XI.--The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter.
WE were fairly accustomed to receive weird telegrams at Baker Street,but I have a particular recollection of one which reached us on a gloomyFebruary morning some seven or eight years ago and gave Mr. SherlockHolmes a puzzled quarter of an hour. It was addressed to him, and ranthus:--
"Please await me. Terrible misfortune. Right wing three-quarter missing;indispensable to morrow.--OVERTON."
"Strand post-mark and dispatched ten-thirty-six," said Holmes, readingit over and over. "Mr. Overton was evidently considerably excited whenhe sent it, and somewhat incoherent in consequence. Well, well, he willbe here, I dare say, by the time I have looked through the TIMES, andthen we shall know all about it. Even the most insignificant problemwould be welcome in these stagnant days."
Things had indeed been very slow with us, and I had learned to dreadsuch periods of inaction, for I knew by experience that my companion'sbrain was so abnormally active that it was dangerous to leave it withoutmaterial upon which to work. For years I had gradually weaned himfrom that drug mania which had threatened once to check his remarkablecareer. Now I knew that under ordinary conditions he no longer cravedfor this artificial stimulus, but I was well aware that the fiend wasnot dead, but sleeping; and I have known that the sleep was a light oneand the waking near when in periods of idleness I have seen the drawnlook upon Holmes's ascetic face, and the brooding of his deep-set andinscrutable eyes. Therefore I blessed this Mr. Overton, whoever he mightbe, since he had come with his enigmatic message to break that dangerouscalm which brought more peril to my friend than all the storms of histempestuous life.
As we had expected, the telegram was soon followed by its sender, andthe card of Mr. Cyril Overton, of Trinity College, Cambridge, announcedthe arrival of an enormous young man, sixteen stone of solid bone andmuscle, who spanned the doorway with his broad shoulders and lookedfrom one of us to the other with a comely face which was haggard withanxiety.
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"
My companion bowed.
"I've been down to Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes. I saw Inspector StanleyHopkins. He advised me to come to you. He said the case, so far as hecould see, was more in your line than in that of the regular police."
"Pray sit down and tell me what is the matter."
"It's awful, Mr. Holmes, simply awful! I wonder my hair isn't grey.Godfrey Staunton--you've heard of him, of course? He's simply the hingethat the whole team turns on. I'd rather spare two from the packand have Godfrey for my three-quarter line. Whether it's passing, ortackling, or dribbling, there's no one to touch him; and then, he's gotthe head and can hold us all together. What am I to do? That's what Iask you, Mr. Holmes. There's Moorhouse, first reserve, but he is trainedas a half, and he always edges right in on to the scrum instead ofkeeping out on the touch-line. He's a fine place-kick, it's true, but,then, he has no judgment, and he can't sprint for nuts. Why, Mortonor Johnson, the Oxford fliers, could romp round him. Stevenson isfast enough, but he couldn't drop from the twenty-five line, and athree-quarter who can't either punt or drop isn't worth a place forpace alone. No, Mr. Holmes, we are done unless you can help me to findGodfrey Staunton."
My friend had listened with amused surprise to this long speech, whichwas poured forth with extraordinary vigour and earnestness, every pointbeing driven home by the slapping of a brawny hand upon the speaker'sknee. When our visitor was silent Holmes stretched out his hand and tookdown letter "S" of his commonplace book. For once he dug in vain intothat mine of varied information.
"There is Arthur H. Staunton, the rising young forger," said he, "andthere was Henry Staunton, whom I helped to hang, but Godfrey Staunton isa new name to me."
It was our visitor's turn to look surprised.
"Why, Mr. Holmes, I thought you knew things," said he. "I suppose, then,if you have never heard of Godfrey Staunton you don't know Cyril Overtoneither?"
Holmes shook his head good-humouredly.
"Great Scot!" cried the athlete. "Why, I was first reserve for Englandagainst Wales, and I've skippered the 'Varsity all this year. But that'snothing! I didn't think there was a soul in England who didn't knowGodfrey Staunton, the crack three-quarter, Cambridge, Blackheath, andfive Internationals. Good Lord! Mr. Holmes, where HAVE you lived?"
Holmes laughed at the young giant's naive astonishment.
"You live in a different world to me, Mr. Overton, a sweeter andhealthier one. My ramifications stretch out into many sections ofsociety, but never, I am happy to say, into amateur sport, which is thebest and soundest thing in England. However, your unexpected visit thismorning shows me that even in that world of fresh air and fair playthere may be work for me to do; so now, my good sir, I beg you to sitdown and to tell me slowly and quietly exactly what it is that hasoccurred, and how you desire that I should help you."
Young Overton's face assumed the bothered look of the man who is moreaccustomed to using his muscles than his wits; but by degrees, with manyrepetitions and obscurities which I may omit from his narrative, he laidhis strange story before us.
"It's this way, Mr. Holmes. As I have said, I am the skipper of theRugger team of Cambridge 'Varsity, and Godfrey Staunton is my best man.To-morrow we play Oxford. Yesterday we all came up and we settled atBentley's private hotel. At ten o'clock I went round and saw that allthe fellows had gone to roost, for I believe in strict training andplenty of sleep to keep a team fit. I had a word or two with Godfreybefore he turned in. He seemed to me to be pale and bothered. I askedhim what was the matter. He said he was all right--just a touch ofheadache. I bade him good-night and left him. Half an hour later theporter tells me that a rough-looking man with a beard called with a notefor Godfrey. He had not gone to bed and the note was taken to his room.Godfrey read it and fell back in a chair as if he had been pole-axed.The porter was so scared that he was going to fetch me, but Godfreystopped him, had a drink of water, and pulled himself together. Thenhe went downstairs, said a few words to the man who was waiting in thehall, and the two of them went off together. The last that the portersaw of them, they were almost running down the street in the directionof the Strand. This morning Godfrey's room was empty, his bed had neverbeen slept in, and his things were all just as I had seen them the nightbefore. He had gone off at a moment's notice with this stranger, and noword has come from him since. I don't believe he will ever come back. Hewas a sportsman, was Godfrey, down to his marrow, and he wouldn't havestopped his training and let in his skipper if it were not for somecause that was too strong for him. No; I feel as if he were gone forgood and we should never see him again."
Sherlock Holmes listened with the deepest attention to this singularnarrative.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"I wired to Cambridge to learn if anything had been heard of him there.I have had an answer. No one has seen him."
"Could he have got back to Cambridge?"
"Yes, there is a late train--quarter-past eleven."
"But so far as you can ascertain he did not take it?"
"No, he has not been seen."
"What did you do next?"
"I wired to Lord Mount-James."
"Why to Lord Mount-James?"
"Godfrey is an orphan, and Lord Mount-James is his nearest relative--hisuncle, I believe."
"Indeed. This throws new light upon the matter. Lord Mount-James is oneof the richest men in England."
"So I've heard Godfrey say."
"And your friend was closely related?"
"Yes, he was his heir, and the old boy is nearly eighty--cram full ofgout, too. They say he could chalk his billiard-cue with his knuckles.He never allowed Godfrey a shilling in his life, for he is an absolutemiser, but it will all come to him right enough."
"Have you heard from Lord Mount-James?"
"No."
"What motive could your friend have in going to Lord Mount-James?"
"Well, something was worrying him the night before, and if it was to dowith money it is possibl
e that he would make for his nearest relativewho had so much of it, though from all I have heard he would not havemuch chance of getting it. Godfrey was not fond of the old man. He wouldnot go if he could help it."
"Well, we can soon determine that. If your friend was going to hisrelative, Lord Mount-James, you have then to explain the visit of thisrough-looking fellow at so late an hour, and the agitation that wascaused by his coming."
Cyril Overton pressed his hands to his head. "I can make nothing of it,"said he.
"Well, well, I have a clear day, and I shall be happy to look into thematter," said Holmes. "I should strongly recommend you to make yourpreparations for your match without reference to this young gentleman.It must, as you say, have been an overpowering necessity which tore himaway in such a fashion, and the same necessity is likely to hold himaway. Let us step round together to this hotel, and see if the portercan throw any fresh light upon the matter."
Sherlock Holmes was a past-master in the art of putting a humblewitness at his ease, and very soon, in the privacy of Godfrey Staunton'sabandoned room, he had extracted all that the porter had to tell.The visitor of the night before was not a gentleman, neither was hea working man. He was simply what the porter described as a"medium-looking chap"; a man of fifty, beard grizzled, pale face,quietly dressed. He seemed himself to be agitated. The porter hadobserved his hand trembling when he had held out the note. GodfreyStaunton had crammed the note into his pocket. Staunton had not shakenhands with the man in the hall. They had exchanged a few sentences, ofwhich the porter had only distinguished the one word "time." Then theyhad hurried off in the manner described. It was just half-past ten bythe hall clock.
"Let me see," said Holmes, seating himself on Staunton's bed. "You arethe day porter, are you not?"
"Yes, sir; I go off duty at eleven."
"The night porter saw nothing, I suppose?"
"No, sir; one theatre party came in late. No one else."
"Were you on duty all day yesterday?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you take any messages to Mr. Staunton?"
"Yes, sir; one telegram."
"Ah! that's interesting. What o'clock was this?"
"About six."
"Where was Mr. Staunton when he received it?"
"Here in his room."
"Were you present when he opened it?"
"Yes, sir; I waited to see if there was an answer."
"Well, was there?"
"Yes, sir. He wrote an answer."
"Did you take it?"
"No; he took it himself."
"But he wrote it in your presence?"
"Yes, sir. I was standing by the door, and he with his back turned atthat table. When he had written it he said, 'All right, porter, I willtake this myself.'"
"What did he write it with?"
"A pen, sir."
"Was the telegraphic form one of these on the table?"
"Yes, sir; it was the top one."
Holmes rose. Taking the forms he carried them over to the window andcarefully examined that which was uppermost.
"It is a pity he did not write in pencil," said he, throwing them downagain with a shrug of disappointment. "As you have no doubt frequentlyobserved, Watson, the impression usually goes through--a fact which hasdissolved many a happy marriage. However, I can find no trace here. Irejoice, however, to perceive that he wrote with a broad-pointed quillpen, and I can hardly doubt that we will find some impression upon thisblotting-pad. Ah, yes, surely this is the very thing!"
He tore off a strip of the blotting-paper and turned towards us thefollowing hieroglyphic:--
GRAPHIC
Cyril Overton was much excited. "Hold it to the glass!" he cried.
"That is unnecessary," said Holmes. "The paper is thin, and the reversewill give the message. Here it is." He turned it over and we read:--
GRAPHIC
"So that is the tail end of the telegram which Godfrey Stauntondispatched within a few hours of his disappearance. There are at leastsix words of the message which have escaped us; but what remains--'Standby us for God's sake!'--proves that this young man saw a formidabledanger which approached him, and from which someone else could protecthim. 'US,' mark you! Another person was involved. Who should it be butthe pale-faced, bearded man, who seemed himself in so nervous a state?What, then, is the connection between Godfrey Staunton and the beardedman? And what is the third source from which each of them sought forhelp against pressing danger? Our inquiry has already narrowed down tothat."
"We have only to find to whom that telegram is addressed," I suggested.
"Exactly, my dear Watson. Your reflection, though profound, had alreadycrossed my mind. But I dare say it may have come to your notice that ifyou walk into a post-office and demand to see the counterfoil of anotherman's message there may be some disinclination on the part of theofficials to oblige you. There is so much red tape in these matters!However, I have no doubt that with a little delicacy and finesse the endmay be attained. Meanwhile, I should like in your presence, Mr. Overton,to go through these papers which have been left upon the table."
There were a number of letters, bills, and note-books, which Holmesturned over and examined with quick, nervous fingers and darting,penetrating eyes. "Nothing here," he said, at last. "By the way, Isuppose your friend was a healthy young fellow--nothing amiss with him?"
"Sound as a bell."
"Have you ever known him ill?"
"Not a day. He has been laid up with a hack, and once he slipped hisknee-cap, but that was nothing."
"Perhaps he was not so strong as you suppose. I should think he may havehad some secret trouble. With your assent I will put one or two of thesepapers in my pocket, in case they should bear upon our future inquiry."
"One moment! one moment!" cried a querulous voice, and we looked up tofind a queer little old man, jerking and twitching in the doorway. Hewas dressed in rusty black, with a very broad brimmed top-hat and aloose white necktie--the whole effect being that of a very rustic parsonor of an undertaker's mute. Yet, in spite of his shabby and even absurdappearance, his voice had a sharp crackle, and his manner a quickintensity which commanded attention.
"Who are you, sir, and by what right do you touch this gentleman'spapers?" he asked.
"I am a private detective, and I am endeavouring to explain hisdisappearance."
"Oh, you are, are you? And who instructed you, eh?"
"This gentleman, Mr. Staunton's friend, was referred to me by ScotlandYard."
"Who are you, sir?"
"I am Cyril Overton."
"Then it is you who sent me a telegram. My name is Lord Mount-James. Icame round as quickly as the Bayswater 'bus would bring me. So you haveinstructed a detective?"
"Yes, sir."
"And are you prepared to meet the cost?"
"I have no doubt, sir, that my friend Godfrey, when we find him, will beprepared to do that."
"But if he is never found, eh? Answer me that!"
"In that case no doubt his family----"
"Nothing of the sort, sir!" screamed the little man. "Don't look to mefor a penny--not a penny! You understand that, Mr. Detective! I am allthe family that this young man has got, and I tell you that I am notresponsible. If he has any expectations it is due to the fact that Ihave never wasted money, and I do not propose to begin to do so now. Asto those papers with which you are making so free, I may tell you thatin case there should be anything of any value among them you will beheld strictly to account for what you do with them."
"Very good, sir," said Sherlock Holmes. "May I ask in the meanwhilewhether you have yourself any theory to account for this young man'sdisappearance?"
"No, sir, I have not. He is big enough and old enough to look afterhimself, and if he is so foolish as to lose himself I entirely refuse toaccept the responsibility of hunting for him."
"I quite understand your position," said Holmes, with a mischievoustwinkle in his eyes. "Perhaps you don't quite understand mine. GodfreyS
taunton appears to have been a poor man. If he has been kidnapped itcould not have been for anything which he himself possesses. The fameof your wealth has gone abroad, Lord Mount-James, and it is entirelypossible that a gang of thieves have secured your nephew in order togain from him some information as to your house, your habits, and yourtreasure."
The face of our unpleasant little visitor turned as white as hisneckcloth.
"Heavens, sir, what an idea! I never thought of such villainy! Whatinhuman rogues there are in the world! But Godfrey is a fine lad--astaunch lad. Nothing would induce him to give his old uncle away. I'llhave the plate moved over to the bank this evening. In the meantimespare no pains, Mr. Detective! I beg you to leave no stone unturned tobring him safely back. As to money, well, so far as a fiver, or even atenner, goes, you can always look to me."
Even in his chastened frame of mind the noble miser could give us noinformation which could help us, for he knew little of the private lifeof his nephew. Our only clue lay in the truncated telegram, and with acopy of this in his hand Holmes set forth to find a second link forhis chain. We had shaken off Lord Mount-James, and Overton had gone toconsult with the other members of his team over the misfortune which hadbefallen them.
There was a telegraph-office at a short distance from the hotel. Wehalted outside it.
"It's worth trying, Watson," said Holmes. "Of course, with a warrant wecould demand to see the counterfoils, but we have not reached that stageyet. I don't suppose they remember faces in so busy a place. Let usventure it."
"I am sorry to trouble you," said he, in his blandest manner, to theyoung woman behind the grating; "there is some small mistake about atelegram I sent yesterday. I have had no answer, and I very much fearthat I must have omitted to put my name at the end. Could you tell me ifthis was so?"
The young woman turned over a sheaf of counterfoils.
"What o'clock was it?" she asked.
"A little after six."
"Whom was it to?"
Holmes put his finger to his lips and glanced at me. "The last wordsin it were 'for God's sake,'" he whispered, confidentially; "I am veryanxious at getting no answer."
The young woman separated one of the forms.
"This is it. There is no name," said she, smoothing it out upon thecounter.
"Then that, of course, accounts for my getting no answer," said Holmes."Dear me, how very stupid of me, to be sure! Good morning, miss, andmany thanks for having relieved my mind." He chuckled and rubbed hishands when we found ourselves in the street once more.
"Well?" I asked.
"We progress, my dear Watson, we progress. I had seven different schemesfor getting a glimpse of that telegram, but I could hardly hope tosucceed the very first time."
"And what have you gained?"
"A starting-point for our investigation." He hailed a cab. "King's CrossStation," said he.
"We have a journey, then?"
"Yes; I think we must run down to Cambridge together. All theindications seem to me to point in that direction."
"Tell me," I asked, as we rattled up Gray's Inn Road, "have you anysuspicion yet as to the cause of the disappearance? I don't think thatamong all our cases I have known one where the motives are more obscure.Surely you don't really imagine that he may be kidnapped in order togive information against his wealthy uncle?"
"I confess, my dear Watson, that that does not appeal to me as a veryprobable explanation. It struck me, however, as being the one which wasmost likely to interest that exceedingly unpleasant old person."
"It certainly did that. But what are your alternatives?"
"I could mention several. You must admit that it is curious andsuggestive that this incident should occur on the eve of this importantmatch, and should involve the only man whose presence seems essentialto the success of the side. It may, of course, be coincidence, but itis interesting. Amateur sport is free from betting, but a good deal ofoutside betting goes on among the public, and it is possible that itmight be worth someone's while to get at a player as the ruffians ofthe turf get at a race-horse. There is one explanation. A secondvery obvious one is that this young man really is the heir of a greatproperty, however modest his means may at present be, and it is notimpossible that a plot to hold him for ransom might be concocted."
"These theories take no account of the telegram."
"Quite true, Watson. The telegram still remains the only solid thingwith which we have to deal, and we must not permit our attention towander away from it. It is to gain light upon the purpose of thistelegram that we are now upon our way to Cambridge. The path of ourinvestigation is at present obscure, but I shall be very much surprisedif before evening we have not cleared it up or made a considerableadvance along it."
It was already dark when we reached the old University city. Holmes tooka cab at the station, and ordered the man to drive to the house of Dr.Leslie Armstrong. A few minutes later we had stopped at a large mansionin the busiest thoroughfare. We were shown in, and after a long waitwere at last admitted into the consulting-room, where we found thedoctor seated behind his table.
It argues the degree in which I had lost touch with my profession thatthe name of Leslie Armstrong was unknown to me. Now I am aware that heis not only one of the heads of the medical school of the University,but a thinker of European reputation in more than one branch of science.Yet even without knowing his brilliant record one could not fail to beimpressed by a mere glance at the man, the square, massive face, thebrooding eyes under the thatched brows, and the granite moulding of theinflexible jaw. A man of deep character, a man with an alert mind, grim,ascetic, self-contained, formidable--so I read Dr. Leslie Armstrong. Heheld my friend's card in his hand, and he looked up with no very pleasedexpression upon his dour features.
"I have heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I am aware of yourprofession, one of which I by no means approve."
"In that, doctor, you will find yourself in agreement with everycriminal in the country," said my friend, quietly.
"So far as your efforts are directed towards the suppression of crime,sir, they must have the support of every reasonable member of thecommunity, though I cannot doubt that the official machinery is amplysufficient for the purpose. Where your calling is more open to criticismis when you pry into the secrets of private individuals, when you rakeup family matters which are better hidden, and when you incidentallywaste the time of men who are more busy than yourself. At the presentmoment, for example, I should be writing a treatise instead ofconversing with you."
"No doubt, doctor; and yet the conversation may prove more importantthan the treatise. Incidentally I may tell you that we are doing thereverse of what you very justly blame, and that we are endeavouringto prevent anything like public exposure of private matters which mustnecessarily follow when once the case is fairly in the hands of theofficial police. You may look upon me simply as an irregular pioneer whogoes in front of the regular forces of the country. I have come to askyou about Mr. Godfrey Staunton."
"What about him?"
"You know him, do you not?"
"He is an intimate friend of mine."
"You are aware that he has disappeared?"
"Ah, indeed!" There was no change of expression in the rugged featuresof the doctor.
"He left his hotel last night. He has not been heard of."
"No doubt he will return."
"To-morrow is the 'Varsity football match."
"I have no sympathy with these childish games. The young man's fateinterests me deeply, since I know him and like him. The football matchdoes not come within my horizon at all."
"I claim your sympathy, then, in my investigation of Mr. Staunton'sfate. Do you know where he is?"
"Certainly not."
"You have not seen him since yesterday?"
"No, I have not."
"Was Mr. Staunton a healthy man?"
"Absolutely."
"Did you ever know him ill?"
"Never."
Ho
lmes popped a sheet of paper before the doctor's eyes. "Then perhapsyou will explain this receipted bill for thirteen guineas, paid by Mr.Godfrey Staunton last month to Dr. Leslie Armstrong of Cambridge. Ipicked it out from among the papers upon his desk."
The doctor flushed with anger.
"I do not feel that there is any reason why I should render anexplanation to you, Mr. Holmes."
Holmes replaced the bill in his note-book. "If you prefer a publicexplanation it must come sooner or later," said he. "I have already toldyou that I can hush up that which others will be bound to publish, andyou would really be wiser to take me into your complete confidence."
"I know nothing about it."
"Did you hear from Mr. Staunton in London?"
"Certainly not."
"Dear me, dear me; the post-office again!" Holmes sighed, wearily."A most urgent telegram was dispatched to you from London by GodfreyStaunton at six-fifteen yesterday evening--a telegram which isundoubtedly associated with his disappearance--and yet you have not hadit. It is most culpable. I shall certainly go down to the office hereand register a complaint."
Dr. Leslie Armstrong sprang up from behind his desk, and his dark facewas crimson with fury.
"I'll trouble you to walk out of my house, sir," said he. "You can tellyour employer, Lord Mount-James, that I do not wish to have anything todo either with him or with his agents. No, sir, not another word!" Herang the bell furiously. "John, show these gentlemen out!" A pompousbutler ushered us severely to the door, and we found ourselves in thestreet. Holmes burst out laughing.
"Dr. Leslie Armstrong is certainly a man of energy and character," saidhe. "I have not seen a man who, if he turned his talents that way, wasmore calculated to fill the gap left by the illustrious Moriarty.And now, my poor Watson, here we are, stranded and friendless in thisinhospitable town, which we cannot leave without abandoning our case.This little inn just opposite Armstrong's house is singularly adapted toour needs. If you would engage a front room and purchase the necessariesfor the night, I may have time to make a few inquiries."
These few inquiries proved, however, to be a more lengthy proceedingthan Holmes had imagined, for he did not return to the inn until nearlynine o'clock. He was pale and dejected, stained with dust, and exhaustedwith hunger and fatigue. A cold supper was ready upon the table, andwhen his needs were satisfied and his pipe alight he was ready to takethat half comic and wholly philosophic view which was natural to himwhen his affairs were going awry. The sound of carriage wheels causedhim to rise and glance out of the window. A brougham and pair of greysunder the glare of a gas-lamp stood before the doctor's door.
"It's been out three hours," said Holmes; "started at half-past six, andhere it is back again. That gives a radius of ten or twelve miles, andhe does it once, or sometimes twice, a day."
"No unusual thing for a doctor in practice."
"But Armstrong is not really a doctor in practice. He is a lecturer anda consultant, but he does not care for general practice, which distractshim from his literary work. Why, then, does he make these long journeys,which must be exceedingly irksome to him, and who is it that he visits?"
"His coachman----"
"My dear Watson, can you doubt that it was to him that I first applied?I do not know whether it came from his own innate depravity or from thepromptings of his master, but he was rude enough to set a dog at me.Neither dog nor man liked the look of my stick, however, and the matterfell through. Relations were strained after that, and further inquiriesout of the question. All that I have learned I got from a friendlynative in the yard of our own inn. It was he who told me of the doctor'shabits and of his daily journey. At that instant, to give point to hiswords, the carriage came round to the door."
"Could you not follow it?"
"Excellent, Watson! You are scintillating this evening. The idea didcross my mind. There is, as you may have observed, a bicycle shop nextto our inn. Into this I rushed, engaged a bicycle, and was able to getstarted before the carriage was quite out of sight. I rapidly overtookit, and then, keeping at a discreet distance of a hundred yards or so, Ifollowed its lights until we were clear of the town. We had got well outon the country road when a somewhat mortifying incident occurred. Thecarriage stopped, the doctor alighted, walked swiftly back to where Ihad also halted, and told me in an excellent sardonic fashion thathe feared the road was narrow, and that he hoped his carriage did notimpede the passage of my bicycle. Nothing could have been more admirablethan his way of putting it. I at once rode past the carriage, and,keeping to the main road, I went on for a few miles, and then halted ina convenient place to see if the carriage passed. There was no sign ofit, however, and so it became evident that it had turned down one ofseveral side roads which I had observed. I rode back, but again sawnothing of the carriage, and now, as you perceive, it has returned afterme. Of course, I had at the outset no particular reason to connectthese journeys with the disappearance of Godfrey Staunton, and was onlyinclined to investigate them on the general grounds that everythingwhich concerns Dr. Armstrong is at present of interest to us; but, nowthat I find he keeps so keen a look-out upon anyone who may follow himon these excursions, the affair appears more important, and I shall notbe satisfied until I have made the matter clear."
"We can follow him to-morrow."
"Can we? It is not so easy as you seem to think. You are not familiarwith Cambridgeshire scenery, are you? It does not lend itself toconcealment. All this country that I passed over to-night is as flat andclean as the palm of your hand, and the man we are following is no fool,as he very clearly showed to-night. I have wired to Overton to let usknow any fresh London developments at this address, and in the meantimewe can only concentrate our attention upon Dr. Armstrong, whose namethe obliging young lady at the office allowed me to read upon thecounterfoil of Staunton's urgent message. He knows where the young manis--to that I'll swear--and if he knows, then it must be our own faultif we cannot manage to know also. At present it must be admitted thatthe odd trick is in his possession, and, as you are aware, Watson, it isnot my habit to leave the game in that condition."
And yet the next day brought us no nearer to the solution of themystery. A note was handed in after breakfast, which Holmes passedacross to me with a smile.
"Sir," it ran, "I can assure you that you are wasting your time indogging my movements. I have, as you discovered last night, a window atthe back of my brougham, and if you desire a twenty-mile ride which willlead you to the spot from which you started, you have only to follow me.Meanwhile, I can inform you that no spying upon me can in any way helpMr. Godfrey Staunton, and I am convinced that the best service you cando to that gentleman is to return at once to London and to report toyour employer that you are unable to trace him. Your time in Cambridgewill certainly be wasted.
"Yours faithfully,
"LESLIE ARMSTRONG."
"An outspoken, honest antagonist is the doctor," said Holmes. "Well,well, he excites my curiosity, and I must really know more before Ileave him."
"His carriage is at his door now," said I. "There he is stepping intoit. I saw him glance up at our window as he did so. Suppose I try myluck upon the bicycle?"
"No, no, my dear Watson! With all respect for your natural acumen I donot think that you are quite a match for the worthy doctor. I think thatpossibly I can attain our end by some independent explorations of myown. I am afraid that I must leave you to your own devices, as theappearance of TWO inquiring strangers upon a sleepy countryside mightexcite more gossip than I care for. No doubt you will find some sightsto amuse you in this venerable city, and I hope to bring back a morefavourable report to you before evening."
Once more, however, my friend was destined to be disappointed. He cameback at night weary and unsuccessful.
"I have had a blank day, Watson. Having got the doctor's generaldirection, I spent the day in visiting all the villages upon that sideof Cambridge, and comparing notes with publicans and other local newsagencies. I have covered some ground: Cheste
rton, Histon, Waterbeach,and Oakington have each been explored and have each proveddisappointing. The daily appearance of a brougham and pair could hardlyhave been overlooked in such Sleepy Hollows. The doctor has scored oncemore. Is there a telegram for me?"
"Yes; I opened it. Here it is: 'Ask for Pompey from Jeremy Dixon,Trinity College.' I don't understand it."
"Oh, it is clear enough. It is from our friend Overton, and is in answerto a question from me. I'll just send round a note to Mr. Jeremy Dixon,and then I have no doubt that our luck will turn. By the way, is thereany news of the match?"
"Yes, the local evening paper has an excellent account in its lastedition. Oxford won by a goal and two tries. The last sentences ofthe description say: 'The defeat of the Light Blues may be entirelyattributed to the unfortunate absence of the crack International,Godfrey Staunton, whose want was felt at every instant of the game. Thelack of combination in the three-quarter line and their weakness bothin attack and defence more than neutralized the efforts of a heavy andhard-working pack.'"
"Then our friend Overton's forebodings have been justified," saidHolmes. "Personally I am in agreement with Dr. Armstrong, and footballdoes not come within my horizon. Early to bed to-night, Watson, for Iforesee that to-morrow may be an eventful day."
I was horrified by my first glimpse of Holmes next morning, for hesat by the fire holding his tiny hypodermic syringe. I associated thatinstrument with the single weakness of his nature, and I feared theworst when I saw it glittering in his hand. He laughed at my expressionof dismay, and laid it upon the table.
"No, no, my dear fellow, there is no cause for alarm. It is not uponthis occasion the instrument of evil, but it will rather prove to be thekey which will unlock our mystery. On this syringe I base all my hopes.I have just returned from a small scouting expedition and everything isfavourable. Eat a good breakfast, Watson, for I propose to get upon Dr.Armstrong's trail to-day, and once on it I will not stop for rest orfood until I run him to his burrow."
"In that case," said I, "we had best carry our breakfast with us, for heis making an early start. His carriage is at the door."
"Never mind. Let him go. He will be clever if he can drive where Icannot follow him. When you have finished come downstairs with me, andI will introduce you to a detective who is a very eminent specialist inthe work that lies before us."
When we descended I followed Holmes into the stable yard, wherehe opened the door of a loose-box and led out a squat, lop-eared,white-and-tan dog, something between a beagle and a foxhound.
"Let me introduce you to Pompey," said he. "Pompey is the pride of thelocal draghounds, no very great flier, as his build will show, buta staunch hound on a scent. Well, Pompey, you may not be fast, butI expect you will be too fast for a couple of middle-aged Londongentlemen, so I will take the liberty of fastening this leather leash toyour collar. Now, boy, come along, and show what you can do." He led himacross to the doctor's door. The dog sniffed round for an instant, andthen with a shrill whine of excitement started off down the street,tugging at his leash in his efforts to go faster. In half an hour, wewere clear of the town and hastening down a country road.
"What have you done, Holmes?" I asked.
"A threadbare and venerable device, but useful upon occasion. I walkedinto the doctor's yard this morning and shot my syringe full of aniseedover the hind wheel. A draghound will follow aniseed from here to Johno' Groat's, and our friend Armstrong would have to drive through the Cambefore he would shake Pompey off his trail. Oh, the cunning rascal! Thisis how he gave me the slip the other night."
The dog had suddenly turned out of the main road into a grass-grownlane. Half a mile farther this opened into another broad road, and thetrail turned hard to the right in the direction of the town, which wehad just quitted. The road took a sweep to the south of the town andcontinued in the opposite direction to that in which we started.
"This DETOUR has been entirely for our benefit, then?" said Holmes. "Nowonder that my inquiries among those villages led to nothing. The doctorhas certainly played the game for all it is worth, and one would like toknow the reason for such elaborate deception. This should be the villageof Trumpington to the right of us. And, by Jove! here is the broughamcoming round the corner. Quick, Watson, quick, or we are done!"
He sprang through a gate into a field, dragging the reluctant Pompeyafter him. We had hardly got under the shelter of the hedge when thecarriage rattled past. I caught a glimpse of Dr. Armstrong within, hisshoulders bowed, his head sunk on his hands, the very image of distress.I could tell by my companion's graver face that he also had seen.
"I fear there is some dark ending to our quest," said he. "It cannotbe long before we know it. Come, Pompey! Ah, it is the cottage in thefield!"
There could be no doubt that we had reached the end of our journey.Pompey ran about and whined eagerly outside the gate where the marks ofthe brougham's wheels were still to be seen. A footpath led across tothe lonely cottage. Holmes tied the dog to the hedge, and we hastenedonwards. My friend knocked at the little rustic door, and knocked againwithout response. And yet the cottage was not deserted, for a low soundcame to our ears--a kind of drone of misery and despair, which wasindescribably melancholy. Holmes paused irresolute, and then he glancedback at the road which we had just traversed. A brougham was coming downit, and there could be no mistaking those grey horses.
"By Jove, the doctor is coming back!" cried Holmes. "That settles it. Weare bound to see what it means before he comes."
He opened the door and we stepped into the hall. The droning soundswelled louder upon our ears until it became one long, deep wail ofdistress. It came from upstairs. Holmes darted up and I followed him. Hepushed open a half-closed door and we both stood appalled at the sightbefore us.
A woman, young and beautiful, was lying dead upon the bed. Her calm,pale face, with dim, wide-opened blue eyes, looked upward from amid agreat tangle of golden hair. At the foot of the bed, half sitting, halfkneeling, his face buried in the clothes, was a young man, whose framewas racked by his sobs. So absorbed was he by his bitter grief that henever looked up until Holmes's hand was on his shoulder.
"Are you Mr. Godfrey Staunton?"
"Yes, yes; I am--but you are too late. She is dead."
The man was so dazed that he could not be made to understand that wewere anything but doctors who had been sent to his assistance. Holmeswas endeavouring to utter a few words of consolation, and to explain thealarm which had been caused to his friends by his sudden disappearance,when there was a step upon the stairs, and there was the heavy, stern,questioning face of Dr. Armstrong at the door.
"So, gentlemen," said he, "you have attained your end, and havecertainly chosen a particularly delicate moment for your intrusion. Iwould not brawl in the presence of death, but I can assure you that if Iwere a younger man your monstrous conduct would not pass with impunity."
"Excuse me, Dr. Armstrong, I think we are a little at cross-purposes,"said my friend, with dignity. "If you could step downstairs with us wemay each be able to give some light to the other upon this miserableaffair."
A minute later the grim doctor and ourselves were in the sitting-roombelow.
"Well, sir?" said he.
"I wish you to understand, in the first place, that I am not employedby Lord Mount-James, and that my sympathies in this matter are entirelyagainst that nobleman. When a man is lost it is my duty to ascertain hisfate, but having done so the matter ends so far as I am concerned; andso long as there is nothing criminal, I am much more anxious to hush upprivate scandals than to give them publicity. If, as I imagine, there isno breach of the law in this matter, you can absolutely depend upon mydiscretion and my co-operation in keeping the facts out of the papers."
Dr. Armstrong took a quick step forward and wrung Holmes by the hand.
"You are a good fellow," said he. "I had misjudged you. I thank Heaventhat my compunction at leaving poor Staunton all alone in this plightcaused me to turn my carriage back, and so to m
ake your acquaintance.Knowing as much as you do, the situation is very easily explained.A year ago Godfrey Staunton lodged in London for a time, and becamepassionately attached to his landlady's daughter, whom he married. Shewas as good as she was beautiful, and as intelligent as she was good.No man need be ashamed of such a wife. But Godfrey was the heir to thiscrabbed old nobleman, and it was quite certain that the news of hismarriage would have been the end of his inheritance. I knew the ladwell, and I loved him for his many excellent qualities. I did all Icould to help him to keep things straight. We did our very best to keepthe thing from everyone, for when once such a whisper gets about it isnot long before everyone has heard it. Thanks to this lonely cottage andhis own discretion, Godfrey has up to now succeeded. Their secret wasknown to no one save to me and to one excellent servant who has atpresent gone for assistance to Trumpington. But at last there came aterrible blow in the shape of dangerous illness to his wife. It wasconsumption of the most virulent kind. The poor boy was half crazed withgrief, and yet he had to go to London to play this match, for he couldnot get out of it without explanations which would expose his secret. Itried to cheer him up by a wire, and he sent me one in reply imploringme to do all I could. This was the telegram which you appear in someinexplicable way to have seen. I did not tell him how urgent the dangerwas, for I knew that he could do no good here, but I sent the truth tothe girl's father, and he very injudiciously communicated it to Godfrey.The result was that he came straight away in a state bordering onfrenzy, and has remained in the same state, kneeling at the end of herbed, until this morning death put an end to her sufferings. That is all,Mr. Holmes, and I am sure that I can rely upon your discretion and thatof your friend."
Holmes grasped the doctor's hand.
"Come, Watson," said he, and we passed from that house of grief into thepale sunlight of the winter day.
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THE STRAND MAGAZINE Vol. 28 SEPTEMBER, 1904 THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
The Return of Sherlock Holmes Page 11