with hardly any living relation, that he had known my parents in his
youth, and that he had always heard of me as a very deserving young
man, and was assured that his money would be in worthy hands. Of
course, I could only stammer out my thanks. The will was duly
finished, signed, and witnessed by my clerk. This is it on the blue
paper, and these slips, as I have explained, are the rough draft. Mr.
Jonas Oldacre then informed me that there were a number of
documents--building leases, title-deeds, mortgages, scrip, and so
forth--which it was necessary that I should see and understand. He
said that his mind would not be easy until the whole thing was
settled, and he begged me to come out to his house at Norwood that
night, bringing the will with me, and to arrange matters. 'Remember,
my boy, not one word to your parents about the affair until
everything is settled. We will keep it as a little surprise for
them.' He was very insistent upon this point, and made me promise it
faithfully.
"You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not in a humour to refuse
him anything that he might ask. He was my benefactor, and all my
desire was to carry out his wishes in every particular. I sent a
telegram home, therefore, to say that I had important business on
hand, and that it was impossible for me to say how late I might be.
Mr. Oldacre had told me that he would like me to have supper with him
at nine, as he might not be home before that hour. I had some
difficulty in finding his house, however, and it was nearly half-past
before I reached it. I found him--"
"One moment!" said Holmes. "Who opened the door?"
"A middle-aged woman, who was, I suppose, his housekeeper."
"And it was she, I presume, who mentioned your name?"
"Exactly," said McFarlane.
"Pray proceed."
McFarlane wiped his damp brow and then continued his narrative:--
"I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room, where a frugal supper
was laid out. Afterwards Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me into his bedroom,
in which there stood a heavy safe. This he opened and took out a mass
of documents, which we went over together. It was between eleven and
twelve when we finished. He remarked that we must not disturb the
housekeeper. He showed me out through his own French window, which
had been open all this time."
"Was the blind down?" asked Holmes.
"I will not be sure, but I believe that it was only half down. Yes, I
remember how he pulled it up in order to swing open the window. I
could not find my stick, and he said, 'Never mind, my boy; I shall
see a good deal of you now, I hope, and I will keep your stick until
you come back to claim it.' I left him there, the safe open, and the
papers made up in packets upon the table. It was so late that I could
not get back to Blackheath, so I spent the night at the Anerley Arms,
and I knew nothing more until I read of this horrible affair in the
morning."
"Anything more that you would like to ask, Mr. Holmes?" said
Lestrade, whose eyebrows had gone up once or twice during this
remarkable explanation.
"Not until I have been to Blackheath."
"You mean to Norwood," said Lestrade.
"Oh, yes; no doubt that is what I must have meant," said Holmes, with
his enigmatical smile. Lestrade had learned by more experiences than
he would care to acknowledge that that razor-like brain could cut
through that which was impenetrable to him. I saw him look curiously
at my companion.
"I think I should like to have a word with you presently, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes," said he. "Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of my constables
are at the door and there is a four-wheeler waiting." The wretched
young man arose, and with a last beseeching glance at us walked from
the room. The officers conducted him to the cab, but Lestrade
remained.
Holmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft of the
will, and was looking at them with the keenest interest upon his
face.
"There are some points about that document, Lestrade, are there not?"
said he, pushing them over.
The official looked at them with a puzzled expression.
"I can read the first few lines, and these in the middle of the
second page, and one or two at the end. Those are as clear as print,"
said he; "but the writing in between is very bad, and there are three
places where I cannot read it at all."
"What do you make of that?" said Holmes.
"Well, what do you make of it?"
"That it was written in a train; the good writing represents
stations, the bad writing movement, and the very bad writing passing
over points. A scientific expert would pronounce at once that this
was drawn up on a suburban line, since nowhere save in the immediate
vicinity of a great city could there be so quick a succession of
points. Granting that his whole journey was occupied in drawing up
the will, then the train was an express, only stopping once between
Norwood and London Bridge."
Lestrade began to laugh.
"You are too many for me when you begin to get on your theories, Mr.
Holmes," said he. "How does this bear on the case?"
"Well, it corroborates the young man's story to the extent that the
will was drawn up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey yesterday. It is
curious--is it not?--that a man should draw up so important a
document in so haphazard a fashion. It suggests that he did not think
it was going to be of much practical importance. If a man drew up a
will which he did not intend ever to be effective he might do it so."
"Well, he drew up his own death-warrant at the same time," said
Lestrade.
"Oh, you think so?"
"Don't you?"
"Well, it is quite possible; but the case is not clear to me yet."
"Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what could be clear? Here is a
young man who learns suddenly that if a certain older man dies he
will succeed to a fortune. What does he do? He says nothing to
anyone, but he arranges that he shall go out on some pretext to see
his client that night; he waits until the only other person in the
house is in bed, and then in the solitude of a man's room he murders
him, burns his body in the wood-pile, and departs to a neighbouring
hotel. The blood-stains in the room and also on the stick are very
slight. It is probable that he imagined his crime to be a bloodless
one, and hoped that if the body were consumed it would hide all
traces of the method of his death--traces which for some reason must
have pointed to him. Is all this not obvious?"
"It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as being just a trifle too
obvious," said Holmes. "You do not add imagination to your other
great qualities; but if you could for one moment put yourself in the
place of this young man, would you choose the very night after the
will had been made to commit your crime? Would it not seem dangerous
to you to make so very close a relation between the two incidents?
Again, would you choose an occasion when you are known to be in the
house, when a servant has let you in? And, finally, would you take
the great pains to conceal the body and yet leave your own stick as a
sign that you were the criminal? Confess, Lestrade, that all this is
very unlikely."
"As to the stick, Mr. Holmes, you know as well as I do that a
criminal is often flurried and does things which a cool man would
avoid. He was very likely afraid to go back to the room. Give me
another theory that would fit the facts."
"I could very easily give you half-a-dozen," said Holmes. "Here, for
example, is a very possible and even probable one. I make you a free
present of it. The older man is showing documents which are of
evident value. A passing tramp sees them through the window, the
blind of which is only half down. Exit the solicitor. Enter the
tramp! He seizes a stick, which he observes there, kills Oldacre, and
departs after burning the body."
"Why should the tramp burn the body?"
"For the matter of that why should McFarlane?"
"To hide some evidence."
"Possibly the tramp wanted to hide that any murder at all had been
committed."
"And why did the tramp take nothing?"
"Because they were papers that he could not negotiate."
Lestrade shook his head, though it seemed to me that his manner was
less absolutely assured than before.
"Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look for your tramp, and while
you are finding him we will hold on to our man. The future will show
which is right. Just notice this point, Mr. Holmes: that so far as we
know none of the papers were removed, and that the prisoner is the
one man in the world who had no reason for removing them, since he
was heir-at-law and would come into them in any case."
My friend seemed struck by this remark.
"I don't mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways very strongly
in favour of your theory," said he. "I only wish to point out that
there are other theories possible. As you say, the future will
decide. Good morning! I dare say that in the course of the day I
shall drop in at Norwood and see how you are getting on."
When the detective departed my friend rose and made his preparations
for the day's work with the alert air of a man who has a congenial
task before him.
"My first movement, Watson," said he, as he bustled into his
frock-coat, "must, as I said, be in the direction of Blackheath."
"And why not Norwood?"
"Because we have in this case one singular incident coming close to
the heels of another singular incident. The police are making the
mistake of concentrating their attention upon the second, because it
happens to be the one which is actually criminal. But it is evident
to me that the logical way to approach the case is to begin by trying
to throw some light upon the first incident--the curious will, so
suddenly made, and to so unexpected an heir. It may do something to
simplify what followed. No, my dear fellow, I don't think you can
help me. There is no prospect of danger, or I should not dream of
stirring out without you. I trust that when I see you in the evening
I will be able to report that I have been able to do something for
this unfortunate youngster who has thrown himself upon my
protection."
It was late when my friend returned, and I could see by a glance at
his haggard and anxious face that the high hopes with which he had
started had not been fulfilled. For an hour he droned away upon his
violin, endeavouring to soothe his own ruffled spirits. At last he
flung down the instrument and plunged into a detailed account of his
misadventures.
"It's all going wrong, Watson--all as wrong as it can go. I kept a
bold face before Lestrade, but, upon my soul, I believe that for once
the fellow is on the right track and we are on the wrong. All my
instincts are one way and all the facts are the other, and I much
fear that British juries have not yet attained that pitch of
intelligence when they will give the preference to my theories over
Lestrade's facts."
"Did you go to Blackheath?"
"Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very quickly that the late
lamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable black-guard. The father
was away in search of his son. The mother was at home--a little,
fluffy, blue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear and indignation. Of
course, she would not admit even the possibility of his guilt. But
she would not express either surprise or regret over the fate of
Oldacre. On the contrary, she spoke of him with such bitterness that
she was unconsciously considerably strengthening the case of the
police, for, of course, if her son had heard her speak of the man in
this fashion it would predispose him towards hatred and violence. 'He
was more like a malignant and cunning ape than a human being,' said
she, 'and he always was, ever since he was a young man.'
"'You knew him at that time?' said I.
"'Yes, I knew him well; in fact, he was an old suitor of mine. Thank
Heaven that I had the sense to turn away from him and to marry a
better, if a poorer, man. I was engaged to him, Mr. Holmes, when I
heard a shocking story of how he had turned a cat loose in an aviary,
and I was so horrified at his brutal cruelty that I would have
nothing more to do with him.' She rummaged in a bureau, and presently
she produced a photograph of a woman, shamefully defaced and
mutilated with a knife. 'That is my own photograph,' she said. 'He
sent it to me in that state, with his curse, upon my wedding
morning.'
"'Well,' said I, 'at least he has forgiven you now, since he has left
all his property to your son.'
"'Neither my son nor I want anything from Jonas Oldacre, dead or
