It was not a long vigil. Within a quarter of an hour we saw the big
open yellow barouche coming down the long avenue, with two splendid,
high-stepping gray carriage horses in the shafts. Holmes crouched
behind his bush with the dog. I stood unconcernedly swinging a cane
in the roadway. A keeper ran out and the gates swung open.
The carriage had slowed to a walk, and I was able to get a good look
at the occupants. A highly coloured young woman with flaxen hair and
impudent eyes sat on the left. At her right was an elderly person
with rounded back and a huddle of shawls about her face and shoulders
which proclaimed the invalid. When the horses reached the highroad I
held up my hand with an authoritative gesture, and as the coachman
pulled up I inquired if Sir Robert was at Shoscombe Old Place.
At the same moment Holmes stepped out and released the spaniel. With
a joyous cry it dashed forward to the carriage and sprang upon the
step. Then in a moment its eager greeting changed to furious rage,
and it snapped at the black skirt above it.
"Drive on! Drive on!" shrieked a harsh voice. The coachman lashed the
horses, and we were left standing in the roadway.
"Well, Watson, that's done it," said Holmes as he fastened the lead
to the neck of the excited spaniel. "He thought it was his mistress,
and he found it was a stranger. Dogs don't make mistakes."
"But it was the voice of a man!" I cried.
"Exactly! We have added one card to our hand, Watson, but it needs
careful playing, all the same."
My companion seemed to have no further plans for the day, and we did
actually use our fishing tackle in the mill-stream, with the result
that we had a dish of trout for our supper. It was only after that
meal that Holmes showed signs of renewed activity. Once more we found
ourselves upon the same road as in the morning, which led us to the
park gates. A tall, dark figure was awaiting us there, who proved to
be our London acquaintance, Mr. John Mason, the trainer.
"Good-evening, gentlemen," said he. "I got your note, Mr. Holmes. Sir
Robert has not returned yet, but I hear that he is expected
to-night."
"How far is this crypt from the house?" asked Holmes.
"A good quarter of a mile."
"Then I think we can disregard him altogether."
"I can't afford to do that, Mr. Holmes. The moment he arrives he will
want to see me to get the last news of Shoscombe Prince."
"I see! In that case we must work without you, Mr. Mason. You can
show us the crypt and then leave us."
It was pitch-dark and without a moon, but Mason led us over the
grass-lands until a dark mass loomed up in front of us which proved
to be the ancient chapel. We entered the broken gap which was once
the porch, and our guide, stumbling among heaps of loose masonry,
picked his way to the corner of the building, where a steep stair led
down into the crypt. Striking a match, he illuminated the melancholy
place--dismal and evil-smelling, with ancient crumbling walls of
rough-hewn stone, and piles of coffins, some of lead and some of
stone, extending upon one side right up to the arched and groined
roof which lost itself in the shadows above our heads. Holmes had lit
his lantern, which shot a tiny tunnel of vivid yellow light upon the
mournful scene. Its rays were reflected back from the coffin-plates,
many of them adorned with the griffin and coronet of this old family
which carried its honours even to the gate of Death.
"You spoke of some bones, Mr. Mason. Could you show them before you
go?"
"They are here in this corner." The trainer strode across and then
stood in silent surprise as our light was turned upon the place.
"They are gone," said he.
"So I expected," said Holmes, chuckling. "I fancy the ashes of them
might even now be found in that oven which had already consumed a
part."
"But why in the world would anyone want to burn the bones of a man
who has been dead a thousand years?" asked John Mason.
"That is what we are here to find out," said Holmes. "It may mean a
long search, and we need not detain you. I fancy that we shall get
our solution before morning."
When John Mason had left us, Holmes set to work making a very careful
examination of the graves, ranging from a very ancient one, which
appeared to be Saxon, in the centre, through a long line of Norman
Hugos and Odos, until we reached the Sir William and Sir Denis Falder
of the eighteenth century. It was an hour or more before Holmes came
to a leaden coffin standing on end before the entrance to the vault.
I heard his little cry of satisfaction and was aware from his hurried
but purposeful movements that he had reached a goal. With his lens he
was eagerly examining the edges of the heavy lid. Then he drew from
his pocket a short jemmy, a box-opener, which he thrust into a chink,
levering back the whole front, which seemed to be secured by only a
couple of clamps. There was a rending, tearing sound as it gave way,
but it had hardly hinged back and partly revealed the contents before
we had an unforeseen interruption.
Someone was walking in the chapel above. It was the firm, rapid step
of one who came with a definite purpose and knew well the ground upon
which he walked. A light streamed down the stairs, and an instant
later the man who bore it was framed in the Gothic archway. He was a
terrible figure, huge in stature and fierce in manner. A large
stable-lantern which he held in front of him shone upward upon a
strong, heavily moustached face and angry eyes, which glared round
him into every recess of the vault, finally fixing themselves with a
deadly stare upon my companion and myself.
"Who the devil are you?" he thundered. "And what are you doing upon
my property?" Then, as Holmes returned no answer, he took a couple of
steps forward and raised a heavy stick which he carried. "Do you hear
me?" he cried. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" His cudgel
quivered in the air.
But instead of shrinking Holmes advanced to meet him.
"I also have a question to ask you, Sir Robert," he said in his
sternest tone. "Who is this? And what is it doing here?"
He turned and tore open the coffin-lid behind him. In the glare of
the lantern I saw a body swathed in a sheet from head to foot, with
dreadful, witch-like features, all nose and chin, projecting at one
end, the dim, glazed eyes staring from a discoloured and crumbling
face.
The baronet had staggered back with a cry and supported himself
against a stone sarcophagus.
"How came you to know of this?" he cried. And then, with some return
of his truculent manner: "What business is it of yours?"
"My name is Sherlock Holmes," said my companion. "Possibly it is
familiar to you. In any case, my business is that of every other good
citizen--to uphold the law. It seems to me that you have much to
answer for."
Sir Robert glared for a moment, but Holmes's quiet voice and cool,
assured manner had their effect.
"'Fore God, Mr. Holmes, it's all right," said he. "Appearances are
against me, I'll admit, but I could act no otherwise."
"I should be happy to think so, but I fear your explanations must be
before the police."
Sir Robert shrugged his broad shoulders.
"Well, if it must be, it must. Come up to the house and you can judge
for yourself how the matter stands."
A quarter of an hour later we found ourselves in what I judge, from
the lines of polished barrels behind glass covers, to be the gun-room
of the old house. It was comfortably furnished, and here Sir Robert
left us for a few moments. When he returned he had two companions
with him; the one, the florid young woman whom we had seen in the
carriage; the other, a small rat-faced man with a disagreeably
furtive manner. These two wore an appearance of utter bewilderment,
which showed that the baronet had not yet had time to explain to them
the turn events had taken.
"There," said Sir Robert with a wave of his hand, "are Mr. and Mrs.
Norlett. Mrs. Norlett, under her maiden name of Evans, has for some
years been my sister's confidential maid. I have brought them here
because I feel that my best course is to explain the true position to
you, and they are the two people upon earth who can substantiate what
I say."
"Is this necessary, Sir Robert? Have you thought what you are doing?"
cried the woman.
"As to me, I entirely disclaim all responsibility," said her husband.
Sir Robert gave him a glance of contempt. "I will take all
responsibility," said he. "Now, Mr. Holmes, listen to a plain
statement of the facts.
"You have clearly gone pretty deeply into my affairs or I should not
have found you where I did. Therefore, you know already, in all
probability, that I am running a dark horse for the Derby and that
everything depends upon my success. If I win, all is easy. If I
lose--well, I dare not think of that!"
"I understand the position," said Holmes.
"I am dependent upon my sister, Lady Beatrice, for everything. But it
is well known that her interest in the estate is for her own life
only. For myself, I am deeply in the hands of the Jews. I have always
known that if my sister were to die my creditors would be on to my
estate like a flock of vultures. Everything would be seized--my
stables, my horses--everything. Well, Mr. Holmes, my sister did die
just a week ago."
"And you told no one!"
"What could I do? Absolute ruin faced me. If I could stave things off
for three weeks all would be well. Her maid's husband--this man
here--is an actor. It came into our heads--it came into my head--that
he could for that short period personate my sister. It was but a case
of appearing daily in the carriage, for no one need enter her room
save the maid. It was not difficult to arrange. My sister died of the
dropsy which had long afflicted her."
"That will be for a coroner to decide."
"Her doctor would certify that for months her symptoms have
threatened such an end."
"Well, what did you do?"
"The body could not remain there. On the first night Norlett and I
carried it out to the old well-house, which is now never used. We
were followed, however, by her pet spaniel, which yapped continually
at the door, so I felt some safer place was needed. I got rid of the
spaniel, and we carried the body to the crypt of the church. There
was no indignity or irreverence, Mr. Holmes. I do not feel that I
have wronged the dead."
"Your conduct seems to me inexcusable, Sir Robert."
The baronet shook his head impatiently. "It is easy to preach," said
he. "Perhaps you would have felt differently if you had been in my
position. One cannot see all one's hopes and all one's plans
shattered at the last moment and make no effort to save them. It
seemed to me that it would be no unworthy resting-place if we put her
for the time in one of the coffins of her husband's ancestors lying
in what is still consecrated ground. We opened such a coffin, removed
the contents, and placed her as you have seen her. As to the old
relics which we took out, we could not leave them on the floor of the
crypt. Norlett and I removed them, and he descended at night and
burned them in the central furnace. There is my story, Mr. Holmes,
though how you forced my hand so that I have to tell it is more than
I can say."
Holmes sat for some time lost in thought.
"There is one flaw in your narrative, Sir Robert," he said at last.
"Your bets on the race, and therefore your hopes for the future,
would hold good even if your creditors seized your estate."
"The horse would be part of the estate. What do they care for my
bets? As likely as not they would not run him at all. My chief
creditor is, unhappily, my most bitter enemy--a rascally fellow, Sam
Brewer, whom I was once compelled to horsewhip on Newmarket Heath. Do
you suppose that he would try to save me?"
"Well, Sir Robert," said Holmes, rising, "this matter must, of
course, be referred to the police. It was my duty to bring the facts
to light, and there I must leave it. As to the morality or decency of
your conduct, it is not for me to express an opinion. It is nearly
midnight, Watson, and I think we may make our way back to our humble
abode."
It is generally known now that this singular episode ended upon a
happier note than Sir Robert's actions deserved. Shoscombe Prince did
win the Derby, the sporting owner did net eighty thousand pounds in
bets, and the creditors did hold their hand until the race was over,
when they were paid in full, and enough was left to reestablish Sir
Robert in a fair position in life. Both police and coroner took a
lenient view of the transaction, and beyond a mild censure for the
