"Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson, where would
you expect it to break? Surely at the spot where it is attached
to the wire. Why should it break three inches from the top as
this one has done?"
"Because it is frayed there?"
"Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is frayed. He was
cunning enough to do that with his knife. But the other end is
not frayed. You could not observe that from here, but if you were
on the mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off without
any mark of fraying whatever. You can reconstruct what occurred.
The man needed the rope. He would not tear it down for fear of
giving the alarm by ringing the bell. What did he do? He sprang
up on the mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his knee on
the bracket -- you will see the impression in the dust -- and so
got his knife to bear upon the cord. I could not reach the place
by at least three inches, from which I infer that he is at least
three inches a bigger man than I. Look at that mark upon the seat
of the oaken chair! What is it?"
"Blood."
"Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the lady's story out of
court. If she were seated on the chair when the crime was done,
how comes that mark? No, no; she was placed in the chair _after_
the death of her husband. I'll wager that the black dress shows a
corresponding mark to this. We have not yet met our Waterloo,
Watson, but this is our Marengo, for it begins in defeat and ends
in victory. I should like now to have a few words with the nurse
Theresa. We must be wary for awhile, if we are to get the
information which we want."
She was an interesting person, this stern Australian nurse.
Taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before
Holmes's pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said
thawed her into a corresponding amiability. She did not attempt
to conceal her hatred for her late employer.
"Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. I heard
him call my mistress a name, and I told him that he would not dare
to speak so if her brother had been there. Then it was that he
threw it at me. He might have thrown a dozen if he had but left
my bonny bird alone. He was for ever illtreating her, and she too
proud to complain. She will not even tell me all that he has done
to her. She never told me of those marks on her arm that you saw
this morning, but I know very well that they come from a stab with
a hat-pin. The sly fiend -- Heaven forgive me that I should speak
of him so, now that he is dead, but a fiend he was if ever one
walked the earth. He was all honey when first we met him, only
eighteen months ago, and we both feel as if it were eighteen
years. She had only just arrived in London. Yes, it was her
first voyage -- she had never been from home before. He won her
with his title and his money and his false London ways. If she
made a mistake she has paid for it, if ever a woman did. What
month did we meet him? Well, I tell you it was just after we
arrived. We arrived in June, and it was July. They were married
in January of last year. Yes, she is down in the morning-room
again, and I have no doubt she will see you, but you must not ask
too much of her, for she has gone through all that flesh and blood
will stand."
Lady Brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but looked
brighter than before. The maid had entered with us, and began
once more to foment the bruise upon her mistress's brow.
"I hope," said the lady, "that you have not come to cross-examine
me again?"
"No," Holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, "I will not cause
you any unnecessary trouble, Lady Brackenstall, and my whole
desire is to make things easy for you, for I am convinced that you
are a much-tried woman. If you will treat me as a friend and
trust me you may find that I will justify your trust."
"What do you want me to do?"
"To tell me the truth."
"Mr. Holmes!"
"No, no, Lady Brackenstall, it is no use. You may have heard of
any little reputation which I possess. I will stake it all on the
fact that your story is an absolute fabrication."
Mistress and maid were both staring at Holmes with pale faces and
frightened eyes.
"You are an impudent fellow!" cried Theresa. "Do you mean to say
that my mistress has told a lie?"
Holmes rose from his chair.
"Have you nothing to tell me?"
"I have told you everything."
"Think once more, Lady Brackenstall. Would it not be better to be
frank?"
For an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face. Then
some new strong thought caused it to set like a mask.
"I have told you all I know."
Holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders. "I am sorry," he
said, and without another word we left the room and the house.
There was a pond in the park, and to this my friend led the way.
It was frozen over, but a single hole was left for the convenience
of a solitary swan. Holmes gazed at it and then passed on to the
lodge gate. There he scribbled a short note for Stanley Hopkins
and left it with the lodge-keeper.
"It may be a hit or it may be a miss, but we are bound to do
something for friend Hopkins, just to justify this second visit,"
said he. "I will not quite take him into my confidence yet. I
think our next scene of operations must be the shipping office of
the Adelaide-Southampton line, which stands at the end of Pall
Mall, if I remember right. There is a second line of steamers
which connect South Australia with England, but we will draw the
larger cover first."
Holmes's card sent in to the manager ensured instant attention,
and he was not long in acquiring all the information which he
needed. In June of '95 only one of their line had reached a home
port. It was the _Rock of Gibraltar_, their largest and best
boat. A reference to the passenger list showed that Miss Fraser
of Adelaide, with her maid, had made the voyage in her. The boat
was now on her way to Australia, somewhere to the south of the
Suez Canal. Her officers were the same as in '95, with one
exception. The first officer, Mr. Jack Croker, had been made a
captain, and was to take charge of their new ship, the _Bass
Rock_, sailing in two days' time from Southampton. He lived at
Sydenham, but he was likely to be in that morning for
instructions, if we cared to wait for him.
No; Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but would be glad to know
more about his record and character.
His record was magnificent. There was not an officer in the fleet
to touch him. As to his character, he was reliable on duty, but a
wild, desperate fellow off the deck of his ship, hot-headed,
excitable, but loyal, honest, and kind-hearted. That was the pith
of the
information with which Holmes left the office of the
Adelaide-Southampton company. Thence he drove to Scotland Yard,
but instead of entering he sat in his cab with his brows drawn
down, lost in profound thought. Finally he drove round to the
Charing Cross telegraph office, sent off a message, and then, at
last, we made for Baker Street once more.
"No, I couldn't do it, Watson," said he, as we re-entered our
room. "Once that warrant was made out nothing on earth would save
him. Once or twice in my career I feel that I have done more real
harm by my discovery of the criminal than ever he had done by his
crime. I have learned caution now, and I had rather play tricks
with the law of England than with my own conscience. Let us know
a little more before we act."
Before evening we had a visit from Inspector Stanley Hopkins.
Things were not going very well with him.
"I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes. I really do
sometimes think that you have powers that are not human. Now, how
on earth could you know that the stolen silver was at the bottom
of that pond?"
"I didn't know it."
"But you told me to examine it."
"You got it, then?"
"Yes, I got it."
"I am very glad if I have helped you."
"But you haven't helped me. You have made the affair far more
difficult. What sort of burglars are they who steal silver and
then throw it into the nearest pond?"
"It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. I was merely going
on the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons who did
not want it, who merely took it for a blind as it were, then they
would naturally be anxious to get rid of it."
"But why should such an idea cross your mind?"
"Well, I thought it was possible. When they came out through the
French window there was the pond, with one tempting little hole in
the ice, right in front of their noses. Could there be a better
hiding-place?"
"Ah, a hiding-place -- that is better!" cried Stanley Hopkins.
"Yes, yes, I see it all now! It was early, there were folk upon
the roads, they were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they
sank it in the pond, intending to return for it when the coast was
clear. Excellent, Mr. Holmes -- that is better than your idea of
a blind."
"Quite so; you have got an admirable theory. I have no doubt that
my own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that they have
ended in discovering the silver."
"Yes, sir, yes. It was all your doing. But I have had a bad
set-back."
"A set-back?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were arrested in New York this
morning."
"Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against your theory
that they committed a murder in Kent last night."
"It is fatal, Mr. Holmes, absolutely fatal. Still, there are
other gangs of three besides the Randalls, or it may be some new
gang of which the police have never heard."
"Quite so; it is perfectly possible. What, are you off?"
Yes, Mr. Holmes; there is no rest for me until I have got to the
bottom of the business. I suppose you have no hint to give me?"
"I have given you one."
"Which?"
"Well, I suggested a blind."
"But why, Mr. Holmes, why?"
"Ah, that's the question, of course. But I commend the idea to
your mind. You might possibly find that there was something in it.
You won't stop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us know
how you get on."
Dinner was over and the table cleared before Holmes alluded to the
matter again. He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet to
the cheerful blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at his watch.
"I expect developments, Watson."
"When?"
"Now -- within a few minutes. I dare say you thought I acted
rather badly to Stanley Hopkins just now?"
"I trust your judgment."
"A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look at it this way:
what I know is unofficial; what he knows is official. I have the
right to private judgment, but he has none. He must disclose all,
or he is a traitor to his service. In a doubtful case I would not
put him in so painful a position, and so I reserve my information
until my own mind is clear upon the matter."
"But when will that be?"
"The time has come. You will now be present at the last scene of
a remarkable little drama."
There was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened to
admit as fine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through it.
He was a very tall young man, golden-moustached, blue-eyed, with a
skin which had been burned by tropical suns, and a springy step
which showed that the huge frame was as active as it was strong.
He closed the door behind him, and then he stood with clenched
hands and heaving breast, choking down some overmastering emotion.
"Sit down, Captain Croker. You got my telegram?"
Our visitor sank into an arm-chair and looked from one to the
other of us with questioning eyes.
"I got your telegram, and I came at the hour you said. I heard
that you had been down to the office. There was no getting away
from you. Let's hear the worst. What are you going to do with
me? Arrest me? Speak out, man! You can't sit there and play
with me like a cat with a mouse."
"Give him a cigar," said Holmes. "Bite on that, Captain Croker,
and don't let your nerves run away with you. I should not sit
here smoking with you if I thought that you were a common
criminal, you may be sure of that. Be frank with me, and we may
do some good. Play tricks with me, and I'll crush you."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"To give me a true account of all that happened at the Abbey
Grange last night -- a _true_ account, mind you, with nothing
added and nothing taken off. I know so much already that if you
go one inch off the straight I'll blow this police whistle from my
window and the affair goes out of my hands for ever."
The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck his leg with his
great, sun-burned hand.
"I'll chance it," he cried. "I believe you are a man of your
word, and a white man, and I'll tell you the whole story. But one
thing I will say first. So far as I am concerned I regret nothing
and I fear nothing, and I would do it all again and be proud of
the job. Curse the beast, if he had as many lives as a cat he
would owe them all to me! But it's the lady, Mary -- Mary Fraser
-- for never will I call her by that accursed name. When I think
of getting her into trouble, I who would give my life just to
bring one smile to her dear face, it's that that turns my soul
into water. And yet -- and yet -- what less could I do? I'll
tell you my story, gentlemen, and then I'll ask you as man to man
what less could I do.
"I must go back a bit. You seem to know e
verything, so I expect
that you know that I met her when she was a passenger and I was
first officer of the _Rock of Gibraltar_. From the first day I
met her she was the only woman to me. Every day of that voyage I
loved her more, and many a time since have I kneeled down in the
darkness of the night watch and kissed the deck of that ship
because I knew her dear feet had trod it. She was never engaged
to me. She treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated a man.
I have no complaint to make. It was all love on my side, and all
good comradeship and friendship on hers. When we parted she was a
free woman, but I could never again be a free man.
"Next time I came back from sea I heard of her marriage. Well,
why shouldn't she marry whom she liked? Title and money -- who
could carry them better than she? She was born for all that is
beautiful and dainty. I didn't grieve over her marriage. I was
not such a selfish hound as that. I just rejoiced that good luck
had come her way, and that she had not thrown herself away on a
penniless sailor. That's how I loved Mary Fraser.
"Well, I never thought to see her again; but last voyage I was
promoted, and the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to wait
for a couple of months with my people at Sydenham. One day out in
a country lane I met Theresa Wright, her old maid. She told me
about her, about him, about everything. I tell you, gentlemen,
it nearly drove me mad. This drunken hound, that he should dare
to raise his hand to her whose boots he was not worthy to lick!
I met Theresa again. Then I met Mary herself -- and met her again.
Then she would meet me no more. But the other day I had a notice
that I was to start on my voyage within a week, and I determined
that I would see her once before I left. Theresa was always my
friend, for she loved Mary and hated this villain almost as much
as I did. From her I learned the ways of the house. Mary used to
sit up reading in her own little room downstairs. I crept round
there last night and scratched at the window. At first she would
not open to me, but in her heart I know that now she loves me, and
she could not leave me in the frosty night. She whispered to me
to come round to the big front window, and I found it open before
me so as to let me into the dining-room. Again I heard from her
own lips things that made my blood boil, and again I cursed this
brute who mishandled the woman that I loved. Well, gentlemen,
I was standing with her just inside the window, in all innocence,
as Heaven is my judge, when he rushed like a madman into the room,
called her the vilest name that a man could use to a woman, and
welted her across the face with the stick he had in his hand.
I had sprung for the poker, and it was a fair fight between us.
See here on my arm where his first blow fell. Then it was my turn,
and I went through him as if he had been a rotten pumpkin. Do you
think I was sorry? Not I! It was his life or mine, but far more
than that it was his life or hers, for how could I leave her in
the power of this madman? That was how I killed him. Was I wrong?
Well, then, what would either of you gentlemen have done if you
had been in my position?"
"She had screamed when he struck her, and that brought old Theresa
down from the room above. There was a bottle of wine on the
sideboard, and I opened it and poured a little between Mary's
lips, for she was half dead with the shock. Then I took a drop
myself. Theresa was as cool as ice, and it was her plot as much
as mine. We must make it appear that burglars had done the thing.
Theresa kept on repeating our story to her mistress, while I
swarmed up and cut the rope of the bell. Then I lashed her in her
chair, and frayed out the end of the rope to make it look natural,
else they would wonder how in the world a burglar could have got