where we hired a trap at the station inn, and drove for four or five
miles through the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a perfect day, with
a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the heavens. The trees and
way-side hedges were just throwing out their first green shoots, and
the air was full of the pleasant smell of the moist earth. To me at
least there was a strange contrast between the sweet promise of the
spring and this sinister quest upon which we were engaged. My companion
sat in the front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over
his eyes, and his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the deepest
thought. Suddenly, however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder, and
pointed over the meadows.
“Look there!” said he.
A heavily-timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope, thickening into
a grove at the highest point. From amid the branches there jutted out
the gray gables and high roof-tree of a very old mansion.
“Stoke Moran?” said he.
“Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott,” remarked the
driver.
“There is some building going on there,” said Holmes; “that is where we
are going.”
“There’s the village,” said the driver, pointing to a cluster of roofs
some distance to the left; “but if you want to get to the house, you’ll
find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by the foot-path over
the fields. There it is, where the lady is walking.”
“And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner,” observed Holmes, shading his
eyes. “Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest.”
We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way to
Leatherhead.
“I thought it as well,” said Holmes, as we climbed the stile, “that
this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or on some
definite business. It may stop his gossip. Good-afternoon, Miss Stoner.
You see that we have been as good as our word.”
Our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a face
which spoke her joy. “I have been waiting so eagerly for you,” she
cried, shaking hands with us warmly. “All has turned out splendidly.
Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely that he will be back
before evening.”
“We have had the pleasure of making the doctor’s acquaintance,” said
Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had occurred. Miss
Stoner turned white to the lips as she listened.
“Good heavens!” she cried, “he has followed me, then.”
“So it appears.”
“He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him. What will
he say when he returns?”
“He must guard himself, for he may find that there is some one more
cunning than himself upon his track. You must lock yourself up from him
to-night. If he is violent, we shall take you away to your aunt’s at
Harrow. Now, we must make the best use of our time, so kindly take us
at once to the rooms which we are to examine.”
The building was of gray, lichen-blotched stone, with a high central
portion, and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown out
on each side. In one of these wings the windows were broken, and
blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partly caved in, a
picture of ruin. The central portion was in little better repair, but
the right-hand block was comparatively modern, and the blinds in the
windows, with the blue smoke curling up from the chimneys, showed that
this was where the family resided. Some scaffolding had been erected
against the end wall, and the stone-work had been broken into, but
there were no signs of any workmen at the moment of our visit. Holmes
walked slowly up and down the ill-trimmed lawn, and examined with deep
attention the outsides of the windows.
“This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep, the
centre one to your sister’s, and the one next to the main building to
Dr. Roylott’s chamber?”
“Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one.”
“Pending the alterations, as I understand. By-the-way, there does not
seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end wall.”
“There were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move me from my
room.”
“Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrow wing
runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. There are windows
in it, of course?”
“Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for any one to pass through.”
“As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were unapproachable
from that side. Now, would you have the kindness to go into your room
and bar your shutters.”
Miss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination through
the open window, endeavored in every way to force the shutter open,
but without success. There was no slit through which a knife could be
passed to raise the bar. Then with his lens he tested the hinges, but
they were of solid iron, built firmly into the massive masonry. “Hum!”
said he, scratching his chin in some perplexity; “my theory certainly
presents some difficulties. No one could pass these shutters if they
were bolted. Well, we shall see if the inside throws any light upon the
matter.”
A small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which the
three bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine the third chamber,
so we passed at once to the second, that in which Miss Stoner was now
sleeping, and in which her sister had met with her fate. It was a
homely little room, with a low ceiling and a gaping fireplace, after
the fashion of old country-houses. A brown chest of drawers stood
in one corner, a narrow white-counterpaned bed in another, and a
dressing-table on the left-hand side of the window. These articles,
with two small wicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the
room, save for a square of Wilton carpet in the centre. The boards
round and the panelling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so
old and discolored that it may have dated from the original building of
the house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat silent,
while his eyes travelled round and round and up and down, taking in
every detail of the apartment.
“Where does that bell communicate with?” he asked, at last, pointing to
a thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the tassel actually
lying upon the pillow.
“It goes to the house-keeper’s room.”
“It looks newer than the other things?”
“Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago.”
“Your sister asked for it, I suppose?”
“No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get what we
wanted for ourselves.”
“Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there. You
will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy myself as to this
floor.” He threw himself down upon his face with his lens in his hand,
and crawled swiftly backward and forward, examining minutely the cracks
between the boards. Then he did the same with the wood-work with which
the chamber was panelled. Finally he walked over to the bed, and spent
some time in staring at it, and in running his eye up and down the
wall. Finally he took the bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug.
“Why, it’s a dummy,” said he.
“Won’t it ring?”
“No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting. You
can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little
opening for the ventilator is.”
“How very absurd! I never noticed that before.”
“Very strange!” muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. “There are one or
two very singular points about this room. For example, what a fool a
builder must be to open a ventilator into another room, when, with the
same trouble, he might have communicated with the outside air!”
“That is also quite modern,” said the lady.
“Done about the same time as the bell-rope?” remarked Holmes.
“Yes, there were several little changes carried out about that time.”
“They seem to have been of a most interesting character—dummy
bell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. With your
permission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches into the
inner apartment.”
Dr. Grimesby Roylott’s chamber was larger than that of his
step-daughter, but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small wooden
shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, an arm-chair
beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, a round table,
and a large iron safe were the principal things which met the eye.
Holmes walked slowly round and examined each and all of them with the
keenest interest.
“What’s in here?” he asked, tapping the safe.
“My step-father’s business papers.”
“Oh! you have seen inside, then?”
“Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of papers.”
“There isn’t a cat in it, for example?”
“No. What a strange idea!”
“Well, look at this!” He took up a small saucer of milk which stood on
the top of it.
“No; we don’t keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a baboon.”
“Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a
saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I dare
say. There is one point which I should wish to determine.” He squatted
down in front of the wooden chair, and examined the seat of it with the
greatest attention.
“Thank you. That is quite settled,” said he, rising and putting his
lens in his pocket. “Hello! Here is something interesting!”
The object which had caught his eye was a small dog-lash hung on one
corner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself, and tied
so as to make a loop of whip-cord.
“What do you make of that, Watson?”
“It’s a common enough lash. But I don’t know why it should be tied.”
“That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it’s a wicked world,
and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of
all. I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, and with your
permission we shall walk out upon the lawn.”
I had never seen my friend’s face so grim or his brow so dark as it
was when we turned from the scene of this investigation. We had walked
several times up and down the lawn, neither Miss Stoner nor myself
liking to break in upon his thoughts before he roused himself from his
reverie.
“It is very essential, Miss Stoner,” said he, “that you should
absolutely follow my advice in every respect.”
“I shall most certainly do so.”
“The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may depend
upon your compliance.”
“I assure you that I am in your hands.”
“In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night in your
room.”
Both Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment.
“Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is the village
inn over there?”
“Yes, that is the ‘Crown.’”
“Very good. Your windows would be visible from there?”
“Certainly.”
“You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a headache,
when your step-father comes back. Then when you hear him retire for
the night, you must open the shutters of your window, undo the hasp,
put your lamp there as a signal to us, and then withdraw quietly with
everything which you are likely to want into the room which you used to
occupy. I have no doubt that, in spite of the repairs, you could manage
there for one night.”
“Oh yes, easily.”
“The rest you will leave in our hands.”
“But what will you do?”
“We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate the
cause of this noise which has disturbed you.”
“I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up your mind,” said
Miss Stoner, laying her hand upon my companion’s sleeve.
“Perhaps I have.”
“Then for pity’s sake tell me what was the cause of my sister’s death.”
“I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak.”
“You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and if she
died from some sudden fright.”
[Illustration: “‘GOOD-BYE, AND BE BRAVE’”]
“No, I do not think so. I think that there was probably some more
tangible cause. And now, Miss Stoner, we must leave you, for if Dr.
Roylott returned and saw us, our journey would be in vain. Good-bye,
and be brave, for if you will do what I have told you, you may rest
assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers that threaten you.”
Sherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom and
sitting-room at the “Crown Inn.” They were on the upper floor, and
from our window we could command a view of the avenue gate, and of the
inhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor House. At dusk we saw Dr. Grimesby
Roylott drive past, his huge form looming up beside the little figure
of the lad who drove him. The boy had some slight difficulty in undoing
the heavy iron gates, and we heard the hoarse roar of the doctor’s
voice, and saw the fury with which he shook his clinched fists at him.
The trap drove on, and a few minutes later we saw a sudden light spring
up among the trees as the lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms.
“Do you know, Watson,” said Holmes, as we sat together in the gathering
darkness, “I have really some scruples as to taking you to-night. There
is a distinct element of danger.”
“Can I be of assistance?”
“Your presence might be invaluable.”
“Then I shall certainly come.”
“It is very kind of you.”
“You speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in these rooms than
was visible to me.”
“No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I imagine that
you saw all that I did.”
“I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose that
could answer I confess is more than I can imagine.”
“You saw the ventilator, too?”
“Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to have
a small opening between two rooms. It was so small that a rat could
hardly pass through.”
“I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to Stoke
Moran.”
“My dear Holmes!”
“Oh yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that her sister
could smell Dr. Roylott’s cigar. Now, of course that suggested at once
that there must be a communication between the two rooms. It could only
be a small one, or it would have been remarked upon at the coroner’s
inquiry. I deduced a ventilator.”
“But what harm can there be in that?”
“Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. A ventilator
is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed dies. Does
not that strike you?”
“I cannot as yet see any connection.”
“Did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?”
“No.”
“It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see a bed fastened like that
before?”
“I cannot say that I have.”
“The lady could not move her bed. It must always be in the same
relative position to the ventilator and to the rope—for so we may call
it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull.”
“Holmes,” I cried, “I seem to see dimly what you are hinting at. We are
only just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible crime.”
“Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go wrong, he is
the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge. Palmer and
Pritchard were among the heads of their profession. This man strikes
even deeper, but I think, Watson, that we shall be able to strike
deeper still. But we shall have horrors enough before the night is
over; for goodness’ sake let us have a quiet pipe, and turn our minds
for a few hours to something more cheerful.”
* * * * *
About nine o’clock the light among the trees was extinguished, and all
was dark in the direction of the Manor House. Two hours passed slowly
away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of eleven, a single
bright light shone out right in front of us.
“That is our signal,” said Holmes, springing to his feet; “it comes
from the middle window.”
As we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord, explaining
that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance, and that it was
possible that we might spend the night there. A moment later we were
out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing in our faces, and one yellow
light twinkling in front of us through the gloom to guide us on our
sombre errand.
There was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for unrepaired
breaches gaped in the old park wall. Making our way among the trees,
we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about to enter through the
window, when out from a clump of laurel bushes there darted what seemed
to be a hideous and distorted child, who threw itself upon the grass
with writhing limbs, and then ran swiftly across the lawn into the
darkness.
“My God!” I whispered; “did you see it?”
Holmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like a vice
upon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a low laugh, and put
his lips to my ear.
“It is a nice household,” he murmured. “That is the baboon.”
I had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected. There was
a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders at any
moment. I confess that I felt easier in my mind when, after following
Holmes’s example and slipping off my shoes, I found myself inside the
bedroom. My companion noiselessly closed the shutters, moved the lamp
onto the table, and cast his eyes round the room. All was as we had
seen it in the daytime. Then creeping up to me and making a trumpet of
his hand, he whispered into my ear again so gently that it was all that
I could do to distinguish the words:
“The least sound would be fatal to our plans.”
I nodded to show that I had heard.
“We must sit without light. He would see it through the ventilator.”
I nodded again.
“Do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have your pistol
ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and
you in that chair.”
I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.
Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the bed
beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the stump of a candle.
Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left in darkness.
How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a sound,
not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my companion
sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same state of nervous
tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut off the least ray
of light, and we waited in absolute darkness. From outside came the
occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at our very window a long
drawn cat-like whine, which told us that the cheetah was indeed at
liberty. Far away we could hear the deep tones of the parish clock,
which boomed out every quarter of an hour. How long they seemed, those
quarters! Twelve struck, and one and two and three, and still we sat
waiting silently for whatever might befall.
Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the direction
of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by
a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal. Some one in the next
room had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle sound of movement, and
then all was silent once more, though the smell grew stronger. For half
an hour I sat with straining ears. Then suddenly another sound became
audible—a very gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small jet of
steam escaping continually from a kettle. The instant that we heard it,
Holmes sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with
his cane at the bell-pull.
“You see it, Watson?” he yelled. “You see it?”
But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I heard
a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary eyes
made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which my friend lashed
so savagely. I could, however, see that his face was deadly pale, and
filled with horror and loathing.
He had ceased to strike, and was gazing up at the ventilator, when
suddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most horrible
cry to which I have ever listened. It swelled up louder and louder, a
hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled in the one dreadful
shriek. They say that away down in the village, and even in the distant
parsonage, that cry raised the sleepers from their beds. It struck cold
to our hearts, and I stood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the
last echoes of it had died away into the silence from which it rose.
“What can it mean?” I gasped.
“It means that it is all over,” Holmes answered. “And perhaps, after
all, it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will enter Dr.
Roylott’s room.”
With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the corridor.
Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply from within.
Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his heels, with the cocked
pistol in my hand.
It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a
dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam
of light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar. Beside this
table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott, clad in a long
gray dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet
thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers. Across his lap lay the short
stock with the long lash which we had noticed during the day. His chin
was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare
at the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow
band, with brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round
his head. As we entered he made neither sound nor motion.
“The band! the speckled band!” whispered Holmes.
I took a step forward. In an instant his strange head-gear began
to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat
diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.
“It is a swamp adder!” cried Holmes; “the deadliest snake in India. He
has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in truth,
recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he
digs for another. Let us thrust this creature back into its den, and
we can then remove Miss Stoner to some place of shelter, and let the
county police know what has happened.”
As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man’s lap, and
throwing the noose round the reptile’s neck, he drew it from its horrid
perch, and carrying it at arm’s length, threw it into the iron safe,
which he closed upon it.
* * * * *
Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke
Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a narrative which has
already run to too great a length, by telling how we broke the sad news
to the terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the morning train to the
care of her good aunt at Harrow, of how the slow process of official
inquiry came to the conclusion that the doctor met his fate while
indiscreetly playing with a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet
to learn of the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled
back next day.
“I had,” said he, “come to an entirely erroneous conclusion, which
shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from
insufficient data. The presence of the gypsies, and the use of the
word ‘band,’ which was used by the poor girl, no doubt to explain the
appearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of by the light of
her match, were sufficient to put me upon an entirely wrong scent. I
can only claim the merit that I instantly reconsidered my position
when, however, it became clear to me that whatever danger threatened
an occupant of the room could not come either from the window or the
door. My attention was speedily drawn, as I have already remarked to
you, to this ventilator, and to the bell-rope which hung down to the
bed. The discovery that this was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped
to the floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was
there as bridge for something passing through the hole, and coming
to the bed. The idea of a snake instantly occurred to me, and when
I coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was furnished with a
supply of creatures from India, I felt that I was probably on the right
track. The idea of using a form of poison which could not possibly be
discovered by any chemical test was just such a one as would occur to a
clever and ruthless man who had had an Eastern training. The rapidity
with which such a poison would take effect would also, from his point
of view, be an advantage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who
could distinguish the two little dark punctures which would show where
the poison fangs had done their work. Then I thought of the whistle. Of
course he must recall the snake before the morning light revealed it to
the victim. He had trained it, probably by the use of the milk which
we saw, to return to him when summoned. He would put it through this
ventilator at the hour that he thought best, with the certainty that it
would crawl down the rope and land on the bed. It might or might not
bite the occupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but
sooner or later she must fall a victim.