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."
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 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 facsimile of which is here
reproduced.
at quarter to twelve
learn what
may
"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 thought." 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.
