The Alders stared at each other. “Stilts!” Mr. Alder said in a muted roar. “By the Lord Harry, I never thought o’ that. Stilts! That’s why there weren’t no footprints in the frost.”
“Exactly so. But it is almost a year since Daisy used her stilts, and I believe that by the canal bank with only starlight to guide her she caught a stilt in the uneven ground and took a tumble, grazing her wrist. This accounts both for the blood and the supposed struggle. Richard would have brought other clothing for her and I daresay that since she was on the ground, she dressed then in the darkness, thrust her nightgown beneath a bush as a decoy, and mounted her stilts again. Once onto the road Richard would have had some conveyance waiting and they would have joined the mail coach at Stafford—where Richard also arranged for the letter demanding money to be sent in a few days’ time.”
He looked at two who were watching him then. “You have now to decide if you will cast off your only child or welcome her and her husband—your nephew—back into your family.”
Mr. Alder stood up, his broad, honest face taking on an air of resolution. “Why, sir, there’s never been no choice about that. Daisy is my little daughter and Dicky is a good lad. I doubt he’ll ever wish to inherit the farm, so I’ll make my will out for his younger brother, James, to have that when I’m gone. My brother will be satisfied since, with what we’ve spent upon it, the farm is larger and in better heart than it ever was. Daisy and her man shall have our money held in the funds.” He stepped up to wring Holmes’ hand.
“I do thank you, sir, we owe you anything you care to ask—but right now us’ll be off home to wait for our lass and her man.”
So all ended well which might have been otherwise. We heard some months later from Mr. Alder, who wrote that Daisy and her new husband had returned safely, and taken a small house near Richard’s place of employment. Both were very happy. Still more pleasant, the estrangement between Mr. Alder and his brother was ended with news of the marriage and new will.
Miss Violet Hunter continued to run the Walsall Select Academy for Girls, and they succeeded in completing the new wing. The school roll has grown, and both she and Miss Yelverton are now in a strong way to becoming the happy owners of a very prosperous business. The end to that case appeared two years later, when we received in the mail the marked copy of a Kentish newspaper. The item reported the birth of twins—a son and daughter—to Mr. and Mrs. Richard Alder of Appledore in Kent.
DEAD IN A FIELD
I strolled around to my old friend Holmes’ rooms one bright afternoon. Perhaps because of the prolonged spell of fine weather, my practice was experiencing a quieter period, so that I could spend time with Holmes and hear of his latest case. He welcomed me and we were just seated comfortably, each of us with glass in hand, when there came a knock at the door.
To my great surprise it was Colonel Hayter, an old acquaintance from my days as a medical man in Afghanistan. I had cared for him when he suffered a severe wound in that campaign, and we had remained friends ever since. Some months before, Holmes had been called in to aid the Colonel over a series of burglaries in his area—so I at once assumed this must be more of the sort.
Hayter shook his head. “No, no, my dear fellow, it is true that it is your and Holmes’ assistance I require, but not for anything so petty as burglars. This is murder again, the killing of a decent young lad who was found with his blood still wet upon him, and what is worse, a good man is caught up in it and like to be ruined or even hanged unless Holmes can show that the thing was done by another.”
“Who is the man?”
His brow clouded. “That is the thing. They say that it was young Forrester.”
I gaped, and even Holmes stared. “What?” I cried. “Inspector Forrester? But he is no murderer, surely?”
I well recalled the intelligent, keen-faced, and smart young man who had been first slightly disbelieving of Holmes’ abilities, then admiring and appreciative of them. I could not see him as a vicious killer, thus my exclamations of surprise and horror. Hayter, however, was adamant that the inspector was under suspicion.
“His colleagues are certain of it, however reluctantly, and even I upon hearing the facts—I am become a magistrate, you know—cannot see how it could have been any other. The whole business is a black mystery, and even if a jury acquits the man, as is not unlikely, his career and his good name are ruined. People will say that he was acquitted only for that he is a policeman and the police look after their own. That too is true to some extent. If Mr. Holmes will come down and look into this killing, every man on the local force will answer any question he cares to ask, give him entry to any place, allow him to read any document he wishes to see.”
He turned to my friend. “I beg you, sir. This business tarnishes the name of the whole force and even the law itself, and it is good for none if citizens believe our police to be murderers and protectors of murderers.”
“That is very true,” said Holmes thoughtfully. “I liked young Forrester and cannot believe him to be an easy killer, at the least. Please tell me of the events surrounding this and why he is under such a great cloud of suspicion.”
Colonel Hayter nodded. “I will tell you everything I know about the case; if I digress, you must say so.”
“Digress away,” Holmes blew a small cloud of smoke from his pipe. “I have often found that it is in the small details that the greatest information and enlightenment are to be found.”
“Very well,” Hayter found a smile for him. “You have asked for that and the details you shall have. At the root of this trouble lies a woman. Miss Jenny Conham, of White Hall just outside Reigate. Her father is a merchant in a moderate way of business but, as he is widowed and does not at all live extravagantly, he and his daughter live in simple modest comfort. The girl is just nineteen and a beauty, but for all her looks, she is a homely lass and has no inclination towards undue frivolity.”
“Ah, I presume that it is suspected that the murder was done on her account?” I said.
“Quite so. There were two men vying for her affections. One was Inspector Forrester. The other was the son of a fellow merchant, a lad named Donald Mayhew. There was nothing against him, indeed, he would have been a perfectly suitable match, and even the police agree there is nothing known against the boy’s character. It is for that reason also that they cannot find any suspect other than Forrester. He alone had motive, means, and the opportunity together.
“If the girl is such a beauty with both character and some fortune, there must be other interested parties.” Holmes commented.
“That is so, there are three other lads: Daniel Beaufort would like to win her, but he is casual in his attitudes and not always reliable over money. She has refused to attend dances with him in the past, and it is generally agreed that the boy has no chance. Then there is Lieutenant Alexander Molton, a Navy lad from a family that has served for some generations. They are not wealthy, although their situation is comfortable and they have a charming estate. Their family reputation is good and the boy is the only son, and hence would inherit. Finally, there is a man named James Talfoy, a clerk but of decent family, older than the girl’s other suitors but a steady, reliable man with a good position and a small house left to him by his grandfather.
“But to continue. Donald told his father that he had received a note from Miss Jenny, asking him to meet her in the oak spinney at midday. We know the note existed for he showed it to his father—but since he took the paper with him and it has disappeared, we cannot further examine it. Miss Jenny says that she sent no note, but it is true that Donald might reasonably have expected one, since on the previous day he had proposed to the girl and she had put him off saying she must have time to consider.
“Mr. Mayhew Senior says that his son was much elated, believing that the summons presaged an acceptance—and because of that he took with him also a very fine diamond and ruby ring which had belonged to his great-grandmother. This he planned to place on Miss Jenny’s finger
to seal their engagement and in token of his deep affection. The ring too is missing.”
At this Holmes glanced up sharply. “The police will have circulated a description of this ring?”
“Indeed, sir. One was sent out the moment that its absence was known.” The Colonel looked angry. “It is unbelievably petty, to kill a man, then steal from his dead body the ring meant for his sweetheart. For that alone I cannot believe Forrester to be responsible. He might strike down a man in the heat of passion if the reason were sufficient, but to steal from the dead? No, it is not in his nature.”
“I agree that it is unlikely.” Holmes said slowly. “Pray continue, this story begins to interest me more and more.”
“I am glad of that, sir. Well, as I said, Donald Mayhew received a note and took both paper and ring to his meeting. Miss Jenny is adamant she wrote no note, nor would she have met Donald in such a secluded, out-of-the-way place which is, in addition, quite some distance on foot across the fields from her home—and there is no proper road to the place besides.”
“How is it then,” I asked, “That the body was found so soon after the young man’s death?”
“That is the awful thing, and what is more, the circumstances make it appear the worse against poor Forrester. He too claims to have received a letter from Miss Jenny, asking him to be at the Oak spinney at the midday hour. He cannot produce the letter and says it must have been stolen from him. I may say that the lady swears she wrote no letter to him either, and is much distressed. Forrester went to the spinney at the time appointed, and when Miss Jenny did not appear, he walked around the outside of the spinney in case he should have mistaken where she was waiting.
“He discovered the body of Donald Mayhew, his head smashed in—the blood still wet—in the field at the outer edge of the spinney. Forrester was then, so he says, struck down by a blow to the back of the head even as he stooped over the body, and knew nothing more until he regained consciousness a short time later. He staggered to his feet and discovered that in his hand he held a lead-loaded truncheon with the leather strap wrapped securely about his wrist.
“The instrument was covered with blood and hair, and he threw it down in horror just as Lieutenant Molton chanced to pass. Molton set up a cry of murder before fleeing—as he believed it—for his life, and Forrester, realizing how it must appear, made off to his station to report the killing of Mayhew and the attack upon himself whilst denying any culpability in the matter.”
Holmes nodded. “After which, I have no doubt, everyone ran back to the body and hunted about, leaving footmarks over all the area and destroying vital evidence.”
Colonel Hayter smiled grimly. “Not so, sir. Forrester was foremost in the return and spoke very strongly that all must be carefully preserved.”
“In which he may have done himself a great service. Very well, Watson, do you look up the train times and we shall leave as soon as possible.”
We arrived in Reigate in the afternoon—and the Colonel having insisted we should stay at his home, we were able to eat a light meal upon our arrival, and, as the evening was yet light, to repair at once to the field where Donald’s body had been discovered. Nothing remained there but a pool of blood and a number of very slight and indistinct marks on the hard ground. Holmes walked about the outside of this area twice before turning to the Colonel.
“You said that the body was found in a field. I would rather have said that it was found within the fringe of the spinney. See here, the blood flowed from the boy’s head, for it to do so there he must have been lying in this position.” Holmes indicated with a branch he picked up. “The blow you described would have killed him on the instant, he would have fallen and not moved again. Thus, he must have been standing here.” He pointed to a small gap between two trees.
“But if he was standing there, he could not be seen easily by anyone else walking by, although he himself should have seen anyone who approached him. Here, Watson, do me the favor of standing between these two trees; I know they are not the same ones, but they are in a similar position and of the same distance apart.”
I obediently moved to place myself between the trees indicated and made a discovery. “Holmes, this is impossible. Young Mayhew could not have been struck down from behind.”
“Exactly so.” Standing in place as I was, it was plain to all three of us that a man attempting to strike another down could not have succeeded easily, not with a single blow as powerful as the one must been that struck the victim down. With the placement of the trees, there was no room in which to strike such a savage blow. I turned, moved somewhat from one side to the other, but in vain. I do not say it would have been completely impossible to strike a man down where I stood, but it would have been impossible at least for an assailant to do so easily and without a sound.
In this isolated place it was unlikely that Mayhew, believing himself to be alone and knowing that if Miss Jenny approached, it would be from over the fields before him, would not have turned to see what made any sounds from behind him. Unless—
“Holmes, is it possible this was a conspiracy? Could two men have been involved? Could one have come upon the boy from over the fields, the second sneaking up on Mayhew from within the spinney? The one within the trees makes a sound deliberately to attract Mayhew’s attention, then the other strikes him down from behind as the lad turns?”
“An ingenious solution, Watson, but I cannot think it likely. You propose that it was two of Miss Jenny’s suitors who may have done this in an effort to eliminate one who was favored above themselves? But what advantage to either? How would they decide who should then woo the bereft lady, and which of them would take the ring? No, I believe one man did this.…” His voice trailed off and I saw the expression upon his face which indicated he was sunk deep in thought. After several minutes his countenance brightened again as he surveyed me with affection.
“On second thoughts, Watson, you may not be so far abroad as I first believed. I must consider this further. Let us return to the house and sleep well; in the morning I need to bespeak the unfortunate Inspector Forrester. After him I will need to interview Miss Jenny and Alexander Molton. Can you arrange that, Colonel?”
“I can.”
“Then please do so. I shall require to speak to her after I have questioned Forrester. I will see Molton after that.”
Holmes’ interview with Inspector Forrester in the small scrubbed police cell was brisk, and while not unsympathetic, there were no protestations of innocence on one side, nor assurances of belief on the other. The young man was intelligent enough to see the hole into which he had tumbled and to understand that Holmes would prefer brusque cooperation to any waste of time in nonessential chattering.
“The note said only that I must come to the spinney at half an hour past midday. I came promptly, but not early, as I had work to accomplish before I could take time for my own affairs.”
“Can you recall the exact words of the note?”
“It said, ‘Dear Carlton, I need to speak with you urgently. Please say nothing to anyone nor show anyone this note, but meet me at the oak spinney at half the hour past noon. Please let no one see you. Miss Jenny Conham.’ I was something distressed by her request, it smacked of the clandestine. But I am her devoted servant and I obeyed. How should I have known the note to be some forgery?”
“Had you seen her handwriting before?” Holmes asked dryly.
Forrester shook his head. “There has never been any need. I see her several times each week for she shops regularly hereabouts and she may send a message or request for me by any policeman in Reigate.”
“Has she ever done so?”
“No, but she knows she may do so at need for I have told her so.”
“But as a result of that you have never seen her handwriting.” Holmes stated thoughtfully. “So naturally you would not expect the note to be false. Can you describe the aspects of it? What can you say of the paper, the ink, the envelope?”
The Inspe
ctor sagged wearily. “I can say only that there was nothing unusual about them. The paper was cream-laid, and of good quality, as was the envelope. The ink was lavender, a shade I have seen in the inkwell at Miss Jenny’s desk. I had no suspicion the letter was not from her; ah, but there is one trifling thing I do recall, it is likely of no use but I would withhold nothing. The envelope was scented and I recognized it as Lily of the Valley.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“It is a favorite scent of my mother’s and I have bought it for her several times.”
“Then you would know it well,” said Holmes. “Tell me, do you ever remember Miss Jenny wearing it?”
“No, now that you ask, I do not.”
“In what position were you standing when you received the blow?”
“I had moved to the head of the body which was lying face down.” I saw him shiver slightly and thought it to be more for the death of a man he had known than for any squeamishness.
“I bent over to turn the head a little so I might be sure the man was dead and also to ascertain his identity. I do not even remember being struck. I was just bending over, then I found myself on the ground, and when I staggered to my feet I discovered a truncheon strap was about my wrist and the instrument itself was marked with blood and hair.
“At the time my head was spinning and it did not occur to me I should be suspected, I only wished to be free of the instrument so that I might go for my people and begin the investigation. It was as I was gaining my footing that Alexander Molton came around the spinney and started crying out that I was a murderer, that I had killed his friend. I went to approach him and he fled shouting. I did not know then who the dead man was, although I later found that Alexander had seen him a little earlier and knew him at once from his clothing.”
“Ah, so you still did not know then whose the body was?”
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