out of my bedroom window about two o’clock in the morning. It was a
beautiful moonlight night, and the lawn in front of the house was
silvered over and almost as bright as day. I was standing, rapt in
the peaceful beauty of the scene, when I was aware that something was
moving under the shadow of the copper beeches. As it emerged into the
moonshine I saw what it was. It was a giant dog, as large as a calf,
tawny tinted, with hanging jowl, black muzzle, and huge projecting
bones. It walked slowly across the lawn and vanished into the shadow
upon the other side. That dreadful silent sentinel sent a chill to my
heart which I do not think that any burglar could have done.
“And now I have a very strange experience to tell you. I had, as you
know, cut off my hair in London, and I had placed it in a great coil
at the bottom of my trunk. One evening, after the child was in bed,
I began to amuse myself by examining the furniture of my room and by
rearranging my own little things. There was an old chest of drawers
in the room, the two upper ones empty and open, the lower one locked.
I had filled the first two with my linen, and, as I had still much
to pack away, I was naturally annoyed at not having the use of the
third drawer. It struck me that it might have been fastened by a mere
oversight, so I took out my bunch of keys and tried to open it. The
very first key fitted to perfection, and I drew the drawer open. There
was only one thing in it, but I am sure that you would never guess what
it was. It was my coil of hair.
“I took it up and examined it. It was of the same peculiar tint, and
the same thickness. But then the impossibility of the thing obtruded
itself upon me. How _could_ my hair have been locked in the drawer?
With trembling hands I undid my trunk, turned out the contents, and
drew from the bottom my own hair. I laid the two tresses together, and
I assure you that they were identical. Was it not extraordinary? Puzzle
as I would, I could make nothing at all of what it meant. I returned
the strange hair to the drawer, and I said nothing of the matter to the
Rucastles, as I felt that I had put myself in the wrong by opening a
drawer which they had locked.
“I am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, Mr. Holmes, and I
soon had a pretty good plan of the whole house in my head. There was
one wing, however, which appeared not to be inhabited at all. A door
which faced that which led into the quarters of the Tollers opened
into this suite, but it was invariably locked. One day, however, as I
ascended the stair, I met Mr. Rucastle coming out through this door,
his keys in his hand, and a look on his face which made him a very
different person to the round, jovial man to whom I was accustomed. His
cheeks were red, his brow was all crinkled with anger, and the veins
stood out at his temples with passion. He locked the door and hurried
past me without a word or a look.
“This aroused my curiosity; so when I went out for a walk in the
grounds with my charge, I strolled round to the side from which I could
see the windows of this part of the house. There were four of them in a
row, three of which were simply dirty, while the fourth was shuttered
up. They were evidently all deserted. As I strolled up and down,
glancing at them occasionally, Mr. Rucastle came out to me, looking as
merry and jovial as ever.
“‘Ah!’ said he, ‘you must not think me rude if I passed you without a
word, my dear young lady. I was preoccupied with business matters.’
“I assured him that I was not offended. ‘By-the-way,’ said I, ‘you
seem to have quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and one of them has
the shutters up.’
“He looked surprised, and, as it seemed to me, a little startled at my
remark.
“‘Photography is one of my hobbies,’ said he. ‘I have made my dark room
up there. But, dear me! what an observant young lady we have come upon.
Who would have believed it? Who would have ever believed it?’ He spoke
in a jesting tone, but there was no jest in his eyes as he looked at
me. I read suspicion there and annoyance, but no jest.
“Well, Mr. Holmes, from the moment that I understood that there was
something about that suite of rooms which I was not to know, I was all
on fire to go over them. It was not mere curiosity, though I have my
share of that. It was more a feeling of duty—a feeling that some good
might come from my penetrating to this place. They talk of woman’s
instinct; perhaps it was woman’s instinct which gave me that feeling.
At any rate, it was there, and I was keenly on the lookout for any
chance to pass the forbidden door.
“It was only yesterday that the chance came. I may tell you that,
besides Mr. Rucastle, both Toller and his wife find something to do in
these deserted rooms, and I once saw him carrying a large black linen
bag with him through the door. Recently he has been drinking hard, and
yesterday evening he was very drunk; and, when I came up-stairs, there
was the key in the door. I have no doubt at all that he had left it
there. Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle were both down-stairs, and the child was
with them, so that I had an admirable opportunity. I turned the key
gently in the lock, opened the door, and slipped through.
“There was a little passage in front of me, unpapered and uncarpeted,
which turned at a right angle at the farther end. Round this corner
were three doors in a line, the first and third of which were open.
They each led into an empty room, dusty and cheerless, with two windows
in the one and one in the other, so thick with dirt that the evening
light glimmered dimly through them. The centre door was closed, and
across the outside of it had been fastened one of the broad bars of
an iron bed, padlocked at one end to a ring in the wall, and fastened
at the other with stout cord. The door itself was locked as well, and
the key was not there. This barricaded door corresponded clearly with
the shuttered window outside, and yet I could see by the glimmer from
beneath it that the room was not in darkness. Evidently there was a
skylight which let in light from above. As I stood in the passage
gazing at the sinister door, and wondering what secret it might veil,
I suddenly heard the sound of steps within the room, and saw a shadow
pass backward and forward against the little slit of dim light which
shone out from under the door. A mad, unreasoning terror rose up in
me at the sight, Mr. Holmes. My overstrung nerves failed me suddenly,
and I turned and ran—ran as though some dreadful hand were behind me
clutching at the skirt of my dress. I rushed down the passage, through
the door, and straight into the arms of Mr. Rucastle, who was waiting
outside.
“‘So,’ said he, smiling, ‘it was you, then. I thought that it must be
when I saw the door open.’
“‘Oh, I am so frightened!’ I panted.
“‘My dear young lady! my dear young lady!’—you cannot think how
caressing and soothing his manner was—‘and what has frightened you, my
dear young lady?’
“But his voice was just a little too coaxing. He overdid it. I was
keenly on my guard against him.
“‘I was foolish enough to go into the empty wing,’ I answered. ‘But it
is so lonely and eerie in this dim light that I was frightened and ran
out again. Oh, it is so dreadfully still in there!’
“‘Only that?’ said he, looking at me keenly.
“‘Why, what did you think?’ I asked.
“‘Why do you think that I lock this door?’
“‘I am sure that I do not know.’
“‘It is to keep people out who have no business there. Do you see?’ He
was still smiling in the most amiable manner.
“‘I am sure if I had known—’
“‘Well, then, you know now. And if you ever put your foot over that
threshold again—’ here in an instant the smile hardened into a grin of
rage, and he glared down at me with the face of a demon—‘I’ll throw
you to the mastiff.’
“I was so terrified that I do not know what I did. I suppose that I
must have rushed past him into my room. I remember nothing until I
found myself lying on my bed trembling all over. Then I thought of you,
Mr. Holmes. I could not live there longer without some advice. I was
frightened of the house, of the man, of the woman, of the servants,
even of the child. They were all horrible to me. If I could only bring
you down all would be well. Of course I might have fled from the house,
but my curiosity was almost as strong as my fears. My mind was soon
made up. I would send you a wire. I put on my hat and cloak, went down
to the office, which is about half a mile from the house, and then
returned, feeling very much easier. A horrible doubt came into my mind
as I approached the door lest the dog might be loose, but I remembered
that Toller had drunk himself into a state of insensibility that
evening, and I knew that he was the only one in the household who had
any influence with the savage creature, or who would venture to set him
free. I slipped in in safety, and lay awake half the night in my joy at
the thought of seeing you. I had no difficulty in getting leave to come
into Winchester this morning, but I must be back before three o’clock,
for Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle are going on a visit, and will be away all
the evening, so that I must look after the child. Now I have told you
all my adventures, Mr. Holmes, and I should be very glad if you could
tell me what it all means, and, above all, what I should do.”
Holmes and I had listened spellbound to this extraordinary story. My
friend rose now and paced up and down the room, his hands in his
pockets, and an expression of the most profound gravity upon his face.
“Is Toller still drunk?” he asked.
“Yes. I heard his wife tell Mrs. Rucastle that she could do nothing
with him.”
“That is well. And the Rucastles go out to-night?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a cellar with a good strong lock?”
“Yes, the wine-cellar.”
“You seem to me to have acted all through this matter like a very brave
and sensible girl, Miss Hunter. Do you think that you could perform one
more feat? I should not ask it of you if I did not think you a quite
exceptional woman.”
“I will try. What is it?”
“We shall be at the Copper Beeches by seven o’clock, my friend and I.
The Rucastles will be gone by that time, and Toller will, we hope, be
incapable. There only remains Mrs. Toller, who might give the alarm. If
you could send her into the cellar on some errand, and then turn the
key upon her, you would facilitate matters immensely.”
“I will do it.”
“Excellent! We shall then look thoroughly into the affair. Of course
there is only one feasible explanation. You have been brought there to
personate some one, and the real person is imprisoned in this chamber.
That is obvious. As to who this prisoner is, I have no doubt that it is
the daughter, Miss Alice Rucastle, if I remember right, who was said
to have gone to America. You were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her
in height, figure, and the color of your hair. Hers had been cut off,
very possibly in some illness through which she has passed, and so, of
course, yours had to be sacrificed also. By a curious chance you came
upon her tresses. The man in the road was, undoubtedly, some friend of
hers—possibly her _fiancé_—and no doubt, as you wore the girl’s dress
and were so like her, he was convinced from your laughter, whenever
he saw you, and afterwards from your gesture, that Miss Rucastle was
perfectly happy, and that she no longer desired his attentions. The dog
is let loose at night to prevent him from endeavoring to communicate
with her. So much is fairly clear. The most serious point in the case
is the disposition of the child.”
“What on earth has that to do with it?” I ejaculated.
“My dear Watson, you as a medical man are continually gaining light as
to the tendencies of a child by the study of the parents. Don’t you see
that the converse is equally valid. I have frequently gained my first
real insight into the character of parents by studying their children.
This child’s disposition is abnormally cruel, merely for cruelty’s
sake, and whether he derives this from his smiling father, as I should
suspect, or from his mother, it bodes evil for the poor girl who is in
their power.”
“I am sure that you are right, Mr. Holmes,” cried our client. “A
thousand things come back to me which make me certain that you have
hit it. Oh, let us lose not an instant in bringing help to this poor
creature.”
“We must be circumspect, for we are dealing with a very cunning man. We
can do nothing until seven o’clock. At that hour we shall be with you,
and it will not be long before we solve the mystery.”
We were as good as our word, for it was just seven when we reached the
Copper Beeches, having put up our trap at a way-side public-house. The
group of trees, with their dark leaves shining like burnished metal in
the light of the setting sun, were sufficient to mark the house even
had Miss Hunter not been standing smiling on the door-step.
“Have you managed it?” asked Holmes.
A loud thudding noise came from somewhere down-stairs. “That is
Mrs. Toller in the cellar,” said she. “Her husband lies snoring on
the kitchen rug. Here are his keys, which are the duplicates of Mr.
Rucastle’s.”
“You have done well indeed!” cried Holmes, with enthusiasm. “Now lead
the way, and we shall soon see the end of this black business.”
We passed up the stair, unlocked the door, followed on down a passage,
and found ourselves in front of the barricade which Miss Hunter had
described. Holmes cut the cord and removed the transverse bar. Then he
tried the various keys in the lock, but without success. No sound came
from within, and at the silence Holmes’s face clouded over.
“I trust that we are not too late,” said he. “I think, Miss Hunter,
that we had better go in without you. Now, Watson, put your shoulder to
it, and we shall see whether we cannot make our way in.”
It was an old rickety door, and gave at once before our united
strength. Together we rushed into the room. It was empty. There was no
furniture save a little pallet bed, a small table, and a basketful of
linen. The skylight above was open, and the prisoner gone.
“There has been some villainy here,” said Holmes; “this beauty has
guessed Miss Hunter’s intentions, and has carried his victim off.”
“But how?”
“Through the skylight. We shall soon see how he managed it.” He swung
himself up onto the roof. “Ah, yes,” he cried; “here’s the end of a
long light ladder against the eaves. That is how he did it.”
“But it is impossible,” said Miss Hunter; “the ladder was not there
when the Rucastles went away.”
“He has come back and done it. I tell you that he is a clever and
dangerous man. I should not be very much surprised if this were he
whose step I hear now upon the stair. I think, Watson, that it would be
as well for you to have your pistol ready.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth before a man appeared at the
door of the room, a very fat and burly man, with a heavy stick in his
hand. Miss Hunter screamed and shrunk against the wall at the sight of
him, but Sherlock Holmes sprang forward and confronted him.
“You villain!” said he, “where’s your daughter?”
The fat man cast his eyes round, and then up at the open skylight.
“It is for me to ask you that,” he shrieked, “you thieves! Spies and
thieves! I have caught you, have I? You are in my power. I’ll serve
you!” He turned and clattered down the stairs as hard as he could go.
“He’s gone for the dog!” cried Miss Hunter.
“I have my revolver,” said I.
“Better close the front door,” cried Holmes, and we all rushed down
the stairs together. We had hardly reached the hall when we heard the
baying of a hound, and then a scream of agony, with a horrible worrying
sound which it was dreadful to listen to. An elderly man with a red
face and shaking limbs came staggering out at a side door.
“My God!” he cried. “Some one has loosed the dog. It’s not been fed for
two days. Quick, quick, or it’ll be too late!”
Holmes and I rushed out and round the angle of the house, with Toller
hurrying behind us. There was the huge famished brute, its black muzzle
buried in Rucastle’s throat, while he writhed and screamed upon the
ground. Running up, I blew its brains out, and it fell over with its
keen white teeth still meeting in the great creases of his neck. With
much labor we separated them, and carried him, living but horribly
mangled, into the house. We laid him upon the drawing-room sofa, and,
having despatched the sobered Toller to bear the news to his wife, I
did what I could to relieve his pain. We were all assembled round him
when the door opened, and a tall, gaunt woman entered the room.
“Mrs. Toller!” cried Miss Hunter.
“Yes, miss. Mr. Rucastle let me out when he came back before he went
up to you. Ah, miss, it is a pity you didn’t let me know what you were
planning, for I would have told you that your pains were wasted.”
“Ha!” said Holmes, looking keenly at her. “It is clear that Mrs. Toller
knows more about this matter than any one else.”
“Yes, sir, I do, and I am ready enough to tell what I know.”
“Then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it, for there are several points
on which I must confess that I am still in the dark.”
“I will soon make it clear to you,” said she; “and I’d have done
so before now if I could ha’ got out from the cellar. If there’s
police-court business over this, you’ll remember that I was the one
that stood your friend, and that I was Miss Alice’s friend too.
“She was never happy at home, Miss Alice wasn’t, from the time that
her father married again. She was slighted like, and had no say in
anything; but it never really became bad for her until after she met
Mr. Fowler at a friend’s house. As well as I could learn, Miss Alice
had rights of her own by will, but she was so quiet and patient, she
was, that she never said a word about them, but just left everything in
Mr. Rucastle’s hands. He knew he was safe with her; but when there was
a chance of a husband coming forward, who would ask for all that the
law would give him, then her father thought it time to put a stop on
it. He wanted her to sign a paper, so that whether she married or not,
he could use her money. When she wouldn’t do it, he kept on worrying
her until she got brain-fever, and for six weeks was at death’s door.
Then she got better at last, all worn to a shadow, and with her
beautiful hair cut off; but that didn’t make no change in her young
man, and he stuck to her as true as man could be.”
“Ah,” said Holmes, “I think that what you have been good enough to
tell us makes the matter fairly clear, and that I can deduce all
that remains. Mr. Rucastle then, I presume, took to this system of
imprisonment?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And brought Miss Hunter down from London in order to get rid of the
disagreeable persistence of Mr. Fowler.”
“That was it, sir.”
“But Mr. Fowler being a persevering man, as a good seaman should
be, blockaded the house, and, having met you, succeeded by certain
arguments, metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that your interests
were the same as his.”
“Mr. Fowler was a very kind-spoken, free-handed gentleman,” said Mrs.
Toller, serenely.
“And in this way he managed that your good man should have no want of
drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the moment when your master
had gone out.”
“You have it, sir, just as it happened.”
“I am sure we owe you an apology, Mrs. Toller,” said Holmes, “for you
have certainly cleared up everything which puzzled us. And here comes
the country surgeon and Mrs. Rucastle, so I think, Watson, that we had
best escort Miss Hunter back to Winchester, as it seems to me that our
_locus standi_ now is rather a questionable one.”
And thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the copper
beeches in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but was always a
broken man, kept alive solely through the care of his devoted wife.
They still live with their old servants, who probably know so much of
Rucastle’s past life that he finds it difficult to part from them.
Mr. Fowler and Miss Rucastle were married, by special license, in
Southampton the day after their flight, and he is now the holder of a
Government appointment in the Island of Mauritius. As to Miss Violet
Hunter, my friend Holmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no
further interest in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of
one of his problems, and she is now the head of a private school at
Walsall, where I believe that she has met with considerable success.
THE END
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