Chapter 6
A Dawning Light
The three detectives had many matters of detail into which to inquire;so I returned alone to our modest quarters at the village inn. Butbefore doing so I took a stroll in the curious old-world garden whichflanked the house. Rows of very ancient yew trees cut into strangedesigns girded it round. Inside was a beautiful stretch of lawn with anold sundial in the middle, the whole effect so soothing and restfulthat it was welcome to my somewhat jangled nerves.
In that deeply peaceful atmosphere one could forget, or remember onlyas some fantastic nightmare, that darkened study with the sprawling,bloodstained figure on the floor. And yet, as I strolled round it andtried to steep my soul in its gentle balm, a strange incident occurred,which brought me back to the tragedy and left a sinister impression inmy mind.
I have said that a decoration of yew trees circled the garden. At theend farthest from the house they thickened into a continuous hedge. Onthe other side of this hedge, concealed from the eyes of anyoneapproaching from the direction of the house, there was a stone seat. AsI approached the spot I was aware of voices, some remark in the deeptones of a man, answered by a little ripple of feminine laughter.
An instant later I had come round the end of the hedge and my eyes litupon Mrs. Douglas and the man Barker before they were aware of mypresence. Her appearance gave me a shock. In the dining-room she hadbeen demure and discreet. Now all pretense of grief had passed awayfrom her. Her eyes shone with the joy of living, and her face stillquivered with amusement at some remark of her companion. He satforward, his hands clasped and his forearms on his knees, with ananswering smile upon his bold, handsome face. In an instant--but it wasjust one instant too late--they resumed their solemn masks as my figurecame into view. A hurried word or two passed between them, and thenBarker rose and came towards me.
"Excuse me, sir," said he, "but am I addressing Dr. Watson?"
I bowed with a coldness which showed, I dare say, very plainly theimpression which had been produced upon my mind.
"We thought that it was probably you, as your friendship with Mr.Sherlock Holmes is so well known. Would you mind coming over andspeaking to Mrs. Douglas for one instant?"
I followed him with a dour face. Very clearly I could see in my mind'seye that shattered figure on the floor. Here within a few hours of thetragedy were his wife and his nearest friend laughing together behind abush in the garden which had been his. I greeted the lady with reserve.I had grieved with her grief in the dining-room. Now I met herappealing gaze with an unresponsive eye.
"I fear that you think me callous and hard-hearted." said she.
I shrugged my shoulders. "It is no business of mine," said I.
"Perhaps some day you will do me justice. If you only realized--"
"There is no need why Dr. Watson should realize," said Barker quickly."As he has himself said, it is no possible business of his."
"Exactly," said I, "and so I will beg leave to resume my walk."
"One moment, Dr. Watson," cried the woman in a pleading voice. "Thereis one question which you can answer with more authority than anyoneelse in the world, and it may make a very great difference to me. Youknow Mr. Holmes and his relations with the police better than anyoneelse can. Supposing that a matter were brought confidentially to hisknowledge, is it absolutely necessary that he should pass it on to thedetectives?"
"Yes, that's it," said Barker eagerly. "Is he on his own or is heentirely in with them?"
"I really don't know that I should be justified in discussing such apoint."
"I beg--I implore that you will, Dr. Watson! I assure you that you willbe helping us--helping me greatly if you will guide us on that point."
There was such a ring of sincerity in the woman's voice that for theinstant I forgot all about her levity and was moved only to do her will.
"Mr. Holmes is an independent investigator," I said. "He is his ownmaster, and would act as his own judgment directed. At the same time,he would naturally feel loyalty towards the officials who were workingon the same case, and he would not conceal from them anything whichwould help them in bringing a criminal to justice. Beyond this I cansay nothing, and I would refer you to Mr. Holmes himself if you wantedfuller information."
So saying I raised my hat and went upon my way, leaving them stillseated behind that concealing hedge. I looked back as I rounded the farend of it, and saw that they were still talking very earnestlytogether, and, as they were gazing after me, it was clear that it wasour interview that was the subject of their debate.
"I wish none of their confidences," said Holmes, when I reported to himwhat had occurred. He had spent the whole afternoon at the Manor Housein consultation with his two colleagues, and returned about five with aravenous appetite for a high tea which I had ordered for him. "Noconfidences, Watson; for they are mighty awkward if it comes to anarrest for conspiracy and murder."
"You think it will come to that?"
He was in his most cheerful and debonair humour. "My dear Watson, whenI have exterminated that fourth egg I shall be ready to put you intouch with the whole situation. I don't say that we have fathomedit--far from it--but when we have traced the missing dumb-bell--"
"The dumb-bell!"
"Dear me, Watson, is it possible that you have not penetrated the factthat the case hangs upon the missing dumb-bell? Well, well, you neednot be downcast; for between ourselves I don't think that eitherInspector Mac or the excellent local practitioner has grasped theoverwhelming importance of this incident. One dumb-bell, Watson!Consider an athlete with one dumb-bell! Picture to yourself theunilateral development, the imminent danger of a spinal curvature.Shocking, Watson, shocking!"
He sat with his mouth full of toast and his eyes sparkling withmischief, watching my intellectual entanglement. The mere sight of hisexcellent appetite was an assurance of success, for I had very clearrecollections of days and nights without a thought of food, when hisbaffled mind had chafed before some problem while his thin, eagerfeatures became more attenuated with the asceticism of complete mentalconcentration. Finally he lit his pipe, and sitting in the inglenook ofthe old village inn he talked slowly and at random about his case,rather as one who thinks aloud than as one who makes a consideredstatement.
"A lie, Watson--a great, big, thumping, obtrusive, uncompromisinglie--that's what meets us on the threshold! There is our startingpoint. The whole story told by Barker is a lie. But Barker's story iscorroborated by Mrs. Douglas. Therefore she is lying also. They areboth lying, and in a conspiracy. So now we have the clear problem. Whyare they lying, and what is the truth which they are trying so hard toconceal? Let us try, Watson, you and I, if we can get behind the lieand reconstruct the truth.
"How do I know that they are lying? Because it is a clumsy fabricationwhich simply could not be true. Consider! According to the story givento us, the assassin had less than a minute after the murder had beencommitted to take that ring, which was under another ring, from thedead man's finger, to replace the other ring--a thing which he wouldsurely never have done--and to put that singular card beside hisvictim. I say that this was obviously impossible.
"You may argue--but I have too much respect for your judgment, Watson,to think that you will do so--that the ring may have been taken beforethe man was killed. The fact that the candle had been lit only a shorttime shows that there had been no lengthy interview. Was Douglas, fromwhat we hear of his fearless character, a man who would be likely togive up his wedding ring at such short notice, or could we conceive ofhis giving it up at all? No, no, Watson, the assassin was alone withthe dead man for some time with the lamp lit. Of that I have no doubtat all.
"But the gunshot was apparently the cause of death. Therefore the shotmust have been fired some time earlier than we are told. But therecould be no mistake about such a matter as that. We are in thepresence, therefore, of a deliberate conspiracy upon the part of thetwo people who heard the gunshot--of the man Barker and of the womanDouglas. When on the top of this I
am able to show that the blood markon the windowsill was deliberately placed there by Barker, in order togive a false clue to the police, you will admit that the case growsdark against him.
"Now we have to ask ourselves at what hour the murder actually didoccur. Up to half-past ten the servants were moving about the house; soit was certainly not before that time. At a quarter to eleven they hadall gone to their rooms with the exception of Ames, who was in thepantry. I have been trying some experiments after you left us thisafternoon, and I find that no noise which MacDonald can make in thestudy can penetrate to me in the pantry when the doors are all shut.
"It is otherwise, however, from the housekeeper's room. It is not sofar down the corridor, and from it I could vaguely hear a voice when itwas very loudly raised. The sound from a shotgun is to some extentmuffled when the discharge is at very close range, as it undoubtedlywas in this instance. It would not be very loud, and yet in the silenceof the night it should have easily penetrated to Mrs. Allen's room. Sheis, as she has told us, somewhat deaf; but none the less she mentionedin her evidence that she did hear something like a door slamming halfan hour before the alarm was given. Half an hour before the alarm wasgiven would be a quarter to eleven. I have no doubt that what she heardwas the report of the gun, and that this was the real instant of themurder.
"If this is so, we have now to determine what Barker and Mrs. Douglas,presuming that they are not the actual murderers, could have been doingfrom quarter to eleven, when the sound of the shot brought them down,until quarter past eleven, when they rang the bell and summoned theservants. What were they doing, and why did they not instantly give thealarm? That is the question which faces us, and when it has beenanswered we shall surely have gone some way to solve our problem."
"I am convinced myself," said I, "that there is an understandingbetween those two people. She must be a heartless creature to sitlaughing at some jest within a few hours of her husband's murder."
"Exactly. She does not shine as a wife even in her own account of whatoccurred. I am not a whole-souled admirer of womankind, as you areaware, Watson, but my experience of life has taught me that there arefew wives, having any regard for their husbands, who would let anyman's spoken word stand between them and that husband's dead body.Should I ever marry, Watson, I should hope to inspire my wife with somefeeling which would prevent her from being walked off by a housekeeperwhen my corpse was lying within a few yards of her. It was badlystage-managed; for even the rawest investigators must be struck by theabsence of the usual feminine ululation. If there had been nothingelse, this incident alone would have suggested a prearranged conspiracyto my mind."
"You think then, definitely, that Barker and Mrs. Douglas are guilty ofthe murder?"
"There is an appalling directness about your questions, Watson," saidHolmes, shaking his pipe at me. "They come at me like bullets. If youput it that Mrs. Douglas and Barker know the truth about the murder,and are conspiring to conceal it, then I can give you a whole-souledanswer. I am sure they do. But your more deadly proposition is not soclear. Let us for a moment consider the difficulties which stand in theway.
"We will suppose that this couple are united by the bonds of a guiltylove, and that they have determined to get rid of the man who standsbetween them. It is a large supposition; for discreet inquiry amongservants and others has failed to corroborate it in any way. On thecontrary, there is a good deal of evidence that the Douglases were veryattached to each other."
"That, I am sure, cannot be true." said I, thinking of the beautifulsmiling face in the garden.
"Well at least they gave that impression. However, we will suppose thatthey are an extraordinarily astute couple, who deceive everyone uponthis point, and conspire to murder the husband. He happens to be a manover whose head some danger hangs--"
"We have only their word for that."
Holmes looked thoughtful. "I see, Watson. You are sketching out atheory by which everything they say from the beginning is false.According to your idea, there was never any hidden menace, or secretsociety, or Valley of Fear, or Boss MacSomebody, or anything else.Well, that is a good sweeping generalization. Let us see what thatbrings us to. They invent this theory to account for the crime. Theythen play up to the idea by leaving this bicycle in the park as proofof the existence of some outsider. The stain on the windowsill conveysthe same idea. So does the card on the body, which might have beenprepared in the house. That all fits into your hypothesis, Watson. Butnow we come on the nasty, angular, uncompromising bits which won't slipinto their places. Why a cut-off shotgun of all weapons--and anAmerican one at that? How could they be so sure that the sound of itwould not bring someone on to them? It's a mere chance as it is thatMrs. Allen did not start out to inquire for the slamming door. Why didyour guilty couple do all this, Watson?"
"I confess that I can't explain it."
"Then again, if a woman and her lover conspire to murder a husband, arethey going to advertise their guilt by ostentatiously removing hiswedding ring after his death? Does that strike you as very probable,Watson?"
"No, it does not."
"And once again, if the thought of leaving a bicycle concealed outsidehad occurred to you, would it really have seemed worth doing when thedullest detective would naturally say this is an obvious blind, as thebicycle is the first thing which the fugitive needed in order to makehis escape."
"I can conceive of no explanation."
"And yet there should be no combination of events for which the wit ofman cannot conceive an explanation. Simply as a mental exercise,without any assertion that it is true, let me indicate a possible lineof thought. It is, I admit, mere imagination; but how often isimagination the mother of truth?
"We will suppose that there was a guilty secret, a really shamefulsecret in the life of this man Douglas. This leads to his murder bysomeone who is, we will suppose, an avenger, someone from outside. Thisavenger, for some reason which I confess I am still at a loss toexplain, took the dead man's wedding ring. The vendetta mightconceivably date back to the man's first marriage, and the ring betaken for some such reason.
"Before this avenger got away, Barker and the wife had reached theroom. The assassin convinced them that any attempt to arrest him wouldlead to the publication of some hideous scandal. They were converted tothis idea, and preferred to let him go. For this purpose they probablylowered the bridge, which can be done quite noiselessly, and thenraised it again. He made his escape, and for some reason thought thathe could do so more safely on foot than on the bicycle. He thereforeleft his machine where it would not be discovered until he had gotsafely away. So far we are within the bounds of possibility, are wenot?"
"Well, it is possible, no doubt," said I, with some reserve.
"We have to remember, Watson, that whatever occurred is certainlysomething very extraordinary. Well, now, to continue our supposititiouscase, the couple--not necessarily a guilty couple--realize after themurderer is gone that they have placed themselves in a position inwhich it may be difficult for them to prove that they did notthemselves either do the deed or connive at it. They rapidly and ratherclumsily met the situation. The mark was put by Barker's bloodstainedslipper upon the window-sill to suggest how the fugitive got away. Theyobviously were the two who must have heard the sound of the gun; sothey gave the alarm exactly as they would have done, but a good halfhour after the event."
"And how do you propose to prove all this?"
"Well, if there were an outsider, he may be traced and taken. Thatwould be the most effective of all proofs. But if not--well, theresources of science are far from being exhausted. I think that anevening alone in that study would help me much."
"An evening alone!"
"I propose to go up there presently. I have arranged it with theestimable Ames, who is by no means whole-hearted about Barker. I shallsit in that room and see if its atmosphere brings me inspiration. I'm abeliever in the genius loci. You smile, Friend Watson. Well, we shallsee. By the way, you have that big umbrella of your
s, have you not?"
"It is here."
"Well, I'll borrow that if I may."
"Certainly--but what a wretched weapon! If there is danger--"
"Nothing serious, my dear Watson, or I should certainly ask for yourassistance. But I'll take the umbrella. At present I am only awaitingthe return of our colleagues from Tunbridge Wells, where they are atpresent engaged in trying for a likely owner to the bicycle."
It was nightfall before Inspector MacDonald and White Mason came backfrom their expedition, and they arrived exultant, reporting a greatadvance in our investigation.
"Man, I'll admeet that I had my doubts if there was ever an outsider,"said MacDonald, "but that's all past now. We've had the bicycleidentified, and we have a description of our man; so that's a long stepon our journey."
"It sounds to me like the beginning of the end," said Holmes. "I'm sureI congratulate you both with all my heart."
"Well, I started from the fact that Mr. Douglas had seemed disturbedsince the day before, when he had been at Tunbridge Wells. It was atTunbridge Wells then that he had become conscious of some danger. Itwas clear, therefore, that if a man had come over with a bicycle it wasfrom Tunbridge Wells that he might be expected to have come. We tookthe bicycle over with us and showed it at the hotels. It was identifiedat once by the manager of the Eagle Commercial as belonging to a mannamed Hargrave, who had taken a room there two days before. Thisbicycle and a small valise were his whole belongings. He had registeredhis name as coming from London, but had given no address. The valisewas London made, and the contents were British; but the man himself wasundoubtedly an American."
"Well, well," said Holmes gleefully, "you have indeed done some solidwork while I have been sitting spinning theories with my friend! It's alesson in being practical, Mr. Mac."
"Ay, it's just that, Mr. Holmes," said the inspector with satisfaction.
"But this may all fit in with your theories," I remarked.
"That may or may not be. But let us hear the end, Mr. Mac. Was therenothing to identify this man?"
"So little that it was evident that he had carefully guarded himselfagainst identification. There were no papers or letters, and no markingupon the clothes. A cycle map of the county lay on his bedroom table.He had left the hotel after breakfast yesterday morning on his bicycle,and no more was heard of him until our inquiries."
"That's what puzzles me, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason. "If the fellowdid not want the hue and cry raised over him, one would imagine that hewould have returned and remained at the hotel as an inoffensivetourist. As it is, he must know that he will be reported to the policeby the hotel manager and that his disappearance will be connected withthe murder."
"So one would imagine. Still, he has been justified of his wisdom up todate, at any rate, since he has not been taken. But hisdescription--what of that?"
MacDonald referred to his notebook. "Here we have it so far as theycould give it. They don't seem to have taken any very particular stockof him; but still the porter, the clerk, and the chambermaid are allagreed that this about covers the points. He was a man about five footnine in height, fifty or so years of age, his hair slightly grizzled, agrayish moustache, a curved nose, and a face which all of themdescribed as fierce and forbidding."
"Well, bar the expression, that might almost be a description ofDouglas himself," said Holmes. "He is just over fifty, with grizzledhair and moustache, and about the same height. Did you get anythingelse?"
"He was dressed in a heavy gray suit with a reefer jacket, and he worea short yellow overcoat and a soft cap."
"What about the shotgun?"
"It is less than two feet long. It could very well have fitted into hisvalise. He could have carried it inside his overcoat withoutdifficulty."
"And how do you consider that all this bears upon the general case?"
"Well, Mr. Holmes," said MacDonald, "when we have got our man--and youmay be sure that I had his description on the wires within five minutesof hearing it--we shall be better able to judge. But, even as itstands, we have surely gone a long way. We know that an Americancalling himself Hargrave came to Tunbridge Wells two days ago withbicycle and valise. In the latter was a sawed-off shotgun; so he camewith the deliberate purpose of crime. Yesterday morning he set off forthis place on his bicycle, with his gun concealed in his overcoat. Noone saw him arrive, so far as we can learn; but he need not passthrough the village to reach the park gates, and there are manycyclists upon the road. Presumably he at once concealed his cycle amongthe laurels where it was found, and possibly lurked there himself, withhis eye on the house, waiting for Mr. Douglas to come out. The shotgunis a strange weapon to use inside a house; but he had intended to useit outside, and there it has very obvious advantages, as it would beimpossible to miss with it, and the sound of shots is so common in anEnglish sporting neighbourhood that no particular notice would betaken."
"That is all very clear," said Holmes.
"Well, Mr. Douglas did not appear. What was he to do next? He left hisbicycle and approached the house in the twilight. He found the bridgedown and no one about. He took his chance, intending, no doubt, to makesome excuse if he met anyone. He met no one. He slipped into the firstroom that he saw, and concealed himself behind the curtain. Thence hecould see the drawbridge go up, and he knew that his only escape wasthrough the moat. He waited until quarter-past eleven, when Mr. Douglasupon his usual nightly round came into the room. He shot him andescaped, as arranged. He was aware that the bicycle would be describedby the hotel people and be a clue against him; so he left it there andmade his way by some other means to London or to some safe hiding placewhich he had already arranged. How is that, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, Mr. Mac, it is very good and very clear so far as it goes. Thatis your end of the story. My end is that the crime was committed halfan hour earlier than reported; that Mrs. Douglas and Barker are both ina conspiracy to conceal something; that they aided the murderer'sescape--or at least that they reached the room before he escaped--andthat they fabricated evidence of his escape through the window, whereasin all probability they had themselves let him go by lowering thebridge. That's my reading of the first half."
The two detectives shook their heads.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one mysteryinto another," said the London inspector.
"And in some ways a worse one," added White Mason. "The lady has neverbeen in America in all her life. What possible connection could shehave with an American assassin which would cause her to shelter him?"
"I freely admit the difficulties," said Holmes. "I propose to make alittle investigation of my own to-night, and it is just possible thatit may contribute something to the common cause."
"Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?"
"No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watson's umbrella--my wants are simple. AndAmes, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch a point for me. Allmy lines of thought lead me back invariably to the one basicquestion--why should an athletic man develop his frame upon sounnatural an instrument as a single dumb-bell?"
It was late that night when Holmes returned from his solitaryexcursion. We slept in a double-bedded room, which was the best thatthe little country inn could do for us. I was already asleep when I waspartly awakened by his entrance.
"Well, Holmes," I murmured, "have you found anything out?"
He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then the tall,lean figure inclined towards me. "I say, Watson," he whispered, "wouldyou be afraid to sleep in the same room with a lunatic, a man withsoftening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?"
"Not in the least," I answered in astonishment.
"Ah, that's lucky," he said, and not another word would he utter thatnight.
The Valley of Fear Page 6
