the handle. It is known that Mr. Jonas Oldacre had
received a late visitor in his bedroom upon that night, and
the stick found has been identified as the property of this
person, who is a young London solicitor named John Hector
McFarlane, junior partner of Graham and McFarlane, of 426,
Gresham Buildings, E.C. The police believe that they have
evidence in their possession which supplies a very
convincing motive for the crime, and altogether it cannot
be doubted that sensational developments will follow.
LATER. -- It is rumoured as we go to press that Mr. John
Hector McFarlane has actually been arrested on the charge
of the murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre. It is at least certain
that a warrant has been issued. There have been further
and sinister developments in the investigation at Norwood.
Besides the signs of a struggle in the room of the
unfortunate builder it is now known that the French windows
of his bedroom (which is on the ground floor) were found to
be open, that there were marks as if some bulky object had
been dragged across to the wood-pile, and, finally, it is
asserted that charred remains have been found among the
charcoal ashes of the fire. The police theory is that a
most sensational crime has been committed, that the victim
was clubbed to death in his own bedroom, his papers rifled,
and his dead body dragged across to the wood-stack, which
was then ignited so as to hide all traces of the crime.
The conduct of the criminal investigation has been left in
the experienced hands of Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland
Yard, who is following up the clues with his accustomed
energy and sagacity. {1}
Sherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes and finger-tips
together to this remarkable account.
"The case has certainly some points of interest," said he,
in his languid fashion. "May I ask, in the first place,
Mr. McFarlane, how it is that you are still at liberty,
since there appears to be enough evidence to justify your
arrest?"
"I live at Torrington Lodge, Blackheath, with my parents,
Mr. Holmes; but last night, having to do business very late
with Mr. Jonas Oldacre, I stayed at an hotel in Norwood,
and came to my business from there. I knew nothing of this
affair until I was in the train, when I read what you have
just heard. I at once saw the horrible danger of my
position, and I hurried to put the case into your hands.
I have no doubt that I should have been arrested either at my
City office or at my home. A man followed me from London
Bridge Station, and I have no doubt ---- Great Heaven, what
is that?"
It was a clang of the bell, followed instantly by heavy
steps upon the stair. A moment later our old friend
Lestrade appeared in the doorway. Over his shoulder I
caught a glimpse of one or two uniformed policemen outside.
"Mr. John Hector McFarlane?" said Lestrade.
Our unfortunate client rose with a ghastly face.
"I arrest you for the wilful murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre,
of Lower Norwood."
McFarlane turned to us with a gesture of despair, and sank
into his chair once more like one who is crushed.
"One moment, Lestrade," said Holmes. "Half an hour more or
less can make no difference to you, and the gentleman was
about to give us an account of this very interesting
affair, which might aid us in clearing it up."
"I think there will be no difficulty in clearing it up,"
said Lestrade, grimly.
"None the less, with your permission, I should be much
interested to hear his account."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, it is difficult for me to refuse you
anything, for you have been of use to the force once or
twice in the past, and we owe you a good turn at Scotland
Yard," said Lestrade. "At the same time I must remain with
my prisoner, and I am bound to warn him that anything he
may say will appear in evidence against him."
"I wish nothing better," said our client. "All I ask is
that you should hear and recognise the absolute truth."
Lestrade looked at his watch. "I'll give you half an
hour," said he.
"I must explain first," said McFarlane, "that I knew
nothing of Mr. Jonas Oldacre. His name was familiar to me,
for many years ago my parents were acquainted with him, but
they drifted apart. I was very much surprised, therefore,
when yesterday, about three o'clock in the afternoon, he
walked into my office in the City. But I was still more
astonished when he told me the object of his visit. He had
in his hand several sheets of a note-book, covered with
scribbled writing -- here they are -- and he laid them on
my table.
"'Here is my will,' said he. 'I want you, Mr. McFarlane,
to cast it into proper legal shape. I will sit here while
you do so.'
"I set myself to copy it, and you can imagine my
astonishment when I found that, with some reservations,
he had left all his property to me. He was a strange little,
ferret-like man, with white eyelashes, and when I looked up
at him I found his keen grey eyes fixed upon me with an
amused expression. I could hardly believe my own senses as
I read the terms of the will; but he explained that he was
a bachelor with hardly any living relation, that he had
known my parents in his youth, and that he had always heard
of me as a very deserving young man, and was assured that
his money would be in worthy hands. Of course, I could
only stammer out my thanks. The will was duly finished,
signed, and witnessed by my clerk. This is it on the blue
paper, and these slips, as I have explained, are the rough
draft. Mr. Jonas Oldacre then informed me that there were
a number of documents -- building leases, title-deeds,
mortgages, scrip, and so forth -- which it was necessary
that I should see and understand. He said that his mind
would not be easy until the whole thing was settled, and he
begged me to come out to his house at Norwood that night,
bringing the will with me, and to arrange matters.
'Remember, my boy, not one word to your parents about the
affair until everything is settled. We will keep it as a
little surprise for them.' He was very insistent upon this
point, and made me promise it faithfully.
"You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not in a humour
to refuse him anything that he might ask. He was my
benefactor, and all my desire was to carry out his wishes
in every particular. I sent a telegram home, therefore, to
say that I had important business on hand, and that it was
impossible for me to say how late I might be. Mr. Oldacre
had told me that he would like me to have supper with him
at nine, as he might not be home before that hour. I had
some difficulty in finding his house, however, and it was
nearly half-pas
t before I reached it. I found him ----"
"One moment!" said Holmes. "Who opened the door?"
"A middle-aged woman, who was, I suppose, his housekeeper."
"And it was she, I presume, who mentioned your name?"
"Exactly," said McFarlane.
"Pray proceed."
McFarlane wiped his damp brow and then continued his
narrative:--
"I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room, where a
frugal supper was laid out. Afterwards Mr. Jonas Oldacre
led me into his bedroom, in which there stood a heavy safe.
This he opened and took out a mass of documents, which we
went over together. It was between eleven and twelve when
we finished. He remarked that we must not disturb the
housekeeper. He showed me out through his own French
window, which had been open all this time."
"Was the blind down?" asked Holmes.
"I will not be sure, but I believe that it was only half
down. Yes, I remember how he pulled it up in order to
swing open the window. I could not find my stick, and he
said, 'Never mind, my boy; I shall see a good deal of you
now, I hope, and I will keep your stick until you come back
to claim it.' I left him there, the safe open, and the
papers made up in packets upon the table. It was so late
that I could not get back to Blackheath, so I spent the
night at the Anerley Arms, and I knew nothing more until I
read of this horrible affair in the morning."
"Anything more that you would like to ask, Mr. Holmes?"
said Lestrade, whose eyebrows had gone up once or twice
during this remarkable explanation.
"Not until I have been to Blackheath."
"You mean to Norwood," said Lestrade.
"Oh, yes; no doubt that is what I must have meant," said
Holmes, with his enigmatical smile. Lestrade had learned
by more experiences than he would care to acknowledge that
that razor-like brain could cut through that which was
impenetrable to him. I saw him look curiously at my
companion.
"I think I should like to have a word with you presently,
Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he. "Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of
my constables are at the door and there is a four-wheeler
waiting." The wretched young man arose, and with a last
beseeching glance at us walked from the room. The officers
conducted him to the cab, but Lestrade remained.
Holmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft
of the will, and was looking at them with the keenest
interest upon his face.
"There are some points about that document, Lestrade, are
there not?" said he, pushing them over.
The official looked at them with a puzzled expression.
"I can read the first few lines, and these in the middle of
the second page, and one or two at the end. Those are as
clear as print," said he; "but the writing in between is
very bad, and there are three places where I cannot read it
at all."
"What do you make of that?" said Holmes.
"Well, what do _you_ make of it?"
"That it was written in a train; the good writing
represents stations, the bad writing movement, and the very
bad writing passing over points. A scientific expert would
pronounce at once that this was drawn up on a suburban line,
since nowhere save in the immediate vicinity of a
great city could there be so quick a succession of points.
Granting that his whole journey was occupied in drawing up
the will, then the train was an express, only stopping once
between Norwood and London Bridge."
Lestrade began to laugh.
"You are too many for me when you begin to get on your theories,
Mr. Holmes," said he. "How does this bear on the case?"
"Well, it corroborates the young man's story to the extent
that the will was drawn up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey
yesterday. It is curious -- is it not? -- that a man should
draw up so important a document in so haphazard a fashion.
It suggests that he did not think it was going to be of
much practical importance. If a man drew up a will which
he did not intend ever to be effective he might do it so."
"Well, he drew up his own death-warrant at the same time,"
said Lestrade.
"Oh, you think so?"
"Don't you?"
"Well, it is quite possible; but the case is not clear to
me yet."
"Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what _could_ be
clear? Here is a young man who learns suddenly that if a
certain older man dies he will succeed to a fortune. What
does he do? He says nothing to anyone, but he arranges
that he shall go out on some pretext to see his client that
night; he waits until the only other person in the house is
in bed, and then in the solitude of the man's room he
murders him, burns his body in the wood-pile, and departs
to a neighbouring hotel. The blood-stains in the room and
also on the stick are very slight. It is probable that he
imagined his crime to be a bloodless one, and hoped that if
the body were consumed it would hide all traces of the
method of his death -- traces which for some reason must
have pointed to him. Is all this not obvious?"
"It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as being just a trifle
too obvious," said Holmes. "You do not add imagination to
your other great qualities; but if you could for one moment
put yourself in the place of this young man, would you
choose the very night after the will had been made to
commit your crime? Would it not seem dangerous to you to
make so very close a relation between the two incidents?
Again, would you choose an occasion when you are known to
be in the house, when a servant has let you in? And,
finally, would you take the great pains to conceal the body
and yet leave your own stick as a sign that you were the
criminal? Confess, Lestrade, that all this is very
unlikely."
"As to the stick, Mr. Holmes, you know as well as I do that
a criminal is often flurried and does things which a cool
man would avoid. He was very likely afraid to go back to
the room. Give me another theory that would fit the facts."
"I could very easily give you half-a-dozen," said Holmes.
"Here, for example, is a very possible and even probable
one. I make you a free present of it. The older man is
showing documents which are of evident value. A passing
tramp sees them through the window, the blind of which is
only half down. Exit the solicitor. Enter the tramp!
He seizes a stick, which he observes there, kills Oldacre,
and departs after burning the body."
"Why should the tramp burn the body?"
"For the matter of that why should McFarlane?"
"To hide some evidence."
"Possibly the tramp wanted to hide that any murder at all
had been committed."
"And why did the tramp take nothing?"
"Because they were papers that he could not negotia
te."
Lestrade shook his head, though it seemed to me that his
manner was less absolutely assured than before.
"Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look for your tramp,
and while you are finding him we will hold on to our man.
The future will show which is right. Just notice this
point, Mr. Holmes: that so far as we know none of the
papers were removed, and that the prisoner is the one man
in the world who had no reason for removing them, since he
was heir-at-law and would come into them in any case."
My friend seemed struck by this remark.
"I don't mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways
very strongly in favour of your theory," said he. "I only
wish to point out that there are other theories possible.
As you say, the future will decide. Good morning! I dare
say that in the course of the day I shall drop in at
Norwood and see how you are getting on."
When the detective departed my friend rose and made his
preparations for the day's work with the alert air of a man
who has a congenial task before him.
"My first movement, Watson," said he, as he bustled into
his frock-coat, "must, as I said, be in the direction of
Blackheath."
"And why not Norwood?"
"Because we have in this case one singular incident coming
close to the heels of another singular incident. The
police are making the mistake of concentrating their
attention upon the second, because it happens to be the one
which is actually criminal. But it is evident to me that
the logical way to approach the case is to begin by trying
to throw some light upon the first incident -- the curious
will, so suddenly made, and to so unexpected an heir. It
may do something to simplify what followed. No, my dear
fellow, I don't think you can help me. There is no
prospect of danger, or I should not dream of stirring out
without you. I trust that when I see you in the evening
I will be able to report that I have been able to do
something for this unfortunate youngster who has thrown
himself upon my protection."
It was late when my friend returned, and I could see by a
glance at his haggard and anxious face that the high hopes
with which he had started had not been fulfilled. For an
hour he droned away upon his violin, endeavouring to soothe
his own ruffled spirits. At last he flung down the
instrument and plunged into a detailed account of his
misadventures.
"It's all going wrong, Watson -- all as wrong as it can go.
I kept a bold face before Lestrade, but, upon my soul, I
believe that for once the fellow is on the right track and
we are on the wrong. All my instincts are one way and all
the facts are the other, and I much fear that British
juries have not yet attained that pitch of intelligence
when they will give the preference to my theories over
Lestrade's facts."
"Did you go to Blackheath?"
"Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very quickly that
the late lamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable
black-guard. The father was away in search of his son.
The mother was at home -- a little, fluffy, blue-eyed
person, in a tremor of fear and indignation. Of course,
she would not admit even the possibility of his guilt.
But she would not express either surprise or regret over the
fate of Oldacre. On the contrary, she spoke of him with
such bitterness that she was unconsciously considerably
strengthening the case of the police, for, of course, if
her son had heard her speak of the man in this fashion it
would predispose him towards hatred and violence. 'He was
more like a malignant and cunning ape than a human being,'
said she, 'and he always was, ever since he was a young man.'
"'You knew him at that time?' said I.
"'Yes, I knew him well; in fact, he was an old suitor of
mine. Thank Heaven that I had the sense to turn away from
him and to marry a better, if a poorer, man. I was engaged
to him, Mr. Holmes, when I heard a shocking story of how he