anything before he died?"
"Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his mother,
and as he was a very faithful fellow we imagine that
he walked up to the house with the intention of seeing
that all was right there. Of course this Acton
business has put every one on their guard. The robber
must have just burst open the door--the lock has been
forced--when William came upon him."
"Did William say anything to his mother before going
out?"
"She is very old and deaf, and we can get no
information from her. The shock has made her
half-witted, but I understand that she was never very
bright. There is one very important circumstance,
however. Look at this!"
He took a small piece of torn paper from a note-book
and spread it out upon his knee.
"This was found between the finger and thumb of the
dead man. It appears to be a fragment torn from a
larger sheet. You will observe that the hour
mentioned upon it is the very time at which the poor
fellow met his fate. You see that his murderer might
have torn the rest of the sheet from him or he might
have taken this fragment from the murderer. It reads
almost as though it were an appointment."
Holmes took up the scrap of paper, a fac-simile of
which is here reproduced.
d at quarter to twelve
learn what
maybe
"Presuming that it is an appointment," continued the
Inspector, "it is of course a conceivable theory that
this William Kirwan--though he had the reputation of
being an honest man, may have been in league with the
thief. He may have met him there, may even have
helped him to break in the door, and then they may
have fallen out between themselves."
"This writing is of extraordinary interest," said
Holmes, who had been examining it with intense
concentration. "These are much deeper waters than I
had though." He sank his head upon his hands, while
the Inspector smiled at the effect which his case had
had upon the famous London specialist.
"Your last remark," said Holmes, presently, "as to the
possibility of there being an understanding between
the burglar and the servant, and this being a note of
appointment from one to the other, is an ingenious and
not entirely impossible supposition. But this writing
opens up--" He sank his head into his hands again and
remained for some minutes in the deepest thought.
When he raised his face again, I was surprised to see
that his cheek was tinged with color, and his eyes as
bright as before his illness. He sprang to his feet
with all his old energy.
"I'll tell you what," said he, "I should like to have
a quiet little glance into the details of this case.
There is something in it which fascinates me
extremely. If you will permit me, Colonel, I will
leave my friend Watson and you, and I will step round
with the Inspector to test the truth of one or two
little fancies of mine. I will be with you again in
half an hour."
An hour and half had elapsed before the Inspector
returned alone.
"Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field
outside," said he. "He wants us all four to go up to
the house together."
"To Mr. Cunningham's?"
"Yes, sir."
"What for?"
The Inspector shrugged his shoulders. "I don't quite
know, sir. Between ourselves, I think Mr. Holmes had
not quite got over his illness yet. He's been
behaving very queerly, and he is very much excited."
"I don't think you need alarm yourself," said I. "I
have usually found that there was method in his
madness."
"Some folks might say there was madness in his
method," muttered the Inspector. "But he's all on
fire to start, Colonel, so we had best go out if you
are ready."
We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his
chin sunk upon his breast, and his hands thrust into
his trousers pockets.
"The matter grows in interest," said he. "Watson,
your country-trip has been a distinct success. I have
had a charming morning."
"You have been up to the scene of the crime, I
understand," said the Colonel.
"Yes; the Inspector and I have made quite a little
reconnaissance together."
"Any success?"
"Well, we have seen some very interesting things.
I'll tell you what we did as we walk. First of all,
we saw the body of this unfortunate man. He certainly
died from a revolved wound as reported."
"Had you doubted it, then?"
"Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our inspection
was not wasted. We then had an interview with Mr.
Cunningham and his son, who were able to point out the
exact spot where the murderer had broken through the
garden-hedge in his flight. That was of great
interest."
"Naturally."
"Then we had a look at this poor fellow's mother. We
could get no information from her, however, as she is
very old and feeble."
"And what is the result of your investigations?"
"The conviction that the crime is a very peculiar one.
Perhaps our visit now may do something to make it less
obscure. I think that we are both agreed, Inspector
that the fragment of paper in the dead man's hand,
bearing, as it does, the very hour of his death
written upon it, is of extreme importance."
"It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes."
"It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that note was the
man who brought William Kirwan out of his bed at that
hour. But where is the rest of that sheet of paper?"
"I examined the ground carefully in the hope of
finding it," said the Inspector.
"It was torn out of the dead man's hand. Why was some
one so anxious to get possession of it? Because it
incriminated him. And what would he do with it?
Thrust it into his pocket, most likely, never noticing
that a corner of it had been left in the grip of the
corpse. If we could get the rest of that sheet it is
obvious that we should have gone a long way towards
solving the mystery."
"Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's pocket
before we catch the criminal?"
"Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then there
is another obvious point. The note was sent to
William. The man who wrote it could not have taken
it; otherwise, of course, he might have delivered his
own message by word of mouth. Who brought the note,
then? Or did it come through the post?"
"I have made inquiries," said the Inspector. "William
received a letter by the afternoon post yesterday.
The envelope was destroyed by him."
"Excellent!" cried Holmes, clapping the Inspector on
the back. "You've seen the postman. It is a pleasure
to work with
you. Well, here is the lodge, and if you
will come up, Colonel, I will show you the scene of
the crime."
We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man
had lived, and walked up an oak-lined avenue to the
fine old Queen Anne house, which bears the date of
Malplaquet upon the lintel of the door. Holmes and
the Inspector led us round it until we came to the
side gate, which is separated by a stretch of garden
from the hedge which lines the road. A constable was
standing at the kitchen door.
"Throw the door open, officer," said Holmes. "Now, it
was on those stairs that young Mr. Cunningham stood
and saw the two men struggling just where we are. Old
Mr. Cunningham was at that window--the second on the
left--and he saw the fellow get away just to the left
of that bush. Then Mr. Alec ran out and knelt beside
the wounded man. The ground is very hard, you see,
and there are no marks to guide us." As he spoke two
men came down the garden path, from round the angle of
the house. The one was an elderly man, with a strong,
deep-lined, heavy-eyed face; the other a dashing young
fellow, whose bright, smiling expression and showy
dress were in strange contract with the business which
had brought us there.
"Still at it, then?" said he to Holmes. "I thought
you Londoners were never at fault. You don't seem to
be so very quick, after all."
"Ah, you must give us a little time," said Holmes
good-humoredly.
"You'll want it," said young Alec Cunningham. "Why, I
don't see that we have any clue at all."
"There's only one," answered the Inspector. "We
thought that if we could only find--Good heavens, Mr.
Holmes! What is the matter?"
My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed the most
dreadful expression. His eyes rolled upwards, his
features writhed in agony, and with a suppressed groan
he dropped on his face upon the ground. Horrified at
the suddenness and severity of the attack, we carried
him into the kitchen, where he lay back in a large
chair, and breathed heavily for some minutes.
Finally, with a shamefaced apology for his weakness,
he rose once more.
"Watson would tell you that I have only just recovered
from a severe illness," he explained. "I am liable to
these sudden nervous attacks."
"Shall I send you home in my trap?" asked old
Cunningham.
"Well, since I am here, there is one point on which I
should like to feel sure. We can very easily verify
it."
"What was it?"
"Well, it seems to me that it is just possible that
the arrival of this poor fellow William was not
before, but after, the entrance of the burglary into
the house. You appear to take it for granted that,
although the door was forced, the robber never got
in."
"I fancy that is quite obvious," said Mr. Cunningham,
gravely. "Why, my son Alec had not yet gone to bed,
and he would certainly have heard any one moving
about."
"Where was he sitting?"
"I was smoking in my dressing-room."
"Which window is that?"
"The last on the left next my father's."
"Both of your lamps were lit, of course?"
"Undoubtedly."
"There are some very singular points here," said
Holmes, smiling. "Is it not extraordinary that a
burglary--and a burglar who had had some previous
experience--should deliberately break into a house at
a time when he could see from the lights that two of
the family were still afoot?"
"He must have been a cool hand."
"Well, of course, if the case were not an odd one we
should not have been driven to ask you for an
explanation," said young Mr. Alec. "But as to your
ideas that the man had robbed the house before William
tackled him, I think it a most absurd notion.
Wouldn't we have found the place disarranged, and
missed the things which he had taken?"
"It depends on what the things were," said Holmes.
"You must remember that we are dealing with a burglar
who is a very peculiar fellow, and who appears to work
on lines of his own. Look, for example, at the queer
lot of things which he took from Acton's--what was
it?--a ball of string, a letter-weight, and I don't
know what other odds and ends."
"Well, we are quite in your hands, Mr. Holmes," said
old Cunningham. "Anything which you or the Inspector
may suggest will most certainly be done."
"In the first place," said Holmes, "I should like you
to offer a reward--coming from yourself, for the
officials may take a little time before they would
agree upon the sum, and these things cannot be done
too promptly. I have jotted down the form here, if
you would not mind signing it. Fifty pound was quite
enough, I thought."
"I would willingly give five hundred," said the J.P.,
taking the slip of paper and the pencil which Holmes
handed to him. "This is not quite correct, however,"
he added, glancing over the document.
"I wrote it rather hurriedly."
"You see you begin, 'Whereas, at about a quarter to
one on Tuesday morning an attempt was made,' and so
on. It was at a quarter to twelve, as a matter of
fact."
I was pained at the mistake, for I knew how keenly
Holmes would feel any slip of the kind. It was his
specialty to be accurate as to fact, but his recent
illness had shaken him, and this one little incident
was enough to show me that he was still far from being
himself. He was obviously embarrassed for an instant,
while the Inspector raised his eyebrows, and Alec
Cunningham burst into a laugh. The old gentleman
corrected the mistake, however, and handed the paper
back to Holmes.
"Get it printed as soon as possible," he said; "I
think your idea is an excellent one."
Holmes put the slip of paper carefully away into his
pocket-book.
"And now," said he, "it really would be a good thing
that we should all go over the house together and make
certain that this rather erratic burglar did not,
after all, carry anything away with him."
Before entering, Holmes made an examination of the
door which had been forced. It was evident that a
chisel or strong knife had been thrust in, and the
lock forced back with it. We could see the marks in
the wood where it had been pushed in.
"You don't use bars, then?" he asked.
"We have never found it necessary."
"You don't keep a dog?"
"Yes, but he is chained on the other side of the
house."
"When do the servants go to bed?"
"About ten."
"I understand that William was usually in bed also at
that hour."
"Yes."
"It is singular that on this parti
cular night he
should have been up. Now, I should be very glad if
you would have the kindness to show us over the house,
Mr. Cunningham."
A stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens branching
away from it, led by a wooden staircase directly to
the first floor of the house. It came out upon the
landing opposite to a second more ornamental stair
which came up from the front hall. Out of this
landing opened the drawing-room and several bedrooms,
including those of Mr. Cunningham and his son. Holmes
walked slowly, taking keen note of the architecture of
the house. I could tell from his expression that he
was on a hot scent, and yet I could not in the least
imagine in what direction his inferences were leading
him.
"My good sir," said Mr. Cunningham with some
impatience, "this is surely very unnecessary. That is
my room at the end of the stairs, and my son's is the
one beyond it. I leave it to your judgment whether it
was possible for the thief to have come up here
without disturbing us."
"You must try round and get on a fresh scent, I
fancy," said the son with a rather malicious smile.
"Still, I must ask you to humor me a little further.
I should like, for example, to see how far the windows
of the bedrooms command the front. This, I understand
is your son's room"--he pushed open the door--"and
that, I presume, is the dressing-room in which he sat
smoking when the alarm was given. Where does the
window of that look out to?" He stepped across the
bedroom, pushed open the door, and glanced round the
other chamber.
"I hope that you are satisfied now?" said Mr.
Cunningham, tartly.
"Thank you, I think I have seen all that I wished."
"Then if it is really necessary we can go into my
room."
"If it is not too much trouble."
The J. P. shrugged his shoulders, and led the way into
his own chamber, which was a plainly furnished and
commonplace room. As we moved across it in the
direction of the window, Holmes fell back until he and
I were the last of the group. Near the foot of the
bed stood a dish of oranges and a carafe of water. As
we passed it Holmes, to my unutterable astonishment,
leaned over in front of me and deliberately knocked
the whole thing over. The glass smashed into a
thousand pieces and the fruit rolled about into every
corner of the room.
"You've done it now, Watson," said he, coolly. "A
pretty mess you've made of the carpet."
I stooped in some confusion and began to pick up the
fruit, understanding for some reason my companion
desired me to take the blame upon myself. The others
did the same, and set the table on its legs again.
"Hullo!" cried the Inspector, "where's he got to?"
Holmes had disappeared.
"Wait here an instant," said young Alec Cunningham.
"The fellow is off his head, in my opinion. Come with
me, father, and see where he has got to!"
They rushed out of the room, leaving the Inspector,
the Colonel, and me staring at each other.
"'Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with Master
Alec," said the official. "It may be the effect of
this illness, but it seems to me that--"
His words were cut short by a sudden scream of "Help!
Help! Murder!" With a thrill I recognized the voice
of that of my friend. I rushed madly from the room on
to the landing. The cries, which had sunk down into a
hoarse, inarticulate shouting, came from the room
which we had first visited. I dashed in, and on into
the dressing-room beyond. The two Cunninghams were
bending over the prostrate figure of Sherlock Holmes,
the younger clutching his throat with both hands,
while the elder seemed to be twisting one of his
wrists. In an instant the three of us had torn them
away from him, and Holmes staggered to his feet, very
pale and evidently greatly exhausted.
"Arrest these men, Inspector," he gasped.
"On what charge?"
"That of murdering their coachman, William Kirwan."
The Inspector stared about him in bewilderment. "Oh,
come now, Mr. Holmes," said he at last, "I'm sure you