sigh of relief.
"I am glad you have come, sir. It has been a long evening, and I
don't think my nerve is as good as it was."
"Your nerve, Walters? I should not have thought you had a nerve in
your body."
"Well, sir, it's this lonely, silent house and the queer thing in the
kitchen. Then when you tapped at the window I thought it had come
again."
"That what had come again?"
"The devil, sir, for all I know. It was at the window."
"What was at the window, and when?"
"It was just about two hours ago. The light was just fading. I was
sitting reading in the chair. I don't know what made me look up, but
there was a face looking in at me through the lower pane. Lord, sir,
what a face it was! I'll see it in my dreams."
"Tut, tut, Walters. This is not talk for a police-constable."
"I know, sir, I know; but it shook me, sir, and there's no use to
deny it. It wasn't black, sir, nor was it white, nor any colour that
I know but a kind of queer shade like clay with a splash of milk in
it. Then there was the size of it--it was twice yours, sir. And the
look of it--the great staring goggle eyes, and the line of white
teeth like a hungry beast. I tell you, sir, I couldn't move a finger,
nor get my breath, till it whisked away and was gone. Out I ran and
through the shrubbery, but thank God there was no one there."
"If I didn't know you were a good man, Walters, I should put a black
mark against you for this. If it were the devil himself a constable
on duty should never thank God that he could not lay his hands upon
him. I suppose the whole thing is not a vision and a touch of
nerves?"
"That, at least, is very easily settled," said Holmes, lighting his
little pocket lantern. "Yes," he reported, after a short examination
of the grass bed, "a number twelve shoe, I should say. If he was all
on the same scale as his foot he must certainly have been a giant."
"What became of him?"
"He seems to have broken through the shrubbery and made for the
road."
"Well," said the inspector with a grave and thoughtful face, "whoever
he may have been, and whatever he may have wanted, he's gone for the
present, and we have more immediate things to attend to. Now, Mr.
Holmes, with your permission, I will show you round the house."
The various bedrooms and sitting-rooms had yielded nothing to a
careful search. Apparently the tenants had brought little or nothing
with them, and all the furniture down to the smallest details had
been taken over with the house. A good deal of clothing with the
stamp of Marx and Co., High Holborn, had been left behind.
Telegraphic inquiries had been already made which showed that Marx
knew nothing of his customer save that he was a good payer. Odds and
ends, some pipes, a few novels, two of them in Spanish, and
old-fashioned pinfire revolver, and a guitar were among the personal
property.
"Nothing in all this," said Baynes, stalking, candle in hand, from
room to room. "But now, Mr. Holmes, I invite your attention to the
kitchen."
It was a gloomy, high-ceilinged room at the back of the house, with a
straw litter in one corner, which served apparently as a bed for the
cook. The table was piled with half-eaten dishes and dirty plates,
the debris of last night's dinner.
"Look at this," said Baynes. "What do you make of it?"
He held up his candle before an extraordinary object which stood at
the back of the dresser. It was so wrinkled and shrunken and withered
that it was difficult to say what it might have been. One could but
say that it was black and leathery and that it bore some resemblance
to a dwarfish, human figure. At first, as I examined it, I thought
that it was a mummified negro baby, and then it seemed a very twisted
and ancient monkey. Finally I was left in doubt as to whether it was
animal or human. A double band of white shells were strung round the
centre of it.
"Very interesting--very interesting, indeed!" said Holmes, peering at
this sinister relic. "Anything more?"
In silence Baynes led the way to the sink and held forward his
candle. The limbs and body of some large, white bird, torn savagely
to pieces with the feathers still on, were littered all over it.
Holmes pointed to the wattles on the severed head.
"A white cock," said he. "Most interesting! It is really a very
curious case."
But Mr. Baynes had kept his most sinister exhibit to the last. From
under the sink he drew a zinc pail which contained a quantity of
blood. Then from the table he took a platter heaped with small pieces
of charred bone.
"Something has been killed and something has been burned. We raked
all these out of the fire. We had a doctor in this morning. He says
that they are not human."
Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands.
"I must congratulate you, Inspector, on handling so distinctive and
instructive a case. Your powers, if I may say so without offence,
seem superior to your opportunities."
Inspector Baynes's small eyes twinkled with pleasure.
"You're right, Mr. Holmes. We stagnate in the provinces. A case of
this sort gives a man a chance, and I hope that I shall take it. What
do you make of these bones?"
"A lamb, I should say, or a kid."
"And the white cock?"
"Curious, Mr. Baynes, very curious. I should say almost unique."
"Yes, sir, there must have been some very strange people with some
very strange ways in this house. One of them is dead. Did his
companions follow him and kill him? If they did we should have them,
for every port is watched. But my own views are different. Yes, sir,
my own views are very different."
"You have a theory then?"
"And I'll work it myself, Mr. Holmes. It's only due to my own credit
to do so. Your name is made, but I have still to make mine. I should
be glad to be able to say afterwards that I had solved it without
your help."
Holmes laughed good-humoredly.
"Well, well, Inspector," said he. "Do you follow your path and I will
follow mine. My results are always very much at your service if you
care to apply to me for them. I think that I have seen all that I
wish in this house, and that my time may be more profitably employed
elsewhere. Au revoir and good luck!"
I could tell by numerous subtle signs, which might have been lost
upon anyone but myself, that Holmes was on a hot scent. As impassive
as ever to the casual observer, there were none the less a subdued
eagerness and suggestion of tension in his brightened eyes and
brisker manner which assured me that the game was afoot. After his
habit he said nothing, and after mine I asked no questions.
Sufficient for me to share the sport and lend my humble help to the
capture without distracting that intent brain with needless
interruption. All would come round to me in due time.
I waited, therefore--but to my ever-deepening disappointment I waited
in vain. Day succeeded day, and my friend took no step forward. One
morning he spent in town, and I learned from a casual reference that
he had visited the British Museum. Save for this one excursion, he
spent his days in long and often solitary walks, or in chatting with
a number of village gossips whose acquaintance he had cultivated.
"I'm sure, Watson, a week in the country will be invaluable to you,"
he remarked. "It is very pleasant to see the first green shoots upon
the hedges and the catkins on the hazels once again. With a spud, a
tin box, and an elementary book on botany, there are instructive days
to be spent." He prowled about with this equipment himself, but it
was a poor show of plants which he would bring back of an evening.
Occasionally in our rambles we came across Inspector Baynes. His fat,
red face wreathed itself in smiles and his small eyes glittered as he
greeted my companion. He said little about the case, but from that
little we gathered that he also was not dissatisfied at the course of
events. I must admit, however, that I was somewhat surprised when,
some five days after the crime, I opened my morning paper to find in
large letters:
The Oxshott Mystery
a solution
Arrest of Supposed Assassin
Holmes sprang in his chair as if he had been stung when I read the
headlines.
"By Jove!" he cried. "You don't mean that Baynes has got him?"
"Apparently," said I as I read the following report:
"Great excitement was caused in Esher and the neighbouring district
when it was learned late last night that an arrest had been effected
in connection with the Oxshott murder. It will be remembered that Mr.
Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, was found dead on Oxshott Common, his body
showing signs of extreme violence, and that on the same night his
servant and his cook fled, which appeared to show their participation
in the crime. It was suggested, but never proved, that the deceased
gentleman may have had valuables in the house, and that their
abstraction was the motive of the crime. Every effort was made by
Inspector Baynes, who has the case in hand, to ascertain the hiding
place of the fugitives, and he had good reason to believe that they
had not gone far but were lurking in some retreat which had been
already prepared. It was certain from the first, however, that they
would eventually be detected, as the cook, from the evidence of one
or two tradespeople who have caught a glimpse of him through the
window, was a man of most remarkable appearance--being a huge and
hideous mulatto, with yellowish features of a pronounced negroid
type. This man has been seen since the crime, for he was detected and
pursued by Constable Walters on the same evening, when he had the
audacity to revisit Wisteria Lodge. Inspector Baynes, considering
that such a visit must have some purpose in view and was likely,
therefore, to be repeated, abandoned the house but left an ambuscade
in the shrubbery. The man walked into the trap and was captured last
night after a struggle in which Constable Downing was badly bitten by
the savage. We understand that when the prison is brought before the
magistrates a remand will be applied for by the police, and that
great developments are hoped from his capture."
"Really we must see Baynes at once," cried Holmes, picking up his
hat. "We will just catch him before he starts." We hurried down the
village street and found, as we had expected, that the inspector was
just leaving his lodgings.
"You've seen the paper, Mr. Holmes?" he asked, holding one out to us.
"Yes, Baynes, I've seen it. Pray don't think it a liberty if I give
you a word of friendly warning."
"Of warning, Mr. Holmes?"
"I have looked into this case with some care, and I am not convinced
that you are on the right lines. I don't want you to commit yourself
too far unless you are sure."
"You're very kind, Mr. Holmes."
"I assure you I speak for your good."
It seemed to me that something like a wink quivered for an instant
over one of Mr. Baynes's tiny eyes.
"We agreed to work on our own lines, Mr. Holmes. That's what I am
doing."
"Oh, very good," said Holmes. "Don't blame me."
"No, sir; I believe you mean well by me. But we all have our own
systems, Mr. Holmes. You have yours, and maybe I have mine."
"Let us say no more about it."
"You're welcome always to my news. This fellow is a perfect savage,
as strong as a cart-horse and as fierce as the devil. He chewed
Downing's thumb nearly off before they could master him. He hardly
speaks a word of English, and we can get nothing out of him but
grunts."
"And you think you have evidence that he murdered his late master?"
"I didn't say so, Mr. Holmes; I didn't say so. We all have our little
ways. You try yours and I will try mine. That's the agreement."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders as we walked away together. "I can't
make the man out. He seems to be riding for a fall. Well, as he says,
we must each try our own way and see what comes of it. But there's
something in Inspector Baynes which I can't quite understand."
"Just sit down in that chair, Watson," said Sherlock Holmes when we
had returned to our apartment at the Bull. "I want to put you in
touch with the situation, as I may need your help to-night. Let me
show you the evolution of this case so far as I have been able to
follow it. Simple as it has been in its leading features, it has none
the less presented surprising difficulties in the way of an arrest.
There are gaps in that direction which we have still to fill.
