After luncheon I changed into a day dress and then opened my parcels that I left in the front hall. Mrs. Beale thought the hat was definitely very pretty, and she liked the style of the gloves, which would so complement the embroidery on my wedding dress. I opened the last parcel and became terribly annoyed, crying out, "Oh, no!"
Mrs. Beale looked in the box at the broken remains of a watch and its chain. "Oh my, the hinge is bent and the glass shattered."
"It's terrible! And I meant to give it to Percy. I'll have to have it repaired. Could you go do it Mrs. Beale?"
"Me?"
"Yes, please. I'm so upset and I'm already weary from my trip this morning. I don't feel up to London yet again, but I know I'll fret about this until it's fixed or replaced. Will you go?"
"All right."
"Thank you. Here's the address of the place."
I scribbled the note for her, and she soon changed her dress and left on the errand. I didn't think it a large deception, nor a terrible waste of time for her. After all, once I'd resolved to break the thing, I had to have it fixed. But really, if the business of this afternoon turned out to come to nothing, I'd much prefer her not to know anything had ever happened. She would only become nervous at realising that I'd actually felt in enough danger from my stepfather to have gone to a detective.
I went outside and paced on the lawn, brooding. Though Mrs. Beale was very sweet and sympathetic, I knew that she did not like to follow an unpleasant thought to its end. But I had time to consider it, and I knew that the thought had to be followed.
She was wrong. It was not unlikely for my stepfather to find me. If he'd resolved to do it, he could have done it. I had unfortunately made myself quite conspicuous today in my dress and veil.
He only needed to describe me to the porter at the station and to ask which train I'd taken, making up some excuse for his inquiry. Then he could follow on the next train and question the cabbies at Waterloo. It would take some patience, but he had the morning free, and my cabby could tell him a great deal about where I'd gone.
Yet had he done it? Had my stepfather looked for me, or changed his mind when the fit of anger wore off? Did he merely spend his morning fury on going to Harrow to complain to my aunt about my wild behaviour? He had done so over Julia when she'd disobeyed him more often in her last year of life. Her patience and nerves had worn thin with the loneliness of the house and the constant trials of his temper in the village, so she rather recklessly grew hostile and defiant toward him. She was soon only agreeable in my company or in our aunt's house. Julia seemed more in love with the thought of leaving Stoke Moran than she was with the half-pay major.
But perhaps I myself was lately developing Julia's precipitousness, at least in my imaginings about the possible actions of my stepfather. Why was I sketching in my mind these wild pictures of him skulking after me in train stations when he might be even now discussing our financial investments with the accountant to see how much could be spent on my wedding? I finally forced the suspicions from my mind altogether. I could not think clearly in my state, and there was someone coming today who could think with infinite clearness, if Mrs. Farintosh was to be believed.
I looked up suddenly and saw that very man above our stone wall. He and Dr. Watson were coming over the stile twenty metres down from the gate, and they faced each other, speaking. They fell, rather than jumped, in an unsuccessful negotiation of the drop, not seeing that the other half of the stile had been broken and removed to prevent the cheetah or baboon from escaping into the village when they wandered freely in the night. I gasped and ran toward the men.
Dr. Watson rose gracefully and dusted himself off, uninjured, for besides a stiffness in his shoulder, he was an agile man. Mr. Holmes, who had been the first to fall, slipping backwards and unfortunately pulling his friend down, still lay on his back in the grass.
As I hurried near, I realised with some surprise that Mr. Holmes was actually, and quite merrily, in fact, chuckling to himself. "That's what comes of taking an out-of-town driver at his word," I heard him say good-naturedly. "He only knew the place by reputation, and his information needs updating."
Dr. Watson began checking him for fractures and trying to coax him to sit up. Mr. Holmes just kept laughing. "I'm sure Boswell never had such a funny experience. Do write this in your stories, if anything."
The doctor rolled his eyes, looking exasperated.
I called out. "Dr. Watson!"
He looked up and rose, coming over and shaking hands with a smile. His words were cut off by Mr. Holmes, speaking from the ground with his head tipped up to look at me. "Good-afternoon, Miss Stoner," he said calmly. "You see that we have been as good as our word." His hands were folded and his ankles crossed, as if he were casually reclining in his chair at Baker Street.
I came and stood over him, blinking. "Will you not rise, sir?"
He smiled. "Certainly." He put out his hand. I gave him mine and he got up to his feet. "I haven't startled you I hope?"
I half glanced at Dr. Watson. "Um, no. Are you quite all right?"
"Yes," he nodded placidly. He stepped back and dusted himself off.
Dr. Watson said "Ahem" loudly.
Then I led them back to the house.
"I have been waiting so eagerly for you," I said. "All has turned out splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely that he will be back before evening."
"We have had the pleasure of making the doctor's acquaintance," said Mr. Holmes.
I stopped and turned around. "What?"
"Not long after you left us this morning, Miss Stoner, your . . . lovely stepfather honoured us with a visit, a few crude insults, and a display of his manual skill with a steel poker." He smiled and laid his fists side by side, pulling them apart in a straight line to show the bar in his grip. Then he made a sharp motion of bending it out of shape.
I was horrified. "Good heavens! He has followed me, then." I gasped and felt ready to faint.
Mr. Holmes caught hold of me, looking distinctly startled by how badly his words had upset me. He looked towards Dr. Watson in a little confusion, blinking. "So it appears," he said breathlessly, trying to keep me up.
I swallowed and steadied my nerves. Then I raised myself on somewhat wobbly legs and shook my head. "He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him. What will he say when he returns?"
Mr. Holmes grew less pale, and more stern. "He must guard himself," he answered, pressing my hand, "for he may find that there is someone more cunning than himself upon his track." He turned to the house. "You must lock yourself up from him to-night. If he is violent, we shall take you away to your aunt's at Harrow." He let go of me and walked on. "Now, we must make the best use of our time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to examine."
We continued on the foot-path and I pointed out to them the west wing on the right, with the scaffolding erected against the end wall. They tramped over the lawn and up to the building, peering at the windows. Dr. Watson knelt and began scribbling in a notebook with his pencil.
Mr. Holmes pointed at the windows. "This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep, the centre one to your sister's, and the one next to the main building to Dr. Roylott's chamber?"
"Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one."
"Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there does not seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end wall."
"There were none," I answered. "I believe that it was an excuse to move me from my room."
"Ah, that is suggestive," he nodded, and I felt a stab of guilt for my hasty words. Stepfather may have followed me and have blown up furiously at the detectives, but as yet there remained no proof against him about Julia's death.
Mr. Holmes opened the middle window and reached in to raise the blinds. Then he looked into the room, glancing with his keen eyes into the corridor, through the door that I'd left open. "Now, on the other side of this narrow wing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. There are windows in it, of course?"
Why should he wonder about the windows? How, in fact, did he know there were windows? I peered in and couldn't see anything but the corridor lamp through the open door. But of course! It was unlit, and yet the hall was not dim. What a strange practice of indirect knowledge he had!
"Yes," I said slowly, shrugging my shoulders, "but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to pass through."
He turned around to me, noticing my tone. Then he bit his lip and suddenly nodded when he took the meaning of my puzzled expression. "As you both locked your doors at night," he corrected himself, "your rooms were unapproachable from that side." He smiled a little, blushing. I was quite surprised. He glanced around quickly to Dr. Watson, to see if he'd noticed.
His friend was not looking up, still making notes. Mr. Holmes grinned.
Then he turned back to me and composed his serious expression once again. "Now, would you have the kindness to go into your room and bar your shutters?"
I nodded. "I'll use the side door."
I left them and walked around to the further side of the scaffolding, where the door still peeked through the ugly and useless mess that had been erected against the wall. I came down the corridor and quickly into the middle room. Then I barred the shutters and waited. Mr. Holmes tapped experimentally, and then in earnest began trying to force the shutters open. I listened to the exertions on the other side, but no matter how the shutters were pushed or pried at it, no headway was made. At last I heard the thoughtful "Hum!" of Mr. Holmes and the renewed tread of the men in the grass.
They came around the side and through the door, wiping the mud off their feet on the mat. (I inferred as much from the soft sound, but could not be sure of a seeming hesitation at the door of my old bedroom.) After that brief pause, they passed down the corridor and entered the centre room where I stood. Mr. Holmes went into a far corner and took a chair with him. Folding his arms, he sat down and began to inspect every feature of the room with his eyes. I offered Dr. Watson a seat and then went to sit on the edge of my bed. The doctor took out his notebook and wrote again, ignoring his friend. We were all silent.
Mr. Holmes paused at the lock on my door, an old contraption of heavy bolts that had been made more practical in the last century by the addition of a device that made it possible to activate the bolts by turning a single key. I never felt secure from the animals without that sturdy lock in place and the great, heavy shutters barred on the window. Mr. Holmes looked satisfied enough not to test the lock himself, and he continued his inspection, slowly bringing his gaze around the room.
He finally pointed above me at the bell-rope and asked, "Where does that bell communicate with?"
"It goes to the housekeeper's room."
"It looks newer than the other things?"
"Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago."
"Your sister asked for it, I suppose?"
I shook my head at such an absurd thought. "No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get what we wanted for ourselves."
"Indeed," he said, "it seemed unnecessary to put so . . . nice a bell-pull there." He rose from the chair, nodding to us. "You will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy myself as to this floor."
He then dropped upon the floor and pulled out a pocket magnifying lens. He crawled along the boards with it, checking all the seams. He even lifted the rug, peered beneath, then restored it. Moving back and forth, he slid over the floors, coolly efficient and graceful. He gripped the handle of the little glass like a natural extension of himself, and I found myself breathless while I watched him. He paced like a creature accustomed to four legs, and his breath kissed the floor. I realised with an eerie thrill that he resembled a cheetah in his prowling. How on earth did Mrs. Farintosh find such a person?
He progressed swiftly. His eyes glittered with intense concentration, yet remained vacant to any distraction. He drifted so near to me at the bed that I pulled my foot away just short of his face. He continued in his same oblivious way toward Dr. Watson, who anticipated him and removed himself and his chair onto the rug.
Finally Mr. Holmes rose and went to the walls next, thoroughly satisfying himself as to the panelling. Coming abruptly to the bed, he bumped into me.
I caught his dropped lens.
He turned and blinked. "Excuse me," he cleared his throat.
"No, I'm sorry," I swallowed. I handed the lens back to him and got up, standing back out of his way. So much I had learned from Dr. Watson.
Mr. Holmes removed his shoes and got onto the bed, still inspecting the walls. Then he got down again and finished circling the room.
I sat beside Dr. Watson in the other chair. He patted my arm and watched the scene without stress, yawning. I sighed and tried to take it as well as he. It was all so unlike the simple, gentle tapping of the crew of police two years ago.
When Mr. Holmes stopped he returned to the bed, standing before it and staring for several moments. Then he reached over suddenly and pulled the bell-rope. "Why, it's a dummy!"
"Won't it ring?" asked Dr. Watson, his pencil paused on his notebook.
Mr. Holmes climbed on the bed and had a look at the top of the rope. "No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting." He raised it to show to us. "You can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little opening for the ventilator is."
"How very absurd!" I said, coming forward. "I never noticed that before."
"Very strange!" he commented, still yanking. "There are one or two very singular points about this room. For example, what a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another room, when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated with the outside air!"
I leaned against the bed, staring up at the tiny ventilator. "That is also quite modern," I said, tugging at his sleeve.
He glanced down. "Done about the same time as the bell-rope?"
I nodded vigorously, feeling breathless. "Yes! There were several little changes carried out about that time."
Mr. Holmes jumped down. "They seem to have been of a most interesting character--dummy bell-ropes and ventilators which do not ventilate." He hurried on his shoes again. "With your permission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches into the inner apartment."
I led the way to stepfather's room, trying not to shake. I didn't know if I ought to be relieved or angry at the discovery. At last a concrete reason met my intangible fears!--but so late? We were blind two years ago. Stepfather had only seemed to be accommodating us by spending the money on outdoor cages for his animals during the day and on breaking the stile for the nights. He must really have had other purposes in mind.
Inside, Mr. Holmes inspected all the furniture in the room and Dr. Watson stood taking notes. The detective tapped on the iron safe. "What's in here?"
"My stepfather's business papers."
He looked up. "Oh, you have seen inside then?"
"Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of papers."
He shook his head doubtfully. "There isn't a cat in it, for example?"
"No!" I stared at him. "What a strange idea!"
"Well, look at this!" He picked up a saucer of milk that sat on top.
I was puzzled. "No, we don't keep a cat," I insisted, not knowing what else to say. I shrugged. "But there is a cheetah and a baboon."
He smiled, quite amused. "Ah yes of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I daresay." He sniffed and put the saucer down, going over to a wooden chair beside the wall. "There is one point which I should wish to determine."
He pulled out his lens and sat on his heels, examining the seat of the chair. There were the very faintest scuff marks on it.
"Thank you, that is quite settled." He rose and turned back to us. Then his eye caught hold of something beyond. "Hello! Here is something interesting!"
He passed us and went to the corner of stepfather's bed, picking up a dog lash that hung in a loop from the bed post. The end of the lash was tied up and strongly knotted in a circle much too small for any dog's head, if we even had one. He pulled the lash out to see its length and then held the tied end up to his friend. "What do you make of that, Watson?"
"It's a common enough lash. But I don't know why it should be tied."
"That is not quite so common, is it?" His eyes sparkled, and then he neatly curled up the lash again and replaced it on the post. He sighed, shaking his head, "Ah, me! it's a wicked world, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all." He turned back to us and rubbed his hands with finality. "I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, and with your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn."
We closed Dr. Roylott's door behind us, going down to the front hall and out the door. Mr. Holmes kept silent and held his hands behind his back as he brooded, pacing with us through the grass.
Dr. Watson finally dropped to one knee and resumed writing in his notebook.
I stood and wrung my hands, trying to decide what the strange items Mr. Holmes discovered might collectively mean. I couldn't decipher his remarks, nor yet make out more than the foggy indications of a scheme that nevertheless seemed to be unfolding with a frightening deliberateness by my stepfather. A saucer of milk? A dog lash that would not fit a dog? A useless and hidden ventilator in my room? It made no sense, yet it was definitely disturbing. I worried and wondered what Mr. Holmes would finally advise me to do.
At last he stopped and turned to me. Dr. Watson looked up.
"It is very essential, Miss Stoner," Mr. Holmes said, stepping nearer, "that you should absolutely follow my advice in every respect."
"I shall most certainly do so."
Mr. Holmes took my hand, chilling me with the intensity of his warning. "The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may depend upon your compliance."
"I assure you that I am in your hands," I breathed.
Satisfied, he let go and then spoke of his plans. "In the first place," he said, ticking off the point on his finger, "both my friend and I must spend the night in your room."
Dr. Watson raised his eyebrows.
"Yes, it must be so," Mr. Holmes replied. "Let me explain." He turned and pointed. "I believe that that is the village inn over there?"
"Yes, that is the Crown."
"Very good. Your windows would be visible from there?"
"Certainly."
He resumed his ticking with two more points. "You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a headache, when your stepfather comes back. Then when you hear him retire for the night, you must open the shutters of your window, undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a signal to us, and then withdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to want into the room which you used to occupy." He dropped his hands. "I have no doubt that, in spite of repairs, you could manage there for one night."
"Oh, yes, easily."
So he planned to make a substitution in my room tonight. He and Dr. Watson would slip in, unknown to my stepfather, and confront in my place whatever dark plot he meant for me in my rigged room. I thought it an unwisely dangerous task.
"--The rest you will leave in our hands," Mr. Holmes warned, cutting me off.
I nodded, staring in his eyes and taking their serious glance to heart. His conviction was hard to argue with. "But," I swallowed, "what will you do?" I failed at keeping my voice steady, concerned about the risk they might be taking through their bold action. How could they plan for an unknown, and possibly fatal, peril tonight?
He shrugged and looked past me toward my open window. "We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate the cause of this noise which has disturbed you." He would go no further.
I touched his arm and stepped in the way of his gaze. "I believe, Mr. Holmes," I said quietly, "that you have already made up your mind."
He looked at his feet. "Perhaps I have," he murmured.
"Then," I stepped closer as he dodged my glance again, "--for pity's sake--tell me. What was the cause of my sister's death?"
He shook his head strongly, backing away with his discomfort. "I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak."
I sighed. I knew it was only right that he should hesitate on an accusation. Yet I felt frustrated that the fact of some danger should be so apparent, but that the precise details of it should still be so much in darkness.
He was slipping my hand off his arm, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as he kept retreating from me.
I begged again. "You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and if she died from sudden fright."
He stopped, finding that I would not let go of his hand. "No, I do not think so," he looked up. His words were slow and careful, "I think that there was probably some more tangible cause."
Now I looked away. It was definitely a physical danger, then. It was not merely a horrid shock that stepfather had inflicted on Julia that night in her room. He hadn't sent her to her grave with a device to prey on her natural fright and disorientation at three in the morning. And these men, however prepared, would not merely be risking receiving a nervous shock for me tonight. They might face injury or even death. I felt sick inside, and my throat went dry.
Mr. Holmes stared at me a moment, uncertain that I would not faint. Then he let go of my hand quickly. He moved away and looked about him, suddenly smiling when he found Dr. Watson still scribbling in his notebook on the ground. He tapped his friend's shoulder.
"And now, Miss Stoner," he said, "we must leave you, for if Dr. Roylott returned and saw us, our journey would be in vain. Good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I have told you you may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers that threaten you."
They turned and left me, walking down the foot-path until they disappeared beyond the iron gate. I stood shivering on the grass, not knowing what to do. I kept feeling that I might go after them and say that I'd changed my mind, that they need not assist me any further, and I would simply go to my aunt's until my wedding. And yet, how then could the detectives prove that Dr. Roylott had killed Julia? How could there be justice for her? We only had these strange items in the house as any kind of evidence for the police, and they'd very probably find it all quite inconclusive. How terrible this day was, how confusing and unsettling! I went inside the house, feeling perhaps that I might actually have a headache.
In my room I closed my window and then got on my bed, reaching up. I looked at the ventilator under the bell-rope. It was only about two inches wide and one and a half inches high. What could my stepfather have used this for? What could he have put through it to kill Julia? Did the whistling sound suggest some kind of gas? Did he burn some poison and release its smoke into her room? Did he have something to protect himself and to afterward cover the smell of the fumes? Or was it odourless? Did it choke her breath or merely make her delirious with hallucinations, until she died of fright at something she called 'the speckled band'? Would the coroner have found any traces? What was the metallic sound? How was I protected when she opened the door?
I shook my head. How terribly complicated everything was getting. I realised that I'd actually helped him go unaccused with my testimony that Helen's door had indeed been locked. Oh he was wicked!
I let go of the rope and sank down on my bed, shaking. What did Mr. Holmes mean to do tonight? What did he expect the attack to be? His thoughts were so hard to read. He seemed to understand everything, yet reveal nothing. Funny, Mrs. Farintosh was right. He was paternal in some ways. He avoided telling me anything specific, for fear that I might faint or lose my nerve to let them pursue the case. He seemed to foresee very dark occurrences in my room, and in great detail too, judging from the distance in his eyes when he stared past me.
But I couldn't understand the man. What did he mean about my stepfather's safe? He didn't believe it contained papers, and yet his suggested alternative was quite preposterous. In fact, he'd been preposterous all afternoon. How quickly and surprisingly he could drop the cold, reserved manner he had had in his Baker Street rooms! This morning he at least seemed unfailingly precise and knowledgeable despite his youth, but now he had become quite erratic. He laughed so self-mockingly after his fall from the stile. He joked flippantly about Dr. Roylott's threats against him. And he looked so abruptly uncertain and inexperienced in that moment when he blushed and looked about, as if guilty of some crime. I didn't understand either the ambiguous importance that he attached to Dr. Watson's constant writings, calling them "stories."
I thought a while longer and realised that Mr. Holmes gave conflicting signals of his age. As my grey hair made me falsely older and my faint, nervous voice made me falsely younger, so his assured manner and voice spoke of great clarity and wisdom and his face occasionally belied that impression. So which impression was the more true? There seemed to be no regularity to the fluctuations between the states of his personality. The cool, collected demeanour would seem permanent for a time, and then this other side broke through.
Still lying there and thinking, I must have fallen asleep. I woke up with the bell-rope in my face. It annoyed me, especially now that I saw it was only a cover for the ventilator. Julia had protested the rope from the first, saying she had no need for it and that it got in her way. Stepfather refused to do a thing, claiming she was only being wilful against a gift of his. The rope, besides being too long, was ornately tasselled and wound with gaudy beads that made her dislike it even more. It seemed specifically weighted to be vertical, so that we could not manage to tie it back against a bedpost. It was so thick that we could not find a pair of scissors that would cut it, when we even dared to try. We attempted shifting her bed to the side, but found that the legs had been clamped to the floor. Stepfather told us it was his correction for what he considered a wobbly frame. The repair was excessive, like everything else he did.
I sat up and snatched the rope, tugging on it. I pulled and pulled, wishing it were real so that I could make the whole house clang and echo with my fury. I yanked hard and determined to violently rip it down. The ugly thing might as well have killed Julia, for all the irrational anger I suddenly spent on it. I wanted to make it snap, to throw it in my stepfather's face and tell him that his 'gifts' were not wanted. Let him dare strike me then, the murderer!
"Miss?"
I stopped.
Mrs. Beale stood in the doorway, still wearing her hat and coat. "Miss?" she repeated. I only blinked. She came nearer and frowned. "What are you doing?" she whispered.
I let go slowly. I caught my breath and swallowed, staring at the rope. "I-I was pulling it," I said.
"Why?" she blinked, staring at my flushed face. She looked at the rope and then at me again. "You never use it, and--" she frowned again, "I haven't been home."
With an effort, I shrugged, looking down. "That's why," I said. "I wanted to pull it down while you were gone, so you wouldn't be startled by the noise."
"But why pull it down?" She felt my head for a fever. "You don't want to upset your stepfather any further do you? Remember his temper of this morning."
I nodded. "Ye-es, I remember."
Mrs. Beale led me out, holding my arm and murmuring about the damage I'd done to my poor hands. She patted my shoulder and brushed back my hair.
We started on dinner in the kitchen, and Mrs. Beale brewed me a tisane. I told her I had walked outside while she had been gone, and that the sun had given me a headache.
She shook her head disapprovingly. "It's from worry and lack of sleep," she said. "You've got to be more careful with your health, dear."
I nodded. "I still feel quite unwell, so I don't think I'll be able to stay for dinner."
"Have a long nap, then, to set you right."
"Yes, ma'am. Can you give my apologies to Dr. Roylott for me, about my behaviour this morning? Tell him that I'll not go out so early again."
After we put dinner in the oven, I retired to my room and locked the door behind me. I sat on the floor by my hearth and watched the flames, wondering what Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson were doing at the Crown. I couldn't even think of sleeping or eating.
At dusk I heard my stepfather come home. He shouted furiously from the gate and exploded at his driver. I felt guilty to have left Mrs. Beale to face him alone, when it was I who had incited his anger. I listened anxiously and hoped that he would think me sufficiently cowed. As far as I could tell, he just stormed into his sitting-room and waited for his dinner to be served to him. He chuckled loudly with satisfaction when he heard about my being indisposed. Then he ate without incident.
While he did, I brought my lamp and matches over to the dressing-table. I changed into my night-dress and slippers, throwing on my dressing-gown as well. Then I got out a velveteen bag and packed it with my toothbrush, my watch, and a few thick blankets. I took the bag back with me to the hearth and sat on the floor again, watching the fire burn quietly. I decided that I would let it die out tonight, rather than leave my room to get more wood. It was only a minor inconvenience, and it was my fault, after all, for neglecting to restock my supply in the afternoon. Mr. Holmes had been right to tell me to stay confined, for I didn't particularly know how I'd face any accidental meeting with my stepfather. I couldn't even stand to look at the cursed bell-rope. In silence, I waited and peered repeatedly at my watch.
At nine o'clock, my stepfather retired to his room and began smoking and reading. My fire had died, so I lit my lamp in lieu of it, checking that I had enough oil to last a few hours. I paced around the room, feeling restless and cold. I worried about the planned expedition tonight. I wondered if I had forgotten to do anything. Would Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson need the iron gate unlocked? No, they'd probably use the stile to get in again. The only alternative would be the unrepaired breaches in the wall at the far back of the estate, where the gypsies resided and tended the cages of the cheetah and baboon. But that was silly. It would definitely, logically, be the stile. They could manage the jump now that they were aware of the drop. Darkness might make it difficult to aim, but the ground was soft and would receive them as easily as it had in the afternoon. The foot-path would lead them beyond all the trees and bushes to the house, and they would come to the west wing quickly. Would they need the side door unlocked? But then Mrs. Beale would only lock it again on her rounds tonight, and to break in the door, as the animals had done once or twice, was out of the question! The detectives would have to enter by my window, and yet I feared the risk that they'd take by passing so near to Dr. Roylott's room. But stepfather would be in bed by then and also have his shutters barred, wouldn't he? He would not be able to hear so well through the masonry as he had through the thin interior walls when he caught me this morning.
I considered this and decided that I should probably exit through the window as well. After all, going out my door and along the corridor might be heard, even in my slippers. Since the lock was peculiar, too, I wouldn't be able to lock the door after me, thus leaving the detectives vulnerable to the animals and forcing them to fumble with the key in the darkness, which would attract attention. My old room had remained both unbarred and unlocked since I'd changed places, so I could easily enter through the window. The key to that door still lay in my dresser drawer there, and I could quickly bar and lock myself into safety once more. I would need to leave my slippers behind, though, for they were not suitable for walking in mud. I took them off and put them away.
After two hours of tense waiting, I at last heard the sharp closing of a book and the tiny hiss of a final Indian cigar being tossed into the fire. As stepfather turned out his lamp and went to bed, I checked my lamp once more and opened the window. Picking up my bag and my lamp, I stepped quietly out onto the grass. The cold wind sent a shiver through me. I turned and carefully placed the lamp back inside on the sill, making it balance. Then I listened to be sure that stepfather didn't stir. Finally I rushed down to my old room.
I raised the window and the blinds, then quickly dropped my bag and myself into my old room. I closed and barred the window, then hurried to my dresser for the key to the door. I locked it. I went back to the rug to wipe the mud off my feet, for I'd nearly slipped and fallen in coming round. Then I returned to the window for my bag. Due to the breach in the wall near the ceiling, the room was bright with moonlight, but chilly. I laid out my blankets quickly and then got in bed, shivering.
After a few minutes, I heard a sound on the lawn. I ran over to the window to look out. Through the blinds I seemed to spy a gross, inhuman face staring out of the darkness. It suddenly sprang at me and screeched hideously, banging against the glass. I jumped back and almost screamed. Then I swallowed and calmed myself. It was the baboon of course. I saw it run off again and then closed the shutters. Looking up at the breach once more, I convinced myself that it was too small and ragged for either baboon or cheetah to penetrate. Then I slipped into bed again.
I worried for Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. If the baboon had already come to the front of the estate, did that mean the cheetah had done so too? I had thought that all would be safe since the animals were fond of staying on the south of the estate, near the gypsies' bright fires. Julia had said that she usually began hearing the animals come near to the house at around midnight, and that she could only ignore their terrible noises with practice. How awful that at least one of stepfather's pets was early tonight! Both animals were known for their viciousness to anyone but himself and the gypsies. I lay anxiously awake for perhaps an hour, still straining to catch some sound in the stillness of the night that would tell me that the detectives had safely made their entry. But I only heard the baboon running about and the parish clock dimly striking in the distance. I wearily fell asleep.
End of Part 2. Part 3.