by L. E. Smart
"What are they?"
"It appears that her arrest did not take place at once, but after the return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary informing her that she was a prisoner, she remarked that she was not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than her deserts. This observation of her had the natural effect of removing any traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the coroner's jury."
"It was a confession," I ejaculated.
"No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence."
"Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at least a most suspicious remark."
"On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift which I can at present see in the clouds. However innocent she might be, she could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the circumstances were very black against her. Had she appeared surprised at her own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances, and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming woman. Her frank acceptance of the situation marks her as either an innocent woman, or else as a woman of considerable self-restraint and firmness. As to her remark about her deserts, it was also not unnatural if you consider that she stood beside the dead body of her mother, and that there is no doubt that she had that very day so far forgotten her filial duty as to bandy words with her, and even, according to the little boy whose evidence is so important, to raise her hand as if to strike her. The self-reproach and contrition which are displayed in her remark appear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty one."
I shook my head. "Many women have been hanged on far slighter evidence," I remarked.
"So they have. And many women have been wrongfully hanged."
"What is the young woman's own account of the matter?"
"It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to her supporters, though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive. You will find it here, and may read it for yourself."
She picked out from her bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire paper, and having turned down the sheet she pointed out the paragraph in which the unfortunate young woman had given her own statement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this way:
"Ms. Janice McCarthy, the only daughter of the deceased, was then called and gave evidence as follows: 'I had been away from home for three days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon the morning of last Monday, the 3rd. My mother was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and I was informed by the manservant that she had driven over to Ross with Jorja Cobb, the bride. Shortly after my return I heard the wheels of her trap in the yard, and, looking out of my window, I saw her get out and walk rapidly out of the yard, though I was not aware in which direction she was going. I then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit warren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw Willa Crowder, the game-keeper, as she had stated in her evidence; but she is mistaken in thinking that I was following my mother. I had no idea that she was in front of me. When about a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of "Cooee!" which was a usual signal between my mother and myself. I then hurried forward, and found her standing by the pool. She appeared to be much surprised at seeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. A conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows, for my mother was a woman of a very violent temper. Seeing that her passion was becoming ungovernable, I left her and returned towards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused me to run back again. I found my mother expiring upon the ground, with her head terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held her in my arms, but she almost instantly expired. I knelt beside her for some minutes, and then made my way to Ms. Turner's lodge-keeper, her house being the nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no one near my mother when I returned, and I have no idea how she came by her injuries. She was not a popular woman, being somewhat cold and forbidding in her manners, but she had, as far as I know, no active enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.'
"The Coroner: Did your mother make any statement to you before she died?
"Witness: She mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some allusion to a rat.
"The Coroner: What did you understand by that?
"Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that she was delirious.
"The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your mother had this final quarrel?
"Witness: I should prefer not to answer.
"The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it.
"Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed.
"The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case considerably in any future proceedings which may arise.
"Witness: I must still refuse.
"The Coroner: I understand that the cry of 'Cooee' was a common signal between you and your mother?
"Witness: It was.
"The Coroner: How was it, then, that she uttered it before she saw you, and before she even knew that you had returned from Bristol?
"Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.
"A Jurywoman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions when you returned on hearing the cry and found your mother fatally injured?
"Witness: Nothing definite.
"The Coroner: What do you mean?
"Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into the open, that I could think of nothing except of my mother. Yet I have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay upon the ground to the left of me. It seemed to me to be something grey in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps. When I rose from my mother I looked round for it, but it was gone.
"'Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?'
"'Yes, it was gone.'
"'You cannot say what it was?'
"'No, I had a feeling something was there.'
"'How far from the body?'
"'A dozen yards or so.'
"'And how far from the edge of the wood?'
"'About the same.'
"'Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of it?'
"'Yes, but with my back towards it.'
"This concluded the examination of the witness."
"I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "that the coroner in her concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy. She calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about her mother having signalled to her before seeing her, also to her refusal to give details of her conversation with her mother, and her singular account of her mother's dying words. They are all, as she remarks, very much against the daughter."
Holmes laughed softly to herself and stretched herself out upon the cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been at some pains," said she, "to single out the very strongest points in the young woman's favour. Don't you see that you alternately give her credit for having too much imagination and too little? Too little, if she could not invent a cause of quarrel which would give her the sympathy of the jury; too much, if she evolved from her own inner consciousness anything so outré as a dying reference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No, madam, I shall approach this case from the point of view that what this young woman says is true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and not another word shall I say of this case until we are on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall be there in twenty minutes."
It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through the beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming S
evern, found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A lean, ferret-like woman, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings which she wore in deference to her rustic surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. With her we drove to the Hereford Arms where a room had already been engaged for us.
"I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as we sat over a cup of tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy until you had been on the scene of the crime."
"It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes answered. "It is entirely a question of barometric pressure."
Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," she said.
"How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud in the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall use the carriage tonight."
Lestrade laughed indulgently. "You have, no doubt, already formed your conclusions from the newspapers," she said. "The case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a gentleman, and such a very positive one, too. He has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though I repeatedly told him that there was nothing which you could do which I had not already done. Why, bless my soul! here is his carriage at the door."
She had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most lovely young men that I have ever seen in my life. His violet eyes shining, his lips parted, a pink flush upon his cheeks, all thought of his natural reserve lost in his overpowering excitement and concern.
"Oh, Ms. Sherlock Holmes!" he cried, glancing from one to the other of us, and finally, with a man's quick intuition, fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad that you have come. I have driven down to tell you so. I know that Janice didn't do it. I know it, and I want you to start upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We have known each other since we were little children, and I know her faults as no one else does; but she is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows her."
"I hope we may clear her, Mister Turner," said Sherlock Holmes. "You may rely upon my doing all that I can."
"But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion? Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think that she is innocent?"
"I think that it is very probable."
"There, now!" he cried, throwing back his head and looking defiantly at Lestrade. "You hear! She gives me hopes."
Lestrade shrugged her shoulders. "I am afraid that my colleague has been a little quick in forming her conclusions," she said.
"But she is right. Oh! I know that she is right. Janice never did it. And about her quarrel with her mother, I am sure that the reason why she would not speak about it to the coroner was because I was concerned in it."
"In what way?" asked Holmes.
"It is no time for me to hide anything. Janice and her mother had many disagreements about me. Mrs. McCarthy was very anxious that there should be a marriage between us. Janice and I have always loved each other as sister and brother; but of course she is young and has seen very little of life yet, and -- and -- well, she naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them."
"And your mother?" asked Holmes. "Was she in favour of such a union?"
"No, she was averse to it also. No one but Mrs. McCarthy was in favour of it." A quick blush passed over his fresh young face as Holmes shot one of her keen, questioning glances at him.
"Thank you for this information," said she. "May I see your mother if I call tomorrow?"
"I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."
"The doctor?"
"Yes, have you not heard? Poor mother has never been strong for years back, but this has broken her down completely. She has taken to her bed, and Dr. Willows says that she is a wreck and that her nervous system is shattered. Mrs. McCarthy was the only woman alive who had known mum in the old days in Victoria."
"Ha! In Victoria! That is important."
"Yes, at the mines."
"Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Ms. Turner made her money."
"Yes, certainly."
"Thank you, Mister Turner. You have been of material assistance to me."
"You will tell me if you have any news tomorrow. No doubt you will go to the prison to see Janice. Oh, if you do, Ms. Holmes, do tell her that I know her to be innocent."
"I will, Mister Turner."
"I must go home now, for mum is very ill, and she misses me so if I leave her. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking." He hurried from the room as impulsively as he had entered, and we heard the wheels of his carriage rattle off down the street.
"I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity after a few minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel."
"I think that I see my way to clearing Janice McCarthy," said Holmes. "Have you an order to see her in prison?"
"Yes, but only for you and me."
"Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have still time to take a train to Hereford and see her tonight?"
"Ample."
"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours."
I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the day. Supposing that this unhappy young woman's story were absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between the time when she parted from her mother, and the moment when, drawn back by her screams, she rushed into the glade? It was something terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon's deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck from behind. That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as when seen quarrelling she was face to face with her mother. Still, it did not go for very much, for the older woman might have turned her back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to call Holmes' attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be delirium. A woman dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how she met her fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. And then the incident of the grey cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the murderess must have dropped some part of her dress, presumably her overcoat, in her flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to carry it away at the instant when the daughter was kneeling with her back turned not a dozen paces off. What a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! I did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes' insight that I could not lose hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen her conviction of young McCarthy's innocence.
It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. She came back alone, for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.
> "The glass still keeps very high," she remarked as she sat down. "It is of importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over the ground. On the other hand, a woman should be at her very best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not wish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen young McCarthy."
"And what did you learn from her?"
"Nothing."
"Could she throw no light?"
"None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that she knew who had done it and was screening her or him, but I am convinced now that she is as puzzled as everyone else. She is not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart."
"I cannot admire her taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a fact that she was averse to a marriage with so charming a young gentleman as this Mister Turner."
"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This lady is madly, insanely, in love with him, but some two years ago, when she was only a lass, and before she really knew him, for he had been away five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a barman in Bristol and marry him at a registry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening it must be to her to be upbraided for not doing what she would give her very eyes to do, but what she knows to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sort which made her throw her hands up into the air when her mother, at their last interview, was goading her on to propose to Mister Turner. On the other hand, she had no means of supporting herself, and her mother, who was by all accounts a very hard woman, would have thrown her over utterly had she known the truth. It was with her barmaid husband that she had spent the last three days in Bristol, and her mother did not know where she was. Mark that point. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that she is in serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown her over utterly and has written to her to say that he has a wife already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. I think that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for all that she has suffered."
