escape from this weary workaday world by the side door of music.
Carina sings to-night at the Albert Hall, and we still have time to
dress, dine, and enjoy."
In the morning I was up betimes, but some toast crumbs and two empty
egg-shells told me that my companion was earlier still. I found a
scribbled note upon the table.
Dear Watson:
There are one or two points of contact which I should wish to
establish with Mr. Josiah Amberley. When I have done so we can
dismiss the case--or not. I would only ask you to be on hand about
three o'clock, as I conceive it possible that I may want you.
S. H.
I saw nothing of Holmes all day, but at the hour named he returned,
grave, preoccupied, and aloof. At such times it was wiser to leave
him to himself.
"Has Amberley been here yet?"
"No."
"Ah! I am expecting him."
He was not disappointed, for presently the old fellow arrived with a
very worried and puzzled expression upon his austere face.
"I've had a telegram, Mr. Holmes. I can make nothing of it." He
handed it over, and Holmes read it aloud.
"Come at once without fail. Can give you information as to your
recent loss.
"Elman.
"The Vicarage.
"Dispatched at 2.10 from Little Purlington," said Holmes. "Little
Purlington is in Essex, I believe, not far from Frinton. Well, of
course you will start at once. This is evidently from a responsible
person, the vicar of the place. Where is my Crockford? Yes, here we
have him: 'J. C. Elman, M. A., Living of Moosmoor cum Little
Purlington.' Look up the trains, Watson."
"There is one at 5.20 from Liverpool Street."
"Excellent. You had best go with him, Watson. He may need help or
advice. Clearly we have come to a crisis in this affair."
But our client seemed by no means eager to start.
"It's perfectly absurd, Mr. Holmes," he said. "What can this man
possibly know of what has occurred? It is waste of time and money."
"He would not have telegraphed to you if he did not know something.
Wire at once that you are coming."
"I don't think I shall go."
Holmes assumed his sternest aspect.
"It would make the worst possible impression both on the police and
upon myself, Mr. Amberley, if when so obvious a clue arose you should
refuse to follow it up. We should feel that you were not really in
earnest in this investigation."
Our client seemed horrified at the suggestion.
"Why, of course I shall go if you look at it in that way," said he.
"On the face of it, it seems absurd to suppose that this person knows
anything, but if you think--"
"I do think," said Holmes with emphasis, and so we were launched upon
our journey. Holmes took me aside before we left the room and gave me
one word of counsel, which showed that he considered the matter to be
of importance. "Whatever you do, see that he really does go," said
he. "Should he break away or return, get to the nearest telephone
exchange and send the single word 'Bolted.' I will arrange here that
it shall reach me wherever I am."
Little Purlington is not an easy place to reach, for it is on a
branch line. My remembrance of the journey is not a pleasant one, for
the weather was hot, the train slow, and my companion sullen and
silent, hardly talking at all save to make an occasional sardonic
remark as to the futility of our proceedings. When we at last reached
the little station it was a two-mile drive before we came to the
Vicarage, where a big, solemn, rather pompous clergyman received us
in his study. Our telegram lay before him.
"Well, gentlemen," he asked, "what can I do for you?"
"We came," I explained, "in answer to your wire."
"My wire! I sent no wire."
"I mean the wire which you sent to Mr. Josiah Amberley about his wife
and his money."
"If this is a joke, sir, it is a very questionable one," said the
vicar angrily. "I have never heard of the gentleman you name, and I
have not sent a wire to anyone."
Our client and I looked at each other in amazement.
"Perhaps there is some mistake," said I; "are there perhaps two
vicarages? Here is the wire itself, signed Elman and dated from the
Vicarage."
"There is only one vicarage, sir, and only one vicar, and this wire
is a scandalous forgery, the origin of which shall certainly be
investigated by the police. Meanwhile, I can see no possible object
in prolonging this interview."
So Mr. Amberley and I found ourselves on the roadside in what seemed
to me to be the most primitive village in England. We made for the
telegraph office, but it was already closed. There was a telephone,
however, at the little Railway Arms, and by it I got into touch with
Holmes, who shared in our amazement at the result of our journey.
"Most singular!" said the distant voice. "Most remarkable! I much
fear, my dear Watson, that there is no return train to-night. I have
unwittingly condemned you to the horrors of a country inn. However,
there is always Nature, Watson--Nature and Josiah Amberley--you can
be in close commune with both." I heard his dry chuckle as he turned
away.
It was soon apparent to me that my companion's reputation as a miser
was not undeserved. He had grumbled at the expense of the journey,
had insisted upon travelling third-class, and was now clamorous in
his objections to the hotel bill. Next morning, when we did at last
arrive in London, it was hard to say which of us was in the worse
humour.
"You had best take Baker Street as we pass," said I. "Mr. Holmes may
have some fresh instructions."
"If they are not worth more than the last ones they are not of much
use, " said Amberley with a malevolent scowl. None the less, he kept
me company. I had already warned Holmes by telegram of the hour of
our arrival, but we found a message waiting that he was at Lewisham
and would expect us there. That was a surprise, but an even greater
one was to find that he was not alone in the sitting-room of our
client. A stern-looking, impassive man sat beside him, a dark man
with gray-tinted glasses and a large Masonic pin projecting from his
tie.
"This is my friend Mr. Barker," said Holmes. "He has been interesting
himself also in your business, Mr. Josiah Amberley, though we have
been working independently. But we both have the same question to ask
you!"
Mr. Amberley sat down heavily. He sensed impending danger. I read it
in his straining eyes and his twitching features.
"What is the question, Mr. Holmes?"
"Only this: What did you do with the bodies?"
The man sprang to his feet with a hoarse scream. He clawed into the
air with his bony hands. His mouth was open, and for the instant he
looked like some horrible bird of prey. In a flash we got a glimpse
of the real Josiah Amberley, a misshapen demon with a soul as
distorted as his body. As he fell back into his chair he clapped his
hand to his lips as if to stifle a cough. Holmes sprang at his throat
like a tiger and twisted his face towards the ground. A white pellet
fell from between his gasping lips.
"No short cuts, Josiah Amberley. Things must be done decently and in
order. What about it, Barker?"
"I have a cab at the door," said our taciturn companion.
"It is only a few hundred yards to the station. We will go together.
You can stay here, Watson. I shall be back within half an hour."
The old colourman had the strength of a lion in that great trunk of
his, but he was helpless in the hands of the two experienced
man-handlers. Wriggling and twisting he was dragged to the waiting
cab, and I was left to my solitary vigil in the ill-omened house. In
less time than he had named, however, Holmes was back, in company
with a smart young police inspector.
"I've left Barker to look after the formalities," said Holmes. "You
had not met Barker, Watson. He is my hated rival upon the Surrey
shore. When you said a tall dark man it was not difficult for me to
complete the picture. He has several good cases to his credit, has he
not, Inspector?"
"He has certainly interfered several times," the inspector answered
with reserve.
"His methods are irregular, no doubt, like my own. The irregulars are
useful sometimes, you know. You, for example, with your compulsory
warning about whatever he said being used against him, could never
have bluffed this rascal into what is virtually a confession."
"Perhaps not. But we get there all the same, Mr. Holmes. Don't
imagine that we had not formed our own views of this case, and that
we would not have laid our hands on our man. You will excuse us for
feeling sore when you jump in with methods which we cannot use, and
so rob us of the credit."
"There shall be no such robbery, MacKinnon. I assure you that I
efface myself from now onward, and as to Barker, he has done nothing
save what I told him."
The inspector seemed considerably relieved.
"That is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. Praise or blame can matter
little to you, but it is very different to us when the newspapers
begin to ask questions."
"Quite so. But they are pretty sure to ask questions anyhow, so it
would be as well to have answers. What will you say, for example,
when the intelligent and enterprising reporter asks you what the
exact points were which aroused your suspicion, and finally gave you
a certain conviction as to the real facts?"
The inspector looked puzzled.
"We don't seem to have got any real facts yet, Mr. Holmes. You say
that the prisoner, in the presence of three witnesses, practically
confessed by trying to commit suicide, that he had murdered his wife
and her lover. What other facts have you?"
"Have you arranged for a search?"
"There are three constables on their way."
"Then you will soon get the clearest fact of all. The bodies cannot
be far away. Try the cellars and the garden. It should not take long
to dig up the likely places. This house is older than the
water-pipes. There must be a disused well somewhere. Try your luck
there."
"But how did you know of it, and how was it done?"
"I'll show you first how it was done, and then I will give the
explanation which is due to you, and even more to my long-suffering
friend here, who has been invaluable throughout. But, first, I would
give you an insight into this man's mentality. It is a very unusual
one--so much so that I think his destination is more likely to be
Broadmoor than the scaffold. He has, to a high degree, the sort of
mind which one associates with the mediaeval Italian nature rather
than with the modern Briton. He was a miserable miser who made his
wife so wretched by his niggardly ways that she was a ready prey for
any adventurer. Such a one came upon the scene in the person of this
chess-playing doctor. Amberley excelled at chess--one mark, Watson,
of a scheming mind. Like all misers, he was a jealous man, and his
jealousy became a frantic mania. Rightly or wrongly, he suspected an
intrigue. He determined to have his revenge, and he planned it with
diabolical cleverness. Come here!"
Holmes led us along the passage with as much certainty as if he had
lived in the house and halted at the open door of the strong-room.
"Pooh! What an awful smell of paint!" cried the inspector.
"That was our first clue," said Holmes. "You can thank Dr. Watson's
observation for that, though he failed to draw the inference. It set
my foot upon the trail. Why should this man at such a time be filling
his house with strong odours? Obviously, to cover some other smell
which he wished to conceal--some guilty smell which would suggest
suspicions. Then came the idea of a room such as you see here with
iron door and shutter--a hermetically sealed room. Put those two
facts together, and whither do they lead? I could only determine that
by examining the house myself. I was already certain that the case
was serious, for I had examined the box-office chart at the Haymarket
Theatre--another of Dr. Watson's bull's-eyes--and ascertained that
neither B thirty nor thirty-two of the upper circle had been occupied
that night. Therefore, Amberley had not been to the theatre, and his
alibi fell to the ground. He made a bad slip when he allowed my
astute friend to notice the number of the seat taken for his wife.
The question now arose how I might be able to examine the house. I
sent an agent to the most impossible village I could think of, and
summoned my man to it at such an hour that he could not possibly get
back. To prevent any miscarriage, Dr. Watson accompanied him. The
good vicar's name I took, of course, out of my Crockford. Do I make
