evident that my friend would be much the better for a change, and the
thought of a week of spring-time in the country was full of attractions
to me also. My old friend Colonel Hayter, who had come under my
professional care in Afghanistan, had now taken a house near Reigate, in
Surrey, and had frequently asked me to come down to him upon a visit. On
the last occasion he had remarked that if my friend would only come with
me, he would be glad to extend his hospitality to him also. A little
diplomacy was needed, but when Holmes understood that the establishment
was a bachelor one, and that he would be allowed the fullest freedom, he
fell in with my plans, and a week after our return from Lyons we were
under the Colonel's roof. Hayter was a fine old soldier, who had seen
much of the world, and he soon found, as I had expected, that Holmes and
he had plenty in common.
On the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the Colonel's gun-room
after dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa, while Hayter and I looked
over his little armoury of fire-arms.
"By the way," said he, suddenly, "I think I'll take one of these pistols
upstairs with me in case we have an alarm."
"An alarm!" said I.
"Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately. Old Acton, who is one of
our county magnates, had his house broken into last Monday. No great
damage done, but the fellows are still at large."
"No clue?" asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the Colonel.
"None as yet. But the affair is a petty one, one of our little country
crimes, which must seem too small for your attention, Mr. Holmes, after
this great international affair."
Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed that it had
pleased him.
"Was there any feature of interest?"
"I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library and got very little for
their pains. The whole place was turned upside down, drawers burst open
and presses ransacked, with the result that an odd volume of Pope's
'Homer,' two plated candlesticks, an ivory letter-weight, a small oak
barometer, and a ball of twine, are all that have vanished."
"What an extraordinary assortment!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of anything they could get."
Holmes grunted from the sofa.
"The county police ought to make something of that," said he. "Why, it
is surely obvious that----"
But I held up a warning finger.
[Illustration: "I HELD UP A WARNING FINGER."]
"You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For Heaven's sake, don't get
started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignation towards
the Colonel, and the talk drifted away into less dangerous channels.
It was destined, however, that all my professional caution should be
wasted, for next morning the problem obtruded itself upon us in such a
way that it was impossible to ignore it, and our country visit took a
turn which neither of us could have anticipated. We were at breakfast
when the Colonel's butler rushed in with all his propriety shaken out of
him.
"Have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped. "At the Cunningham's, sir!"
"Burglary!" cried the Colonel, with his coffee cup in mid air.
"Murder!"
The Colonel whistled. "By Jove!" said he, "who's killed, then? The J.P.
or his son?"
"Neither, sir. It was William, the coachman. Shot through the heart,
sir, and never spoke again."
"Who shot him, then?"
"The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and got clean away. He'd just
broke in at the pantry window when William came on him and met his end
in saving his master's property."
"What time?"
"It was last night, sir, somewhere about twelve."
"Ah, then, we'll step over presently," said the Colonel, coolly settling
down to his breakfast again. "It's a baddish business," he added, when
the butler had gone. "He's our leading squire about here, is old
Cunningham, and a very decent fellow too. He'll be cut up over this, for
the man has been in his service for years, and was a good servant. It's
evidently the same villains who broke into Acton's."
"And stole that very singular collection?" said Holmes, thoughtfully.
"Precisely."
"Hum! It may prove the simplest matter in the world; but, all the same,
at first glance this is just a little curious, is it not? A gang of
burglars acting in the country might be expected to vary the scene of
their operations, and not to crack two cribs in the same district within
a few days. When you spoke last night of taking precautions, I remember
that it passed through my mind that this was probably the last parish
in England to which the thief or thieves would be likely to turn their
attention; which shows that I have still much to learn."
"I fancy it's some local practitioner," said the Colonel. "In that case,
of course, Acton's and Cunningham's are just the places he would go for,
since they are far the largest about here."
"And richest?"
"Well, they ought to be; but they've had a law-suit for some years which
has sucked the blood out of both of them, I fancy. Old Acton has some
claim on half Cunningham's estate, and the lawyers have been at it with
both hands."
"If it's a local villain, there should not be much difficulty in running
him down," said Holmes, with a yawn. "All right, Watson, I don't intend
to meddle."
"Inspector Forrester, sir," said the butler, throwing open the door.
The official, a smart, keen-faced young fellow, stepped into the room.
"Good morning, Colonel," said he. "I hope I don't intrude, but we hear
that Mr. Holmes, of Baker Street, is here."
The Colonel waved his hand towards my friend, and the Inspector bowed.
"We thought that perhaps you would care to step across, Mr. Holmes."
"The Fates are against you, Watson," said he, laughing. "We were
chatting about the matter when you came in, Inspector. Perhaps you can
let us have a few details." As he leaned back in his chair in the
familiar attitude, I knew that the case was hopeless.
[Illustration: "INSPECTOR FORRESTER."]
"We had no clue in the Acton affair. But here we have plenty to go on,
and there's no doubt it is the same party in each case. The man was
seen."
"Ah!"
"Yes, sir. But he was off like a deer after the shot that killed poor
William Kirwan was fired. Mr. Cunningham saw him from the bedroom
window, and Mr. Alec Cunningham saw him from the back passage. It was a
quarter to twelve when the alarm broke out. Mr. Cunningham had just got
into bed, and Mister Alec was smoking a pipe in his dressing-gown. They
both heard William, the coachman, calling for help, and Mister Alec he
ran down to see what was the matter. The back door was open, and as he
came to the foot of the stairs he saw two men wrestling together
outside. One of them fired a shot, the other dropped, and the murderer
rushed across the garden and over the hedge. Mr. Cunningham, looking out
of his bedroom window, saw the fellow as he gained the road, but lost
sight of him at once. Mister Alec stopped to see if he could help the
dying man, and so the villain got clean away. Beyond the fact that he
was a middle-sized man, and dressed in some dark stuff, we have no
personal clue, but we are making energetic inquiries, and if he is a
stranger we shall soon find him out."
"What was this William doing there? Did he say anything before he died?"
"Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his mother, and as he was a very
faithful fellow, we imagine that he walked up to the house with the
intention of seeing that all was right there. Of course, this Acton
business has put everyone on their guard. The robber must have just
burst open the door--the lock has been forced--when William came upon
him."
"Did William say anything to his mother before going out?"
"She is very old and deaf, and we can get no information from her. The
shock has made her half-witted, but I understand that she was never very
bright. There is one very important circumstance, however. Look at
this!"
He took a small piece of torn paper from a note-book and spread it out
upon his knee.
"This was found between the finger and thumb of the dead man. It appears
to be a fragment torn from a larger sheet. You will observe that the
hour mentioned upon it is the very time at which the poor fellow met his
fate. You see that his murderer might have torn the rest of the sheet
from him or he might have taken this fragment from the murderer. It
reads almost as though it was an appointment."
Holmes took up the scrap of paper, a facsimile of which is here
reproduced:--
[Illustration: at quarterto twelve learn what maybe]
"Presuming that it is an appointment," continued the Inspector, "it is,
of course, a conceivable theory that this William Kirwan, although he
had the reputation of being an honest man, may have been in league with
the thief. He may have met him there, may even have helped him to break
in the door, and then they may have fallen out between themselves."
"This writing is of extraordinary interest," said Holmes, who had been
examining it with intense concentration. "These are much deeper waters
than I had thought." He sank his head upon his hands, while the
Inspector smiled at the effect which his case had had upon the famous
London specialist.
"Your last remark," said Holmes, presently, "as to the possibility of
there being an understanding between the burglar and the servant, and
this being a note of appointment from one to the other, is an ingenious
and not entirely an impossible supposition. But this writing opens
up----" he sank his head into his hands again and remained for some
minutes in the deepest thought. When he raised his face again I was
surprised to see that his cheek was tinged with colour and his eyes as
bright as before his illness. He sprang to his feet with all his old
energy.
"I'll tell you what!" said he. "I should like to have a quiet little
glance into the details of this case. There is something in it which
fascinates me extremely. If you will permit me, Colonel, I will leave my
friend, Watson, and you, and I will step round with the Inspector to
test the truth of one or two little fancies of mine. I will be with you
again in half an hour."
An hour and a half had elapsed before the Inspector returned alone.
"Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside," said he. "He
wants us all four to go up to the house together."
"To Mr. Cunningham's?"
"Yes, sir."
"What for?"
The Inspector shrugged his shoulders. "I don't quite know, sir. Between
ourselves, I think Mr. Holmes has not quite got over his illness yet.
He's been behaving very queerly, and he is very much excited."
"I don't think you need alarm yourself," said I. "I have usually found
that there was method in his madness."
"Some folk might say there was madness in his method," muttered the
Inspector. "But he's all on fire to start, Colonel, so we had best go
out, if you are ready."
We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his chin sunk upon his
breast, and his hands thrust into his trouser pockets.
"The matter grows in interest," said he. "Watson, your country trip has
been a distinct success. I have had a charming morning."
"You have been up to the scene of the crime, I understand?" said the
Colonel.
"Yes; the Inspector and I have made quite a little reconnaissance
together."
"Any success?"
"Well, we have seen some very interesting things. I'll tell you what we
did as we walk. First of all we saw the body of this unfortunate man. He
certainly died from a revolver wound, as reported."
"Had you doubted it, then?"
"Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our inspection was not wasted. We
then had an interview with Mr. Cunningham and his son, who were able to
point out the exact spot where the murderer had broken through the
garden hedge in his flight. That was of great interest."
"Naturally."
"Then we had a look at this poor fellow's mother. We could get no
information from her, however, as she is very old and feeble."
"And what is the result of your investigations?"
"The conviction that the crime is a very peculiar one. Perhaps our visit
now may do something to make it less obscure. I think that we are both
agreed, Inspector, that the fragment of paper in the dead man's hand,
bearing, as it does, the very hour of his death written upon it, is of
extreme importance."
"It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes."
"It _does_ give a clue. Whoever wrote that note was the man who brought
William Kirwan out of his bed at that hour. But where is the rest of
that sheet of paper?"
"I examined the ground carefully in the hope of finding it," said the
Inspector.
"It was torn out of the dead man's hand. Why was someone so anxious to
get possession of it? Because it incriminated him. And what would he do
with it? Thrust it into his pocket most likely, never noticing that a
corner of it had been left in the grip of the corpse. If we could get
the rest of that sheet, it is obvious that we should have gone a long
way towards solving the mystery."
"Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's pocket before we catch the
criminal?"
"Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then there is another obvious
point. The note was sent to William. The man who wrote it could not have
taken it, otherwise of course he might have delivered his own message by
word of mouth. Who brought the note, then? Or did it come through the
post?"
"I have made inquiries," said the Inspector. "William received a letter
by the afternoon post yesterday. The envelope was destroyed by him."
"Excellent!" cried Holmes, clapping the Inspector on the back. "You've
seen the postman. It is a pleasure to work with you. Well, here is the
lodge, and if you will come up, Colonel, I will show you the scene of
the crime."
We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man had lived, and
walked up an oak-lined avenue to the fine old Queen Anne house, which
bears the date of Malplaquet upon the lintel of the door. Holmes and the
Inspector led us round it until we came to the side gate, which is
separated by a stretch of garden from the hedge which lines the road. A
constable was standing at the kitchen door.
"Throw the door open, officer," said Holmes. "Now it was on those stairs
that young Mr. Cunningham stood and saw the two men struggling just
where we are. Old Mr. Cunningham was at that window--the second on the
left--and he saw the fellow get away just to the left of that bush. So
did the son. They are both sure of it, on account of the bush. Then
Mister Alec ran out and knelt beside the wounded man. The ground is very
hard, you see, and there are no marks to guide us."
As he spoke two men came down the garden path, from round the angle of
the house. The one was an elderly man, with a strong, deep-lined,
heavy-eyed face; the other a dashing young fellow, whose bright, smiling
expression and showy dress were in strange contrast with the business
which had brought us there.
"Still at it, then?" said he to Holmes. "I thought you Londoners were
never at fault. You don't seem to be so very quick, after all."
"Ah! you must give us a little time," said Holmes, good-humouredly.
"You'll want it," said young Alec Cunningham. "Why, I don't see that we
have any clue at all."
"There's only one," answered the Inspector. "We thought that if we could
only find----Good heavens! Mr. Holmes, what is the matter?"
My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed the most dreadful expression.
His eyes rolled upwards, his features writhed in agony, and with a
suppressed groan he dropped on his face upon the ground. Horrified at
the suddenness and severity of the attack, we carried him into the
kitchen, where he lay back in a large chair and breathed heavily for
some minutes. Finally, with a shame-faced apology for his weakness, he
rose once more.
"Watson would tell you that I have only just recovered from a severe
illness," he explained. "I am liable to these sudden nervous attacks."
"Shall I send you home in my trap?" asked old Cunningham.
"Well, since I am here, there is one point on which I should like to
feel sure. We can very easily verify it."
"What is it?"
"Well, it seems to me that it is just possible that the arrival of this
poor fellow William was not before but after the entrance of the burglar
into the house. You appear to take it for granted that although the door
was forced the robber never got in."
[Illustration: "GOOD HEAVENS! WHAT IS THE MATTER?"]
"I fancy that is quite obvious," said Mr. Cunningham, gravely. "Why, my
son Alec had not yet gone to bed, and he would certainly have heard
anyone moving about."
"Where was he sitting?"
"I was sitting smoking in my dressing-room."
"Which window is that?"
"The last on the left, next my father's."
"Both your lamps were lit, of course?"
"Undoubtedly."
"There are some very singular points here," said Holmes, smiling. "Is it
not extraordinary that a burglar--and a burglar who had had some
previous experience--should deliberately break into a house at a time
when he could see from the lights that two of the family were still
afoot?"
"He must have been a cool hand."
"Well, of course, if the case were not an odd one we should not have
been driven to ask you for an explanation," said Mister Alec. "But as to
your idea that the man had robbed the house before William tackled him,
I think it a most absurd notion. Shouldn't we have found the place
disarranged and missed the things which he had taken?"
"It depends on what the things were," said Holmes. "You must remember
that we are dealing with a burglar who is a very peculiar fellow, and
who appears to work on lines of his own. Look, for example, at the queer
lot of things which he took from Acton's--what was it?--a ball of
string, a letter-weight, and I don't know what other odds and ends!"
"Well, we are quite in your hands, Mr. Holmes," said old Cunningham.
"Anything which you or the Inspector may suggest will most certainly be
done."
"In the first place," said Holmes, "I should like you to offer a
reward--coming from yourself, for the officials may take a little time
before they would agree upon the sum, and these things cannot be done
too promptly. I have jotted down the form here, if you would not mind
signing it. Fifty pounds was quite enough, I thought."
"I would willingly give five hundred," said the J.P., taking the slip of
paper and the pencil which Holmes handed to him. "This is not quite
correct, however," he added, glancing over the document.
"I wrote it rather hurriedly."
"You see you begin: 'Whereas, at about a quarter to one on Tuesday
morning, an attempt was made'--and so on. It was at a quarter to twelve,
as a matter of fact."
I was pained at the mistake, for I knew how keenly Holmes would feel any
slip of the kind. It was his speciality to be accurate as to fact, but
his recent illness had shaken him, and this one little incident was
enough to show me that he was still far from being himself. He was
obviously embarrassed for an instant, while the Inspector raised his
eyebrows and Alec Cunningham burst into a laugh. The old gentleman
corrected the mistake, however, and handed the paper back to Holmes.
"Get it printed as soon as possible," he said. "I think your idea is an
excellent one."
Holmes put the slip of paper carefully away in his pocket-book.
"And now," said he, "it would really be a good thing that we should all
go over the house together and make certain that this rather erratic
burglar did not, after all, carry anything away with him."
Before entering. Holmes made an examination of the door which had been
forced. It was evident that a chisel or strong knife had been thrust in,
and the lock forced back with it. We could see the marks in the wood
where it had been pushed in.
"You don't use bars, then?" he asked.
"We have never found it necessary."
"You don't keep a dog?"
"Yes; but he is chained on the other side of the house."
"When do the servants go to bed?"
"About ten."
"I understand that William was usually in bed also at that hour?"
"Yes."
"It is singular that on this particular night he should have been up.
Now, I should be very glad if you would have the kindness to show us
over the house, Mr. Cunningham."
A stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens branching away from it, led
by a wooden staircase directly to the first floor of the house. It came
out upon the landing opposite to a second more ornamental stair which
led up from the front hall. Out of this landing opened the drawing-room
and several bedrooms, including those of Mr. Cunningham and his son.
Holmes walked slowly, taking keen note of the architecture of the house.
I could tell from his expression that he was on a hot scent, and yet I
could not in the least imagine in what direction his inferences were
leading him.
"My good sir," said Mr. Cunningham, with some impatience, "this is
surely very unnecessary. That is my room at the end of the stairs, and
my son's is the one beyond it. I leave it to your judgment whether it
was possible for the thief to have come up here without disturbing us."
"You must try round and get on a fresh scent, I fancy," said the son,
with a rather malicious smile.
"Still, I must ask you to humour me a little further. I should like, for
example, to see how far the windows of the bedrooms command the front.
This, I understand, is your son's room"--he pushed open the door--"and
that, I presume, is the dressing-room in which he sat smoking when the
alarm was given. Where does the window of that look out to?" He stepped
across the bedroom, pushed open the door, and glanced round the other
chamber.
"I hope you are satisfied now?" said Mr. Cunningham, testily.
"Thank you; I think I have seen all that I wished."
"Then, if it is really necessary, we can go into my room."
"If it is not too much trouble."
The J.P. shrugged his shoulders, and led the way into his own chamber,
which was a plainly furnished and commonplace room. As we moved across
it in the direction of the window, Holmes fell back until he and I were
the last of the group. Near the foot of the bed was a small square
table, on which stood a dish of oranges and a carafe of water. As we
passed it, Holmes, to my unutterable astonishment, leaned over in front
of me and deliberately knocked the whole thing over. The glass smashed
into a thousand pieces, and the fruit rolled about into every corner of
the room.
[Illustration: "HE DELIBERATELY KNOCKED THE WHOLE THING OVER."]
"You've done it now, Watson," said he, coolly. "A pretty mess you've
made of the carpet."
I stooped in some confusion and began to pick up the fruit,
understanding that for some reason my companion desired me to take the
blame upon myself. The others did the same, and set the table on its
legs again.
"Halloa!" cried the Inspector, "where's he got to?"
Holmes had disappeared.
"Wait here an instant," said young Alec Cunningham. "The fellow is off
his head, in my opinion. Come with me, father, and see where he has got
to!"
They rushed out of the room, leaving the Inspector, the Colonel, and me
staring at each other.
"'Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with Mister Alec," said the
official. "It may be the effect of this illness, but it seems to me
that----"
His words were cut short by a sudden scream of "Help! Help! Murder!"
With a thrill I recognised the voice as that of my friend. I rushed
madly from the room on to the landing. The cries, which had sunk down
into a hoarse, inarticulate shouting, came from the room which we had
first visited. I dashed in, and on into the dressing-room beyond. The
two Cunninghams were bending over the prostrate figure of Sherlock
Holmes, the younger clutching his throat with both hands, while the
elder seemed to be twisting one of his wrists. In an instant the three
of us had torn them away from him, and Holmes staggered to his feet,
very pale, and evidently greatly exhausted.
"Arrest these men, Inspector," he gasped.
"On what charge?"
"That of murdering their coachman, William Kirwan!"
The Inspector stared about him in bewilderment. "Oh, come now, Mr.
Holmes," said he at last; "I am sure you don't really mean to----"
"Tut, man; look at their faces!" cried Holmes, curtly.
Never, certainly, have I seen a plainer confession of guilt upon human
countenances. The older man seemed numbed and dazed, with a heavy,
sullen expression upon his strongly-marked face. The son, on the other
hand, had dropped all that jaunty, dashing style which had characterized
him, and the ferocity of a dangerous wild beast gleamed in his dark eyes
and distorted his handsome features. The Inspector said nothing, but,
stepping to the door, he blew his whistle. Two of his constables came at
the call.
"I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham," said he. "I trust that this may
all prove to be an absurd mistake; but you can see that----Ah, would
you? Drop it!" He struck out with his hand, and a revolver, which the
younger man was in the act of cocking, clattered down upon the floor.
[Illustration: "BENDING OVER THE PROSTRATE FIGURE OF SHERLOCK HOLMES."]
"Keep that," said Holmes, quickly putting his foot upon it. "You will
find it useful at the trial. But this is what we really wanted." He held
up a little crumpled piece of paper.
"The remainder of the sheet!" cried the Inspector.
"Precisely."
"And where was it?"