“The daylight was beginning to fade as I arrived at the gate. I pushed it open, and was surprised to see a shabbily dressed woman coming along the path under the gloomy, shadowed glass tunnel. She was short and frail-looking, her garments were frayed and dirty, and she had a black shawl pulled tightly round her shoulders. Her head was down and she did not see me until she was almost upon me. When she did, she started as if terrified, and the eyes she turned up to me had a disturbing look of fear in them. We passed in silence, but as we did so she suddenly shot out an arm from beneath her shawl and plucked the sleeve of my coat. Startled, I stopped and turned to her.
“‘Yes?’ said I.
“‘Don’t go through that door,’ said she after a moment in a low, cracked voice, nodding her head very slightly in the direction of the house.
“‘Why, whatever do you mean?’ I asked in surprise.
“For a moment she hesitated, then, mumbling something in which I caught only the word ‘regret’, she pushed past me and hurried on to the gate. It was an unpleasant and unsettling incident, but I concluded that the poor woman was half-witted, and dismissed it from my mind.
“As I approached the front door of the house, I saw that it was slightly ajar. The hall within was in deep shadow, with no sign of anyone there. I knocked and, pushing the door further open, stepped into the hall, calling out a greeting as I did so.
“The silent house returned no answer, but at that moment the front door behind me creaked slightly on its hinges. I turned to find Cousin Silas in the act of closing it. He had evidently been standing in the shadows behind the door as I entered. Aware of his eccentric ways, I made no comment. I don’t know if you are familiar with William Blake’s somewhat whimsical painting of ‘the flea’, but it has always seemed to me that anyone seeing Cousin Silas might well imagine that he had been the model for the picture. There is something shifty, stooping and watchful in his manner, which could not be described as attractive. His facial expression habitually hovers somewhere between a sneer and a calculating smile, without quite being either; for in truth it appears scarcely like a human expression at all, resembling more that unpleasant reptilian grin you see on the faces of those creatures in whose company Silas has spent so much of his time. Were he not so bent and stooping, it may be that he would be quite tall. He certainly has broad shoulders and a powerful chest, and there must have been a time, in his youth, when his appearance was not unattractive. Now, however, both his appearance and his manner border on the repulsive, and as I watched him close the front door I could well understand the effect he had had upon my fiancée. I waited, and he advanced towards me in his queer shuffling way, never quite lifting his feet fully from the ground. Then he gripped my arm and thrust his face close to my own.
“‘Well, my boy,’ said he in a thin, reedy voice, ‘I don’t have many visitors here. It’s put me out a little, if I am to speak frankly, but I think you’ll find I’m ready for you.’
“‘It is good of you to put me up at such short notice,’ I responded and made to move away, but he held me back.
“‘That person you met on the path is my charwoman,’ said he in a low voice, breathing in my face. ‘She’s quite mad, you know. It’s difficult to get servants out here.’
“‘Is it?’ I asked in surprise.
“‘Yes, it is,’ said he sharply. ‘She said something to you, I believe, as you passed. What was it, eh?’
“‘Nothing intelligible.’
“‘But you replied to her. I saw you speak.’
“‘I tell you, I couldn’t understand what she was talking about.’
“‘Not at all?’ persisted Silas in a tone of disbelief.
“‘I think she wondered if I had come to the right address.’
“‘Bah!’ said he, stamping his foot on the floor in anger. ‘Interfering nuisance! I’ll teach her to meddle in my affairs, you see if I don’t! Still, that is something for me to consider later.’
“‘I take it you received my letter,’ said I, endeavouring to change the subject.
“For a long moment he did not reply, his hooded eyes flickering from side to side, as if he were considering whether he could deny having received the letter and if he would gain anything thereby.
“‘What if I did?’ said he at length in an unpleasant, argumentative tone.
“‘I am anxious to discover Simon’s whereabouts.’
“‘What is that to me, eh?’
“‘I thought, as I mentioned in my letter, that he had perhaps written to you, or even visited you, before his disappearance.’
“‘Why should he do that?’ retorted Silas quickly in a suspicious tone.
“‘I cannot imagine. But I can find no trace of him elsewhere.’
“‘Well, he didn’t. I haven’t seen him for years! Still,’ he continued in an unpleasantly unctuous tone, evidently fearing he had spoken too sharply, ‘we can consider the matter over dinner.’
“He led me through the darkened house to the dining room, where two places were laid for dinner. A single small candle in the centre of the table provided the only illumination. Silas must have sensed the despondency with which I viewed this dismal scene, for he chuckled.
“‘No sense in wasting money on light we don’t need,’ said he, laughing unpleasantly.
“There followed what I can only describe as the most wretched meal of my life, the central features of which were a miserable-looking joint of tough and highly salted bacon, and a bottle of wine that tasted like vinegar, of which, Silas informed me with great self-satisfaction, he had been fortunate enough to purchase a whole case at ‘a quite remarkably low price’. It quickly became clear that I should learn nothing from him concerning my brother, and I began to regret that I had ever gone to Hill House at all. His only suggestion was that Simon might have gone to Italy, but when I enquired why he should think so, he replied only that ‘people do go there sometimes, you know’ and laughed unpleasantly at this feeble and inappropriate jest. As soon as the meal was ended, therefore, I began yawning ostentatiously. Silas reacted with alacrity to this cue and offered to show me to my room. Taking the candle from the table, he led the way up the dirty, uncarpeted staircase and along a dusty, crooked corridor. Everywhere the smell of damp and rot rose from the bare floorboards. Presently he stopped and opened a door.
“‘This is your room,’ said he, ushering me through the doorway.
“He lit the stump of a candle, which stood on a small table beside the bed, and turned to go. As he was closing the door, however, he put his head back in.
“‘There’s water in the jug,’ said he, indicating a large, dirty-looking ewer which stood on a lop-sided washstand at the side of the room. ‘If there’s not enough, you’ll find more through there,’ he added, nodding at a door in the shadows at the far side of the room.
“It was a dark and grim chamber in which to pass the night. Apart from the bed, table and washstand, the only furniture was a stained and rotten-looking chest of drawers. The stench of damp seemed even stronger in the bedroom than elsewhere in the house, and the wallpaper was hanging from the walls in sheets, yellowed and dirty and dotted all over with the black marks of mould. I was glad to climb into bed and pull the covers over my head. For a while I lay awake, listening to the sounds of small creatures scurrying about beneath the floor, but at length I fell asleep. Before I did so, I vowed to myself that I would never spend another night in that wretched house.
“Some hours later, I awoke suddenly. A pounding headache seemed to split my head asunder, my throat was hot and parched, and I felt desperately thirsty. I struck a match and lit the candle, surprising a dozen large spiders on the wall above my head. Whether my thirst was the result of the salty meat I had eaten, the foul wine, or something else, I had no idea. I knew only that I must have a drink of water. I climbed wearily from my bed, but found that, despite what Silas had told me, the jug was empty. Feeling a little annoyed at this, I took the candle across to the door he had indicat
ed and attempted to open it. I had presumed it would open inwards, as the other door did, but as I turned the doorknob it swung away from me and, still half asleep, I stepped forward into the blackness beyond. Never in my life have such terror and confusion gripped my heart as at that moment. For in stepping from the rough wood of the bedroom floor, my bare foot found nothing whatever, but trod on empty air. I think I must have cried out, but I cannot be certain, for my memory of that terrible moment is exceedingly confused. The step I had taken had created a forward momentum I could not stop, and in a split second I was plunging into the black void and had dropped the candle, which blew out almost at once. Scarcely conscious of my own actions, I somehow twisted round as I fell, stretching my arms out blindly and desperately. Abruptly, my right arm hit the door frame, then the edge of the bedroom floor, which I gripped with all my might. I realize now that all this must have occupied the merest fraction of a second, but as I relive it now it draws out to great, horrific length.
“For a moment my fall was arrested, but it was only for the very briefest of moments, for the edge of the floor at the doorway was wet and slimy, and my fingers, which did not have a proper grip on anything, were slipping rapidly towards the edge. With a great effort I lunged upwards and forwards with my left hand, even as my right completely lost its grip. This time I was more successful. I had reached further into the room, past the slimy doorway, and my fingertips had found a narrow crack between two floorboards. I doubt it was a quarter of an inch wide, but it saved my life. Using this tiny finger-hold as a base, I managed to reach further with my right hand until that, too, had found a secure grip, and so, by slow degrees, I hauled myself to safety.
“For some time I lay on the floor of the bedroom, almost delirious, but presently I came to myself once more and determined to see the nature of the dark pit into which I had so nearly plummeted. I crept carefully to the edge once more and peered over, but could make out nothing whatever in the darkness. As I crouched there, eyes straining, I became conscious of a foul, mephitic vapour that seemed to rise from the pit before me, smothering and choking me with its stench. I was turning my head away in disgust, when a slight noise from below made me stop. It was a soft noise, like the lapping of water, but with an odd and unpleasant heaviness about it. There followed a splashing sound, then what I can only describe as scratching noises, which were quite horrible to hear. For a moment my heart seemed to stop beating and the blood ran cold in my veins. There was something in the pit below me, something which was moving quietly about in the darkness.
“Scarcely daring to breathe, I drew back from the edge of that foul hole, dressed as quickly as I could in the darkness and sat on the side of the bed to gather my thoughts. Then a slight noise set my jangled nerves on edge once more, and I quickly struck a match, but there was nothing to be seen save the dark open doorway, through which, I was convinced, Silas had intended that I should fall to my death. I could not rest while the door stood open like that, so, striking match after match to light my way, I leaned out into the void, managed to grip the panelling of the door, and pulled it shut.
“My supply of matches was by now almost exhausted. I had opened the curtains, but gained no more light, for the night was a dark one. Then it occurred to me that there might be a spare candle in the chest of drawers. I pulled each drawer out in turn, examining them by the light of the matches, but they were all quite empty. The top drawer was a very shallow one, and as I was pushing it back in, I could feel that there was something hampering it. I pulled it right out again and examined the recess behind it by the light of another match. It appeared there was some woollen article there. I reached in, freed it from the nail on which it was snagged and pulled it out. To my utter amazement, I recognized it at once. It was a striped woollen muffler, belonging to my brother, Simon. I knew I could not be mistaken, for my sister, Rachel, had knitted it for him herself and given it to him at Christmas. I had seen him wearing it in January, at the time of our engagement party. Clearly he had been at Hill House some time shortly after that, despite Silas’s claim that he had not seen him for years, and had stayed in the very room in which I now stood.
“As you will imagine, I was already extremely agitated and excited by my experiences, but this latest discovery almost drove reason from my mind. I threw my few belongings into my bag, together with Simon’s muffler, and crept from the house as quietly as I could, letting myself out of the front door. The first pale light of dawn was showing over the hill as I reached the road. Without pausing, or even considering what I was doing, I walked quickly down into Richmond and on to the railway station, caught an early train, and was back in town by seven o’clock. At nine I was at the door of Farrow and Redfearn’s office, seeking their advice, and they, as you see, have sent me on to you.”
Sherlock Holmes had sat in silence, his eyes closed in concentration, throughout this strange narrative, and he remained so for several minutes longer.
“It is certainly a singular story that you tell,” said he at length, opening his eyes and reaching for his old clay pipe. “It interests me greatly. Although one or two small points are not yet entirely clear to me, it seems undoubtedly a bad business.”
“I am convinced that Cousin Silas knows what has become of Simon,” cried Boldero. “Otherwise, why should he lie about having seen him in January?”
“Why indeed?” said Holmes. “You have not reported the matter to the police?”
“It was in my mind to do so as I walked through Richmond this morning, but there are difficulties.”
“The chief one being that you have no real evidence to substantiate your suspicions.”
“Precisely, Mr Holmes. I cannot prove that any of my story is true, not even, now that I have removed it, that Simon’s muffler was ever at Hill House. Mr Farrow was of the opinion that the police would do nothing unless I could produce more telling evidence. He recommended that I seek your help at once.”
“I am honoured by his recommendation. What do you propose?”
“That you accompany me to Richmond, as my witness, and that we confront Silas with our suspicions. Beneath his shiftiness, he is mean-spirited and cowardly. I do not think he would dare lie so brazenly if you were there.”
Holmes did not reply at once, but sat for some time in silence, evidently considering the matter in all its aspects.
“I will certainly accompany you,” he responded at length, “and Dr Watson, too, if he will be so good. But it is necessary for us to prepare the ground a little before we confront your cousin, Mr Boldero. We must be armed with as much information as possible. I shall therefore spend the next twenty-four hours doing a little research into the matter. Be at the bookstall at Waterloo station at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, and we can travel down to Richmond together!”
* * *
“What a very odd affair!” I remarked when our visitor had left us.
“It is certainly somewhat recherché,” agreed Holmes. “The curious arrangement of the door in the bedroom, which leads only to a bottomless pit, is quite unique in my experience. As a way of ridding oneself of unwanted guests it may have its merits, but it is hardly a feature the builders of modern villas are likely to include in their brochures!”
“Can it all be true?” I wondered aloud. “The black void into which he so nearly tumbled, the horrible noises he heard; they sound like the stuff of a disordered and terrifying nightmare!”
“Boldero himself is sufficiently convinced of their veracity to seek our advice on the matter,” responded my companion. “We must see if we can bring a little light into the darkness tomorrow. You will accompany us?”
“I should certainly wish to,” I returned, “if my presence would be of any use to you. The matter is so grotesque and puzzling that it seems to me quite beyond conjecture. The only hope of an explanation must be down there at Richmond, at Hill House.”
“And yet,” said Holmes after a moment, “even there we may have difficulty in arriving at the truth. I
f, as appears to be the case, Silas Boldero has indeed murdered his cousin, Simon, and intended last night to take the brother’s life also, we come up against the question of motive. What possible reason could Silas have for murdering his cousins in this way? He is, after all, the one with all the money. It would make more sense the other way round: if it had been Simon Boldero who had tried to murder Silas, in order to bring forward his inheritance a little.”
“Perhaps that is indeed what happened,” I suggested. “David Boldero appears a pleasant and honest man, but we know nothing, really, of his brother. Perhaps Simon did try to murder Silas, and Silas killed him in self-defence. Then Silas, frightened, perhaps, that he would be accused of murder, hid the body and decided to pretend that Simon had never been to see him at all.”
“It is possible,” conceded Holmes, “but it seems unlikely. You must remember that Silas had already made plans to murder his cousin, David, last night – the highly salted meat, the jug with no water in it, the suggestion that more water could be found through the side door – before David Boldero had expressed any suspicions at all. Why could he not simply deny having seen Simon and leave it at that? He could not have known that David Boldero would find his brother’s muffler, which is the only real evidence that Simon was ever at Hill House. Indeed, the muffler would probably not have been found at all had our client’s rest not been disturbed so alarmingly. I sense, Watson, that we may be fishing in deeper waters than was at first apparent.”
Mammoth Book The Lost Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes (Mammoth Books) Page 22