IV.--The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist.
FROM the years 1894 to 1901 inclusive Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a verybusy man. It is safe to say that there was no public case of anydifficulty in which he was not consulted during those eight years, andthere were hundreds of private cases, some of them of the most intricateand extraordinary character, in which he played a prominent part. Manystartling successes and a few unavoidable failures were the outcome ofthis long period of continuous work. As I have preserved very full notesof all these cases, and was myself personally engaged in many of them,it may be imagined that it is no easy task to know which I should selectto lay before the public. I shall, however, preserve my former rule, andgive the preference to those cases which derive their interest not somuch from the brutality of the crime as from the ingenuity and dramaticquality of the solution. For this reason I will now lay before thereader the facts connected with Miss Violet Smith, the solitary cyclistof Charlington, and the curious sequel of our investigation, whichculminated in unexpected tragedy. It is true that the circumstancesdid not admit of any striking illustration of those powers for which myfriend was famous, but there were some points about the case which madeit stand out in those long records of crime from which I gather thematerial for these little narratives.
On referring to my note-book for the year 1895 I find that it was uponSaturday, the 23rd of April, that we first heard of Miss Violet Smith.Her visit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome to Holmes, for he wasimmersed at the moment in a very abstruse and complicated problemconcerning the peculiar persecution to which John Vincent Harden, thewell-known tobacco millionaire, had been subjected. My friend, wholoved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resentedanything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand. And yetwithout a harshness which was foreign to his nature it was impossibleto refuse to listen to the story of the young and beautiful woman, tall,graceful, and queenly, who presented herself at Baker Street late in theevening and implored his assistance and advice. It was vain to urge thathis time was already fully occupied, for the young lady had come withthe determination to tell her story, and it was evident that nothingshort of force could get her out of the room until she had done so. Witha resigned air and a somewhat weary smile, Holmes begged the beautifulintruder to take a seat and to inform us what it was that was troublingher.
"At least it cannot be your health," said he, as his keen eyes dartedover her; "so ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy."
She glanced down in surprise at her own feet, and I observed the slightroughening of the side of the sole caused by the friction of the edge ofthe pedal.
"Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes, and that has something to dowith my visit to you to-day."
My friend took the lady's ungloved hand and examined it with as closean attention and as little sentiment as a scientist would show to aspecimen.
"You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my business," said he, as hedropped it. "I nearly fell into the error of supposing that you weretypewriting. Of course, it is obvious that it is music. You observe thespatulate finger-end, Watson, which is common to both professions? Thereis a spirituality about the face, however"--he gently turned it towardsthe light--"which the typewriter does not generate. This lady is amusician."
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music."
"In the country, I presume, from your complexion."
"Yes, sir; near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey."
"A beautiful neighbourhood and full of the most interestingassociations. You remember, Watson, that it was near there that we tookArchie Stamford, the forger. Now, Miss Violet, what has happened to younear Farnham, on the borders of Surrey?"
The young lady, with great clearness and composure, made the followingcurious statement:--
"My father is dead, Mr. Holmes. He was James Smith, who conducted theorchestra at the old Imperial Theatre. My mother and I were left withouta relation in the world except one uncle, Ralph Smith, who went toAfrica twenty-five years ago, and we have never had a word from himsince. When father died we were left very poor, but one day we weretold that there was an advertisement in the TIMES inquiring for ourwhereabouts. You can imagine how excited we were, for we thought thatsomeone had left us a fortune. We went at once to the lawyer whose namewas given in the paper. There we met two gentlemen, Mr. Carruthers andMr. Woodley, who were home on a visit from South Africa. They said thatmy uncle was a friend of theirs, that he died some months before ingreat poverty in Johannesburg, and that he had asked them with his lastbreath to hunt up his relations and see that they were in no want. Itseemed strange to us that Uncle Ralph, who took no notice of us when hewas alive, should be so careful to look after us when he was dead; butMr. Carruthers explained that the reason was that my uncle had justheard of the death of his brother, and so felt responsible for ourfate."
"Excuse me," said Holmes; "when was this interview?"
"Last December--four months ago."
"Pray proceed."
"Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most odious person. He was for evermaking eyes at me--a coarse, puffy-faced, red-moustached young man, withhis hair plastered down on each side of his forehead. I thought that hewas perfectly hateful--and I was sure that Cyril would not wish me toknow such a person."
"Oh, Cyril is his name!" said Holmes, smiling.
The young lady blushed and laughed.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes; Cyril Morton, an electrical engineer, and we hopeto be married at the end of the summer. Dear me, how DID I get talkingabout him? What I wished to say was that Mr. Woodley was perfectlyodious, but that Mr. Carruthers, who was a much older man, was moreagreeable. He was a dark, sallow, clean-shaven, silent person; but hehad polite manners and a pleasant smile. He inquired how we were left,and on finding that we were very poor he suggested that I should comeand teach music to his only daughter, aged ten. I said that I did notlike to leave my mother, on which he suggested that I should go hometo her every week-end, and he offered me a hundred a year, which wascertainly splendid pay. So it ended by my accepting, and I went downto Chiltern Grange, about six miles from Farnham. Mr. Carruthers wasa widower, but he had engaged a lady-housekeeper, a very respectable,elderly person, called Mrs. Dixon, to look after his establishment. Thechild was a dear, and everything promised well. Mr. Carruthers was verykind and very musical, and we had most pleasant evenings together. Everyweek-end I went home to my mother in town.
"The first flaw in my happiness was the arrival of the red-moustachedMr. Woodley. He came for a visit of a week, and oh, it seemed threemonths to me! He was a dreadful person, a bully to everyone else, but tome something infinitely worse. He made odious love to me, boasted of hiswealth, said that if I married him I would have the finest diamonds inLondon, and finally, when I would have nothing to do with him, he seizedme in his arms one day after dinner--he was hideously strong--and heswore that he would not let me go until I had kissed him. Mr. Carrutherscame in and tore him off from me, on which he turned upon his own host,knocking him down and cutting his face open. That was the end of hisvisit, as you can imagine. Mr. Carruthers apologized to me next day,and assured me that I should never be exposed to such an insult again. Ihave not seen Mr. Woodley since.
"And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to the special thing which hascaused me to ask your advice to-day. You must know that every Saturdayforenoon I ride on my bicycle to Farnham Station in order to get the12.22 to town. The road from Chiltern Grange is a lonely one, and atone spot it is particularly so, for it lies for over a mile betweenCharlington Heath upon one side and the woods which lie roundCharlington Hall upon the other. You could not find a more lonely tractof road anywhere, and it is quite rare to meet so much as a cart, or apeasant, until you reach the high road near Crooksbury Hill. Twoweeks ago I was passing this place when I chanced to look back over myshoulder, and about two hundred yards behind me I saw a man, also on abicycle. He seemed to be a middle-aged man, with a short, dark beard. Ilooked back before I reached Farnham, but the ma
n was gone, so I thoughtno more about it. But you can imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes,when on my return on the Monday I saw the same man on the same stretchof road. My astonishment was increased when the incident occurred again,exactly as before, on the following Saturday and Monday. He always kepthis distance and did not molest me in any way, but still it certainlywas very odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carruthers, who seemed interested inwhat I said, and told me that he had ordered a horse and trap, sothat in future I should not pass over these lonely roads without somecompanion.
"The horse and trap were to have come this week, but for some reasonthey were not delivered, and again I had to cycle to the station.That was this morning. You can think that I looked out when I came toCharlington Heath, and there, sure enough, was the man, exactly as hehad been the two weeks before. He always kept so far from me that Icould not clearly see his face, but it was certainly someone whom I didnot know. He was dressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. The only thingabout his face that I could clearly see was his dark beard. To-day I wasnot alarmed, but I was filled with curiosity, and I determined to findout who he was and what he wanted. I slowed down my machine, but heslowed down his. Then I stopped altogether, but he stopped also. ThenI laid a trap for him. There is a sharp turning of the road, and Ipedalled very quickly round this, and then I stopped and waited. Iexpected him to shoot round and pass me before he could stop. But henever appeared. Then I went back and looked round the corner. Icould see a mile of road, but he was not on it. To make it the moreextraordinary, there was no side road at this point down which he couldhave gone."
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "This case certainly presentssome features of its own," said he. "How much time elapsed between yourturning the corner and your discovery that the road was clear?"
"Two or three minutes."
"Then he could not have retreated down the road, and you say that thereare no side roads?"
"None."
"Then he certainly took a footpath on one side or the other."
"It could not have been on the side of the heath or I should have seenhim."
"So by the process of exclusion we arrive at the fact that he made hisway towards Charlington Hall, which, as I understand, is situated in itsown grounds on one side of the road. Anything else?"
"Nothing, Mr. Holmes, save that I was so perplexed that I felt I shouldnot be happy until I had seen you and had your advice."
Holmes sat in silence for some little time.
"Where is the gentleman to whom you are engaged?" he asked, at last.
"He is in the Midland Electrical Company, at Coventry."
"He would not pay you a surprise visit?"
"Oh, Mr. Holmes! As if I should not know him!"
"Have you had any other admirers?"
"Several before I knew Cyril."
"And since?"
"There was this dreadful man, Woodley, if you can call him an admirer."
"No one else?"
Our fair client seemed a little confused.
"Who was he?" asked Holmes.
"Oh, it may be a mere fancy of mine; but it has seemed to me sometimesthat my employer, Mr. Carruthers, takes a great deal of interest in me.We are thrown rather together. I play his accompaniments in the evening.He has never said anything. He is a perfect gentleman. But a girl alwaysknows."
"Ha!" Holmes looked grave. "What does he do for a living?"
"He is a rich man."
"No carriages or horses?"
"Well, at least he is fairly well-to-do. But he goes into the City twoor three times a week. He is deeply interested in South African goldshares."
"You will let me know any fresh development, Miss Smith. I am very busyjust now, but I will find time to make some inquiries into your case. Inthe meantime take no step without letting me know. Good-bye, and I trustthat we shall have nothing but good news from you."
"It is part of the settled order of Nature that such a girl should havefollowers," said Holmes, as he pulled at his meditative pipe, "but forchoice not on bicycles in lonely country roads. Some secretive lover,beyond all doubt. But there are curious and suggestive details about thecase, Watson."
"That he should appear only at that point?"
"Exactly. Our first effort must be to find who are the tenants ofCharlington Hall. Then, again, how about the connection betweenCarruthers and Woodley, since they appear to be men of such a differenttype? How came they BOTH to be so keen upon looking up Ralph Smith'srelations? One more point. What sort of a MENAGE is it which pays doublethe market price for a governess, but does not keep a horse although sixmiles from the station? Odd, Watson--very odd!"
"You will go down?"
"No, my dear fellow, YOU will go down. This may be some triflingintrigue, and I cannot break my other important research for the sakeof it. On Monday you will arrive early at Farnham; you will concealyourself near Charlington Heath; you will observe these facts foryourself, and act as your own judgment advises. Then, having inquired asto the occupants of the Hall, you will come back to me and report. Andnow, Watson, not another word of the matter until we have a few solidstepping-stones on which we may hope to get across to our solution."
We had ascertained from the lady that she went down upon the Monday bythe train which leaves Waterloo at 9.50, so I started early and caughtthe 9.13. At Farnham Station I had no difficulty in being directed toCharlington Heath. It was impossible to mistake the scene of the younglady's adventure, for the road runs between the open heath on one sideand an old yew hedge upon the other, surrounding a park which is studdedwith magnificent trees. There was a main gateway of lichen-studdedstone, each side pillar surmounted by mouldering heraldic emblems; butbesides this central carriage drive I observed several points wherethere were gaps in the hedge and paths leading through them. The housewas invisible from the road, but the surroundings all spoke of gloom anddecay.
The heath was covered with golden patches of flowering gorse, gleamingmagnificently in the light of the bright spring sunshine. Behind one ofthese clumps I took up my position, so as to command both the gatewayof the Hall and a long stretch of the road upon either side. It had beendeserted when I left it, but now I saw a cyclist riding down it from theopposite direction to that in which I had come. He was clad in a darksuit, and I saw that he had a black beard. On reaching the end of theCharlington grounds he sprang from his machine and led it through a gapin the hedge, disappearing from my view.
A quarter of an hour passed and then a second cyclist appeared. Thistime it was the young lady coming from the station. I saw her lookabout her as she came to the Charlington hedge. An instant later the manemerged from his hiding-place, sprang upon his cycle, and followedher. In all the broad landscape those were the only moving figures, thegraceful girl sitting very straight upon her machine, and the man behindher bending low over his handle-bar, with a curiously furtive suggestionin every movement. She looked back at him and slowed her pace. He slowedalso. She stopped. He at once stopped too, keeping two hundred yardsbehind her. Her next movement was as unexpected as it was spirited. Shesuddenly whisked her wheels round and dashed straight at him! He was asquick as she, however, and darted off in desperate flight. Presently shecame back up the road again, her head haughtily in the air, not deigningto take any further notice of her silent attendant. He had turned also,and still kept his distance until the curve of the road hid them from mysight.
I remained in my hiding-place, and it was well that I did so, forpresently the man reappeared cycling slowly back. He turned in at theHall gates and dismounted from his machine. For some few minutes I couldsee him standing among the trees. His hands were raised and he seemed tobe settling his necktie. Then he mounted his cycle and rode away fromme down the drive towards the Hall. I ran across the heath and peeredthrough the trees. Far away I could catch glimpses of the old greybuilding with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the drive ran through adense shrubbery, and I saw no more of my man.
However, it seemed to me that I had do
ne a fairly good morning's work,and I walked back in high spirits to Farnham. The local house-agentcould tell me nothing about Charlington Hall, and referred me to awell-known firm in Pall Mall. There I halted on my way home, and metwith courtesy from the representative. No, I could not have CharlingtonHall for the summer. I was just too late. It had been let about a monthago. Mr. Williamson was the name of the tenant. He was a respectableelderly gentleman. The polite agent was afraid he could say no more, asthe affairs of his clients were not matters which he could discuss.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long report which Iwas able to present to him that evening, but it did not elicit thatword of curt praise which I had hoped for and should have valued. Onthe contrary, his austere face was even more severe than usual as hecommented upon the things that I had done and the things that I had not.
"Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very faulty. You should havebeen behind the hedge; then you would have had a close view of thisinteresting person. As it is you were some hundreds of yards away, andcan tell me even less than Miss Smith. She thinks she does not knowthe man; I am convinced she does. Why, otherwise, should he be sodesperately anxious that she should not get so near him as to see hisfeatures? You describe him as bending over the handle-bar. Concealmentagain, you see. You really have done remarkably badly. He returns tothe house and you want to find out who he is. You come to a Londonhouse-agent!"
"What should I have done?" I cried, with some heat.
"Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the centre of countrygossip. They would have told you every name, from the master to thescullery-maid. Williamson! It conveys nothing to my mind. If he is anelderly man he is not this active cyclist who sprints away from thatathletic young lady's pursuit. What have we gained by your expedition?The knowledge that the girl's story is true. I never doubted it. Thatthere is a connection between the cyclist and the Hall. I never doubtedthat either. That the Hall is tenanted by Williamson. Who's the betterfor that? Well, well, my dear sir, don't look so depressed. We can dolittle more until next Saturday, and in the meantime I may make one ortwo inquiries myself."
Next morning we had a note from Miss Smith, recounting shortly andaccurately the very incidents which I had seen, but the pith of theletter lay in the postscript:--
"I am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes, when I tellyou that my place here has become difficult owing to the fact that myemployer has proposed marriage to me. I am convinced that his feelingsare most deep and most honourable. At the same time my promise is, ofcourse, given. He took my refusal very seriously, but also very gently.You can understand, however, that the situation is a little strained."
"Our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters," said Holmes,thoughtfully, as he finished the letter. "The case certainly presentsmore features of interest and more possibility of development than I hadoriginally thought. I should be none the worse for a quiet, peaceful dayin the country, and I am inclined to run down this afternoon and testone or two theories which I have formed."
Holmes's quiet day in the country had a singular termination, forhe arrived at Baker Street late in the evening with a cut lip and adiscoloured lump upon his forehead, besides a general air of dissipationwhich would have made his own person the fitting object of a ScotlandYard investigation. He was immensely tickled by his own adventures, andlaughed heartily as he recounted them.
"I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat," said he."You are aware that I have some proficiency in the good old Britishsport of boxing. Occasionally it is of service. To-day, for example, Ishould have come to very ignominious grief without it."
I begged him to tell me what had occurred.
"I found that country pub which I had already recommended to yournotice, and there I made my discreet inquiries. I was in the bar, anda garrulous landlord was giving me all that I wanted. Williamson is awhite-bearded man, and he lives alone with a small staff of servants atthe Hall. There is some rumour that he is or has been a clergyman; butone or two incidents of his short residence at the Hall struck me aspeculiarly unecclesiastical. I have already made some inquiries at aclerical agency, and they tell me that there WAS a man of that name inorders whose career has been a singularly dark one. The landlord furtherinformed me that there are usually week-end visitors--'a warm lot,sir'--at the Hall, and especially one gentleman with a red moustache,Mr. Woodley by name, who was always there. We had got as far as thiswhen who should walk in but the gentleman himself, who had been drinkinghis beer in the tap-room and had heard the whole conversation. Who wasI? What did I want? What did I mean by asking questions? He had a fineflow of language, and his adjectives were very vigorous. He ended astring of abuse by a vicious back-hander which I failed to entirelyavoid. The next few minutes were delicious. It was a straight leftagainst a slogging ruffian. I emerged as you see me. Mr. Woodley wenthome in a cart. So ended my country trip, and it must be confessed that,however enjoyable, my day on the Surrey border has not been much moreprofitable than your own."
The Thursday brought us another letter from our client.
"You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes," said she, "to hear that I amleaving Mr. Carruthers's employment. Even the high pay cannot reconcileme to the discomforts of my situation. On Saturday I come up to townand I do not intend to return. Mr. Carruthers has got a trap, and sothe dangers of the lonely road, if there ever were any dangers, are nowover.
"As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely the strainedsituation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the reappearance of that odiousman, Mr. Woodley. He was always hideous, but he looks more awfulthan ever now, for he appears to have had an accident and he is muchdisfigured. I saw him out of the window, but I am glad to say I didnot meet him. He had a long talk with Mr. Carruthers, who seemed muchexcited afterwards. Woodley must be staying in the neighbourhood, for hedid not sleep here, and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this morningslinking about in the shrubbery. I would sooner have a savage wildanimal loose about the place. I loathe and fear him more than I can say.How CAN Mr. Carruthers endure such a creature for a moment? However, allmy troubles will be over on Saturday."
"So I trust, Watson; so I trust," said Holmes, gravely. "There is somedeep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it is our duty tosee that no one molests her upon that last journey. I think, Watson,that we must spare time to run down together on Saturday morning,and make sure that this curious and inconclusive investigation has nountoward ending."
I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view ofthe case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre thandangerous. That a man should lie in wait for and follow a very handsomewoman is no unheard-of thing, and if he had so little audacity that henot only dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, hewas not a very formidable assailant. The ruffian Woodley was a verydifferent person, but, except on one occasion, he had not molested ourclient, and now he visited the house of Carruthers without intrudingupon her presence. The man on the bicycle was doubtless a member ofthose week-end parties at the Hall of which the publican had spoken; butwho he was or what he wanted was as obscure as ever. It was the severityof Holmes's manner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into hispocket before leaving our rooms which impressed me with the feeling thattragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events.
A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and theheath-covered country-side with the glowing clumps of flowering gorseseemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the duns anddrabs and slate-greys of London. Holmes and I walked along the broad,sandy road inhaling the fresh morning air, and rejoicing in the music ofthe birds and the fresh breath of the spring. From a rise of the road onthe shoulder of Crooksbury Hill we could see the grim Hall bristlingout from amidst the ancient oaks, which, old as they were, were stillyounger than the building which they surrounded. Holmes pointed down thelong tract of road which wound, a reddish yellow band, between the brown
of the heath and the budding green of the woods. Far away, a blackdot, we could see a vehicle moving in our direction. Holmes gave anexclamation of impatience.
"I had given a margin of half an hour," said he. "If that is her trapshe must be making for the earlier train. I fear, Watson, that she willbe past Charlington before we can possibly meet her."
From the instant that we passed the rise we could no longer see thevehicle, but we hastened onwards at such a pace that my sedentary lifebegan to tell upon me, and I was compelled to fall behind. Holmes,however, was always in training, for he had inexhaustible stores ofnervous energy upon which to draw. His springy step never slowed untilsuddenly, when he was a hundred yards in front of me, he halted, and Isaw him throw up his hand with a gesture of grief and despair. At thesame instant an empty dog-cart, the horse cantering, the reins trailing,appeared round the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us.
"Too late, Watson; too late!" cried Holmes, as I ran panting to hisside. "Fool that I was not to allow for that earlier train! It'sabduction, Watson--abduction! Murder! Heaven knows what! Block the road!Stop the horse! That's right. Now, jump in, and let us see if I canrepair the consequences of my own blunder."
We had sprung into the dog-cart, and Holmes, after turning the horse,gave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew back along the road. Aswe turned the curve the whole stretch of road between the Hall and theheath was opened up. I grasped Holmes's arm.
"That's the man!" I gasped.
A solitary cyclist was coming towards us. His head was down and hisshoulders rounded as he put every ounce of energy that he possessedon to the pedals. He was flying like a racer. Suddenly he raised hisbearded face, saw us close to him, and pulled up, springing from hismachine. That coal-black beard was in singular contrast to the pallor ofhis face, and his eyes were as bright as if he had a fever. He stared atus and at the dog-cart. Then a look of amazement came over his face.
"Halloa! Stop there!" he shouted, holding his bicycle to block our road."Where did you get that dog-cart? Pull up, man!" he yelled, drawing apistol from his side pocket. "Pull up, I say, or, by George, I'll put abullet into your horse."
Holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from the cart.
"You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss Violet Smith?" he said, inhis quick, clear way.
"That's what I am asking you. You're in her dog-cart. You ought to knowwhere she is."
"We met the dog-cart on the road. There was no one in it. We drove backto help the young lady."
"Good Lord! Good Lord! what shall I do?" cried the stranger, in anecstasy of despair. "They've got her, that hellhound Woodley and theblackguard parson. Come, man, come, if you really are her friend. Standby me and we'll save her, if I have to leave my carcass in CharlingtonWood."
He ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, towards a gap in the hedge.Holmes followed him, and I, leaving the horse grazing beside the road,followed Holmes.
"This is where they came through," said he, pointing to the marks ofseveral feet upon the muddy path. "Halloa! Stop a minute! Who's this inthe bush?"
It was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an ostler, withleather cords and gaiters. He lay upon his back, his knees drawn up, aterrible cut upon his head. He was insensible, but alive. A glance athis wound told me that it had not penetrated the bone.
"That's Peter, the groom," cried the stranger. "He drove her. The beastshave pulled him off and clubbed him. Let him lie; we can't do him anygood, but we may save her from the worst fate that can befall a woman."
We ran frantically down the path, which wound among the trees. We hadreached the shrubbery which surrounded the house when Holmes pulled up.
"They didn't go to the house. Here are their marks on the left--here,beside the laurel bushes! Ah, I said so!"
As he spoke a woman's shrill scream--a scream which vibrated with afrenzy of horror--burst from the thick green clump of bushes in front ofus. It ended suddenly on its highest note with a choke and a gurgle.
"This way! This way! They are in the bowling alley," cried thestranger, darting through the bushes. "Ah, the cowardly dogs! Follow me,gentlemen! Too late! too late! by the living Jingo!"
We had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of greensward surrounded byancient trees. On the farther side of it, under the shadow of a mightyoak, there stood a singular group of three people. One was a woman, ourclient, drooping and faint, a handkerchief round her mouth. Opposite herstood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-moustached young man, his gaitered legsparted wide, one arm akimbo, the other waving a riding-crop, his wholeattitude suggestive of triumphant bravado. Between them an elderly,grey-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light tweed suit,had evidently just completed the wedding service, for he pocketed hisprayer-book as we appeared and slapped the sinister bridegroom upon theback in jovial congratulation.
"They're married!" I gasped.
"Come on!" cried our guide; "come on!" He rushed across the glade,Holmes and I at his heels. As we approached, the lady staggered againstthe trunk of the tree for support. Williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowedto us with mock politeness, and the bully Woodley advanced with a shoutof brutal and exultant laughter.
"You can take your beard off, Bob," said he. "I know you right enough.Well, you and your pals have just come in time for me to be able tointroduce you to Mrs. Woodley."
Our guide's answer was a singular one. He snatched off the dark beardwhich had disguised him and threw it on the ground, disclosing a long,sallow, clean-shaven face below it. Then he raised his revolver andcovered the young ruffian, who was advancing upon him with his dangerousriding-crop swinging in his hand.
"Yes," said our ally, "I AM Bob Carruthers, and I'll see this womanrighted if I have to swing for it. I told you what I'd do if youmolested her, and, by the Lord, I'll be as good as my word!"
"You're too late. She's my wife!"
"No, she's your widow."
His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt from the front ofWoodley's waistcoat. He spun round with a scream and fell upon his back,his hideous red face turning suddenly to a dreadful mottled pallor. Theold man, still clad in his surplice, burst into such a string of fouloaths as I have never heard, and pulled out a revolver of his own, butbefore he could raise it he was looking down the barrel of Holmes'sweapon.
"Enough of this," said my friend, coldly. "Drop that pistol! Watson,pick it up! Hold it to his head! Thank you. You, Carruthers, give methat revolver. We'll have no more violence. Come, hand it over!"
"Who are you, then?"
"My name is Sherlock Holmes."
"Good Lord!"
"You have heard of me, I see. I will represent the official police untiltheir arrival. Here, you!" he shouted to a frightened groom who hadappeared at the edge of the glade. "Come here. Take this note as hard asyou can ride to Farnham." He scribbled a few words upon a leaf from hisnote-book. "Give it to the superintendent at the police-station. Untilhe comes I must detain you all under my personal custody."
The strong, masterful personality of Holmes dominated the tragic scene,and all were equally puppets in his hands. Williamson and Carruthersfound themselves carrying the wounded Woodley into the house, and I gavemy arm to the frightened girl. The injured man was laid on his bed, andat Holmes's request I examined him. I carried my report to where he satin the old tapestry-hung dining-room with his two prisoners before him.
"He will live," said I.
"What!" cried Carruthers, springing out of his chair. "I'll go upstairsand finish him first. Do you tell me that that girl, that angel, is tobe tied to Roaring Jack Woodley for life?"
"You need not concern yourself about that," said Holmes. "There are twovery good reasons why she should under no circumstances be his wife. Inthe first place, we are very safe in questioning Mr. Williamson's rightto solemnize a marriage."
"I have been ordained," cried the old rascal.
"And also unfrocked."
"Once a clergyman, always a clergyman.
"
"I think not. How about the license?"
"We had a license for the marriage. I have it here in my pocket."
"Then you got it by a trick. But in any case a forced marriage is nomarriage, but it is a very serious felony, as you will discover beforeyou have finished. You'll have time to think the point out during thenext ten years or so, unless I am mistaken. As to you, Carruthers, youwould have done better to keep your pistol in your pocket."
"I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes; but when I thought of all theprecaution I had taken to shield this girl--for I loved her, Mr. Holmes,and it is the only time that ever I knew what love was--it fairly droveme mad to think that she was in the power of the greatest brute andbully in South Africa, a man whose name is a holy terror from Kimberleyto Johannesburg. Why, Mr. Holmes, you'll hardly believe it, but eversince that girl has been in my employment I never once let her go pastthis house, where I knew these rascals were lurking, without followingher on my bicycle just to see that she came to no harm. I kept mydistance from her, and I wore a beard so that she should not recogniseme, for she is a good and high-spirited girl, and she wouldn't havestayed in my employment long if she had thought that I was following herabout the country roads."
"Why didn't you tell her of her danger?"
"Because then, again, she would have left me, and I couldn't bear toface that. Even if she couldn't love me it was a great deal to me justto see her dainty form about the house, and to hear the sound of hervoice."
"Well," said I, "you call that love, Mr. Carruthers, but I should callit selfishness."
"Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I couldn't let her go.Besides, with this crowd about, it was well that she should have someonenear to look after her. Then when the cable came I knew they were boundto make a move."
"What cable?"
Carruthers took a telegram from his pocket.
"That's it," said he.
It was short and concise:--
"The old man is dead."
"Hum!" said Holmes. "I think I see how things worked, and I canunderstand how this message would, as you say, bring them to a head. Butwhile we wait you might tell me what you can."
The old reprobate with the surplice burst into a volley of bad language.
"By Heaven," said he, "if you squeal on us, Bob Carruthers, I'll serveyou as you served Jack Woodley. You can bleat about the girl to yourheart's content, for that's your own affair, but if you round on yourpals to this plain-clothes copper it will be the worst day's work thatever you did."
"Your reverence need not be excited," said Holmes, lighting a cigarette."The case is clear enough against you, and all I ask is a few detailsfor my private curiosity. However, if there's any difficulty in yourtelling me I'll do the talking, and then you will see how far you havea chance of holding back your secrets. In the first place, three of youcame from South Africa on this game--you Williamson, you Carruthers, andWoodley."
"Lie number one," said the old man; "I never saw either of them untiltwo months ago, and I have never been in Africa in my life, so you canput that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Busybody Holmes!"
"What he says is true," said Carruthers.
"Well, well, two of you came over. His reverence is our own home-madearticle. You had known Ralph Smith in South Africa. You had reasonto believe he would not live long. You found out that his niece wouldinherit his fortune. How's that--eh?"
Carruthers nodded and Williamson swore.
"She was next-of-kin, no doubt, and you were aware that the old fellowwould make no will."
"Couldn't read or write," said Carruthers.
"So you came over, the two of you, and hunted up the girl. The ideawas that one of you was to marry her and the other have a share of theplunder. For some reason Woodley was chosen as the husband. Why wasthat?"
"We played cards for her on the voyage. He won."
"I see. You got the young lady into your service, and there Woodley wasto do the courting. She recognised the drunken brute that he was, andwould have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, your arrangement wasrather upset by the fact that you had yourself fallen in love with thelady. You could no longer bear the idea of this ruffian owning her."
"No, by George, I couldn't!"
"There was a quarrel between you. He left you in a rage, and began tomake his own plans independently of you."
"It strikes me, Williamson, there isn't very much that we can tell thisgentleman," cried Carruthers, with a bitter laugh. "Yes, we quarreled,and he knocked me down. I am level with him on that, anyhow. Then I lostsight of him. That was when he picked up with this cast padre here. Ifound that they had set up house-keeping together at this place on theline that she had to pass for the station. I kept my eye on her afterthat, for I knew there was some devilry in the wind. I saw them fromtime to time, for I was anxious to know what they were after. Two daysago Woodley came up to my house with this cable, which showed that RalphSmith was dead. He asked me if I would stand by the bargain. I said Iwould not. He asked me if I would marry the girl myself and give him ashare. I said I would willingly do so, but that she would not have me.He said, 'Let us get her married first, and after a week or two shemay see things a bit different.' I said I would have nothing to do withviolence. So he went off cursing, like the foul-mouthed blackguard thathe was, and swearing that he would have her yet. She was leaving me thisweek-end, and I had got a trap to take her to the station, but I wasso uneasy in my mind that I followed her on my bicycle. She had got astart, however, and before I could catch her the mischief was done. Thefirst thing I knew about it was when I saw you two gentlemen drivingback in her dog-cart."
Holmes rose and tossed the end of his cigarette into the grate. "I havebeen very obtuse, Watson," said he. "When in your report you said thatyou had seen the cyclist as you thought arrange his necktie inthe shrubbery, that alone should have told me all. However, we maycongratulate ourselves upon a curious and in some respects a uniquecase. I perceive three of the county constabulary in the drive, and I amglad to see that the little ostler is able to keep pace with them; soit is likely that neither he nor the interesting bridegroom will bepermanently damaged by their morning's adventures. I think, Watson, thatin your medical capacity you might wait upon Miss Smith and tell herthat if she is sufficiently recovered we shall be happy to escort her toher mother's home. If she is not quite convalescent you will find thata hint that we were about to telegraph to a young electrician in theMidlands would probably complete the cure. As to you, Mr. Carruthers, Ithink that you have done what you could to make amends for your share inan evil plot. There is my card, sir, and if my evidence can be of helpto you in your trial it shall be at your disposal."
In the whirl of our incessant activity it has often been difficult forme, as the reader has probably observed, to round off my narratives, andto give those final details which the curious might expect. Each casehas been the prelude to another, and the crisis once over the actorshave passed for ever out of our busy lives. I find, however, a shortnote at the end of my manuscripts dealing with this case, in which Ihave put it upon record that Miss Violet Smith did indeed inherit alarge fortune, and that she is now the wife of Cyril Morton, the seniorpartner of Morton & Kennedy, the famous Westminster electricians.Williamson and Woodley were both tried for abduction and assault, theformer getting seven years and the latter ten. Of the fate of CarruthersI have no record, but I am sure that his assault was not viewed verygravely by the Court, since Woodley had the reputation of being a mostdangerous ruffian, and I think that a few months were sufficient tosatisfy the demands of justice.
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THE STRAND MAGAZINE Vol. 27 FEBRUARY, 1904 THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
The Return of Sherlock Holmes Page 4
