It was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning, towards
the end of the winter of '97, that I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder.
It was Holmes. The candle in his hand shone upon his eager, stooping face, and
told me at a glance that something was amiss. "Come, Watson, come!" he cried.
"The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!"
Ten minutes later we were both in a cab, and rattling
through the silent streets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faint
winter's dawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see the occasional figure
of an early workman as he passed us, blurred and indistinct in the opalescent
London reek. Holmes nestled in silence into his heavy coat, and I was glad to
do the same, for the air was most bitter, and neither of us had broken our fast.
It was not until we had consumed some hot tea at
the station and taken our places in the Kentish train that we were sufficiently
thawed, he to speak and I to listen. Holmes drew a note from his pocket, and read
aloud:
Abbey Grange, Marsham,
Kent, 3:30 A.M. MY DEAR MR. HOLMES:
I should be very glad of your immediate assistance
in what promises to be a most remarkable case. It is something quite in your line.
Except for releasing the lady I will see that everything is kept exactly as I
have found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant, as it is difficult to leave
Sir Eustace there. Yours faithfully, STANLEY HOPKINS.
"Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each
occasion his summons has been entirely justified," said Holmes. "I fancy that
every one of his cases has found its way into your collection, and I must admit,
Watson, that you have some power of selection, which atones for much which I deplore
in your narratives. Your fatal habit of looking at everything from the point of
view of a story instead of as a scientific exercise has ruined what might have
been an instructive and even classical series of demonstrations. You slur over
work of the utmost finesse and delicacy, in order to dwell upon sensational details
which may excite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader."
"Why do you not write them yourself?" I said, with
some bitterness.
"I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am,
as you know, fairly busy, but I propose to devote my declining years to the composition
of a textbook, which shall focus the whole art of detection into one volume. Our
present research appears to be a case of murder."
"You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"I should say so. Hopkins's writing shows considerable
agitation, and he is not an emotional man. Yes, I gather there has been violence,
and that the body is left for our inspection. A mere suicide would not have caused
him to send for me. As to the release of the lady, it would appear that she has
been locked in her room during the tragedy. We are moving in high life, Watson,
crackling paper, `E.B.' monogram, coat-of-arms, picturesque address. I think that
friend Hopkins will live up to his reputation, and that we shall have an interesting
morning. The crime was committed before twelve last night."
"How can you possibly tell?"
"By an inspection of the trains, and by reckoning
the time. The local police had to be called in, they had to communicate with Scotland
Yard, Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to send for me. All that makes
a fair night's work. Well, here we are at Chiselhurst Station, and we shall soon
set our doubts at rest."
A drive of a couple of miles through narrow country
lanes brought us to a park gate, which was opened for us by an old lodge-keeper,
whose haggard face bore the reflection of some great disaster. The avenue ran
through a noble park, between lines of ancient elms, and ended in a low, widespread
house, pillared in front after the fashion of Palladio. The central part was evidently
of a great age and shrouded in ivy, but the large windows showed that modern changes
had been carried out, and one wing of the house appeared to be entirely new.
The youthful figure and alert, eager face of Inspector
Stanley Hopkins confronted us in the open doorway. "I'm very glad you have come,
Mr. Holmes. And you, too, Dr. Watson. But, indeed, if I had my time over again,
I should not have troubled you, for since the lady has come to herself, she has
given so clear an account of the affair that there is not much left for us to
do. You remember that Lewisham gang of burglars?"
"What, the three Randalls?"
"Exactly; the father and two sons. It's their work.
I have not a doubt of it. They did a job at Sydenham a fortnight ago and were
seen and described. Rather cool to do another so soon and so near, but it is they,
beyond all doubt. It's a hanging matter this time."
"Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"Yes, his head was knocked in with his own poker."
"Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me."
"Exactly—one of the richest men in Kent—Lady
Brackenstall is in the morning-room. Poor lady, she has had a most dreadful experience.
She seemed half dead when I saw her first. I think you had best see her and hear
her account of the facts. Then we will examine the dining-room together."
Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Seldom
have I seen so graceful a figure, so womanly a presence, and so beautiful a face.
She was a blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and would no doubt have had the perfect
complexion which goes with such coloring, had not her recent experience left her
drawn and haggard. Her sufferings were physical as well as mental, for over one
eye rose a hideous, plum colored swelling, which her maid, a tall, austere woman,
was bathing assiduously with vinegar and water. The lady lay back exhausted upon
a couch, but her quick, observant gaze, as we entered the room, and the alert
expression of her beautiful features, showed that neither her wits nor her courage
had been shaken by her terrible experience. She was enveloped in a loose dressing-gown
of blue and silver, but a black sequin-covered dinner-dress lay upon the couch
beside her.
"I have told you all that happened, Mr. Hopkins,"
she said, wearily. "Could you not repeat it for me? Well, if you think it necessary,
I will tell these gentlemen what occurred. Have they been in the dining-room yet?"
"I thought they had better hear your ladyship's
story first."
"I shall be glad when you can arrange matters.
It is horrible to me to think of him still lying there." She shuddered and buried
her face in her hands. As she did so, the loose gown fell back from her forearms.
Holmes uttered an exclamation.
"You have other injuries, madam! What is this?"
Two vivid red spots stood out on one of the white, round limbs. She hastily covered
it.
"It is nothing. It has no connection with this
hideous business tonight. If you and your friend will sit down, I will tell you
all I can. I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. I have been married about
a year. I suppose that it is no use my attempting to conceal that our marriage
has not been a happy one. I fear that all our neighbors would tell you that, even
if I were to attempt to deny it. Perhaps the fault may be partly mine. I was brought
up in the freer, less conventional atmosphere of South Australia, and this English
life, with its proprieties and its primness, is not congenial to me.
"But the main reason lies in the one fact,
which is notorious to everyone, and that is that Sir Eustace was a confirmed drunkard.
To be with such a man for an hour is unpleasant. Can you imagine what it means
for a sensitive and high-spirited woman to be tied to him for day and night? It
is a sacrilege, a crime, a villainy to hold that such a marriage is binding. I
say that these monstrous laws of yours will bring a curse upon the land—God
will not let such wickedness endure." For an instant she sat up, her cheeks flushed,
and her eyes blazing from under the terrible mark upon her brow. Then the strong,
soothing hand of the austere maid drew her head down on to the cushion, and the
wild anger died away into passionate sobbing. At last she continued:
"I will tell you about last night. You are aware,
perhaps, that in this house all the servants sleep in the modern wing. This central
block is made up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen behind and our bedroom
above. My maid, Theresa, sleeps above my room. There is no one else, and no sound
could alarm those who are in the farther wing. This must have been well known
to the robbers, or they would not have acted as they did.
"Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten. The servants
had already gone to their quarters. Only my maid was up, and she had remained
in her room at the top of the house until I needed her services. I sat until after
eleven in this room, absorbed in a book. Then I walked round to see that all was
right before I went upstairs. It was my custom to do this myself, for, as I have
explained, Sir Eustace was not always to be trusted. I went into the kitchen,
the butler's pantry, the gun-room, the billiard-room, the drawing-room, and finally
the dining-room.
"As I approached the window, which is covered
with thick curtains, I suddenly felt the wind blow upon my face and realized that
it was open. I flung the curtain aside and found myself face to face with a broad-shouldered
elderly man, who had just stepped into the room. The window is a long French one,
which really forms a door leading to the lawn. I held my bedroom candle lit in
my hand, and, by its light, behind the first man I saw two others, who were in
the act of entering. I stepped back, but the fellow was on me in an instant. He
caught me first by the wrist and then by the throat. I opened my mouth to scream,
but he struck me a savage blow with his fist over the eye, and felled me to the
ground. I must have been unconscious for a few minutes, for when I came to myself,
I found that they had torn down the bell-rope, and had secured me tightly to the
oaken chair which stands at the head of the dining-table. I was so firmly bound
that I could not move, and a handkerchief round my mouth prevented me from uttering
a sound.
"It was at this instant that my unfortunate
husband entered the room. He had evidently heard some suspicious sounds, and he
came prepared for such a scene as he found. He was dressed in nightshirt and trousers,
with his favorite blackthorn cudgel in his hand. He rushed at the burglars, but
another—it was an elderly man—stooped, picked the poker out of the grate
and struck him a horrible blow as he passed. He fell with a groan and never moved
again. I fainted once more, but again it could only have been for a very few minutes
during which I was insensible. When I opened my eyes I found that they had collected
the silver from the sideboard, and they had drawn a bottle of wine which stood
there. Each of them had a glass in his hand. I have already told you, have I not,
that one was elderly, with a beard, and the others young, hairless lads. They
might have been a father with his two sons. They talked together in whispers.
Then they came over and made sure that I was securely bound. Finally they withdrew,
closing the window after them. It was quite a quarter of an hour before I got
my mouth free. When I did so, my screams brought the maid to my assistance. The
other servants were soon alarmed, and we sent for the local police, who instantly
communicated with London. That is really all that I can tell you, gentlemen, and
I trust that it will not be necessary for me to go over so painful a story again."
"Any questions, Mr. Holmes?" asked Hopkins.
"I will not impose any further tax upon Lady Brackenstall's
patience and time," said Holmes. "Before I go into the dining-room, I should like
to hear your experience." He looked at the maid.
"I saw the men before ever they came into the house,"
said she. "As I sat by my bedroom window I saw three men in the moonlight down
by the lodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing of it at the time. It was more
than an hour after that I heard my mistress scream, and down I ran, to find her,
poor lamb, just as she says, and him on the floor, with his blood and brains over
the room. It was enough to drive a woman out of her wits, tied there, and her
very dress spotted with him, but she never wanted courage, did Miss Mary Fraser
of Adelaide and Lady Brackenstall of Abbey Grange hasn't learned new ways. You've
questioned her long enough, you gentlemen, and now she is coming to her own room,
just with her old Theresa, to get the rest that she badly needs." With a motherly
tenderness the gaunt woman put her arm round her mistress and led her from the
room.
"She has been with her all her life," said Hopkins.
"Nursed her as a baby, and came with her to England when they first left Australia,
eighteen months ago. Theresa Wright is her name, and the kind of maid you don't
pick up nowadays. This way, Mr. Holmes, if you please!"
The keen interest had passed out of Holmes's expressive
face, and I knew that with the mystery all the charm of the case had departed.
There still remained an arrest to be effected, but what were these commonplace
rogues that he should soil his hands with them? An abstruse and learned specialist
who finds that he has been called in for a case of measles would experience something
of the annoyance which I read in my friend's eyes. Yet the scene in the dining-room
of the Abbey Grange was sufficiently strange to arrest his attention and to recall
his waning interest.
It was a very large and high chamber, with carved
oak ceiling, oaken paneling, and a fine array of deer's heads and ancient weapons
around the walls. At the further end from the door was the high French window
of which we had heard. Three smaller windows on the right-hand side filled the
apartment with cold winter sunshine. On the left was a large, deep fireplace,
with a massive, overhanging oak mantelpiece. Beside the fireplace was a heavy
oaken chair with arms and crossbars at the bottom. In and out through the open
woodwork was woven a crimson cord, which was secured at each side to the crosspiece
below. In releasing the lady, the cord had been slipped off her, but the knots
with which it had been secured still remained. These details only struck our attention
afterwards, for our thoughts were entirely absorbed by the terrible object which
lay upon the tigerskin hearthrug in front of the fire.
It was the body of a tall, well-made man, about
forty years of age. He lay upon his back, his face upturned, with his white teeth
grinning through his short, black beard. His two clenched hands were raised above
his head, and a heavy, blackthorn stick lay across them. His dark, handsome, aquiline
features were convulsed into a spasm of vindictive hatred, which had set his dead
face in a terribly fiendish expression. He had evidently been in his bed when
the alarm had broken out, for he wore a foppish, embroidered nightshirt, and his
bare feet projected from his trousers. His head was horribly injured, and the
whole room bore witness to the savage ferocity of the blow which had struck him
down. Beside him lay the heavy poker, bent into a curve by the concussion. Holmes
examined both it and the indescribable wreck which it had wrought.
"He must be a powerful man, this elder Randall,"
he remarked.
"Yes," said Hopkins. "I have some record of the
fellow, and he is a rough customer."
"You should have no difficulty in getting him."
"Not the slightest. We have been on the lookout
for him, and there was some idea that he had got away to America. Now that we
know that the gang are here, I don't see how they can escape. We have the news
at every seaport already, and a reward will be offered before evening. What beats
me is how they could have done so mad a thing, knowing that the lady could describe
them and that we could not fail to recognize the description."
"Exactly. One would have expected that they would
silence Lady Brackenstall as well."
"They may not have realized," I suggested, "that
she had recovered from her faint."
"That is likely enough. If she seemed to be senseless,
they would not take her life. What about this poor fellow, Hopkins? I seem to
have heard some queer stories about him."
"He was a goodhearted man when he was sober, but
a perfect fiend when he was drunk, or rather when he was half drunk, for he seldom
really went the whole way. The devil seemed to be in him at such times, and he
was capable of anything. From what I hear, in spite of all his wealth and his
title, he very nearly came our way once or twice. There was a scandal about his
drenching a dog with petroleum and setting it on fire—her ladyship's dog,
to make the matter worse—and that was only hushed up with difficulty. Then
he threw a decanter at that maid, Theresa Wright—there was trouble about
that. On the whole, and between ourselves, it will be a brighter house without
him. What are you looking at now?"
Holmes was down on his knees, examining with great
attention the knots upon the red cord with which the lady had been secured. Then
he carefully scrutinized the broken and frayed end where it had snapped off when
the burglar had dragged it down.
"When this was pulled down, the bell in the kitchen
must have rung loudly," he remarked.
"No one could hear it. The kitchen stands right
at the back of the house."
"How did the burglar know no one would hear it?
How dared he pull at a bell-rope in that reckless fashion?"
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes, exactly. You put the very
question which I have asked myself again and again. There can be no doubt that
this fellow must have known the house and its habits. He must have perfectly understood
that the servants would all be in bed at that comparatively early hour, and that
no one could possibly hear a bell ring in the kitchen. Therefore, he must have
been in close league with one of the servants. Surely that is evident. But there
are eight servants, and all of good character."
"Other things being equal," said Holmes, "one would
suspect the one at whose head the master threw a decanter. And yet that would
involve treachery towards the mistress to whom this woman seems devoted. Well,
well, the point is a minor one, and when you have Randall you will probably find
no difficulty in securing his accomplice. The lady's story certainly seems to
be corroborated, if it needed corroboration, by every detail which we see before
us." He walked to the French window and threw it open. "There are no signs here,
but the ground is iron hard, and one would not expect them. I see that these candles
in the mantelpiece have been lighted."
"Yes, it was by their light and that of the lady's
bedroom candle, that the burglars saw their way about."
"And what did they take?"
"Well, they did not take much—only half a
dozen articles of plate off the sideboard. Lady Brackenstall thinks that they
were themselves so disturbed by the death of Sir Eustace that they did not ransack
the house, as they would otherwise have done."
"No doubt that is true, and yet they drank some
wine, I understand."
"To steady their nerves."
"Exactly. These three glasses upon the sideboard
have been untouched, I suppose?"
"Yes, and the bottle stands as they left it."
"Let us look at it. Halloa, halloa! What is this?"
The three glasses were grouped together, all of
them tinged with wine, and one of them containing some dregs of beeswing. The
bottle stood near them, two-thirds full, and beside it lay a long, deeply stained
cork. Its appearance and the dust upon the bottle showed that it was no common
vintage which the murderers had enjoyed.
A change had come over Holmes's manner. He had
lost his listless expression, and again I saw an alert light of interest in his
keen, deep-set eyes. He raised the cork and examined it minutely.
"How did they draw it?" he asked.
Hopkins pointed to a half-opened drawer. In it
lay some table linen and a large corkscrew.
"Did Lady Brackenstall say that screw was used?"
"No, you remember that she was senseless at the
moment when the bottle was opened."
"Quite so. As a matter of fact, that screw was
not used. This bottle was opened by a pocket screw, probably contained in a knife,
and not more than an inch and a half long. If you will examine the top of the
cork, you will observe that the screw was driven in three times before the cork
was extracted. It has never been transfixed. This long screw would have transfixed
it and drawn it up with a single pull. When you catch this fellow, you will find
that he has one of these multiplex knives in his possession."
"Excellent!" said Hopkins.
"But these glasses do puzzle me, I confess. Lady
Brackenstall actually SAW the three men drinking, did she not?"
"Yes; she was clear about that."
"Then there is an end of it. What more is to be
said? And yet, you must admit, that the three glasses are very remarkable, Hopkins.
What? You see nothing remarkable? Well, well, let it pass. Perhaps, when a man
has special knowledge and special powers like my own, it rather encourages him
to seek a complex explanation when a simpler one is at hand. Of course, it must
be a mere chance about the glasses. Well, good-morning, Hopkins. I don't see that
I can be of any use to you, and you appear to have your case very clear. You will
let me know when Randall is arrested, and any further developments which may occur.
I trust that I shall soon have to congratulate you upon a successful conclusion.
Come, Watson, I fancy that we may employ ourselves more profitably at home."
During our return journey, I could see by Holmes's
face that he was much puzzled by something which he had observed. Every now and
then, by an effort, he would throw off the impression, and talk as if the matter
were clear, but then his doubts would settle down upon him again, and his knitted
brows and abstracted eyes would show that his thoughts had gone back once more
to the great dining-room of the Abbey Grange, in which this midnight tragedy had
been enacted. At last, by a sudden impulse, just as our train was crawling out
of a suburban station, he sprang on to the platform and pulled me out after him.
"Excuse me, my dear fellow," said he, as we watched
the rear carriages of our train disappearing round a curve, "I am sorry to make
you the victim of what may seem a mere whim, but on my life, Watson, I simply
CAN'T leave that case in this condition. Every instinct that I possess cries out
against it. It's wrong— it's all wrong—I'll swear that it's wrong. And
yet the lady's story was complete, the maid's corroboration was sufficient, the
detail was fairly exact. What have I to put up against that? Three wineglasses,
that is all. But if I had not taken things for granted, if I had examined everything
with care which I should have shown had we approached the case DE NOVO and had
no cut-and-dried story to warp my mind, should I not then have found something
more definite to go upon? Of course I should. Sit down on this bench, Watson,
until a train for Chiselhurst arrives, and allow me to lay the evidence before
you, imploring you in the first instance to dismiss from your mind the idea that
anything which the maid or her mistress may have said must necessarily be true.
The lady's charming personality must not be permitted to warp our judgment.
"Surely there are details in her story which, if
we looked at in cold blood, would excite our suspicion. These burglars made a
considerable haul at Sydenham a fortnight ago. Some account of them and of their
appearance was in the papers, and would naturally occur to anyone who wished to
invent a story in which imaginary robbers should play a part. As a matter of fact,
burglars who have done a good stroke of business are, as a rule, only too glad
to enjoy the proceeds in peace and quiet without embarking on another perilous
undertaking. Again, it is unusual for burglars to operate at so early an hour,
it is unusual for burglars to strike a lady to prevent her screaming, since one
would imagine that was the sure way to make her scream, it is unusual for them
to commit murder when their numbers are sufficient to overpower one man, it is
unusual for them to be content with a limited plunder when there was much more
within their reach, and finally, I should say, that it was very unusual for such
men to leave a bottle half empty. How do all these unusuals strike you, Watson?"
"Their cumulative effect is certainly considerable,
and yet each of them is quite possible in itself. The most unusual thing of all,
as it seems to me, is that the lady should be tied to the chair."
"Well, I am not so clear about that, Watson, for
it is evident that they must either kill her or else secure her in such a way
that she could not give immediate notice of their escape. But at any rate I have
shown, have I not, that there is a certain element of improbability about the
lady's story? And now, on the top of this, comes the incident of the wineglasses."
"What about the wineglasses?"
"Can you see them in your mind's eye?"
"I see them clearly."
"We are told that three men drank from them. Does
that strike you as likely?"
"Why not? There was wine in each glass."
"Exactly, but there was beeswing only in one glass.
You must have noticed that fact. What does that suggest to your mind?"
"The last glass filled would be most likely to
contain beeswing."
"Not at all. The bottle was full of it, and it
is inconceivable that the first two glasses were clear and the third heavily charged
with it. There are two possible explanations, and only two. One is that after
the second glass was filled the bottle was violently agitated, and so the third
glass received the beeswing. That does not appear probable. No, no, I am sure
that I am right."
"What, then, do you suppose?"
"That only two glasses were used, and that the
dregs of both were poured into a third glass, so as to give the false impression
that three people had been here. In that way all the beeswing would be in the
last glass, would it not? Yes, I am convinced that this is so. But if I have hit
upon the true explanation of this one small phenomenon, then in an instant the
case rises from the commonplace to the exceedingly remarkable, for it can only
mean that Lady Brackenstall and her maid have deliberately lied to us, that not
one word of their story is to be believed, that they have some very strong reason
for covering the real criminal, and that we must construct our case for ourselves
without any help from them. That is the mission which now lies before us, and
here, Watson, is the Sydenham train."
The household at the Abbey Grange were much surprised
at our return, but Sherlock Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins had gone off
to report to headquarters, took possession of the dining-room, locked the door
upon the inside, and devoted himself for two hours to one of those minute and
laborious investigations which form the solid basis on which his brilliant edifices
of deduction were reared. Seated in a corner like an interested student who observes
the demonstration of his professor, I followed every step of that remarkable research.
The window, the curtains, the carpet, the chair, the rope—each in turn was
minutely examined and duly pondered. The body of the unfortunate baronet had been
removed, and all else remained as we had seen it in the morning. Finally, to my
astonishment, Holmes climbed up on to the massive mantelpiece. Far above his head
hung the few inches of red cord which were still attached to the wire. For a long
time he gazed upward at it, and then in an attempt to get nearer to it he rested
his knee upon a wooden bracket on the wall. This brought his hand within a few
inches of the broken end of the rope, but it was not this so much as the bracket
itself which seemed to engage his attention. Finally, he sprang down with an ejaculation
of satisfaction.
"It's all right, Watson," said he. "We have got
our case—one of the most remarkable in our collection. But, dear me, how
slowwitted I have been, and how nearly I have committed the blunder of my lifetime!
Now, I think that, with a few missing links, my chain is almost complete."
"You have got your men?"
"Man, Watson, man. Only one, but a very formidable
person. Strong as a lion—witness the blow that bent that poker! Six foot
three in height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers, finally, remarkably
quick-witted, for this whole ingenious story is of his concoction. Yes, Watson,
we have come upon the handiwork of a very remarkable individual. And yet, in that
bell-rope, he has given us a clue which should not have left us a doubt."
"Where was the clue?"
"Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson,
where would you expect it to break? Surely at the spot where it is attached to
the wire. Why should it break three inches from the top, as this one has done?"
"Because it is frayed there?"
"Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is frayed.
He was cunning enough to do that with his knife. But the other end is not frayed.
You could not observe that from here, but if you were on the mantelpiece you would
see that it is cut clean off without any mark of fraying whatever. You can reconstruct
what occurred. The man needed the rope. He would not tear it down for fear of
giving the alarm by ringing the bell. What did he do? He sprang up on the mantelpiece,
could not quite reach it, put his knee on the bracket—you will see the impression
in the dust— and so got his knife to bear upon the cord. I could not reach
the place by at least three inches—from which I infer that he is at least
three inches a bigger man than I. Look at that mark upon the seat of the oaken
chair! What is it?"
"Blood."
"Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the lady's
story out of court. If she were seated on the chair when the crime was done, how
comes that mark? No, no, she was placed in the chair AFTER the death of her husband.
I'll wager that the black dress shows a corresponding mark to this. We have not
yet met our Waterloo, Watson, but this is our Marengo, for it begins in defeat
and ends in victory. I should like now to have a few words with the nurse, Theresa.
We must be wary for a while, if we are to get the information which we want."
She was an interesting person, this stern Australian
nurse— taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before Holmes's
pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said thawed her into a corresponding
amiability. She did not attempt to conceal her hatred for her late employer.
"Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter
at me. I heard him call my mistress a name, and I told him that he would not dare
to speak so if her brother had been there. Then it was that he threw it at me.
He might have thrown a dozen if he had but left my bonny bird alone. He was forever
ill-treating her, and she too proud to complain. She will not even tell me all
that he has done to her. She never told me of those marks on her arm that you
saw this morning, but I know very well that they come from a stab with a hatpin.
The sly devil—God forgive me that I should speak of him so, now that he is
dead! But a devil he was, if ever one walked the earth. He was all honey when
first we met him—only eighteen months ago, and we both feel as if it were
eighteen years. She had only just arrived in London. Yes, it was her first voyage—she
had never been from home before. He won her with his title and his money and his
false London ways. If she made a mistake she has paid for it, if ever a woman
did. What month did we meet him? Well, I tell you it was just after we arrived.
We arrived in June, and it was July. They were married in January of last year.
Yes, she is down in the morning-room again, and I have no doubt she will see you,
but you must not ask too much of her, for she has gone through all that flesh
and blood will stand."
Lady Brackenstall was reclining on the same couch,
but looked brighter than before. The maid had entered with us, and began once
more to foment the bruise upon her mistress's brow.
"I hope," said the lady, "that you have not come
to cross-examine me again?"
"No," Holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, "I
will not cause you any unnecessary trouble, Lady Brackenstall, and my whole desire
is to make things easy for you, for I am convinced that you are a much-tried woman.
If you will treat me as a friend and trust me, you may find that I will justify
your trust."
"What do you want me to do?"
"To tell me the truth."
"Mr. Holmes!"
"No, no, Lady Brackenstall—it is no use. You
may have heard of any little reputation which I possess. I will stake it all on
the fact that your story is an absolute fabrication."
Mistress and maid were both staring at Holmes with
pale faces and frightened eyes. "You are an impudent fellow!" cried Theresa. "Do
you mean to say that my mistress has told a lie?"
Holmes rose from his chair. "Have you nothing to
tell me?"
"I have told you everything."
"Think once more, Lady Brackenstall. Would it not
be better to be frank?"
For an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful
face. Then some new strong thought caused it to set like a mask. "I have told
you all I know."
Holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders.
"I am sorry," he said, and without another word we left the room and the house.
There was a pond in the park, and to this my friend led the way. It was frozen
over, but a single hole was left for the convenience of a solitary swan. Holmes
gazed at it, and then passed on to the lodge gate. There he scribbled a short
note for Stanley Hopkins, and left it with the lodge-keeper.
"It may be a hit, or it may be a miss, but we are
bound to do something for friend Hopkins, just to justify this second visit,"
said he. "I will not quite take him into my confidence yet. I think our next scene
of operations must be the shipping office of the Adelaide-Southampton line, which
stands at the end of Pall Mall, if I remember right. There is a second line of
steamers which connect South Australia with England, but we will draw the larger
cover first."
Holmes's card sent in to the manager ensured instant
attention, and he was not long in acquiring all the information he needed. In
June of '95, only one of their line had reached a home port. It was the ROCK OF
GIBRALTAR, their largest and best boat. A reference to the passenger list showed
that Miss Fraser, of Adelaide, with her maid had made the voyage in her. The boat
was now somewhere south of the Suez Canal on her way to Australia. Her officers
were the same as in '95, with one exception. The first officer, Mr. Jack Crocker,
had been made a captain and was to take charge of their new ship, the BASS ROCK,
sailing in two days' time from Southampton. He lived at Sydenham, but he was likely
to be in that morning for instructions, if we cared to wait for him.
No, Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but would
be glad to know more about his record and character.
His record was magnificent. There was not an officer
in the fleet to touch him. As to his character, he was reliable on duty, but a
wild, desperate fellow off the deck of his ship— hotheaded, excitable, but
loyal, honest, and kindhearted. That was the pith of the information with which
Holmes left the office of the Adelaide-Southampton company. Thence he drove to
Scotland Yard, but, instead of entering, he sat in his cab with his brows drawn
down, lost in profound thought. Finally he drove round to the Charing Cross telegraph
office, sent off a message, and then, at last, we made for Baker Street once more.
"No, I couldn't do it, Watson," said he, as we
reentered our room. "Once that warrant was made out, nothing on earth would save
him. Once or twice in my career I feel that I have done more real harm by my discovery
of the criminal than ever he had done by his crime. I have learned caution now,
and I had rather play tricks with the law of England than with my own conscience.
Let us know a little more before we act."
Before evening, we had a visit from Inspector Stanley
Hopkins. Things were not going very well with him.
"I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes. I
really do sometimes think that you have powers that are not human. Now, how on
earth could you know that the stolen silver was at the bottom of that pond?"
"I didn't know it."
"But you told me to examine it."
"You got it, then?"
"Yes, I got it."
"I am very glad if I have helped you."
"But you haven't helped me. You have made the affair
far more difficult. What sort of burglars are they who steal silver and then throw
it into the nearest pond?"
"It was certainly rather eccentric behavior. I
was merely going on the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons who
did not want it—who merely took it for a blind, as it were—then they
would naturally be anxious to get rid of it."
"But why should such an idea cross your mind?"
"Well, I thought it was possible. When they came
out through the French window, there was the pond with one tempting little hole
in the ice, right in front of their noses. Could there be a better hiding-place?"
"Ah, a hiding-place—that is better!" cried
Stanley Hopkins. "Yes, yes, I see it all now! It was early, there were folk upon
the roads, they were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they sank it in
the pond, intending to return for it when the coast was clear. Excellent, Mr.
Holmes—that is better than your idea of a blind."
"Quite so, you have got an admirable theory. I
have no doubt that my own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that they
have ended in discovering the silver."
"Yes, sir—yes. It was all your doing. But
I have had a bad setback."
"A setback?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were arrested
in New York this morning."
"Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against
your theory that they committed a murder in Kent last night."
"It is fatal, Mr. Holmes—absolutely fatal.
Still, there are other gangs of three besides the Randalls, or it may be some
new gang of which the police have never heard."
"Quite so, it is perfectly possible. What, are
you off?"
Yes, Mr. Holmes, there is no rest for me until
I have got to the bottom of the business. I suppose you have no hint to give me?"
"I have given you one."
"Which?"
"Well, I suggested a blind."
"But why, Mr. Holmes, why?"
"Ah, that's the question, of course. But I commend
the idea to your mind. You might possibly find that there was something in it.
You won't stop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us know how you get on."
Dinner was over, and the table cleared before Holmes
alluded to the matter again. He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet to
the cheerful blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at his watch. "I expect developments,
Watson."
"When?"
"Now—within a few minutes. I dare say you
thought I acted rather badly to Stanley Hopkins just now?"
"I trust your judgment."
"A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look at
it this way: what I know is unofficial, what he knows is official. I have the
right to private judgment, but he has none. He must disclose all, or he is a traitor
to his service. In a doubtful case I would not put him in so painful a position,
and so I reserve my information until my own mind is clear upon the matter."
"But when will that be?"
"The time has come. You will now be present at
the last scene of a remarkable little drama."
There was a sound upon the stairs, and our door
was opened to admit as fine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through it. He
was a very tall young man, golden mustached, blue-eyed, with a skin which had
been burned by tropical suns, and a springy step, which showed that the huge frame
was as active as it was strong. He closed the door behind him, and then he stood
with clenched hands and heaving breast, choking down some overmastering emotion.
"Sit down, Captain Crocker. You got my telegram?"
Our visitor sank into an armchair and looked from
one to the other of us with questioning eyes. "I got your telegram, and I came
at the hour you said. I heard that you had been down to the office. There was
no getting away from you. Let's hear the worst. What are you going to do with
me? Arrest me? Speak out, man! You can't sit there and play with me like a cat
with a mouse."
"Give him a cigar," said Holmes. "Bite on that,
Captain Crocker, and don't let your nerves run away with you. I should not sit
here smoking with you if I thought that you were a common criminal, you may be
sure of that. Be frank with me and we may do some good. Play tricks with me, and
I'll crush you."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"To give me a true account of all that happened
at the Abbey Grange last night—a TRUE account, mind you, with nothing added
and nothing taken off. I know so much already that if you go one inch off the
straight, I'll blow this police whistle from my window and the affair goes out
of my hands forever."
The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck
his leg with his great sunburned hand.
"I'll chance it," he cried. "I believe you are
a man of your word, and a white man, and I'll tell you the whole story. But one
thing I will say first. So far as I am concerned, I regret nothing and I fear
nothing, and I would do it all again and be proud of the job. Damn the beast,
if he had as many lives as a cat, he would owe them all to me! But it's the lady,
Mary—Mary Fraser—for never will I call her by that accursed name. When
I think of getting her into trouble, I who would give my life just to bring one
smile to her dear face, it's that that turns my soul into water. And yet—and
yet—what less could I do? I'll tell you my story, gentlemen, and then I'll
ask you, as man to man, what less could I do?
"I must go back a bit. You seem to know everything,
so I expect that you know that I met her when she was a passenger and I was first
officer of the ROCK OF GIBRALTAR. From the first day I met her, she was the only
woman to me. Every day of that voyage I loved her more, and many a time since
have I kneeled down in the darkness of the night watch and kissed the deck of
that ship because I knew her dear feet had trod it. She was never engaged to me.
She treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated a man. I have no complaint to
make. It was all love on my side, and all good comradeship and friendship on hers.
When we parted she was a free woman, but I could never again be a free man.
"Next time I came back from sea, I heard of her
marriage. Well, why shouldn't she marry whom she liked? Title and money—who
could carry them better than she? She was born for all that is beautiful and dainty.
I didn't grieve over her marriage. I was not such a selfish hound as that. I just
rejoiced that good luck had come her way, and that she had not thrown herself
away on a penniless sailor. That's how I loved Mary Fraser.
"Well, I never thought to see her again, but last
voyage I was promoted, and the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to wait
for a couple of months with my people at Sydenham. One day out in a country lane
I met Theresa Wright, her old maid. She told me all about her, about him, about
everything. I tell you, gentlemen, it nearly drove me mad. This drunken hound,
that he should dare to raise his hand to her, whose boots he was not worthy to
lick! I met Theresa again. Then I met Mary herself— and met her again. Then
she would meet me no more. But the other day I had a notice that I was to start
on my voyage within a week, and I determined that I would see her once before
I left. Theresa was always my friend, for she loved Mary and hated this villain
almost as much as I did. From her I learned the ways of the house. Mary used to
sit up reading in her own little room downstairs. I crept round there last night
and scratched at the window. At first she would not open to me, but in her heart
I know that now she loves me, and she could not leave me in the frosty night.
She whispered to me to come round to the big front window, and I found it open
before me, so as to let me into the dining-room. Again I heard from her own lips
things that made my blood boil, and again I cursed this brute who mishandled the
woman I loved. Well, gentlemen, I was standing with her just inside the window,
in all innocence, as God is my judge, when he rushed like a madman into the room,
called her the vilest name that a man could use to a woman, and welted her across
the face with the stick he had in his hand. I had sprung for the poker, and it
was a fair fight between us. See here, on my arm, where his first blow fell. Then
it was my turn, and I went through him as if he had been a rotten pumpkin. Do
you think I was sorry? Not I! It was his life or mine, but far more than that,
it was his life or hers, for how could I leave her in the power of this madman?
That was how I killed him. Was I wrong? Well, then, what would either of you gentlemen
have done, if you had been in my position?"
"She had screamed when he struck her, and that
brought old Theresa down from the room above. There was a bottle of wine on the
sideboard, and I opened it and poured a little between Mary's lips, for she was
half dead with shock. Then I took a drop myself. Theresa was as cool as ice, and
it was her plot as much as mine. We must make it appear that burglars had done
the thing. Theresa kept on repeating our story to her mistress, while I swarmed
up and cut the rope of the bell. Then I lashed her in her chair, and frayed out
the end of the rope to make it look natural, else they would wonder how in the
world a burglar could have got up there to cut it. Then I gathered up a few plates
and pots of silver, to carry out the idea of the robbery, and there I left them,
with orders to give the alarm when I had a quarter of an hour's start. I dropped
the silver into the pond, and made off for Sydenham, feeling that for once in
my life I had done a real good night's work. And that's the truth and the whole
truth, Mr. Holmes, if it costs me my neck."
Holmes smoked for some time in silence. Then he
crossed the room, and shook our visitor by the hand.
"That's what I think," said he. "I know that every
word is true, for you have hardly said a word which I did not know. No one but
an acrobat or a sailor could have got up to that bell-rope from the bracket, and
no one but a sailor could have made the knots with which the cord was fastened
to the chair. Only once had this lady been brought into contact with sailors,
and that was on her voyage, and it was someone of her own class of life, since
she was trying hard to shield him, and so showing that she loved him. You see
how easy it was for me to lay my hands upon you when once I had started upon the
right trail."
"I thought the police never could have seen through
our dodge."
"And the police haven't, nor will they, to the
best of my belief. Now, look here, Captain Crocker, this is a very serious matter,
though I am willing to admit that you acted under the most extreme provocation
to which any man could be subjected. I am not sure that in defense of your own
life your action will not be pronounced legitimate. However, that is for a British
jury to decide. Meanwhile I have so much sympathy for you that, if you choose
to disappear in the next twenty-four hours, I will promise you that no one will
hinder you."
"And then it will all come out?"
"Certainly it will come out."
The sailor flushed with anger.
"What sort of proposal is that to make a man? I
know enough of law to understand that Mary would be held as accomplice. Do you
think I would leave her alone to face the music while I slunk away? No, sir, let
them do their worst upon me, but for heaven's sake, Mr. Holmes, find some way
of keeping my poor Mary out of the courts."
Holmes for a second time held out his hand to the
sailor.
"I was only testing you, and you ring true every
time. Well, it is a great responsibility that I take upon myself, but I have given
Hopkins an excellent hint and if he can't avail himself of it I can do no more.
See here, Captain Crocker, we'll do this in due form of law. You are the prisoner.
Watson, you are a British jury, and I never met a man who was more eminently fitted
to represent one. I am the judge. Now, gentleman of the jury, you have heard the
evidence. Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?"
"Not guilty, my lord," said I.
"VOX POPULI, VOX DEI. You are acquitted, Captain
Crocker. So long as the law does not find some other victim you are safe from
me. Come back to this lady in a year, and may her future and yours justify us
in the judgment which we have pronounced this night!"