The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

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