After dining, we sat outside the inn, enjoying the cooler air as the sun slowly sank in the west. Tossing his cigarette aside, Holmes said, “I think we should set out for the Nine Ladies.”
“Do you know where to go?”
“Yes. Professor Connors has drawn me quite a detailed map. I think when we get there, I shall conceal myself on the west side of the circle while you may take up a position on the east side, directly opposite.
“Connors has indicated that there is a gap at the south portion of the circle. From our concealments, we should be able to spot anyone approaching the circle, and if we are nimble enough, we should be able to apprehend them. However, I do want to get a look at the terrain in daylight, just in case there is anything Connors has omitted from his map.”
Anyone who visits the Nine Ladies, expecting something on the order of Stonehenge, is doomed to disappointment. The Nine Ladies form a rather small circle, which measures approximately 40 by 35 feet.
Holmes and I arrived at the circle just as the last rays of light were visible in the west.
“There’s really not much to see, is there?” I asked.
“No,” replied Holmes, “The Nine Ladies are far less imposing than their counterparts in other sections of the country.”
“Then why bring us here? What is it about this place that makes you think our killer will visit here?”
“As I explained, General Pitt-Rivers saw this as an important archaeological site. In fact, the circle is now under the care of the government, thanks to his efforts.” Pointing south, Holmes asked, “Can you see that single stone over there?”
“Yes,” I said, “just barely though.”
“That is called the King Stone, just like at Rollright. If you believe the legend, the Nine Ladies were turned to stone for dancing on a Sunday. A bit fanciful for my taste,” he said drily. “However, from my investigations, I have learned that the Ladies are quite popular among today’s pagans.
“For those two reasons alone, I believe that the killer - if he does strike tonight - is far more likely to be found here than at Stonehenge.”
We were now in near darkness, and Holmes said, “Let us take our places. You will hide behind that large rock over there while I will conceal myself here. Since we have no idea what to expect, I pray you wait for my signal before moving. Try to refrain from smoking, and whatever you do, please remain alert.”
As I started to move away, Holmes thrust a small parcel in my hands and said, “This may help you stay awake.”
When I had taken my position behind the stone, I opened the box and discovered a ham sandwich and a flask filled with hot tea. As you might expect, I was touched by my friend’s kindness as well as his foresight.
To say that the night dragged on inexorably would not even begin to do justice to the ordeal. My only comfort was that Holmes was nearby and suffering much as I was. The hours passed slowly, and I must admit that I may have dozed off for a few minutes on more than one occasion. Suddenly, I heard voices and in the distance, I could see a lantern approaching the Nine Ladies. Although I had no idea what time it might be, I guessed that sunrise was not too far off.
Moving carefully so as not to make any noise, I peered around the stone that concealed me and thought I saw the outlines of three figures in the center of the circle. I had absolutely no idea what they were doing, until one of them struck a match to light a candle. Soon, all three of them were holding candles, and the lantern had been extinguished. As one of them reached into a sack, I heard Holmes exclaim, “Now, Watson.”
Moving with all the speed I could muster, I headed for the gap in the circle, through which they had entered, in order to cut off their retreat. I thought I saw Holmes - although I might have just as easily imagined it - charging from his hiding place and grabbing one of the figures.
As you might expect, they had extinguished their candles as soon as they heard Holmes yell, and there were various voices hollering in the darkness. I didn’t see anyone pass by me although I must admit that I really didn’t see much of anything.
From across the circle, I heard my friend say, “Watson, are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine Holmes. How about you?”
Suddenly, perhaps 20 feet in front of me, I saw the glow of a candle and a hooded figure, struggling in Holmes’ grip.
Advancing, I said, “What have we here?”
Holmes pulled back the hood to reveal the face of a young woman who couldn’t have been more than 16.
“Who are you? And what are you doing here?” Holmes demanded.
“Who are you?” replied the girl, “And what right do you have to restrain me?”
“My name is Sherlock Holmes,” replied my friend.
As you might expect the transformation on the face of the young woman was immediate. “I know why you’re here,” she said, “because of the killing at Stonehenge a few months back.”
“Yes,” replied Holmes.
“We had nothing to do with that. Although we are the descendants of druids, we are here only to offer the fruits of our harvest to our gods, and you have no right to stop us.”
“Actually, I do,” replied Holmes. “This land belongs to the Crown, and Dr. Watson and I are assisting Scotland Yard in an investigation. So, unless, you would like to pay a visit to London and answer to Inspector Lestrade, perhaps the most fearsome policeman working today, I suggest you cooperate.”
Turning to me she said, “I presume you are Dr. Watson.” After I had nodded, she continued, “I have read your accounts of this Inspector Lestrade, he sounds barely competent, let alone fearsome.”
Despite the semi-darkness, I could swear that I saw a smile flash across Holmes’ face. He said to the woman, “What is your name and where are you from?”
“My name is Agnes, and I’m from Chesterfield.”
“And what is in the sack?” asked Holmes.
“Fruits and vegetables for our offering,” she replied. Handing the bag to Holmes, she said, “Here, see for yourself.”
After Holmes had dumped its contents on the ground, I could see apples, ears of corn, some medium-sized gourds and various other types of produce.
“Agnes, may I give you some advice? What you believe and to whom or what your pray is entirely up to you, However, I think I should refrain from such overt acts of worship, especially on the solstices and the equinoxes, until this Stonehenge business has been resolved. Dr. Watson and I are not policemen, but I do think members of the official force might frown upon your actions. After all, even though you are a minor, tolerance has never been one of the law’s strengths.”
“You mean I’m free to go?”
“Yes, and take your offerings with you. I should advise you to counsel your friends as I have you. Trust me when I say, the fewer people that know of this, the better. Once the Stonehenge murder has been solved, you may dance under maypoles and do any number of other things to your heart’s desire, but until then...,” Holmes let the words trail off.
“I understand, Mr. Holmes and thank you very much.” With that she gathered up her fruits and vegetables and walked off toward the south.
It suddenly occurred to me that the first traces of the sun were visible. I looked at Holmes and said, “That was quite a night, and what a magnanimous gesture on your part.”
“Not at all,” Holmes replied. “She did nothing wrong. Religion is a matter of personal choice and conscience. I may not approve of her choices but I will do nothing to impinge on her freedom.”
As we walked back to the inn, I said, “Do you think the killer struck someplace else last night?”
“I should be very surprised if another murder did not occur, but I fear we must wait until we return to London to learn the details.”
Little did I know how accurate my friend’s prediction would prove to be.
Chapter 5
We passed the ride back to London in virtual silence. I could see that Holmes was deep in thought, and I knew from of our years of
friendship that he disliked being disturbed when he was wrestling with a problem.
As we disembarked from our carriage, a young constable ran up to us. “Mr. Holmes, Inspector Lestrade ordered me to wait on this platform until you arrived. There has been another killing, sir.”
“Where this time?” asked Holmes.
“In Uffington,” replied the constable.
“The White Horse?” inquired Holmes.
“I do not know, sir. I was ordered to meet your train and escort you to Paddington where a special is being held to take you and Dr. Watson north to Uffington.”
Within the hour, Holmes and I were once again heading north in a private car. About three hours later, we arrived in Farington and were once again met on the platform by a member of the police, only this time it was Lestrade himself.
After greetings had been exchanged, Lestrade said, “I have a carriage waiting.”
During the ride, Holmes began to question Lestrade, asking, “Exactly what happened, Inspector?”
“Are you familiar with the White Horse of Uffington?” asked Lestrade.
“Although I have never seen it, I have heard of it. And I must confess that since the Stonehenge killing, I have learned somewhat more about it,” replied Holmes.
“The body of a young man from Farington was found in the eye of the horse,” said Lestrade. “Like the girl at Stonehenge, several of his organs had been removed and placed around the body. His face and abdomen were marked with strange symbols that appear to have been painted with his own blood, and placed around the body were branches that had been cut from a willow tree.”
“So our killer has struck again,” said Holmes, “but why here?”
“If we knew the answer to that, Mr. Holmes, I should think we might have him in custody by now,” replied Lestrade.
“Am I likely to find any clues, or have the locals been trampling all over the crime scene?” asked Holmes.
“I’m afraid it’s quite the latter,” replied Lestrade. “I know your methods, Mr. Holmes, but by the time I was notified and made my way here from Avebury, I think every villager within ten miles must have stopped by to see what had happened.”
“And you interviewed them, of course?” inquired Holmes.
“We did, sir, and quite thoroughly I might add,” said Lestrade.
“So have there been any strangers in the vicinity recently?” asked Holmes.
“According to the different constables with whom I spoke, there have been a few visitors of late, but no one registered with any of the villagers. Unless, of course, you count the geologist who was here examining the horse a few weeks ago,” said Lestrade.
“Hold that thought, Inspector.”
With that my friend lapsed into silence.
Lestrade turned to me, “Is he doing that deducing thing again?”
“I’m certain that he is mulling over the crimes and looking for connections, but thus far he has been given precious little to work with.” Lestrade and I continued to talk about the murders until we had reached Uffington Castle. As we drove past the castle and into the Vale of the White Horse, Holmes suddenly roused himself.
“Are we nearing Dragon Hill?” he inquired.
“Indeed, we are,” replied Lestrade.
“Before we start the ascent, please ask the driver to stop.”
A few minutes later the carriage came to a halt. We stepped down, and I must say that the view of the surrounding countryside was breathtaking. However, I saw that Holmes had his attention focused entirely on the famed White Horse.
Gazing across the valley, I saw the stark outline of the White Horse. I was struck by the primitive imagery and the power that it could still convey despite the passage of several millennia. I found out later that the outline is 300 feet long and approximately 130 feet high.
“Professor Connors tells me that outline is probably several thousand years old,” remarked Holmes.
“You don’t say,” remarked Lestrade, with obvious disinterest. “And that is important because?” he continued.
“We are once again at one of Britain’s mysterious landmarks, trying to solve a murder,” said Holmes. “I should think the connection would be obvious, even to you.”
“I can see the obvious, Mr. Holmes,” replied Lestrade. “I just don’t understand it.”
“Neither do I - yet. However, the White Horse has been there for centuries. Like Stonehenge, it is now under the protection of the state,” continued Holmes. “There is a history here, just as there is at Stonehenge. Did you know that for centuries, villagers would come out every few years to remove vegetation from around the various sections and to scour the horse and add new chalk to keep the outline clear and distinct?”
“I’ll tell you what’s clear, Mr. Holmes. The body of a young man was found stabbed to death and mutilated, just like the girl at Stonehenge. This cannot go on.”
“I quite agree, Lestrade. Let us examine the scene.”
We drove to the top of the White Horse Hill, remaining a respectful distance from the carving. Off to the right, I could see a group of officers conversing and on the ground, I could see a sheet, covering what I presumed was the body.
It had been left in the middle of a white chalk circle that served as the horse’s eye. The circle was contained in a larger square-like shape that represented the horse’s head. After we made our way to it, Holmes pulled back the sheet halfway, revealing the rather handsome face of a young man who appeared to be about eighteen with tousled blond hair. He was shirtless, and I presumed naked. On his forehead a symbol had been painted in blood. As I bent closer, I could see that there was again a single stab wound below the heart. I remember thinking that whoever our killer was, he or she had had some experience with a knife.
Trying to appear inconspicuous, I looked for and spotted a slight puncture mark on his neck. Surrounding the body were three willow branches, which Holmes later informed me, were arranged exactly as the yew branches had been placed around the body at Stonehenge.
After I finished my examination, I pointed to the boy’s forehead and said, “Why that looks like the horse itself.”
“I believe you are right, Watson.”
“What does it mean?” asked Lestrade.
“Hold on a minute,” said Holmes.
Lowering the sheet, he revealed a second symbol that had been painted on the left side of the man’s abdomen.
“Have you any idea what the symbols mean?” I asked.
“I do not,” replied my friend with a quiet determination, “but I intend to find out.”
Holmes said to Lestrade, “I would like the body taken to Dr. Brewitt. Watson, I should like you to accompany the boy and see if Brewitt can tell us what the symbol on the boy’s forehead means.”
“What will you be doing?” I asked.
“Talking to the villagers,” replied Holmes, “on the off chance that Lestrade and his men may have missed something.”
I didn’t dare turn around because I didn’t want to see the anger on Lestrade’s face. To my surprise, he remained silent, and then the realization washed over me: The only way that Holmes was going to bring the killer to heel was if Lestrade cooperated, and I think Lestrade had arrived at the same conclusion.
Chapter 6
I followed Holmes’ instructions to the letter. We transported the body to London by train, and then a police wagon carried the corpse to the Royal London Hospital.
As Lestrade hovered over us, Brewitt and I conducted a thorough post-mortem. “He died from the stab wound just below the heart. Once again, the knife punctured the organ causing the heart to cease beating,” Brewitt remarked. Looking at his face, I could see that he had spotted the puncture mark and was about to remark on it when I surreptitiously raised a finger to my lips, but he had begun before he noticed my warning.
“And...,” Brewitt started.
“And what?” inquired Lestrade.
“And the wound must have been inflicted by a man of som
e strength,” he added.
Brewitt then nodded at me, and I continued, “Mr. Holmes would like to know if you can tell us anything about the horse symbol on the boy’s forehead.”
“In druidic lore, the horse is often associated with the goddess, Epona,” Brewitt remarked. “She is generally regarded as a goddess of fertility, and you will find her mentioned by the Roman satirist Juvenal as well as in ‘The Golden Ass’ by Apuleius. She has associations with similar goddesses in other cultures. If my father were still alive, I am certain that he would be able to tell you a great deal more, Dr. Watson.”
After we had concluded the post-mortem, I returned to Baker Street. I expected to find the rooms empty, and I was not disappointed. I suspected that Holmes had spent the night near Uffington, talking to people and looking for clues.
When he arrived home early the next evening, I could tell immediately that his quest had been a fruitless one.
After he had gotten settled and filled his pipe, he began, “I believe I have remarked in the past how the countryside terrifies me. Where you see Nature in all her finery, I see only isolated areas and am struck by the impunity with which crimes may be committed there.”
“No one will ever accuse you of being a romantic,” I observed.
“I prefer to think of myself as a pragmatic realist,” he countered. “I believe that I have told you that it is my contention that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.”
“Am I to take it then then that your investigation yielded nothing of substance?”
“The locals had trampled the scene so badly that there were literally scores of footprints. No, our killer is extremely careful,” observed Holmes. “Although his cunning certainly makes him difficult to catch, it also allows me to weed out any number of individuals that the police might consider suspects.
“By the way,” he continued, “how was your day at the Natural History Museum?’
The Druid of Death - a Sherlock Holmes Adventure Page 3