adjectives were very vigorous. He ended a string of abuse
by a vicious back-hander which I failed to entirely avoid.
The next few minutes were delicious. It was a straight
left against a slogging ruffian. I emerged as you see me.
Mr. Woodley went home in a cart. So ended my country trip,
and it must be confessed that, however enjoyable, my day on
the Surrey border has not been much more profitable than
your own."
The Thursday brought us another letter from our client.
"You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes," said she, "to hear
that I am leaving Mr. Carruthers's employment. Even the
high pay cannot reconcile me to the discomforts of my
situation. On Saturday I come up to town and I do not
intend to return. Mr. Carruthers has got a trap, and so
the dangers of the lonely road, if there ever were any
dangers, are now over.
"As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely
the strained situation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the
reappearance of that odious man, Mr. Woodley. He was
always hideous, but he looks more awful than ever now,
for he appears to have had an accident and he is much
disfigured. I saw him out of the window, but I am glad
to say I did not meet him. He had a long talk with Mr.
Carruthers, who seemed much excited afterwards. Woodley
must be staying in the neighbourhood, for he did not sleep
here, and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this morning
slinking about in the shrubbery. I would sooner have a
savage wild animal loose about the place. I loathe and
fear him more than I can say. How _can_ Mr. Carruthers
endure such a creature for a moment? However, all my
troubles will be over on Saturday."
"So I trust, Watson; so I trust," said Holmes, gravely.
"There is some deep intrigue going on round that little
woman, and it is our duty to see that no one molests her
upon that last journey. I think, Watson, that we must
spare time to run down together on Saturday morning, and
make sure that this curious and inconclusive investigation
has no untoward ending."
I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious
view of the case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque
and bizarre than dangerous. That a man should lie in wait
for and follow a very handsome woman is no unheard-of
thing, and if he had so little audacity that he not only
dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, he
was not a very formidable assailant. The ruffian Woodley
was a very different person, but, except on one occasion,
he had not molested our client, and now he visited the
house of Carruthers without intruding upon her presence.
The man on the bicycle was doubtless a member of those
week-end parties at the Hall of which the publican had
spoken; but who he was or what he wanted was as obscure as
ever. It was the severity of Holmes's manner and the fact
that he slipped a revolver into his pocket before leaving
our rooms which impressed me with the feeling that tragedy
might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events.
A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and
the heath-covered country-side with the glowing clumps of
flowering gorse seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which
were weary of the duns and drabs and slate-greys of London.
Holmes and I walked along the broad, sandy road inhaling
the fresh morning air, and rejoicing in the music of the
birds and the fresh breath of the spring. From a rise of
the road on the shoulder of Crooksbury Hill we could see
the grim Hall bristling out from amidst the ancient oaks,
which, old as they were, were still younger than the
building which they surrounded. Holmes pointed down the
long tract of road which wound, a reddish yellow band,
between the brown of the heath and the budding green of
the woods. Far away, a black dot, we could see a vehicle
moving in our direction. Holmes gave an exclamation of
impatience.
"I had given a margin of half an hour," said he.
"If that is her trap she must be making for the earlier train.
I fear, Watson, that she will be past Charlington before we
can possibly meet her."
From the instant that we passed the rise we could no longer
see the vehicle, but we hastened onwards at such a pace
that my sedentary life began to tell upon me, and I was
compelled to fall behind. Holmes, however, was always in
training, for he had inexhaustible stores of nervous energy
upon which to draw. His springy step never slowed until
suddenly, when he was a hundred yards in front of me, he
halted, and I saw him throw up his hand with a gesture of
grief and despair. At the same instant an empty dog-cart,
the horse cantering, the reins trailing, appeared round
the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us.
"Too late, Watson; too late!" cried Holmes, as I ran
panting to his side. "Fool that I was not to allow for
that earlier train! It's abduction, Watson -- abduction!
Murder! Heaven knows what! Block the road! Stop the
horse! That's right. Now, jump in, and let us see if I
can repair the consequences of my own blunder."
We had sprung into the dog-cart, and Holmes, after turning
the horse, gave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew
back along the road. As we turned the curve the whole
stretch of road between the Hall and the heath was opened up.
I grasped Holmes's arm.
"That's the man!" I gasped.
A solitary cyclist was coming towards us. His head was
down and his shoulders rounded as he put every ounce of
energy that he possessed on to the pedals. He was flying
like a racer. Suddenly he raised his bearded face, saw us
close to him, and pulled up, springing from his machine.
That coal-black beard was in singular contrast to the
pallor of his face, and his eyes were as bright as if
he had a fever. He stared at us and at the dog-cart.
Then a look of amazement came over his face.
"Halloa! Stop there!" he shouted, holding his bicycle to
block our road. "Where did you get that dog-cart? Pull
up, man!" he yelled, drawing a pistol from his side pocket.
"Pull up, I say, or, by George, I'll put a bullet into your
horse."
Holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from the
cart.
"You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss Violet
Smith?" he said, in his quick, clear way.
"That's what I am asking you. You're in her dog-cart.
You ought to know where she is."
"We met the dog-cart on the road. There was no one in it.
We drove back to help the young lady."
"Good Lord! Good Lord! what shall I do?" cried the
stranger, in an ecstasy of despair. "They've got her, that
hellhound Woodley and the blackguard parson. Come, man,
> come, if you really are her friend. Stand by me and we'll
save her, if I have to leave my carcass in Charlington Wood."
He ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, towards a gap
in the hedge. Holmes followed him, and I, leaving the
horse grazing beside the road, followed Holmes.
"This is where they came through," said he, pointing to the
marks of several feet upon the muddy path. "Halloa! Stop
a minute! Who's this in the bush?"
It was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an
ostler, with leather cords and gaiters. He lay upon his
back, his knees drawn up, a terrible cut upon his head.
He was insensible, but alive. A glance at his wound told
me that it had not penetrated the bone.
"That's Peter, the groom," cried the stranger. "He drove
her. The beasts have pulled him off and clubbed him. Let
him lie; we can't do him any good, but we may save her from
the worst fate that can befall a woman."
We ran frantically down the path, which wound among the
trees. We had reached the shrubbery which surrounded the
house when Holmes pulled up.
"They didn't go to the house. Here are their marks on the
left -- here, beside the laurel bushes! Ah, I said so!"
As he spoke a woman's shrill scream -- a scream which
vibrated with a frenzy of horror -- burst from the thick
green clump of bushes in front of us. It ended suddenly on
its highest note with a choke and a gurgle.
"This way! This way! They are in the bowling alley,"
cried the stranger, darting through the bushes. "Ah, the
cowardly dogs! Follow me, gentlemen! Too late! too late!
by the living Jingo!"
We had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of greensward
surrounded by ancient trees. On the farther side of it,
under the shadow of a mighty oak, there stood a singular
group of three people. One was a woman, our client,
drooping and faint, a handkerchief round her mouth.
Opposite her stood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-moustached
young man, his gaitered legs parted wide, one arm akimbo,
the other waving a riding-crop, his whole attitude
suggestive of triumphant bravado. Between them an elderly,
grey-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light
tweed suit, had evidently just completed the wedding
service, for he pocketed his prayer-book as we appeared and
slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the back in jovial
congratulation.
"They're married!" I gasped.
"Come on!" cried our guide; "come on!" He rushed across
the glade, Holmes and I at his heels. As we approached,
the lady staggered against the trunk of the tree for
support. Williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowed to us with
mock politeness, and the bully Woodley advanced with a
shout of brutal and exultant laughter.
"You can take your beard off, Bob," said he. "I know you
right enough. Well, you and your pals have just come in
time for me to be able to introduce you to Mrs. Woodley."
Our guide's answer was a singular one. He snatched off the
dark beard which had disguised him and threw it on the
ground, disclosing a long, sallow, clean-shaven face below
it. Then he raised his revolver and covered the young
ruffian, who was advancing upon him with his dangerous
riding-crop swinging in his hand.
"Yes," said our ally, "I _am_ Bob Carruthers, and I'll see
this woman righted if I have to swing for it. I told you
what I'd do if you molested her, and, by the Lord, I'll be
as good as my word!"
"You're too late. She's my wife!"
"No, she's your widow."
His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt from the
front of Woodley's waistcoat. He spun round with a scream
and fell upon his back, his hideous red face turning
suddenly to a dreadful mottled pallor. The old man, still
clad in his surplice, burst into such a string of foul
oaths as I have never heard, and pulled out a revolver of
his own, but before he could raise it he was looking down
the barrel of Holmes's weapon.
"Enough of this," said my friend, coldly. "Drop that
pistol! Watson, pick it up! Hold it to his head! Thank
you. You, Carruthers, give me that revolver. We'll have
no more violence. Come, hand it over!"
"Who are you, then?"
"My name is Sherlock Holmes."
"Good Lord!"
"You have heard of me, I see. I will represent the
official police until their arrival. Here, you!" he
shouted to a frightened groom who had appeared at the edge
of the glade. "Come here. Take this note as hard as you
can ride to Farnham." He scribbled a few words upon a leaf
from his note-book. "Give it to the superintendent at the
police-station. Until he comes I must detain you all under
my personal custody."
The strong, masterful personality of Holmes dominated the
tragic scene, and all were equally puppets in his hands.
Williamson and Carruthers found themselves carrying the
wounded Woodley into the house, and I gave my arm to the
frightened girl. The injured man was laid on his bed, and
at Holmes's request I examined him. I carried my report to
where he sat in the old tapestry-hung dining-room with his
two prisoners before him.
"He will live," said I.
"What!" cried Carruthers, springing out of his chair.
"I'll go upstairs and finish him first. Do you tell me
that that girl, that angel, is to be tied to Roaring Jack
Woodley for life?"
"You need not concern yourself about that," said Holmes.
"There are two very good reasons why she should under no
circumstances be his wife. In the first place, we are very
safe in questioning Mr. Williamson's right to solemnize a
marriage."
"I have been ordained," cried the old rascal.
"And also unfrocked."
"Once a clergyman, always a clergyman."
"I think not. How about the license?"
"We had a license for the marriage. I have it here in my
pocket."
"Then you got it by a trick. But in any case a forced
marriage is no marriage, but it is a very serious felony,
as you will discover before you have finished. You'll have
time to think the point out during the next ten years or
so, unless I am mistaken. As to you, Carruthers, you would
have done better to keep your pistol in your pocket."
"I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes; but when I thought of all
the precaution I had taken to shield this girl -- for I
loved her, Mr. Holmes, and it is the only time that ever I
knew what love was -- it fairly drove me mad to think that
she was in the power of the greatest brute and bully in
South Africa, a man whose name is a holy terror from
Kimberley to Johannesburg. Why, Mr. Holmes, you'll hardly
believe it, but ever since that girl has been in my
employment I never once let h
er go past this house, where I
knew these rascals were lurking, without following her on
my bicycle just to see that she came to no harm. I kept my
distance from her, and I wore a beard so that she should
not recognise me, for she is a good and high-spirited girl,
and she wouldn't have stayed in my employment long if she
had thought that I was following her about the country
roads."
"Why didn't you tell her of her danger?"
"Because then, again, she would have left me, and I
couldn't bear to face that. Even if she couldn't love me
it was a great deal to me just to see her dainty form about
the house, and to hear the sound of her voice."
"Well," said I, "you call that love, Mr. Carruthers, but I
should call it selfishness."
"Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I couldn't let
her go. Besides, with this crowd about, it was well that
she should have someone near to look after her. Then when
the cable came I knew they were bound to make a move."
"What cable?"
Carruthers took a telegram from his pocket.
"That's it," said he.
It was short and concise:--
"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 quarreled, 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.