________________________________________________
_ The three detectives had many matters of detail into which to
inquire; so I returned alone to our modest quarters at the village
inn. But before doing so I took a stroll in the curious old-world
garden which flanked the house. Rows of very ancient yew trees
cut into strange designs girded it round. Inside was a beautiful
stretch of lawn with an old sundial in the middle, the whole
effect so soothing and restful that it was welcome to my somewhat
jangled nerves.
In that deeply peaceful atmosphere one could forget, or remember
only as some fantastic nightmare, that darkened study with the
sprawling, bloodstained figure on the floor. And yet, as I strolled
round it and tried to steep my soul in its gentle balm, a strange
incident occurred, which brought me back to the tragedy and left a
sinister impression in my mind.
I have said that a decoration of yew trees circled the garden.
At the end farthest from the house they thickened into a continuous
hedge. On the other side of this hedge, concealed from the eyes of
anyone approaching from the direction of the house, there was a
stone seat. As I approached the spot I was aware of voices, some
remark in the deep tones of a man, answered by a little ripple of
feminine laughter.
An instant later I had come round the end of the hedge and my
eyes lit upon Mrs. Douglas and the man Barker before they were
aware of my presence. Her appearance gave me a shock. In the
dining-room she had been demure and discreet. Now all pretense
of grief had passed away from her. Her eyes shone with the joy
of living, and her face still quivered with amusement at some
remark of her companion. He sat forward, his hands clasped and
his forearms on his knees, with an answering smile upon his
bold, handsome face. In an instant -- but it was just one instant
too late -- they resumed their solemn masks as my figure came
into view. A hurried word or two passed between them, and then
Barker rose and came towards me.
"Excuse me, sir," said he, "but am I addressing Dr. Watson?"
I bowed with a coldness which showed, I dare say, very
plainly the impression which had been produced upon my mind.
"We thought that it was probably you, as your friendship with
Mr. Sherlock Holmes is so well known. Would you mind coming over
and speaking to Mrs. Douglas for one instant?"
I followed him with a dour face. Very clearly I could see in
my mind's eye that shattered figure on the floor. Here within a
few hours of the tragedy were his wife and his nearest friend
laughing together behind a bush in the garden which had been his.
I greeted the lady with reserve. I had grieved with her grief in
the dining-room. Now I met her appealing gaze with an unresponsive
eye.
"I fear that you think me callous and hard-hearted." said she.
I shrugged my shoulders. "It is no business of mine," said I.
"Perhaps some day you will do me justice. If you only
realized --"
"There is no need why Dr. Watson should realize," said
Barker quickly. "As he has himself said, it is no possible
business of his."
"Exactly," said I, "and so I will beg leave to resume my
walk."
"One moment, Dr. Watson," cried the woman in a pleading
voice. "There is one question which you can answer with more
authority than anyone else in the world, and it may make a very
great difference to me. You know Mr. Holmes and his relations
with the police better than anyone else can. Supposing that a
matter were brought confidentially to his knowledge, is it
absolutely necessary that he should pass it on to the detectives?"
"Yes, that's it," said Barker eagerly. "Is he on his own or is
he entirely in with them?"
"I really don't know that I should be justified in discussing
such a point."
"I beg -- I implore that you will, Dr. Watson! I assure you that
you will be helping us -- helping me greatly if you will guide us
on that point."
There was such a ring of sincerity in the woman's voice that
for the instant I forgot all about her levity and was moved only to
do her will.
"Mr. Holmes is an independent investigator," I said. "He is
his own master, and would act as his own judgment directed. At
the same time, he would naturally feel loyalty towards the
officials who were working on the same case, and he would not
conceal from them anything which would help them in bringing
a criminal to justice. Beyond this I can say nothing, and I would
refer you to Mr. Holmes himself if you wanted fuller information."
So saying I raised my hat and went upon my way, leaving
them still seated behind that concealing hedge. I looked back as I
rounded the far end of it, and saw that they were still talking
very earnestly together, and, as they were gazing after me, it was
clear that it was our interview that was the subject of their
debate.
"I wish none of their confidences," said Holmes, when I
reported to him what had occurred. He had spent the whole
afternoon at the Manor House in consultation with his two
colleagues, and returned about five with a ravenous appetite for a
high tea which I had ordered for him. "No confidences, Watson;
for they are mighty awkward if it comes to an arrest for
conspiracy and murder."
"You think it will come to that?"
He was in his most cheerful and debonair humour. "My dear
Watson, when I have exterminated that fourth egg I shall be
ready to put you in touch with the whole situation. I don't say
that we have fathomed it -- far from it -- but when we have traced
the missing dumb-bell --"
"The dumb-bell!"
"Dear me, Watson, is it possible that you have not penetrated
the fact that the case hangs upon the missing dumb-bell? Well,
well, you need not be downcast; for between ourselves I don't
think that either Inspector Mac or the excellent local practitioner
has grasped the overwhelming importance of this incident. One
dumb-bell, Watson! Consider an athlete with one dumb-bell!
Picture to yourself the unilateral development, the imminent
danger of a spinal curvature. Shocking, Watson, shocking!"
He sat with his mouth full of toast and his eyes sparkling with
mischief, watching my intellectual entanglement. The mere sight
of his excellent appetite was an assurance of success, for I had
very clear recollections of days and nights without a thought of
food, when his baffled mind had chafed before some problem
while his thin, eager features became more attenuated with the
asceticism of complete mental concentration. Finally he lit his
pipe, and sitting in the inglenook of the old village inn he talked
slowly and at random about his case, rather as one who thinks
aloud than as one who makes a considered statement.
"A lie, Watson -- a great, big, thumping, obtrusive,
uncompromising lie -- that's what meets us on the threshold! There
is our starting point. The whole story told by Barker is a lie.
But Barker's story is corroborated by Mrs. Douglas. Therefore she
is lying also. They are both lying, and in a conspiracy. So now we
have the clear problem. Why are they lying, and what is the truth
which they are trying so hard to conceal? Let us try, Watson,
you and I, if we can get behind the lie and reconstruct the truth.
"How do I know that they are lying? Because it is a clumsy
fabrication which simply could not be true. Consider! According
to the story given to us, the assassin had less than a minute after
the murder had been committed to take that ring, which was under
another ring, from the dead man's finger, to replace the other
ring -- a thing which he would surely never have done -- and to
put that singular card beside his victim. I say that this was
obviously impossible.
"You may argue -- but I have too much respect for your
judgment, Watson, to think that you will do so -- that the ring
may have been taken before the man was killed. The fact that the
candle had been lit only a short time shows that there had been
no lengthy interview. Was Douglas, from what we hear of his
fearless character, a man who would be likely to give up his
wedding ring at such short notice, or could we conceive of his
giving it up at all? No, no, Watson, the assassin was alone with
the dead man for some time with the lamp lit. Of that I have no
doubt at all.
"But the gunshot was apparently the cause of death. Therefore
the shot must have been fired some time earlier than we are told.
But there could be no mistake about such a matter as that. We
are in the presence, therefore, of a deliberate conspiracy upon
the part of the two people who heard the gunshot -- of the man
Barker and of the woman Douglas. When on the top of this I am
able to show that the blood mark on the windowsill was deliberately
placed there by Barker, in order to give a false clue to the police,
you will admit that the case grows dark against him.
"Now we have to ask ourselves at what hour the murder
actually did occur. Up to half-past ten the servants were moving
about the house; so it was certainly not before that time. At a
quarter to eleven they had all gone to their rooms with the
exception of Ames, who was in the pantry. I have been trying
some experiments after you left us this afternoon, and I find that
no noise which MacDonald can make in the study can penetrate
to me in the pantry when the doors are all shut.
"It is otherwise, however, from the housekeeper's room. It is
not so far down the corridor, and from it I could vaguely hear a
voice when it was very loudly raised. The sound from a shotgun
is to some extent muffled when the discharge is at very close
range, as it undoubtedly was in this instance. It would not be
very loud, and yet in the silence of the night it should have easily
penetrated to Mrs. Allen's room. She is, as she has told us,
somewhat deaf; but none the less she mentioned in her evidence
that she did hear something like a door slamming half an hour
before the alarm was given. Half an hour before the alarm was
given would be a quarter to eleven. I have no doubt that what
she heard was the report of the gun, and that this was the real
instant of the murder.
"If this is so, we have now to determine what Barker and
Mrs. Douglas, presuming that they are not the actual murderers,
could have been doing from quarter to eleven, when the sound of
the shot brought them down, until quarter past eleven, when they
rang the bell and summoned the servants. What were they doing,
and why did they not instantly give the alarm? That is the
question which faces us, and when it has been answered we shall
surely have gone some way to solve our problem."
"I am convinced myself," said I, "that there is an understanding
between those two people. She must be a heartless creature to sit
laughing at some jest within a few hours of her husband's murder."
"Exactly. She does not shine as a wife even in her own
account of what occurred. I am not a whole-souled admirer of
womankind, as you are aware, Watson, but my experience of
life has taught me that there are few wives, having any regard for
their husbands, who would let any man's spoken word stand
between them and that husband's dead body. Should I ever
marry, Watson, I should hope to inspire my wife with some
feeling which would prevent her from being walked off by a
housekeeper when my corpse was lying within a few yards of
her. It was badly stage-managed; for even the rawest investigators
must be struck by the absence of the usual feminine ululation.
If there had been nothing else, this incident alone would have
suggested a prearranged conspiracy to my mind."
"You think then, definitely, that Barker and Mrs. Douglas are
guilty of the murder?"
"There is an appalling directness about your questions, Watson,"
said Holmes, shaking his pipe at me. "They come at me like bullets.
If you put it that Mrs. Douglas and Barker know the truth about
the murder, and are conspiring to conceal it, then I can give you
a whole-souled answer. I am sure they do. But your more deadly
proposition is not so clear. Let us for a moment consider the
difficulties which stand in the way.
"We will suppose that this couple are united by the bonds of a
guilty love, and that they have determined to get rid of the man
who stands between them. It is a large supposition; for discreet
inquiry among servants and others has failed to corroborate it in
any way. On the contrary, there is a good deal of evidence that
the Douglases were very attached to each other."
"That, I am sure, cannot he true." said I, thinking of the
beautiful smiling face in the garden.
"Well at least they gave that impression. However, we will
suppose that they are an extraordinarily astute couple, who
deceive everyone upon this point, and conspire to murder the
husband. He happens to be a man over whose head some danger
hangs --"
"We have only their word for that."
Holmes looked thoughtful. "I see, Watson. You are sketching
out a theory by which everything they say from the beginning is
false. According to your idea, there was never any hidden menace,
or secret society, or Valley of Fear, or Boss MacSomebody, or
anything else. Well, that is a good sweeping generalization.
Let us see what that brings us to. They invent this theory to
account for the crime. They then play up to the idea by leaving
this bicycle in the park as proof of the existence of some
outsider. The stain on the windowsill conveys the same idea. So
does the card on the body, which might have been prepared in
the house. That all fits into your hypothesis, Watson. But now
we come on the nasty, angular, uncompromising bits which
won't slip into their places. Why a cut-off shotgun of all weapons
-- and an American one at that? How could they be so sure that the
sound of it would not bring someone on to them? It's a mere chance
as it is that Mrs. Allen did not start out to inquire for the
slamming door. Why did your guilty couple do all this, Watson?"
"I confess that I can't explain it."
"Then again, if a woman and her lover conspire to murder a
husband, are they going to advertise their guilt by ostentatiously
removing his wedding ring after his death? Does that strike you
as very probable, Watson?"
"No, it does not."
"And once again, if the thought of leaving a bicycle concealed
outside had occurred to you, would it really have seemed worth
doing when the dullest detective would naturally say this is an
obvious blind, as the bicycle is the first thing which the fugitive
needed in order to make his escape."
"I can conceive of no explanation."
"And yet there should be no combination of events for which
the wit of man cannot conceive an explanation. Simply as a
mental exercise, without any assertion that it is true, let me
indicate a possible line of thought. It is, I admit, mere
imagination; but how often is imagination the mother of truth?
"We will suppose that there was a guilty secret, a really
shameful secret in the life of this man Douglas. This leads to his
murder by someone who is, we will suppose, an avenger, someone from
outside. This avenger, for some reason which I confess I am still
at a loss to explain, took the dead man's wedding ring. The vendetta
might conceivably date back to the man's first marriage, and the
ring be taken for some such reason.
"Before this avenger got away, Barker and the wife had
reached the room. The assassin convinced them that any attempt
to arrest him would lead to the publication of some hideous
scandal. They were converted to this idea, and preferred to let
him go. For this purpose they probably lowered the bridge,
which can be done quite noiselessly, and then raised it again. He
made his escape, and for some reason thought that he could do
so more safely on foot than on the bicycle. He therefore left his
machine where it would not be discovered until he had got safely
away. So far we are within the bounds of possibility, are we
not?"
"Well, it is possible, no doubt," said I, with some reserve.
"We have to remember, Watson, that whatever occurred is
certainly something very extraordinary. Well, now, to continue
our supposititious case, the couple -- not necessarily a guilty
couple -- realize after the murderer is gone that they have placed
themselves in a position in which it may be difficult for them to
prove that they did not themselves either do the deed or connive
at it. They rapidly and rather clumsily met the situation. The
mark was put by Barker's bloodstained slipper upon the window-
sill to suggest how the fugitive got away. They obviously were
the two who must have heard the sound of the gun; so they gave
the alarm exactly as they would have done, but a good half hour
after the event."
"And how do you propose to prove all this?"
"Well, if there were an outsider, he may be traced and taken.
That would be the most effective of all proofs. But if not -- well,
the resources of science are far from being exhausted. I think
that an evening alone in that study would help me much."
"An evening alone!"
"I propose to go up there presently. I have arranged it with
the estimable Ames, who is by no means whole-hearted about
Barker. I shall sit in that room and see if its atmosphere brings
me inspiration. I'm a believer in the genius loci. You smile,
Friend Watson. Well, we shall see. By the way, you have that
big umbrella of yours, have you not?"
"It is here."
"Well, I'll borrow that if I may."
"Certainly -- but what a wretched weapon! If there is
danger --"
"Nothing serious, my dear Watson, or I should certainly ask
for your assistance. But I'll take the umbrella. At present I am
only awaiting the return of our colleagues from Tunbridge Wells,
where they are at present engaged in trying for a likely owner to
the bicycle."
It was nightfall before Inspector MacDonald and White Mason
came back from their expedition, and they arrived exultant,
reporting a great advance in our investigation.
"Man, I'll admeet that I had my doubts if there was ever an
outsider," said MacDonald, "but that's all past now. We've had
the bicycle identified, and we have a description of our man; so
that's a long step on our journey."
"It sounds to me like the beginning of the end," said Holmes.
"I'm sure I congratulate you both with all my heart."
"Well, I started from the fact that Mr. Douglas had seemed
disturbed since the day before, when he had been at Tunbridge
Wells. It was at Tunbridge Wells then that he had become
conscious of some danger. It was clear, therefore, that if a man
had come over with a bicycle it was from Tunbridge Wells that
he might be expected to have come. We took the bicycle over
with us and showed it at the hotels. It was identified at once by
the manager of the Eagle Commercial as belonging to a man
named Hargrave, who had taken a room there two days before.
This bicycle and a small valise were his whole belongings. He
had registered his name as coming from London, but had given
no address. The valise was London made, and the contents were
British; but the man himself was undoubtedly an American."
"Well, well," said Holmes gleefully, "you have indeed done
some solid work while I have been sitting spinning theories with
my friend! It's a lesson in being practical, Mr. Mac."
"Ay, it's just that, Mr. Holmes," said the inspector with
satisfaction.
"But this may all fit in with your theories," I remarked.
"That may or may not be. But let us hear the end, Mr. Mac.
Was there nothing to identify this man?"
"So little that it was evident that he had carefully guarded
himself against identification. There were no papers or letters,
and no marking upon the clothes. A cycle map of the county lay
on his bedroom table. He had left the hotel after breakfast
yesterday morning on his bicycle, and no more was heard of him
until our inquiries."
"That's what puzzles me, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason.
"If the fellow did not want the hue and cry raised over him, one
would imagine that he would have returned and remained at the
hotel as an inoffensive tourist. As it is, he must know that he
will be reported to the police by the hotel manager and that his
disappearance will be connected with the murder."
"So one would imagine. Still, he has been justified of his
wisdom up to date, at any rate, since he has not been taken. But
his description -- what of that?"
MacDonald referred to his notebook. "Here we have it so far
as they could give it. They don't seem to have taken any very
particular stock of him; but still the porter, the clerk, and the
chambermaid are all agreed that this about covers the points. He
was a man about five foot nine in height, fifty or so years of age,
his hair slightly grizzled, a grayish moustache, a curved nose,
and a face which all of them described as fierce and forbidding."
"Well, bar the expression, that might almost be a description
of Douglas himself," said Holmes. "He is just over fifty, with
grizzled hair and moustache, and about the same height. Did you
get anything else?"
"He was dressed in a heavy gray suit with a reefer jacket, and
he wore a short yellow overcoat and a soft cap."
"What about the shotgun?"
"It is less than two feet long. It could very well have fitted
into his valise. He could have carried it inside his overcoat
without difficulty."
"And how do you consider that all this bears upon the general
case?"
"Well, Mr. Holmes," said MacDonald, "when we have got
our man -- and you may be sure that I had his description on the
wires within five minutes of hearing it -- we shall be better able
to judge. But, even as it stands, we have surely gone a long way.
We know that an American calling himself Hargrave came to
Tunbridge Wells two days ago with bicycle and valise. In the
latter was a sawed-off shotgun; so he came with the deliberate
purpose of crime. Yesterday morning he set off for this place on
his bicycle, with his gun concealed in his overcoat. No one saw
him arrive, so far as we can learn; but he need not pass through
the village to reach the park gates, and there are many cyclists
upon the road. Presumably he at once concealed his cycle among
the laurels where it was found, and possibly lurked there himself,
with his eye on the house, waiting for Mr. Douglas to come out.
The shotgun is a strange weapon to use inside a house; but he had
intended to use it outside, and there it has very obvious advantages,
as it would be impossible to miss with it, and the sound of shots
is so common in an English sporting neighbourhood that no particular
notice would be taken."
"That is all very clear," said Holmes.
"Well, Mr. Douglas did not appear. What was he to do next?
He left his bicycle and approached the house in the twilight. He
found the bridge down and no one about. He took his chance,
intending, no doubt, to make some excuse if he met anyone. He
met no one. He slipped into the first room that he saw, and
concealed himself behind the curtain. Thence he could see the
drawbridge go up, and he knew that his only escape was through
the moat. He waited until quarter-past eleven, when Mr. Douglas
upon his usual nightly round came into the room. He shot him
and escaped, as arranged. He was aware that the bicycle would
be described by the hotel people and be a clue against him; so he
left it there and made his way by some other means to London or
to some safe hiding place which he had already arranged. How is
that, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, Mr. Mac, it is very good and very clear so far as it
goes. That is your end of the story. My end is that the crime was
committed half an hour earlier than reported; that Mrs. Douglas
and Barker are both in a conspiracy to conceal something; that
they aided the murderer's escape -- or at least that they reached
the room before he escaped -- and that they fabricated evidence
of his escape through the window, whereas in all probability they
had themselves let him go by lowering the bridge. That's my
reading of the first half."
The two detectives shook their heads.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one
mystery into another," said the London inspector.
"And in some ways a worse one," added White Mason. "The
lady has never been in America in all her life. What possible
connection could she have with an American assassin which
would cause her to shelter him?"
"I freely admit the difficulties," said Holmes. "I propose to
make a little investigation of my own to-night, and it is just
possible that it may contribute something to the common cause."
"Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?"
"No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watson's umbrella -- my wants are
simple. And Ames, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch a
point for me. All my lines of thought lead me back invariably
to the one basic question -- why should an athletic man develop
his frame upon so unnatural an instrument as a single dumb-bell?"
It was late that night when Holmes returned from his solitary
excursion. We slept in a double-bedded room, which was the
best that the little country inn could do for us. I was already
asleep when I was partly awakened by his entrance.
"Well, Holmes," I murmured, "have you found anything
out?"
He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then
the tall, lean figure inclined towards me. "I say, Watson," he
whispered, "would you be afraid to sleep in the same room with
a lunatic, a man with softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind
has lost its grip?"
"Not in the least," I answered in astonishment.
"Ah, that's lucky," he said, and not another word would he
utter that night.
Chapter 7
The Solution
Next morning, after breakfast, we found Inspector MacDonald
and White Mason seated in close consultation in the small parlour
of the local police sergeant. On the table in front of them
were piled a number of letters and telegrams, which they were
carefully sorting and docketing. Three had been placed on one
side.
"Still on the track of the elusive bicyclist?" Holmes asked
cheerfully. "What is the latest news of the ruffian?"
MacDonald pointed ruefully to his heap of correspondence.
"He is at present reported from Leicester, Nottingham,
Southampton, Derby, East Ham, Richmond, and fourteen other places.
In three of them -- East Ham, Leicester, and Liverpool -- there is
a clear case against him, and he has actually been arrested. The
country seems to be full of the fugitives with yellow coats."
"Dear me!" said Holmes sympathetically. "Now, Mr. Mac
and you, Mr. White Mason, I wish to give you a very earnest
piece of advice. When I went into this case with you I bargained,
as you will no doubt remember, that I should not present you
with half-proved theories, but that I should retain and work out
my own ideas until I had satisfied myself that they were correct.
For this reason I am not at the present moment telling you all
that is in my mind. On the other hand, I said that I would play
the game fairly by you, and I do not think it is a fair game to
allow you for one unnecessary moment to waste your energies
upon a profitless task. Therefore I am here to advise you this
morning, and my advice to you is summed up in three words --
abandon the case."
MacDonald and White Mason stared in amazement at their
celebrated colleague.
"You consider it hopeless!" cried the inspector.
"I consider your case to be hopeless. I do not consider that it
is hopeless to arrive at the truth."
"But this cyclist. He is not an invention. We have his description,
his valise, his bicycle. The fellow must be somewhere. Why should we
not get him?"
"Yes, yes, no doubt he is somewhere, and no doubt we shall
get him; but I would not have you waste your energies in East
Ham or Liverpool. I am sure that we can find some shorter cut to
a result."
"You are holding something back. It's hardly fair of you, Mr.
Holmes." The inspector was annoyed.
"You know my methods of work, Mr. Mac. But I will hold it
back for the shortest time possible. I only wish to verify my
details in one way, which can very readily be done, and then I
make my bow and return to London, leaving my results entirely
at your service. I owe you too much to act otherwise; for in all
my experience I cannot recall any more singular and interesting
study."
"This is clean beyond me, Mr. Holmes. We saw you when
we returned from Tunbridge Wells last night, and you were in
general agreement with our results. What has happened since
then to give you a completely new idea of the case?"
"Well, since you ask me, I spent, as I told you that I would,
some hours last night at the Manor House."
"Well, what happened?"
"Ah, I can only give you a very general answer to that for the
moment. By the way, I have been reading a short but clear and
interesting account of the old building, purchasable at the modest
sum of one penny from the local tobacconist."
Here Holmes drew a small tract, embellished with a rude
engraving of the ancient Manor House, from his waistcoat pocket.
"It immensely adds to the zest of an investigation, my dear
Mr. Mac, when one is in conscious sympathy with the historical
atmosphere of one's surroundings. Don't look so impatient; for I
assure you that even so bald an account as this raises some sort
of picture of the past in one's mind. Permit me to give you a
sample. 'Erected in the fifth year of the reign of James I, and
standing upon the site of a much older building, the Manor
House of Birlstone presents one of the finest surviving examples
of the moated Jacobean residence --' "
"You are making fools of us, Mr. Holmes!"
"Tut, tut, Mr. Mac! -- the first sign of temper I have detected
in you. Well, I won't read it verbatim, since you feel so strongly
upon the subject. But when I tell you that there is some account
of the taking of the place by a parliamentary colonel in 1644, of
the concealment of Charles for several days in the course of the
Civil War, and finally of a visit there by the second George, you
will admit that there are various associations of interest connected
with this ancient house."
"I don't doubt it, Mr. Holmes; but that is no business of
ours."
"Is it not? Is it not? Breadth of view, my dear Mr. Mac, is
one of the essentials of our profession. The interplay of ideas and
the oblique uses of knowledge are often of extraordinary interest.
You will excuse these remarks from one who, though a mere
connoisseur of crime, is still rather older and perhaps more
experienced than yourself."
"I'm the first to admit that," said the detective heartily. "You
get to your point, I admit; but you have such a deuced round-the-
corner way of doing it."
"Well, well, I'll drop past history and get down to present-
day facts. I called last night, as I have already said, at the
Manor House. I did not see either Barker or Mrs. Douglas. I saw
no necessity to disturb them; but I was pleased to hear that the
lady was not visibly pining and that she had partaken of an
excellent dinner. My visit was specially made to the good Mr.
Ames, with whom I exchanged some amiabilities, which culminated
in his allowing me, without reference to anyone else, to sit
alone for a time in the study."
"What! With that?" I ejaculated.
"No, no, everything is now in order. You gave permission for
that, Mr. Mac, as I am informed. The room was in its normal
state, and in it I passed an instructive quarter of an hour."
"What were you doing?"
"Well, not to make a mystery of so simple a matter, I was
looking for the missing dumb-bell. It has always bulked rather
large in my estimate of the case. I ended by finding it."
"Where?"
"Ah, there we come to the edge of the unexplored. Let me go
a little further, a very little further, and I will promise that you
shall share everything that I know."
"Well, we're bound to take you on your own terms," said the
inspector; "but when it comes to telling us to abandon the
case -- why in the name of goodness should we abandon the
case?"
"For the simple reason, my dear Mr. Mac, that you have not
got the first idea what it is that you are investigating."
"We are investigating the murder of Mr. John Douglas of
Birlstone Manor."
"Yes, yes, so you are. But don't trouble to trace the mysterious
gentleman upon the bicycle. I assure you that it won't help you."
"Then what do you suggest that we do?"
"I will tell you exactly what to do, if you will do it."
"Well, I'm bound to say I've always found you had reason
behind all your queer ways. I'll do what you advise."
"And you, Mr. White Mason?"
The country detective looked helplessly from one to the other.
Holmes and his methods were new to him. "Well, if it is good
enough for the inspector, it is good enough for me," he said at
last.
"Capital!" said Holmes. "Well, then, I should recommend a
nice, cheery country walk for both of you. They tell me that the
views from Birlstone Ridge over the Weald are very remarkable.
No doubt lunch could be got at some suitable hostelry; though
my ignorance of the country prevents me from recommending
one. In the evening, tired but happy --"
"Man, this is getting past a joke!" cried MacDonald, rising
angrily from his chair.
"Well, well, spend the day as you like," said Holmes, patting
him cheerfully upon the shoulder. "Do what you like and go
where you will, but meet me here before dusk without fail --
without fail, Mr. Mac."
"That sounds more like sanity."
"All of it was excellent advice; but I don't insist, so long as
you are here when I need you. But now, before we part, I want
you to write a note to Mr. Barker."
"Well?"
"I'll dictate it, if you like. Ready?
"Dear Sir:
"It has struck me that it is our duty to drain the moat, in
the hope that we may find some --"
"It's impossible," said the inspector. "I've made inquiry."
"Tut, tut! My dear sir, please do what I ask you."
"Well, go on."
"-- in the hope that we may find something which may bear
upon our investigation. I have made arrangements, and the
workmen will be at work early to-morrow morning diverting
the stream --"
"Impossible!"
"-- diverting the stream; so I thought it best to explain
matters beforehand.
"Now sign that, and send it by hand about four o'clock. At that
hour we shall meet again in this room. Until then we may each
do what we like; for I can assure you that this inquiry has come
to a definite pause."
Evening was drawing in when we reassembled. Holmes was
very serious in his manner, myself curious, and the detectives
obviously critical and annoyed.
"Well, gentlemen," said my friend gravely, "I am asking
you now to put everything to the test with me, and you will
judge for yourselves whether the observations I have made justify
the conclusions to which I have come. It is a chill evening,
and I do not know how long our expedition may last; so I beg
that you will wear your warmest coats. It is of the first
importance that we should be in our places before it grows dark;
so with your permission we shall get started at once."
We passed along the outer bounds of the Manor House park
until we came to a place where there was a gap in the rails which
fenced it. Through this we slipped, and then in the gathering
gloom we followed Holmes until we had reached a shrubbery
which lies nearly opposite to the main door and the drawbridge.
The latter had not been raised. Holmes crouched down behind
the screen of laurels, and we all three followed his example.
"Well, what are we to do now?" asked MacDonald with
some gruffness.
"Possess our souls in patience and make as little noise as
possible," Holmes answered.
"What are we here for at all? I really think that you might
treat us with more frankness."
Holmes laughed. "Watson insists that I am the dramatist in
real life," said he. "Some touch of the artist wells up within me,
and calls insistently for a well-staged performance. Surely our
profession, Mr. Mac, would be a drab and sordid one if we did
not sometimes set the scene so as to glorify our results. The
blunt accusation, the brutal tap upon the shoulder -- what can one
make of such a denouement? But the quick inference, the subtle
trap, the clever forecast of coming events, the triumphant vindication
of bold theories -- are these not the pride and the justification of
our life's work? At the present moment you thrill with the glamour of
the situation and the anticipation of the hunt. Where would be that
thrill if I had been as definite as a timetable? I only ask a little
patience, Mr. Mac, and all will be clear to you."
"Well, I hope the pride and justification and the rest of it will
come before we all get our death of cold," said the London
detective with comic resignation.
We all had good reason to join in the aspiration; for our vigil
was a long and bitter one. Slowly the shadows darkened over the
long, sombre face of the old house. A cold, damp reek from the
moat chilled us to the bones and set our teeth chattering. There
was a single lamp over the gateway and a steady globe of light in
the fatal study. Everything else was dark and still.
"How long is this to last?" asked the inspector finally. "And
what is it we are watching for?"
"I have no more notion than you how long it is to last,"
Holmes answered with some asperity. "If criminals would always
schedule their movements like railway trains, it would certainly
be more convenient for all of us. As to what it is we -- Well,
that's what we are watching for!"
As he spoke the bright, yellow light in the study was obscured
by somebody passing to and fro before it. The laurels among
which we lay were immediately opposite the window and not
more than a hundred feet from it. Presently it was thrown open
with a whining of hinges, and we could dimly see the dark
outline of a man's head and shoulders looking out into the
gloom. For some minutes he peered forth in furtive, stealthy
fashion, as one who wishes to be assured that he is unobserved.
Then he leaned forward, and in the intense silence we were
aware of the soft lapping of agitated water. He seemed to be
stirring up the moat with something which he held in his hand.
Then suddenly he hauled something in as a fisherman lands a
fish -- some large, round object which obscured the light as it
was dragged through the open casement.
"Now!" cried Holmes. "Now!"
We were all upon our feet, staggering after him with our
stiffened limbs, while he ran swiftly across the bridge and rang
violently at the bell. There was the rasping of bolts from the
other side, and the amazed Ames stood in the entrance. Holmes
brushed him aside without a word and, followed by all of us,
rushed into the room which had been occupied by the man whom
we had been watching.
The oil lamp on the table represented the glow which we had
seen from outside. It was now in the hand of Cecil Barker, who
held it towards us as we entered. Its light shone upon his strong,
resolute, clean-shaved face and his menacing eyes.
"What the devil is the meaning of all this?" he cried. "What
are you after, anyhow?"
Holmes took a swift glance round, and then pounced upon a
sodden bundle tied together with cord which lay where it had
been thrust under the writing table.
"This is what we are after, Mr. Barker -- this bundle, weighted
with a dumb-bell, which you have just raised from the bottom of
the moat."
Barker stared at Holmes with amazement in his face. "How in
thunder came you to know anything about it?" he asked.
"Simply that I put it there."
"You put it there! You!"
"Perhaps I should have said 'replaced it there,'" said Holmes.
"You will remember, Inspector MacDonald, that I was somewhat
struck by the absence of a dumb-bell. I drew your attention
to it; but with the pressure of other events you had hardly the
time to give it the consideration which would have enabled you
to draw deductions from it. When water is near and a weight is
missing it is not a very far-fetched supposition that something
has been sunk in the water. The idea was at least worth testing;
so with the help of Ames, who admitted me to the room, and the
crook of Dr. Watson's umbrella, I was able last night to fish up
and inspect this bundle.
"It was of the first importance, however, that we should be
able to prove who placed it there. This we accomplished by the
very obvious device of announcing that the moat would be dried
to-morrow, which had, of course, the effect that whoever had
hidden the bundle would most certainly withdraw it the moment
that darkness enabled him to do so. We have no less than four
witnesses as to who it was who took advantage of the opportunity,
and so, Mr. Barker, I think the word lies now with you."
Sherlock Holmes put the sopping bundle upon the table beside
the lamp and undid the cord which bound it. From within he
extracted a dumb-bell, which he tossed down to its fellow in the
corner. Next he drew forth a pair of boots. "American, as you
perceive," he remarked, pointing to the toes. Then he laid upon
the table a long, deadly, sheathed knife. Finally he unravelled a
bundle of clothing, comprising a complete set of underclothes,
socks, a gray tweed suit, and a short yellow overcoat.
"The clothes are commonplace," remarked Holmes, "save
only the overcoat, which is full of suggestive touches." He held
it tenderly towards the light. "Here, as you perceive, is the inner
pocket prolonged into the lining in such fashion as to give ample
space for the truncated fowling piece. The tailor's tab is on the
neck -- 'Neal, Outfitter, Vermissa, U. S. A.' I have spent an
instructive afternoon in the rector's library, and have enlarged
my knowledge by adding the fact that Vermissa is a flourishing
little town at the head of one of the best known coal and iron
valleys in the United States. I have some recollection, Mr.
Barker, that you associated the coal districts with Mr. Douglas's
first wife, and it would surely not be too far-fetched an inference
that the V. V. upon the card by the dead body might stand for
Vermissa Valley, or that this very valley which sends forth
emissaries of murder may be that Valley of Fear of which we
have heard. So much is fairly clear. And now, Mr. Barker, I
seem to be standing rather in the way of your explanation."
It was a sight to see Cecil Barker's expressive face during this
exposition of the great detective. Anger, amazement, consternation,
and indecision swept over it in turn. Finally he took refuge in a
somewhat acrid irony.
"You know such a lot, Mr. Holmes, perhaps you had better
tell us some more," he sneered.
"I have no doubt that I could tell you a great deal more, Mr.
Barker; but it would come with a better grace from you."
"Oh, you think so, do you? Well, all I can say is that if
there's any secret here it is not my secret, and I am not the man
to give it away."
"Well, if you take that line, Mr. Barker," said the inspector
quietly, "we must just keep you in sight until we have the
warrant and can hold you."
"You can do what you damn please about that," said Barker
defiantly.
The proceedings seemed to have come to a definite end so far
as he was concerned; for one had only to look at that granite face
to realize that no peine forte et dure would ever force him to
plead against his will. The deadlock was broken, however, by a
woman's voice. Mrs. Douglas had been standing listening at the
half opened door, and now she entered the room.
"You have done enough for now, Cecil," said she. "Whatever
comes of it in the future, you have done enough."
"Enough and more than enough," remarked Sherlock Holmes
gravely. "I have every sympathy with you, madam, and
should strongly urge you to have some confidence in the common
sense of our jurisdiction and to take the police voluntarily into
your complete confidence. It may be that I am myself at fault for
not following up the hint which you conveyed to me through my
friend, Dr. Watson; but, at that time I had every reason to
believe that you were directly concerned in the crime. Now I am
assured that this is not so. At the same time, there is much that is
unexplained, and I should strongly recommend that you ask Mr.
Douglas to tell us his own story."
Mrs. Douglas gave a cry of astonishment at Holmes's words.
The detectives and I must have echoed it, when we were aware
of a man who seemed to have emerged from the wall, who
advanced now from the gloom of the corner in which he had
appeared. Mrs. Douglas turned, and in an instant her arms were
round him. Barker had seized his outstretched hand.
"It's best this way, Jack," his wife repeated; "I am sure that
it is best."
"Indeed, yes, Mr. Douglas," said Sherlock Holmes, "I am
sure that you will find it best."
The man stood blinking at us with the dazed look of one who
comes from the dark into the light. It was a remarkable face,
bold gray eyes, a strong, short-clipped, grizzled moustache, a
square, projecting chin, and a humorous mouth. He took a good
look at us all, and then to my amazement he advanced to me and
handed me a bundle of paper.
"I've heard of you," said he in a voice which was not quite
English and not quite American, but was altogether mellow and
pleasing. "You are the historian of this bunch. Well, Dr. Watson,
you've never had such a story as that pass through your hands
before, and I'll lay my last dollar on that. Tell it your own
way; but there are the facts, and you can't miss the public so
long as you have those. I've been cooped up two days, and I've
spent the daylight hours -- as much daylight as I could get in that
rat trap -- in putting the thing into words. You're welcome to
them -- you and your public. There's the story of the Valley of
Fear."
"That's the past, Mr. Douglas," said Sherlock Holmes quietly.
"What we desire now is to hear your story of the present."
"You'll have it, sir," said Douglas. "May I smoke as I talk?
Well, thank you, Mr. Holmes. You're a smoker yourself, if I
remember right, and you'll guess what it is to be sitting for two
days with tobacco in your pocket and afraid that the smell will
give you away." He leaned against the mantelpiece and sucked
at the cigar which Holmes had handed him. "I've heard of you,
Mr. Holmes. I never guessed that I should meet you. But before
you are through with that," he nodded at my papers, "you will
say I've brought you something fresh."
Inspector MacDonald had been staring at the newcomer with
the greatest amazement. "Well, this fairly beats me!" he cried at
last. "If you are Mr. John Douglas of Birlstone Manor, then
whose death have we been investigating for these two days, and
where in the world have you sprung from now? You seemed to
me to come out of the floor like a jack-in-a-box."
"Ah, Mr. Mac," said Holmes, shaking a reproving forefinger,
"you would not read that excellent local compilation which
described the concealment of King Charles. People did not hide
in those days without excellent hiding places, and the hiding
place that has once been used may be again. I had persuaded
myself that we should find Mr. Douglas under this roof."
"And how long have you been playing this trick upon us, Mr.
Holmes?" said the inspector angrily. "How long have you
allowed us to waste ourselves upon a search that you knew to be
an absurd one?"
"Not one instant, my dear Mr. Mac. Only last night did I
form my views of the case. As they could not be put to the proof
until this evening, I invited you and your colleague to take a
holiday for the day. Pray what more could I do? When I found
the suit of clothes in the moat, it at once became apparent to me
that the body we had found could not have been the body of Mr.
John Douglas at all, but must be that of the bicyclist from
Tunbridge Wells. No other conclusion was possible. Therefore I
had to determine where Mr. John Douglas himself could be, and
the balance of probability was that with the connivance of his
wife and his friend he was concealed in a house which had such
conveniences for a fugitive, and awaiting quieter times when he
could make his final escape."
"Well, you figured it out about right," said Douglas approvingly.
"I thought I'd dodge your British law; for I was not sure how I
stood under it, and also I saw my chance to throw these hounds
once for all off my track. Mind you, from first to last I have
done nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing that I would not do
again; but you'll judge that for yourselves when I tell you my
story. Never mind warning me, Inspector: I'm ready to stand pat
upon the truth.
"I'm not going to begin at the beginning. That's all there," he
indicated my bundle of papers, "and a mighty queer yarn you'll
find it. It all comes down to this: That there are some men that
have good cause to hate me and would give their last dollar to
know that they had got me. So long as I am alive and they are
alive, there is no safety in this world for me. They hunted me
from Chicago to California, then they chased me out of America;
but when I married and settled down in this quiet spot I thought
my last years were going to be peaceable.
"I never explained to my wife how things were. Why should I
pull her into it? She would never have a quiet moment again; but
would always be imagining trouble. I fancy she knew something,
for I may have dropped a word here or a word there; but until
yesterday, after you gentlemen had seen her, she never knew the
rights of the matter. She told you all she knew, and so did
Barker here; for on the night when this thing happened there was
mighty little time for explanations. She knows everything now,
and I would have been a wiser man if I had told her sooner. But
it was a hard question, dear," he took her hand for an instant in
his own, "and I acted for the best.
"Well, gentlemen, the day before these happenings I was over
in Tunbridge Wells, and I got a glimpse of a man in the street. It
was only a glimpse; but I have a quick eye for these things, and I
never doubted who it was. It was the worst enemy I had among
them all -- one who has been after me like a hungry wolf after a
caribou all these years. I knew there was trouble coming, and I
came home and made ready for it. I guessed I'd fight through it
all right on my own, my luck was a proverb in the States about
'76. I never doubted that it would be with me still.
"I was on my guard all that next day, and never went out into
the park. It's as well, or he'd have had the drop on me with that
buckshot gun of his before ever I could draw on him. After the
bridge was up -- my mind was always more restful when that
bridge was up in the evenings -- I put the thing clear out of my
head. I never dreamed of his getting into the house and waiting
for me. But when I made my round in my dressing gown, as was
my habit, I had no sooner entered the study than I scented
danger. I guess when a man has had dangers in his life -- and I've
had more than most in my time -- there is a kind of sixth sense
that waves the red flag. I saw the signal clear enough, and yet I
couldn't tell you why. Next instant I spotted a boot under the
window curtain, and then I saw why plain enough.
"I'd just the one candle that was in my hand; but there was a
good light from the hall lamp through the open door. I put down
the candle and jumped for a hammer that I'd left on the mantel.
At the same moment he sprang at me. I saw the glint of a knife,
and I lashed at him with the hammer. I got him somewhere; for
the knife tinkled down on the floor. He dodged round the table
as quick as an eel, and a moment later he'd got his gun from
under his coat. I heard him cock it; but I had got hold of it before
he could fire. I had it by the barrel, and we wrestled for it all
ends up for a minute or more. It was death to the man that lost
his grip.
"He never lost his grip; but he got it butt downward for a
moment too long. Maybe it was I that pulled the trigger. Maybe
we just jolted it off between us. Anyhow, he got both barrels in
the face, and there I was, staring down at all that was left of Ted
Baldwin. I'd recognized him in the township, and again when he
sprang for me; but his own mother wouldn't recognize him as I
saw him then. I'm used to rough work; but I fairly turned sick at
the sight of him.
"I was hanging on the side of the table when Barker came
hurrying down. I heard my wife coming, and I ran to the door
and stopped her. It was no sight for a woman. I promised I'd
come to her soon. I said a word or two to Barker -- he took it all
in at a glance -- and we waited for the rest to come along. But
there was no sign of them. Then we understood that they could
hear nothing, and that all that had happened was known only to
ourselves.
"It was at that instant that the idea came to me. I was fairly
dazzled by the brilliance of it. The man's sleeve had slipped up
and there was the branded mark of the lodge upon his forearm.
See here!"
The man whom we had known as Douglas turned up his own
coat and cuff to show a brown triangle within a circle exactly
like that which we had seen upon the dead man.
"It was the sight of that which started me on it. I seemed to
see it all clear at a glance. There were his height and hair and
figure, about the same as my own. No one could swear to his
face, poor devil! I brought down this suit of clothes, and in a
quarter of an hour Barker and I had put my dressing gown on
him and he lay as you found him. We tied all his things into a
bundle, and I weighted them with the only weight I could find
and put them through the window. The card he had meant to lay
upon my body was lying beside his own.
"My rings were put on his finger; but when it came to the
wedding ring," he held out his muscular hand, "you can see for
yourselves that I had struck the limit. I have not moved it since
the day I was married, and it would have taken a file to get it
off. I don't know, anyhow, that I should have cared to part with
it; but if I had wanted to I couldn't. So we just had to leave that
detail to take care of itself. On the other hand, I brought a bit of
plaster down and put it where I am wearing one myself at this
instant. You slipped up there, Mr. Holmes, clever as you are; for
if you had chanced to take off that plaster you would have found
no cut underneath it.
"Well, that was the situation. If I could lie low for a while
and then get away where I could be joined by my 'widow' we
should have a chance at last of living in peace for the rest of our
lives. These devils would give me no rest so long as I was above
ground; but if they saw in the papers that Baldwin had got his
man, there would be an end of all my troubles. I hadn't much
time to make it all clear to Barker and to my wife; but they
understood enough to be able to help me. I knew all about this
hiding place, so did Ames; but it never entered his head to
connect it with the matter. I retired into it, and it was up to
Barker to do the rest.
"I guess you can fill in for yourselves what he did. He opened
the window and made the mark on the sill to give an idea of how
the murderer escaped. It was a tall order, that; but as the bridge
was up there was no other way. Then, when everything was
fixed, he rang the bell for all he was worth. What happened
afterward you know. And so, gentlemen, you can do what you
please; but I've told you the truth and the whole truth, so help
me God! What I ask you now is how do I stand by the English
law?"
There was a silence which was broken by Sherlock Holmes.
"The English law is in the main a just law. You will get no
worse than your deserts from that, Mr. Douglas. But I would ask
you how did this man know that you lived here, or how to get
into your house, or where to hide to get you?"
"I know nothing of this."
Holmes's face was very white and grave. "The story is not
over yet, I fear," said he. "You may find worse dangers than
the English law, or even than your enemies from America. I see
trouble before you, Mr. Douglas. You'll take my advice and still
be on your guard."
And now, my long-suffering readers, I will ask you to come
away with me for a time, far from the Sussex Manor House of
Birlstone, and far also from the year of grace in which we made
our eventful journey which ended with the strange story of the
man who had been known as John Douglas. I wish you to
journey back some twenty years in time, and westward some
thousands of miles in space, that I may lay before you a singular
and terrible narrative -- so singular and so terrible that you may
find it hard to believe that even as I tell it, even so did it occur.
Do not think that I intrude one story before another is finished.
As you read on you will find that this is not so. And when I have
detailed those distant events and you have solved this mystery of
the past, we shall meet once more in those rooms on Baker
Street, where this, like so many other wonderful happenings,
will find its end. _
Read next: PART 2 The Scowrers: Chapter 1 The Man
Read previous: PART 1 The Tragedy of Birlstone: Chapter 5 The People Of the Drama
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