Chapter 4
Darkness
At three in the morning the chief Sussex detective, obeying the urgentcall from Sergeant Wilson of Birlstone, arrived from headquarters in alight dog-cart behind a breathless trotter. By the five-forty train inthe morning he had sent his message to Scotland Yard, and he was at theBirlstone station at twelve o'clock to welcome us. White Mason was aquiet, comfortable-looking person in a loose tweed suit, with aclean-shaved, ruddy face, a stoutish body, and powerful bandy legsadorned with gaiters, looking like a small farmer, a retiredgamekeeper, or anything upon earth except a very favourable specimen ofthe provincial criminal officer.
"A real downright snorter, Mr. MacDonald!" he kept repeating. "We'llhave the pressmen down like flies when they understand it. I'm hopingwe will get our work done before they get poking their noses into itand messing up all the trails. There has been nothing like this that Ican remember. There are some bits that will come home to you, Mr.Holmes, or I am mistaken. And you also, Dr. Watson; for the medicoswill have a word to say before we finish. Your room is at the WestvilleArms. There's no other place; but I hear that it is clean and good. Theman will carry your bags. This way, gentlemen, if you please."
He was a very bustling and genial person, this Sussex detective. In tenminutes we had all found our quarters. In ten more we were seated inthe parlour of the inn and being treated to a rapid sketch of thoseevents which have been outlined in the previous chapter. MacDonald madean occasional note, while Holmes sat absorbed, with the expression ofsurprised and reverent admiration with which the botanist surveys therare and precious bloom.
"Remarkable!" he said, when the story was unfolded, "most remarkable! Ican hardly recall any case where the features have been more peculiar."
"I thought you would say so, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason in greatdelight. "We're well up with the times in Sussex. I've told you now howmatters were, up to the time when I took over from Sergeant Wilsonbetween three and four this morning. My word! I made the old mare go!But I need not have been in such a hurry, as it turned out; for therewas nothing immediate that I could do. Sergeant Wilson had all thefacts. I checked them and considered them and maybe added a few of myown."
"What were they?" asked Holmes eagerly.
"Well, I first had the hammer examined. There was Dr. Wood there tohelp me. We found no signs of violence upon it. I was hoping that ifMr. Douglas defended himself with the hammer, he might have left hismark upon the murderer before he dropped it on the mat. But there wasno stain."
"That, of course, proves nothing at all," remarked Inspector MacDonald."There has been many a hammer murder and no trace on the hammer."
"Quite so. It doesn't prove it wasn't used. But there might have beenstains, and that would have helped us. As a matter of fact there werenone. Then I examined the gun. They were buckshot cartridges, and, asSergeant Wilson pointed out, the triggers were wired together so that,if you pulled on the hinder one, both barrels were discharged. Whoeverfixed that up had made up his mind that he was going to take no chancesof missing his man. The sawed gun was not more than two foot long--onecould carry it easily under one's coat. There was no complete maker'sname; but the printed letters P-E-N were on the fluting between thebarrels, and the rest of the name had been cut off by the saw."
"A big P with a flourish above it, E and N smaller?" asked Holmes.
"Exactly."
"Pennsylvania Small Arms Company--well-known American firm," saidHolmes.
White Mason gazed at my friend as the little village practitioner looksat the Harley Street specialist who by a word can solve thedifficulties that perplex him.
"That is very helpful, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. Wonderful!Wonderful! Do you carry the names of all the gun makers in the world inyour memory?"
Holmes dismissed the subject with a wave.
"No doubt it is an American shotgun," White Mason continued. "I seem tohave read that a sawed-off shotgun is a weapon used in some parts ofAmerica. Apart from the name upon the barrel, the idea had occurred tome. There is some evidence then, that this man who entered the houseand killed its master was an American."
MacDonald shook his head. "Man, you are surely travelling overfast,"said he. "I have heard no evidence yet that any stranger was ever inthe house at all."
"The open window, the blood on the sill, the queer card, the marks ofboots in the corner, the gun!"
"Nothing there that could not have been arranged. Mr. Douglas was anAmerican, or had lived long in America. So had Mr. Barker. You don'tneed to import an American from outside in order to account forAmerican doings."
"Ames, the butler--"
"What about him? Is he reliable?"
"Ten years with Sir Charles Chandos--as solid as a rock. He has beenwith Douglas ever since he took the Manor House five years ago. He hasnever seen a gun of this sort in the house."
"The gun was made to conceal. That's why the barrels were sawed. Itwould fit into any box. How could he swear there was no such gun in thehouse?"
"Well, anyhow, he had never seen one."
MacDonald shook his obstinate Scotch head. "I'm not convinced yet thatthere was ever anyone in the house," said he. "I'm asking you toconseedar" (his accent became more Aberdonian as he lost himself in hisargument) "I'm asking you to conseedar what it involves if you supposethat this gun was ever brought into the house, and that all thesestrange things were done by a person from outside. Oh, man, it's justinconceivable! It's clean against common sense! I put it to you, Mr.Holmes, judging it by what we have heard."
"Well, state your case, Mr. Mac," said Holmes in his most judicialstyle.
"The man is not a burglar, supposing that he ever existed. The ringbusiness and the card point to premeditated murder for some privatereason. Very good. Here is a man who slips into a house with thedeliberate intention of committing murder. He knows, if he knowsanything, that he will have a deeficulty in making his escape, as thehouse is surrounded with water. What weapon would he choose? You wouldsay the most silent in the world. Then he could hope when the deed wasdone to slip quickly from the window, to wade the moat, and to get awayat his leisure. That's understandable. But is it understandable that heshould go out of his way to bring with him the most noisy weapon hecould select, knowing well that it will fetch every human being in thehouse to the spot as quick as they can run, and that it is all oddsthat he will be seen before he can get across the moat? Is thatcredible, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, you put the case strongly," my friend replied thoughtfully. "Itcertainly needs a good deal of justification. May I ask, Mr. WhiteMason, whether you examined the farther side of the moat at once to seeif there were any signs of the man having climbed out from the water?"
"There were no signs, Mr. Holmes. But it is a stone ledge, and onecould hardly expect them."
"No tracks or marks?"
"None."
"Ha! Would there be any objection, Mr. White Mason, to our going downto the house at once? There may possibly be some small point whichmight be suggestive."
"I was going to propose it, Mr. Holmes; but I thought it well to putyou in touch with all the facts before we go. I suppose if anythingshould strike you--" White Mason looked doubtfully at the amateur.
"I have worked with Mr. Holmes before," said Inspector MacDonald. "Heplays the game."
"My own idea of the game, at any rate," said Holmes, with a smile. "Igo into a case to help the ends of justice and the work of the police.If I have ever separated myself from the official force, it is becausethey have first separated themselves from me. I have no wish ever toscore at their expense. At the same time, Mr. White Mason, I claim theright to work in my own way and give my results at my owntime--complete rather than in stages."
"I am sure we are honoured by your presence and to show you all weknow," said White Mason cordially. "Come along, Dr. Watson, and whenthe time comes we'll all hope for a place in your book."
We walked down the quaint village street with a row of pollarded elmson eac
h side of it. Just beyond were two ancient stone pillars,weather-stained and lichen-blotched bearing upon their summits ashapeless something which had once been the rampant lion of Capus ofBirlstone. A short walk along the winding drive with such sward andoaks around it as one only sees in rural England, then a sudden turn,and the long, low Jacobean house of dingy, liver-coloured brick laybefore us, with an old-fashioned garden of cut yews on each side of it.As we approached it, there was the wooden drawbridge and the beautifulbroad moat as still and luminous as quicksilver in the cold, wintersunshine.
Three centuries had flowed past the old Manor House, centuries ofbirths and of homecomings, of country dances and of the meetings of foxhunters. Strange that now in its old age this dark business should havecast its shadow upon the venerable walls! And yet those strange, peakedroofs and quaint, overhung gables were a fitting covering to grim andterrible intrigue. As I looked at the deep-set windows and the longsweep of the dull-coloured, water-lapped front, I felt that no morefitting scene could be set for such a tragedy.
"That's the window," said White Mason, "that one on the immediate rightof the drawbridge. It's open just as it was found last night."
"It looks rather narrow for a man to pass."
"Well, it wasn't a fat man, anyhow. We don't need your deductions, Mr.Holmes, to tell us that. But you or I could squeeze through all right."
Holmes walked to the edge of the moat and looked across. Then heexamined the stone ledge and the grass border beyond it.
"I've had a good look, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason. "There is nothingthere, no sign that anyone has landed--but why should he leave anysign?"
"Exactly. Why should he? Is the water always turbid?"
"Generally about this colour. The stream brings down the clay."
"How deep is it?"
"About two feet at each side and three in the middle."
"So we can put aside all idea of the man having been drowned incrossing."
"No, a child could not be drowned in it."
We walked across the drawbridge, and were admitted by a quaint,gnarled, dried-up person, who was the butler, Ames. The poor old fellowwas white and quivering from the shock. The village sergeant, a tall,formal, melancholy man, still held his vigil in the room of Fate. Thedoctor had departed.
"Anything fresh, Sergeant Wilson?" asked White Mason.
"No, sir."
"Then you can go home. You've had enough. We can send for you if wewant you. The butler had better wait outside. Tell him to warn Mr.Cecil Barker, Mrs. Douglas, and the housekeeper that we may want a wordwith them presently. Now, gentlemen, perhaps you will allow me to giveyou the views I have formed first, and then you will be able to arriveat your own."
He impressed me, this country specialist. He had a solid grip of factand a cool, clear, common-sense brain, which should take him some wayin his profession. Holmes listened to him intently, with no sign ofthat impatience which the official exponent too often produced.
"Is it suicide, or is it murder--that's our first question, gentlemen,is it not? If it were suicide, then we have to believe that this manbegan by taking off his wedding ring and concealing it; that he thencame down here in his dressing gown, trampled mud into a corner behindthe curtain in order to give the idea someone had waited for him,opened the window, put blood on the--"
"We can surely dismiss that," said MacDonald.
"So I think. Suicide is out of the question. Then a murder has beendone. What we have to determine is, whether it was done by someoneoutside or inside the house."
"Well, let's hear the argument."
"There are considerable difficulties both ways, and yet one or theother it must be. We will suppose first that some person or personsinside the house did the crime. They got this man down here at a timewhen everything was still and yet no one was asleep. They then did thedeed with the queerest and noisiest weapon in the world so as to telleveryone what had happened--a weapon that was never seen in the housebefore. That does not seem a very likely start, does it?"
"No, it does not."
"Well, then, everyone is agreed that after the alarm was given only aminute at the most had passed before the whole household--not Mr. CecilBarker alone, though he claims to have been the first, but Ames and allof them were on the spot. Do you tell me that in that time the guiltyperson managed to make footmarks in the corner, open the window, markthe sill with blood, take the wedding ring off the dead man's finger,and all the rest of it? It's impossible!"
"You put it very clearly," said Holmes. "I am inclined to agree withyou."
"Well, then, we are driven back to the theory that it was done bysomeone from outside. We are still faced with some big difficulties;but anyhow they have ceased to be impossibilities. The man got into thehouse between four-thirty and six; that is to say, between dusk and thetime when the bridge was raised. There had been some visitors, and thedoor was open; so there was nothing to prevent him. He may have been acommon burglar, or he may have had some private grudge against Mr.Douglas. Since Mr. Douglas has spent most of his life in America, andthis shotgun seems to be an American weapon, it would seem that theprivate grudge is the more likely theory. He slipped into this roombecause it was the first he came to, and he hid behind the curtain.There he remained until past eleven at night. At that time Mr. Douglasentered the room. It was a short interview, if there were any interviewat all; for Mrs. Douglas declares that her husband had not left hermore than a few minutes when she heard the shot."
"The candle shows that," said Holmes.
"Exactly. The candle, which was a new one, is not burned more than halfan inch. He must have placed it on the table before he was attacked;otherwise, of course, it would have fallen when he fell. This showsthat he was not attacked the instant that he entered the room. When Mr.Barker arrived the candle was lit and the lamp was out."
"That's all clear enough."
"Well, now, we can reconstruct things on those lines. Mr. Douglasenters the room. He puts down the candle. A man appears from behind thecurtain. He is armed with this gun. He demands the wedding ring--Heavenonly knows why, but so it must have been. Mr. Douglas gave it up. Theneither in cold blood or in the course of a struggle--Douglas may havegripped the hammer that was found upon the mat--he shot Douglas in thishorrible way. He dropped his gun and also it would seem this queercard--V. V. 341, whatever that may mean--and he made his escape throughthe window and across the moat at the very moment when Cecil Barker wasdiscovering the crime. How's that, Mr. Holmes?"
"Very interesting, but just a little unconvincing."
"Man, it would be absolute nonsense if it wasn't that anything else iseven worse!" cried MacDonald. "Somebody killed the man, and whoever itwas I could clearly prove to you that he should have done it some otherway. What does he mean by allowing his retreat to be cut off like that?What does he mean by using a shotgun when silence was his one chance ofescape? Come, Mr. Holmes, it's up to you to give us a lead, since yousay Mr. White Mason's theory is unconvincing."
Holmes had sat intently observant during this long discussion, missingno word that was said, with his keen eyes darting to right and to left,and his forehead wrinkled with speculation.
"I should like a few more facts before I get so far as a theory, Mr.Mac," said he, kneeling down beside the body. "Dear me! these injuriesare really appalling. Can we have the butler in for a moment? . . .Ames, I understand that you have often seen this very unusual mark--abranded triangle inside a circle--upon Mr. Douglas's forearm?"
"Frequently, sir."
"You never heard any speculation as to what it meant?"
"No, sir."
"It must have caused great pain when it was inflicted. It isundoubtedly a burn. Now, I observe, Ames, that there is a small pieceof plaster at the angle of Mr. Douglas's jaw. Did you observe that inlife?"
"Yes, sir, he cut himself in shaving yesterday morning."
"Did you ever know him to cut himself in shaving before?"
"Not for a very long time, sir."
"Suggestive!" said Holmes. "It may, of course, be a mere coincidence,or it may point to some nervousness which would indicate that he hadreason to apprehend danger. Had you noticed anything unusual in hisconduct, yesterday, Ames?"
"It struck me that he was a little restless and excited, sir."
"Ha! The attack may not have been entirely unexpected. We do seem tomake a little progress, do we not? Perhaps you would rather do thequestioning, Mr. Mac?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, it's in better hands than mine."
"Well, then, we will pass to this card--V. V. 341. It is roughcardboard. Have you any of the sort in the house?"
"I don't think so."
Holmes walked across to the desk and dabbed a little ink from eachbottle on to the blotting paper. "It was not printed in this room," hesaid; "this is black ink and the other purplish. It was done by a thickpen, and these are fine. No, it was done elsewhere, I should say. Canyou make anything of the inscription, Ames?"
"No, sir, nothing."
"What do you think, Mr. Mac?"
"It gives me the impression of a secret society of some sort; the samewith his badge upon the forearm."
"That's my idea, too," said White Mason.
"Well, we can adopt it as a working hypothesis and then see how far ourdifficulties disappear. An agent from such a society makes his way intothe house, waits for Mr. Douglas, blows his head nearly off with thisweapon, and escapes by wading the moat, after leaving a card beside thedead man, which will when mentioned in the papers, tell other membersof the society that vengeance has been done. That all hangs together.But why this gun, of all weapons?"
"Exactly."
"And why the missing ring?"
"Quite so."
"And why no arrest? It's past two now. I take it for granted that sincedawn every constable within forty miles has been looking out for a wetstranger?"
"That is so, Mr. Holmes."
"Well, unless he has a burrow close by or a change of clothes ready,they can hardly miss him. And yet they have missed him up to now!"Holmes had gone to the window and was examining with his lens the bloodmark on the sill. "It is clearly the tread of a shoe. It is remarkablybroad; a splay-foot, one would say. Curious, because, so far as one cantrace any footmark in this mud-stained corner, one would say it was amore shapely sole. However, they are certainly very indistinct. What'sthis under the side table?"
"Mr. Douglas's dumb-bells," said Ames.
"Dumb-bell--there's only one. Where's the other?"
"I don't know, Mr. Holmes. There may have been only one. I have notnoticed them for months."
"One dumb-bell--" Holmes said seriously; but his remarks wereinterrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
A tall, sunburned, capable-looking, clean-shaved man looked in at us. Ihad no difficulty in guessing that it was the Cecil Barker of whom Ihad heard. His masterful eyes travelled quickly with a questioningglance from face to face.
"Sorry to interrupt your consultation," said he, "but you should hearthe latest news."
"An arrest?"
"No such luck. But they've found his bicycle. The fellow left hisbicycle behind him. Come and have a look. It is within a hundred yardsof the hall door."
We found three or four grooms and idlers standing in the driveinspecting a bicycle which had been drawn out from a clump ofevergreens in which it had been concealed. It was a well usedRudge-Whitworth, splashed as from a considerable journey. There was asaddlebag with spanner and oilcan, but no clue as to the owner.
"It would be a grand help to the police," said the inspector, "if thesethings were numbered and registered. But we must be thankful for whatwe've got. If we can't find where he went to, at least we are likely toget where he came from. But what in the name of all that is wonderfulmade the fellow leave it behind? And how in the world has he got awaywithout it? We don't seem to get a gleam of light in the case, Mr.Holmes."
"Don't we?" my friend answered thoughtfully. "I wonder!"
The Valley of Fear Page 4