‘And where was it?’ asked Holmes.
‘If I might just see the plan, sir,’ said Arnold, and delicately removing the sugar bowl which Holmes had used as a paperweight he looked it over for a moment.
‘I would say it was in that vicinity,’ he said at last, pointing to a spot on the map. ‘It lay by the canal because that is how the ice was brought in, sir.’
‘But its entrance must have long vanished,’ protested Lord Backwater. ‘I know every inch of the park and I’ve never come across it.’
‘I think, sir, that it can still be located. The canal, if Your Lordship recalls, enters the park by the West Tunnel under a long rise in the land. The ice-house lay below that rise and close to its entrance was one of the large cedars that Squire Varley’s father had planted.’
‘So you could take us to it?’ asked Lord Backwater.
‘I should be pleased to, sir,’ said Arnold.
‘What sort of a place was it?’ asked Holmes.
‘There were steps down to the entrance in the slope, sir, with a door at the bottom. Inside there were two chambers, both walled in brick, and connected by an archway, and at the back was a short passage that led to the landing-place in the West Tunnel.’
‘Can we get a boat through?’ asked Holmes.
‘I would imagine so, sir. There is still a right of way for canal boats, though we do not see so many since the railway came.’
Holmes was rubbing his hands. ‘This is excellent!’ he exclaimed. ‘Lord Backwater, will you be good enough to summon Inspector Scott so that we may make our plans?’
‘You are not planning an attack tonight?’ I asked.
‘No, Watson, to attack in darkness would merely give our opponents an advantage. We can lay our plans tonight and, with any luck, come upon them from two directions when they are least prepared, at dawn.’
Word was sent to Inspector Scott and, once he had arrived, a council of war gathered in the library, numbered among which was the imperturbable Arnold.
Under my friend’s direction a plan was constructed, whereby Inspector Scott would bring a party of police officers down the West Tunnel before daybreak to be in position before dawn. In the meantime a landward party composed of Lord Backwater, Holmes and myself and guided by Arnold would advance under cover of darkness to overwhelm any outside guard and seize the entrance to the ice-house.
‘Are you sure my sister will come to no harm by our attack?’ asked Lord Backwater.
‘They seem to be only two, to guard the two entrances to the icehouse,’ said Holmes. ‘If they are taking proper care they should be one at each end. If so, Scott’s party can take the inner guard while we deal with the outer. If they are careless enough to be both at one end then we must make sure that neither escapes within to harm Lady Patricia.’
Inspector Scott went off to organise his part of the arrangements, while the rest of us passed the night around the library table, waiting for the clock to tell us that it was time to be about our business.
At last Holmes indicated that the time had come. Buttoning up our coats and taking our weapons we clambered into the carriage that was to be driven by young Tommy. Catherine, too, had been made a part of our company, ready to assist her lady when we had freed her.
We went north from the Hall, until we could dimly see the glimmer of the canal away to our right. ‘Now,’ said Holmes, ‘we leave our transport here. Tommy, stay here and look after Catherine until you hear my whistle, then make towards the tunnel mouth until you see us. The rest of the way we go on foot, gentlemen, and we must be in place while it is still dark.’
‘Yes, sir. Good luck, sir,’ said Tommy, and jumping down we set off at a brisk pace with Arnold in the lead. We began to mount the long rise above the canal tunnel and eventually Arnold turned and whispered, ‘There it is, Mr Holmes, the cedar tree that was by the entrance to the ice-house.’
‘Well done,’ said Holmes. ‘Where does the entrance lie in relation to the tree?’
‘Directly down the slope, sir, about two yards in front of the tree.’
‘Excellent,’ said Holmes. ‘We shall make a detour, gentlemen. We shall go up this side of the slope and come down behind that cedar by a roundabout route and in total silence, please, gentlemen.’
Now Sherlock Holmes took the lead as we made our way up the rise and turned down again towards the cedar tree. About ten feet from the tree Holmes crouched in the long grass. He drew out his watch and turned its face to the dim light of the sky.
‘We have a little while to wait before the sky lightens,’ he whispered. ‘Lord Backwater, you and Arnold should stay here and keep down. Watson and I will move down to this side of the tree. When you see us move, follow up, hard.’
Our companions nodded their understanding and Holmes began to wriggle away through the grass towards the tree with me a short distance behind him. Very soon we were in position, side by side behind the trunk, each able to see around our side of the tree.
Time passed as slowly as it always does when one is tensed and expectant of action, but eventually the sky began to lighten and soon we heard a mutter of voices below us. Holmes stole a quick glance at his watch.
‘We must hope Scott is in place,’ he whispered. ‘Be ready, Watson.’
I had raised myself to a crouch, easing my stiff leg, and laid my hand on the revolver in my pocket, when two dark figures emerged seemingly out of the very ground in front of us. They stepped a few feet down the slope and it was apparent that they were about to ease themselves.
‘Both of them!’ Holmes hissed. ‘Now, Watson!’ and he launched himself around the tree and down the slope.
I sprang away at the same moment, and took the righthand man below the knees with as neat a tackle as the Old Deer Park at Richmond ever saw. He went down like a log, but I had not knocked all the fight out of him and we had quite a vigorous struggle before I was able to put the muzzle of my Adams under his jaw and convince him to lie still while I handcuffed him.
As soon as I had done so I looked around for Holmes, but there was no sign of him. I found the steps in the grass that led down to the ice-house and tumbled down them and through the rotted wooden door at the bottom. In the first chamber I found Lord Backwater with his sister, still in her groom’s clothing, in his arms, and I went through the archway towards a lantern’s light.
In the second chamber I found Holmes, Inspector Scott and three constables standing around a figure on the ground. It was the bearded ruffian I had seen at the bridge.
‘We have lost one of them, Watson,’ said Holmes as I entered. ‘He was a fraction too quick for me above ground and got away down the steps. I followed, fearing he meant harm to Lady Patricia, but he was intent on escaping if he could. The Inspector and his men had landed from the tunnel and he ran headlong into them. One of them, I am afraid, was a little too quick on the trigger.’
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Lady Patricia is safe and I have the other blackguard trussed up outside.’
We made our way outside and, as Holmes whistled for our driver, I looked around for my prisoner. To my astonishment there was no sign of him.
‘He has gone, Holmes!’ I exclaimed in bewilderment.
‘He cannot have gone far,’ he remarked, ‘and there is his trail.’
He pointed and I could see that, from the flattened area where we had rolled and fought, a dark trail led downhill through the dewy grass. We followed it across the slope to the lip of the canal tunnel, where it ended abruptly. Beneath the parapet was a wide pool, so that boats could swing around there or wait their turn through the tunnel. The sodden shape of our quarry floated face down in the middle of the pool.
‘But he could not have swum in handcuffs!’ I expostulated.
‘No more he could,’ said Holmes grimly. ‘But the Ring induced fierce discipline in its members. He was undoubtedly unwilling to be questioned let alone hung for the murders of Lord Backwater and old Williams,’ and he turned away.
Desp
ite the loss of our prisoners it was a self-congratulatory party that returned to Backwater Hall and, if there is such a feast as a celebratory breakfast, that is what we enjoyed. Arnold vanished as soon as we got back, to reappear formally clad and serving an enormous breakfast with a wide smile on his usually expressionless countenance.
The long night and a heavy breakfast sent most of us to our beds and it was later than usual when we gathered for luncheon. Lady Patricia, under Catherine’s care, looked entirely recovered from her ordeal and thanked Holmes prettily for his efforts on her behalf.
Her brother, too, was warmly congratulatory. ‘If we have not seen eye to eye on occasions, Mr Holmes, it was entirely because I did not understand the subtleties of your methods. Now I can only say that I do not know how to express my gratitude to you. Not only have you avenged the murder of my father, but you have saved my sister. I cannot thank you enough.’
Holmes beamed, as he always did in the light of honest admiration, but he raised a warning hand. ‘I am, of course, pleased that I have been able to solve the mystery in which you first consulted me, Lord Backwater, but in doing so we have uncovered only a part of the mystery that lay behind your father’s death. The Ring believes that you hold something on which it has a claim. Until that matter is revealed, you and your family will remain in danger of the Ring’s machinations.’
‘But how can we find out what it is they want?’ asked Lord Patrick. ‘For all I know it may be something that, for the safety of my house, I would be willing to give them.’
‘You would be most unwise to do so,’ said Holmes. ‘Besides, we do know that the Ring’s attention seems to be fastened on the Black Queen, whatever that may be, and you have your father’s instructions as to that fund.’
‘The Black Queen account does not, by a long chalk, outweigh the funds which I inherited, Mr Holmes. If I knew what they wanted I might easily pay them.’
‘You would never be free of them,’ said Holmes. ‘Already they have taken a sizeable sum from you and were, no doubt, planning another demand. No, Lord Backwater, we must find the significance of that account, the reasons why the Ring claims it and, most of all, the person who has directed their attempts here.’
‘And how will we do that?’ our host asked.
‘I have every hope that I shall soon receive word from someone who can explain at least two of those things to us. If that is correct, then I may well be able to answer the third. Until that time, Dr Watson and I will, if we may, remain at Backwater.’
‘Of course, Mr Holmes, stay as long as you wish. Indeed, if we are, as you say, in continuing danger from the Ring, then I urge you to remain until the danger is past.’
___
Author's notes on this chapter
Nineteen
A FATAL SUSPICION
Midway through the following morning Holmes and I were in the library when Arnold appeared.
‘Excuse me, Mr Holmes,’ he said, ‘but were you aware of Inspector Scott’s presence at the Hall today?’
‘No, Arnold,’ said Holmes, ‘I cannot say that I am, and am sure he would have sought me out if he had been here. Why do you ask?’
‘There is a constable at the door, sir. He says that he understood the Inspector to be here, sir.’
‘There must be some mistake,’ said Holmes. ‘I will have a word with him,’ and laying down his newspaper he rose and followed Arnold into the hall while I followed suit.
The officer in the hall was the young constable we had met in the beech glade on our first arrival in Backwater.
‘Good morning, Mr Holmes, Doctor.’
‘I understand,’ said Holmes, ‘that you believe your Inspector to have called here his morning.’
‘To be precise, sir, I know Inspector Scott to have called here,’ said the young officer. ‘I was to take the trap to the railway station to collect Superintendent Thorpe. Inspector Scott had me bring him to the back of the beech glade. He said he would walk down through the woods to the Hall and I was to pick him up in two hours.’
Holmes’ eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know why the Inspector intended to call on me?’ he asked.
‘He said he was delivering some photographs, sir, and there was something he wished to discuss.’
‘And what time was it when you left him at the far end of the beech glade?’ asked Holmes.
The constable drew out his watch. ‘Exactly two hours and five minutes ago, sir.’
Holmes’ mouth had drawn itself into a thin line. ‘I do not like this,’ he said, and strode across the hall into the small drawing-room that lay behind. Without pausing he marched out through the french windows on to the terrace and stood, gazing across the park to the entrance of the beech wood. Nothing moved in the sunlit landscape.
‘It should have taken him no more then twenty minutes to drop down through the beech glade and across the park,’ said Holmes. ‘Something is amiss.’
He spun towards the constable. ‘Officer, kindly bring your trap around to the terrace and convey us to the beech glade.’
‘Do you think something has happened to the Inspector, Mr Holmes?’
‘Yes,’ said Holmes shortly. ‘Now let us see what it is that has delayed him.’
The constable ran back through the house and soon had his trap by the terrace. As we pulled away from the house he whipped up his horse and we reached the edge of the woods in no time. Rolling through the patches of light and shade under the great trees Holmes and I looked all around us for any indication of the police officer’s whereabouts.
We were about half-way along the stand of trees when Holmes shouted, ‘There! Stop, constable!’ and pointed.
Ahead of us lay a bright patch of ground where the sun splashed down through the green canopy, and at its heart lay a still, dark shape.
The constable pulled his horse up and Holmes and I were out of the trap and running almost before the wheels had stopped, the officer jogging behind.
At the centre of the brightly lit patch of ground lay the Inspector. He was face down with his arms outstretched, his face turned to the left and his knees slightly flexed. It was immediately apparent that he was dead, the cause of death being a single bullet that had struck him in the back of the skull and passed through his head to leave above the left eyebrow.
‘Inspector Scott!’ exclaimed the young constable. ‘Is he dead, Doctor?’
‘I am afraid so,’ I said.
‘Constable,’ said Holmes, ‘Inspector Scott was very proud of you. Now remember how he trained you. Take the trap and fetch your Superintendent at once. Watson and I will guard this scene until you return.’
As the officer left Holmes smote his right fist into his left palm. ‘Shot down like a dog!’ he exclaimed. ‘I should have been able to prevent this, Watson.’
He began to pace around the area, closely examining the ground and the tree trunks in the vicinity. At last he called me to him as he stood by a tree a few yards from the body.
‘Look here, Watson,’ and he pointed to a tiny, blazed mark on the trunk, a little above his head. ‘There is where the spent bullet clipped this tree after hitting Scott.’
He turned and looked across the spot where the body lay. ‘We may, I think, take an approximate line from this point which should limit our area of enquiry,’ and he stepped away, passing close to the dead man’s head.
He entered the low scrub that surrounded the glade and, after a moment, called me again.
‘See,’ he said, pointing with his stick as I joined him. ‘Here are the marks where a tall man in well-made shoes has crouched behind these bushes, waiting for Scott to step innocently into that sunlit clearing.’
‘But why was he shot?’ I asked.
‘For the photographs, I imagine,’ said Holmes, and walked back to the body. He knelt beside the dead man and carefully felt in each of his pockets. ‘Hullo!’ he exclaimed suddenly. ‘What have we here?’
He straightened up, holding a brown envelope that he had drawn from S
cott’s tunic pocket. It was unsealed and he lifted the flap.
‘No, Watson, I was wrong. It was not for the photographs, for here they are.’
He passed them to me. There were three large prints, two showing the tumbled interior of Williams’ shack and a third which was a close-up of the blood-marks on the back of the violin.
‘Perhaps there was no opportunity to take them,’ I suggested.
‘Nonsense,’ said Holmes. ‘If the killer had been disturbed by somebody passing this way, the body would have been discovered. They did not take the photographs because they did not know about them or because they did not care about them. So why on earth was he killed?’
The trap returned, bringing a party of constables and Superintendent Thorpe. The Superintendent introduced himself to us.
‘This is a grim business, Mr Holmes. Ian Scott was one of our brightest Inspectors and a personal friend of mine. Have you reached any conclusions?’
Holmes led him around the scene and showed him how the Inspector had been ambushed.
‘And you believe this to be connected with the killing of Lord Backwater and old Williams?’ said the Superintendent.
‘I should be very surprised if it were not,’ said Holmes. ‘I have always found coincidence an uneasy guest.’
‘But, as I recall, Lord Backwater and Williams were bludgeoned. Scott was shot by what seems to have been a sporting rifle,’ said the Superintendent.
‘You are familiar with the facts of those cases?’ asked Holmes.
‘In the main,’ said Thorpe. ‘Scott reported to me as well as to Colonel Caddage. I understand that Lord Backwater was the victim, not of poachers as the Colonel would have it, but of thugs who were members of that vile society that calls itself the Ring, of which Williams was also a member.’
‘Quite,’ said Holmes. ‘At first the Ring operated through members like Williams and two bullies who were imported into this area. Their chosen weapon was the cudgel. But recent events have deprived their master of their services. Now he is forced, perhaps, to do his own dirty work. If poor Scott’s death has achieved nothing else, it has forced our man further into the open.’
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