of it was the black figure of the secretary, his head advanced,
peering out into the night. It was evident that he was expecting
someone. Then at last there were steps in the road, a second figure
was visible for an instant against the light, the door shut, and all
was black once more. Five minutes later a lamp was lit in a room upon
the first floor.
"It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by the
Fighting Cock," said Holmes.
"The bar is on the other side."
"Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests. Now, what
in the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at this hour of
night, and who is the companion who comes to meet him there? Come,
Watson, we must really take a risk and try to investigate this a
little more closely."
Together we stole down to the road and crept across to the door of
the inn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes struck a
match and held it to the back wheel, and I heard him chuckle as the
light fell upon a patched Dunlop tyre. Up above us was the lighted
window.
"I must have a peep through that, Watson. If you bend your back and
support yourself upon the wall, I think that I can manage."
An instant later his feet were on my shoulders. But he was hardly up
before he was down again.
"Come, my friend," said he, "our day's work has been quite long
enough. I think that we have gathered all that we can. It's a long
walk to the school, and the sooner we get started the better."
He hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across the moor,
nor would he enter the school when he reached it, but went on to
Mackleton Station, whence he could send some telegrams. Late at night
I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated by the tragedy of his
master's death, and later still he entered my room as alert and
vigorous as he had been when he started in the morning. "All goes
well, my friend," said he. "I promise that before to-morrow evening
we shall have reached the solution of the mystery."
At eleven o'clock next morning my friend and I were walking up the
famous yew avenue of Holdernesse Hall. We were ushered through the
magnificent Elizabethan doorway and into his Grace's study. There we
found Mr. James Wilder, demure and courtly, but with some trace of
that wild terror of the night before still lurking in his furtive
eyes and in his twitching features.
"You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry; but the fact is that the
Duke is far from well. He has been very much upset by the tragic
news. We received a telegram from Dr. Huxtable yesterday afternoon,
which told us of your discovery."
"I must see the Duke, Mr. Wilder."
"But he is in his room."
"Then I must go to his room."
"I believe he is in his bed."
"I will see him there."
Holmes's cold and inexorable manner showed the secretary that it was
useless to argue with him.
"Very good, Mr. Holmes; I will tell him that you are here."
After half an hour's delay the great nobleman appeared. His face was
more cadaverous than ever, his shoulders had rounded, and he seemed
to me to be an altogether older man than he had been the morning
before. He greeted us with a stately courtesy and seated himself at
his desk, his red beard streaming down on to the table.
"Well, Mr. Holmes?" said he.
But my friend's eyes were fixed upon the secretary, who stood by his
master's chair.
"I think, your Grace, that I could speak more freely in Mr. Wilder's
absence."
The man turned a shade paler and cast a malignant glance at Holmes.
"If your Grace wishes--"
"Yes, yes; you had better go. Now, Mr. Holmes, what have you to say?"
My friend waited until the door had closed behind the retreating
secretary.
"The fact is, your Grace," said he, "that my colleague, Dr. Watson,
and myself had an assurance from Dr. Huxtable that a reward had been
offered in this case. I should like to have this confirmed from your
own lips."
"Certainly, Mr. Holmes."
"It amounted, if I am correctly informed, to five thousand pounds to
anyone who will tell you where your son is?"
"Exactly."
"And another thousand to the man who will name the person or persons
who keep him in custody?"
"Exactly."
"Under the latter heading is included, no doubt, not only those who
may have taken him away, but also those who conspire to keep him in
his present position?"
"Yes, yes," cried the Duke, impatiently. "If you do your work well,
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you will have no reason to complain of niggardly
treatment."
My friend rubbed his thin hands together with an appearance of
avidity which was a surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes.
"I fancy that I see your Grace's cheque-book upon the table," said
he. "I should be glad if you would make me out a cheque for six
thousand pounds. It would be as well, perhaps, for you to cross it.
The Capital and Counties Bank, Oxford Street branch, are my agents."
His Grace sat very stern and upright in his chair, and looked stonily
at my friend.
"Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly a subject for pleasantry."
"Not at all, your Grace. I was never more earnest in my life."
"What do you mean, then?"
"I mean that I have earned the reward. I know where your son is, and
I know some, at least, of those who are holding him."
The Duke's beard had turned more aggressively red than ever against
his ghastly white face.
"Where is he?" he gasped.
"He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock Inn, about two miles
from your park gate."
The Duke fell back in his chair.
"And whom do you accuse?"
Sherlock Holmes's answer was an astounding one. He stepped swiftly
forward and touched the Duke upon the shoulder.
"I accuse you," said he. "And now, your Grace, I'll trouble you for
that cheque."
Never shall I forget the Duke's appearance as he sprang up and clawed
with his hands like one who is sinking into an abyss. Then, with an
extraordinary effort of aristocratic self-command, he sat down and
sank his face in his hands. It was some minutes before he spoke.
"How much do you know?" he asked at last, without raising his head.
"I saw you together last night."
"Does anyone else besides your friend know?"
"I have spoken to no one."
The Duke took a pen in his quivering fingers and opened his
cheque-book.
"I shall be as good as my word, Mr. Holmes. I am about to write your
cheque, however unwelcome the information which you have gained may
be to me. When the offer was first made I little thought the turn
which events might take. But you and your friend are men of
discretion, Mr. Holmes?"
"I hardly understand your Grace."
"I must put it plainly, Mr. Holmes. If only you two know of this
incident, there is no reason why it should go any farther. I think
twelve thousand pounds is the sum that I owe you, is it not?"
But Holmes smiled and shook his head.
"I fear, your Grace, that matters can hardly be arranged so easily.
There is the death of this schoolmaster to be accounted for."
"But James knew nothing of that. You cannot hold him responsible for
that. It was the work of this brutal ruffian whom he had the
misfortune to employ."
"I must take the view, your Grace, that when a man embarks upon a
crime he is morally guilty of any other crime which may spring from
it."
"Morally, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. But surely not in the
eyes of the law. A man cannot be condemned for a murder at which he
was not present, and which he loathes and abhors as much as you do.
The instant that he heard of it he made a complete confession to me,
so filled was he with horror and remorse. He lost not an hour in
breaking entirely with the murderer. Oh, Mr. Holmes, you must save
him--you must save him! I tell you that you must save him!" The Duke
had dropped the last attempt at self-command, and was pacing the room
with a convulsed face and with his clenched hands raving in the air.
At last he mastered himself and sat down once more at his desk. "I
appreciate your conduct in coming here before you spoke to anyone
else," said he. "At least, we may take counsel how far we can
minimize this hideous scandal."
"Exactly," said Holmes. "I think, your Grace, that this can only be
done by absolute and complete frankness between us. I am disposed to
help your Grace to the best of my ability; but in order to do so I
must understand to the last detail how the matter stands. I realize
that your words applied to Mr. James Wilder, and that he is not the
murderer."
"No; the murderer has escaped."
Sherlock Holmes smiled demurely.
"Your Grace can hardly have heard of any small reputation which I
possess, or you would not imagine that it is so easy to escape me.
Mr. Reuben Hayes was arrested at Chesterfield on my information at
eleven o'clock last night. I had a telegram from the head of the
local police before I left the school this morning."
The Duke leaned back in his chair and stared with amazement at my
friend.
"You seem to have powers that are hardly human," said he. "So Reuben
Hayes is taken? I am right glad to hear it, if it will not react upon
the fate of James."
"Your secretary?"
"No, sir; my son."
It was Holmes's turn to look astonished.
"I confess that this is entirely new to me, your Grace. I must beg
you to be more explicit."
"I will conceal nothing from you. I agree with you that complete
frankness, however painful it may be to me, is the best policy in
this desperate situation to which James's folly and jealousy have
reduced us. When I was a very young man, Mr. Holmes, I loved with
such a love as comes only once in a lifetime. I offered the lady
marriage, but she refused it on the grounds that such a match might
mar my career. Had she lived I would certainly never have married
anyone else. She died, and left this one child, whom for her sake I
have cherished and cared for. I could not acknowledge the paternity
to the world; but I gave him the best of educations, and since he
came to manhood I have kept him near my person. He surprised my
secret, and has presumed ever since upon the claim which he has upon
me and upon his power of provoking a scandal, which would be
abhorrent to me. His presence had something to do with the unhappy
issue of my marriage. Above all, he hated my young legitimate heir
from the first with a persistent hatred. You may well ask me why,
under these circumstances, I still kept James under my roof. I answer
that it was because I could see his mother's face in his, and that
for her dear sake there was no end to my long-suffering. All her
pretty ways, too--there was not one of them which he could not
suggest and bring back to my memory. I could not send him away. But I
feared so much lest he should do Arthur--that is, Lord Saltire--a
mischief that I dispatched him for safety to Dr. Huxtable's school.
"James came into contact with this fellow Hayes because the man was a
tenant of mine, and James acted as agent. The fellow was a rascal
from the beginning; but in some extraordinary way James became
intimate with him. He had always a taste for low company. When James
determined to kidnap Lord Saltire it was of this man's service that
he availed himself. You remember that I wrote to Arthur upon that
last day. Well, James opened the letter and inserted a note asking
Arthur to meet him in a little wood called the Ragged Shaw, which is
near to the school. He used the Duchess's name, and in that way got
the boy to come. That evening James bicycled over--I am telling you
what he has himself confessed to me--and he told Arthur, whom he met
in the wood, that his mother longed to see him, that she was awaiting
him on the moor, and that if he would come back into the wood at
midnight he would find a man with a horse, who would take him to her.
Poor Arthur fell into the trap. He came to the appointment and found
this fellow Hayes with a led pony. Arthur mounted, and they set off
together. It appears--though this James only heard yesterday--that
they were pursued, that Hayes struck the pursuer with his stick, and
that the man died of his injuries. Hayes brought Arthur to his
public-house, the Fighting Cock, where he was confined in an upper
room, under the care of Mrs. Hayes, who is a kindly woman, but
entirely under the control of her brutal husband.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, that was the state of affairs when I first saw you
two days ago. I had no more idea of the truth than you. You will ask
