We have had some dramatic entrances and exits
upon our small stage at Baker Street, but I cannot recollect anything more
sudden and startling than the first appearance of Thorneycroft Huxtable, M.A.,
Ph.D., etc. His card, which seemed too small to carry the weight of his academic
distinctions, preceded him by a few seconds, and then he entered himself—so
large, so pompous, and so dignified that he was the very embodiment of self-possession
and solidity. And yet his first action, when the door had closed behind him,
was to stagger against the table, whence he slipped down upon the floor, and
there was that majestic figure prostrate and insensible upon our bearskin hearth-rug.
We had sprung to our feet, and for a few moments
we stared in silent amazement at this ponderous piece of wreckage, which told
of some sudden and fatal storm far out on the ocean of life. Then Holmes hurried
with a cushion for his head, and I with brandy for his lips. The heavy, white
face was seamed with lines of trouble, the hanging pouches under the closed
eyes were leaden in color, the loose mouth drooped dolorously at the corners,
the rolling chins were unshaven. Collar and shirt bore the grime of a long
journey, and the hair bristled unkempt from the well-shaped head. It was a
sorely stricken man who lay before us.
"What is it, Watson?" asked Holmes.
"Absolute exhaustion—possibly mere hunger
and fatigue," said I, with my finger on the thready pulse, where the stream
of life trickled thin and small.
"Return ticket from Mackleton, in the north
of England," said Holmes, drawing it from the watch-pocket. "It is not twelve
o'clock yet. He has certainly been an early starter."
The puckered eyelids had begun to quiver, and
now a pair of vacant gray eyes looked up at us. An instant later the man had
scrambled on to his feet, his face crimson with shame. "Forgive this weakness,
Mr. Holmes, I have been a little overwrought. Thank you, if I might have a
glass of milk and a biscuit, I have no doubt that I should be better. I came
personally, Mr. Holmes, in order to insure that you would return with me. I
feared that no telegram would convince you of the absolute urgency of the case."
"When you are quite restored——"
"I am quite well again. I cannot imagine how
I came to be so weak. I wish you, Mr. Holmes, to come to Mackleton with me
by the next train."
My friend shook his head. "My colleague, Dr.
Watson, could tell you that we are very busy at present. I am retained in this
case of the Ferrers Documents, and the Abergavenny murder is coming up for
trial. Only a very important issue could call me from London at present."
"Important!" Our visitor threw up his hands.
"Have you heard nothing of the abduction of the only son of the Duke of Holdernesse?"
"What! the late Cabinet Minister?"
"Exactly. We had tried to keep it out of the
papers, but there was some rumor in the GLOBE last night. I thought it might
have reached your ears."
Holmes shot out his long, thin arm and picked
out Volume "H" in his encyclopedia of reference.
"`Holdernesse, 6th Duke, K.G., P.C.'—half
the alphabet! `Baron Beverley, Earl of Carston'—dear me, what a list!
`Lord Lieutenant of Hallamshire since 1900. Married Edith, daughter of Sir
Charles Appledore, 1888. Heir and only child, Lord Saltire. Owns about two
hundred and fifty thousand acres. Minerals in Lancashire and Wales. Address:
Carlton House Terrace; Holdernesse Hall, Hallamshire; Carston Castle, Bangor,
Wales. Lord of the Admiralty, 1872; Chief Secretary of State for——'
Well, well, this man is certainly one of the greatest subjects of the Crown!"
"The greatest and perhaps the wealthiest. I
am aware, Mr. Holmes, that you take a very high line in professional matters,
and that you are prepared to work for the work's sake. I may tell you, however,
that his Grace has already intimated that a check for five thousand pounds
will be handed over to the person who can tell him where his son is, and another
thousand to him who can name the man or men who have taken him."
"It is a princely offer," said Holmes. "Watson,
I think that we shall accompany Dr. Huxtable back to the north of England.
And now, Dr. Huxtable, when you have consumed that milk, you will kindly tell
me what has happened, when it happened, how it happened, and, finally, what
Dr. Thorneycroft Huxtable, of the Priory School, near Mackleton, has to do
with the matter, and why he comes three days after an event—the state
of your chin gives the date—to ask for my humble services."
Our visitor had consumed his milk and biscuits.
The light had come back to his eyes and the color to his cheeks, as he set
himself with great vigor and lucidity to explain the situation.
"I must inform you, gentlemen, that the Priory
is a preparatory school, of which I am the founder and principal. HUXTABLE'S
SIDELIGHTS ON HORACE may possibly recall my name to your memories. The Priory
is, without exception, the best and most select preparatory school in England.
Lord Leverstoke, the Earl of Blackwater, Sir Cathcart Soames—they all
have entrusted their sons to me. But I felt that my school had reached its
zenith when, weeks ago, the Duke of Holdernesse sent Mr. James Wilder, his
secretary, with intimation that young Lord Saltire, ten years old, his only
son and heir, was about to be committed to my charge. Little did I think that
this would be the prelude to the most crushing misfortune of my life.
"On May 1st the boy arrived, that being the
beginning of the summer term. He was a charming youth, and he soon fell into
our ways. I may tell you—I trust that I am not indiscreet, but half-confidences
are absurd in such a case—that he was not entirely happy at home. It is
an open secret that the Duke's married life had not been a peaceful one, and
the matter had ended in a separation by mutual consent, the Duchess taking
up her residence in the south of France. This had occurred very shortly before,
and the boy's sympathies are known to have been strongly with his mother. He
moped after her departure from Holdernesse Hall, and it was for this reason
that the Duke desired to send him to my establishment. In a fortnight the boy
was quite at home with us and was apparently absolutely happy.
"He was last seen on the night of May 13th—that
is, the night of last Monday. His room was on the second floor and was approached
through another larger room, in which two boys were sleeping. These boys saw
and heard nothing, so that it is certain that young Saltire did not pass out
that way. His window was open, and there is a stout ivy plant leading to the
ground. We could trace no footmarks below, but it is sure that this is the
only possible exit.
"His absence was discovered at seven o'clock
on Tuesday morning. His bed had been slept in. He had dressed himself fully,
before going off, in his usual school suit of black Eton jacket and dark gray
trousers. There were no signs that anyone had entered the room, and it is quite
certain that anything in the nature of cries or ones struggle would have been
heard, since Caunter, the elder boy in the inner room, is a very light sleeper.
"When Lord Saltire's disappearance was discovered,
I at once called a roll of the whole establishment—boys, masters, and
servants. It was then that we ascertained that Lord Saltire had not been alone
in his flight. Heidegger, the German master, was missing. His room was on the
second floor, at the farther end of the building, facing the same way as Lord
Saltire's. His bed had also been slept in, but he had apparently gone away
partly dressed, since his shirt and socks were lying on the floor. He had undoubtedly
let himself down by the ivy, for we could see the marks of his feet where he
had landed on the lawn. His bicycle was kept in a small shed beside this lawn,
and it also was gone.
"He had been with me for two years, and came
with the best references, but he was a silent, morose man, not very popular
either with masters or boys. No trace could be found of the fugitives, and
now, on Thursday morning, we are as ignorant as we were on Tuesday. Inquiry
was, of course, made at once at Holdernesse Hall. It is only a few miles away,
and we imagined that, in some sudden attack of homesickness, he had gone back
to his father, but nothing had been heard of him. The Duke is greatly agitated,
and, as to me, you have seen yourselves the state of nervous prostration to
which the suspense and the responsibility have reduced me. Mr. Holmes, if ever
you put forward your full powers, I implore you to do so now, for never in
your life could you have a case which is more worthy of them."
Sherlock Holmes had listened with the utmost
intentness to the statement of the unhappy schoolmaster. His drawn brows and
the deep furrow between them showed that he needed no exhortation to concentrate
all his attention upon a problem which, apart from the tremendous interests
involved must appeal so directly to his love of the complex and the unusual.
He now drew out his notebook and jotted down one or two memoranda.
"You have been very remiss in not coming to
me sooner," said he, severely. "You start me on my investigation with a very
serious handicap. It is inconceivable, for example, that this ivy and this
lawn would have yielded nothing to an expert observer."
"I am not to blame, Mr. Holmes. His Grace was
extremely desirous to avoid all public scandal. He was afraid of his family
unhappiness being dragged before the world. He has a deep horror of anything
of the kind."
"But there has been some official investigation?"
"Yes, sir, and it has proved most disappointing.
An apparent clue was at once obtained, since a boy and a young man were reported
to have been seen leaving a neighboring station by an early train. Only last
night we had news that the couple had been hunted down in Liverpool, and they
prove to have no connection whatever with the matter in hand. Then it was that
in my despair and disappointment, after a sleepless night, I came straight
to you by the early train."
"I suppose the local investigation was relaxed
while this false clue was being followed up?"
"It was entirely dropped."
"So that three days have been wasted. The affair
has been most deplorably handled."
"I feel it and admit it."
"And yet the problem should be capable of ultimate
solution. I shall be very happy to look into it. Have you been able to trace
any connection between the missing boy and this German master?"
"None at all."
"Was he in the master's class?"
"No, he never exchanged a word with him, so
far as I know."
"That is certainly very singular. Had the boy
a bicycle?"
"No."
"Was any other bicycle missing?"
"No."
"Is that certain?"
"Quite."
"Well, now, you do not mean to seriously suggest
that this German rode off upon a bicycle in the dead of the night, bearing
the boy in his arms?"
"Certainly not."
"Then what is the theory in your mind?"
"The bicycle may have been a blind. It may have
been hidden somewhere, and the pair gone off on foot."
"Quite so, but it seems rather an absurd blind,
does it not? Were there other bicycles in this shed?"
"Several."
"Would he not have hidden a couple, had he desired
to give the idea that they had gone off upon them?"
"I suppose he would."
"Of course he would. The blind theory won't
do. But the incident is an admirable starting-point for an investigation. After
all, a bicycle is not an easy thing to conceal or to destroy. One other question.
Did anyone call to see the boy on the day before he disappeared?"
"No."
"Did he get any letters?"
"Yes, one letter."
"From whom?"
"From his father."
"Do you open the boys' letters?"
"No."
"How do you know it was from the father?"
"The coat of arms was on the envelope, and it
was addressed in the Duke's peculiar stiff hand. Besides, the Duke remembers
having written."
"When had he a letter before that?"
"Not for several days."
"Had he ever one from France?"
"No, never.
"You see the point of my questions, of course.
Either the boy was carried off by force or he went of his own free will. In
the latter case, you would expect that some prompting from outside would be
needed to make so young a lad do such a thing. If he has had no visitors, that
prompting must have come in letters; hence I try to find out who were his correspondents."
"I fear I cannot help you much. His only correspondent,
so far as I know, was his own father."
"Who wrote to him on the very day of his disappearance.
Were the relations between father and son very friendly?"
"His Grace is never very friendly with anyone.
He is completely immersed in large public questions, and is rather inaccessible
to all ordinary emotions. But he was always kind to the boy in his own way."
"But the sympathies of the latter were with
the mother?"
"Yes."
"Did he say so?"
"No."
"The Duke, then?"
"Good heaven, no!"
"Then how could you know?"
"I have had some confidential talks with Mr.
James Wilder, his Graces secretary. It was he who gave me the information about
Lord Saltire's feelings."
"I see. By the way, that last letter of the
Dukes—was it found in the boy's room after he was gone?"
"No, he had taken it with him. I think, Mr.
Holmes, it is time that we were leaving for Euston."
"I will order a four-wheeler. In a quarter of
an hour, we shall be at your service. If you are telegraphing home, Mr. Huxtable,
it would be well to allow the people in your neighborhood to imagine that the
inquiry is still going on in Liverpool, or wherever else that red herring led
your pack. In the meantime I will do a little quiet work at your own doors,
and perhaps the scent is not so cold but that two old hounds like Watson and
myself may get a sniff of it."
That evening found us in the cold, bracing atmosphere
of the Peak country, in which Dr. Huxtable's famous school is situated. It
was already dark when we reached it. A card was lying on the hall table, and
the butler whispered something to his master, who turned to us with agitation
in every heavy feature.
"The Duke is here," said he. "The Duke and Mr.
Wilder are in the study. Come, gentlemen, and I will introduce you."
I was, of course, familiar with the pictures
of the famous statesman, but the man himself was very different from his representation.
He was a tall and stately person, scrupulously dressed, with a drawn, thin
face, and a nose which was grotesquely curved and long. His complexion was
of a dead pallor, which was more startling by contrast with a long, dwindling
beard of vivid red, which flowed down over his white waistcoat with his watch-chain
gleaming through its fringe. Such was the stately presence who looked stonily
at us from the center of Dr. Huxtable's hearthrug. Beside him stood a very
young man, whom I understood to be Wilder, the private secretary. He was small,
nervous, alert with intelligent light-blue eyes and mobile features. It was
he who at once, in an incisive and positive tone, opened the conversation.
"I called this morning, Dr. Huxtable, too late
to prevent you from starting for London. I learned that your object was to
invite Mr. Sherlock Holmes to undertake the conduct of this case. His Grace
is surprised, Dr. Huxtable, that you should have taken such a step without
consulting him."
"When I learned that the police had failed——"
"His Grace is by no means convinced that the
police have failed."
"But surely, Mr. Wilder——"
"You are well aware, Dr. Huxtable, that his
Grace is particularly anxious to avoid all public scandal. He prefers to take
as few people as possible into his confidence."
"The matter can be easily remedied," said the
browbeaten doctor; "Mr. Sherlock Holmes can return to London by the morning
train."
"Hardly that, Doctor, hardly that," said Holmes,
in his blandest voice. "This northern air is invigorating and pleasant, so
I propose to spend a few days upon your moors, and to occupy my mind as best
I may. Whether I have the shelter of your roof or of the village inn is, of
course, for you to decide."
I could see that the unfortunate doctor was
in the last stage of indecision, from which he was rescued by the deep, sonorous
voice of the red-bearded Duke, which boomed out like a dinner-gong.
"I agree with Mr. Wilder, Dr. Huxtable, that
you would have done wisely to consult me. But since Mr. Holmes has already
been taken into your confidence, it would indeed be absurd that we should not
avail ourselves of his services. Far from going to the inn, Mr. Holmes, I should
be pleased if you would come and stay with me at Holdernesse Hall."
"I thank your Grace. For the purposes of my
investigation, I think that it would be wiser for me to remain at the scene
of the mystery."
"Just as you like, Mr. Holmes. Any information
which Mr. Wilder or I can give you is, of course, at your disposal."
"It will probably be necessary for me to see
you at the Hall," said Holmes. "I would only ask you now, sir, whether you
have formed any explanation in your own mind as to the mysterious disappearance
of your son?"
"No sir I have not."
"Excuse me if I allude to that which is painful
to you, but I have no alternative. Do you think that the Duchess had anything
to do with the matter?"
The great minister showed perceptible hesitation.
"I do not think so," he said, at last.
"The other most obvious explanation is that
the child has been kidnapped for the purpose of levying ransom. You have not
had any demand of the sort?"
"No, sir."
"One more question, your Grace. I understand
that you wrote to your son upon the day when this incident occurred."
"No, I wrote upon the day before."
"Exactly. But he received it on that day?"
"Yes."
"Was there anything in your letter which might
have unbalanced him or induced him to take such a step?"
"No, sir, certainly not."
"Did you post that letter yourself?"
The nobleman's reply was interrupted by his
secretary, who broke in with some heat.
"His Grace is not in the habit of posting letters
himself," said he. "This letter was laid with others upon the study table,
and I myself put them in the post-bag."
"You are sure this one was among them?"
"Yes, I observed it."
"How many letters did your Grace write that
day?"
"Twenty or thirty. I have a large correspondence.
But surely this is somewhat irrelevant?"
"Not entirely," said Holmes.
"For my own part," the Duke continued, "I have
advised the police to turn their attention to the south of France. I have already
said that I do not believe that the Duchess would encourage so monstrous an
action, but the lad had the most wrong-headed opinions, and it is possible
that he may have fled to her, aided and abetted by this German. I think, Dr.
Huxtable, that we will now return to the Hall."
I could see that there were other questions
which Holmes would have wished to put, but the nobleman's abrupt manner showed
that the interview was at an end. It was evident that to his intensely aristocratic
nature this discussion of his intimate family affairs with a stranger was most
abhorrent, and that he feared lest every fresh question would throw a fiercer
light into the discreetly shadowed corners of his ducal history.
When the nobleman and his secretary had left,
my friend flung himself at once with characteristic eagerness into the investigation.
The boy's chamber was carefully examined, and
yielded nothing save the absolute conviction that it was only through the window
that he could have escaped. The German master's room and effects gave no further
clue. In his case a trailer of ivy had given way under his weight, and we saw
by the light of a lantern the mark on the lawn where his heels had come down.
That one dint in the short, green grass was the only material witness left
of this inexplicable nocturnal flight.
Sherlock Holmes left the house alone, and only
returned after eleven. He had obtained a large ordnance map of the neighborhood,
and this he brought into my room, where he laid it out on the bed, and, having
balanced the lamp in the middle of it, he began to smoke over it, and occasionally
to point out objects of interest with the reeking amber of his pipe.
"This case grows upon me, Watson," said he.
"There are decidedly some points of interest in connection with it. In this
early stage, I want you to realize those geographical features which may have
a good deal to do with our investigation.
"Look at this map. This dark square is the Priory
School. I'll put a pin in it. Now, this line is the main road. You see that
it runs east and west past the school, and you see also that there is no side
road for a mile either way. If these two folk passed away by road, it was THIS
road."
GRAPHIC
"Exactly."
"By a singular and happy chance, we are able
to some extent to check what passed along this road during the night in question.
At this point, where my pipe is now resting, a county constable was on duty
from twelve to six. It is, as you perceive, the first crossroad on the east
side. This man declares that he was not absent from his post for an instant,
and he is positive that neither boy nor man could have gone that way unseen.
I have spoken with this policeman tonight and he appears to me to be a perfectly
reliable person. That blocks this end. We have now to deal with the other.
There is an inn here, the Red Bull, the landlady of which was ill. She had
sent to Mackleton for a doctor, but he did not arrive until morning, being
absent at another case. The people at the inn were alert all night, awaiting
his coming, and one or other of them seems to have continually had an eye upon
the road. They declare that no one passed. If their evidence is good, then
we are fortunate enough to be able to block the west, and also to be able to
say that the fugitives did NOT use the road at all."
"But the bicycle?" I objected.
"Quite so. We will come to the bicycle presently.
To continue our reasoning: if these people did not go by the road, they must
have traversed the country to the north of the house or to the south of the
house. That is certain. Let us weigh the one against the other. On the south
of the house is, as you perceive, a large district of arable land, cut up into
small fields, with stone walls between them. There, I admit that a bicycle
is impossible. We can dismiss the idea. We turn to the country on the north.
Here there lies a grove of trees, marked as the `Ragged Shaw,' and on the farther
side stretches a great rolling moor, Lower Gill Moor, extending for ten miles
and sloping gradually upward. Here, at one side of this wilderness, is Holdernesse
Hall, ten miles by road, but only six across the moor. It is a peculiarly desolate
plain. A few moor farmers have small holdings, where they rear sheep and cattle.
Except these, the plover and the curlew are the only inhabitants until you
come to the Chesterfield high road. There is a church there, you see, a few
cottages, and an inn. Beyond that the hills become precipitous. Surely it is
here to the north that our quest must lie."
"But the bicycle?" I persisted.
"Well, well!" said Holmes, impatiently. "A good
cyclist does not need a high road. The moor is intersected with paths, and
the moon was at the full. Halloa! what is this?"
There was an agitated knock at the door, and
an instant afterwards Dr. Huxtable was in the room. In his hand he held a blue
cricket-cap with a white chevron on the peak.
"At last we have a clue!" he cried. "Thank heaven!
at last we are on the dear boy's track! It is his cap."
"Where was it found?"
"In the van of the Gipsies who camped on the
moor. They left on Tuesday. Today the police traced them down and examined
their caravan. This was found."
"How do they account for it?"
"They shuffled and lied—said that they
found it on the moor on Tuesday morning. They know where he is, the rascals!
Thank goodness, they are all safe under lock and key. Either the fear of the
law or the Duke's purse will certainly get out of them all that they know."
"So far, so good," said Holmes, when the doctor
had at last left the room. "It at least bears out the theory that it is on
the side of the Lower Gill Moor that we must hope for results. The police have
really done nothing locally, save the arrest of these Gipsies Look here, Watson!
There is a watercourse across the moor. You see it marked here in the map.
In some parts it widens into a morass. This is particularly so in the region
between Holdernesse Hall and the school. It is vain to look elsewhere for tracks
in this dry weather, but at THAT point there is certainly a chance of some
record being left. I will call you early tomorrow morning, and you and I will
try if we can throw some little light upon the mystery."
The day was just breaking when I woke to find
the long, thin form of Holmes by my bedside. He was fully dressed, and had
apparently already been out.
"I have done the lawn and the bicycle shed,"
said, he. "I have also had a rumble through the Ragged Shaw. Now, Watson, there
is cocoa ready in the next room. I must beg you to hurry, for we have a great
day before us."
His eyes shone, and his cheek was flushed with
the exhilaration of the master workman who sees his work lie ready before him.
A very different Holmes, this active, alert man, from the introspective and
pallid dreamer of Baker Street. I felt, as I looked upon that supple, figure,
alive with nervous energy, that it was indeed a strenuous day that awaited
us.
And yet it opened in the blackest disappointment.
With high hopes we struck across the peaty, russet moor, intersected with a
thousand sheep paths, until we came to the broad, light-green belt which marked
the morass between us and Holdernesse. Certainly, if the lad had gone homeward,
he must have passed this, and he could not pass it without leaving his traces.
But no sign of him or the German could be seen. With a darkening face my friend
strode along the margin, eagerly observant of every muddy stain upon the mossy
surface. Sheep-marks there were in profusion, and at one place, some miles
down, cows had left their tracks. Nothing more.
"Check number one," said Holmes, looking gloomily
over the rolling expanse of the moor. "There is another morass down yonder,
and a narrow neck between. Halloa! halloa! halloa! what have we here?"
We had come on a small black ribbon of pathway.
In the middle of it, clearly marked on the sodden soil, was the track of a
bicycle.
"Hurrah!" I cried. "We have it."
But Holmes was shaking his head, and his face
was puzzled and expectant rather than joyous.
"A bicycle, certainly, but not THE bicycle,"
said he. "I am familiar with forty-two different impressions left by tires.
This, as you perceive, is a Dunlop, with a patch upon the outer cover. Heidegger's
tires were Palmer's, leaving longitudinal stripes. Aveling, the mathematical
master, was sure upon the point. Therefore, it is not Heidegger's track."
"The boy's, then?"
"Possibly, if we could prove a bicycle to have
been in his possession. But this we have utterly failed to do. This track,
as you perceive, was made by a rider who was going from the direction of the
school."
"Or towards it?"
"No, no, my dear Watson. The more deeply sunk
impression is, of course, the hind wheel, upon which the weight rests. You
perceive several places where it has passed across and obliterated the more
shallow mark of the front one. It was undoubtedly heading away from the school.
It may or may not be connected with our inquiry, but we will follow it backwards
before we go any farther."
We did so, and at the end of a few hundred yards
lost the tracks as we emerged from the boggy portion of the moor. Following
the path backwards, we picked out another spot, where a spring trickled across
it. Here, once again, was the mark of the bicycle, though nearly obliterated
by the hoofs of cows. After that there was no sign, but the path ran right
on into Ragged Shaw, the wood which backed on to the school. From this wood
the cycle must have emerged. Holmes sat down on a boulder and rested his chin
in his hands. I had smoked two cigarettes before he moved.
"Well, well," said he, at last. "It is, of course,
possible that a cunning man might change the tires of his bicycle in order
to leave unfamiliar tracks. A criminal who was capable of such a thought is
a man whom I should be proud to do business with. We will leave this question
undecided and hark back to our morass again, for we have left a good deal unexplored."
We continued our systematic survey of the edge
of the sodden portion of the moor, and soon our perseverance was gloriously
rewarded. Right across the lower part of the bog lay a miry path. Holmes gave
a cry of delight as he approached it. An impression like a fine bundle of telegraph
wires ran down the center of it. It was the Palmer tires.
"Here is Herr Heidegger, sure enough!" cried
Holmes, exultantly. "My reasoning seems to have been pretty sound, Watson."
"I congratulate you."
"But we have a long way still to go. Kindly
walk clear of the path. Now let us follow the trail. I fear that it will not
lead very far."
We found, however, as we advanced that this
portion of the moor is intersected with soft patches, and, though we frequently
lost sight of the track, we always succeeded in picking it up once more.
"Do you observe," said Holmes, "that the rider
is now undoubtedly forcing the pace? There can be no doubt of it. Look at this
impression, where you get both tires clear. The one is as deep as the other.
That can only mean that the rider is throwing his weight on to the handlebar,
as a man does when he is sprinting. By Jove! he has had a fall."
There was a broad, irregular smudge covering
some yards of the track. Then there were a few footmarks, and the tire reappeared
once more.
"A sideslip," I suggested.
Holmes held up a crumpled branch of flowering
gorse. To my horror I perceived that the yellow blossoms were all dabbled with
crimson. On the path, too, and among the heather were dark stains of clotted
blood.
"Bad!" said Holmes. "Bad! Stand clear, Watson!
Not an unnecessary footstep! What do I read here? He fell wounded—he stood
up—he remounted—he proceeded. But there is no other track. Cattle
on this side path. He was surely not gored by a bull? Impossible! But I see
no traces of anyone else. We must push on, Watson. Surely, with stains as well
as the track to guide us, he cannot escape us now."
Our search was not a very long one. The tracks
of the tire began to curve fantastically upon the wet and shining path. Suddenly,
as I looked ahead, the gleam of metal caught my eye from amid the thick gorse-bushes.
Out of them we dragged a bicycle, Palmer-tired, one pedal bent, and the whole
front of it horribly smeared and slobbered with blood. On the other side of
the bushes a shoe was projecting. We ran round, and there lay the unfortunate
rider. He was a tall man, full-bearded, with spectacles, one glass of which
had been knocked out. The cause of his death was a frightful blow upon the
head, which had crushed in part of his skull. That he could have gone on after
receiving such an injury said much for the vitality and courage of the man.
He wore shoes, but no socks, and his open coat disclosed a nightshirt beneath
it. It was undoubtedly the German master.
Holmes turned the body over reverently, and
examined it with great attention. He then sat in deep thought for a time, and
I could see by his ruffled brow that this grim discovery had not, in his opinion,
advanced us much in our inquiry.
"It is a little difficult to know what to do,
Watson," said he, at last. "My own inclinations are to push this inquiry on,
for we have already lost so much time that we cannot afford to waste another
hour. On the other hand, we are bound to inform the police of the discovery,
and to see that this poor fellow's body is looked after."
"I could take a note back."
"But I need your company and assistance. Wait
a bit! There is a fellow cutting peat up yonder. Bring him over here, and he
will guide the police."
I brought the peasant across, and Holmes dispatched
the frightened man with a note to Dr. Huxtable.
"Now, Watson," said he, "we have picked up two
clues this morning. One is the bicycle with the Palmer tire, and we see what
that has led to. The other is the bicycle with the patched Dunlop. Before we
start to investigate that, let us try to realize what we do know, so as to
make the most of it, and to separate the essential from the accidental."
"First of all, I wish to impress upon you that
the boy certainly left of his own freewill. He got down from his window and
he went off, either alone or with someone. That is sure."
I assented.
"Well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate
German master. The boy was fully dressed when he fled. Therefore, he foresaw
what he would do. But the German went without his socks. He certainly acted
on very short notice."
"Undoubtedly."
"Why did he go? Because, from his bedroom window,
he saw the flight of the boy, because he wished to overtake him and bring him
back. He seized his bicycle, pursued the lad, and in pursuing him met his death."
"So it would seem."
"Now I come to the critical part of my argument.
The natural action of a man in pursuing a little boy would be to run after
him. He would know that he could overtake him. But the German does not do so.
He turns to his bicycle. I am told that he was an excellent cyclist. He would
not do this, if he did not see that the boy had some swift means of escape."
"The other bicycle."
"Let us continue our reconstruction. He meets
his death five miles from the school—not by a bullet, mark you, which
even a lad might conceivably discharge, but by a savage blow dealt by a vigorous
arm. The lad, then, HAD a companion in his flight. And the flight was a swift
one, since it took five miles before an expert cyclist could overtake them.
Yet we survey the ground round the scene of the tragedy. What do we find? A
few cattle-tracks, nothing more. I took a wide sweep round, and there is no
path within fifty yards. Another cyclist could have had nothing to do with
the actual murder, nor were there any human footmarks."
"Holmes," I cried, "this is impossible."
"Admirable!" he said. "A most illuminating remark.
It IS impossible as I state it, and therefore I must in some respect have stated
it wrong. Yet you saw for yourself. Can you suggest any fallacy?"
"He could not have fractured his skull in a
fall?"
"In a morass, Watson?"
"I am at my wit's end."
"Tut, tut, we have solved some worse problems.
At least we have plenty of material, if we can only use it. Come, then, and,
having exhausted the Palmer, let us see what the Dunlop with the patched cover
has to offer us."
We picked up the track and followed it onward
for some distance, but soon the moor rose into a long, heather-tufted curve,
and we left the watercourse behind us. No further help from tracks could be
hoped for. At the spot where we saw the last of the Dunlop tire it might equally
have led to Holdernesse Hall, the stately towers of which rose some miles to
our left, or to a low, gray village which lay in front of us and marked the
position of the Chesterfield high road.
As we approached the forbidding and squalid
inn, with the sign of a gamecock above the door, Holmes gave a sudden groan,
and clutched me by the shoulder to save himself from falling. He had had one
of those violent strains of the ankle which leave a man helpless. With difficulty
he limped up to the door, where a squat, dark, elderly man was smoking a black
clay pipe.
"How are you, Mr. Reuben Hayes?" said Holmes.
"Who are you, and how do you get my name so
pat?" the countryman answered, with a suspicious flash of a pair of cunning
eyes.
"Well, it's printed on the board above your
head. It's easy to see a man who is master of his own house. I suppose you
haven't such a thing as a carriage in your stables?"
"No, I have not."
"I can hardly put my foot to the ground."
"Don't put it to the ground."
"But I can't walk."
"Well, then hop."
Mr. Reuben Hayes's manner was far from gracious,
but Holmes took it with admirable good humor
"Look here, my man," said he. "This is really
rather an awkward fix for me. I don't mind how I get on."
"Neither do I," said the morose landlord.
"The matter is very important. I would offer
you a sovereign for the use of a bicycle."
The landlord pricked up his ears.
"Where do you want to go?"
"To Holdernesse Hall."
"Pals of the Dook, I suppose?" said the landlord,
surveying our mud-stained garments with ironical eyes.
Holmes laughed good-naturedly.
"He'll be glad to see us, anyhow."
"Why?"
"Because we bring him news of his lost son."
The landlord gave a very visible start.
"What, you're on his track?"
"He has been heard of in Liverpool. They expect
to get him every hour."
Again a swift change passed over the heavy,
unshaven face. His manner was suddenly genial.
"I've less reason to wish the Dook well than
most men," said he, "for I was head coachman once, and cruel bad he treated
me. It was him that sacked me without a character on the word of a lying corn-chandler.
But I'm glad to hear that the young lord was heard of in Liverpool, and I'll
help you to take the news to the Hall."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "Well have some food
first. Then you can bring round the bicycle."
"I haven't got a bicycle."
Holmes held up a sovereign.
"I tell you, man, that I haven't got one. I'll
let you have two horses as far as the Hall."
"Well, well," said Holmes, "well talk about
it when we've had something to eat."
When we were left alone in the stone-flagged
kitchen, it was astonishing how rapidly that sprained ankle recovered. It was
nearly nightfall, and we had eaten nothing since early morning, so that we
spent some time over our meal. Holmes was lost in thought, and once or twice
he walked over to the window and stared earnestly out. It opened on to a squalid
courtyard. In the far corner was a smithy, where a grimy lad was at work. On
the other side were the stables. Holmes had sat down again after one of these
excursions, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with a loud exclamation.
"By heaven, Watson, I believe that I've got
it!" he cried. "Yes, yes, it must be so. Watson, do you remember seeing any
cow-tracks today?"
"Yes, several."
"Were?"
"Well, everywhere. They were at the morass,
and again on the path, and again near where poor Heidegger met his death."
"Exactly. Well, now, Watson, how many cows did
you see on the moor?"
"I don't remember seeing any."
"Strange, Watson, that we should see tracks
all along our line, but never a cow on the whole moor. Very strange, Watson,
eh?"
"Yes, it is strange."
"Now, Watson, make an effort, throw your mind
back. Can you see those tracks upon the path?"
"Yes, I can."
"Can you recall that the tracks were sometimes
like that, Watson"—he arranged a number of bread-crumbs in this fashion—
: : : : :—"and sometimes like this"—: . : . : . : .—"and occasionally
like this"—. : . : . : . "Can you remember that?"
"No, I cannot."
"But I can. I could swear to it. However, we
will go back at our leisure and verify it. What a blind beetle I have been,
not to draw my conclusion."
"And what is your conclusion?"
"Only that it is a remarkable cow which walks,
canters, and gallops. By George! Watson, it was no brain of a country publican
that thought out such a blind as that. The coast seems to be clear, save for
that lad in the smithy. Let us slip out and see what we can see."
There were two rough-haired, unkempt horses
in the tumble-down stable. Holmes raised the hind leg of one of them and laughed
aloud.
"Old shoes, but newly shod—old shoes, but
new nails. This case deserves to be a classic. Let us go across to the smithy."
The lad continued his work without regarding
us. I saw Holmes's eye darting to right and left among the litter of iron and
wood which was scattered about the floor. Suddenly, however, we heard a step
behind us, and there was the landlord, his heavy eyebrows drawn over his savage
eyes, his swarthy features convulsed with passion. He held a short, metal-headed
stick in his hand, and he advanced in so menacing a fashion that I was right
glad to feel the revolver in my pocket.
"You infernal spies!" the man cried. "What are
you doing there?"
"Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes," said Holmes, coolly,
"one might think that you were afraid of our finding something out."
The man mastered himself with a violent effort,
and his grim mouth loosened into a false laugh, which was more menacing than
his frown.
"You're welcome to all you can find out in my
smithy," said he. "But look here, mister, I don't care for folk poking about
my place without my leave, so the sooner you pay your score and get out of
this the better I shall be pleased."
"All right, Mr. Hayes, no harm meant," said
Holmes. "We have been having a look at your horses, but I think I'll walk,
after all. It's not far, I believe."
"Not more than two miles to the Hall gates.
That's the road to the left." He watched us with sullen eyes until we had left
his premises.
We did not go very far along the road, for Holmes
stopped the instant that the curve hid us from the landlord's view.
"We were warm, as the children say, at that
inn," said he. "I seem to grow colder every step that I take away from it.
No, no, I can't possibly leave it."
"I am convinced," said I, "that this Reuben
Hayes knows all about it. A more self-evident villain I never saw."
"Oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? There
are the horses, there is the smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this
Fighting Cock. I think we shall have another look at it in an unobtrusive way."
A long, sloping hillside, dotted with gray limestone
boulders, stretched behind us. We had turned off the road, and were making
our way up the hill, when, looking in the direction of Holdernesse Hall, I
saw a cyclist coming swiftly along.
"Get down, Watson!" cried Holmes, with a heavy
hand upon my shoulder. We had hardly sunk from view when the man flew past
us on the road. Amid a rolling cloud of dust, I caught a glimpse of a pale,
agitated face—a face with horror in every lineament, the mouth open, the
eyes staring wildly in front. It was like some strange caricature of the dapper
James Wilder whom we had seen the night before.
"The Duke's secretary!" cried Holmes. "Come,
Watson, let us see what he does."
We scrambled from rock to rock, until in a few
moments we had made our way to a point from which we could see the front door
of the inn. Wilder's bicycle was leaning against the wall beside it. No one
was moving about the house, nor could we catch a glimpse of any faces at the
windows. Slowly the twilight crept down as the sun sank behind the high towers
of Holdernesse Hall. Then, in the gloom, we saw the two side-lamps of a trap
light up in the stable-yard of the inn, and shortly afterwards heard the rattle
of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the road and tore off at a furious pace in
the direction of Chesterfield.
"What do you make of that, Watson?" Holmes whispered.
"It looks like a flight."
"A single man in a dogcart, so far as I could
see. Well, it certainly was not Mr. James Wilder, for there he is at the door."
A red square of light had sprung out of the
darkness. In the middle of it was the black figure of the secretary, his head
advanced, peering out into the night. It was evident that he was expecting
someone. Then at last there were steps in the road, a second figure was visible
for an instant against the light, the door shut, and all was black once more.
Five minutes later a lamp was lit in a room upon the first floor.
"It seems to be a curious class of custom that
is done by the Fighting Cock," said Holmes.
"The bar is on the other side."
"Quite so. These are what one may call the private
guests. Now, what in the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at this
hour of night, and who is the companion who comes to meet him there? Come,
Watson, we must really take a risk and try to investigate this a little more
closely."
Together we stole down to the road and crept
across to the door of the inn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes
struck a match and held it to the back wheel, and I heard him chuckle as the
light fell upon a patched Dunlop tire. Up above us was the lighted window.
"I must have a peep through that, Watson. If
you bend your back and support yourself upon the wall, I think that I can manage."
An instant later, his feet were on my shoulders,
but he was hardly up before he was down again.
"Come, my friend," said he, "our day's work
has been quite long enough. I think that we have gathered all that we can.
It's a long walk to the school, and the sooner we get started the better."
He hardly opened his lips during that weary
trudge across the moor, nor would he enter the school when he reached it, but
went on to Mackleton Station, whence he could send some telegrams. Late at
night I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated by the tragedy of his
master's death, and later still he entered my room as alert and vigorous as
he had been when he started in the morning. "All goes well, my friend," said
he. "I promise that before tomorrow evening we shall have reached the solution
of the mystery."
At eleven o'clock next morning my friend and
I were walking up the famous yew avenue of Holdernesse Hall. We were ushered
through the magnificent Elizabethan doorway and into his Grace's study. There
we found Mr. James Wilder, demure and courtly, but with some trace of that
wild terror of the night before still lurking in his furtive eyes and in his
twitching features.
"You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry,
but the fact is that the Duke is far from well. He has been very much upset
by the tragic news. We received a telegram from Dr. Huxtable yesterday afternoon,
which told us of your discovery."
"I must see the Duke, Mr. Wilder."
"But he is in his room."
"Then I must go to his room."
"I believe he is in his bed."
"I will see him there."
Holmes's cold and inexorable manner showed the
secretary that it was useless to argue with him.
"Very good, Mr. Holmes, I will tell him that
you are here."
After an hour's delay, the great nobleman appeared.
His face was more cadaverous than ever, his shoulders had rounded, and he seemed
to me to be an altogether older man than he had been the morning before. He
greeted us with a stately courtesy and seated himself at his desk, his red
beard streaming down on the table.
"Well, Mr. Holmes?" said he.
But my friend's eyes were fixed upon the secretary,
who stood by his master's chair.
"I think, your Grace, that I could speak more
freely in Mr. Wilder's absence."
The man turned a shade paler and cast a malignant
glance at Holmes.
"If your Grace wishes——"
"Yes, yes, you had better go. Now, Mr. Holmes,
what have you to say?"
My friend waited until the door had closed behind
the retreating secretary.
"The fact is, your Grace," said he, "that my
colleague, Dr. Watson, and myself had an assurance from Dr. Huxtable that a
reward had been offered in this case. I should like to have this confirmed
from your own lips."
"Certainly, Mr. Holmes."
"It amounted, if I am correctly informed, to
five thousand pounds to anyone who will tell you where your son is?"
"Exactly."
"And another thousand to the man who will name
the person or persons who keep him in custody?"
"Exactly."
"Under the latter heading is included, no doubt,
not only those who may have taken him away, but also those who conspire to
keep him in his present position?"
"Yes, yes," cried the Duke, impatiently. "If
you do your work well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you will have no reason to complain
of niggardly treatment."
My friend rubbed his thin hands together with
an appearance of avidity which was a surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes.
"I fancy that I see your Grace's checkbook upon
the table," said he. "I should be glad if you would make me out a check for
six thousand pounds. It would be as well, perhaps, for you to cross it. The
Capital and Counties Bank, Oxford Street branch are my agents."
His Grace sat very stern and upright in his
chair and looked stonily at my friend.
"Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly a
subject for pleasantry."
"Not at all, your Grace. I was never more earnest
in my life."
"What do you mean, then?"
"I mean that I have earned the reward. I know
where your son is, and I know some, at least, of those who are holding him."
The Duke's beard had turned more aggressively
red than ever against his ghastly white face.
"Where is he?" he gasped.
"He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock
Inn, about two miles from your park gate."
The Duke fell back in his chair.
"And whom do you accuse?"
Sherlock Holmes's answer was an astounding one.
He stepped swiftly forward and touched the Duke upon the shoulder.
"I accuse YOU," said he. "And now, your Grace,
I'll trouble you for that check."
Never shall I forget the Duke's appearance as
he sprang up and clawed with his hands, like one who is sinking into an abyss.
Then, with an extraordinary effort of aristocratic self-command, he sat down
and sank his face in his hands. It was some minutes before he spoke.
"How much do you know?" he asked at last, without
raising his head.
"I saw you together last night."
"Does anyone else beside your friend know?"
"I have spoken to no one."
The Duke took a pen in his quivering fingers
and opened his checkbook
"I shall be as good as my word, Mr. Holmes.
I am about to write your check, however unwelcome the information which you
have gained may be to me. When the offer was first made, I little thought the
turn which events might take. But you and your friend are men of discretion,
Mr. Holmes?"
"I hardly understand your Grace."
"I must put it plainly, Mr. Holmes. If only
you two know of this incident, there is no reason why it should go any farther.
I think twelve thousand pounds is the sum that I owe you, is it not?"
But Holmes smiled and shook his head.
"I fear, your Grace, that matters can hardly
be arranged so easily. There is the death of this schoolmaster to be accounted
for."
"But James knew nothing of that. You cannot
hold him responsible for that. It was the work of this brutal ruffian whom
he had the misfortune to employ."
"I must take the view, your Grace, that when
a man embarks upon a crime, he is morally guilty of any other crime which may
spring from it."
"Morally, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right.
But surely not in the eyes of the law. A man cannot be condemned for a murder
at which he was not present, and which he loathes and abhors as much as you
do. The instant that he heard of it he made a complete confession to me, so
filled was he with horror and remorse. He lost not an hour in breaking entirely
with the murderer. Oh, Mr. Holmes, you must save him—you must save him!
I tell you that you must save him!" The Duke had dropped the last attempt at
self-command, and was pacing the room with a convulsed face and with his clenched
hands raving in the air. At last he mastered himself and sat down once more
at his desk. "I appreciate your conduct in coming here before you spoke to
anyone else," said he. "At least, we may take counsel how far we can minimize
this hideous scandal."
"Exactly," said Holmes. "I think, your Grace,
that this can only be done by absolute frankness between us. I am disposed
to help your Grace to the best of my ability, but, in order to do so, I must
understand to the last detail how the matter stands. I realize that your words
applied to Mr. James Wilder, and that he is not the murderer."
"No, the murderer has escaped."
Sherlock Holmes smiled demurely.
"Your Grace can hardly have heard of any small
reputation which I possess, or you would not imagine that it is so easy to
escape me. Mr. Reuben Hayes was arrested at Chesterfield, on my information,
at eleven o'clock last night. I had a telegram from the head of the local police
before I left the school this morning."
The Duke leaned back in his chair and stared
with amazement at my friend.
"You seem to have powers that are hardly human,"
said he. "So Reuben Hayes is taken? I am right glad to hear it, if it will
not react upon the fate of James."
"Your secretary?"
"No, sir, my son."
It was Holmes's turn to look astonished.
"I confess that this is entirely new to me,
your Grace. I must beg you to be more explicit."
"I will conceal nothing from you. I agree with
you that complete frankness, however painful it may be to me, is the best policy
in this desperate situation to which James's folly and jealousy have reduced
us. When I was a very young man, Mr. Holmes, I loved with such a love as comes
only once in a lifetime. I offered the lady marriage, but she refused it on
the grounds that such a match might mar my career. Had she lived, I would certainly
never have married anyone else. She died, and left this one child, whom for
her sake I have cherished and cared for. I could not acknowledge the paternity
to the world, but I gave him the best of educations, and since he came to manhood
I have kept him near my person. He surprised my secret, and has presumed ever
since upon the claim which he has upon me, and upon his power of provoking
a scandal which would be abhorrent to me. His presence had something to do
with the unhappy issue of my marriage. Above all, he hated my young legitimate
heir from the first with a persistent hatred. You may well ask me why, under
these circumstances, I still kept James under my roof. I answer that it was
because I could see his mother's face in his, and that for her dear sake there
was no end to my long-suffering. All her pretty ways too—there was not
one of them which he could not suggest and bring back to my memory. I COULD
not send him away. But I feared so much lest he should do Arthur—that
is, Lord Saltire—a mischief, that I dispatched him for safety to Dr. Huxtable's
school.
"James came into contact with this fellow Hayes,
because the man was a tenant of mine, and James acted as agent. The fellow
was a rascal from the beginning, but, in some extraordinary way, James became
intimate with him. He had always a taste for low company. When James determined
to kidnap Lord Saltire, it was of this man's service that he availed himself.
You remember that I wrote to Arthur upon that last day. Well, James opened
the letter and inserted a note asking Arthur to meet him in a little wood called
the Ragged Shaw, which is near to the school. He used the Duchess's name, and
in that way got the boy to come. That evening James bicycled over—I am
telling you what he has himself confessed to me—and he told Arthur, whom
he met in the wood, that his mother longed to see him, that she was awaiting
him on the moor, and that if he would come back into the wood at midnight he
would find a man with a horse, who would take him to her. Poor Arthur fell
into the trap. He came to the appointment, and found this fellow Hayes with
a led pony. Arthur mounted, and they set off together. It appears—though
this James only heard yesterday—that they were pursued, that Hayes struck
the pursuer with his stick, and that the man died of his injuries. Hayes brought
Arthur to his public-house, the Fighting Cock, where he was confined in an
upper room, under the care of Mrs. Hayes, who is a kindly woman, but entirely
under the control of her brutal husband.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, that was the state of affairs
when I first saw you two days ago. I had no more idea of the truth than you.
You will ask me what was James's motive in doing such a deed. I answer that
there was a great deal which was unreasoning and fanatical in the hatred which
he bore my heir. In his view he should himself have been heir of all my estates,
and he deeply resented those social laws which made it impossible. At the same
time, he had a definite motive also. He was eager that I should break the entail,
and he was of opinion that it lay in my power to do so. He intended to make
a bargain with me—to restore Arthur if I would break the entail, and so
make it possible for the estate to be left to him by will. He knew well that
I should never willingly invoke the aid of the police against him. I say that
he would have proposed such a bargain to me, but he did not actually do so,
for events moved too quickly for him, and he had not time to put his plans
into practice.
"What brought all his wicked scheme to wreck
was your discovery of this man Heidegger's dead body. James was seized with
horror at the news. It came to us yesterday, as we sat together in this study.
Dr. Huxtable had sent a telegram. James was so overwhelmed with grief and agitation
that my suspicions, which had never been entirely absent, rose instantly to
a certainty, and I taxed him with the deed. He made a complete voluntary confession.
Then he implored me to keep his secret for three days longer, so as to give
his wretched accomplice a chance of saving his guilty life. I yielded—as
I have always yielded—to his prayers, and instantly James hurried off
to the Fighting Cock to warn Hayes and give him the means of flight. I could
not go there by daylight without provoking comment, but as soon as night fell
I hurried off to see my dear Arthur. I found him safe and well, but horrified
beyond expression by the dreadful deed he had witnessed. In deference to my
promise, and much against my will, I consented to leave him there for three
days, under the charge of Mrs. Hayes, since it was evident that it was impossible
to inform the police where he was without telling them also who was the murderer,
and I could not see how that murderer could be punished without ruin to my
unfortunate James. You asked for frankness, Mr. Holmes, and I have taken you
at your word, for I have now told you everything without an attempt at circumlocution
or concealment. Do you in turn be as frank with me."
"I will," said Holmes. "In the first place,
your Grace, I am bound to tell you that you have placed yourself in a most
serious position in the eyes of the law. You have condoned a felony, and you
have aided the escape of a murderer, for I cannot doubt that any money which
was taken by James Wilder to aid his accomplice in his flight came from your
Grace's purse."
The Duke bowed his assent.
"This is, indeed, a most serious matter. Even
more culpable in my opinion, your Grace, is your attitude towards your younger
son. You leave him in this den for three days."
"Under solemn promises——"
"What are promises to such people as these?
You have no guarantee that he will not be spirited away again. To humor your
guilty elder son, you have exposed your innocent younger son to imminent and
unnecessary danger. It was a most unjustifiable action."
The proud lord of Holdernesse was not accustomed
to be so rated in his own ducal hall. The blood flushed into his high forehead,
but his conscience held him dumb.
"I will help you, but on one condition only.
It is that you ring for the footman and let me give such orders as I like."
Without a word, the Duke pressed the electric
bell. A servant entered.
"You will be glad to hear," said Holmes, "that
your young master is found. It is the Duke's desire that the carriage shall
go at once to the Fighting Cock Inn to bring Lord Saltire home.
"Now," said Holmes, when the rejoicing lackey
had disappeared, "having secured the future, we can afford to be more lenient
with the past. I am not in an official position, and there is no reason, so
long as the ends of justice are served, why I should disclose all that I know.
As to Hayes, I say nothing. The gallows awaits him, and I would do nothing
to save him from it. What he will divulge I cannot tell, but I have no doubt
that your Grace could make him understand that it is to his interest to be
silent. From the police point of view he will have kidnapped the boy for the
purpose of ransom. If they do not themselves find it out, I see no reason why
I should prompt them to take a broader point of view. I would warn your Grace,
however, that the continued presence of Mr. James Wilder in your household
can only lead to misfortune."
"I understand that, Mr. Holmes, and it is already
settled that he shall leave me forever, and go to seek his fortune in Australia."
"In that case, your Grace, since you have yourself
stated that any unhappiness in your married life was caused by his presence
I would suggest that you make such amends as you can to the Duchess, and that
you try to resume those relations which have been so unhappily interrupted."
"That also I have arranged, Mr. Holmes. I wrote
to the Duchess this morning."
"In that case," said Holmes, rising, "I think
that my friend and I can congratulate ourselves upon several most happy results
from our little visit to the North. There is one other small point upon which
I desire some light. This fellow Hayes had shod his horses with shoes which
counterfeited the tracks of cows. Was it from Mr. Wilder that he learned so
extraordinary a device?"
The Duke stood in thought for a moment, with
a look of intense surprise on his face. Then he opened a door and showed us
into a large room furnished as a museum. He led the way to a glass case in
a corner, and pointed to the inscription.
"These shoes," it ran, "were dug up in the moat
of Holdernesse Hall. They are for the use of horses, but they are shaped below
with a cloven foot of iron, so as to throw pursuers off the track. They are
supposed to have belonged to some of the marauding Barons of Holdernesse in
the Middle Ages."
Holmes opened the case, and moistening his finger
he passed it along the shoe. A thin film of recent mud was left upon his skin.
"Thank you," said he, as he replaced the glass.
"It is the second most interesting object that I have seen in the North."
"And the first?"
Holmes folded up his check and placed it carefully
in his notebook. "I am a poor man," said he, as he patted it affectionately,
and thrust it into the depths of his inner pocket.