‘My suspicions were born simply by possessing prior knowledge and experience of the character, and behaviour of Alice Dunwoody.’
Though I am somewhat ashamed to admit it, for a moment I suspected that a fever, or the shock he had received in the wire, had somehow damaged Holmes’s wonderful mind.
‘Oh Watson, you look so bemused! Surely I am referring to the maiden name of the Colonel’s wife. The very information I have received in that infernal wire.’
‘Yet why should that information have had such a profound effect upon you? Besides, what prior knowledge could you possibly have of Mrs Masterson’s character and behaviour?’ I asked.
Holmes smoked again, before continuing. ‘On more than one occasion, within your most excellent, yet over-dramatised journals, you have referred your readers to my machine-like exclusion of all emotion and feeling. Repeatedly you have expressed surprise at my abhorrence of emotional expression and romance and my disregard of any praiseworthy qualities the female of our species might possess. Save, of course “The Woman” Irene Adler and even in her case, as you correctly pointed out, my interest was of a more professional leaning.
‘I assure you, Watson, that had I been in your place, upon being confronted with such a singular trait in an acquaintance, I would have used my method to unravel the chain of events that might have resulted in such a characteristic. Perhaps it has not occurred to you that this, supposed abhorrence of both female kind and the idea of close attachment, is nothing less than a fear of the same.’
‘No, Holmes.’ I admitted. ‘In all honesty, I cannot say that it has.’
‘Well, friend Watson, although it shames me to admit to such a thing, that is the truth of the matter.’
I emitted a long whistle, and sank back in my chair in disbelief. I studied Holmes, in a moment of contemplation and realized that, since we had started this conversation, his nerve had become steadier than before and his voice stronger, he was surely telling me the truth. My surprise at this revelation can be well understood, under the circumstances. From the day of our very first meeting and up to the moment of Holmes’s revelation that he had a brother, I was under the illusion that Holmes was unlike other men. No family, no friends, no romantic attachments, in fact the sublime professional. An emotionless, dedicated, logical pure mind in human guise. Mycroft’s existence was a disillusioning revelation in itself, but this!
‘This woman has, clearly, caused you considerable pain.’ I announced solemnly.
‘It is not a subject on which I wish to dwell; indeed I only mention it now because of its relevance to the problem on which we are now engaged. Suffice it to say that bitter experience has shown to me the depraved nature of this woman’s character. She has reinvented the meaning of the words; deceitful, and promiscuous and that her guile and charms would have subjugated stronger men than Masterson and myself.’
‘My dear fellow, I had no idea. I quite understand and agree with your decision to return to London forthwith, as, I am sure will our client.’ I replied.
At this Holmes became quite agitated. He stood up, suddenly, and began pacing the room.
‘Watson, understand me well. Under no circumstances can the Colonel learn the truth about my prior involvement with his wife. This would surely jeopardise any chance we may have of success in this matter. Now I must rest, for I will require all my physical resources for the day’s work ahead.’
I got up, and walked to the door.
‘I take it we shall not be returning to London in the morning.’ I asked, turning back. In the time it had taken me to walk to the door and turn around, Holmes had lain himself on the bed, fully clothed and on his back, already in deep slumber. This, I felt, boded ill for any foe that Holmes had set his mind on hunting down.
Having left Holmes in such a state of exhaustion, I was more than a little surprised to discover that he was up, had breakfasted and gone out, a full half hour before I had even reached the dining-room the following morning. It was not unusual for Holmes to go about his work without consulting me beforehand, but on this occasion I was clueless as to what direction his inquiries were to take. I took my breakfast alone, for word came to me that the Colonel was indisposed, and had decided to keep to his room. Any inquiries I made of the staff, as to the nature of his illness, or to the whereabouts of his wife, were met with a stony silence.
I took the papers into the drawing-room with my pipe and was resolved to spending the morning exploring the estate alone, when Holmes suddenly burst in upon me. The old, familiar gleam of excitement was in his eyes once more, and I knew he had discovered some clue.
‘Ah, Watson, I see that you have finally decided to emerge from your bed.’ Was his jovial greeting. ‘You will be glad to hear that I have succeeded in locating your legendary cave of King Arthur, and I am certain that the Colonel can help us identify its contents!’
Whereupon I explained to him what little I knew about the Colonel’s illness. Yet, undaunted, Holmes hastily scratched out a brief note, and dispatched this to the Colonel’s room by way of a pageboy. Not sharing Holmes’s confidence, I was most surprised when, after little more than ten minutes had passed, Colonel Masterson shuffled into the room, betraying every sign of being a broken man.
‘I was a fool in attempting to outwit the illustrious Sherlock Holmes.’ The Colonel mumbled apologetically.
This compliment was not lost on my friend, who, with a dramatic flourish, waved the Colonel to one of his own chairs. Holmes, in turn, took up a position by the fireplace, whilst lighting his pipe. A glance from Holmes prompted me to take out my notebook, and pencil.
‘Even the sparse contents of your note have shown to me the futility of any further deception on my part.’ The Colonel stated. ‘However, I am at a loss to understand how a single morning’s investigation could have revealed so much to you. What glaring error have I committed?’
‘You have allowed pride to cloud your reason.’ Holmes replied. ‘Why else should you go to such lengths in concealing your wife’s infamous behaviour? I can assure you that I have performed no miracle. Such indiscretions, as perpetrated by your wife, can not go long unnoticed in so small a community, I assure you. The few inquiries that I made this morning have shown me how affairs really stand. Yet these discoveries alone would have proved nothing, in themselves, save only your wife’s lack of scruples. However a small hoard of treasure, removed from your own home, that I discovered in the, supposed, cave of King Arthur, indicate to me that her affair with the shepherd has progressed further, and deeper than any on which she has previously embarked. The haul in the cave was intended to have been their nest-egg and their means to flight. So determined were you not to be revealed as a cuckold to this shepherd that even this violation was left unreported to the police. For only then would it have been seen that your wife was not the victim, in fear of her life, acting under coercion, but a more than willing accomplice.’
‘Mr Holmes you have described my predicament with remarkable clarity, and, I might add, with a deep insight and understanding.’ The Colonel responded.
I could see Holmes becoming increasingly agitated at these words, no doubt concerned that the genuine reasons for his understanding might now become clearer to the Colonel. To ease his discomfiture, I made my own contribution.
‘Colonel, my own experience of the fairer sex has shown that you are not the first, nor will you be the last, to succumb to the wiles of such a woman. They are driven along their treacherous path by something from within and her behaviour reflects on you not at all.’
He bowed in acknowledgement, and then asked, ‘Mr Holmes, you have failed to explain how you were so successful in locating this cave, whereas the regular police force, with their superior numbers, failed so abjectly.’
‘It was not I who located the cave.’ Holmes replied.
‘Oh, come along Holmes! You just said …’ Holmes would not allow me to complete my protest.
‘Watson, surely you remember our investigation of
the most singular problem posed by the Sign of Four?’ Then upon noting my nodded affirmation, ‘Well, then you will also doubtless recall the more than significant contribution made by our canine friend, Toby. I simply put that method to use once more. In my experience, there is no more loyal or perceptive a beast than the sheep dog, and so it proved. I merely removed a well worn boot from the shepherd’s lodge, and presented this to the animal’s nose. In consequence it was he who presented me with the cave.’
‘Holmes,’ I then inquired. ‘This is all very well, but surely this new information, as to the true nature of Mrs Masterson’s amour, clouds still further the central issue of who perpetrated the murderous attacks upon her?’
‘Watson I see that, even now, you still cling to your original hypothesis regarding the shepherd. It is now patently obvious. There have been no attacks made upon the life of Mrs Masterson, merely attempts to make it appear as if there had been. How else could the Colonel incriminate the shepherd, and hope to win back his wife? By seeking my assistance, he intended to confirm, and consolidate the case for the slow-moving police,’ Holmes replied.
‘Surely you are merely making an assumption on this point? The police could not discover a single clue at the scene of either attack. Therefore, even if the attacks were not genuine, the identity of the attacker must remain a mystery.’ Even as I spoke, I immediately regretted my use of the word ‘assumption’.
Holmes turned on me at once and with venom. ‘I never guess … or assume, Watson! Whilst it is true to say that no clues were to be found at the scene of the first attack, there was certainly some information to be gleaned outside the conservatory.’ He paused for a moment, to draw long and hard on his pipe.
‘I do not understand, Mr Holmes.’ The Colonel began, taking advantage of the momentary lull. ‘The police drew a line that corresponded to the trajectory of the arrow, and searched the ground most thoroughly along that line until they were out of range. They were unsuccessful in finding a mark, or print of any description.’
‘Ah, but Colonel, that is exactly what made me suspicious!’ Holmes surveyed the bewildered looks on both our faces, and evidently drew some amusement from the sight. ‘There should have been some footprints there, for they showed quite clearly immediately outside the conservatory door. The route, back to the house, crosses the line along which the arrow was fired. Therefore, someone had gone to great pains to obliterate those prints. The same person, of course, who had removed the crossbow from your armoury, Colonel.’
‘You are certain the bow came from there?’ Masterson asked.
‘Naturally. A quick examination, this morning, revealed a thin layer of dust on all of the weapons, save for one crossbow! I was now certain that you were the supposed attacker and yet I was equally assured of your lack of genuine malicious intent, save, of course the incrimination of your rival. Even if one allows for your being a poor archer, I am sure a stick, wielded by a woman, would prove a most inadequate weapon when used against a man of your build and strength.’
‘You have laid my secret bare most thoroughly, Mr Holmes, and your considerable reputation is certainly not mere hyperbole. However, I fail to see what steps you intend to take against me, since no crime, of which I am aware, has actually been committed. John Rouse, the shepherd is still at liberty, and my wife is free to go her own way, despite my own misgivings on the matter.’ Masterson made this last statement with a curious mixture of defiance, and intense bitterness in his voice. This was not lost on Holmes, who replied with some sympathy.
‘Even if I were able, I am sure I would take no action that would actually affect your liberty. Though not uncommon, your loss is great enough. When Watson and I finally depart for London, I can assure you, we will be leaving the Cornish police none the wiser.’
With a sigh of relief and not without some difficulty, the Colonel raised himself from his chair, and then proceeded to pour us each a large measure of whisky. The eagerness with which Holmes accepted his glass was a further indication of the intense strain he had been under, these past twenty-four hours. I further conjectured as to the course his investigation might have taken had he not his own bitter experience of the behaviour of the former Alice Dunwoody to draw upon.
‘Mr Holmes, before you make your departure, there is one last favour I must ask of you.’ My surprise at these words from the Colonel broke my chain of thought. ‘You must help me to locate my wife, so I can yet persuade her to return to Avalon with me.’ Sensing our astonishment, at this request, he added. ‘Despite her wanton behaviour, I regret to say that I am still very much in love. Despite the humiliation she has brought on me, I am willing to forgive her, as Arthur forgave Guinevere. Will you help me?’
We stared at Holmes as he pondered over his decision. He sat in distracted silence, no doubt recalling his own feelings at the time when his association with Alice Dunwoody reached this very juncture.
‘Is there a quiet, discreet hotel in Slaughter Bridge, or thereabouts?’ Holmes asked thoughtfully.
‘Only “The Mitre Inn” immediately springs to mind.’ The Colonel replied, after a moment’s thought.
‘Excellent!’ Holmes responded, evidently having decided to help the Colonel this one last time. ‘I suggest we begin our search there. Since the proceeds of their pilfering still remain within the cave, I am certain they will be using local accommodation. Watson and I shall pack at once, and meet you at the front in five minutes. If my surmise proves correct, we shall go directly from “The Mitre” to the station in plenty of time to meet the London train.’
Within five minutes of Holmes’s pronouncement, we found ourselves being driven away from the mysterious house of Avalon, although our return journey was to be made within the comfort of the Colonel’s Landau, as opposed to the antique trap we had used the day before. Our journey was made in total silence, each of us harbouring his own thoughts. Holmes was seated next to the Colonel, and from my vantage point opposite, I was struck by the contrast in their nature and behaviour.
Holmes’s normally, stony countenance was at its most impassive and enigmatic, and he was seated bolt upright as motionless as a statue, staring straight before him. The Colonel, however, was the epitome of restless agitation, constantly tugging at his high collar, or pulling at his tie. His legs, and feet were constantly in motion, as he persistently crossed and recrossed them. His forehead was locked in a perpetual scowl, and, despite the exceedingly low temperatures, I observed tiny beads of perspiration forming around the rim of his hat.
The outcome of the projected meeting was impossible to foresee, so I contented myself by surveying the most striking landscape we were passing through, once I was certain that there was to be no conversation forthcoming from my companions.
“The Mitre Inn” was located on the very edge of the village and had the air of being seldom used. Being built of the local stone, it appeared to be well maintained however, and I was sure it had been standing in this fashion for hundreds of years, providing discreet comfort for the weary traveller.
Claiming fatigue, Holmes declined to leave the landau, and entreated me to accompany the Colonel, to ensure that the proposed liaison went well. I fully understood the reason behind Holmes’s deception, and immediately alighted with the Colonel. Our initial inquiries of the inn’s dusty reception clerk, had been fruitless, and I was despairing of meeting with any success, when the Colonel let out a short, startled cry.
I followed his gaze down the corridor, and standing there, was perhaps, the most strikingly beautiful woman I had ever beheld. Perhaps a shade too thin of build for total perfection, she stood well above average height, and held herself with a regal dignity that was awe-inspiring to watch. Her hair was ebony black, and shone with a wondrous lustre. Unfortunately, I was not able to distinguish her features initially, for she halted at the base of the stairs, evidently waiting for someone to join her. When her companion eventually arrived, they strode purposefully, almost defiantly, towards the Colonel and me, and I
was then able to see that her features were nature’s own gift. Her clear, dark eyes shone, her nose was small, and perfectly formed, whilst her fine, high cheek bones lent something imposing to her beauty. The effect she undoubtedly had on Holmes and the many who had since followed and succumbed, was not hard to believe now that I was in her presence.
Despite his attire, her companion, undoubtedly John Rouse, had an open, honest face, baring the ruddiness of a man who spends the majority of his time out of doors. A squarely built man in his early forties, Rouse exuded the impression of strength, and held himself well. Yet, even with these virtues, he seemed the unlikeliest of companions for the delightful creature by his side. I could well understand the Colonel’s chagrin at her desertion to this man.
With an inconceivable air of confidence and lack of remorse, Alice Masterson approached her husband and greeted us both in a light, almost melodic voice. I introduced myself with a short bow, yet even as I spoke the Colonel moved a step forward and grabbed his wife by the arm.
‘Please Alice,’ He implored. ‘Spare me just five minutes, so that we may speak alone. In there perhaps.’ He motioned towards a deserted lounge that opened on to the lobby.
‘Now see here Alice.’ Rouse protested, then gesturing towards me. ‘This here gentleman may well be to do with the police. Let us give back the silver and be gone from these parts, before any real harm is done.’
‘You Sir!’ Masterson boomed at Rouse, emphasising his physical superiority as he did so. ‘Have already done very considerable harm, but my business here is with my wife!’ Then calming himself, not wishing to create a public scene. ‘I assure you that if I fail to convince her of the sincerity of my forgiveness and she chooses to remain here, I will return, in peace, to Avalon. As far as I am concerned, the silver can rot in the cave forever.’
Rouse was about to protest still further, but Alice Masterson merely squeezed his arm and assured him that all would be well. The door to the lounge was made up of glass panels, enabling Rouse, and myself to see the Mastersons clearly during the course of their conversation. However they chose to stand at the far end of the lounge and their words were lost to us. She was facing the door, while they spoke, and the Colonel kept his back to us.
The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes Page 5