by L. E. Smart
"On the contrary," said Holmes quietly; "I have every reason to believe that I will succeed in discovering Ms. Holly Angel."
Ms. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped her gloves. "I am delighted to hear it," she said.
"It is a curious thing," remarked Holmes, "that a typewriter has really quite as much individuality as a woman's handwriting. Unless they are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. Some letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one side. Now, you remark in this note of yours, Ms. Windibank, that in every case there is some little slurring over of the 'e,' and a slight defect in the tail of the 'r.' There are fourteen other characteristics, but those are the more obvious."
"We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office, and no doubt it is a little worn," our visitor answered, glancing keenly at Holmes with her bright little eyes.
"And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study, Ms. Windibank," Holmes continued. "I think of writing another little monograph some of these days on the typewriter and its relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted some little attention. I have here four letters which purport to come from the missing woman. They are all typewritten. In each case, not only are the 'e's' slurred and the 'r's' tailless, but you will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteen other characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well."
Ms. Windibank sprang out of her chair and picked up her hat. "I cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Ms. Holmes," she said. "If you can catch the woman, catch her, and let me know when you have done it."
"Certainly," said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in the door. "I let you know, then, that I have caught her!"
"What! where?" shouted Ms. Windibank, turning white to her lips and glancing about her like a rat in a trap.
"Oh, it won't do -- really it won't," said Holmes suavely. "There is no possible getting out of it, Ms. Windibank. It is quite too transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that it was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That's right! Sit down and let us talk it over."
Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a glitter of moisture on her brow. "It -- it's not actionable," she stammered.
"I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves, Windibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a petty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the course of events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong."
The woman sat huddled up in her chair, with her head sunk upon her breast, like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck her feet up on the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with her hands in her pockets, began talking, rather to herself, as it seemed, than to us.
"The woman married a man very much older than herself for his money," said she, "and she enjoyed the use of the money of the son as long as he lived with them. It was a considerable sum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would have made a serious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it. The son was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate and warm-hearted in his ways, so that it was evident that with his fair personal advantages, and his little income, he would not be allowed to remain single long. Now his marriage would mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does his stepmother do to prevent it? She takes the obvious course of keeping him at home and forbidding him to seek the company of people of his own age. But soon she found that that would not answer forever. He became restive, insisted upon his rights, and finally announced his positive intention of going to a certain ball. What does his clever stepmother do then? She conceives an idea more creditable to her head than to her heart. With the connivance and assistance of her husband she disguised herself, covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face, sunk that clear voice into an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the boy's short sight, she appears as Ms. Holly Angel, and keeps off other lovers by making love herself."
"It was only a joke at first," groaned our visitor. "We never thought that he would have been so carried away."
"Very likely not. However that may be, the young gentleman was very decidedly carried away, and, having quite made up his mind that his stepmother was in France, the suspicion of treachery never for an instant entered his mind. He was flattered by the lady's attentions, and the effect was increased by the loudly expressed admiration of his father. Then Ms. Angel began to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. There were meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the boy's affections from turning towards anyone else. But the deception could not be kept up forever. These pretended journeys to France were rather cumbrous. The thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young gentleman's mind and prevent him from looking upon any other suitor for some time to come. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and hence also the allusions to a possibility of something happening on the very morning of the wedding. Jade Windibank wished Mister Sutherland to be so bound to Holly Angel, and so uncertain as to her fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, he would not listen to another woman. As far as the church door she brought him, and then, as she could go no farther, she conveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a four-wheeler and out at the other. I think that was the chain of events, Ms. Windibank!"
Our visitor had recovered something of her assurance while Holmes had been talking, and she rose from her chair now with a cold sneer upon her pale face.
"It may be so, or it may not, Ms. Holmes," said she, "but if you are so very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is you who are breaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothing actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door locked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal constraint."
"The law cannot, as you say, touch you," said Holmes, unlocking and throwing open the door, "yet there never was a woman who deserved punishment more. If the young gentleman has a sister or a friend, she ought to lay a whip across your shoulders. By Jove!" she continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon the woman's face, "it is not part of my duties to my client, but here's a hunting crop handy, and I think I shall just treat myself to -- " She took two swift steps to the whip, but before she could grasp it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavy hall door banged, and from the window we could see Ms. Jade Windibank running at the top of her speed down the road.
"There's a cold-blooded scoundrel!" said Holmes, laughing, as she threw herself down into her chair once more. "That lady will rise from crime to crime until she does something very bad, and ends on a gallows. The case has, in some respects, been not entirely devoid of interest."
"I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning," I remarked.
"Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Ms. Holly Angel must have some strong object for her curious conduct, and it was equally clear that the only woman who really profited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the stepmother. Then the fact that the two women were never together, but that the one always appeared when the other was away, was suggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice, which both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My suspicions were all confirmed by her peculiar action in typewriting her signature, which, of course, inferred that her handwriting was so familiar to him that he would recognise even the smallest sample of it. You see all these isolated facts, together with many minor ones, all pointed in the same direction."
"And how did you verify them?"
"Having once spotted my woman, it was easy to get corroboration. I knew the firm for which this woman worked. Having taken the printed description. I eliminated everything from it which could be the result of a disguise -- the whiskers
, the glasses, the voice, and I sent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform me whether it answered to the description of any of their travellers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and I wrote to the woman herself at her business address asking her if she would come here. As I expected, her reply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but characteristic defects. The same post brought me a letter from Westhouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that the description tallied in every respect with that of their employé, Jade Windibank. Voilà tout!"
"And Mister Sutherland?"
"If I tell him he will not believe me. You may remember the old Persian saying, 'There is danger for her who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a man.' There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the world."
IV - The Boscombe Valley Mystery
We were seated at breakfast one morning, my husband and I, when the manservant brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran in this way:
"Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from the 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 husband, looking across at me. "Will you go?"
"I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at present."
"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good, and you are always so interested in Ms. Sherlock Holmes' cases."
"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must pack at once, for I have only half an hour."
My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were few and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a cab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and down the platform, her tall, gaunt figure made even gaunter and taller by her long grey travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.
"It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said she. "It makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless or else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall get the tickets."
We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers which Holmes had brought with her. Among these she rummaged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past Reading. Then she suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.
"Have you heard anything of the case?" she asked.
"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days."
"The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so extremely difficult."
"That sounds a little paradoxical."
"But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a clue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they have established a very serious case against the daughter of the murdered woman."
"It is a murder, then?"
"Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for granted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it. I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have been able to understand it, in a very few words.
"Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a Ms. Janette Turner, who made her money in Australia and returned some years ago to the old country. One of the farms which she held, that of Hatherley, was let to Ms. Charlotte McCarthy, who was also an ex-Australian. The women had known each other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came to settle down they should do so as near each other as possible. Turner was apparently the richer woman, so McCarthy became her tenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had one daughter, a lass of eighteen, and Turner had an only son of the same age, but neither of them had husbands living. They appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring English families and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the neighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants -- a woman and a boy. Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least. That is as much as I have been able to gather about the families. Now for the facts.
"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left her house at Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out of the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. She had been out with her serving-woman in the morning at Ross, and she had told the woman that she must hurry, as she had an appointment of importance to keep at three. From that appointment she never came back alive.
"From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a mile, and two people saw her as she passed over this ground. One was an old man, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was Willa Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Ms. Turner. Both these witnesses depose that Mrs. McCarthy was walking alone. The game-keeper adds that within a few minutes of her seeing Mrs. McCarthy pass she had seen her daughter, Ms. Janice McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under her arm. To the best of her belief, the mother was actually in sight at the time, and the daughter was following her. She thought no more of the matter until she heard in the evening of the tragedy that had occurred.
"The two McCarthys were seen after the time when Willa Crowder, the game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the edge. A boy of fourteen, Patrick Moran, who is the son of the lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the woods picking flowers. He states that while he was there he saw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, Mrs. McCarthy and her daughter, and that they appeared to be having a violent quarrel. He heard Mrs. McCarthy the elder using very strong language to her daughter, and he saw the latter raise up her hand as if to strike her mother. He was so frightened by their violence that he ran away and told his father when he reached home that he had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe Pool, and that he was afraid that they were going to fight. He had hardly said the words when young Mrs. McCarthy came running up to the lodge to say that she had found her mother dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. She was much excited, without either her gun or her hat, and her right hand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. On following her they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside the pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of her daughter's gun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the body. Under these circumstances the young woman was instantly arrested, and a verdict of 'wilful murder' having been returned at the inquest on Tuesday, she was on Wednesday brought before the magistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the next Assizes. Those are the main facts of the case as they came out before the coroner and the police-court."
"I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked. "If ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here."
"Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered Holmes thoughtfully. "It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something entirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the case looks exceedingly grave against the young woman, and it is very po
ssible that she is indeed the culprit. There are several people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them Mister Turner, the son of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in her innocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect in connection with the Study in Scarlet, to work out the case in her interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged ladies are flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of quietly digesting their breakfasts at home."
"I am afraid," said I, "that the facts are so obvious that you will find little credit to be gained out of this case."
"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," she answered, laughing. "Besides, we may chance to hit upon some other obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious to Ms. Lestrade. You know me too well to think that I am boasting when I say that I shall either confirm or destroy her theory by means which she is quite incapable of employing, or even of understanding. To take the first example to hand, I very clearly perceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the right-hand side, and yet I question whether Ms. Lestrade would have noted even so self-evident a thing as that."
"How on earth -- "
"My dear lady, I know you well. I know the military neatness which characterises you. You brush your hair every morning, and this season, you brush by sunlight; but since your brushing is less and less complete as we get further back on the left side, until it becomes positively slovenly as we get round behind the ear, it is surely very clear that side is less illuminated than the other. I could not imagine a woman of your habits looking at herself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a result. I only quote this as a trivial example of observation and inference. Therein lies my métier, and it is just possible that it may be of some service in the investigation which lies before us. There are one or two minor points which were brought out in the inquest, and which are worth considering."