"Last December -- four months ago."
"Pray proceed."
"Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most odious person.
He was for ever making eyes at me -- a coarse, puffy-faced,
red-moustached young man, with his hair plastered down on
each side of his forehead. I thought that he was perfectly
hateful -- and I was sure that Cyril would not wish me to
know such a person."
"Oh, Cyril is his name!" said Holmes, smiling.
The young lady blushed and laughed.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes; Cyril Morton, an electrical engineer, and
we hope to be married at the end of the summer. Dear me,
how _did_ I get talking about him? What I wished to say
was that Mr. Woodley was perfectly odious, but that Mr.
Carruthers, who was a much older man, was more agreeable.
He was a dark, sallow, clean-shaven, silent person; but he
had polite manners and a pleasant smile. He inquired how
we were left, and on finding that we were very poor he
suggested that I should come and teach music to his only
daughter, aged ten. I said that I did not like to leave my
mother, on which he suggested that I should go home to her
every week-end, and he offered me a hundred a year, which
was certainly splendid pay. So it ended by my accepting,
and I went down to Chiltern Grange, about six miles from
Farnham. Mr. Carruthers was a widower, but he had engaged
a lady-housekeeper, a very respectable, elderly person,
called Mrs. Dixon, to look after his establishment.
The child was a dear, and everything promised well.
Mr. Carruthers was very kind and very musical, and we had most
pleasant evenings together. Every week-end I went home to
my mother in town.
"The first flaw in my happiness was the arrival of the
red-moustached Mr. Woodley. He came for a visit of a week,
and oh, it seemed three months to me! He was a dreadful
person, a bully to everyone else, but to me something
infinitely worse. He made odious love to me, boasted of
his wealth, said that if I married him I would have the
finest diamonds in London, and finally, when I would have
nothing to do with him, he seized me in his arms one day
after dinner -- he was hideously strong -- and he swore
that he would not let me go until I had kissed him. Mr.
Carruthers came in and tore him off from me, on which he
turned upon his own host, knocking him down and cutting his
face open. That was the end of his visit, as you can
imagine. Mr. Carruthers apologized to me next day, and
assured me that I should never be exposed to such an insult
again. I have not seen Mr. Woodley since.
"And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to the special thing
which has caused me to ask your advice to-day. You must
know that every Saturday forenoon I ride on my bicycle to
Farnham Station in order to get the 12.22 to town. The
road from Chiltern Grange is a lonely one, and at one spot
it is particularly so, for it lies for over a mile between
Charlington Heath upon one side and the woods which lie
round Charlington Hall upon the other. You could not find
a more lonely tract of road anywhere, and it is quite rare
to meet so much as a cart, or a peasant, until you reach
the high road near Crooksbury Hill. Two weeks ago I was
passing this place when I chanced to look back over my
shoulder, and about two hundred yards behind me I saw a
man, also on a bicycle. He seemed to be a middle-aged man,
with a short, dark beard. I looked back before I reached
Farnham, but the man was gone, so I thought no more about
it. But you can imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes,
when on my return on the Monday I saw the same man on the
same stretch of road. My astonishment was increased when
the incident occurred again, exactly as before, on the
following Saturday and Monday. He always kept his distance
and did not molest me in any way, but still it certainly
was very odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carruthers, who seemed
interested in what I said, and told me that he had ordered
a horse and trap, so that in future I should not pass over
these lonely roads without some companion.
"The horse and trap were to have come this week, but for
some reason they were not delivered, and again I had to
cycle to the station. That was this morning. You can
think that I looked out when I came to Charlington Heath,
and there, sure enough, was the man, exactly as he had been
the two weeks before. He always kept so far from me that I
could not clearly see his face, but it was certainly
someone whom I did not know. He was dressed in a dark suit
with a cloth cap. The only thing about his face that I
could clearly see was his dark beard. To-day I was not
alarmed, but I was filled with curiosity, and I determined
to find out who he was and what he wanted. I slowed down
my machine, but he slowed down his. Then I stopped
altogether, but he stopped also. Then I laid a trap for
him. There is a sharp turning of the road, and I pedalled
very quickly round this, and then I stopped and waited.
I expected him to shoot round and pass me before he could
stop. But he never appeared. Then I went back and looked
round the corner. I could see a mile of road, but he was
not on it. To make it the more extraordinary, there was no
side road at this point down which he could have gone."
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "This case certainly
presents some features of its own," said he. "How much
time elapsed between your turning the corner and your
discovery that the road was clear?"
"Two or three minutes."
"Then he could not have retreated down the road, and you
say that there are no side roads?"
"None."
"Then he certainly took a footpath on one side or the
other."
"It could not have been on the side of the heath or I
should have seen him."
"So by the process of exclusion we arrive at the fact that
he made his way towards Charlington Hall, which, as I
understand, is situated in its own grounds on one side of
the road. Anything else?"
"Nothing, Mr. Holmes, save that I was so perplexed that I
felt I should not be happy until I had seen you and had
your advice."
Holmes sat in silence for some little time.
"Where is the gentleman to whom you are engaged?" he asked,
at last.
"He is in the Midland Electrical Company, at Coventry."
"He would not pay you a surprise visit?"
"Oh, Mr. Holmes! As if I should not know him!"
"Have you had any other admirers?"
"Several before I knew Cyril."
"And since?"
"There was this dreadful man, Woodley, if you can call him
an admirer."
"No one else?"
Our fair client seemed a little confused.
"Who was he?" asked H
olmes.
"Oh, it may be a mere fancy of mine; but it has seemed to
me sometimes that my employer, Mr. Carruthers, takes a
great deal of interest in me. We are thrown rather
together. I play his accompaniments in the evening.
He has never said anything. He is a perfect gentleman.
But a girl always knows."
"Ha!" Holmes looked grave. "What does he do for a living?"
"He is a rich man."
"No carriages or horses?"
"Well, at least he is fairly well-to-do. But he goes into
the City two or three times a week. He is deeply
interested in South African gold shares."
"You will let me know any fresh development, Miss Smith.
I am very busy just now, but I will find time to make some
inquiries into your case. In the meantime take no step
without letting me know. Good-bye, and I trust that we
shall have nothing but good news from you."
"It is part of the settled order of Nature that such a girl
should have followers," said Holmes, as he pulled at his
meditative pipe, "but for choice not on bicycles in lonely
country roads. Some secretive lover, beyond all doubt.
But there are curious and suggestive details about the
case, Watson."
"That he should appear only at that point?"
"Exactly. Our first effort must be to find who are the
tenants of Charlington Hall. Then, again, how about the
connection between Carruthers and Woodley, since they
appear to be men of such a different type? How came they
_both_ to be so keen upon looking up Ralph Smith's
relations? One more point. What sort of a _menage_ {1} is
it which pays double the market price for a governess, but
does not keep a horse although six miles from the station?
Odd, Watson -- very odd!"
"You will go down?"
"No, my dear fellow, _you_ will go down. This may be some
trifling intrigue, and I cannot break my other important
research for the sake of it. On Monday you will arrive
early at Farnham; you will conceal yourself near
Charlington Heath; you will observe these facts for
yourself, and act as your own judgment advises. Then,
having inquired as to the occupants of the Hall, you will
come back to me and report. And now, Watson, not another
word of the matter until we have a few solid stepping-stones
on which we may hope to get across to our solution."
We had ascertained from the lady that she went down upon
the Monday by the train which leaves Waterloo at 9.50, so I
started early and caught the 9.13. At Farnham Station I
had no difficulty in being directed to Charlington Heath.
It was impossible to mistake the scene of the young lady's
adventure, for the road runs between the open heath on one
side and an old yew hedge upon the other, surrounding a
park which is studded with magnificent trees. There was a
main gateway of lichen-studded stone, each side pillar
surmounted by mouldering heraldic emblems; but besides this
central carriage drive I observed several points where
there were gaps in the hedge and paths leading through
them. The house was invisible from the road, but the
surroundings all spoke of gloom and decay.
The heath was covered with golden patches of flowering
gorse, gleaming magnificently in the light of the bright
spring sunshine. Behind one of these clumps I took up my
position, so as to command both the gateway of the Hall and
a long stretch of the road upon either side. It had been
deserted when I left it, but now I saw a cyclist riding
down it from the opposite direction to that in which I had
come. He was clad in a dark suit, and I saw that he had a
black beard. On reaching the end of the Charlington
grounds he sprang from his machine and led it through a gap
in the hedge, disappearing from my view.
A quarter of an hour passed and then a second cyclist
appeared. This time it was the young lady coming from the
station. I saw her look about her as she came to the
Charlington hedge. An instant later the man emerged from
his hiding-place, sprang upon his cycle, and followed her.
In all the broad landscape those were the only moving
figures, the graceful girl sitting very straight upon her
machine, and the man behind her bending low over his
handle-bar, with a curiously furtive suggestion in every
movement. She looked back at him and slowed her pace. He
slowed also. She stopped. He at once stopped too, keeping
two hundred yards behind her. Her next movement was as
unexpected as it was spirited. She suddenly whisked her
wheels round and dashed straight at him! He was as quick
as she, however, and darted off in desperate flight.
Presently she came back up the road again, her head
haughtily in the air, not deigning to take any further
notice of her silent attendant. He had turned also, and
still kept his distance until the curve of the road hid
them from my sight.
I remained in my hiding-place, and it was well that I did
so, for presently the man reappeared cycling slowly back.
He turned in at the Hall gates and dismounted from his
machine. For some few minutes I could see him standing
among the trees. His hands were raised and he seemed to be
settling his necktie. Then he mounted his cycle and rode
away from me down the drive towards the Hall. I ran across
the heath and peered through the trees. Far away I could
catch glimpses of the old grey building with its bristling
Tudor chimneys, but the drive ran through a dense
shrubbery, and I saw no more of my man.
However, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly good
morning's work, and I walked back in high spirits to
Farnham. The local house-agent could tell me nothing about
Charlington Hall, and referred me to a well-known firm in
Pall Mall. There I halted on my way home, and met with
courtesy from the representative. No, I could not have
Charlington Hall for the summer. I was just too late.
It had been let about a month ago. Mr. Williamson was
the name of the tenant. He was a respectable elderly
gentleman. The polite agent was afraid he could say no
more, as the affairs of his clients were not matters which
he could discuss.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long
report which I was able to present to him that evening,
but it did not elicit that word of curt praise which I
had hoped for and should have valued. On the contrary,
his austere face was even more severe than usual as he
commented upon the things that I had done and the things
that I had not.
"Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very faulty. You
should have been behind the hedge; then you would have had
a close view of this interesting person. As it is you were
some hundreds of yards away, and can tell me even
less than
Miss Smith. She thinks she does not know the man; I am
convinced she does. Why, otherwise, should he be so
desperately anxious that she should not get so near him as
to see his features? You describe him as bending over the
handle-bar. Concealment again, you see. You really have
done remarkably badly. He returns to the house and you
want to find out who he is. You come to a London
house-agent!"
"What should I have done?" I cried, with some heat.
"Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the centre of
country gossip. They would have told you every name, from
the master to the scullery-maid. Williamson! It conveys
nothing to my mind. If he is an elderly man he is not this
active cyclist who sprints away from that athletic young
lady's pursuit. What have we gained by your expedition?
The knowledge that the girl's story is true. I never
doubted it. That there is a connection between the cyclist
and the Hall. I never doubted that either. That the Hall
is tenanted by Williamson. Who's the better for that?
Well, well, my dear sir, don't look so depressed. We can
do little more until next Saturday, and in the meantime I
may make one or two inquiries myself."
Next morning we had a note from Miss Smith, recounting
shortly and accurately the very incidents which I had seen,
but the pith of the letter lay in the postscript:--
"I am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes,
when I tell you that my place here has become difficult
owing to the fact that my employer has proposed marriage to
me. I am convinced that his feelings are most deep and
most honourable. At the same time my promise is, of
course, given. He took my refusal very seriously, but also
very gently. You can understand, however, that the
situation is a little strained."
"Our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters,"
said Holmes, thoughtfully, as he finished the letter. "The
case certainly presents more features of interest and more
possibility of development than I had originally thought.
I should be none the worse for a quiet, peaceful day in the
country, and I am inclined to run down this afternoon and
test one or two theories which I have formed."
Holmes's quiet day in the country had a singular
termination, for he arrived at Baker Street late in the
evening with a cut lip and a discoloured lump upon his
forehead, besides a general air of dissipation which would
have made his own person the fitting object of a Scotland
Yard investigation. He was immensely tickled by his own
adventures, and laughed heartily as he recounted them.
"I get so little active exercise that it is always a
treat," said he. "You are aware that I have some
proficiency in the good old British sport of boxing.
Occasionally it is of service. To-day, for example,
I should have come to very ignominious grief without it."
I begged him to tell me what had occurred.
"I found that country pub which I had already recommended
to your notice, and there I made my discreet inquiries.
I was in the bar, and a garrulous landlord was giving me all
that I wanted. Williamson is a white-bearded man, and he
lives alone with a small staff of servants at the Hall.
There is some rumour that he is or has been a clergyman;
but one or two incidents of his short residence at the Hall
struck me as peculiarly unecclesiastical. I have already
made some inquiries at a clerical agency, and they tell me
that there _was_ a man of that name in orders whose career
has been a singularly dark one. The landlord further
informed me that there are usually week-end visitors --
'a warm lot, sir' -- at the Hall, and especially one gentleman
with a red moustache, Mr. Woodley by name, who was always
there. We had got as far as this when who should walk in
but the gentleman himself, who had been drinking his beer
in the tap-room and had heard the whole conversation.
Who was I? What did I want? What did I mean by asking
questions? He had a fine flow of language, and his