under my feet. It's down in Kent, seven miles from Chatham
and three from the railway line. I was wired for at
three-fifteen, reached Yoxley Old Place at five, conducted
my investigation, was back at Charing Cross by the last
train, and straight to you by cab."
"Which means, I suppose, that you are not quite clear about
your case?"
"It means that I can make neither head nor tail of it.
So far as I can see it is just as tangled a business as ever
I handled, and yet at first it seemed so simple that one
couldn't go wrong. There's no motive, Mr. Holmes. That's
what bothers me -- I can't put my hand on a motive. Here's
a man dead -- there's no denying that -- but, so far as I
can see, no reason on earth why anyone should wish him harm."
Holmes lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair.
"Let us hear about it," said he.
"I've got my facts pretty clear," said Stanley Hopkins.
"All I want now is to know what they all mean. The story,
so far as I can make it out, is like this. Some years ago
this country house, Yoxley Old Place, was taken by an
elderly man, who gave the name of Professor Coram. He was
an invalid, keeping his bed half the time, and the other
half hobbling round the house with a stick or being pushed
about the grounds by the gardener in a bath-chair. He was
well liked by the few neighbours who called upon him, and he
has the reputation down there of being a very learned man.
His household used to consist of an elderly housekeeper,
Mrs. Marker, and of a maid, Susan Tarlton. These have both
been with him since his arrival, and they seem to be women
of excellent character. The Professor is writing a learned
book, and he found it necessary about a year ago to engage a
secretary. The first two that he tried were not successes;
but the third, Mr. Willoughby Smith, a very young man
straight from the University, seems to have been just what
his employer wanted. His work consisted in writing all the
morning to the Professor's dictation, and he usually spent
the evening in hunting up references and passages which bore
upon the next day's work. This Willoughby Smith has nothing
against him either as a boy at Uppingham or as a young man
at Cambridge. I have seen his testimonials, and from the
first he was a decent, quiet, hardworking fellow, with no
weak spot in him at all. And yet this is the lad who has
met his death this morning in the Professor's study under
circumstances which can point only to murder."
The wind howled and screamed at the windows. Holmes and I
drew closer to the fire while the young inspector slowly and
point by point developed his singular narrative.
"If you were to search all England," said he, "I don't
suppose you could find a household more self-contained or
free from outside influences. Whole weeks would pass and
not one of them go past the garden gate. The Professor was
buried in his work and existed for nothing else. Young
Smith knew nobody in the neighbourhood, and lived very much
as his employer did. The two women had nothing to take them
from the house. Mortimer the gardener, who wheels the
bath-chair, is an Army pensioner -- an old Crimean man of
excellent character. He does not live in the house, but in
a three-roomed cottage at the other end of the garden.
Those are the only people that you would find within the
grounds of Yoxley Old Place. At the same time, the gate of
the garden is a hundred yards from the main London to
Chatham road. It opens with a latch, and there is nothing
to prevent anyone from walking in.
"Now I will give you the evidence of Susan Tarlton, who is
the only person who can say anything positive about the
matter. It was in the forenoon, between eleven and twelve.
She was engaged at the moment in hanging some curtains in
the upstairs front bedroom. Professor Coram was still in
bed, for when the weather is bad he seldom rises before
midday. The housekeeper was busied with some work in the
back of the house. Willoughby Smith had been in his
bedroom, which he uses as a sitting-room; but the maid heard
him at that moment pass along the passage and descend to the
study immediately below her. She did not see him, but she
says that she could not be mistaken in his quick, firm
tread. She did not hear the study door close, but a minute
or so later there was a dreadful cry in the room below. It
was a wild, hoarse scream, so strange and unnatural that it
might have come either from a man or a woman. At the same
instant there was a heavy thud, which shook the old house,
and then all was silence. The maid stood petrified for a
moment, and then, recovering her courage, she ran
downstairs. The study door was shut, and she opened it.
Inside young Mr. Willoughby Smith was stretched upon the
floor. At first she could see no injury, but as she tried
to raise him she saw that blood was pouring from the
underside of his neck. It was pierced by a very small but
very deep wound, which had divided the carotid artery. The
instrument with which the injury had been inflicted lay upon
the carpet beside him. It was one of those small
sealing-wax knives to be found on old-fashioned
writing-tables, with an ivory handle and a stiff blade.
It was part of the fittings of the Professor's own desk.
"At first the maid thought that young Smith was already
dead, but on pouring some water from the carafe over his
forehead he opened his eyes for an instant. 'The
Professor,' he murmured -- 'it was she.' The maid is
prepared to swear that those were the exact words. He tried
desperately to say something else, and he held his right
hand up in the air. Then he fell back dead.
"In the meantime the housekeeper had also arrived upon the
scene, but she was just too late to catch the young man's
dying words. Leaving Susan with the body, she hurried to
the Professor's room. He was sitting up in bed horribly
agitated, for he had heard enough to convince him that
something terrible had occurred. Mrs. Marker is prepared to
swear that the Professor was still in his night-clothes,
and, indeed, it was impossible for him to dress without the
help of Mortimer, whose orders were to come at twelve
o'clock. The Professor declares that he heard the distant
cry, but that he knows nothing more. He can give no
explanation of the young man's last words, 'The Professor --
it was she,' but imagines that they were the outcome of
delirium. He believes that Willoughby Smith had not an
enemy in the world, and can give no reason for the crime.
His first action was to send Mortimer the gardener for the
local police. A little later the chief constable sent for me.
Nothing was moved before I got there, and strict or
ders were
given that no one should walk upon the paths leading to the
house. It was a splendid chance of putting your theories
into practice, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. There was really nothing
wanting."
"Except Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said my companion, with a
somewhat bitter smile. "Well, let us hear about it. What
sort of job did you make of it?"
"I must ask you first, Mr. Holmes, to glance at this rough
plan, which will give you a general idea of the position of
the Professor's study and the various points of the case.
It will help you in following my investigation."
He unfolded the rough chart, which I here reproduce, and he
laid it across Holmes's knee. I rose, and, standing behind
Holmes, I studied it over his shoulder.
{GRAPHIC}
"It is very rough, of course, and it only deals with the
points which seem to me to be essential. All the rest you
will see later for yourself. Now, first of all, presuming
that the assassin entered the house, how did he or she come
in? Undoubtedly by the garden path and the back door, from
which there is direct access to the study. Any other way
would have been exceedingly complicated. The escape must
have also been made along that line, for of the two other
exits from the room one was blocked by Susan as she ran
downstairs and the other leads straight to the Professor's
bedroom. I therefore directed my attention at once to the
garden path, which was saturated with recent rain and would
certainly show any footmarks.
"My examination showed me that I was dealing with a cautious
and expert criminal. No footmarks were to be found on the
path. There could be no question, however, that someone had
passed along the grass border which lines the path, and that
he had done so in order to avoid leaving a track. I could
not find anything in the nature of a distinct impression,
but the grass was trodden down and someone had undoubtedly
passed. It could only have been the murderer, since neither
the gardener nor anyone else had been there that morning and
the rain had only begun during the night."
"One moment," said Holmes. "Where does this path lead to?"
"To the road."
"How long is it?"
"A hundred yards or so."
"At the point where the path passes through the gate you
could surely pick up the tracks?"
"Unfortunately, the path was tiled at that point."
"Well, on the road itself?"
"No; it was all trodden into mire."
"Tut-tut! Well, then, these tracks upon the grass, were
they coming or going?"
"It was impossible to say. There was never any outline."
"A large foot or a small?"
"You could not distinguish."
Holmes gave an ejaculation of impatience.
"It has been pouring rain and blowing a hurricane ever
since," said he. "It will be harder to read now than that
palimpsest. Well, well, it can't be helped. What did you
do, Hopkins, after you had made certain that you had made
certain of nothing?"
"I think I made certain of a good deal, Mr. Holmes. I knew
that someone had entered the house cautiously from without.
I next examined the corridor. It is lined with cocoanut
matting and had taken no impression of any kind. This
brought me into the study itself. It is a
scantily-furnished room. The main article is a large
writing-table with a fixed bureau. This bureau consists of
a double column of drawers with a central small cupboard
between them. The drawers were open, the cupboard locked.
The drawers, it seems, were always open, and nothing of
value was kept in them. There were some papers of
importance in the cupboard, but there were no signs that
this had been tampered with, and the Professor assures me
that nothing was missing. It is certain that no robbery has
been committed.
"I come now to the body of the young man. It was found near
the bureau, and just to the left of it, as marked upon that
chart. The stab was on the right side of the neck and from
behind forwards, so that it is almost impossible that it
could have been self-inflicted."
"Unless he fell upon the knife," said Holmes.
"Exactly. The idea crossed my mind. But we found the knife
some feet away from the body, so that seems impossible.
Then, of course, there are the man's own dying words. And,
finally, there was this very important piece of evidence
which was found clasped in the dead man's right hand."
From his pocket Stanley Hopkins drew a small paper packet.
He unfolded it and disclosed a golden pince-nez, with two
broken ends of black silk cord dangling from the end of it.
"Willoughby Smith had excellent sight," he added. "There
can be no question that this was snatched from the face or
the person of the assassin."
Sherlock Holmes took the glasses into his hand and examined
them with the utmost attention and interest. He held them
on his nose, endeavoured to read through them, went to the
window and stared up the street with them, looked at them
most minutely in the full light of the lamp, and finally,
with a chuckle, seated himself at the table and wrote a few
lines upon a sheet of paper, which he tossed across to
Stanley Hopkins.
"That's the best I can do for you," said he. "It may prove
to be of some use."
The astonished detective read the note aloud. It ran as
follows:--
"Wanted, a woman of good address, attired like a lady.
She has a remarkably thick nose, with eyes which are set
close upon either side of it. She has a puckered forehead,
a peering expression, and probably rounded shoulders. There
are indications that she has had recourse to an optician at
least twice during the last few months. As her glasses are
of remarkable strength and as opticians are not very
numerous, there should be no difficulty in tracing her."
Holmes smiled at the astonishment of Hopkins, which must
have been reflected upon my features.
"Surely my deductions are simplicity itself," said he. "It
would be difficult to name any articles which afford a finer
field for inference than a pair of glasses, especially so
remarkable a pair as these. That they belong to a woman I
infer from their delicacy, and also, of course, from the
last words of the dying man. As to her being a person of
refinement and well dressed, they are, as you perceive,
handsomely mounted in solid gold, and it is inconceivable
that anyone who wore such glasses could be slatternly in
other respects. You will find that the clips are too wide
for your nose, showing that the lady's nose was very broad
at the base. This sort of nose is usually a short and
coarse one, but there are a sufficient number of exceptions
to prevent me fro
m being dogmatic or from insisting upon
this point in my description. My own face is a narrow one,
and yet I find that I cannot get my eyes into the centre, or
near the centre, of these glasses. Therefore the lady's
eyes are set very near to the sides of the nose. You will
perceive, Watson, that the glasses are concave and of
unusual strength. A lady whose vision has been so extremely
contracted all her life is sure to have the physical
characteristics of such vision, which are seen in the
forehead, the eyelids, and the shoulders."
"Yes," I said, "I can follow each of your arguments. I
confess, however, that I am unable to understand how you
arrive at the double visit to the optician."
Holmes took the glasses into his hand.
"You will perceive," he said, "that the clips are lined with
tiny bands of cork to soften the pressure upon the nose.
One of these is discoloured and worn to some slight extent,
but the other is new. Evidently one has fallen off and been
replaced. I should judge that the older of them has not
been there more than a few months. They exactly correspond,
so I gather that the lady went back to the same
establishment for the second."
"By George, it's marvellous!" cried Hopkins, in an ecstasy
of admiration. "To think that I had all that evidence in my
hand and never knew it! I had intended, however, to go the
round of the London opticians."
"Of course you would. Meanwhile, have you anything more to
tell us about the case?"
"Nothing, Mr. Holmes. I think that you know as much as I do
now -- probably more. We have had inquiries made as to any
stranger seen on the country roads or at the railway
station. We have heard of none. What beats me is the utter
want of all object in the crime. Not a ghost of a motive
can anyone suggest."
"Ah! there I am not in a position to help you. But I
suppose you want us to come out to-morrow?"
"If it is not asking too much, Mr. Holmes. There's a train
from Charing Cross to Chatham at six in the morning, and we
should be at Yoxley Old Place between eight and nine."
"Then we shall take it. Your case has certainly some
features of great interest, and I shall be delighted to look
into it. Well, it's nearly one, and we had best get a few
hours' sleep. I dare say you can manage all right on the
sofa in front of the fire. I'll light my spirit-lamp and
give you a cup of coffee before we start."
The gale had blown itself out next day, but it was a bitter
morning when we started upon our journey. We saw the cold
winter sun rise over the dreary marshes of the Thames and
the long, sullen reaches of the river, which I shall ever
associate with our pursuit of the Andaman Islander in the
earlier days of our career. After a long and weary journey
we alighted at a small station some miles from Chatham.
While a horse was being put into a trap at the local inn we
snatched a hurried breakfast, and so we were all ready for
business when we at last arrived at Yoxley Old Place. A
constable met us at the garden gate.
"Well, Wilson, any news?"
"No, sir, nothing."
"No reports of any stranger seen?"
"No, sir. Down at the station they are certain that no
stranger either came or went yesterday."
"Have you had inquiries made at inns and lodgings?"
"Yes, sir; there is no one that we cannot account for."
"Well, it's only a reasonable walk to Chatham. Anyone might
stay there, or take a train without being observed. This is
the garden path of which I spoke, Mr. Holmes. I'll pledge
my word there was no mark on it yesterday."
"On which side were the marks on the grass?"
"This side, sir. This narrow margin of grass between the
path and the flower-bed. I can't see the traces now, but
they were clear to me then."
"Yes, yes; someone has passed along," said Holmes, stooping
over the grass border. "Our lady must have picked her steps
carefully, must she not, since on the one side she would