at the doorbell as I had been reading, and a moment later the maid entered with a telegram for Holmes. He tore it open and read the contents, then, with a chuckle, tossed it over to me as he scribbled a reply. I read the following:

PENDANT MISSING. COME AT ONCE. LATCHMERE.

“Will you go?” I asked.

Holmes nodded. “Certainly. I just have time to do justice to these splendid-looking kippers,” he continued with a glance at the clock, “and then I can catch a fast train from King’s Cross and be there in half an hour!”

The morning crept by at a snail’s pace, my own mood alternating between boredom and irritation, both at my own physical weakness and at the dull, predictable content of the newspapers. So devoid of interest were they that I spent most of the morning reading a long article from the previous month’s British Medical Journal on the suggested treatment for some obscure tropical disease which I had never even heard of before and in which I could raise little interest. It was not until the afternoon was well advanced that I heard my friend’s characteristically rapid footsteps on the stair, and looked forward eagerly to hearing how his investigations had gone.

“It was a somewhat mixed morning’s work,” he replied in answer to my questions, as he helped himself to bread and cheese from the sideboard.

“Has the Latchmere Pendant indeed been stolen?”

“So it would appear.”

“And have your investigations turned up any clues?”

“There are a number of suggestive indications. The difficulty is, they point in contradictory directions.”

“You intrigue me.”

“It is a singularly intriguing business!” my friend responded with a chuckle. “I will tell you how matters unfolded, Watson, and you can see what you make of it!”

He settled himself in his chair by the fire and began his account:

“You may perhaps have seen a picture of Latchmere Hall at some time, Watson. It lies about five miles north of Hatfield and is a very handsome old place – early Jacobean, with turrets and chimneys at every corner, and with its ancient walls half hidden under a thick growth of ivy. Inside, everything is very old, dark and highly polished. I doubt there is a single item of furniture there that is less than a hundred and fifty years old, and some of it is much older than that. The present family acquired the property in 1730, so I understand, and have held it ever since.

“When I reached the Hall, I was at once shown by the butler, Yardley, into Viscount Latchmere’s private study, where he was seated at his desk.

“‘I am told you have a familiarity with the criminal classes in London,’ said he without preliminary, looking up with an irritable expression from a litter of papers before him. ‘The policeman informed me that this theft might be the work of the Foulger gang, who, he says, are operating in this district, or of some villain by the name of John Clay. Look, I don’t care how you do it, Holmes, but you must get the pendant back. Do you understand? You won’t be aware, but I have posted a two thousand pound reward for its return. So if you succeed in getting it back, the reward is yours, on top of anything else we may owe you.’

“I nodded and explained that I would wish to begin by examining the scene of the crime, and then interviewing briefly anyone in the house who might have seen or heard anything during Saturday night.

“He shook his head dismissively. ‘The police have already done all that,’ he said, ‘so there’s no point your doing it all again.’

“I explained that I could not realistically offer much hope of success unless I were allowed to conduct the investigation in the way I thought best. I also pointed out that the police were not infallible, and had often been known to overlook or misunderstand evidence in the past, a point the viscount grudgingly conceded. What might have happened next, I cannot say, for at that moment the door was opened abruptly and a very handsome young lady entered the room. She was slim, of medium height, about two-and-twenty years old, with a very fine head of chestnut-coloured hair. It was evident that this was Viscount Latchmere’s wife. She began to speak, but stopped when she saw me.

“‘What is it now, Philippa?’ her husband asked, in a preoccupied tone.

“‘Who is this gentleman?’ she asked in response.

“‘He is a detective I have hired to find and recover the pendant. As you’re here, you can tell him what you told the police inspector yesterday, and then he can get about his business.’

“She turned to me and, for a moment, I could see her eyes looking me up and down, as if appraising me. ‘There is little enough to tell,’ said she at last. ‘I went to my room just after half past ten on Saturday evening. My maid assisted me for a little while, then left me, and I retired to bed. That was at about eleven o’clock.’

“‘And the pendant?’

“‘Was in my jewel case, which was in the dressing room that adjoins my bedroom.’

“‘Was the case locked?’

“‘Yes.’

“‘But the key was left in the lock,’ her husband interjected. ‘I have said so many times that you should put the key somewhere safe.’

“‘I usually do,’ his wife retorted, ‘but on Saturday night I forgot. I could hardly have expected that someone would climb into the room while I was there asleep.’

“‘Was the bedroom door locked?’ I asked.

“‘Yes, I always lock my door, and there is no other way into the dressing room except through my bedroom – apart from through the window, of course.’

“‘Was the window open?’

“‘The window in my bedroom was closed, that in the dressing room was ajar.’

“‘And the pendant was definitely in the jewel case when you retired for the night?’

“‘Yes. I had just removed it and placed it in there myself.’

“‘When was the loss discovered?’

“‘Yesterday morning. I opened the case to get a pair of earrings, and at once saw that the pendant was missing.’

“‘And – forgive me, Lady Latchmere, but I must ask you this – do you believe you can trust your personal maid?’

“‘Why, most certainly,’ replied Lady Latchmere quickly and with great emphasis. ‘She has been in my service for several years. I would trust her not merely with my jewellery, but with my life! If you knew her at all, you would understand the absurdity of your question!’

“‘Thank you, Lady Latchmere,’ I said, bowing my head. There was a tension in her manner and she appeared to be breathing heavily. She had tried to sound indignant, but the dominant note in her voice, I thought, had been one of relief, as if she had feared what I had been about to ask her. I wondered if her husband had observed this. It might, of course, mean nothing; she might simply be a nervous sort of young woman – she was, after all, relatively young, at least ten years younger than her husband – but it was nonetheless something I noted.

“‘Was there anything else?’ she enquired, but before I could reply, her husband spoke in a voice full of irritation.

“‘The ring,’ he prompted. ‘You have not told him about the missing ring. A yellow topaz ring that belonged to my mother has also been taken,’ he added, turning to me.

“‘I have explained that already,’ she responded. ‘As I said to you before, I believe I misplaced the topaz ring some time during the last week. Do not worry, Edward, I will have just put it down somewhere, that is all. It will turn up.’

“‘That is nonsense!’ retorted her husband. ‘It was in the top tray of your jewel case on Friday evening. I saw it there myself when we were having that discussion in your dressing room, if you recall.’

“Lady Latchmere’s cheek burned red. ‘Oh,’ said she. ‘Then perhaps it was on Saturday afternoon that I saw it was missing. I distinctly remember noticing some time that it was not in its usual place.’

“Viscount Latchmere’s expression indicated that he was dissatisfied by this suggestion, and he was about to speak again when the door opened once more and the butler entered to announce that Inspector Sturridge of the Hertfordshire Constabulary had arrived.

“‘Inform him that I am engaged at present and cannot see him,’ said Viscount Latchmere in an irritable tone. ‘And take this man with you. He can get on with his work now. Show him whatever he wants to see.’

“He spoke not another word to me, Watson. Indeed, he did not even glance in my direction as I followed the butler from the room. I thought him unconscionably rude, not only to me but, even more so, to his wife – to speak to her in that fashion in front of a perfect stranger – but I had no desire to make an issue of it and was simply relieved to make my exit from what had been a most uncomfortable scene.”

“I can see it must have been dreadfully embarrassing for you to be present when husband and wife were quarrelling like that!” I said. “Viscount Latchmere sounds something of a Tartar!”

“That is certainly one way of describing him!” said Holmes with a chuckle. “He is of the type I generally classify as a gentleman by birth but not by nature. I must admit that I was sorely tempted to leave Latchmere Hall there and then, and leave its unattractive occupants to recover their precious pendant themselves, but the case had begun to intrigue me. It was possible, I thought, that there was more to it than was at first apparent, so, simply for my own professional satisfaction, I decided to prolong my visit and look a little further into the matter.

“At my request, the butler showed me the spot in the garden that lies below Lady Latchmere’s dressing-room window. Then, while he went off to find the policeman, I devoted myself to a close examination of the ivy and other plants on the wall of the house, and of the lawns that surrounded it. You know my methods, Watson; they are founded upon the observation of detail, for it is generally among the smallest details of a case that the truth is to be found. But in this case, I was obliged to admit, after the most careful scrutiny, that I could detect not a single sign anywhere of Saturday night’s thief. Indeed, I began to wonder if I was not, perhaps, on a perfect fool’s errand, looking for something that simply did not exist.

“The butler reappeared after ten minutes, and I asked him to conduct me up to Lady Latchmere’s bedroom, which was on the first floor. I will describe to you the disposition of the rooms, Watson, to try to make it clear to you. At the top of the main staircase, corridors go off to left and right. Along the left-hand corridor lies Lord Latchmere’s own bedroom, and some other rooms which are not in use at present. In the right-hand corridor lies Lady Latchmere’s bedroom, and also the rooms occupied by Lord Latchmere’s guests. On the left-hand side of this corridor, the rooms are, in this order, first, that of Lady Latchmere herself; second, an empty room, which suffers from damp and is not in use at present, and third, the room occupied by Lady Latchmere’s cousin, Miss Matilda Wiltshire. On the right-hand side, the rooms are first, that occupied by the Honourable Miss Arabella Norman; second, that occupied by the Rajah of Banniphur, and third, that occupied by Mr Peter Brocklehurst. A little further beyond these rooms, the corridor leads to another staircase, by which one may descend to the ground floor, or ascend to the floor above.

“Lady Latchmere’s own chamber is a fairly large one. As you enter the room, the bed is over against the right-hand wall, and there are the usual items of furniture – tallboys, chests and so on – against the other walls. Immediately on your left is another door, which gives on to the much smaller dressing room, which contains a dressing table, a tallboy and a small side table. The window in there, like most of the windows in the house, is of the casement type. If it had been left ajar, it would have been very easy for someone to pull it fully open from outside and clamber in. On the side table was what was evidently the jewel case, which was locked, the key being nowhere to be seen. The case was a large, square one, covered in yellow leather, rather like a small chest with a flat top. Lying next to the jewel case was a pair of ladies’ gloves, made out of some soft, grey material, with a little coloured embroidery on the back. I mention these gloves to you, Watson, not because I thought them of any significance at the time, but because of something I was to learn subsequently.

“As I concluded my examination of the dressing room – which I confess had turned up precisely nothing – I asked Yardley if the police had discovered anything there. He shook his head, and said he thought not. I then questioned him about the domestic staff of the household. I will spare you the details, which were not of any great interest, and simply give you a summary of what I learned. There are in total seventeen servants in the house, of the usual varieties. The outdoor staff – gardeners, grooms and so on – of course lodge elsewhere on the estate. With the exception of two of the youngest maids, they have all been there for several years. Having discussed them in some detail with the butler, including questions as to where they sleep, whether the floorboards and stairs creak, and so on, I am satisfied that none of them could have had anything to do with the disappearance of Lady Latchmere’s jewellery. I may, of course, be wrong, but that is certainly my conviction at the moment. Speaking of creaking boards, I should perhaps mention to you that the corridor on which Lady Latchmere’s and the other bedrooms lie creaks alarmingly, especially in the middle, in between the unused room and that occupied by the rajah. It is practically impossible to avoid the creaking parts of the floor altogether, as I discovered by stepping all over it for several minutes.

“I then returned downstairs to interview Viscount Latchmere’s guests, who were all staying to take luncheon there, but were leaving immediately afterwards to take the train back to London. As we descended the stairs, I asked Yardley if there had been any other visitors recently, and he informed me that a Mr James Ellison, who farms a few miles to the north of the Latchmere estate, had called by on Saturday afternoon to discuss some business with Viscount Latchmere. His business concluded, he had stayed to take tea with the family and guests, which, the day being a pleasantly mild one, they had taken out of doors, on the small terrace at the side of the house. I asked the butler if Mr Ellison was a frequent visitor.

“‘Indeed he is, sir,’ said he, ‘in recent months, at least. I believe he is a very humorous gentleman. Whenever he is here, there always seems to be a lot of laughter among Viscount Latchmere’s guests, especially the ladies.’

“Viscount Latchmere’s present guests were in a somewhat more subdued mood, understandably, perhaps, under the circumstances. The Rajah of Banniphur and Mr Peter Brocklehurst were in the morning room, both reading in silence, and Miss Matilda Wiltshire and the Honourable Miss Arabella Norman were seated on the terrace outside in the sunshine, each apparently lost in her own thoughts.

“The rajah is an interesting character, Watson, and probably not your first idea of an Indian nobleman. He was dressed in a tweed suit, looking every inch an English country gentleman. Apparently he was sent to England as a boy, to attend school here at Eton, which is where he first met Viscount Latchmere, twenty-odd years ago. His great interest now is the education of his fellow countrymen. He is keen to found a school along the lines of Eton in his native province, and it is this that has brought him to England on this occasion. As to the events of Saturday night, he was unable to tell me anything that might have been helpful. He retired to bed just before eleven o’clock, fell asleep almost immediately and heard nothing until a maid woke him with a cup of tea the following morning. His manner was very pleasant and open, but I got the distinct impression as we were talking that he was picking his words with care, as if there were something in his thoughts that he did not wish to put into words.

“Peter Brocklehurst is a distant cousin of Viscount Latchmere’s. Since coming down from Oxford last year, he informed me, he has been casting about for something to do, without, as yet, finding anything suitable. On Saturday evening, he informed me, he retired to bed shortly after eleven. He admits he had had rather too much to drink during the evening, and says he fell into a very deep sleep, after which he heard nothing until the next morning, when he awoke to learn that the Latchmere Pendant had been stolen. As we spoke, I sensed that he had something on his mind other than the subject of our discussion. What this might be, I could not tell, but to judge from the frequency with which he glanced out through the French window to the terrace outside, it may have had something to do with Miss Matilda Wiltshire.

“Miss Wiltshire herself is a pretty young thing, if not, perhaps, the most profound thinker. She is a first cousin to, and just a couple of years younger than, Lady Latchmere herself. They have, apparently, been friends since childhood, and she is a fairly frequent visitor to Latchmere Hall. Her father is a solicitor, with chambers in Gray’s Inn. I think she found Saturday evening dreadfully dull, as Viscount Latchmere and the rajah were, she said, discussing schools and methods of education interminably. The only thing she seemed to take away from the conversation was that the rajah prefers to be addressed by his friends as Saju. She ended the evening tired, she said, and with a slight headache, so having ascended to the upper floor in the company of Lady Latchmere, she repaired straight to her room, and five minutes later was in bed, endeavouring to get to sleep. However, possibly because of the headache, sleep would not come, and she lay awake for some time. She says she heard others come to bed, and then, a little later, heard the rajah snoring loudly, which kept her awake for a further ten minutes or so, until she eventually dropped off. She heard nothing further.

“The Honourable Miss Arabella Norman, who is a distant cousin of Viscount Latchmere’s, is an elderly lady and describes herself as ‘a relic’. She was also disturbed by the rajah’s snores on Saturday night – he was in the room immediately next to hers – which she says kept her awake ‘for hours’, although she concedes that that may be an exaggeration. She admits that as she has got older, she has become a very light sleeper and has found it increasingly difficult to sleep anywhere but in her own bed at home. She therefore makes social visits much less frequently than she did when younger. I was, in a sense, somewhat disappointed by my conversation with Miss Norman: sometimes, elderly ladies are very keen observers of all that is happening about them; but if Miss Norman had observed anything, she was keeping it to herself. She went to bed about ten minutes after the younger women, she informed me, and, apart from the rajah’s snoring, heard nothing more all night.