It mentioned that his injuries had been in the head, from the
discharge of a shotgun. It also mentioned the hour of the alarm,
which was close on to midnight last night. It added that the case was
undoubtedly one of murder, but that no arrest had been made, and that
the case was one which presented some very perplexing and
extraordinary features. That's absolutely all we have at present, Mr.
Holmes."
"Then, with your permission, we will leave it at that, Mr. Mac. The
temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data is the
bane of our profession. I can see only two things for certain at
present--a great brain in London, and a dead man in Sussex. It's the
chain between that we are going to trace."
CHAPTER III
The Tragedy of Birlstone
Now for a moment I will ask leave to remove my own insignificant
personality and to describe events which occurred before we arrived
upon the scene by the light of knowledge which came to us afterwards.
Only in this way can I make the reader appreciate the people
concerned and the strange setting in which their fate was cast.
The village of Birlstone is a small and very ancient cluster of
half-timbered cottages on the northern border of the county of
Sussex. For centuries it had remained unchanged; but within the last
few years its picturesque appearance and situation have attracted a
number of well-to-do residents, whose villas peep out from the woods
around. These woods are locally supposed to be the extreme fringe of
the great Weald forest, which thins away until it reaches the
northern chalk downs. A number of small shops have come into being to
meet the wants of the increased population; so there seems some
prospect that Birlstone may soon grow from an ancient village into a
modern town. It is the centre for a considerable area of country,
since Tunbridge Wells, the nearest place of importance, is ten or
twelve miles to the eastward, over the borders of Kent.
About half a mile from the town, standing in an old park famous for
its huge beech trees, is the ancient Manor House of Birlstone. Part
of this venerable building dates back to the time of the first
crusade, when Hugo de Capus built a fortalice in the centre of the
estate, which had been granted to him by the Red King. This was
destroyed by fire in 1543, and some of its smoke-blackened corner
stones were used when, in Jacobean times, a brick country house rose
upon the ruins of the feudal castle.
The Manor House, with its many gables and its small diamond-paned
windows, was still much as the builder had left it in the early
seventeenth century. Of the double moats which had guarded its more
warlike predecessor, the outer had been allowed to dry up, and served
the humble function of a kitchen garden. The inner one was still
there, and lay forty feet in breadth, though now only a few feet in
depth, round the whole house. A small stream fed it and continued
beyond it, so that the sheet of water, though turbid, was never
ditch-like or unhealthy. The ground floor windows were within a foot
of the surface of the water.
The only approach to the house was over a drawbridge, the chains and
windlass of which had long been rusted and broken. The latest tenants
of the Manor House had, however, with characteristic energy, set this
right, and the drawbridge was not only capable of being raised, but
actually was raised every evening and lowered every morning. By thus
renewing the custom of the old feudal days the Manor House was
converted into an island during the night--a fact which had a very
direct bearing upon the mystery which was soon to engage the
attention of all England.
The house had been untenanted for some years and was threatening to
moulder into a picturesque decay when the Douglases took possession
of it. This family consisted of only two individuals--John Douglas
and his wife. Douglas was a remarkable man, both in character and in
person. In age he may have been about fifty, with a strong-jawed,
rugged face, a grizzling moustache, peculiarly keen gray eyes, and a
wiry, vigorous figure which had lost nothing of the strength and
activity of youth. He was cheery and genial to all, but somewhat
offhand in his manners, giving the impression that he had seen life
in social strata on some far lower horizon than the county society of
Sussex.
Yet, though looked at with some curiosity and reserve by his more
cultivated neighbours, he soon acquired a great popularity among the
villagers, subscribing handsomely to all local objects, and attending
their smoking concerts and other functions, where, having a
remarkably rich tenor voice, he was always ready to oblige with an
excellent song. He appeared to have plenty of money, which was said
to have been gained in the California gold fields, and it was clear
from his own talk and that of his wife that he had spent a part of
his life in America.
The good impression which had been produced by his generosity and by
his democratic manners was increased by a reputation gained for utter
indifference to danger. Though a wretched rider, he turned out at
every meet, and took the most amazing falls in his determination to
hold his own with the best. When the vicarage caught fire he
distinguished himself also by the fearlessness with which he
reentered the building to save property, after the local fire brigade
had given it up as impossible. Thus it came about that John Douglas
of the Manor House had within five years won himself quite a
reputation in Birlstone.
His wife, too, was popular with those who had made her acquaintance;
though, after the English fashion, the callers upon a stranger who
settled in the county without introductions were few and far between.
This mattered the less to her, as she was retiring by disposition,
and very much absorbed, to all appearance, in her husband and her
domestic duties. It was known that she was an English lady who had
met Mr. Douglas in London, he being at that time a widower. She was a
beautiful woman, tall, dark, and slender, some twenty years younger
than her husband, a disparity which seemed in no wise to mar the
contentment of their family life.
It was remarked sometimes, however, by those who knew them best, that
the confidence between the two did not appear to be complete, since
the wife was either very reticent about her husband's past life, or
else, as seemed more likely, was imperfectly informed about it. It
had also been noted and commented upon by a few observant people that
there were signs sometimes of some nerve-strain upon the part of Mrs.
Douglas, and that she would display acute uneasiness if her absent
husband should ever be particularly late in his return. On a quiet
countryside, where all gossip is welcome, this weakness of the lady
of the Manor House did not pass without remark, and it bulked larger
upon people's memory when the events arose which gave it a very
special significance.
There was yet another individual whose residence under that roof was,
it is true, only an intermittent one, but whose presence at the time
of the strange happenings which will now be narrated brought his name
prominently before the public. This was Cecil James Barker, of Hales
Lodge, Hampstead.
Cecil Barker's tall, loose-jointed figure was a familiar one in the
main street of Birlstone village; for he was a frequent and welcome
visitor at the Manor House. He was the more noticed as being the only
friend of the past unknown life of Mr. Douglas who was ever seen in
his new English surroundings. Barker was himself an undoubted
Englishman; but by his remarks it was clear that he had first known
Douglas in America and had there lived on intimate terms with him. He
appeared to be a man of considerable wealth, and was reputed to be a
bachelor.
In age he was rather younger than Douglas--forty-five at the most--a
tall, straight, broad-chested fellow with a clean-shaved,
prize-fighter face, thick, strong, black eyebrows, and a pair of
masterful black eyes which might, even without the aid of his very
capable hands, clear a way for him through a hostile crowd. He
neither rode nor shot, but spent his days in wandering round the old
village with his pipe in his mouth, or in driving with his host, or
in his absence with his hostess, over the beautiful countryside. "An
easy-going, free-handed gentleman," said Ames, the butler. "But, my
word! I had rather not be the man that crossed him!" He was cordial
and intimate with Douglas, and he was no less friendly with his
wife--a friendship which more than once seemed to cause some
irritation to the husband, so that even the servants were able to
perceive his annoyance. Such was the third person who was one of the
family when the catastrophe occurred.
As to the other denizens of the old building, it will suffice out of
a large household to mention the prim, respectable, and capable Ames,
and Mrs. Allen, a buxom and cheerful person, who relieved the lady of
some of her household cares. The other six servants in the house bear
no relation to the events of the night of January 6th.
It was at eleven forty-five that the first alarm reached the small
local police station, in charge of Sergeant Wilson of the Sussex
Constabulary. Cecil Barker, much excited, had rushed up to the door
and pealed furiously upon the bell. A terrible tragedy had occurred
at the Manor House, and John Douglas had been murdered. That was the
breathless burden of his message. He had hurried back to the house,
followed within a few minutes by the police sergeant, who arrived at
the scene of the crime a little after twelve o'clock, after taking
prompt steps to warn the county authorities that something serious
was afoot.
On reaching the Manor House, the sergeant had found the drawbridge
down, the windows lighted up, and the whole household in a state of
wild confusion and alarm. The white-faced servants were huddling
together in the hall, with the frightened butler wringing his hands
in the doorway. Only Cecil Barker seemed to be master of himself and
his emotions; he had opened the door which was nearest to the
entrance and he had beckoned to the sergeant to follow him. At that
moment there arrived Dr. Wood, a brisk and capable general
practitioner from the village. The three men entered the fatal room
together, while the horror-stricken butler followed at their heels,
closing the door behind him to shut out the terrible scene from the
maid servants.
The dead man lay on his back, sprawling with outstretched limbs in
the centre of the room. He was clad only in a pink dressing gown,
which covered his night clothes. There were carpet slippers on his
bare feet. The doctor knelt beside him and held down the hand lamp
which had stood on the table. One glance at the victim was enough to
show the healer that his presence could be dispensed with. The man
had been horribly injured. Lying across his chest was a curious
weapon, a shotgun with the barrel sawed off a foot in front of the
triggers. It was clear that this had been fired at close range and
that he had received the whole charge in the face, blowing his head
almost to pieces. The triggers had been wired together, so as to make
the simultaneous discharge more destructive.
The country policeman was unnerved and troubled by the tremendous
responsibility which had come so suddenly upon him. "We will touch
nothing until my superiors arrive," he said in a hushed voice,
staring in horror at the dreadful head.
"Nothing has been touched up to now," said Cecil Barker. "I'll answer
for that. You see it all exactly as I found it."
"When was that?" The sergeant had drawn out his notebook.
"It was just half-past eleven. I had not begun to undress, and I was
sitting by the fire in my bedroom when I heard the report. It was not
very loud--it seemed to be muffled. I rushed down--I don't suppose it
was thirty seconds before I was in the room."
"Was the door open?"
"Yes, it was open. Poor Douglas was lying as you see him. His bedroom
candle was burning on the table. It was I who lit the lamp some
minutes afterward."
"Did you see no one?"
"No. I heard Mrs. Douglas coming down the stair behind me, and I
rushed out to prevent her from seeing this dreadful sight. Mrs.
Allen, the housekeeper, came and took her away. Ames had arrived, and
we ran back into the room once more."
"But surely I have heard that the drawbridge is kept up all night."
"Yes, it was up until I lowered it."
"Then how could any murderer have got away? It is out of the
question! Mr. Douglas must have shot himself."
"That was our first idea. But see!" Barker drew aside the curtain,
and showed that the long, diamond-paned window was open to its full
extent. "And look at this!" He held the lamp down and illuminated a
smudge of blood like the mark of a boot-sole upon the wooden sill.
"Someone has stood there in getting out."
"You mean that someone waded across the moat?"
