第 12 页

at himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a result.

I only quote this as a trivial example of observation and infer-

ence. Therein lies my metier, and it is just possible that it may

be of some service in the investigation which lies before us.

There are one or two minor points which were brought out in the

inquest, and which are worth considering."

"What are they?"

"It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after

the return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary

informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was

not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts.

This observation of his had the natural effect of removing any

traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the

coroner's jury."

"It was a confession," I ejaculated.

"No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence."

"Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was

at least a most suspicious remark."

"On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift

which I can at present see in the clouds. However innocent he

might be, he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see

that the circumstances were very black against him. Had he

appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it,

I should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such

surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances,

and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man.

His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an

innocent man, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and

firmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not

unnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of

his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day so

far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and

even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so important,

to raise his hand as if to strike him. The self-reproach and

contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to me to be

the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty on."

I shook my head. "Many men have been hanged on far

slighter evidence," I remarked.

"So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged."

"What is the young man's own account of the matter?"

"It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters,

though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive.

You will find it here, and may read it for yourself."

He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire

paper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the

paragraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his

own statement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in

the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this

way:

Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased,

was then called and gave evidence as follows: "I had been

away from home for three days at Bristol, and had only just

returned upon the morning of last Monday, the 3d. My

father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and I

was informed by the maid that he had driven over to Ross

with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after my return I heard

the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out of my

window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard,

though I was not aware in which direction he was going. I

then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the

Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit-

warren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw

William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his

evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following

my father. I had no idea that he was in front of me. When

about a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of

'Cooee!' which was a usual signal between my father and

myself. I then hurried forward, and found him standing by

the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me

and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. A

conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to

blows, for my father was a man of a very violent temper.

Seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, I left

him and returned towards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone

more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous

outcry behind me, which caused me to run back again.

I found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head

terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in my

arms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for

some minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's

lodge-keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for assis-

tance. I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I

have no idea how he came by his injuries. He was not a

popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his

manners, but he had, as far as I know, no active enemies. I

know nothing further of the matter."

The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you

before he died?

Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only

catch some allusion to a rat.

The Coroner: What did you understand by that?

Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he

was delirious.

The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and

your father had this final quarrel?

Witness: I should prefer not to answer.

The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it.

Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can

assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy

which followed.

The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not

point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice

your case considerably in any future proceedings which may

arise.

Witness: I must still refuse.

The Coroner: I understand that the cry of "Cooee" was a

common signal between you and your father?

Witnesls: It was.

The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before

he saw you, and before he even knew that you had returned

from Bristol?

Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.

A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your

suspiclons when you returned on hearing the cry and found

your father fatally injured?

Witness: Nothing definite.

The Coroner: What do you mean?

Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out

into the open, that I could think of nothing except of my

father. Yet I have a vague impression that as I ran forward

something lay upon the ground to the left of me. It seemed

to me to be something gray in colour, a coat of some sort,

or a plaid perhaps. When I rose from my father I looked

round for it, but it was gone.

"Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for

help?"

"Yes, it was gone."

"You cannot say what it was?"

"No, I had a feeling something was there."

"How far from the body?"

"A dozen yards or so."

"And how far from the edge of the wood?"

"About the same."

"Then if it was removed it was while you were within a

dozen yards of it?"

"Yes, but with my back towards it."

This concluded the examination of the witness.

"I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "that the

coroner in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young

McCarthy. He calls attention, and with reason, to the discrep-

ancy about his father having signalled to him before seeing him

also to his refusal to give details of his conversation with his

father, and his singular account of his father's dying words.

They are all, as he remarks, very much against the son."

Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out

upon the cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been

at some pains," said he, "to single out the very strongest points

in the young man's favour. Don't you see that you alternately

give him credit for having too much imaginition and too little?

Too little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would

give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from

his own inner consciousness anything so outre as a dying refer-

ence to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I

shall approach this case from the point of view that what this

young man says is true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis

will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and not

another word shall I say of this case until we are on the scene of

action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall be there in

twenty minutes."

It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing

through the beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming

Severn, found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross.

A lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for

us upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and

leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic sur-

roundings, I had no difficulty in recognizing Lestrade, of Scot-

land Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a

room had already been engaged for us.

"I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as we sat over a

cup of tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would

not be happy until you had been on the scene of the crime."

"It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes an-

swered. "It is entirely a question of barometric pressure."

Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said.

"How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a

cloud in the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need

smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country

hotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall

use the carriage to-night."

Lestrade laughed indulgently. "Yau have, no doubt, already

formed your conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "The

case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the

plainer it becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and

such a very positive one, too. She hai heard of you, and would

have your opinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was

nothing which you could do which I had not already done. Why,

bless my soul! here is her carriage at the door."

He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of

the most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life.

Her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her

cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpower-

ing excitement and concern.

"Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to

the other of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition,

fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad that you have

come. I have driven down to tell you so. I know that James

didn't do it. I know it, and I want you to start upon your work

knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We

have known each other since we were little children, and I know

his faults as no one else does; but he is too tenderhearted to hurt

a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him."

"I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock

Holmes. "You may rely upon my doing all that I can."

"But you have read the evidence. You have formed some

conclusion? Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you

not yourself think that he is innocent?"

"I think that it is very probable."

"There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and looking

defiantly at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes."

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my col-

league has been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he

said.

"But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did

it. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the

reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was

because I was concerned in it."

"In what way?" asked Holmes.

"It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father

had many disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very

anxious that there should be a marriage between us. James and I

have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course

he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and -- and -- well,

he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there

were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them."

"And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of

such a union?"

"No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was

in favour of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face

as Holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.

"Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see your

father if I call to-morrow?"

"I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."

"The doctor?"

"Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong

for years back, but this has broken him down completely. He has

taken to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and

that his nlervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only

man alive who had known dad in the old days in Victoria."

"Ha! ln Victoria! That is important."

"Yes, at the mines."

"Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr.

Turner made his money."

"Yes, certainly."

"Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assis-