Without another word, he took off his ulster and laid it across the professor with such gentle solicitude that I felt my throat thicken at the sight of this unwonted tenderness on the part of my old friend.
‘Stay with him while I examine the other victim,’ I said gruffly, struggling to maintain a detached and professional manner.
It took only a glance to convince me that the man was beyond human aid, even if he had survived the bullet which he had fired into his own heart. He lay horribly twisted at the foot of the crag, the back of his head shattered where it had struck repeatedly against the rocks.
By some quirk of fate, his face remained untouched and I found myself gazing down on the features, not of some fiendish villain as I had half expected, but on those of a man in his late thirties, fine-drawn and intelligent, yet bearing in their lineaments the unmistakable marks of some long-suffered torment which were etched deep into the flesh.
I covered him as best I could with his own cloak, drawing the edge of it over his face, and then returned to where Holmes was still standing beside the professor, like a sentinel on guard, his eyes fixed with the same look of brooding melancholy on the distant tors.
It may have been his stern and aloof bearing which had persuaded Montagu Webb to withdraw. But, for whatever reason, I found to my relief that he had retreated to a boulder a few yards away, where he sat wringing his hands, silent apart from an occasional low moan.
‘It is no use,’ I said to Holmes as I approached. ‘The man is dead.’
‘I feared as much,’ Holmes said grimly. ‘Then see what you can do for the living.’
As I knelt beside Addleton’s prostrate form and prepared to loosen his collar, I saw his eyelids quiver.
‘Holmes, he is regaining consciousness!’ I cried.
In an instant, Holmes was transformed from his former state of utter dejection.
Whirling about, he shouted to Montagu Webb, ‘Take the gig and go straight to Bodmin! Inform the police and make sure they return immediately with some more comfortable conveyance. And drive like the very devil, for, by God, the blood of these two men is on your head!
‘And on mine, too,’ he added in a lower tone as Webb bolted off to carry out Holmes’ orders.
‘Yours!’ I protested as the gig went rattling away at great speed along the track. ‘But what could you have done to avert this ghastly tragedy?’
‘I had Haydon Cowper within my sights and yet I hesitated to pull the trigger. Had I done so, Professor Addleton’s life would have been spared.’
‘Haydon Cowper?’
‘The man who lies dead yonder,’ Holmes said, pointing to the foot of the escarpment. ‘Did you not read the dedication in Professor Addleton’s book? “Also to Haydon Cowper for his invaluable assistance in classifying and analysing the research material.” It was a trivial point which might not have had any significance had it not been for Miss Addleton’s evidence. If you recall, Watson, she told us that her father first began to show signs of deep anxiety twelve years ago, when she was a child of nine; in other words, in 1882. When I pressed her for a more specific date for this unexpected change in his behaviour, she said it was in the spring of that year. Yesterday, I enquired at the publisher’s, Snelling and Broadbent’s, and discovered that the precise date of publication of Ancient British Monuments and Burial Sites was the tenth of March of that year.
‘Miss Addleton also informed us that her father’s symptoms reappeared regularly over the next five years, always in early March, and that he was particularly agitated on certain mornings, at the time when the first post was due to be delivered. It required only the simplest reasoning to deduce that his distress was associated with a letter that he expected. Miss Addleton herself drew that conclusion. However, she failed to make a vital connection – that the receipt of the letters was timed to correspond with a very special anniversary which I suggest was the publication date of her father’s book.
‘Anniversaries, in fact, proved to be highly significant, for we come now to her father’s birthday on 21st February 1887, a date which Miss Addleton had particular cause to remember, for it was on that day that her father’s behaviour showed a sudden and marked change for the better. It occurred quite dramatically after he had retired to his study after breakfast with that morning’s copy of The Times.
‘Yesterday, I also took the opportunity to call at that newspaper’s offices and to read through their back copy for that particular day. In it, I discovered a small but interesting item in the obituary column, announcing the death of Mr Haydon Cowper after a short illness.’
‘False, of course,’ I interjected.
‘Without a doubt, my dear fellow. However, there is nothing to prevent anyone from sending a notice of death, even their own, providing they pay for the insertion. The date was, I believe, deliberately chosen not only as an ironic gesture but also with the intention of lulling Addleton into a false sense of security. It was Haydon Cowper’s birthday gift to his former professor and mentor.’
‘Haydon Cowper was one of Addleton’s students!’ I cried. ‘How did you discover that, Holmes?’
‘From an old acquaintance of mine, Dr Harbinger, a former Oxford don whom I had occasion to consult in 1891 when I was gathering evidence about the Moriarty gang, among whom, as you know, was Colonel Sebastian Moran, the late Professor Moriarty’s chief of staff.9 The Colonel was an Oxford man and it was from Dr Harbinger that I learnt several important facts about him, including his obsession as an undergraduate with airguns.10
‘Dr Harbinger is now an elderly gentleman, long since retired from the university to live with a married daughter in Chelsea. However, he has remained in touch with his former colleagues and still takes a lively interest in Varsity affairs. I called on him yesterday and it was from him that I learnt some, at least, of the story concerning Haydon Cowper.
‘He was a graduate in Professor Addleton’s department of Ancient History, a highly gifted man with a brilliant academic future in front of him whom Professor Addleton picked out from among his other students to assist him with compiling and classifying his notes for his book. Unfortunately, Haydon Cowper also possessed certain unstable qualities of character and at times behaved in a most erratic manner. Several incidents occurred, mostly threats of a quite absurd nature made to fellow students which eventually came to the attention of the college authorities. It appeared the young man had a tendency to respond quite violently at times to even the most trivial slight, whether real or imaginary. There was a particular outburst of such behaviour in March 1882. Note that date, Watson, as it, too, is significant for it was shortly before the publication of Professor Addleton’s book and was, I believe, associated with it.
‘Dr Harbinger could not give me precise details, as the affair was hushed up at the time, but I understand that Haydon Cowper was also heard to utter threats against Professor Addleton and on one occasion was discovered banging on the door of the professor’s room, demanding admission. As he was led away, Haydon Cowper made a strange remark to the effect that gratitude came cheap and that he himself intended dedicating a great deal more than mere thanks as soon as he had the opportunity.
‘From this remark, I think we may safely assume that he was referring to Professor Addleton’s dedication to him in the Introduction of Ancient British Monuments and Burial Sites, which had aroused his anger, although the reason remains obscure …’
At this point, there came a faint groan from the recumbent figure lying beside us, at which my old friend abruptly broke off his account.
Professor Addleton was now fully conscious, his eyes wide open and fixed with a look of staring intensity on Holmes’ face. Painfully, his lips began to move, struggling to frame two words which were barely audible.
‘Joint authorship,’ Addleton whispered.
‘Joint authorship? But that, of course, was absurd, was it not, Professor? You had spent many years excavating and studying the ancient sites while Haydon Cowper was merely your as
sistant. My name, by the way, is Sherlock Holmes and it is on your behalf that Dr Watson and myself are here. No, I beg you, do not attempt to answer, my dear sir. You are gravely wounded and the least exertion could be highly injurious. It is far better that I continue with my account and that you indicate by some small sign whether or not I have stated the facts correctly. A mere blink of the eyelids will be sufficient, one for yes, two for no. Do I have your agreement?’
The professor’s lids closed once over his eyes and Holmes immediately resumed his narrative, this time addressing Addleton directly.
‘These latest outbursts on Haydon Cowper’s part were, according to Dr Harbinger, the final straw as far as the college authorities were concerned. A meeting was held at which it was decided that the young man should be sent down. He was ordered to leave that very same day. Dr Harbinger could not tell me who was present at that meeting but I assume that you, Professor Addleton, were one of its members. Am I correct, sir? I see you give no sign.’
Both Holmes and I were watching the professor’s face intently but the eyes remained fixed and there was no movement of the lids, not even the faintest quiver to indicate that he had heard or understood Holmes’ remarks. However, his mouth trembled and an expression of acute suffering passed over his face, suggesting not so much physical pain as a deep agony of mind.
After a silence, Holmes resumed his account, inclining his head lower so that Addleton could hear his remarks quite distinctly.
‘It is not my intention to cause you any more distress, my dear Professor, and therefore I shall pass on to a brief outline of the subsequent events which led up to your tragic meeting here on Bodmin Moor with Haydon Cowper, your former student.
‘Cowper was a proud and arrogant man who felt his dismissal from Oxford keenly. His promising career was finished, his reputation ruined and, rightly or not, he blamed his disgrace on you, Professor Addleton. Apart from the fact that he had expected, quite unjustifiably, that he would be acknowledged as joint author of your book, he no doubt also looked to you to speak up for him when it was decided he should be sent down. Consequently, his sole thought was for revenge and, to this end, he sent you threatening letters on the anniversary of the book’s publication over the next five years.
‘At least, I assume they were threatening from the description of your conduct given to me by your daughter who came to see me yesterday and asked me to look into the case.
‘The letters had the desired effect of making you fear for your life but, as time passed, I suggest that Haydon Cowper’s bitterness increased, for what reason we may never know. Perhaps he suffered other set-backs or, over the years, his personality became more disordered. We can only speculate. However, one thing is certain. Merely to threaten your life was no longer sufficient. Haydon Cowper made up his mind to take the ultimate step of murder.
‘We may date this decision, I believe, to 21st February 1887, your birthday, when you read an obituary notice announcing Haydon Cowper’s death. No doubt you were suspicious at first? Yes, I see you have indicated that I am correct in this assumption. But as no more letters arrived, you began to believe that Cowper was indeed dead and that you were no longer in danger.’
Once more, Professor Addleton’s eyelids closed briefly in assent.
‘Meanwhile,’ Holmes continued, ‘Haydon Cowper was awaiting an opportunity for his final act of revenge. We shall no doubt eventually discover from Mr Montagu Webb how he was drawn into the plot; innocently, it would appear, from his protestations that he thought the affair was merely a hoax. He is a foolish and gullible man who therefore, as far as Haydon Cowper was concerned, made an ideal cat’s-paw.
‘He persuaded Webb to write to you, informing you that he had discovered an ancient British barrow on Bodmin Moor which had never been excavated. As a further lure, he may have suggested that Webb send you some pieces of pottery, ostensibly from the burial chamber. However, Webb made the mistake of failing to remove some sticky patches on the backs of the shards which indicated that they had at some time been labelled as part of a collection. As those marks were apparent as soon as I examined the samples, I assume that you, too, had observed them?’
Again, there came the single flicker of the eyelids.
‘And so you immediately suspected a trap, designed by Haydon Cowper?’ Holmes suggested. ‘I am correct, am I not, sir? Ah, I thought so! Then why, Professor Addleton, did you agree to come to Cornwall, knowing that your life could be in danger? Was it in the hope that Montagu Webb had indeed discovered a previously unknown barrow with its contents still intact? Was it this that overrode all fears for your personal safety? Or was it … ?’
Before Holmes had time to complete his question, a shudder passed over Professor Addleton’s features like a sharp breeze disturbing the surface of a pool. Once more, the lids were lowered but this time the eyes remained shut and there was no answering movement.
Scrambling to my feet, I bent down and felt for a pulse in his neck but that, too, was motionless.
‘I am afraid he is gone, Holmes,’ I said gravely.
Holmes joined me and we stood together in silence for a few moments, gazing down at the lifeless figure. Then he drew up his ulster to cover the dead man’s face, remarking as he did so, ‘A fitting last resting-place, wouldn’t you agree, Watson? Had he been given the choice, who knows that Professor Addleton might not have chosen to end his days here on this ancient burial mound, a sacrifice to the old gods.’
It was said lightly but I could see that, under his whimsical manner, my old friend felt Addleton’s death keenly. His lips tightly compressed, he turned away and walked to the edge of the track to await the arrival of the party from Bodmin.
I left him alone for ten minutes before joining him, by which time he had regained his composure, although his manner was still muted.
‘Holmes,’ I began tentatively, ‘what was the question you were about to ask Professor Addleton just before he died?’
‘Oh, that,’ he replied, shrugging his shoulders. ‘It was whether or not shame had played a part in his decision to come to Bodmin Moor, despite the obvious danger.’
‘Shame? I do not follow you.’
‘Then you have clearly forgotten our conversation of yesterday afternoon. Do you not recall I asked you for what reason you would hesitate to confide in your wife some incident from your past? Your reply was illuminating and not just of your own character, my dear fellow. You said it would be some action of which you were ashamed. I was interested to know if Professor Addleton was driven by the same motive. Haydon Cowper was a brilliant student who had contributed to the success of Addleton’s book and, while we do not know for certain, I am convinced in my own mind that Addleton was a member of that committee which decided Haydon Cowper should be sent down from Oxford. As the vote was unanimous, no one spoke up in his defence, not even his own professor. If that is so, it would explain Haydon Cowper’s desire for revenge. It might also explain Addleton’s own actions in coming to Cornwall. It is possible that he wished to meet his former student face to face and, by offering him an apology, make his peace with him at last. If that was his intention it was tragically too late. It is also too late for us to discover the answer. However, this is mere theory, Watson, and I should not wish it to be put forward at the inquest. It is better that it should be buried with the victims.’
A wagonette from Bodmin arrived soon afterwards, containing two police officers from the local constabulary. With their assistance, we placed the bodies of Professor Addleton and Haydon Cowper side by side in the back of it and covered them with blankets.
As Holmes remarked at the time, it was ironic that death should have united them at last and brought about a form of reconciliation.
It was a sombre procession which set out from Wheal Agnes through the gathering dusk, preceded by the wagonette. I followed behind, driving the hired dog-cart, while Holmes brought up the rear in Haydon Cowper’s gig which we discovered he had left some distance from the esca
rpment on the track leading to Minions. This explained why we had not heard his approach. It was only the sudden flight of the ravens which had alerted Holmes to his presence.
The light was fading and, in the gathering dusk, the landscape had taken on a gentler and more elegiac quality, the contours softened and the wind-bent trees no longer sinister but melancholy, like the mute, bowed figures of mourners.
At the inquest, held later at Bodmin, at which Holmes and I gave evidence and which was attended by Addleton’s daughter, but not his widow, we learnt of Montagu Webb’s part in the whole tragic affair as well as a few facts concerning Haydon Cowper’s subsequent career after his departure from Oxford.
It seemed that over the years he had been dismissed from various posts as a private tutor for that same instability of character he had shown at Oxford, the last a household at Launceston. This had occurred only shortly before the tragic events on Bodmin Moor.
As for the ancient British barrow on Bodmin Moor, it had been discovered not by Montagu Webb but by Haydon Cowper who, while at Launceston, had explored the moor. It was he, also, who had excavated the site and later persuaded Montagu Webb, a member of the local historical society, to write to Professor Addleton, claiming the discovery of the barrow as his own and inviting him to come to Bodmin. The deception was intended as part of an innocent practical joke, he told Webb. On his arrival, Addleton would be both delighted and amazed to find his former student, Haydon Cowper, waiting for him. There would be a joyful reunion in which Montagu Webb would have played a significant part.
It was Montagu Webb in fact who, in his eagerness to persuade Professor Addleton of the authenticity of the discovery, had taken it upon himself to send some broken pieces of pottery from his own collection to the professor, alleging they had come from the burial cist.
In his summing up, the coroner confessed that he had difficulty in understanding Haydon Cowper’s motives. He could only assume that he had borne his victim some deep-seated grudge, the exact nature of which was not clear. However, having heard all the evidence regarding Haydon Cowper’s irrational behaviour, he had no hesitation in returning a verdict that Haydon Cowper had first murdered Professor Addleton and then taken his own life, the balance of his mind being disturbed.
The Secret Journals of Sherlock Holmes (A&B Crime) Page 10