"Why, sir, everyone is talking of it. It took on terrible, and has
eaten nothing for a week. Then to-day two of the young gentlemen from
The Gables found it dead--down on the beach, sir, at the very place
where its master met his end."
"At the very place." The words stood out clear in my memory. Some dim
perception that the matter was vital rose in my mind. That the dog
should die was after the beautiful, faithful nature of dogs. But "in
the very place"! Why should this lonely beach be fatal to it? Was it
possible that it also had been sacrificed to some revengeful feud?
Was it possible--? Yes, the perception was dim, but already something
was building up in my mind. In a few minutes I was on my way to The
Gables, where I found Stackhurst in his study. At my request he sent
for Sudbury and Blount, the two students who had found the dog.
"Yes, it lay on the very edge of the pool," said one of them. "It
must have followed the trail of its dead master."
I saw the faithful little creature, an Airedale terrier, laid out
upon the mat in the hall. The body was stiff and rigid, the eyes
projecting, and the limbs contorted. There was agony in every line of
it.
From The Gables I walked down to the bathing-pool. The sun had sunk
and the shadow of the great cliff lay black across the water, which
glimmered dully like a sheet of lead. The place was deserted and
there was no sign of life save for two sea-birds circling and
screaming overhead. In the fading light I could dimly make out the
little dog's spoor upon the sand round the very rock on which his
master's towel had been laid. For a long time I stood in deep
meditation while the shadows grew darker around me. My mind was
filled with racing thoughts. You have known what it was to be in a
nightmare in which you feel that there is some all-important thing
for which you search and which you know is there, though it remains
forever just beyond your reach. That was how I felt that evening as I
stood alone by that place of death. Then at last I turned and walked
slowly homeward.
I had just reached the top of the path when it came to me. Like a
flash, I remembered the thing for which I had so eagerly and vainly
grasped. You will know, or Watson has written in vain, that I hold a
vast store of out-of-the-way knowledge without scientific system, but
very available for the needs of my work. My mind is like a crowded
box-room with packets of all sorts stowed away therein--so many that
I may well have but a vague perception of what was there. I had known
that there was something which might bear upon this matter. It was
still vague, but at least I knew how I could make it clear. It was
monstrous, incredible, and yet it was always a possibility. I would
test it to the full.
There is a great garret in my little house which is stuffed with
books. It was into this that I plunged and rummaged for an hour. At
the end of that time I emerged with a little chocolate and silver
volume. Eagerly I turned up the chapter of which I had a dim
remembrance. Yes, it was indeed a far-fetched and unlikely
proposition, and yet I could not be at rest until I had made sure if
it might, indeed, be so. It was late when I retired, with my mind
eagerly awaiting the work of the morrow.
But that work met with an annoying interruption. I had hardly
swallowed my early cup of tea and was starting for the beach when I
had a call from Inspector Bardle of the Sussex Constabulary--a
steady, solid, bovine man with thoughtful eyes, which looked at me
now with a very troubled expression.
"I know your immense experience, sir," said he. "This is quite
unofficial, of course, and need go no farther. But I am fairly up
against it in this McPherson case. The question is, shall I make an
arrest, or shall I not?"
"Meaning Mr. Ian Murdoch?"
"Yes, sir. There is really no one else when you come to think of it.
That's the advantage of this solitude. We narrow it down to a very
small compass. If he did not do it, then who did?"
"What have you against him?"
He had gleaned along the same furrows as I had. There was Murdoch's
character and the mystery which seemed to hang round the man. His
furious bursts of temper, as shown in the incident of the dog. The
fact that he had quarrelled with McPherson in the past, and that
there was some reason to think that he might have resented his
attentions to Miss Bellamy. He had all my points, but no fresh ones,
save that Murdoch seemed to be making every preparation for
departure.
"What would my position be if I let him slip away with all this
evidence against him?" The burly, phlegmatic man was sorely troubled
in his mind.
"Consider," I said, "all the essential gaps in your case. On the
morning of the crime he can surely prove an alibi. He had been with
his scholars till the last moment, and within a few minutes of
McPherson's appearance he came upon us from behind. Then bear in mind
the absolute impossibility that he could single-handed have inflicted
this outrage upon a man quite as strong as himself. Finally, there is
this question of the instrument with which these injuries were
inflicted."
"What could it be but a scourge or flexible whip of some sort?"
"Have you examined the marks?" I asked.
"I have seen them. So has the doctor."
"But I have examined them very carefully with a lens. They have
peculiarities."
"What are they, Mr. Holmes?"
I stepped to my bureau and brought out an enlarged photograph. "This
is my method in such cases," I explained.
"You certainly do things thoroughly, Mr. Holmes."
"I should hardly be what I am if I did not. Now let us consider this
weal which extends round the right shoulder. Do you observe nothing
remarkable?"
"I can't say I do."
"Surely it is evident that it is unequal in its intensity. There is a
dot of extravasated blood here, and another there. There are similar
indications in this other weal down here. What can that mean?"
"I have no idea. Have you?"
"Perhaps I have. Perhaps I haven't. I may be able to say more soon.
Anything which will define what made that mark will bring us a long
way towards the criminal."
"It is, of course, an absurd idea," said the policeman, "but if a
red-hot net of wire had been laid across the back, then these better
marked points would represent where the meshes crossed each other."
"A most ingenious comparison. Or shall we say a very stiff
cat-o'-nine-tails with small hard knots upon it?"
"By Jove, Mr. Holmes, I think you have hit it."
"Or there may be some very different cause, Mr. Bardle. But your case
is far too weak for an arrest. Besides, we have those last words--the
'Lion's Mane.'"
"I have wondered whether Ian--"
"Yes, I have considered that. If the second word had borne any
resemblance to Murdoch--but it did not. He gave it almost in a
shriek. I am sure that it was 'Mane.'"
"Have you no alternative, Mr. Holmes?"
"Perhaps I have. But I do not care to discuss it until there is
something more solid to discuss."
"And when will that be?"
"In an hour--possibly less."
The inspector rubbed his chin and looked at me with dubious eyes.
"I wish I could see what was in your mind, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps it's
those fishing-boats."
"No, no, they were too far out."
"Well, then, is it Bellamy and that big son of his? They were not too
sweet upon Mr. McPherson. Could they have done him a mischief?"
"No, no, you won't draw me until I am ready," said I with a smile.
"Now, Inspector, we each have our own work to do. Perhaps if you were
to meet me here at midday--"
So far we had got when there came the tremendous interruption which
was the beginning of the end.
My outer door was flung open, there were blundering footsteps in the
passage, and Ian Murdoch staggered into the room, pallid,
dishevelled, his clothes in wild disorder, clawing with his bony
hands at the furniture to hold himself erect. "Brandy! Brandy!" he
gasped, and fell groaning upon the sofa.
He was not alone. Behind him came Stackhurst, hatless and panting,
almost as distrait as his companion.
"Yes, yes, brandy!" he cried. "The man is at his last gasp. It was
all I could do to bring him here. He fainted twice upon the way."
Half a tumbler of the raw spirit brought about a wondrous change. He
pushed himself up on one arm and swung his coat from his shoulders.
"For God's sake, oil, opium, morphia!" he cried. "Anything to ease
this infernal agony!"
The inspector and I cried out at the sight. There, crisscrossed upon
the man's naked shoulder, was the same strange reticulated pattern of
red, inflamed lines which had been the death-mark of Fitzroy
McPherson.
The pain was evidently terrible and was more than local, for the
sufferer's breathing would stop for a time, his face would turn
black, and then with loud gasps he would clap his hand to his heart,
while his brow dropped beads of sweat. At any moment he might die.
More and more brandy was poured down his throat, each fresh dose
bringing him back to life. Pads of cotton-wool soaked in salad-oil
seemed to take the agony from the strange wounds. At last his head
fell heavily upon the cushion. Exhausted Nature had taken refuge in
its last storehouse of vitality. It was half a sleep and half a
faint, but at least it was ease from pain.
To question him had been impossible, but the moment we were assured
of his condition Stackhurst turned upon me.
"My God!" he cried, "what is it, Holmes? What is it?"
"Where did you find him?"
"Down on the beach. Exactly where poor McPherson met his end. If this
man's heart had been weak as McPherson's was, he would not be here
now. More than once I thought he was gone as I brought him up. It was
too far to The Gables, so I made for you."
"Did you see him on the beach?"
"I was walking on the cliff when I heard his cry. He was at the edge
of the water, reeling about like a drunken man. I ran down, threw
some clothes about him, and brought him up. For heaven's sake,
Holmes, use all the powers you have and spare no pains to lift the
curse from this place, for life is becoming unendurable. Can you,
with all your world-wide reputation, do nothing for us?"
"I think I can, Stackhurst. Come with me now! And you, Inspector,
come along! We will see if we cannot deliver this murderer into your
hands."
Leaving the unconscious man in the charge of my housekeeper, we all
three went down to the deadly lagoon. On the shingle there was piled
a little heap of towels and clothes left by the stricken man. Slowly
I walked round the edge of the water, my comrades in Indian file
behind me. Most of the pool was quite shallow, but under the cliff
where the beach was hollowed out it was four or five feet deep. It
was to this part that a swimmer would naturally go, for it formed a
beautiful pellucid green pool as clear as crystal. A line of rocks
lay above it at the base of the cliff, and along this I led the way,
peering eagerly into the depths beneath me. I had reached the deepest
and stillest pool when my eyes caught that for which they were
searching, and I burst into a shout of triumph.
"Cyanea!" I cried. "Cyanea! Behold the Lion's Mane!"
The strange object at which I pointed did indeed look like a tangled
mass torn from the mane of a lion. It lay upon a rocky shelf some
three feet under the water, a curious waving, vibrating, hairy
creature with streaks of silver among its yellow tresses. It pulsated
with a slow, heavy dilation and contraction.
"It has done mischief enough. Its day is over!" I cried. "Help me,
Stackhurst! Let us end the murderer forever."
There was a big boulder just above the ledge, and we pushed it until
it fell with a tremendous splash into the water. When the ripples had
cleared we saw that it had settled upon the ledge below. One flapping
edge of yellow membrane showed that our victim was beneath it. A
thick oily scum oozed out from below the stone and stained the water
round, rising slowly to the surface.
"Well, this gets me!" cried the inspector. "What was it, Mr. Holmes?
I'm born and bred in these parts, but I never saw such a thing. It
don't belong to Sussex."
"Just as well for Sussex," I remarked. "It may have been the
southwest gale that brought it up. Come back to my house, both of
you, and I will give you the terrible experience of one who has good
reason to remember his own meeting with the same peril of the seas."
When we reached my study we found that Murdoch was so far recovered
