THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE 7 page

Date: 2015-10-07; view: 353.

inference. Therein lies my mйtier, and it is just possible that

it may be of some service in the investigation which lies before

us. There are one or two minor points which were brought out in

the inquest, and which are worth considering."

"What are they?"

"It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after

the return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary

informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not

surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts.

This observation of his had the natural effect of removing any

traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the

coroner's jury."

"It was a confession," I ejaculated.

"No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence."

"Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at

least a most suspicious remark."

"On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift which I

can at present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be,

he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the

circumstances were very black against him. Had he appeared

surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I

should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such

surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances,

and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man. His

frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent

man, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and

firmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not

unnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of

his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day

so far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and

even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so

important, to raise his hand as if to strike him. The

self-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark

appear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a

guilty one."

I shook my head. "Many men have been hanged on far slighter

evidence," I remarked.

"So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged."

"What is the young man's own account of the matter?"

"It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters,

though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive.

You will find it here, and may read it for yourself."

He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire

paper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the

paragraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his own

statement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in the

corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this

way:

"Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called

and gave evidence as follows: 'I had been away from home for

three days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon the

morning of last Monday, the 3rd. My father was absent from home at

the time of my arrival, and I was informed by the maid that he

had driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after

my return I heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and,

looking out of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out

of the yard, though I was not aware in which direction he was

going. I then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of

the Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit

warren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw William

Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence; but

he is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father. I had

no idea that he was in front of me. When about a hundred yards

from the pool I heard a cry of "Cooee!" which was a usual signal

between my father and myself. I then hurried forward, and found

him standing by the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at

seeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. A

conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows,

for my father was a man of a very violent temper. Seeing that his

passion was becoming ungovernable, I left him and returned

towards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone more than 150 yards,

however, when I heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused me

to run back again. I found my father expiring upon the ground,

with his head terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in

my arms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for

some minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's lodge-keeper,

his house being the nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no one

near my father when I returned, and I have no idea how he came by

his injuries. He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and

forbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as I know, no

active enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.'

"The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before

he died?

"Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some

allusion to a rat.

"The Coroner: What did you understand by that?

"Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he was

delirious.

"The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father

had this final quarrel?

"Witness: I should prefer not to answer.

"The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it.

"Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can

assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which

followed.

"The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not point

out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case

considerably in any future proceedings which may arise.

"Witness: I must still refuse.

"The Coroner: I understand that the cry of 'Cooee' was a common

signal between you and your father?

"Witness: It was.

"The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw

you, and before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol?

"Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.

"A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions

when you returned on hearing the cry and found your father

fatally injured?

"Witness: Nothing definite.

"The Coroner: What do you mean?

"Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into

the open, that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet

I have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay

upon the ground to the left of me. It seemed to me to be

something grey in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps.

When I rose from my father I looked round for it, but it was

gone.

"'Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?'

"'Yes, it was gone.'

"'You cannot say what it was?'

"'No, I had a feeling something was there.'

"'How far from the body?'

"'A dozen yards or so.'

"'And how far from the edge of the wood?'

"'About the same.'

"'Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen

yards of it?'

"'Yes, but with my back towards it.'

"This concluded the examination of the witness."

"I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "that the coroner

in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy.

He calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his

father having signalled to him before seeing him, also to his

refusal to give details of his conversation with his father, and

his singular account of his father's dying words. They are all,

as he remarks, very much against the son."

Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon

the cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been at some

pains," said he, "to single out the very strongest points in the

young man's favour. Don't you see that you alternately give him

credit for having too much imagination and too little? Too

little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would

give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from

his own inner consciousness anything so outrй as a dying

reference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No,

sir, I shall approach this case from the point of view that what

this young man says is true, and we shall see whither that

hypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and

not another word shall I say of this case until we are on the

scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall be

there in twenty minutes."

It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through

the beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn,

found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A

lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for

us upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and

leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic

surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of

Scotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a

room had already been engaged for us.

"I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as we sat over a cup

of tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be

happy until you had been on the scene of the crime."

"It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes answered. "It

is entirely a question of barometric pressure."

Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said.

"How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud

in the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need

smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country

hotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I

shall use the carriage to-night."

Lestrade laughed indulgently. "You have, no doubt, already formed

your conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "The case is as

plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer

it becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such a

very positive one, too. She has heard of you, and would have your

opinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was nothing

which you could do which I had not already done. Why, bless my

soul! here is her carriage at the door."

He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the

most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her

violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her

cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her

overpowering excitement and concern.

"Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to the

other of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition,

fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad that you have come. I

have driven down to tell you so. I know that James didn't do it.

I know it, and I want you to start upon your work knowing it,

too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We have known each

other since we were little children, and I know his faults as no

one else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a

charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him."

"I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock Holmes.

"You may rely upon my doing all that I can."

"But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion?

Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself

think that he is innocent?"

"I think that it is very probable."

"There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and looking

defiantly at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes."

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my colleague

has been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he said.

"But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did

it. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the

reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because

I was concerned in it."

"In what way?" asked Holmes.

"It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had

many disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that

there should be a marriage between us. James and I have always

loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young

and has seen very little of life yet, and--and--well, he

naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there

were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them."

"And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of such a

union?"

"No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in

favour of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as

Holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.

"Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see your father

if I call to-morrow?"

"I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."

"The doctor?"

"Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for

years back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken

to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his

nervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive

who had known dad in the old days in Victoria."

"Ha! In Victoria! That is important."

"Yes, at the mines."

"Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner

made his money."

"Yes, certainly."

"Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to

me."

"You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you

will go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do

tell him that I know him to be innocent."

"I will, Miss Turner."

"I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if

I leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking." She

hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we

heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.

"I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity after a

few minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes which you

are bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I

call it cruel."

"I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," said

Holmes. "Have you an order to see him in prison?"

"Yes, but only for you and me."

"Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have

still time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?"

"Ample."

"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very

slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours."

I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through

the streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel,

where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a

yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin,

however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were

groping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the

action to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room and

gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the

day. Supposing that this unhappy young man's story were

absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely

unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between

the time when he parted from his father, and the moment when,

drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was

something terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the

nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts?

I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which

contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon's

deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left

parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been

shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot

upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck from

behind. That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as when

seen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. Still, it

did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned his

back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to call

Holmes' attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying

reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be

delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become

delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how

he met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my

brains to find some possible explanation. And then the incident

of the grey cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the

murderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his

overcoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to

return and to carry it away at the instant when the son was

kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. What a

tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! I

did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so much faith

in Sherlock Holmes' insight that I could not lose hope as long

as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of young

McCarthy's innocence.

It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone,

for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.

"The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down.

"It is of importance that it should not rain before we are able

to go over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his

very best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not

wish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen young

McCarthy."

"And what did you learn from him?"

"Nothing."

"Could he throw no light?"

"None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew

who had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced

now that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very

quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think,

sound at heart."

"I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a fact

that he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as

this Miss Turner."

"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly,

insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was

only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away

five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get

into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a

registry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you can

imagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for not

doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows

to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sort

which made him throw his hands up into the air when his father,

at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss

Turner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself,

and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, would

have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. It was with

his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in

Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that

point. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however,

for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious

trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and

has written to him to say that she has a husband already in the

Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. I

think that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for all

that he has suffered."

"But if he is innocent, who has done it?"

"Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two

points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with

someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his

son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would

return. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry

'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are the

crucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talk

about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all

minor matters until to-morrow."

There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke

bright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us with

the carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe

Pool.

"There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It is

said that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is

despaired of."

"An elderly man, I presume?" said Holmes.

"About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life

abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This

business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend

of McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I

have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."

"Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.

"Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody

about here speaks of his kindness to him."

"Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this

McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have

been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of

marrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably,

heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner,

as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would

follow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself

was averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not

deduce something from that?"

"We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said

Lestrade, winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts,

Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies."

"You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very hard

to tackle the facts."

"Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it

difficult to get hold of," replied Lestrade with some warmth.

"And that is--"

"That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that

all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine."

"Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said Holmes,

laughing. "But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley

Farm upon the left."

"Yes, that is it." It was a widespread, comfortable-looking

building, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches

of lichen upon the grey walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless

chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight

of this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door,

when the maid, at Holmes' request, showed us the boots which her

master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the

son's, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured

these very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes

desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed

the winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.

Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent

as this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of

Baker Street would have failed to recognise him. His face flushed

and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines,

while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter.

His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips

compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long,

sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal

lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated

upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell

unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick,

impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his way

along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of

the woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as is

all that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon

the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either

side. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and

once he made quite a little detour into the meadow. Lestrade and

I walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous,

while I watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the

conviction that every one of his actions was directed towards a

definite end.

The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water

some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the

Hatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner.

Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see

the red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich

landowner's dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woods

grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass

twenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reeds