The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  ADVENTURE IV. THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY

  We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when themaid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ranin this way:

  "Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for fromthe west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy.Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect.Leave Paddington by the 11:15."

  "What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at me."Will you go?"

  "I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list atpresent."

  "Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been lookinga little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good,and you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes' cases."

  "I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gainedthrough one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must packat once, for I have only half an hour."

  My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had theeffect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants werefew and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in acab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. SherlockHolmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gauntfigure made even gaunter and taller by his long greytravelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.

  "It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he. "Itmakes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me onwhom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthlessor else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shallget the tickets."

  We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter ofpapers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummagedand read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, untilwe were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into agigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.

  "Have you heard anything of the case?" he asked.

  "Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days."

  "The London press has not had very full accounts. I have justbeen looking through all the recent papers in order to master theparticulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of thosesimple cases which are so extremely difficult."

  "That sounds a little paradoxical."

  "But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably aclue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the moredifficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, theyhave established a very serious case against the son of themurdered man."

  "It is a murder, then?"

  "Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing forgranted until I have the opportunity of looking personally intoit. I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I havebeen able to understand it, in a very few words.

  "Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, inHerefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is aMr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returnedsome years ago to the old country. One of the farms which heheld, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who wasalso an ex-Australian. The men had known each other in thecolonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came tosettle down they should do so as near each other as possible.Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became histenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfectequality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had one son,a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the sameage, but neither of them had wives living. They appear to haveavoided the society of the neighbouring English families and tohave led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond ofsport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of theneighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl.Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at theleast. That is as much as I have been able to gather about thefamilies. Now for the facts.

  "On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house atHatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to theBoscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading outof the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had beenout with his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had toldthe man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment ofimportance to keep at three. From that appointment he never cameback alive.

  "From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of amile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. Onewas an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other wasWilliam Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Boththese witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. Thegame-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr.McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going thesame way with a gun under his arm. To the best of his belief, thefather was actually in sight at the time, and the son wasfollowing him. He thought no more of the matter until he heard inthe evening of the tragedy that had occurred.

  "The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder,the game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thicklywooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round theedge. A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter ofthe lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of thewoods picking flowers. She states that while she was there shesaw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, Mr.McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having aviolent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using verystrong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up hishand as if to strike his father. She was so frightened by theirviolence that she ran away and told her mother when she reachedhome that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling nearBoscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going tofight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy camerunning up to the lodge to say that he had found his father deadin the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. He wasmuch excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his righthand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. Onfollowing him they found the dead body stretched out upon thegrass beside the pool. The head had been beaten in by repeatedblows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The injuries were such asmight very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his son'sgun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of thebody. Under these circumstances the young man was instantlyarrested, and a verdict of 'wilful murder' having been returnedat the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday brought before themagistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the nextAssizes. Those are the main facts of the case as they came outbefore the coroner and the police-court."

  "I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked. "Ifever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does sohere."

  "Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered Holmesthoughtfully. "It may seem to point very straight to one thing,but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find itpointing in an equally uncompromising manner to somethingentirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the caselooks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is verypossible that he is indeed the culprit. There are several peoplein the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss Turner, thedaughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in hisinnocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollectin connection with the Study in Scarlet, to work out the case inhis interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred thecase to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen areflying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of quietlydigesting their breakfasts at home."

  "I am afraid," said I, "that the facts are so obvious that youwill find little credit to be gained out of this case."

  "There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," heanswered, laughing. "Besides, we may chance to hit upon someother obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious toMr. Lestrade. You know me too well to think that I am boastingwhen I say that I shall either confirm or destroy his theory bymeans which he is quite incapable of employing, or even ofunderstanding. To take the first example to hand, I very
clearlyperceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the right-handside, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would have notedeven so self-evident a thing as that."

  "How on earth--"

  "My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatnesswhich characterises you. You shave every morning, and in thisseason you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is lessand less complete as we get farther back on the left side, untilit becomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of thejaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminatedthan the other. I could not imagine a man of your habits lookingat himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such aresult. I only quote this as a trivial example of observation andinference. Therein lies my metier, and it is just possible thatit may be of some service in the investigation which lies beforeus. There are one or two minor points which were brought out inthe inquest, and which are worth considering."

  "What are they?"

  "It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but afterthe return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabularyinforming him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was notsurprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts.This observation of his had the natural effect of removing anytraces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of thecoroner'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 atleast a most suspicious remark."

  "On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift which Ican at present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be,he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that thecircumstances were very black against him. Had he appearedsurprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, Ishould have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because suchsurprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances,and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man. Hisfrank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocentman, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint andfirmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it was also notunnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body ofhis father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very dayso far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, andeven, according to the little girl whose evidence is soimportant, to raise his hand as if to strike him. Theself-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remarkappear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of aguilty one."

  I shook my head. "Many men have been hanged on far slighterevidence," I remarked.

  "So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged."

  "What is the young man's own account of the matter?"

  "It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters,though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive.You will find it here, and may read it for yourself."

  He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshirepaper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out theparagraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his ownstatement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in thecorner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in thisway:

  "Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then calledand gave evidence as follows: 'I had been away from home forthree days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon themorning of last Monday, the 3rd. My father was absent from home atthe time of my arrival, and I was informed by the maid that hehad driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly aftermy return I heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and,looking out of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly outof the yard, though I was not aware in which direction he wasgoing. I then took my gun and strolled out in the direction ofthe Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbitwarren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw WilliamCrowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence; buthe is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father. I hadno idea that he was in front of me. When about a hundred yardsfrom the pool I heard a cry of "Cooee!" which was a usual signalbetween my father and myself. I then hurried forward, and foundhim standing by the pool. He appeared to be much surprised atseeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. Aconversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows,for my father was a man of a very violent temper. Seeing that hispassion was becoming ungovernable, I left him and returnedtowards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone more than 150 yards,however, when I heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused meto run back again. I found my father expiring upon the ground,with his head terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him inmy arms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him forsome minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's lodge-keeper,his house being the nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no onenear my father when I returned, and I have no idea how he came byhis injuries. He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold andforbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as I know, noactive enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.'

  "The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you beforehe died?

  "Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch someallusion to a rat.

  "The Coroner: What did you understand by that?

  "Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he wasdelirious.

  "The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your fatherhad 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 canassure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy whichfollowed.

  "The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not pointout to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your caseconsiderably in any future proceedings which may arise.

  "Witness: I must still refuse.

  "The Coroner: I understand that the cry of 'Cooee' was a commonsignal between you and your father?

  "Witness: It was.

  "The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he sawyou, and before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol?

  "Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.

  "A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicionswhen you returned on hearing the cry and found your fatherfatally injured?

  "Witness: Nothing definite.

  "The Coroner: What do you mean?

  "Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out intothe open, that I could think of nothing except of my father. YetI have a vague impression that as I ran forward something layupon the ground to the left of me. It seemed to me to besomething grey in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps.When I rose from my father I looked round for it, but it wasgone.

  "'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 dozenyards 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 coronerin his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy.He calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about hisfather having signalled to him before seeing him, also to hisrefusal to give details of his conversation with his father, andhis singular account of his father's dying words. They are all,as he remarks, very much against the son."

  Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out uponthe cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been at somepains," said he, "to single out the very strongest points
in theyoung man's favour. Don't you see that you alternately give himcredit for having too much imagination and too little? Toolittle, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which wouldgive him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved fromhis own inner consciousness anything so outre as a dyingreference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No,sir, I shall approach this case from the point of view that whatthis young man says is true, and we shall see whither thathypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, andnot another word shall I say of this case until we are on thescene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall bethere in twenty minutes."

  It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing throughthe beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn,found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. Alean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting forus upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat andleather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rusticsurroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, ofScotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where aroom had already been engaged for us.

  "I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as we sat over a cupof tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not behappy until you had been on the scene of the crime."

  "It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes answered. "Itis entirely a question of barometric pressure."

  Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said.

  "How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloudin the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which needsmoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual countryhotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that Ishall use the carriage to-night."

  Lestrade laughed indulgently. "You have, no doubt, already formedyour conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "The case is asplain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainerit becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such avery positive one, too. She has heard of you, and would have youropinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was nothingwhich you could do which I had not already done. Why, bless mysoul! here is her carriage at the door."

  He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of themost lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Herviolet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon hercheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in heroverpowering excitement and concern.

  "Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to theother of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition,fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad that you have come. Ihave driven down to tell you so. I know that James 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 eachother since we were little children, and I know his faults as noone else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such acharge is absurd to anyone who really knows him."

  "I hope we may clear him, Miss 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 yourselfthink that he is innocent?"

  "I think that it is very probable."

  "There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and lookingdefiantly at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes."

  Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my colleaguehas been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he said.

  "But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never didit. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that thereason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was becauseI was concerned in it."

  "In what way?" asked Holmes.

  "It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father hadmany disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious thatthere should be a marriage between us. James and I have alwaysloved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is youngand has seen very little of life yet, and--and--well, henaturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So therewere quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them."

  "And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of such aunion?"

  "No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was infavour of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face asHolmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.

  "Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see your fatherif I call to-morrow?"

  "I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."

  "The doctor?"

  "Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong foryears back, but this has broken him down completely. He has takento his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that hisnervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alivewho had known dad 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, Mr. Turnermade his money."

  "Yes, certainly."

  "Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance tome."

  "You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt youwill go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, dotell him that I know him to be innocent."

  "I will, Miss Turner."

  "I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so ifI leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking." Shehurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and weheard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.

  "I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity after afew minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes which youare bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but Icall it cruel."

  "I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," saidHolmes. "Have you an order to see him in prison?"

  "Yes, but only for you and me."

  "Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We havestill time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?"

  "Ample."

  "Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it veryslow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours."

  I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered throughthe streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel,where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in ayellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin,however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we weregroping, and I found my attention wander so continually from theaction to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room andgave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of theday. Supposing that this unhappy young man's story wereabsolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutelyunforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred betweenthe time when he parted from his father, and the moment when,drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It wassomething terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not thenature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts?I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, whichcontained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon'sdeposition it was stated that the posterior third of the leftparietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had beenshattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spotupon my own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck frombehind. That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as whenseen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. Still, itdid not go for very much, for the older man might have turned hisback before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to callHolmes' attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dyingreference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not bedelirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly becomedelirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain howhe met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled mybrains to find some possible explanation. And then the incidentof the grey cloth seen by young M
cCarthy. If that were true themurderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably hisovercoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood toreturn and to carry it away at the instant when the son waskneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. What atissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! Idid not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so much faithin Sherlock Holmes' insight that I could not lose hope as longas every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of youngMcCarthy's innocence.

  It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone,for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.

  "The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down."It is of importance that it should not rain before we are ableto go over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at hisvery best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did notwish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen youngMcCarthy."

  "And what did you learn from him?"

  "Nothing."

  "Could he throw no light?"

  "None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knewwho had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convincednow that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a veryquick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think,sound at heart."

  "I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a factthat he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady asthis Miss Turner."

  "Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly,insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he wasonly a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been awayfive years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but getinto the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at aregistry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you canimagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for notdoing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knowsto be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sortwhich made him throw his hands up into the air when his father,at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to MissTurner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself,and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, wouldhave thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. It was withhis barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days inBristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark thatpoint. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however,for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serioustrouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly andhas written to him to say that she has a husband already in theBermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. Ithink that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for allthat he has suffered."

  "But if he is innocent, who has done it?"

  "Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to twopoints. One is that the murdered man had an appointment withsomeone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been hisson, for his son was away, and he did not know when he wouldreturn. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are thecrucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talkabout George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave allminor matters until to-morrow."

  There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning brokebright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us withthe carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the BoscombePool.

  "There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It issaid that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life isdespaired of."

  "An elderly man, I presume?" said Holmes.

  "About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his lifeabroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. Thisbusiness has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friendof McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for Ihave learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."

  "Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.

  "Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybodyabout here speaks of his kindness to him."

  "Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that thisMcCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to havebeen under such obligations to Turner, should still talk ofmarrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably,heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner,as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else wouldfollow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himselfwas averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you notdeduce something from that?"

  "We have got to the deductions and the inferences," saidLestrade, winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts,Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies."

  "You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very hardto tackle the facts."

  "Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find itdifficult to get hold of," replied Lestrade with some warmth.

  "And that is--"

  "That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and thatall theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine."

  "Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said Holmes,laughing. "But I am very much mistaken if this is not HatherleyFarm upon the left."

  "Yes, that is it." It was a widespread, comfortable-lookingbuilding, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotchesof lichen upon the grey walls. The drawn blinds and the smokelesschimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weightof this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door,when the maid, at Holmes' request, showed us the boots which hermaster wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of theson's, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measuredthese very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmesdesired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followedthe winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.

  Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scentas this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician ofBaker Street would have failed to recognise him. His face flushedand darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines,while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter.His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lipscompressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long,sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animallust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentratedupon the matter before him that a question or remark fellunheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick,impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his wayalong the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way ofthe woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as isall that district, and there were marks of many feet, both uponthe path and amid the short grass which bounded it on eitherside. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, andonce he made quite a little detour into the meadow. Lestrade andI walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous,while I watched my friend with the interest which sprang from theconviction that every one of his actions was directed towards adefinite end.

  The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of watersome fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between theHatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner.Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could seethe red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the richlandowner's dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woodsgrew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grasstwenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reedswhich lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at whichthe body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground,that I could plainly see the traces which had been left by thefall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his eagerface and peering eyes, very many other things were to be readupon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is pickingup a scent, and then turned upon my companion.

  "What did you go into the pool for?" he asked.

  "I fished about with
a rake. I thought there might be some weaponor other trace. But how on earth--"

  "Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with itsinward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, andthere it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would allhave been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffaloand wallowed all over it. Here is where the party with thelodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six oreight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks ofthe same feet." He drew out a lens and lay down upon hiswaterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather tohimself than to us. "These are young McCarthy's feet. Twice hewas walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles aredeeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out hisstory. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here arethe father's feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? Itis the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this?Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quiteunusual boots! They come, they go, they come again--of coursethat was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?" He ran upand down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until wewere well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of agreat beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes tracedhis way to the farther side of this and lay down once more uponhis face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time heremained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks,gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope andexamining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark ofthe tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying amongthe moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. Thenhe followed a pathway through the wood until he came to thehighroad, where all traces were lost.

  "It has been a case of considerable interest," he remarked,returning to his natural manner. "I fancy that this grey house onthe right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have aword with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having donethat, we may drive back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab,and I shall be with you presently."

  It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and droveback into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which hehad picked up in the wood.

  "This may interest you, Lestrade," he remarked, holding it out."The murder was done with it."

  "I see no marks."

  "There are none."

  "How do you know, then?"

  "The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a fewdays. There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. Itcorresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any otherweapon."

  "And the murderer?"

  "Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wearsthick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indiancigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in hispocket. There are several other indications, but these may beenough to aid us in our search."

  Lestrade laughed. "I am afraid that I am still a sceptic," hesaid. "Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with ahard-headed British jury."

  "Nous verrons," answered Holmes calmly. "You work your ownmethod, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon,and shall probably return to London by the evening train."

  "And leave your case unfinished?"

  "No, finished."

  "But the mystery?"

  "It is solved."

  "Who was the criminal, then?"

  "The gentleman I describe."

  "But who is he?"

  "Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such apopulous neighbourhood."

  Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am a practical man," he said,"and I really cannot undertake to go about the country lookingfor a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should become thelaughing-stock of Scotland Yard."

  "All right," said Holmes quietly. "I have given you the chance.Here are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line beforeI leave."

  Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, wherewe found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried inthought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who findshimself in a perplexing position.

  "Look here, Watson," he said when the cloth was cleared "just sitdown in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don'tknow quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light acigar and let me expound."

  "Pray do so."

  "Well, now, in considering this case there are two points aboutyoung McCarthy's narrative which struck us both instantly,although they impressed me in his favour and you against him. Onewas the fact that his father should, according to his account,cry 'Cooee!' before seeing him. The other was his singular dyingreference to a rat. He mumbled several words, you understand, butthat was all that caught the son's ear. Now from this doublepoint our research must commence, and we will begin it bypresuming that what the lad says is absolutely true."

  "What of this 'Cooee!' then?"

  "Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. Theson, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance thathe was within earshot. The 'Cooee!' was meant to attract theattention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But'Cooee' is a distinctly Australian cry, and one which is usedbetween Australians. There is a strong presumption that theperson whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool wassomeone who had been in Australia."

  "What of the rat, then?"

  Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattenedit out on the table. "This is a map of the Colony of Victoria,"he said. "I wired to Bristol for it last night." He put his handover part of the map. "What do you read?"

  "ARAT," I read.

  "And now?" He raised his hand.

  "BALLARAT."

  "Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which hisson only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utterthe name of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat."

  "It is wonderful!" I exclaimed.

  "It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field downconsiderably. The possession of a grey garment was a third pointwhich, granting the son's statement to be correct, was acertainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definiteconception of an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak."

  "Certainly."

  "And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can onlybe approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers couldhardly wander."

  "Quite so."

  "Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of theground I gained the trifling details which I gave to thatimbecile Lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal."

  "But how did you gain them?"

  "You know my method. It is founded upon the observation oftrifles."

  "His height I know that you might roughly judge from the lengthof his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces."

  "Yes, they were peculiar boots."

  "But his lameness?"

  "The impression of his right foot was always less distinct thanhis left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped--hewas lame."

  "But his left-handedness."

  "You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recordedby the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck fromimmediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how canthat be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behindthat tree during the interview between the father and son. He hadeven smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar, which my specialknowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an Indiancigar. I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, andwritten a little monograph on the ashes of 140 differentvarieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found theash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the mosswhere he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the varietywhich are rolled in Rotterdam."

  "And the cigar-holder?"

  "I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore heused a holder. The tip had been cut
off, not bitten off, but thecut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife."

  "Holmes," I said, "you have drawn a net round this man from whichhe cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life astruly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I see thedirection in which all this points. The culprit is--"

  "Mr. John Turner," cried the hotel waiter, opening the door ofour sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor.

  The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. Hisslow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance ofdecrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, andhis enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusualstrength of body and of character. His tangled beard, grizzledhair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an airof dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of anashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils weretinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance thathe was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.

  "Pray sit down on the sofa," said Holmes gently. "You had mynote?"

  "Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished tosee me here to avoid scandal."

  "I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall."

  "And why did you wish to see me?" He looked across at mycompanion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his questionwas already answered.

  "Yes," said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. "Itis so. I know all about McCarthy."

  The old man sank his face in his hands. "God help me!" he cried."But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give youmy word that I would have spoken out if it went against him atthe Assizes."

  "I am glad to hear you say so," said Holmes gravely.

  "I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. Itwould break her heart--it will break her heart when she hearsthat I am arrested."

  "It may not come to that," said Holmes.

  "What?"

  "I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughterwho required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests.Young McCarthy must be got off, however."

  "I am a dying man," said old Turner. "I have had diabetes foryears. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live amonth. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a gaol."

  Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his handand a bundle of paper before him. "Just tell us the truth," hesaid. "I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watsonhere can witness it. Then I could produce your confession at thelast extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shallnot use it unless it is absolutely needed."

  "It's as well," said the old man; "it's a question whether Ishall live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but Ishould wish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make thething clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, butwill not take me long to tell.

  "You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devilincarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches ofsuch a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years,and he has blasted my life. I'll tell you first how I came to bein his power.

  "It was in the early '60's at the diggings. I was a young chapthen, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand atanything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luckwith my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what youwould call over here a highway robber. There were six of us, andwe had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from timeto time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings.Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our partyis still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.

  "One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, andwe lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopersand six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four oftheir saddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed,however, before we got the swag. I put my pistol to the head ofthe wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to theLord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw hiswicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember everyfeature. We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and madeour way over to England without being suspected. There I partedfrom my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet andrespectable life. I bought this estate, which chanced to be inthe market, and I set myself to do a little good with my money,to make up for the way in which I had earned it. I married, too,and though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice.Even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me downthe right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I turnedover a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All wasgoing well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.

  "I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him inRegent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to hisfoot.

  "'Here we are, Jack,' says he, touching me on the arm; 'we'll beas good as a family to you. There's two of us, me and my son, andyou can have the keeping of us. If you don't--it's a fine,law-abiding country is England, and there's always a policemanwithin hail.'

  "Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shakingthem off, and there they have lived rent free on my best landever since. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness;turn where I would, there was his cunning, grinning face at myelbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was moreafraid of her knowing my past than of the police. Whatever hewanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him withoutquestion, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thingwhich I could not give. He asked for Alice.

  "His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I wasknown to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him thathis lad should step into the whole property. But there I wasfirm. I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not thatI had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and thatwas enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved him to dohis worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between our housesto talk it over.

  "When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so Ismoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone.But as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter inme seemed to come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry mydaughter with as little regard for what she might think as if shewere a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that Iand all that I held most dear should be in the power of such aman as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying anda desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb,I knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl!Both could be saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. Idid it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned,I have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But that my girlshould be entangled in the same meshes which held me was morethan I could suffer. I struck him down with no more compunctionthan if he had been some foul and venomous beast. His cry broughtback his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though Iwas forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped inmy flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of all thatoccurred."

  "Well, it is not for me to judge you," said Holmes as the old mansigned the statement which had been drawn out. "I pray that wemay never be exposed to such a temptation."

  "I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?"

  "In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that youwill soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than theAssizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy iscondemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never beseen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive ordead, shall be safe with us."

  "Farewell, then," said the old man solemnly. "Your own deathbeds,when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peacewhich you have given to mine." Tottering and shaking in all hisgiant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.

  "God help us!" said Holmes after a long silence. "Why does fateplay such tricks wi
th poor, helpless worms? I never hear of sucha case as this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say,'There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.'"

  James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of anumber of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes andsubmitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for sevenmonths after our interview, but he is now dead; and there isevery prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happilytogether in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon theirpast.