"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 revolver 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. So did the son.They are both sure of it on account of the 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 particular 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
