The Return of Sherlock Holmes

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