formidable as that with which we had started.
"I confess that so far, Watson, I had been
disappointed in my investigation. I had reckoned upon
solving the matter when once I had found the place
referred to in the Ritual; but now I was there, and
was apparently as far as ever from knowing what it was
which the family had concealed with such elaborate
precautions. It is true that I had thrown a light
upon the fate of Brunton, but now I had to ascertain
how that fate had come upon him, and what part had
been played in the matter by the woman who had
disappeared. I sat down upon a keg in the corner and
thought the whole matter carefully over.
"You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put
myself in the man's place and, having first gauged his
intelligence, I try to imagine how I should myself
have proceeded under the same circumstances. In this
case the matter was simplified by Brunton's
intelligence being quite first-rate, so that it was
unnecessary to make any allowance for the personal
equation, as the astronomers have dubbed it. He know
that something valuable was concealed. He had spotted
the place. He found that the stone which covered it
was just too heavy for a man to move unaided. What
would he do next? He could not get help from outside,
even if he had some one whom he could trust, without
the unbarring of doors and considerable risk of
detection. It was better, if he could, to have his
helpmate inside the house. But whom could he ask?
This girl had been devoted to him. A man always finds
it hard to realize that he may have finally lost a
woman's love, however badly he may have treated her.
He would try by a few attentions to make his peace
with the girl Howells, and then would engage her as
his accomplice. Together they would come at night to
the cellar, and their united force would suffice to
raise the stone. So far I could follow their actions
as if I had actually seen them.
"But for two of them, and one a woman, it must have
been heavy work the raising of that stone. A burly
Sussex policeman and I had found it no light job.
What would they do to assist them? Probably what I
should have done myself. I rose and examined
carefully the different billets of wood which were
scattered round the floor. Almost at once I came upon
what I expected. One piece, about three feet in
length, had a very marked indentation at one end,
while several were flattened at the sides as if they
had been compressed by some considerable weight.
Evidently, as they had dragged the stone up they had
thrust the chunks of wood into the chink, until at
last, when the opening was large enough to crawl
through, they would hold it open by a billet placed
lengthwise, which might very well become indented at
the lower end, since the whole weight of the stone
would press it down on to the edge of this other slab.
So far I was still on safe ground.
"And now how was I to proceed to reconstruct this
midnight drama? Clearly, only one could fit into the
hole, and that one was Brunton. The girl must have
waited above. Brunton then unlocked the box, handed
up the contents presumably--since they were not to be
found--and then--and then what happened?
"What smouldering fire of vengeance had suddenly
sprung into flame in this passionate Celtic woman's
soul when she saw the man who had wronged her--wronged
her, perhaps, far more than we suspected--in her
power? Was it a chance that the wood had slipped, and
that the stone had shut Brunton into what had become
his sepulchre? Had she only been guilty of silence as
to his fate? Or had some sudden blow from her hand
dashed the support away and sent the slab crashing
down into its place? Be that as it might, I seemed to
see that woman's figure still clutching at her
treasure trove and flying wildly up the winding stair,
with her ears ringing perhaps with the muffled screams
from behind her and with the drumming of frenzied
hands against the slab of stone which was choking her
faithless lover's life out.
"Here was the secret of her blanched face, her shaken
nerves, her peals of hysterical laughter on the next
morning. But what had been in the box? What had she
done with that? Of course, it must have been the old
metal and pebbles which my client had dragged from the
mere. She had thrown them in there at the first
opportunity to remove the last trace of her crime.
"For twenty minutes I had sat motionless, thinking the
matter out. Musgrave still stood with a very pale
face, swinging his lantern and peering down into the
hole.
"'These are coins of Charles the First,' said he,
holding out the few which had been in the box; 'you
see we were right in fixing our date for the Ritual.'
"'We may find something else of Charles the First,' I
cried, as the probable meaning of the first two
question of the Ritual broke suddenly upon me. 'Let
me see the contents of the bag which you fished from
the mere.'
"We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris
before me. I could understand his regarding it as of
small importance when I looked at it, for the metal
was almost black and the stones lustreless and dull.
I rubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it
glowed afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of
my hand. The metal work was in the form of a double
ring, but it had been bent and twisted out of its
original shape.
"'You must bear in mind,' said I, 'that the royal
party made head in England even after the death of the
king, and that when they at last fled they probably
left many of their most precious possession buried
behind them, with the intention of returning for them
in more peaceful times.'
"'My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, as a prominent
Cavalier and the right-hand man of Charles the Second
in his wanderings,' said my friend.
"'Ah, indeed!' I answered. 'Well now, I think that
really should give us the last link that we wanted. I
must congratulate you on coming into the possession,
though in rather a tragic manner of a relic which is
of great intrinsic value, but of even greater
importance as an historical curiosity.'
"'What is it, then?' he gasped in astonishment.
"'It is nothing less than the ancient crown of the
kings of England.'
"'The crown!'
"'Precisely. Consider what the Ritual says: How does
it run? "Whose was it?" "His who is gone." That was
after the execution of Charles. Then, "Who shall have
it?" "He who will come." That was Charles the
Second, whose advent was already foreseen. There can,
I think, be no doubt that
this battered and shapeless
diadem once encircled the brows of the royal Stuarts.'
"'And how came it in the pond?'
"'Ah, that is a question that will take some time to
answer.' And with that I sketched out to him the
whole long chain of surmise and of proof which I had
constructed. The twilight had closed in and the moon
was shining brightly in the sky before my narrative
was finished.
"'And how was it then that Charles did not get his
crown when he returned?' asked Musgrave, pushing back
the relic into its linen bag.
"'Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one point
which we shall probably never be able to clear up. It
is likely that the Musgrave who held the secret died
in the interval, and by some oversight left this guide
to his descendant without explaining the meaning of
it. From that day to this it has been handed down
from father to son, until at last it came within reach
of a man who tore its secret out of it and lost his
life in the venture.'
"And that's the story of the Musgrave Ritual, Watson.
They have the crown down at Hurlstone--though they had
some legal bother and a considerable sum to pay before
they were allowed to retain it. I am sure that if you
mentioned my name they would be happy to show it to
you. Of the woman nothing was ever heard, and the
probability is that she got away out of England and
carried herself and the memory of her crime to some
land beyond the seas."
Adventure VI
The Reigate Puzzle
It was some time before the health of my friend Mr.
Sherlock Holmes recovered from the strain caused by
his immense exertions in the spring of '87. The whole
question of the Netherland-Sumatra Company and of the
colossal schemes of Baron Maupertuis are too recent in
the minds of the public, and are too intimately
concerned with politics and finance to be fitting
subjects for this series of sketches. They led,
however, in an indirect fashion to a singular and
complex problem which gave my friend an opportunity of
demonstrating the value of a fresh weapon among the
many with which he waged his life-long battle against
crime.
On referring to my notes I see that it was upon the
14th of April that I received a telegram from Lyons
which informed me that Holmes was lying ill in the
Hotel Dulong. Within twenty-four hours I was in his
sick-room, and was relieved to find that there was
nothing formidable in his symptoms. Even his iron
constitution, however, had broken down under the
strain of an investigation which had extended over two
months, during which period he had never worked less
than fifteen hours a day, and had more than once, as
he assured me, kept to his task for five days at a
stretch. Even the triumphant issue of his labors
could not save him from reaction after so terrible an
exertion, and at a time when Europe was ringing with
his name and when his room was literally ankle-deep
with congratulatory telegrams I found him a prey to
the blackest depression. Even the knowledge that he
had succeeded where the police of three countries had
failed, and that he had outmanoeuvred at every point
the most accomplished swindler in Europe, was
insufficient to rouse him from his nervous
prostration.
Three days later we were back in Baker Street
together; but it was evident that my friend would be
much the better for a change, and the thought of a
week of spring time in the country was full of
attractions to me also. My old friend, Colonel
Hayter, who had come under my professional care in
Afghanistan, had now taken a house near Reigate in
Surrey, and had frequently asked me to come down to
him upon a visit. On the last occasion he had
remarked that if my friend would only come with me he
would be glad to extend his hospitality to him also.
A little diplomacy was needed, but when Holmes
understood that the establishment was a bachelor one,
and that he would be allowed the fullest freedom, he
fell in with my plans and a week after our return from
Lyons we were under the Colonel's roof. Hayter was a
fine old soldier who had seen much of the world, and
he soon found, as I had expected, that Holmes and he
had much in common.
On the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the
Colonel's gun-room after dinner, Holmes stretched upon
the sofa, while Hayter and I looked over his little
armory of Eastern weapons.
"By the way," said he suddenly, "I think I'll take one
of these pistols upstairs with me in case we have an
alarm."
"An alarm!" said I.
"Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately. Old
Acton, who is one of our county magnates, had his
house broken into last Monday. No great damage done,
but the fellows are still at large."
"No clue?" asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the
Colonel.
"None as yet. But the affair is a pretty one, one of
our little country crimes, which must seem too small
for your attention, Mr. Holmes, after this great
international affair."
Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile
showed that it had pleased him.
"Was there any feature of interest?"
"I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library and
got very little for their pains. The whole place was
turned upside down, drawers burst open, and presses
ransacked, with the result that an odd volume of
Pope's 'Homer,' two plated candlesticks, an ivory
letter-weight, a small oak barometer, and a ball of
twine are all that have vanished."
"What an extraordinary assortment!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of everything
they could get."
Holmes grunted from the sofa.
"The county police ought to make something of that,"
said he; "why, it is surely obvious that--"
But I held up a warning finger.
"You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For
Heaven's sake don't get started on a new problem when
your nerves are all in shreds."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic
resignation towards the Colonel, and the talk drifted
away into less dangerous channels.
It was destined, however, that all my professional
caution should be wasted, for next morning the problem
obtruded itself upon us in such a way that it was
impossible to ignore it, and our country visit took a
turn which neither of us could have anticipated. We
were at breakfast when the Colonel's butler rushed in
with all his propriety shaken out of him.
"Have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped. "At the
Cunningham's sir!"
"Burglary!" cried the Colonel, with his coffee-cup in
mid-air.
> "Murder!"
The Colonel whistled. "By Jove!" said he. "Who's
killed, then? The J.P. or his son?"
"Neither, sir. It was William the coachman. Shot
through the heart, sir, and never spoke again."
"Who shot him, then?"
"The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and got
clean away. He'd just broke in at the pantry window
when William came on him and met his end in saving his
master's property."
"What time?"
"It was last night, sir, somewhere about twelve."
"Ah, then, we'll step over afterwards," said the
Colonel, coolly settling down to his breakfast again.
"It's a baddish business," he added when the butler
had gone; "he's our leading man about here, is old
Cunningham, and a very decent fellow too. He'll be
cut up over this, for the man has been in his service
for years and was a good servant. It's evidently the
same villains who broke into Acton's."
"And stole that very singular collection," said
Holmes, thoughtfully.
"Precisely."
"Hum! It may prove the simplest matter in the world,
but all the same at first glance this is just a little
curious, is it not? A gang of burglars acting in the
country might be expected to vary the scene of their
operations, and not to crack two cribs in the same
district within a few days. When you spoke last night
of taking precautions I remember that it passed
through my mind that this was probably the last parish
in England to which the thief or thieves would be
likely to turn their attention--which shows that I
have still much to learn."
"I fancy it's some local practitioner," said the
Colonel. "In that case, of course, Acton's and
Cunningham's are just the places he would go for,
since they are far the largest about here."
"And richest?"
"Well, they ought to be, but they've had a lawsuit for
some years which has sucked the blood out of both of
them, I fancy. Old Acton has some claim on half
Cunningham's estate, and the lawyers have been at it
with both hands."
"If it's a local villain there should not be much
difficulty in running him down," said Holmes with a
yawn. "All right, Watson, I don't intend to meddle."
"Inspector Forrester, sir," said the butler, throwing
open the door.
The official, a smart, keen-faced young fellow,
stepped into the room. "Good-morning, Colonel," said
he; "I hope I don't intrude, but we hear that Mr.
Holmes of Baker Street is here."
The Colonel waved his hand towards my friend, and the
Inspector bowed.
"We thought that perhaps you would care to step
across, Mr. Holmes."
"The fates are against you, Watson," said he,
laughing. "We were chatting about the matter when you
came in, Inspector. Perhaps you can let us have a few
details." As he leaned back in his chair in the
familiar attitude I knew that the case was hopeless.
"We had no clue in the Acton affair. But here we have
plenty to go on, and there's no doubt it is the same
party in each case. The man was seen."
"Ah!"
"Yes, sir. But he was off like a deer after the shot
that killed poor William Kirwan was fired. Mr.
Cunningham saw him from the bedroom window, and Mr.
Alec Cunningham saw him from the back passage. It was
quarter to twelve when the alarm broke out. Mr.
Cunningham had just got into bed, and Mr. Alec was
smoking a pipe in his dressing-gown. They both heard
William the coachman calling for help, and Mr. Alec
ran down to see what was the matter. The back door
was open, and as he came to the foot of the stairs he
saw two men wrestling together outside. One of them
fired a shot, the other dropped, and the murderer
rushed across the garden and over the hedge. Mr.
Cunningham, looking out of his bedroom, saw the fellow
as he gained the road, but lost sight of him at once.
Mr. Alec stopped to see if he could help the dying
man, and so the villain got clean away. Beyond the
fact that he was a middle-sized man and dressed in
some dark stuff, we have no personal clue; but we are
making energetic inquiries, and if he is a stranger we
shall soon find him out."
"What was this William doing there? Did he say