"The old man is dead."
"Hum!" said Holmes. "I think I see how things worked, and I can
understand how this message would, as you say, bring them to a head. But
while we wait you might tell me what you can."
The old reprobate with the surplice burst into a volley of bad language.
"By Heaven," said he, "if you squeal on us, Bob Carruthers, I'll serve
you as you served Jack Woodley. You can bleat about the girl to your
heart's content, for that's your own affair, but if you round on your
pals to this plain-clothes copper it will be the worst day's work that
ever you did."
"Your reverence need not be excited," said Holmes, lighting a cigarette.
"The case is clear enough against you, and all I ask is a few details
for my private curiosity. However, if there's any difficulty in your
telling me I'll do the talking, and then you will see how far you have a
chance of holding back your secrets. In the first place, three of you
came from South Africa on this game--you Williamson, you Carruthers, and
Woodley."
"Lie number one," said the old man; "I never saw either of them until
two months ago, and I have never been in Africa in my life, so you can
put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Busybody Holmes!"
"What he says is true," said Carruthers.
"Well, well, two of you came over. His reverence is our own home-made
article. You had known Ralph Smith in South Africa. You had reason to
believe he would not live long. You found out that his niece would
inherit his fortune. How's that--eh?"
Carruthers nodded and Williamson swore.
"She was next-of-kin, no doubt, and you were aware that the old fellow
would make no will."
"Couldn't read or write," said Carruthers.
"So you came over, the two of you, and hunted up the girl. The idea was
that one of you was to marry her and the other have a share of the
plunder. For some reason Woodley was chosen as the husband. Why was
that?"
"We played cards for her on the voyage. He won."
"I see. You got the young lady into your service, and there Woodley was
to do the courting. She recognised the drunken brute that he was, and
would have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, your arrangement was
rather upset by the fact that you had yourself fallen in love with the
lady. You could no longer bear the idea of this ruffian owning her."
"No, by George, I couldn't!"
"There was a quarrel between you. He left you in a rage, and began to
make his own plans independently of you."
"It strikes me, Williamson, there isn't very much that we can tell this
gentleman," cried Carruthers, with a bitter laugh. "Yes, we quarrelled,
and he knocked me down. I am level with him on that, anyhow. Then I lost
sight of him. That was when he picked up with this cast padre here. I
found that they had set up house-keeping together at this place on the
line that she had to pass for the station. I kept my eye on her after
that, for I knew there was some devilry in the wind. I saw them from
time to time, for I was anxious to know what they were after. Two days
ago Woodley came up to my house with this cable, which showed that Ralph
Smith was dead. He asked me if I would stand by the bargain. I said I
would not. He asked me if I would marry the girl myself and give him a
share. I said I would willingly do so, but that she would not have me.
He said, 'Let us get her married first, and after a week or two she may
see things a bit different.' I said I would have nothing to do with
violence. So he went off cursing, like the foul-mouthed blackguard that
he was, and swearing that he would have her yet. She was leaving me this
week-end, and I had got a trap to take her to the station, but I was so
uneasy in my mind that I followed her on my bicycle. She had got a
start, however, and before I could catch her the mischief was done. The
first thing I knew about it was when I saw you two gentlemen driving
back in her dog-cart."
[Illustration: "HOLMES TOSSED THE END OF HIS CIGARETTE INTO THE GRATE."]
Holmes rose and tossed the end of his cigarette into the grate. "I have
been very obtuse, Watson," said he. "When in your report you said that
you had seen the cyclist as you thought arrange his necktie in the
shrubbery, that alone should have told me all. However, we may
congratulate ourselves upon a curious and in some respects a unique
case. I perceive three of the county constabulary in the drive, and I am
glad to see that the little ostler is able to keep pace with them; so it
is likely that neither he nor the interesting bridegroom will be
permanently damaged by their morning's adventures. I think, Watson, that
in your medical capacity you might wait upon Miss Smith and tell her
that if she is sufficiently recovered we shall be happy to escort her to
her mother's home. If she is not quite convalescent you will find that a
hint that we were about to telegraph to a young electrician in the
Midlands would probably complete the cure. As to you, Mr. Carruthers, I
think that you have done what you could to make amends for your share in
an evil plot. There is my card, sir, and if my evidence can be of help
to you in your trial it shall be at your disposal."
* * * * *
In the whirl of our incessant activity it has often been difficult for
me, as the reader has probably observed, to round off my narratives, and
to give those final details which the curious might expect. Each case
has been the prelude to another, and the crisis once over the actors
have passed for ever out of our busy lives. I find, however, a short
note at the end of my manuscripts dealing with this case, in which I
have put it upon record that Miss Violet Smith did indeed inherit a
large fortune, and that she is now the wife of Cyril Morton, the senior
partner of Morton and Kennedy, the famous Westminster electricians.
Williamson and Woodley were both tried for abduction and assault, the
former getting seven years and the latter ten. Of the fate of Carruthers
I have no record, but I am sure that his assault was not viewed very
gravely by the Court, since Woodley had the reputation of being a most
dangerous ruffian, and I think that a few months were sufficient to
satisfy the demands of justice.
"_Happy Evenings._"
Ordinarily the High Street fairly stewed with juvenile humanity. But
to-night, for a wonder, the High Street, Plimsoll Lane, Byles's Rents,
and all the adjacent squalid courts and avenues were deserted. Something
more than a mild fog was needed to effect such a transformation out of
school hours. Neither was there evidence, ocular or auricular, of any
hand-organ, or a trained bear, or a free fight enlivening the
neighbourhood. How was it possible to account for the peaceful condition
of the streets? Surely the ordinary denizens of the gutter couldn't be
at school? Well, not exactly at school, but at the school-house. A
ragged little urchin of seven volunteered to be our pilot.
"'Appy evenin'? Yessir, I'm goin' there myself. I'll show you."
"What's your name, my boy?"
"Saunders, sir; but they allers calls me 'Magsie,' all along o' my
twin-sister wot uz named Marguerite."
"And why isn't your little sister with you to-night?"
"'Cos she got scarlet fever."
"Scarlet fever? Good gracious, boy!"
"An' she died--more'n a year ago."
"Oh, I see."
"The lidy wot we calls the Countess 's goin' to be at the 'Appy Evenin'
to-night. Look! That's 'er--see--with the 'at an' the little black
fevvers."
We proved to be just in time. Several ladies and gentlemen had doffed
their furs and overcoats, and stood smiling at one end of a large
school-room, whilst in the middle some two or three hundred meanly-clad,
but clean and happy-looking, children of all ages under twelve or
thirteen trooped along merrily to the notes of a piano in the corner.
"This is our overture," explained the gentle-eyed lady with the
"fevvers." "We always begin this way and they seem to enjoy it." She
raised her jewelled finger and the music stopped. So did the
promenaders. There was a silence, punctuated by giggles, as the Countess
observed, "And now for our games this evening. What girls for the quiet
room?"
[Illustration: A PRELIMINARY SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY.
_From a Photo. by George Newnes, Ltd._]
Twenty hands went up instantly.
"What boys?"
Half-a-dozen--not more--two of whom were cripples.
"And the noisy room? And the fairy-tale room? And the toy room? And the
painting room? And the dolls' room?"
Thus were these denizens of the gutter in one of the most notorious
slums of London granted their hearts' wishes for this evening. As they
made a choice, so they were marched off under the wing of a lady or
gentleman to a separate room, and the music struck up again for a Sir
Roger de Coverley.
[Illustration: THE COUNTESS OF JERSEY--PRESIDENT OF THE COUNCIL.
_From a Photo. by Gillman, Oxford._]
"There is no use," explains one of the ladies, "forcing a child to romp
if it doesn't want to romp. Perhaps its tastes are in quite another
direction--indeed, we know that there are thousands of wretched little
mites in London who pine for quiet and seclusion. Then there are kiddies
who are passionately fond of fairy stories. They could listen to them by
the hour--perhaps by the day--yet possibly outside of a Happy Evening
they never hear one that really interests them. Our girls' fairy-teller
here, I may tell you, has a wonderful gift. She really mesmerizes the
children. Would you like to be mesmerized, too?"
"With all the pleasure in life," we reply, and the handle of the
fairy-tale room is slowly turned. We may mention it for a fact, and as a
tribute to the lady's powers, that the noise of our entrance is
absolutely without effect on this little audience. Oh, what would not a
pulpit orator, a politician, a lecturer--yes, even a great actor--give
to hold his auditors' minds thus in the hollow of his hand? They see
nothing, hear nothing but the speaker.
[Illustration:
_From a Photo. by_]