very attached to each other."
"That, I am sure, cannot he true." said I, thinking of the beautiful
smiling face in the garden.
"Well at least they gave that impression. However, we will suppose
that they are an extraordinarily astute couple, who deceive everyone
upon this point, and conspire to murder the husband. He happens to be
a man over whose head some danger hangs--"
"We have only their word for that."
Holmes looked thoughtful. "I see, Watson. You are sketching out a
theory by which everything they say from the beginning is false.
According to your idea, there was never any hidden menace, or secret
society, or Valley of Fear, or Boss MacSomebody, or anything else.
Well, that is a good sweeping generalization. Let us see what that
brings us to. They invent this theory to account for the crime. They
then play up to the idea by leaving this bicycle in the park as proof
of the existence of some outsider. The stain on the windowsill
conveys the same idea. So does the card on the body, which might have
been prepared in the house. That all fits into your hypothesis,
Watson. But now we come on the nasty, angular, uncompromising bits
which won't slip into their places. Why a cut-off shotgun of all
weapons--and an American one at that? How could they be so sure that
the sound of it would not bring someone on to them? It's a mere
chance as it is that Mrs. Allen did not start out to inquire for the
slamming door. Why did your guilty couple do all this, Watson?"
"I confess that I can't explain it."
"Then again, if a woman and her lover conspire to murder a husband,
are they going to advertise their guilt by ostentatiously removing
his wedding ring after his death? Does that strike you as very
probable, Watson?"
"No, it does not."
"And once again, if the thought of leaving a bicycle concealed
outside had occurred to you, would it really have seemed worth doing
when the dullest detective would naturally say this is an obvious
blind, as the bicycle is the first thing which the fugitive needed in
order to make his escape."
"I can conceive of no explanation."
"And yet there should be no combination of events for which the wit
of man cannot conceive an explanation. Simply as a mental exercise,
without any assertion that it is true, let me indicate a possible
line of thought. It is, I admit, mere imagination; but how often is
imagination the mother of truth?
"We will suppose that there was a guilty secret, a really shameful
secret in the life of this man Douglas. This leads to his murder by
someone who is, we will suppose, an avenger, someone from outside.
This avenger, for some reason which I confess I am still at a loss to
explain, took the dead man's wedding ring. The vendetta might
conceivably date back to the man's first marriage, and the ring be
taken for some such reason.
"Before this avenger got away, Barker and the wife had reached the
room. The assassin convinced them that any attempt to arrest him
would lead to the publication of some hideous scandal. They were
converted to this idea, and preferred to let him go. For this purpose
they probably lowered the bridge, which can be done quite
noiselessly, and then raised it again. He made his escape, and for
some reason thought that he could do so more safely on foot than on
the bicycle. He therefore left his machine where it would not be
discovered until he had got safely away. So far we are within the
bounds of possibility, are we not?"
"Well, it is possible, no doubt," said I, with some reserve.
"We have to remember, Watson, that whatever occurred is certainly
something very extraordinary. Well, now, to continue our
supposititious case, the couple--not necessarily a guilty
couple--realize after the murderer is gone that they have placed
themselves in a position in which it may be difficult for them to
prove that they did not themselves either do the deed or connive at
it. They rapidly and rather clumsily met the situation. The mark was
put by Barker's bloodstained slipper upon the window-sill to suggest
how the fugitive got away. They obviously were the two who must have
heard the sound of the gun; so they gave the alarm exactly as they
would have done, but a good half hour after the event."
"And how do you propose to prove all this?"
"Well, if there were an outsider, he may be traced and taken. That
would be the most effective of all proofs. But if not--well, the
resources of science are far from being exhausted. I think that an
evening alone in that study would help me much."
"An evening alone!"
"I propose to go up there presently. I have arranged it with the
estimable Ames, who is by no means whole-hearted about Barker. I
shall sit in that room and see if its atmosphere brings me
inspiration. I'm a believer in the genius loci. You smile, Friend
Watson. Well, we shall see. By the way, you have that big umbrella of
yours, have you not?"
"It is here."
"Well, I'll borrow that if I may."
"Certainly--but what a wretched weapon! If there is danger--"
"Nothing serious, my dear Watson, or I should certainly ask for your
assistance. But I'll take the umbrella. At present I am only awaiting
the return of our colleagues from Tunbridge Wells, where they are at
present engaged in trying for a likely owner to the bicycle."
It was nightfall before Inspector MacDonald and White Mason came back
from their expedition, and they arrived exultant, reporting a great
advance in our investigation.
"Man, I'll admeet that I had my doubts if there was ever an
outsider," said MacDonald, "but that's all past now. We've had the
bicycle identified, and we have a description of our man; so that's a
long step on our journey."
"It sounds to me like the beginning of the end," said Holmes. "I'm
sure I congratulate you both with all my heart."
"Well, I started from the fact that Mr. Douglas had seemed disturbed
since the day before, when he had been at Tunbridge Wells. It was at
Tunbridge Wells then that he had become conscious of some danger. It
was clear, therefore, that if a man had come over with a bicycle it
was from Tunbridge Wells that he might be expected to have come. We
took the bicycle over with us and showed it at the hotels. It was
identified at once by the manager of the Eagle Commercial as
belonging to a man named Hargrave, who had taken a room there two
days before. This bicycle and a small valise were his whole
belongings. He had registered his name as coming from London, but had
given no address. The valise was London made, and the contents were
British; but the man himself was undoubtedly an American."
"Well, well," said Holmes gleefully, "you have indeed done some solid
work while I have been sitting spinning theories with my friend! It's
a lesson in being practical, Mr. Mac."
"Ay, it's just that, Mr. Holmes," said the inspector with
satisfaction.
"But this may all fit in with your theories," I remarked.
"That may or may not be. But let us hear the end, Mr. Mac. Was there
nothing to identify this man?"
"So little that it was evident that he had carefully guarded himself
against identification. There were no papers or letters, and no
marking upon the clothes. A cycle map of the county lay on his
bedroom table. He had left the hotel after breakfast yesterday
morning on his bicycle, and no more was heard of him until our
inquiries."
"That's what puzzles me, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason. "If the
fellow did not want the hue and cry raised over him, one would
imagine that he would have returned and remained at the hotel as an
inoffensive tourist. As it is, he must know that he will be reported
to the police by the hotel manager and that his disappearance will be
connected with the murder."
"So one would imagine. Still, he has been justified of his wisdom up
to date, at any rate, since he has not been taken. But his
description--what of that?"
MacDonald referred to his notebook. "Here we have it so far as they
could give it. They don't seem to have taken any very particular
stock of him; but still the porter, the clerk, and the chambermaid
are all agreed that this about covers the points. He was a man about
five foot nine in height, fifty or so years of age, his hair slightly
grizzled, a grayish moustache, a curved nose, and a face which all of
them described as fierce and forbidding."
"Well, bar the expression, that might almost be a description of
Douglas himself," said Holmes. "He is just over fifty, with grizzled
hair and moustache, and about the same height. Did you get anything
else?"
"He was dressed in a heavy gray suit with a reefer jacket, and he
wore a short yellow overcoat and a soft cap."
"What about the shotgun?"
"It is less than two feet long. It could very well have fitted into
his valise. He could have carried it inside his overcoat without
difficulty."
"And how do you consider that all this bears upon the general case?"
"Well, Mr. Holmes," said MacDonald, "when we have got our man--and
you may be sure that I had his description on the wires within five
minutes of hearing it--we shall be better able to judge. But, even as
it stands, we have surely gone a long way. We know that an American
calling himself Hargrave came to Tunbridge Wells two days ago with
bicycle and valise. In the latter was a sawed-off shotgun; so he came
with the deliberate purpose of crime. Yesterday morning he set off
for this place on his bicycle, with his gun concealed in his
overcoat. No one saw him arrive, so far as we can learn; but he need
not pass through the village to reach the park gates, and there are
many cyclists upon the road. Presumably he at once concealed his
cycle among the laurels where it was found, and possibly lurked there
himself, with his eye on the house, waiting for Mr. Douglas to come
out. The shotgun is a strange weapon to use inside a house; but he
had intended to use it outside, and there it has very obvious
advantages, as it would be impossible to miss with it, and the sound
of shots is so common in an English sporting neighbourhood that no
particular notice would be taken."
"That is all very clear," said Holmes.
"Well, Mr. Douglas did not appear. What was he to do next? He left
his bicycle and approached the house in the twilight. He found the
bridge down and no one about. He took his chance, intending, no
doubt, to make some excuse if he met anyone. He met no one. He
slipped into the first room that he saw, and concealed himself behind
the curtain. Thence he could see the drawbridge go up, and he knew
that his only escape was through the moat. He waited until
quarter-past eleven, when Mr. Douglas upon his usual nightly round
came into the room. He shot him and escaped, as arranged. He was
aware that the bicycle would be described by the hotel people and be
a clue against him; so he left it there and made his way by some
other means to London or to some safe hiding place which he had
already arranged. How is that, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, Mr. Mac, it is very good and very clear so far as it goes.
That is your end of the story. My end is that the crime was committed
half an hour earlier than reported; that Mrs. Douglas and Barker are
both in a conspiracy to conceal something; that they aided the
murderer's escape--or at least that they reached the room before he
escaped--and that they fabricated evidence of his escape through the
window, whereas in all probability they had themselves let him go by
lowering the bridge. That's my reading of the first half."
The two detectives shook their heads.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one mystery
into another," said the London inspector.
"And in some ways a worse one," added White Mason. "The lady has
never been in America in all her life. What possible connection could
she have with an American assassin which would cause her to shelter
him?"
"I freely admit the difficulties," said Holmes. "I propose to make a
little investigation of my own to-night, and it is just possible that
it may contribute something to the common cause."
"Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?"
"No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watson's umbrella--my wants are simple. And
Ames, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch a point for me. All
my lines of thought lead me back invariably to the one basic
question--why should an athletic man develop his frame upon so
unnatural an instrument as a single dumb-bell?"
It was late that night when Holmes returned from his solitary
excursion. We slept in a double-bedded room, which was the best that
