
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                      1904                                  
                                                                            
                                SHERLOCK HOLMES                             
                                                                            
                       THE ADVENTURE OF THE ABBEY GRANGE                    
                                                                            
                           by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle


It was on a bitterly cold night and frosty morning, towards the
end of the winter of '97, that I was awakened by a tugging at my            
shoulder. It was Holmes. The candle in his hand shone upon his              
eager, stooping face, and told me at a glance that something was            
amiss.                                                                      
  "Come, Watson, come!" he cried. "The game is afoot. Not a word! Into      
your clothes and come!"                                                     
  Ten minutes later we were both in a cab, and rattling through the         
silent streets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faint         
winter's dawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see the           
occasional figure of an early workman as he passed us, blurred and          
indistinct in the opalescent London reek. Holmes nestled in silence         
into his heavy coat, and I was glad to do the same, for the air was         
most bitter, and neither of us had broken our fast.                         
  It was not until we had consumed some hot tea at the station and          
taken our places in the Kentish train that we were sufficiently             
thawed, he to speak and I to listen. Holmes drew a note from his            
pocket, and read aloud:                                                     

                             'Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent,                  
                                                  '3:30 A.M.                
'MY DEAR MR. HOLMES:                                                        
  I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in what                
promises to be a most remarkable case. It is something quite in your        
line. Except for releasing the lady I will see that everything is kept      
exactly as I have found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant, as        
it is difficult to leave Sir Eustace there.                                 
                                      'Yours faithfully,                    
                                          'STANLEY HOPKINS.                 

  "Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion his           
summons has been entirely justified," said Holmes. "I fancy that every      
one of his cases has found its way into your collection, and I must         
admit, Watson, that you have some power of selection, which atones for      
much which I deplore in your narratives. Your fatal habit of looking        
at everything from the point of view of a story instead of as a             
scientific exercise has ruined what might have been an instructive and      
even classical series of demonstrations. You slur over work of the          
utmost finesse and delicacy, in order to dwell upon sensational             
details which may excite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader."        
  "Why do you not write them yourself?" I said, with some bitterness.       
  "I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, as you know,            
fairly busy, but I propose to devote my declining years to the              
composition of a textbook, which shall focus the whole art of               
detection into one volume. Our present research appears to be a case        
of murder."                                                                 
  "You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?"                               

  "I should say so. Hopkins's writing shows considerable agitation,
and he is not an emotional man. Yes, I gather there has been violence,      
and that the body is left for our inspection. A mere suicide would not      
have caused him to send for me. As to the release of the lady, it           
would appear that she has been locked in her room during the                
tragedy. We are moving in high life, Watson, crackling paper, 'E.B.'        
monogram, coat-of-arms, picturesque address. I think that friend            
Hopkins will live up to his reputation, and that we shall have an           
interesting morning. The crime was committed before twelve last             
night."                                                                     
  "How can you possibly tell?"                                              
  "By an inspection of the trains, and by reckoning the time. The           
local police had to be called in, they had to communicate with              
Scotland Yard, Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to send for        
me. All that makes a fair night's work. Well, here we are at                
Chiselhurst Station, and we shall soon set our doubts at rest."             
  A drive of a couple of miles through narrow country lanes brought us      
to a park gate, which was opened for us by an old lodge-keeper,             
whose haggard face bore the reflection of some great disaster. The          
avenue ran through a noble park, between lines of ancient elms, and         
ended in a low, widespread house, pillared in front after the               
fashion of Palladio. The central part was evidently of a great age and      
shrouded in ivy, but the large windows showed that modern changes           
had been carried out, and one wing of the house appeared to be              
entirely new. The youthful figure and alert, eager face of Inspector        
Stanley Hopkins confronted us in the open doorway.                          
  "I'm very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. And you, too, Dr.               
Watson. But, indeed, if I had my time over again, I should not have         
troubled you, for since the lady has come to herself, she has given so      
clear an account of the affair that there is not much left for us to        
do. You remember that Lewisham gang of burglars?"                           

  "What, the three Randalls?"
  "Exactly; the father and two sons. It's their work. I have not a          
doubt of it. They did a job at Sydenham a fortnight ago and were            
seen and described. Rather cool to do another so soon and so near, but      
it is they, beyond all doubt. It's a hanging matter this time."             
  "Sir Eustace is dead, then?"                                              
  "Yes, his head was knocked in with his own poker."                        
  "Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me."                          

  "Exactly- one of the richest men in Kent- Lady Brackenstall is in         
the morning-room. Poor lady, she has had a most dreadful experience.        
She seemed half dead when I saw her first. I think you had best see         
her and hear her account of the facts. Then we will examine the             
dining-room together."                                                      
  Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Seldom have I seen so           
graceful a figure, so womanly a presence, and so beautiful a face. She      
was a blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and would no doubt have had         
the perfect complexion which goes with such colouring, had not her          
recent experience left her drawn and haggard. Her sufferings were           
physical as well as mental, for over one eye rose a hideous,                
plum-coloured swelling, which her maid, a tall, austere woman, was          
bathing assiduously with vinegar and water. The lady lay back               
exhausted upon a couch, but her quick, observant gaze, as we entered        
the room, and the alert expression of her beautiful features, showed        
that neither her wits nor her courage had been shaken by her                
terrible experience. She was enveloped in a loose dressing-gown of          
blue and silver, but a black sequin-covered dinner-dress lay upon           
the couch beside her.                                                       
  "I have told you all that happened, Mr. Hopkins," she said, wearily.      
"Could you not repeat it for me? Well, if you think it necessary, I         
will tell these gentlemen what occurred. Have they been in the              
dining-room yet?"                                                           
  "I thought they had better hear your ladyship's story first."             
  "I shall be glad when you can arrange matters. It is horrible to          
me to think of him still lying there." She shuddered and buried her         
face in her hands. As she did so, the loose gown fell back from her         
forearms. Holmes uttered an exclamation.                                    

  "You have other injuries, madam! What is this?" Two vivid red
spots stood out on one of the white, round limbs. She hastily               
covered it.                                                                 
  "It is nothing. It has no connection with this hideous business           
to-night. If you and your friend will sit down, I will tell you all         
I can.                                                                      
  "I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. I have been married           
about a year. I suppose that it is no use my attempting to conceal          
that our marriage has not been a happy one. I fear that all our             
neighbours would tell you that, even if I were to attempt to deny           
it. Perhaps the fault may be partly mine. I was brought up in the           
freer, less conventional atmosphere of South Australia, and this            
English life, with its proprieties and its primness, is not                 
congenial to me. But the main reason lies in the one fact, which is         
notorious to everyone, and that is that Sir Eustace was a confirmed         
drunkard. To be with such a man for an hour is unpleasant. Can you          
imagine what it means for a sensitive and high-spirited woman to be         
tied to him for day and night? It is a sacrilege, a crime, a                
villainy to hold that such a marriage is binding. I say that these          
monstrous laws of yours will bring a curse upon the land- God will not      
let such wickedness endure." For an instant she sat up, her cheeks          
flushed, and her eyes blazing from under the terrible mark upon her         
brow. Then the strong, soothing hand of the austere maid drew her head      
down on to the cushion, and the wild anger died away into passionate        
sobbing. At last she continued:                                             
  "I will tell you about last night. You are aware, perhaps, that in        
this house all the servants sleep in the modern wing. This central          
block is made up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen behind and         
our bedroom above. My maid, Theresa, sleeps above my room. There is no      
one else, and no sound could alarm those who are in the farther             
wing. This must have been well known to the robbers, or they would not      
have acted as they did.                                                     
  "Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten. The servants had already        
gone to their quarters. Only my maid was up, and she had remained in        
her room at the top of the house until I needed her services. I sat         
until after eleven in this room, absorbed in a book. Then I walked          
round to see that all was right before I went upstairs. It was my           
custom to do this myself, for, as I have explained, Sir Eustace was         
not always to be trusted. I went into the kitchen, the butler's             
pantry, the gun-room, the billiard-room, the drawing-room, and finally      
the dining-room. As I approached the window, which is covered with          
thick curtains, I suddenly felt the wind blow upon my face and              
realized that it was open. I flung the curtain aside and found              
myself face to face with a broad-shouldered elderly man, who had            
just stepped into the room. The window is a long French one, which          
really forms a door leading to the lawn. I held my bedroom candle           
lit in my hand, and, by its light, behind the first man I saw two           
others, who were in the act of entering. I stepped back, but the            
fellow was on me in an instant. He caught me first by the wrist and         
then by the throat. I opened my mouth to scream, but he struck me a         
savage blow with his fist over the eye, and felled me to the ground. I      
must have been unconscious for a few minutes, for when I came to            
myself, I found that they had torn down the bell-rope, and had secured      
me tightly to the oaken chair which stands at the head of the               
dining-table. I was so firmly bound that I could not move, and a            
handkerchief round my mouth prevented me from uttering a sound. It was      
at this instant that my unfortunate husband entered the room. He had        
evidently heard some suspicious sounds, and he came prepared for            
such a scene as he found. He was dressed in nightshirt and trousers,        
with his favourite blackthorn cudgel in his hand. He rushed at the          
burglars, but another- it was an elderly man- stooped, picked the           
poker out of the grate and struck him a horrible blow as he passed. He      
fell with a groan and never moved again. I fainted once more, but           
again it could only have been for a very few minutes during which I         
was insensible. When I opened my eyes I found that they had                 
collected the silver from the sideboard, and they had drawn a bottle        
of wine which stood there. Each of them had a glass in his hand. I          
have already told you, have I not, that one was elderly, with a beard,      
and the others young, hairless lads. They might have been a father          
with his two sons. They talked together in whispers. Then they came         
over and made sure that I was securely bound. Finally they withdrew,        
closing the window after them. It was quite a quarter of an hour            
before I got my mouth free. When I did so, my screams brought the maid      
to my assistance. The other servants were soon alarmed, and we sent         
for the local police, who instantly communicated with London. That          
is really all that I can tell you, gentlemen, and I trust that it will      
not be necessary for me to go over so painful a story again."               

  "Any questions, Mr. Holmes?" asked Hopkins.
  "I will not impose any further tax upon Lady Brackenstall's patience      
and time," said Holmes. "Before I go into the dining-room, I should         
like to hear your experience." He looked at the maid.                       
  "I saw the men before ever they came into the house," said she.           
"As I sat by my bedroom window I saw three men in the moonlight down        
by the lodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing of it at the time.          
It was more than an hour after that I heard my mistress scream, and         
down I ran, to find her, poor lamb, just as she says, and him on the        
floor, with his blood and brains over the room. It was enough to drive      
a woman out of her wits, tied there, and her very dress spotted with        
him, but she never wanted courage, did Miss Mary Fraser of Adelaide         
and Lady Brackenstall of Abbey Grange hasn't learned new ways.              
You've questioned her long enough, you gentlemen, and now she is            
coming to her own room, just with her old Theresa, to get the rest          
that she badly needs."                                                      
  With a motherly tenderness the gaunt woman put her arm round her          
mistress and led her from the room.                                         
  "She has been with her all her life," said Hopkins. "Nursed her as a      
baby, and came with her to England when they first left Australia,          
eighteen months ago. Theresa Wright is her name, and the kind of            
maid you don't pick up nowadays. This way, Mr. Holmes, if you please!"      

  The keen interest had passed out of Holmes's expressive face, and         
I knew that with the mystery all the charm of the case had departed.        
There still remained an arrest to be effected, but what were these          
commonplace rogues that he should soil his hands with them? An              
abstruse and learned specialist who finds that he has been called in        
for a case of measles would experience something of the annoyance           
which I read in my friend's eyes. Yet the scene in the dining-room          
of the Abbey Grange was sufficiently strange to arrest his attention        
and to recall his waning interest.                                          
  It was a very large and high chamber, with carved oak ceiling, oaken      
panelling, and a fine array of deer's heads and ancient weapons around      
the walls. At the further end from the door was the high French window      
of which we had heard. Three smaller windows on the right-hand side         
filled the apartment with cold winter sunshine. On the left was a           
large, deep fireplace, with a massive, overhanging oak mantelpiece.         
Beside the fireplace was a heavy oaken chair with arms and crossbars        
at the bottom. In and out through the open woodwork was woven a             
crimson cord, which was secured at each side to the crosspiece              
below. In releasing the lady, the cord had been slipped off her, but        
the knots with which it had been secured still remained. These details      
only struck our attention afterwards, for our thoughts were entirely        
absorbed by the terrible object which lay upon the tigerskin hearthrug      
in front of the fire.                                                       
  It was the body of a tall, well-made man, about forty years of            
age. He lay upon his back, his face upturned, with his white teeth          
grinning through his short, black beard. His two clenched hands were        
raised above his head, and a heavy, blackthorn stick lay across             
them. His dark, handsome, aquiline features were convulsed into a           
spasm of vindictive hatred, which had set his dead face in a                
terribly fiendish expression. He had evidently been in his bed when         
the alarm had broken out, for he wore a foppish, embroidered                
nightshirt, and his bare feet projected from his trousers. His head         
was horribly injured, and the whole room bore witness to the savage         
ferocity of the blow which had struck him down. Beside him lay the          
heavy poker, bent into a curve by the concussion. Holmes examined both      
it and the indescribable wreck which it had wrought.                        
  "He must be a powerful man, this elder Randall," he remarked.             
  "Yes," said Hopkins. "I have some record of the fellow, and he is         
a rough customer."                                                          

  "You should have no difficulty in getting him."                           
  "Not the slightest. We have been on the look-out for him, and             
there was some idea that he had got away to America. Now that we            
know that the gang are here, I don't see how they can escape. We            
have the news at every seaport already, and a reward will be offered        
before evening. What beats me is how they could have done so mad a          
thing, knowing that the lady could describe them and that we could not      
fail to recognize the description."                                         
  "Exactly. One would have expected that they would silence Lady            
Brackenstall as well."                                                      
  "They may not have realized," I suggested, "that she had recovered        
from her faint."                                                            
  "That is likely enough. If she seemed to be senseless, they would         
not take her life. What about this poor fellow, Hopkins? I seem to          
have heard some queer stories about him."                                   

  "He was a good-hearted man when he was sober, but a perfect fiend         
when he was drunk, or rather when he was half drunk, for he seldom          
really went the whole way. The devil seemed to be in him at such            
times, and he was capable of anything. From what I hear, in spite of        
all his wealth and his title, he very nearly came our way once or           
twice. There was a scandal about his drenching a dog with petroleum         
and setting it on fire- her ladyship's dog, to make the matter              
worse- and that was only hushed up with difficulty. Then he threw a         
decanter at that maid, Theresa Wright- there was trouble about that.        
On the whole, and between ourselves, it will be a brighter house            
without him. What are you looking at now?"                                  
  Holmes was down on his knees, examining with great attention the          
knots upon the red cord with which the lady had been secured. Then          
he carefully scrutinized the broken and frayed end where it had             
snapped off when the burglar had dragged it down.                           
  "When this was pulled down, the bell in the kitchen must have rung        
loudly," he remarked.                                                       
  "No one could hear it. The kitchen stands right at the back of the        
house."                                                                     
  "How did the burglar know no one would hear it? How dared he pull at      
a bellrope in that reckless fashion?"
               
  "Exactly, Mr. Holmes, exactly. You put the very question which I          
have asked myself again and again. There can be no doubt that this          
fellow must have known the house and its habits. He must have               
perfectly understood that the servants would all be in bed at that          
comparatively early hour, and that no one could possibly hear a bell        
ring in the kitchen. Therefore, he must have been in close league with      
one of the servants. Surely that is evident. But there are eight            
servants, and all of good character."                                       
  "Other things being equal," said Holmes, "one would suspect the           
one at whose head the master threw a decanter. And yet that would           
involve treachery towards the mistress to whom this woman seems             
devoted. Well, well, the point is a minor one, and when you have            
Randall you will probably find no difficulty in securing his                
accomplice. The lady's story certainly seems to be corroborated, if it      
needed corroboration, by every detail which we see before us." He           
walked to the French window and threw it open. "There are no signs          
here, but the ground is iron hard, and one would not expect them. I         
see that these candles in the mantelpiece have been lighted."               
  "Yes, it was by their light and that of the lady's bedroom candle,        
that the burglars saw their way about."                                     
  "And what did they take?"                                                 
  "Well, they did not take much- only half a dozen articles of plate        
off the sideboard. Lady Brackenstall thinks that they were                  
themselves so disturbed by the death of Sir Eustace that they did           
not ransack the house, as they would otherwise have done."                  

  "No doubt that is true, and yet they drank some wine, I understand."      
  "To steady their nerves."                                                 
  "Exactly. These three glasses upon the sideboard have been                
untouched, I suppose?"                                                      
  "Yes, and the bottle stands as they left it."                             
  "Let us look at it. Halloa, halloa! What is this?"                        

  The three glasses were grouped together, all of them tinged with          
wine, and one of them containing some dregs of beeswing. The bottle         
stood near them, two-thirds full, and beside it lay a long, deeply          
stained cork. Its appearance and the dust upon the bottle showed            
that it was no common vintage which the murderers had enjoyed.              
  A change had come over Holmes's manner. He had lost his listless          
expression, and again I saw an alert light of interest in his keen,         
deep-set eyes. He raised the cork and examined it minutely.                 
  "How did they draw it?" he asked.                                         
  Hopkins pointed to a half-opened drawer. In it lay some table             
linen and a large corkscrew.                                                
  "Did Lady Brackenstall say that screw was used?"

  "No, you remember that she was senseless at the moment when the           
bottle was opened."                                                         
  "Quite so. As a matter of fact, that screw was not used. This bottle      
was opened by a pocket screw, probably contained in a knife, and not        
more than an inch and a half long. If you will examine the top of           
the cork, you will observe that the screw was driven in three times         
before the cork was extracted. It has never been transfixed. This long      
screw would have transfixed it and drawn it up with a single pull.          
When you catch this fellow, you will find that he has one of these          
multiplex knives in his possession."                                        
  "Excellent!" said Hopkins.                                                
  "But these glasses do puzzle me, I confess. Lady Brackenstall             
actually saw the three men drinking, did she not?"                          
  "Yes; she was clear about that."                                          

  "Then there is an end of it. What more is to be said? And yet, you        
must admit, that the three glasses are very remarkable, Hopkins. What?      
You see nothing remarkable? Well, well, let it pass. Perhaps, when a        
man has special knowledge and special powers like my own, it rather         
encourages him to seek a complex explanation when a simpler one is          
at hand. Of course, it must be a mere chance about the glasses.             
Well, good-morning, Hopkins. I don't see that I can be of any use to        
you, and you appear to have your case very clear. You will let me know      
when Randall is arrested, and any further developments which may            
occur. I trust that I shall soon have to congratulate you upon a            
successful conclusion. Come, Watson, I fancy that we may employ             
ourselves more profitably at home."                                         
  During our return journey, I could see by Holmes's face that he           
was much puzzled by something which he had observed. Every now and          
then, by an effort, he would throw off the impression, and talk as          
if the matter were clear, but then his doubts would settle down upon        
him again, and his knitted brows and abstracted eyes would show that        
his thoughts had gone back once more to the great diningroom of the         
Abbey Grange, in which this midnight tragedy had been enacted. At           
last, by a sudden impulse, just as our train was crawling out of a          
suburban station, he sprang on to the platform and pulled me out after      
him.                                                                        
  "Excuse me, my dear fellow," said he, as we watched the rear              
carriages of our train disappearing round a curve, "I am sorry to make      
you the victim of what may seem a mere whim, but on my life, Watson, I      
simply can't leave that case in this condition. Every instinct that         
I possess cries out against it. It's wrong- it's all wrong- I'll swear      
that it's wrong. And yet the lady's story was complete, the maid's          
corroboration was sufficient, the detail was fairly exact. What have I      
to put up against that? Three wine-glasses, that is all. But if I           
had not taken things for granted, if I had examined everything with         
care which I should have shown had we approached the case de novo           
and had no cut-and-dried story to warp my mind, should I not then have      
found something more definite to go upon? Of course I should. Sit down      
on this bench, Watson, until a train for Chiselhurst arrives, and           
allow me to lay the evidence before you, imploring you in the first         
instance to dismiss from your mind the idea that anything which the         
maid or her mistress may have said must necessarily be true. The            
lady's charming personality must not be permitted to warp our               
judgment.                                                                   
  "Surely there are details in her story which, if we looked at in          
cold blood, would excite our suspicion. These burglars made a               
considerable haul at Sydenham a fortnight ago. Some account of them         
and of their appearance was in the papers, and would naturally occur        
to anyone who wished to invent a story in which imaginary robbers           
should play a part. As a matter of fact, burglars who have done a good      
stroke of business are, as a rule, only too glad to enjoy the proceeds      
in peace and quiet without embarking on another perilous                    
undertaking. Again, it is unusual for burglars to operate at so             
early an hour, it is unusual for burglars to strike a lady to               
prevent her screaming, since one would imagine that was the sure way        
to make her scream, it is unusual for them to commit murder when their      
numbers are sufficient to overpower one man, it is unusual for them to      
be content with a limited plunder when there was much more within           
their reach, and finally, I should say, that it was very unusual for        
such men to leave a bottle half empty. How do all these unusuals            
strike you, Watson?"                                                        
  "Their cumulative effect is certainly considerable, and yet each          
of them is quite possible in itself. The most unusual thing of all, as      
it seems to me, is that the lady should be tied to the chair."              

  "Well, I am not so clear about that, Watson, for it is evident            
that they must either kill her or else secure her in such a way that        
she could not give immediate notice of their escape. But at any rate I      
have shown, have I not, that there is a certain element of                  
improbability about the lady's story? And now, on the top of this,          
comes the incident of the wineglasses."                                     
  "What about the wineglasses?"                                             
  "Can you see them in your mind's eye?"                                    
  "I see them clearly."                                                     
  "We are told that three men drank from them. Does that strike you as      
likely?"                                                                    

  "Why not? There was wine in each glass."                                  
  "Exactly, but there was beeswing only in one glass. You must have         
noticed that fact. What does that suggest to your mind?"                    
  "The last glass filled would be most likely to contain beeswing."         
  "Not at all. The bottle was full of it, and it is inconceivable that      
the first two glasses were clear and the third heavily charged with         
it. There are two possible explanations, and only two. One is that          
after the second glass was filled the bottle was violently agitated,        
and so the third glass received the beeswing. That does not appear          
probable. No, no, I am sure that I am right."                               
  "What, then, do you suppose?"

  "That only two glasses were used, and that the dregs of both were         
poured into a third glass, so as to give the false impression that          
three people had been here. In that way all the beeswing would be in        
the last glass, would it not? Yes, I am convinced that this is so. But      
if I have hit upon the true explanation of this one small                   
phenomenon, then in an instant the case rises from the commonplace          
to the exceedingly remarkable, for it can only mean that Lady               
Brackenstall and her maid have deliberately lied to us, that not one        
word of their story is to be believed, that they have some very strong      
reason for covering the real criminal, and that we must construct           
our case for ourselves without any help from them. That is the mission      
which now lies before us, and here, Watson, is the Sydenham train."         
  The household at the Abbey Grange were much surprised at our return,      
but Sherlock Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins had gone off to           
report to headquarters, took possession of the dining-room, locked the      
door upon the inside, and devoted himself for two hours to one of           
those minute and laborious investigations which form the solid basis        
on which his brilliant edifices of deduction were reared. Seated in         
a corner like an interested student who observes the demonstration          
of his professor, I followed every step of that remarkable research.        
The window, the curtains, the carpet, the chair, the rope- each in          
turn was minutely examined and duly pondered. The body of the               
unfortunate baronet had been removed, and all else remained as we           
had seen it in the morning. Finally, to my astonishment, Holmes             
climbed up on to the massive mantelpiece. Far above his head hung           
the few inches of red cord which were still attached to the wire.           
For a long time he gazed upward at it, and then in an attempt to get        
nearer to it he rested his knee upon a wooden bracket on the wall.          
This brought his hand within a few inches of the broken end of the          
rope, but it was not this so much as the bracket itself which seemed        
to engage his attention. Finally, he sprang down with an ejaculation        
of satisfaction.                                                            
  "It's all right, Watson," said he. "We have got our case- one of the      
most remarkable in our collection. But, dear me, how slow-witted I          
have been, and how nearly I have committed the blunder of my lifetime!      
Now, I think that, with a few missing links, my chain is almost             
complete."                                                                  
  "You have got your men?"                                                  
  "Man, Watson, man. Only one, but a very formidable person. Strong as      
a lion- witness the blow that bent that poker! Six foot three in            
height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers, finally,          
remarkably quick-witted, for this whole ingenious story is of his           
concoction. Yes, Watson, we have come upon the handiwork of a very          
remarkable individual. And yet, in that bell-rope, he has given us a        
clue which should not have left us a doubt."                                

  "Where was the clue?"                                                     
  "Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson, where would you      
expect it to break? Surely at the spot where it is attached to the          
wire. Why should it break three inches from the top, as this one has        
done?"                                                                      
  "Because it is frayed there?"                                             
  "Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is frayed. He was               
cunning enough to do that with his knife. But the other end is not          
frayed. You could not observe that from here, but if you were on the        
mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off without any mark of      
fraying whatever. You can reconstruct what occurred. The man needed         
the rope. He would not tear it down for fear of giving the alarm by         
ringing the bell. What did he do? He sprang up on the mantelpiece,          
could not quite reach it, put his knee on the bracket- you will see         
the impression in the dust- and so got his knife to bear upon the           
cord. I could not reach the place by at least three inches- from which      
I infer that he is at least three inches a bigger man than I. Look          
at that mark upon the seat of the oaken chair! What is it?"                 
  "Blood."                                                                  

  "Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the lady's story out of         
court. If she were seated on the chair when the crime was done, how         
comes that mark? No, no, she was placed in the chair after the death        
of her husband. I'll wager that the black dress shows a                     
corresponding mark to this. We have not yet met our Waterloo,               
Watson, but this is our Marengo, for it begins in defeat and ends in        
victory. I should like now to have a few words with the nurse,              
Theresa. We must be wary for a while, if we are to get the information      
which we want."                                                             
  She was an interesting person, this stern Australian nurse-               
taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before Holmes's         
pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said thawed her        
into a corresponding amiability. She did not attempt to conceal her         
hatred for her late employer.                                               
  "Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. I heard           
him call my mistress a name, and I told him that he would not dare          
to speak so if her brother had been there. Then it was that he threw        
it at me. He might have thrown a dozen if he had but left my bonny          
bird alone. He was forever ill-treating her, and she too proud to           
complain. She will not even tell me all that he has done to her. She        
never told me of those marks on her arm that you saw this morning, but      
I know very well that they come from a stab with a hatpin. The sly          
devil- God forgive me that I should speak of him so, now that he is         
dead! But a devil he was, if ever one walked the earth. He was all          
honey when first we met him- only eighteen months ago, and we both          
feel as if it were eighteen years. She had only just arrived in             
London. Yes, it was her first voyage- she had never been from home          
before. He won her with his title and his money and his false London        
ways. If she made a mistake she has paid for it, if ever a woman            
did. What month did we meet him? Well, I tell you it was just after we      
arrived. We arrived in June, and it was July. They were married in          
January of last year. Yes, she is down in the morning-room again,           
and I have no doubt she will see you, but you must not ask too much of      
her, for she has gone through all that flesh and blood will stand."         
  Lady Brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but looked             
brighter than before. The maid had entered with us, and began once          
more to foment the bruise upon her mistress's brow.                         
  "I hope," said the lady, "that you have not come to cross-examine me      
again?"
                
  "No," Holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, "I will not cause           
you any unnecessary trouble, Lady Brackenstall, and my whole desire is      
to make things easy for you, for I am convinced that you are a              
much-tried woman. If you will treat me as a friend and trust me, you        
may find that I will justify your trust."                                   
  "What do you want me to do?"                                              
  "To tell me the truth."                                                   
  "Mr. Holmes!"                                                             
  "No, no, Lady Brackenstall- it is no use. You may have heard of           
any little reputation which I possess. I will stake it all on the fact      
that your story is an absolute fabrication."                                
  Mistress and maid were both staring at Holmes with pale faces and         
frightened eyes.                                                            
  "You are an impudent fellow!" cried Theresa. "Do you mean to say          
that my mistress has told a lie?"                                           
  Holmes rose from his chair.                                               
  "Have you nothing to tell me?"                                            
  "I have told you everything."                                             

  "Think once more, Lady Brackenstall. Would it not be better to be         
frank?"                                                                     
  For an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face. Then some      
new strong thought caused it to set like a mask.                            
  "I have told you all I know."                                             
  Holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders. "I am sorry," he          
said, and without another word we left the room and the house. There        
was a pond in the park, and to this my friend led the way. It was           
frozen over, but a single hole was left for the convenience of a            
solitary swan. Holmes gazed at it, and then passed on to the lodge          
gate. There he scribbled a short note for Stanley Hopkins, and left it      
with the lodge-keeper.                                                      
  "It may be a hit, or it may be a miss, but we are bound to do             
something for friend Hopkins, just to justify this second visit," said      
he. "I will not quite take him into my confidence yet. I think our          
next scene of operations must be the shipping office of the                 
Adelaide-Southampton line, which stands at the end of Pall Mall, if         
I remember right. There is a second line of steamers which connect          
South Australia with England, but we will draw the larger cover             
first."                                                                     

  Holmes's card sent in to the manager ensured instant attention,           
and he was not long in acquiring all the information he needed. In          
June of '95, only one of their line had reached a home port. It was         
the Rock of Gibraltar, their largest and best boat. A reference to the      
passenger list showed that Miss Fraser, of Adelaide, with her maid had      
made the voyage in her. The boat was now somewhere south of the Suez        
Canal on her way to Australia. Her officers were the same as in '95,        
with one exception. The first officer, Mr. Jack Crocker, had been made      
a captain and was to take charge of their new ship, the Bass Rock,          
sailing in two days' time from Southampton. He lived at Sydenham,           
but he was likely to be in that morning for instructions, if we             
cared to wait for him.                                                      
  No, Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but would be glad to know        
more about his record and character.                                        
  His record was magnificent. There was not an officer in the fleet to      
touch him. As to his character, he was reliable on duty, but a wild,        
desperate fellow off the deck of his ship- hot-headed, excitable,           
but loyal, honest, and kind-hearted. That was the pith of the               
information with which Holmes left the office of the                        
Adelaide-Southampton company. Thence he drove to Scotland Yard, but,        
instead of entering, he sat in his cab with his brows drawn down, lost      
in profound thought. Finally he drove round to the Charing Cross            
telegraph office, sent off a message, and then, at last, we made for        
Baker Street once more.                                                     
  "No, I couldn't do it, Watson," said he, as we reentered our room.        
"Once that warrant was made out, nothing on earth would save him. Once      
or twice in my career I feel that I have done more real harm by my          
discovery of the criminal than ever he had done by his crime. I have        
learned caution now, and I had rather play tricks with the law of           
England than with my own conscience. Let us know a little more              
before we act."                                                             
  Before evening, we had a visit from Inspector Stanley Hopkins.            
Things were not going very well with him.
                
  "I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes. I really do                 
sometimes think that you have powers that are not human. Now, how on        
earth could you know that the stolen silver was at the bottom of            
that pond?"                                                                 
  "I didn't know it."                                                       
  "But you told me to examine it."                                          
  "You got it, then?"                                                       
  "Yes, I got it."                                                          

  "I am very glad if I have helped you."
  "But you haven't helped me. You have made the affair far more             
difficult. What sort of burglars are they who steal silver and then         
throw it into the nearest pond?"                                            
  "It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. I was merely going          
on the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons who did not        
want it- who merely took it for a blind, as it were- then they would        
naturally be anxious to get rid of it."                                     
  "But why should such an idea cross your mind?"                            
  "Well, I thought it was possible. When they came out through the          
French window, there was the pond with one tempting little hole in the      
ice, right in front of their noses. Could there be a better                 
hiding-place?"                                                              

  "Ah, a hiding-place- that is better!" cried Stanley Hopkins. "Yes,        
yes, I see it all now! It was early, there were folk upon the roads,        
they were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they sank it in the      
pond, intending to return for it when the coast was clear.                  
Excellent, Mr. Holmes- that is better than your idea of a blind."           
  "Quite so, you have got an admirable theory. I have no doubt that my      
own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that they have ended          
in discovering the silver."                                                 
  "Yes, sir- yes. It was all your doing. But I have had a bad               
setback."                                                                   
  "A setback?"                                                              
  "Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were arrested in New York this         
morning."                                                                   
  "Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against your theory that      
they committed a murder in Kent last night."                                
  "It is fatal, Mr. Holmes- absolutely fatal. Still, there are other        
gangs of three besides the Randalls, or it may be some new gang of          
which the police have never heard."                                         
  "Quite so, it is perfectly possible. What, are you off?"                  
  Yes, Mr. Holmes, there is no rest for me until I have got to the          
bottom of the business. I suppose you have no hint to give me?"             
  "I have given you one."                                                   
  "Which?"                                                                  
  "Well, I suggested a blind."                                              
  "But why, Mr. Holmes, why?"                                               
  "Ah, that's the question, of course. But I commend the idea to            
your mind. You might possibly find that there was something in it. You      
won't stop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us know how you get          
on."                                                                        
  Dinner was over, and the table cleared before Holmes alluded to           
the matter again. He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet to        
the cheerful blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at his watch.            
  "I expect developments, Watson."                                          
  "When?"                                                                   
  "Now- within a few minutes. I dare say you thought I acted rather         
badly to Stanley Hopkins just now?"                                         
  "I trust your judgment."                                                  
  "A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look at it this way: what I      
know is unofficial, what he knows is official. I have the right to          
private judgment, but he has none. He must disclose all, or he is a         
traitor to his service. In a doubtful case I would not put him in so        
painful a position, and so I reserve my information until my own            
mind is clear upon the matter."                                             
  "But when will that be?"                                                  
  "The time has come. You will now be present at the last scene of a        
remarkable little drama."                                                   
  There was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened to             
admit as fine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through it. He           
was a very tall young man, golden-moustached, blue-eyed, with a skin        
which had been burned by tropical suns, and a springy step, which           
showed that the huge frame was as active as it was strong. He closed        
the door behind him, and then he stood with clenched hands and heaving      
breast, choking down some overmastering emotion.                            
  "Sit down, Captain Crocker. You got my telegram?"                         
  Our visitor sank into an armchair and looked from one to the other        
of us with questioning eyes.                                                
  "I got your telegram, and I came at the hour you said. I heard            
that you had been down to the office. There was no getting away from        
you. Let's hear the worst. What are you going to do with me? Arrest         
me? Speak out, man! You can't sit there and play with me like a cat         
with a mouse."                                                              
  "Give him a cigar," said Holmes. "Bite on that, Captain Crocker, and      
don't let your nerves run away with you. I should not sit here smoking      
with you if I thought that you were a common criminal, you may be sure      
of that. Be frank with me and we may do some good. Play tricks with         
me, and I'll crush you."                                                    
  "What do you wish me to do?"                                              
  "To give me a true account of all that happened at the Abbey              
Grange last night- a true account, mind you, with nothing added and         
nothing taken off. I know so much already that if you go one inch           
off the straight, I'll blow this police whistle from my window and the      
affair goes out of my hands forever."                                       
  The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck his leg with his          
great sunburned hand.                                                       
  "I'll chance it," he cried. "I believe you are a man of your word,        
and a white man, and I'll tell you the whole story. But one thing I         
will say first. So far as I am concerned, I regret nothing and I            
fear nothing, and I would do it all again and be proud of the job.          
Damn the beast, if he had as many lives as a cat, he would owe them         
all to me! But it's the lady, Mary- Mary Fraser- for never will I call      
her by that accursed name. When I think of getting her into trouble, I      
who would give my life just to bring one smile to her dear face,            
it's that that turns my soul into water. And yet- and yet- what less        
could I do? I'll tell you my story, gentlemen, and then I'll ask you, as    
man to man, what less could I do?                                           
  "I must go back a bit. You seem to know everything, so I expect that      
you know that I met her when she was a passenger and I was first            
officer of the Rock of Gibraltar. From the first day I met her, she         
was the only woman to me. Every day of that voyage I loved her more,        
and many a time since have I kneeled down in the darkness of the night      
watch and kissed the deck of that ship because I knew her dear feet         
had trod it. She was never engaged to me. She treated me as fairly          
as ever a woman treated a man. I have no complaint to make. It was all      
love on my side, and all good comradeship and friendship on hers. When      
we parted she was a free woman, but I could never again be a free man.      
  "Next time I came back from sea, I heard of her marriage. Well,           
why shouldn't she marry whom she liked? Title and money- who could          
carry them better than she? She was born for all that is beautiful and      
dainty. I didn't grieve over her marriage. I was not such a selfish         
hound as that. I just rejoiced that good luck had come her way, and         
that she had not thrown herself away on a penniless sailor. That's how      
I loved Mary Fraser.                                                        
  "Well, I never thought to see her again, but last voyage I was            
promoted, and the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to wait           
for a couple of months with my people at Sydenham. One day out in a         
country lane I met Theresa Wright, her old maid. She told me all about      
her, about him, about everything. I tell you, gentlemen, it nearly          
drove me mad. This drunken hound, that he should dare to raise his          
hand to her, whose boots he was not worthy to lick! I met Theresa           
again. Then I met Mary herself- and met her again. Then she would meet      
me no more. But the other day I had a notice that I was to start on my      
voyage within a week, and I determined that I would see her once            
before I left. Theresa was always my friend, for she loved Mary and         
hated this villain almost as much as I did. From her I learned the          
ways of the house. Mary used to sit up reading in her own little            
room downstairs. I crept round there last night and scratched at the        
window. At first she would not open to me, but in her heart I know          
that now she loves me, and she could not leave me in the frosty night.      
She whispered to me to come round to the big front window, and I found      
it open before me, so as to let me into the dining-room. Again I heard      
from her own lips things that made my blood boil, and again I cursed        
this brute who mishandled the woman I loved. Well, gentlemen, I was         
standing with her just inside the window, in all innocence, as God          
is my judge, when he rushed like a madman into the room, called her         
the vilest name that a man could use to a woman, and welted her across      
the face with the stick he had in his hand. I had sprung for the            
poker, and it was a fair fight between us. See here, on my arm,             
where his first blow fell. Then it was my turn, and I went through him      
as if he had been a rotten pumpkin. Do you think I was sorry? Not If        
It was his life or mine, but far more than that, it was his life or         
hers, for how could I leave her in the power of this madman? That           
was how I killed him. Was I wrong? Well, then, what would either of         
you gentlemen have done, if you had been in my position?"                   
  "She had screamed when he struck her, and that brought old Theresa        
down from the room above. There was a bottle of wine on the sideboard,      
and I opened it and poured a little between Mary's lips, for she was        
half dead with shock. Then I took a drop myself. Theresa was as cool        
as ice, and it was her plot as much as mine. We must make it appear         
that burglars had done the thing. Theresa kept on repeating our             
story to her mistress, while I swarmed up and cut the rope of the           
bell. Then I lashed her in her chair, and frayed out the end of the         
rope to make it look natural, else they would wonder how in the             
world a burglar could have got up there to cut it. Then I gathered          
up a few plates and pots of silver, to carry out the idea of the            
robbery, and there I left them, with orders to give the alarm when I        
had a quarter of an hour's start. I dropped the silver into the             
pond, and made off for Sydenham, feeling that for once in my life I         
had done a real good night's work. And that's the truth and the             
whole truth, Mr. Holmes, if it costs me my neck."                           

  Holmes smoked for some time in silence. Then he crossed the room,         
and shook our visitor by the hand.                                          
  "That's what I think," said he. "I know that every word is true, for      
you have hardly said a word which I did not know. No one but an             
acrobat or a sailor could have got up to that bell-rope from the            
bracket, and no one but a sailor could have made the knots with             
which the cord was fastened to the chair. Only once had this lady been      
brought into contact with sailors, and that was on her voyage, and          
it was someone of her own class of life, since she was trying hard          
to shield him, and so showing that she loved him. You see how easy          
it was for me to lay my hands upon you when once I had started upon         
the right trail."                                                           
  "I thought the police never could have seen through our dodge."           
  "And the police haven't, nor will they, to the best of my belief.         
Now, look here, Captain Crocker, this is a very serious matter, though      
I am willing to admit that you acted under the most extreme                 
provocation to which any man could be subjected. I am not sure that in      
defence of your own life your action will not be pronounced                 
legitimate. However, that is for a British jury to decide. Meanwhile I      
have so much sympathy for you that, if you choose to disappear in           
the next twenty-four hours, I will promise you that no one will hinder      
you."                                                                       
  "And then it will all come out?"                                          
  "Certainly it will come out."                                             
  The sailor flushed with anger.                                            
  "What sort of proposal is that to make a man? I know enough of law        
to understand that Mary would be held as accomplice. Do you think I         
would leave her alone to face the music while I slunk away? No, sir,        
let them do their worst upon me, but for heaven's sake, Mr. Holmes,         
find some way of keeping my poor Mary out of the courts."                   
  Holmes for a second time held out his hand to the sailor.                 
  "I was only testing you, and you ring true every time. Well, it is a      
great responsibility that I take upon myself, but I have given Hopkins      
an excellent hint and if he can't avail himself of it I can do no           
more. See here, Captain Crocker, we'll do this in due form of law. You      
are the prisoner. Watson, you are a British jury, and I never met a         
man who was more eminently fitted to represent one. I am the judge.         
Now, gentleman of the jury, you have heard the evidence. Do you find        
the prisoner guilty or not guilty?"                                         
  "Not guilty, my lord," said I.                                            
  "Vox populi, vox dei. You are acquitted, Captain Crocker. So long as      
the law does not find some other victim you are safe from me. Come          
back to this lady in a year, and may her future and yours justify us        
in the judgment which we have pronounced this night!"                       
                            -THE END-                                       
                                                                            
