I was horrified by my first glimpse of Holmes next morning, for he
sat by the fire holding his tiny hypodermic syringe. I associated
that instrument with the single weakness of his nature, and I feared
the worst when I saw it glittering in his hand. He laughed at my
expression of dismay, and laid it upon the table.
"No, no, my dear fellow, there is no cause for alarm. It is not upon
this occasion the instrument of evil, but it will rather prove to be
the key which will unlock our mystery. On this syringe I base all my
hopes. I have just returned from a small scouting expedition and
everything is favourable. Eat a good breakfast, Watson, for I propose
to get upon Dr. Armstrong's trail to-day, and once on it I will not
stop for rest or food until I run him to his burrow."
"In that case," said I, "we had best carry our breakfast with us, for
he is making an early start. His carriage is at the door."
"Never mind. Let him go. He will be clever if he can drive where I
cannot follow him. When you have finished come downstairs with me,
and I will introduce you to a detective who is a very eminent
specialist in the work that lies before us."
When we descended I followed Holmes into the stable yard, where he
opened the door of a loose-box and led out a squat, lop-eared,
white-and-tan dog, something between a beagle and a foxhound.
"Let me introduce you to Pompey," said he. "Pompey is the pride of
the local draghounds, no very great flier, as his build will show,
but a staunch hound on a scent. Well, Pompey, you may not be fast,
but I expect you will be too fast for a couple of middle-aged London
gentlemen, so I will take the liberty of fastening this leather leash
to your collar. Now, boy, come along, and show what you can do." He
led him across to the doctor's door. The dog sniffed round for an
instant, and then with a shrill whine of excitement started off down
the street, tugging at his leash in his efforts to go faster. In half
an hour, we were clear of the town and hastening down a country road.
"What have you done, Holmes?" I asked.
"A threadbare and venerable device, but useful upon occasion. I
walked into the doctor's yard this morning and shot my syringe full
of aniseed over the hind wheel. A draghound will follow aniseed from
here to John o' Groat's, and our friend Armstrong would have to drive
through the Cam before he would shake Pompey off his trail. Oh, the
cunning rascal! This is how he gave me the slip the other night."
The dog had suddenly turned out of the main road into a grass-grown
lane. Half a mile farther this opened into another broad road, and
the trail turned hard to the right in the direction of the town,
which we had just quitted. The road took a sweep to the south of the
town and continued in the opposite direction to that in which we
started.
"This d閠our has been entirely for our benefit, then?" said Holmes.
"No wonder that my inquiries among those villages led to nothing. The
doctor has certainly played the game for all it is worth, and one
would like to know the reason for such elaborate deception. This
should be the village of Trumpington to the right of us. And, by
Jove! here is the brougham coming round the corner. Quick, Watson,
quick, or we are done!"
He sprang through a gate into a field, dragging the reluctant Pompey
after him. We had hardly got under the shelter of the hedge when the
carriage rattled past. I caught a glimpse of Dr. Armstrong within,
his shoulders bowed, his head sunk on his hands, the very image of
distress. I could tell by my companion's graver face that he also had
seen.
"I fear there is some dark ending to our quest," said he. "It cannot
be long before we know it. Come, Pompey! Ah, it is the cottage in the
field!"
There could be no doubt that we had reached the end of our journey.
Pompey ran about and whined eagerly outside the gate where the marks
of the brougham's wheels were still to be seen. A footpath led across
to the lonely cottage. Holmes tied the dog to the hedge, and we
hastened onwards. My friend knocked at the little rustic door, and
knocked again without response. And yet the cottage was not deserted,
for a low sound came to our ears--a kind of drone of misery and
despair, which was indescribably melancholy. Holmes paused
irresolute, and then he glanced back at the road which we had just
traversed. A brougham was coming down it, and there could be no
mistaking those grey horses.
"By Jove, the doctor is coming back!" cried Holmes. "That settles it.
We are bound to see what it means before he comes."
He opened the door and we stepped into the hall. The droning sound
swelled louder upon our ears until it became one long, deep wail of
distress. It came from upstairs. Holmes darted up and I followed him.
He pushed open a half-closed door and we both stood appalled at the
sight before us.
A woman, young and beautiful, was lying dead upon the bed. Her calm,
pale face, with dim, wide-opened blue eyes, looked upward from amid a
great tangle of golden hair. At the foot of the bed, half sitting,
half kneeling, his face buried in the clothes, was a young man, whose
frame was racked by his sobs. So absorbed was he by his bitter grief
that he never looked up until Holmes's hand was on his shoulder.
"Are you Mr. Godfrey Staunton?"
"Yes, yes; I am--but you are too late. She is dead."
The man was so dazed that he could not be made to understand that we
were anything but doctors who had been sent to his assistance. Holmes
was endeavouring to utter a few words of consolation, and to explain
the alarm which had been caused to his friends by his sudden
disappearance, when there was a step upon the stairs, and there was
the heavy, stern, questioning face of Dr. Armstrong at the door.
"So, gentlemen," said he, "you have attained your end, and have
certainly chosen a particularly delicate moment for your intrusion. I
would not brawl in the presence of death, but I can assure you that
if I were a younger man your monstrous conduct would not pass with
impunity."
"Excuse me, Dr. Armstrong, I think we are a little at
cross-purposes," said my friend, with dignity. "If you could step
downstairs with us we may each be able to give some light to the
other upon this miserable affair."
A minute later the grim doctor and ourselves were in the sitting-room
below.
"Well, sir?" said he.
"I wish you to understand, in the first place, that I am not employed
by Lord Mount-James, and that my sympathies in this matter are
entirely against that nobleman. When a man is lost it is my duty to
ascertain his fate, but having done so the matter ends so far as I am
concerned; and so long as there is nothing criminal, I am much more
anxious to hush up private scandals than to give them publicity. If,
as I imagine, there is no breach of the law in this matter, you can
absolutely depend upon my discretion and my co-operation in keeping
the facts out of the papers."
Dr. Armstrong took a quick step forward and wrung Holmes by the hand.
"You are a good fellow," said he. "I had misjudged you. I thank
Heaven that my compunction at leaving poor Staunton all alone in this
plight caused me to turn my carriage back, and so to make your
acquaintance. Knowing as much as you do, the situation is very easily
explained. A year ago Godfrey Staunton lodged in London for a time,
and became passionately attached to his landlady's daughter, whom he
married. She was as good as she was beautiful, and as intelligent as
she was good. No man need be ashamed of such a wife. But Godfrey was
the heir to this crabbed old nobleman, and it was quite certain that
the news of his marriage would have been the end of his inheritance.
I knew the lad well, and I loved him for his many excellent
qualities. I did all I could to help him to keep things straight. We
did our very best to keep the thing from everyone, for when once such
a whisper gets about it is not long before everyone has heard it.
Thanks to this lonely cottage and his own discretion, Godfrey has up
to now succeeded. Their secret was known to no one save to me and to
one excellent servant who has at present gone for assistance to
Trumpington. But at last there came a terrible blow in the shape of
dangerous illness to his wife. It was consumption of the most
virulent kind. The poor boy was half crazed with grief, and yet he
had to go to London to play this match, for he could not get out of
it without explanations which would expose his secret. I tried to
cheer him up by a wire, and he sent me one in reply imploring me to
do all I could. This was the telegram which you appear in some
inexplicable way to have seen. I did not tell him how urgent the
danger was, for I knew that he could do no good here, but I sent the
truth to the girl's father, and he very injudiciously communicated it
to Godfrey. The result was that he came straight away in a state
bordering on frenzy, and has remained in the same state, kneeling at
the end of her bed, until this morning death put an end to her
sufferings. That is all, Mr. Holmes, and I am sure that I can rely
upon your discretion and that of your friend."
Holmes grasped the doctor's hand.
"Come, Watson," said he, and we passed from that house of grief into
the pale sunlight of the winter day.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE ABBEY GRANGE
It was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning during the winter of '97
that I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. It was Holmes. The
candle in his hand shone upon his eager, stooping face and told me at
a glance that something was amiss.
"Come, Watson, come!" he cried. "The game is afoot. Not a word! Into
your clothes and come!"
Ten minutes later we were both in a cab and rattling through the
silent streets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faint
winter's dawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see the
occasional figure of an early workman as he passed us, blurred and
indistinct in the opalescent London reek. Holmes nestled in silence
into his heavy coat, and I was glad to do the same, for the air was
most bitter and neither of us had broken our fast. It was not until
we had consumed some hot tea at the station, and taken our places in
the Kentish train, that we were sufficiently thawed, he to speak and
I to listen. Holmes drew a note from his pocket and read it aloud:
"Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent,
"3.30 a.m.
"My dear Mr. Holmes:
"I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in what promises
to be a most remarkable case. It is something quite in your line.
Except for releasing the lady I will see that everything is kept
exactly as I have found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant, as
it is difficult to leave Sir Eustace there.
"Yours faithfully,
"Stanley Hopkins."
"Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion his
summons has been entirely justified," said Holmes. "I fancy that
every one of his cases has found its way into your collection, and I
must admit, Watson, that you have some power of selection which
atones for much which I deplore in your narratives. Your fatal habit
of looking at everything from the point of view of a story instead of
as a scientific exercise has ruined what might have been an
instructive and even classical series of demonstrations. You slur
over work of the utmost finesse and delicacy in order to dwell upon
sensational details which may excite, but cannot possibly instruct,
the reader."
"Why do you not write them yourself?" I said, with some bitterness.
"I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, as you know, fairly
busy, but I propose to devote my declining years to the composition
of a text-book which shall focus the whole art of detection into one
volume. Our present research appears to be a case of murder."
"You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"I should say so. Hopkins's writing shows considerable agitation, and
he is not an emotional man. Yes, I gather there has been violence,
and that the body is left for our inspection. A mere suicide would
not have caused him to send for me. As to the release of the lady, it
would appear that she has been locked in her room during the tragedy.
We are moving in high life, Watson; crackling paper, 'E.B.' monogram,
coat-of-arms, picturesque address. I think that friend Hopkins will
live up to his reputation and that we shall have an interesting
morning. The crime was committed before twelve last night."
"How can you possibly tell?"
"By an inspection of the trains and by reckoning the time. The local
police had to be called in, they had to communicate with Scotland
Yard, Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to send for me. All
that makes a fair night's work. Well, here we are at Chislehurst
