I woke suddenly to the sound of a vigorous pounding in the next room.
"You see it, Watson? You see it?"
I snatched up my watch and saw that it was three thirty in the morning. What was happening? Were they all right? Mr. Holmes's voice struck terror into me. The striking ceased, and I listened for some indication of what they were doing now. Then I heard a ghastly and mangled scream, straining and rising out of the dark. I needed several moments before I recognised the distorted voice as my stepfather's. The agonising sound echoed loudly all through the great stone house, turning me cold.
Finally, it stopped.
I ran from my bed and hurriedly unlocked and opened my door. I stepped out and peered around the curve of the corridor. Then the middle door flung open, and I saw the detectives run out with my lamp and head to Dr. Roylott's room. Mr. Holmes knocked while Dr. Watson stood by with a pistol in his hand. Then Mr. Holmes tried the handle and opened the door, rushing in with Dr. Watson.
I came further down and glanced into the middle room, finding that only a small candle and a cane remained as vague evidence of whatever had just occurred. There was no sign of their shoes.
When I turned again, I saw Mrs. Beale coming from the front hall, pale and trembling. She had obviously woken with the scream, and now hesitated on approaching Dr. Roylott's open door. I ran to her and put my arm around her.
"It is a swamp adder!" Mr. Holmes said suddenly from within the room. "The deadliest snake in India."
We were startled and silent. There were further murmurs inside and then we heard hurried movements that ended with a sharp metallic clang. It was the safe!
I stood with Mrs. Beale and tried not to betray my own shivering. She clung to me and whispered, "Who was that? What's happened?"
The men exited and closed the door behind them.
"Mr. Holmes!" I called.
They turned back to see us with some surprise.
"Oh, Miss Stoner, there you are. Is this your housekeeper?" Mr. Holmes came toward us, extending his hand to Mrs. Beale before he gave a start. "Where are your slippers, Miss Stoner? Come, you mustn't all be standing about." He led us quickly into the middle room as Dr. Watson brought the lamp.
Mr. Holmes closed the door and hurriedly fumbled with the lock. I looked over his shoulder and then reached across his hand to push the key further in. It finally turned and the bolts clicked sharply into place.
"Ah," he turned, "I could have used your expertise. It took me twice as long to open it just now."
"It just sticks--oh, did you have trouble finding the key? I'm so sorry, I forgot to leave it in the lock--"
"No," he said, with a half-surprised smile. "Careless of me to not ask you this afternoon," he murmured.
Backing away, I turned and looked for Dr. Watson quickly. Having set the lamp down next to the candle, he sat with Mrs. Beale upon the bed, soothing her distress and introducing himself to her in reassuring murmurs. "Yes, we came from London and...."
Coming over to them, I stepped on the cane, which now lay on the floor instead of on my bed. I stopped and picked it up, leaning it against the bureau. Startling me from behind, Mr. Holmes brought a chair over and suddenly sat me down. He knelt and peered at my feet. "It was your footprint in the mud!" he muttered. "But why no shoes?"
I blinked and curled back my cold feet, pulling them under my dressing-gown. I couldn't stand the suspense. "Did you mention a snake, Mr. Holmes?"
He looked up, narrowing his eyes at me, then slowly nodded. "Yes, but we have it locked up now. It came down your bell-rope and we attacked--"
"Ah, and in what condition is my stepfather now?"
He looked at Dr. Watson, and then turned back. "Where is the nearest police station, Miss Stoner?"
"The police?"
"Yes, we need to report the death of Dr. Roylott."
I was stunned and Mrs. Beale gasped, beginning to cry. "Oh, that dreadful scream! Oh!"
"Dead?" I stumbled over my half-formed thoughts. "Already? But Julia lived for close to an hour! How--?"
"Your sister must have had an exceptionally strong constitution, to not have died within ten seconds of her scream, as Roylott has just now. She made it to striking a match and getting to the corridor all on her own. He might too have had a more horrid experience because he could see and fully comprehend the danger that was coming at him, too quickly for him to flee from or fight off. Also, there was a lack of brandy--"
Dr. Watson interrupted, dismissing such speculations impatiently as he tried to calm Mrs. Beale. "When is the next train to Harrow, Miss Stoner?"
"I--"
Mr. Holmes suddenly grabbed my hands and turned them over, examining the palms. He sprang up and climbed onto the bed, considerably disturbing Mrs. Beale and closely peering at the bell-rope.
I looked back to Dr. Watson. "I don't think for another two hours."
"Is there any other place you can go?"
"No."
"They'll come back with us to the Crown, then," said Mr. Holmes, nudging past his friend and getting down. He went over to the window, listened a moment, and then unbarred the shutters. He leaned out and then came back with two pairs of shoes in his hands. He dropped them and barred the shutters.
"Ah," he said when he examined the shoes, "the cheetah had a fondness for my left heel. I'll just walk with a limp, I guess." He looked up at me. "If your stepfather were not gone, I'd congratulate him on the fine set of teeth that his feline has."
Dr. Watson rose and turned, now that Mrs. Beale had quieted and become equally puzzled by Mr. Holmes's behaviour. I shrugged at her and whispered lamely, "That is Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes."
The doctor listened at the window. "Do you think it's safe to go out yet?"
"The gypsies lock the animals up at about five o'clock," I said.
Mr. Holmes checked his watch. "Quite an hour still. I wonder if their master's scream would startle them away or attract them near." He went back to the door and opened it, peeking out. "I can't hear or see anything through the windows," he reported. He went out further into the corridor.
Then he came back in, locking the door. "There's nothing about, so far. I saw the light of a fire spring up, though, down at the far south of the estate. Would that be the gypsies? Ah, that's good. And they're in charge of the baboon and the cheetah, you said? I see." He suddenly smiled, "Do you suppose this is our lucky night, Miss Stoner?"
I had no answer to that. He was getting quite obscure.
His smile broadened. "Wouldn't it be very providential, in fact very logical, if the animals were spooked all the way back to the gypsies? And the gypsies, very naturally, would be spooked enough to lock the animals up, for fear that some violence might arise. They might even, if they had enough loyalty to Dr. Roylott and enough trust of the police, try to go to the nearest station to report a wild attack on the doctor by his animals. The man never locked his door, did he? Or they might scent deep trouble and quickly make a dash from the county altogether." He came nearer, picking up the cane and running it through his hands thoughtfully. "Either way, it seems that we would be safe from Dr. Roylott's pets."
"But how can we be sure?" asked Dr. Watson. "Suppose they dashed first, and didn't wait for the animals to come back to them?"
"Then why take the risk of lighting the fire that would attract them? Think about it, Watson. If you were the leader of a band of gypsies, with tents, property, women, and children to move, would you try outrunning a cheetah, on any vehicle? It'd be better to wait for the animals to come and to capture them, with perhaps an amplified version of whatever methods you usually use to coax them peacefully into their cages. The horrid scream of Dr. Roylott may have startled them, but it would not rob them entirely of their wits."
"Perhaps so. But how do we know when the animals are captured? Between the gypsies dashing from the county and dashing to the police, from here we cannot tell the difference, for they'd probably not think to put out their fire in either case."
"Ah, good point. Well, it seems that we can only know by testing, so," he moved to the window with the cane, "I'll do the honours."
"Holmes!"
"Mr. Holmes, stop!" I said, jumping up. "Don't go. Just wait here until five o'clock, won't you?"
He paused and turned from the shutters he was unbarring. "I'm afraid not," he shook his head. "It's rather urgent that we get the police here, and medical examiners. I don't know how long the venom will last in Dr. Roylott's system. It's obvious that the venom somehow dissipates into the body of the victim after death. How else could Julia be found without poison? --Unless," he let go of the bars, looking thoughtful, "the county coroner could not identify the traces of such an exotic animal. Eastern venoms cannot be among his regular medical knowledge, can it? --Or was it the brandy, after all, that did it? Did your stepfather do anything unusual with the brandy, Miss Stoner?"
"Unusual?"
"Yes. Mixing it before administering it to Julia. Hesitating to examine her wou--" He gripped my arms rather suddenly. "Are you certain there was no wound on her, Miss Stoner, not even the tiniest thing?"
"I--I don't know what you mean."
In his urgency he nearly shook me, his voice intensified. "Two little dark spots, not more than an inch apart?"
"No! Nothing I know of."
He let go of me, irritated. "It must be a mistake," he insisted. "She must have had bitemarks somewhere, very likely on the head or face, for the venom to have killed her so quickly. How could a competent coroner not find--!" He paused, calming down. "But then, I myself just barely found any marks upon Roylott now, lost in the scalp under his hair. . . ."
I stopped him, grabbing his sleeve. "Sir, these details are all jumbled. I--I don't understand. What were you saying about the brandy?"
"Oh, that. I thought it at least possible that he could have slipped a small dose of antivenin in the brandy to mix with and inoculate the remains of the venom. After all, the poison had severely affected her already, and nobody would think to examine the contents of his brandy bottle when it was perfectly clear that the cause of her death occurred before either you or he had gone into the corridor."
I sat down again. "I see."
". . . But I have so few details of what Roylott knew about poison. Did he chemically find some way to alter the strength or composition of the snake's venom by feeding it some home-made formula in the milk? Did he have time to administer anything in the brandy?" He turned to me, still preoccupied, "What exactly did he do that night, Miss Roy--Stoner?"
"Um, I don't know," I told him slowly, regretting that I should have to disappoint his theories. "He met me in the corridor and then, returning with brandy, poured it down Julia's throat to revive her. No mixing. Then he said we needed to send for help, so he left me pouring and rushed out the front door, going to capture his animals and send them to the gypsies. When he came back, he told me that it was safe and that I should hurry to the village. He remained alone with Julia since he was a doctor, after all. She died before I returned with help, but as I said there was nothing suspicious."
Mr. Holmes stared at me, not looking well. "I don't believe it! He was acting like a dutiful guardian. There's no way now to verify anything he did in all the time he was alone with her, save that it wasn't obvious enough to leave evidence. He probably didn't need to do anything but examine her, anyway, in hopes of covering her wound. He most certainly was careful about it. Ah, he's too clever by far. He was quite confident when he left you alone with her, trusting that she would not have the strength to come to again and that even if she did, her words would be taken as delirium."
I nodded. "That was the problem. Despite anyone's intuitive suspicion of him, his actions that night could only be described as complete and automatic selflessness for Julia. The police repeatedly checked every fact they had but could find no real excuse to bring a charge against him. The coroner did no better on the evidence, and the two years since have changed nothing, of doubts or evidence." I bit my lip. "I've driven myself mad trying to decide if her vigorous pointing at Dr. Roylott's room was an accusation or the natural plea of a dying person for the nearest medical help possible."
He nodded. "Yes, this is an impossible and hateful case indeed! No wonder you--" he trailed off into unintelligible murmurs, shaking his head.
Dr. Watson cleared his throat quietly, holding up his open watch. "I think it would be safe now."
"What?" Mr. Holmes looked up. Indeed, neither of us had noticed that the doctor had begun writing again in his notebook, and his efficient, secretarial pose in a chair startled us.
Mr. Holmes blinked at the displayed watch. "Oh, the time. So much for urgency," he sighed. "Well, you and I can at least testify that Dr. Roylott was definitely found bitten. The snake still on him and all."
"Yes. And all the problematic details that you were just discussing can be settled by the police, when they examine him and his brandy. Also," he tapped his pencil in his notebook, "Julia's reference to 'the speckled band' ought to be enough to confirm that the snake had been involved in her death, too." He made the note on his page and then snapped the notebook shut.
The men got on their shoes and began checking for the sounds of animals. Mrs. Beale and I went to my old room, which still retained the majority of my clothes, and hurriedly put on heavy cloaks and boots. Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson moved my bureau (in the centre room) in front of Dr. Roylott's door, as a way of securing it without requiring someone to be locked inside with the body. Then they took up the lamp and walked with us in the chill, dark morning toward the Crown Inn.
I shivered as I unlocked the gate, hearing Mrs. Beale breathe unevenly behind me while we hesitated for what seemed to be an interminable time. Dr. Watson looked behind us and waited with his hand in his pocket on his pistol. He was not the kind of man to take risks. Mr. Holmes stood silently, holding up the lamp for me to see. It finally opened and we went through, shutting it quickly behind us. I locked it, for I wasn't entirely sure that I believed in luck either.
At the Crown, we roused the landlord fairly soon, for he had not quite gone back to sleep since he heard the haunting scream of more than an hour ago.
Dr. Watson quickly told him, "Dr. Roylott has died horribly in the night. We've evacuated the ladies and we need to contact the nearest police and to telegram the county officials as well."
"You'll need the dog-cart, then, for Leatherhead. Hurry inside and I'll fetch it." He let us all in, shut the door, and disappeared to get dressed. Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson scurried us up the stairs and brought us into the rooms they had taken. As they relit the fire and warmed themselves, we went to crawl into the beds and shiver under the blankets. As I kicked off my boot and rather unfortunately hit the wall, I heard the detectives talking in the sitting-room.
"No, no. I insist, Watson. You stay here with them and catch a little sleep after your long night. I'll hurry on to the police and take care of everything. The officials will come here anyway to wake everyone again and take statements. I'll be fine."
"No, Holmes. My shoulder couldn't stand the couch anyway. The rest would do you more good."
"Rest? Why I'd be pacing around with nothing to do. I'm in much better condition than those ladies, I assure you."
"Don't be silly, Holmes. You said you had difficulty taking a nap this afternoon, and you didn't eat a thing after you woke. I'll go."
"No, Watson. The ladies will resign themselves to hysterics soon, and they'll need your peculiar skill in comforting."
"Nonsense! All Mrs. Beale needed was an explanation, however disordered, and you saw how completely in her wits Miss Stoner was. I'm going."
"Watson, please. I won't stay! --Ah, there's the landlord calling for us. I'm off now. Well, fine, come with me if you want."
The door slammed and I sprang from the bed, hurrying to the outer room and opening the door. I looked down the staircase and saw them disappearing rapidly. "Wait! Don't you want a cloak or some blankets before you go?"
The front door slammed.
I went back into the rooms and shut the door. Shivering, I went to the fire and warmed myself, hearing them drive off in the cart while I knelt. When their clatter had faded away I rose and went back into the bedroom.
From the doorway I could see that Mrs. Beale had gone to sleep. Her eyes closed and her little self no longer trembling, she nestled soundly and snugly. I pulled the blanket over her. Then I realised that I was cold and tired enough to collapse as well. I returned to the other bed and quickly buried myself in the blankets. Reaching over to the lamp, I knocked an old black pipe off the night-stand. I put it back, turned out the light, and slept.
Somewhere in my dreams I drifted restlessly without vision. In deep black I heard screams and pounding and even laughter. The echoes chased all about in circles, sounding shrill. Mud had a wet, close touch like blood on my hands, leaving me no anchor until the morning. Yet before I woke, long before, I heard something that lingered beyond the dream, that even now retains vividness.
"Ah, the ladies have commandeered both our spots," a crisp accent said. Pairs of footsteps moved closer.
A whisper of a lower voice.
The answer of the other. "I shan't allow you to sleep on the couch, the chairs, or the floor, Watson. Let me just do a little shifting here. . . ."
Coldness brushed me. I was raised, weight floating, the whole air surrounding me. All things became an odd-feeling movement. I thought I was falling, but landed suddenly on a bed, just as before. I felt an elbow at my back and the sighs of a sleeper. Cold hands placed a blanket on me and closed my blinking eyes.
"There," the soft breath.
A murmur from another direction.
"What? No, no, I evacuated the bed for you. I don't need it. No, I tell you I won't. Don't argue with me at this time of night! Yes, perhaps I am a little frantic!" the whispers were hoarser. A groan. "Already the atmosphere of these females nauseates me. Just hand me my pipe and a blanket, please. I need to get out of here. No, not that one from the bed. The one we had from the landlord just now. Yes I know it's cold! No, please, keep everything else for yourself. Thank you. Good-night, or good-morning, rather." A door creaked and shut.
At last I woke. I felt steady, deep breathing behind me and a close margin of warmth. Presently I realised it was Mrs. Beale lying next to me, but I half doubted myself because I had thought it a dream. I stirred and slowly glanced around.
Mr. Holmes was sitting cross-legged on the floor, frowning to himself and folding his hands in his lap. He was before the windows, barefoot and only half dressed, with a dressing-gown thrown on top.
I raised my head above the covers. "Mr. Holmes?"
He looked up and turned to me with a surprised kind of smile. "Miss St--" he half rose. However he halted, turning with an odd glance in another direction, and sank back to the floor. "Good morning," he said quietly.
I frowned and wondered at Dr. Watson's silence. I sat up and turned about, finding a slumbering Mrs. Beale as expected, but beyond her a most jarring surprise. A polished young constable stood formally at the far wall, presiding, as it were. He turned a little red at seeming to intrude upon me, and brought out one hand from behind his back to touch his brim toward me. "Morning, Miss Stoner." Dr. Watson was nowhere to be seen.
I closed my parted lips and started to blink again. I nodded and smiled somewhat breathlessly. "Good morning, Mr. Tibbs."
He smiled a little brighter, pleased that I should so promptly remember his name, and the brief joke we'd once shared about his being the master of his own house. He stood proudly and touched his brim again. "Always pleased to be of service to you, Miss."
I looked down to keep him from seeing the dampness in my eyes. He was always just so kind and gallant with me, not of course realising the irony of his eagerness to see me, and my own hoping each time we met to be the last. These constant civil troubles, and once even a criminal charge against my stepfather, were so very exhausting and straining to the nerves.
"What time is it?" I said quietly, glancing around for the clock.
"Half past eight now. Do hope that you slept well enough, Miss? Wouldn't want to have woken you with all our going about here, not after your dreadful rousing last night. If you'd want, Miss, you can just lie back down and sleep however much longer that you'd need. I don't really have to inform the inspector now and fetch him up here this early."
"No thank you," I answered. "I was waking on my own, and I--" Mr. Holmes was just quietly frowning again, looking down at his feet, his knees drawn up. "--really couldn't sleep again now."
"Then perhaps you'd like some breakfast out in the sitting-room until Mrs. Beale wakes?" dear Mr. Tibbs said. "Then you'll have her arm to steady you when you give your statement."
I blushed. "Not--just now." I found myself curling up under the covers and sinking my face timidly in against my drawn up knees. He was too, too kind. I thought again how I might have reacted had it been him, not Percy.
Mr. Holmes sat silently. What he sensed about us made him uncomfortable, I was sure. I swallowed faintly, ashamed of myself again on behalf of Percy.
"Mr. Holmes," I said when I found my voice, "where is Dr. Watson?"
He didn't really look at me. "Oh nowhere really." He spread out the fingers of his hand before him. "Just doing his usual disappearing." He loosened up, shifting his position. "You'll ask Constable Tibbs in a minute to actually explain his presence, and this whole odd arrangement you've woken up to. Do."
I frowned and stared at his overstated boredom. "Please."
He gave a mild, slow shrug. "Dr. Watson is speaking on our behalf to county police inspector, about sending a telegram to a Scotland Yard friend of ours, and to our landlady, about personal arrangments. In the meantime, I'm as good as threadbare here, for all that these clothes we telegrammed for yesterday do us now. You see, we came rather ill-prepared yesterday, Miss Stoner, expecting that we'd only spend a very short, businesslike afternoon with you. Possibly a meal in the evening at most."
"Evening?" I said. "Oh yes. You came without luggage. You'd obviously just come from the station on the cart, and could not have had time to drop off anything at the village yet. I should have remembered that when you left for the Crown later."
He stared at his feet again, and shrugged. "We had some little embarrassment in explaining our over-dusty clothes to the landlord, but gave an excuse I'd used earlier about being concerned with your building repairs. Seeing that we had to stay the night and actually observe the phenomenon in your room, we sent a telegram for our landlady to post a change of clothes and some other things to us, which soon arrived that evening. However, when we came to the stile again, we had difficulty jumping cleanly down and unfortunately spoiled a second set of clothes. There was nothing to be done until morning, and we expected to muddle through for the brief while until we could throw on our overcoats and head on an early train to London. But here we are the next morning, your stepfather is dead, we have no change of clothes, the county police are detaining us, and as you can see, I'm rather the worse for the wear of the two of us." He pulled at the collar of his dressing-gown. "The light of day certainly does reveal unkind truth, doesn't it? I'm hardly presentable."
I sat up. "Detaining you?"
Mr. Tibbs answered. "It's a matter of waiting until we have your statement, Miss, and Mrs. Beale's, to confirm those of these gentlemen. The county also await a response from a London inspector that they gave as a reference. Just the county inspector's precaution, Miss."
"I see."
[Holmes and Miss Stoner go back to the manor, half-dressed as they are, and still "presided over". They discuss details of the case again while looking at the snake which is still contained in the safe. Yeah, yeah, I wasn't going to avoid addressing the snake-in-the-safe issue!]
[Helen's interview with the police inspector, in which she combats his suspicions by skewing her testimony firmly in favor of Holmes and Watson's innocence to any premeditated conspiracy against Roylott, and by relating a plausible way in which the Roylott's death was purely "an accidental death, from playing with a dangerous pet." Watson's return in the meantime.]
I then recited all that had happened yesterday, amazed to realize that so much had occurred in one day. Yet as I spoke, the inspector's questions became rather disturbing when they touched upon Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. . . .
[dialogue]
...half rising from my chair. "And yet, you should consider--"
"Miss Stoner!" he interrupted sharply, turning with a glare that silenced me. He stepped back to the table and leaned forward, speaking quietly, "Miss Stoner, I have already heard from you all the necessary facts of the present case. I am aware that you . . . understandably have developed some attachment to, and trust of, these gentlemen from London, but I request that you leave the matter of investigation to myself, and refrain from speaking any further about what is in fact an irrelevant and already well-documented case from the past."
"Well-documented, but unsolved!" I nearly said. I met his gaze for several moments, knowing that he only just refrained himself from being ruder still. His embarrassing reference to my 'attachment' to the detectives stung me and left my mouth dry. "Forgive me," I said faintly.
He grunted dismissively and began to turn away again. Yet I continued to speak. "Forgive me," I insisted, rising and stopping him at the door.
"Forgive me for talking about a death two years old, Inspector, but it is relevant to stepfather's death now." I cut off his angry reply with my own momentum. "--I know you don't wish to listen, but I cannot leave it be. It doesn't just matter what you or I believe Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson guilty of--it matters what actually happened. It matters what I have only just learned of Julia's death. You must hear the truth, Inspector. Mr. Holmes's investigation and his pointed questions yesterday convinced me that I missed important details two years ago. I may have inadvertantly misled the prior police investigation as a result. You must hear me out!"
The inspector sat down again reluctantly at the table, but only because he noticed the growing resentment of the local constables in the room, especially Mr. Tibbs, who considered the inspector's behaviour to me to be unforgivable. "Very well," he resigned himself to listen. His voice still dripped with scepticism.
I resumed a more measured tone of voice. "As I said, I may have misled the prior investigation. I do not say so out of any arrogant belief in my powers of feminine persuasion--" I blushed all the same at my awareness of Mr. Tibbs in the room. "What I do mean is that at the time of Julia's death, I was greatly--" I swallowed. "Constable Tibbs can tell you that I was greatly distressed, and pressing urgently for the police to find some answer." I glanced from the inspector to Mr. Tibbs, and back again. "They did their best to comfort me and offer me peace of mind by seeking as quick a solution to the mystery as possible, even though in the end their efforts could not yield anything satisfactory to the coroner. The officers kindly let me hear of the progress of their investigation, all the same. I believe they trusted me and my testimony in the matter completely. They heeded even my uncertainty of opinion about the gypsies on the plantation, dismissing them as finally irrelevant, in light of Julia's dying delirium. And that is what happened with the clues that Mr. Holmes has only just yesterday drawn my attention to; by my words and judgments to the police, I had made these details invisible, irrelevant. Don't you understand? The bell-rope and the ventilator--oh, if I had only known and understood at the time what grave import these had!"
I heard a rustle from Mr. Tibbs, and controlled my voice again. "Irrelevant," I repeated. "Because I was myself blind to these things, they became irrelevant, even as your blindness now has made the prior death irrelevant. I know that my stepfather's guilt or innocence is not your present concern, beyond being a presumed motive for his murder now. But the 'irrelevant' past remains deeply entwined with the present, and that old death is manifest here even now."
To his sour look, I responded, "I will not go over every detail of Julia's death, of course, merely the relevant facts." He folded his arms and frowned.
I staunchly continued. "Prior to Julia's death, my sister and I already noticed our stepfather's strange behaviour. He had been interfering lately in Julia's room, although we could only speculate as to his reasons. He had added a bell-rope to the room and had clamped Julia's bed to the floor, imposing an unnecessary and almost overbearing sense of his control. It occurred to my sister and I that, upon Julia's marriage, Dr. Roylott intended to take over her room. He would break down the inner wall and absorb her room into the space of his own. Although stepfather was miserly enough with money to have for years refused to take steps to control his roaming animals, or to do repairs to upon the manor and grounds, we knew nevertheless that he occasionally liked personal luxury for the sake of his vanity. We noted particularly that the bell-rope which he ostensibly offered as a gift was more to his tastes than to Julia's. Its exotic, Indian quality was a likely indicator of the future additions he had in mind."
"Why he bore the ventilator in the wall and why he did not connect the bell-rope to an actual wire, let alone why he kept these actions secret, is hard to imagine. Perhaps he bore the ventilator in order to investigate the structure of the inner walls, and the stabilty of the room should the wall be removed. He would probably have to leave certain beams or columns standing, in order to take the weight of the collapsing upstairs floor sufficiently. Possibly the location of the bell-rope was not quite settled in his mind yet, so the connection of wires would be premature. Whatever reason stepfather had for these unknown alterations to Julia's room, we remained as ignorant of them as of the snake kept in stepfather's room. Julia and I never knew of its presence, though we ought to have suspected it. Stepfather had always been utterly fascinated with snakes. He'd adored watching their hypnotic movement to snake charmer's music in India, and especially delighted in how they could be trained to coil and climb about their keeper's arms and body. However, Julia and I had always protested most strongly against Dr. Roylott having any animals in the house, and so he of course did not tell us that he kept one in the safe in his room. At the time we only guessed that his flared temper then reflected his increasing impatience to have Julia out of the house, and to have an expanded room to himself."
"With Julia's death, the room instead remained untouched. No doubt Dr. Roylott realised the tactless appearance which his resumption of renovations would give. So much my cynicism permits me to picture his motives. I ought to admit the possibility of simple respect and grief for the dead, though I do so only with difficulty. Prejudices can colour one's understanding of every detail!"
I . "I realise that your talks with Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson have given you all number of ideas, and that you have doubts as to what has occurred or has seemed to have been planned. But Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson are most honourable men, assuring me when I came to them begging rather desperately for help. Dishonourable men would have found a way to tell me whatever I wished to hear and be done with it, but they had the courtesy to come down in person to address my concerns about the whistling sound in my house. They went to every length to confirm or deny the hypothesis that Julia might have been disturbed by the gypsies or the animals outside; they found Julia's window to be impervious. Then they most thoroughly examined the interior as well, which led us to the the strange clues of the ventilator, the chair, the safe, the lash, and the bowl of milk. If you believe Mr. Holmes guilty of criminal neglect for not informing the police immediately of his suspicions, then tell me what you would have thought of any theory founded on such vague clues?"
[response] .
I plunged on with increasing vigour. "There, you see he could not do anything at that point but continue to act as my independent agent. Mr. Holmes knew that others seldom had an eye for the sorts of details to which he attached importance. The only resolution possible was for Dr. Watson and himself to witness what exactly was going on in my room at night and report upon it.
"It was not the laying of a trap, as you suspect, Inspector, but only a necessary investigation of the truth. The fact that we acted without stepfather's knowledge was perfectly reasonable, as well. Dr. Roylott had already withheld from Julia and myself the truth of the ventilator and the bell-rope; so he could not be relied upon to for truthfulness if questioned. Moreover, he had already furiously told the detectives to drop my case. My case, Inspector. If stepfather was going to interfere in my business without even knowing what my concerns were, I did not feel obliged to tell him of the detectives' intentions in my room that night. So Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson of course made their plans surreptitiously, but quite within reason and innocence.
"Mr. Holmes avoided telling me his plans and suspicions, even though I pressed him with the belief that he could deny me nothing as his client. Yet I can see now what they were. He must have been hovering on a final judgment; his actions spoke, I believe, not of single-minded certainty and foreknowledge, but of hesitation. There was a chance that Dr. Roylott murdered Julia. I will admit, sir, that I strongly suspected this, and my suspicion so impressed itself on Mr. Holmes, so as to make it impossible to ignore. However much he disliked this idea, he could not rightfully dismiss this as an option without proof. You know of course, that the going rumour around this county is that my stepfather is a brutal murderer? They believe him to have caused Julia's death. It is true that he has been previously convicted and sentenced for violence, but that was an incident nearly twenty years ago, and not of public knowledge here in Stoke Moran. Yet rumours persist about Dr. Roylott, which with my own knowledge of his past have combined to blacken my opinion of him. But I am certain that Mr. Holmes would always take with a grain of salt any ideas bandied about by gossip. I should have seen that he was too logical a mind to be swayed by such irrelevant gossip, but I was much too upset at the time to think clearly."
At the unfortunate use of the word 'irrelevant', I hurried to cover the slip. "I must admit that even at stepfather's death I still clung to the belief of his guilt in murdering Julia. When Mr. Holmes observed that I remained utterly convinced of Dr. Roylott's guilt even in the face of new evidence, he had no heart to contradict me. His words for the rest of the night were but vague juggling of theories about stepfather's guilt, in order to comfort me and keep the shock of his death away. Of course he and Dr. Watson spoke only to comfort me! If my addled brain refused to believe my stepfather innocent, they would humour me. But don't you see?" I sat forward, fighting my second slip, "despite their repeating of my suspicion as their own, I know that it cannot be! They wish to protect me from the disgrace of looking ridiculous with respect to the evidence. Stepfather is dead anyway, so why should they protect his memory? Don't you see? I only realise it now that I see your own suspicions of Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson's intentions, that my own suspicions are utterly deceived."
"Why should they, if believing my stepfather a mortal threat to my life, stay and plot to kill him, when they could easily have spirited me away to my aunt in Harrow? Why should they not continue to offer their protection and observation of me up to my marriage, such that they could watch for any further attacks on my life? Why not wait for more proofs or reasons why they could at last justifiably call in the police? Can you tell me truly, sir, what private detective is so devoted to his client such as to risk imprisonment for her sake? No, they could not have possibly been plotting against my stepfather at the time."
[response] .
"Murderous conspirators indeed! They merely sought confirmation of what stepfather really did, proof that would dispel my addled suspicions once and for all." ."What could stepfather possibly have been doing with his snake late at night at the ventilator? Sleepwalking, of course! I've told you that his relationship with Julia was quite strained and that he was impatient to have her out of the house. That and his plans to remodel and take over her room after her departure must surely have preoccupied his mind, and could have given him strange dreams. He may have begun to sleepwalk those last few nights before Julia's wedding. Possibly he began to turn up his lamp and let out his snake, from impatience that he should still have to keep the snake locked up and hidden from us. In such somnolence, he presumably released the snake to play at snake-charming, and probably walked around his room holding the snake on his arm. In his trance might have raised himself up to examine the ventilator while pondering and envisioning to himself his plans for remodelling the house. While he stood thus distracted, the snake could have easily and regularly slipped away from him into the ventilator. Stepfather would not realise the danger to Julia, and he would only think, when he noticed the absence, to retrieve his pet with his dog lash and whistle. All this may have happened night after night without stepfather ever realising what he was doing. When tragedy struck, he would be utterly unaware of his sleepwalking or his being responsible for Julia's death."
[]
"Mr. Holmes of course suspected that this entire scenario was repeating with me, though he had to confirm his suspicion by actually seeing what was occurring. I am certain that when he saw how deadly a snake it was that came out of the ventilator, he reacted merely instinctively to kill it, having nothing with him in which to trap so deadly an animal. Unfortunately, he only drove the snake away, with terrible consequences for stepfather. I know surely that stepfather's horrible, amazingly quick death was due to his violent waking out of his somnambulant trance by the bite of his pet. The shock was too much for his body to take. It cannot have happened any other way. You see, my suspicions of my stepfather, and yours of Mr. Holmes, are entirely unfounded."
The inspector sat astounded. I had shaken him at last, and I rose with a tired satisfaction. "Thank you, Inspector. I will not keep you any longer. Do take as much time as necessary to ponder the case. I shall not rush anyone this time."
Then I took my leave. For a moment a cold chill ran through me, as I realised the coolness with which I had constructed so elaborate a lie. The tortured lines of argument I had used to explain patent contradictions! What would Julia think of my exonerating stepfather once again? I reassured myself by recalling . I went looking for Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson.
[Her discussion with Watson about his writings, and Holmes, while departing for a late morning train to her aunt Honoria's in Harrow. As a farewell, he gives her his notebook into which he had been writing this case.]
[Days later, at Aunt Honoria's, Holmes meets her to discuss the case once more, since the inquest about Roylott's death has returned a surprising verdict.
AND--
she asks him to explain his calling her Miss Roylott, mentioning that she has begun reading Watson's notebook and found his earlier discrepancy. He is at a loss, then asks her why she protected her stepfather so strongly for so many years, if she suspected him of murdering Julia, and at least knew him to be brutal. They are both silent, until finally she confesses to her having been calculating, hesitant, and cautious when telling her case, due to feeling a sort of duty to her late mother to behave well to Roylott. He confesses that he was beginning to identify her calculation and cunning at the time, and had equated her in skill to her stepfather.
Then arises his suggestion that she get away from it all for New York, almost jokingly, but also because of the sudden discomfort with which he realizes that he continues to be casual and personal with her. She laughs at his suggestion, rather startled, and says goodbye to him with a thought to his strangely charming eccentricity. At that, Helen Stoner's "Reminiscences" end.]