Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Return of Sherlock Holmes THE MISSING THREE-QUARTER

WE WERE fairly accustomed to receive weird telegrams at Baker Street,but I have a particular recollection of one which reached us on a gloomyFebruary morning, some seven or eight years ago, and gave Mr. SherlockHolmes a puzzled quarter of an hour. It was addressed to him, and ranthus:Please await me. Terrible misfortune. Right wing three-quartermissing, indispensable to-morrow.OVERTON."Strand postmark, and dispatched ten thirty-six," said Holmes, readingit over and over. "Mr. Overton was evidently considerably excited whenhe sent it, and somewhat incoherent in consequence. Well, well, he willbe here, I daresay, by the time I have looked through the Times, and thenwe shall know all about it. Even the most insignificant problem would bewelcome in these stagnant days."Things had indeed been very slow with us, and I had learned to dreadsuch periods of inaction, for I knew by experience that my companion'sbrain was so abnormally active that it was dangerous to leave it withoutmaterial upon which to work. For years I had gradually weaned him fromthat drug mania which had threatened once to check his remarkable career. Now I knew that under ordinary conditions he no longer cravedfor this artificial stimulus, but I was well aware that the fiend was notdead but sleeping, and I have known that the sleep was a light one and thewaking near when in periods of idleness I have seen the drawn look uponHolmes's ascetic face, and the brooding of his deep-set and inscrutableeyes. Therefore I blessed this Mr. Overton, whoever he might be, since hehad come with his enigmatic message to break that dangerous calm whichbrought more peril to my friend than all the storms of his tempestuous life.As we had expected, the telegram was soon followed by its sender, andthe card of Mr. Cyril Overton, Trinity College, Cambridge, announced thearrival of an enormous young man, sixteen stone of solid bone andmuscle, who spanned the doorway with his broad shoulders, and lookedfrom one of us to the other with a comely face which was haggard withanxiety."Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"My companion bowed."I've been down to Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes. I saw InspectorStanley Hopkins. He advised me to come to you. He said the case, so faras he could see, was more in your line than in that of the regular police.""Pray sit down and tell me what is the matter.""It's awful, Mr. Holmes-simply awful! I wonder my hair isn't gray.Godfrey Staunton-you've heard of him, of course? He's simply the hingethat the whole team turns on. I'd rather spare two from the pack, and haveGodfrey for my three-quarter line. Whether it's passing, or tackling, ordribbling, there's no one to touch him, and then, he's got the head, andcan hold us all together. What am I to do? That's what I ask you, Mr.Holmes. There's Moorhouse, first reserve, but he is trained as a half, andhe always edges right in on to the scrum instead of keeping [623] out onthe touchline. He's a fine place-kick, it's true, but then he has nojudgment, and he can't sprint for nuts. Why, Morton or Johnson, theOxford fliers, could romp round him. Stevenson is fast enough, but hecouldn't drop from the twenty-five line, and a three-quarter who can'teither punt or drop isn't worth a place for pace alone. No, Mr. Holmes,we are done unless you can help me to find Godfrey Staunton."My friend had listened with amused surprise to this long speech, whichwas poured forth with extraordinary vigour and earnestness, every pointbeing driven home by the slapping of a brawny hand upon the speaker'sknee. When our visitor was silent Holmes stretched out his hand and tookdown letter "S" of his commonplace book. For once he dug in vain intothat mine of varied information."There is Arthur H. Staunton, the rising young forger," said he, "andthere was Henry Staunton, whom I helped to hang, but Godfrey Stauntonis a new name to me."It was our visitor's turn to look surprised."Why, Mr. Holmes, I thought you knew things," said he. "I suppose,then, if you have never heard of Godfrey Staunton, you don't know CyrilOverton either?"Holmes shook his head good humouredly."Great Scott!" cried the athlete. "Why, I was first reserve for Englandagainst Wales, and I've skippered the 'Varsity all this year. But that'snothing! I didn't think there was a soul in England who didn't knowGodfrey Staunton, the crack three-quarter, Cambridge, Blackheath, andfive Internationals. Good Lord! Mr. Holmes, where have you lived?"Holmes laughed at the young giant's naive astonishment."You live in a different world to me, Mr. Overton-a sweeter andhealthier one. My ramifications stretch out into many sections of society,but never, I am happy to say, into amateur sport, which is the best andsoundest thing in England. However, your unexpected visit this morningshows me that even in that world of fresh air and fair play, there may bework for me to do. So now, my good sir, I beg you to sit down and to tellme, slowly and quietly, exactly what it is that has occurred, and how youdesire that I should help you."Young Overton's face assumed the bothered look of the man who ismore accustomed to using his muscles than his wits, but by degrees, withmany repetitions and obscurities which I may omit from his narrative, helaid his strange story before us."It's this way, Mr. Holmes. As I have said, I am the skipper of theRugger team of Cambridge 'Varsity, and Godfrey Staunton is my bestman. To-morrow we play Oxford. Yesterday we all came up, and we settled at Bentley's private hotel. At ten o'clock I went round and sawthat all the fellows had gone to roost, for I believe in strict training andplenty of sleep to keep a team fit. I had a word or two with Godfreybefore he turned in. He seemed to me to be pale and bothered. I asked himwhat was the matter. He said he was all right -just a touch of headache. Ibade him good-night and left him. Half an hour later, the porter tells methat a rough-looking man with a beard called with a note for Godfrey. Hehad not gone to bed, and the note was taken to his room. Godfrey read it,and fell back in a chair as if he had been pole-axed. The porter was soscared that he was going to fetch me, but Godfrey stopped him, had adrink of water, and pulled himself together. Then he went downstairs,said a few words to the man who was waiting in the hall, and the two ofthem went off together. The last that the porter saw of them, they werealmost running down the street in the direction of the [624] Strand. Thismorning Godfrey's room was empty, his bed had never been slept in, andhis things were all just as I had seen them the night before. He had goneoff at a moment's notice with this stranger, and no word has come fromhim since. I don't believe he will ever come back. He was a sportsman,was Godfrey, down to his marrow, and he wouldn't have stopped histraining and let in his skipper if it were not for some cause that was toostrong for him. No: I feel as if he were gone for good, and we shouldnever see him again."Sherlock Holmes listened with the deepest attention to this singularnarrative."What did you do?" he asked."I wired to Cambridge to learn if anything had been heard of him there.I have had an answer. No one has seen him.""Could he have got back to Cambridge?""Yes, there is a late train-quarter-past eleven.""But, so far as you can ascertain, he did not take it?""No, he has not been seen.""What did you do next?""I wired to Lord Mount-James.""Why to Lord Mount-James?""Godfrey is an orphan, and Lord Mount-James is his nearestrelative-his uncle, I believe.""Indeed. This throws new light upon the matter. Lord Mount-James isone of the richest men in England.""So I've heard Godfrey say.""And your friend was closely related?""Yes, he was his heir, and the old boy is nearly eighty-cram full ofgout, too. They say he could chalk his billiard-cue with his knuckles. Henever allowed Godfrey a shilling in his life, for he is an absolute miser,but it will all come to him right enough.""Have you heard from Lord Mount-James?""No.""What motive could your friend have in going to Lord Mount-James?""Well, something was worrying him the night before, and if it was todo with money it is possible that he would make for his nearest relative, who had so much of it, though from all I have heard he would not havemuch chance of getting it. Godfrey was not fond of the old man. Hewould not go if he could help it.""Well, we can soon determine that. If your friend was going to hisrelative, Lord Mount-James, you have then to explain the visit of thisrough-looking fellow at so late an hour, and the agitation that was causedby his coming."Cyril Overton pressed his hands to his head. "I can make nothing of it," said he."Well, well, I have a clear day, and I shall be happy to look into thematter," said Holmes. "I should strongly recommend you to make yourpreparations for your match without reference to this young gentleman. Itmust, as you say, have been an overpowering necessity which tore himaway in such a fashion, and the same necessity is likely to hold him away.Let us step round together to the hotel, and see if the porter can throw anyfresh light upon the matter."Sherlock Holmes was a past-master in the art of putting a humblewitness at his ease, and very soon, in the privacy of Godfrey Staunton'sabandoned room, he had extracted all that the porter had to tell. Thevisitor of the night before was not a gentleman, neither was he aworkingman. He was simply what the porter [625] described as a"medium-looking chap," a man of fifty, beard grizzled, pale face, quietlydressed. He seemed himself to be agitated. The porter had observed hishand trembling when he had held out the note. Godfrey Staunton hadcrammed the note into his pocket. Staunton had not shaken hands with theman in the hall. They had exchanged a few sentences, of which the porterhad only distinguished the one word "time." Then they had hurried off inthe manner described. It was just half-past ten by the hall clock."Let me see," said Holmes, seating himself on Staunton's bed. "Youare the day porter, are you not?""Yes, sir, I go off duty at eleven.""The night porter saw nothing, I suppose?""No, sir, one theatre party came in late. No one else.""Were you on duty all day yesterday?""Yes, sir." "Did you take any messages to Mr. Staunton?""Yes, sir, one telegram.""Ah! that's interesting. What o'clock was this?""About six.""Where was Mr. Staunton when he received it?""Here in his room.""Were you present when he opened it?""Yes, sir, I waited to see if there was an answer.""Well, was there?""Yes, sir, he wrote an answer.""Did you take it?""No, he took it himself.""But he wrote it in your presence?""Yes, sir. I was standing by the door, and he with his back turned tothat table. When he had written it, he said: 'All right, porter, I will takethis myself.'""What did he write it with?""A pen, sir.""Was the telegraphic form one of these on the table?""Yes, sir, it was the top one."Holmes rose. Taking the forms, he carried them over to the windowand carefully examined that which was uppermost."It is a pity he did not write in pencil," said he, throwing them downagain with a shrug of disappointment. "As you have no doubt frequentlyobserved, Watson, the impression usually goes through-a fact which has dissolved many a happy marriage. However, I can find no trace here. Irejoice, however, to perceive that he wrote with a broad-pointed quill pen,and I can hardly doubt that we will find some impression upon thisblotting-pad. Ah, yes, surely this is the very thing!"He tore off a strip of the blotting-paper and turned towards us thefollowing hieroglyphic:[626] Cyril Overton was much excited. "Hold it to the glass!" he cried."That is unnecessary," said Holmes. "The paper is thin, and the reversewill give the message. Here it is." He turned it over, and we read:"So that is the tail end of the telegram which Godfrey Stauntondispatched within a few hours of his disappearance. There are at least sixwords of the message which have escaped us; but what remains-'Standby us for God's sake!' -proves that this young man saw a formidabledanger which approached him, and from which someone else couldprotect him. 'Us,' mark you! Another person was involved. Who should itbe but the pale-faced, bearded man, who seemed himself in so nervous astate? What, then, is the connection between Godfrey Staunton and thebearded man? And what is the third source from which each of themsought for help against pressing danger? Our inquiry has alreadynarrowed down to that.""We have only to find to whom that telegram is addressed," I suggested."Exactly, my dear Watson. Your reflection, though profound, hadalready crossed my mind. But I daresay it may have come to your noticethat, if you walk into a postoffice and demand to see the counterfoil ofanother man's message, there may be some disinclination on the part ofthe officials to oblige you. There is so much red tape in these matters.However, I have no doubt that with a little delicacy and finesse the endmay be attained. Meanwhile, I should like in your presence, Mr. Overton,to go through these papers which have been left upon the table."There were a number of letters, bills, and notebooks, which Holmesturned over and examined with quick, nervous fingers and darting,penetrating eyes. "Nothing here," he said, at last. "By the way, I supposeyour friend was a healthy young fellow-nothing amiss with him?""Sound as a bell." "Have you ever known him ill?""Not a day. He has been laid up with a hack, and once he slipped hisknee-cap, but that was nothing.""Perhaps he was not so strong as you suppose. I should think he mayhave had some secret trouble. With your assent, I will put one or two ofthese papers in my pocket, in case they should bear upon our futureinquiry.""One moment-one moment!" cried a querulous voice, and we lookedup to find a queer little old man, jerking and twitching in the doorway. Hewas dressed in rusty black, with a very broad-brimmed top-hat and aloose white necktie-the whole effect being that of a very rustic parson orof an undertaker's mute. Yet, in spite of his shabby and even absurdappearance, his voice had a sharp crackle, and his manner a quickintensity which commanded attention."Who are you, sir, and by what right do you touch this gentleman'spapers?" he asked."I am a private detective, and I am endeavouring to explain hisdisappearance.""Oh, you are, are you? And who instructed you, eh?"[627] "This gentleman, Mr. Staunton's friend, was referred to me byScotland Yard.""Who are you, sir?""I am Cyril Overton.""Then it is you who sent me a telegram. My name is Lord MountJames. I came round as quickly as the Bayswater bus would bring me. Soyou have instructed a detective?""Yes, sir.""And are you prepared to meet the cost?""I have no doubt, sir, that my friend Godfrey, when we find him, willbe prepared to do that.""But if he is never found, eh? Answer me that!""In that case, no doubt his family- -""Nothing of the sort, sir!" screamed the little man. "Don't look to mefor a penny-not a penny! You understand that, Mr. Detective! I am all thefamily that this young man has got, and I tell you that I am notresponsible. If he has any expectations it is due to the fact that I havenever wasted money, and I do not propose to begin to do so now. As to those papers with which you are making so free, I may tell you that incase there should be anything of any value among them, you will be heldstrictly to account for what you do with them.""Very good, sir," said Sherlock Holmes. "May I ask, in the meanwhile,whether you have yourself any theory to account for this young man'sdisappearance?""No, sir, I have not. He is big enough and old enough to look afterhimself, and if he is so foolish as to lose himself, I entirely refuse toaccept the responsibility of hunting for him.""I quite understand your position," said Holmes, with a mischievoustwinkle in his eyes. "Perhaps you don't quite understand mine. GodfreyStaunton appears to have been a poor man. If he has been kidnapped, itcould not have been for anything which he himself possesses. The fameof your wealth has gone abroad, Lord Mount-James, and it is entirelypossible that a gang of thieves have secured your nephew in order to gainfrom him some information as to your house, your habits, and yourtreasure."The face of our unpleasant little visitor turned as white as his neckcloth."Heavens, sir, what an idea! I never thought of such villainy! Whatinhuman rogues there are in the world! But Godfrey is a fine lad-astaunch lad. Nothing would induce him to give his old uncle away. I'llhave the plate moved over to the bank this evening. In the meantime spareno pains, Mr. Detective! I beg you to leave no stone unturned to bringhim safely back. As to money, well, so far as a fiver or even a tenner goesyou can always look to me."Even in his chastened frame of mind, the noble miser could give us noinformation which could help us, for he knew little of the private life ofhis nephew. Our only clue lay in the truncated telegram, and with a copyof this in his hand Holmes set forth to find a second link for his chain. Wehad shaken off Lord Mount-James, and Overton had gone to consult withthe other members of his team over the misfortune which had befallenthem.There was a telegraph-office at a short distance from the hotel. Wehalted outside it."It's worth trying, Watson," said Holmes. "Of course, with a warrantwe could demand to see the counterfoils, but we have not reached thatstage yet. I don't suppose they remember faces in so busy a place. Let usventure it."[628] "I am sorry to trouble you," said he, in his blandest manner, to theyoung woman behind the grating; "there is some small mistake about atelegram I sent yesterday. I have had no answer, and I very much fear thatI must have omitted to put my name at the end. Could you tell me if thiswas so?"The young woman turned over a sheaf of counterfoils."What o'clock was it?" she asked."A little after six.""Whom was it to?"Holmes put his finger to his lips and glanced at me. "The last words init were 'for God's sake,'" he whispered, confidentially; "I am very anxious at getting no answer."The young woman separated one of the forms."This is it. There is no name," said she, smoothing it out upon thecounter."Then that, of course, accounts for my getting no answer," saidHolmes. "Dear me, how very stupid of me, to be sure! Good-morning,miss, and many thanks for having relieved my mind." He chuckled andrubbed his hands when we found ourselves in the street once more."Well?" I asked."We progress, my dear Watson, we progress. I had seven differentschemes for getting a glimpse of that telegram, but I could hardly hope tosucceed the very first time.""And what have you gained?""A starting-point for our investigation." He hailed a cab. "King's CrossStation," said he."We have a journey, then?""Yes, I think we must run down to Cambridge together. All theindications seem to me to point in that direction.""Tell me," I asked, as we rattled up Gray's Inn Road, "have you anysuspicion yet as to the cause of the disappearance? I don't think thatamong all our cases I have known one where the motives are moreobscure. Surely you don't really imagine that he may be kidnapped inorder to give information against his wealthy uncle?""I confess, my dear Watson, that that does not appeal to me as a veryprobable explanation. It struck me, however, as being the one which wasmost likely to interest that exceedingly unpleasant old person.""It certainly did that; but what are your alternatives?""I could mention several. You must admit that it is curious andsuggestive that this incident should occur on the eve of this importantmatch, and should involve the only man whose presence seems essentialto the success of the side. It may, of course, be a coincidence, but it isinteresting. Amateur sport is free from betting, but a good deal of outsidebetting goes on among the public, and it is possible that it might be worthsomeone's while to get at a player as the ruffians of the turf get at a racehorse. There is one explanation. A second very obvious one is that thisyoung man really is the heir of a great property, however modest hismeans may at present be, and it is not impossible that a plot to hold himfor ransom might be concocted.""These theories take no account of the telegram.""Quite true, Watson. The telegram still remains the only solid thingwith which we have to deal, and we must not permit our attention towander away from it. [629] It is to gain light upon the purpose of thistelegram that we are now upon our way to Cambridge. The path of ourinvestigation is at present obscure, but I shall be very much surprised ifbefore evening we have not cleared it up, or made a considerable advancealong it."It was already dark when we reached the old university city. Holmestook a cab at the station and ordered the man to drive to the house of Dr.Leslie Armstrong. A few minutes later, we had stopped at a large mansion on the busiest thoroughfare. We were shown in, and after a long waitwere at last admitted into the consulting-room, where we found the doctorseated behind his table.It argues the degree in which I had lost touch with my profession thatthe name of Leslie Armstrong was unknown to me. Now I am aware thathe is not only one of the heads of the medical school of the university, buta thinker of European reputation in more than one branch of science. Yeteven without knowing his brilliant record one could not fail to beimpressed by a mere glance at the man, the square, massive face, thebrooding eyes under the thatched brows, and the granite moulding of theinflexible jaw. A man of deep character, a man with an alert mind, grim,ascetic, self-contained, formidable-so I read Dr. Leslie Armstrong. Heheld my friend's card in his hand, and he looked up with no very pleasedexpression upon his dour features."I have heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I am aware ofyour profession-one of which I by no means approve.""In that, Doctor, you will find yourself in agreement with everycriminal in the country," said my friend, quietly."So far as your efforts are directed towards the suppression of crime,sir, they must have the support of every reasonable member of thecommunity, though I cannot doubt that the official machinery is amplysufficient for the purpose. Where your calling is more open to criticism iswhen you pry into the secrets of private individuals, when you rake upfamily matters which are better hidden, and when you incidentally wastethe time of men who are more busy than yourself. At the present moment,for example, I should be writing a treatise instead of conversing with you." "No doubt, Doctor; and yet the conversation may prove more importantthan the treatise. Incidentally, I may tell you that we are doing the reverseof what you very justly blame, and that we are endeavouring to preventanything like public exposure of private matters which must necessarilyfollow when once the case is fairly in the hands of the official police. Youmay look upon me simply as an irregular pioneer, who goes in front of theregular forces of the country. I have come to ask you about Mr. GodfreyStaunton.""What about him?""You know him, do you not?""He is an intimate friend of mine.""You are aware that he has disappeared?""Ah, indeed!" There was no change of expression in the ruggedfeatures of the doctor."He left his hotel last night-he has not been heard of.""No doubt he will return.""To-morrow is the 'Varsity football match.""I have no sympathy with these childish games. The young man's fateinterests [630] me deeply, since I know him and like him. The footballmatch does not come within my horizon at all.""I claim your sympathy, then, in my investigation of Mr. Staunton'sfate. Do you know where he is?""Certainly not.""You have not seen him since yesterday?""No, I have not.""Was Mr. Staunton a healthy man?""Absolutely.""Did you ever know him ill?""Never."Holmes popped a sheet of paper before the doctor's eyes. "Thenperhaps you will explain this receipted bill for thirteen guineas, paid byMr. Godfrey Staunton last month to Dr. Leslie Armstrong, of Cambridge.I picked it out from among the papers upon his desk."The doctor flushed with anger."I do not feel that there is any reason why I should render anexplanation to you, Mr. Holmes."Holmes replaced the bill in his notebook. "If you prefer a publicexplanation, it must come sooner or later," said he. "I have already toldyou that I can hush up that which others will be bound to publish, and youwould really be wiser to take me into your complete confidence.""I know nothing about it.""Did you hear from Mr. Staunton in London?""Certainly not.""Dear me, dear me-the postoffice again!" Holmes sighed, wearily. "Amost urgent telegram was dispatched to you from London by GodfreyStaunton at six-fifteen yesterday evening-a telegram which isundoubtedly associated with his disappearance-and yet you have not hadit. It is most culpable. I shall certainly go down to the office here andregister a complaint." Dr. Leslie Armstrong sprang up from behind his desk, and his dark facewas crimson with fury."I'll trouble you to walk out of my house, sir," said he. "You can tellyour employer, Lord Mount-James, that I do not wish to have anything todo either with him or with his agents. No, sir-not another word!" He rangthe bell furiously. "John, show these gentlemen out!" A pompous butlerushered us severely to the door, and we found ourselves in the street.Holmes burst out laughing."Dr. Leslie Armstrong is certainly a man of energy and character," saidhe. "I have not seen a man who, if he turns his talents that way, was morecalculated to fill the gap left by the illustrious Moriarty. And now, mypoor Watson, here we are, stranded and friendless in this inhospitabletown, which we cannot leave without abandoning our case. This little innjust opposite Armstrong's house is singularly adapted to our needs. If youwould engage a front room and purchase the necessaries for the night, Imay have time to make a few inquiries."These few inquiries proved, however, to be a more lengthy proceedingthan Holmes had imagined, for he did not return to the inn until nearlynine o'clock. He was pale and dejected, stained with dust, and exhaustedwith hunger and fatigue. A cold supper was ready upon the table, andwhen his needs were satisfied and his pipe alight he was ready to take thathalf comic and wholly philosophic [631] view which was natural to himwhen his affairs were going awry. The sound of carriage wheels causedhim to rise and glance out of the window. A brougham and pair of grays,under the glare of a gas-lamp, stood before the doctor's door."It's been out three hours," said Holmes; "started at half-past six, andhere it is back again. That gives a radius of ten or twelve miles, and hedoes it once, or sometimes twice, a day." "No unusual thing for a doctor in practice.""But Armstrong is not really a doctor in practice. He is a lecturer and aconsultant, but he does not care for general practice, which distracts himfrom his literary work. Why, then, does he make these long journeys,which must be exceedingly irksome to him, and who is it that he visits?""His coachman- -""My dear Watson, can you doubt that it was to him that I first applied?I do not know whether it came from his own innate depravity or from thepromptings of his master, but he was rude enough to set a dog at me.Neither dog nor man liked the look of my stick, however, and the matterfell through. Relations were strained after that, and further inquiries out ofthe question. All that I have learned I got from a friendly native in theyard of our own inn. It was he who told me of the doctor's habits and ofhis daily journey. At that instant, to give point to his words, the carriagecame round to the door.""Could you not follow it?""Excellent, Watson! You are scintillating this evening. The idea didcross my mind. There is, as you may have observed, a bicycle shop nextto our inn. Into this I rushed, engaged a bicycle, and was able to getstarted before the carriage was quite out of sight. I rapidly overtook it, andthen, keeping at a discreet distance of a hundred yards or so, I followed itslights until we were clear of the town. We had got well out on the countryroad, when a somewhat mortifying incident occurred. The carriagestopped, the doctor alighted, walked swiftly back to where I had alsohalted, and told me in an excellent sardonic fashion that he feared theroad was narrow, and that he hoped his carriage did not impede thepassage of my bicycle. Nothing could have been more admirable than hisway of putting it. I at once rode past the carriage, and, keeping to themain road, I went on for a few miles, and then halted in a convenientplace to see if the carriage passed. There was no sign of it, however, andso it became evident that it had turned down one of several side roadswhich I had observed. I rode back, but again saw nothing of the carriage,and now, as you perceive, it has returned after me. Of course, I had at theoutset no particular reason to connect these journeys with thedisappearance of Godfrey Staunton, and was only inclined to investigatethem on the general grounds that everything which concerns Dr.Armstrong is at present of interest to us, but, now that I find he keeps sokeen a look-out upon anyone who may follow him on these excursions,the affair appears more important, and I shall not be satisfied until I havemade the matter clear.""We can follow him to-morrow.""Can we? It is not so easy as you seem to think. You are not familiarwith Cambridgeshire scenery, are you? It does not lend itself toconcealment. All this country that I passed over to-night is as flat andclean as the palm of your hand, and the man we are following is no fool,as he very clearly showed to-night. I have wired to Overton to let us knowany fresh London developments at this address, and in the meantime wecan only concentrate our attention upon Dr. Armstrong, [632] whose namethe obliging young lady at the office allowed me to read upon the counterfoil of Staunton's urgent message. He knows where the youngman is-to that I'll swear, and if he knows, then it must be our own fault ifwe cannot manage to know also. At present it must be admitted that theodd trick is in his possession, and, as you are aware, Watson, it is not myhabit to leave the game in that condition."And yet the next day brought us no nearer to the solution of themystery. A note was handed in after breakfast, which Holmes passedacross to me with a smile.SIR [it ran]:I can assure you that you are wasting your time in dogging mymovements. I have, as you discovered last night, a window at theback of my brougham, and if you desire a twenty-mile ride whichwill lead you to the spot from which you started, you have only tofollow me. Meanwhile, I can inform you that no spying upon mecan in any way help Mr. Godfrey Staunton, and I am convincedthat the best service you can do to that gentleman is to return atonce to London and to report to your employer that you are unableto trace him. Your time in Cambridge will certainly be wasted.Yours faithfully,LESLIE ARMSTRONG."An outspoken, honest antagonist is the doctor," said Holmes. "Well,well, he excites my curiosity, and I must really know before I leave him.""His carriage is at his door now," said I. "There he is stepping into it. Isaw him glance up at our window as he did so. Suppose I try my luckupon the bicycle?""No, no, my dear Watson! With all respect for your natural acumen, Ido not think that you are quite a match for the worthy doctor. I think thatpossibly I can attain our end by some independent explorations of myown. I am afraid that I must leave you to your own devices, as theappearance of two inquiring strangers upon a sleepy countryside mightexcite more gossip than I care for. No doubt you will find some sights toamuse you in this venerable city, and I hope to bring back a morefavourable report to you before evening."Once more, however, my friend was destined to be disappointed. Hecame back at night weary and unsuccessful."I have had a blank day, Watson. Having got the doctor's generaldirection, I spent the day in visiting all the villages upon that side ofCambridge, and comparing notes with publicans and other local newsagencies. I have covered some ground. Chesterton, Histon, Waterbeach,and Oakington have each been explored, and have each proveddisappointing. The daily appearance of a brougham and pair could hardlyhave been overlooked in such Sleepy Hollows. The doctor has scoredonce more. Is there a telegram for me?""Yes, I opened it. Here it is:"Ask for Pompey from Jeremy Dixon, Trinity College.I don't understand it.""Oh, it is clear enough. It is from our friend Overton, and is in answerto a question from me. I'll just send round a note to Mr. Jeremy Dixon,and then I have no doubt that our luck will turn. By the way, is there anynews of the match?""Yes, the local evening paper has an excellent account in its lastedition. Oxford won by a goal and two tries. The last sentences of thedescription say:[633] "The defeat of the Light Blues may be entirely attributed tothe unfortunate absence of the crack International, GodfreyStaunton, whose want was felt at every instant of the game. Thelack of combination in the three-quarter line and their weaknessboth in attack and defence more than neutralized the efforts of aheavy and hard-working pack.""Then our friend Overton's forebodings have been justified," saidHolmes. "Personally I am in agreement with Dr. Armstrong, and footballdoes not come within my horizon. Early to bed to-night, Watson, for Iforesee that to-morrow may be an eventful day."I was horrified by my first glimpse of Holmes next morning, for he satby the fire holding his tiny hypodermic syringe. I associated thatinstrument with the single weakness of his nature, and I feared the worstwhen I saw it glittering in his hand. He laughed at my expression ofdismay and laid it upon the table."No, no, my dear fellow, there is no cause for alarm. It is not upon thisoccasion the instrument of evil, but it will rather prove to be the keywhich will unlock our mystery. On this syringe I base all my hopes. Ihave just returned from a small scouting expedition, and everything isfavourable. Eat a good breakfast, Watson, for I propose to get upon Dr.Armstrong's trail to-day, and once on it I will not stop for rest or fooduntil I run him to his burrow.""In that case," said I, "we had best carry our breakfast with us, for he ismaking an early start. His carriage is at the door.""Never mind. Let him go. He will be clever if he can drive where Icannot follow him. When you have finished, come downstairs with me,and I will introduce you to a detective who is a very eminent specialist inthe work that lies before us."When we descended I followed Holmes into the stable yard, where heopened the door of a loose-box and led out a squat, lop-eared, white-andtan dog, something between a beagle and a foxhound."Let me introduce you to Pompey," said he. "Pompey is the pride of thelocal draghounds-no very great flier, as his build will show, but a staunchhound on a scent. Well, Pompey, you may not be fast, but I expect youwill be too fast for a couple of middle-aged London gentlemen, so I willtake the liberty of fastening this leather leash to your collar. Now, boy,come along, and show what you can do." He led him across to thedoctor's door. The dog sniffed round for an instant, and then with a shrillwhine of excitement started off down the street, tugging at his leash in his efforts to go faster. In half an hour, we were clear of the town andhastening down a country road."What have you done, Holmes?" I asked."A threadbare and venerable device, but useful upon occasion. I walkedinto the doctor's yard this morning, and shot my syringe full of aniseedover the hind wheel. A draghound will follow aniseed from here to Johno' Groat's, and our friend, Armstrong, would have to drive through theCam before he would shake Pompey off his trail. Oh, the cunning rascal!This is how he gave me the slip the other night."The dog had suddenly turned out of the main road into a grass-grownlane. Half a mile farther this opened into another broad road, and the trailturned hard to the right in the direction of the town, which we had justquitted. The road took a sweep to the south of the town, and continued inthe opposite direction to that in which we started.[634] "This détour has been entirely for our benefit, then?" said Holmes."No wonder that my inquiries among those villagers led to nothing. Thedoctor has certainly played the game for all it is worth, and one wouldlike to know the reason for such elaborate deception. This should be thevillage of Trumpington to the right of us. And, by Jove! here is thebrougham coming round the corner. Quick, Watson-quick, or we aredone!"He sprang through a gate into a field, dragging the reluctant Pompeyafter him. We had hardly got under the shelter of the hedge when thecarriage rattled past. I caught a glimpse of Dr. Armstrong within, hisshoulders bowed, his head sunk on his hands, the very image of distress. I could tell by my companion's graver face that he also had seen."I fear there is some dark ending to our quest," said he. "It cannot belong before we know it. Come, Pompey! Ah, it is the cottage in the field!"There could be no doubt that we had reached the end of our journey.Pompey ran about and whined eagerly outside the gate, where the marksof the brougham's wheels were still to be seen. A footpath led across tothe lonely cottage. Holmes tied the dog to the hedge, and we hastenedonward. My friend knocked at the little rustic door, and knocked againwithout response. And yet the cottage was not deserted, for a low soundcame to our ears-a kind of drone of misery and despair which wasindescribably melancholy. Holmes paused irresolute, and then he glancedback at the road which he had just traversed. A brougham was comingdown it, and there could be no mistaking those gray horses."By Jove, the doctor is coming back!" cried Holmes. "That settles it.We are bound to see what it means before he comes."He opened the door, and we stepped into the hall. The droning soundswelled louder upon our ears until it became one long, deep wail ofdistress. It came from upstairs. Holmes darted up, and I followed him. Hepushed open a half-closed door, and we both stood appalled at the sightbefore us.A woman, young and beautiful, was lying dead upon the bed. Her calm,pale face, with dim, wide-opened blue eyes, looked upward from amid agreat tangle of golden hair. At the foot of the bed, half sitting, halfkneeling, his face buried in the clothes, was a young man, whose framewas racked by his sobs. So absorbed was he by his bitter grief, that he never looked up until Holmes's hand was on his shoulder."Are you Mr. Godfrey Staunton?""Yes, yes, I am-but you are too late. She is dead."The man was so dazed that he could not be made to understand that wewere anything but doctors who had been sent to his assistance. Holmeswas endeavouring to utter a few words of consolation and to explain thealarm which had been caused to his friends by his sudden disappearancewhen there was a step upon the stairs, and there was the heavy, stern,questioning face of Dr. Armstrong at the door."So, gentlemen," said he, "you have attained your end and havecertainly chosen a particularly delicate moment for your intrusion. Iwould not brawl in the presence of death, but I can assure you that if Iwere a younger man your monstrous conduct would not pass withimpunity.""Excuse me, Dr. Armstrong, I think we are a little at cross-purposes,"said my friend, with dignity. "If you could step downstairs with us, wemay each be able to give some light to the other upon this miserableaffair."A minute later, the grim doctor and ourselves were in the sitting-roombelow.[635] "Well, sir?" said he."I wish you to understand, in the first place, that I am not employed byLord Mount-James, and that my sympathies in this matter are entirelyagainst that nobleman. When a man is lost it is my duty to ascertain hisfate, but having done so the matter ends so far as I am concerned, and solong as there is nothing criminal I am much more anxious to hush upprivate scandals than to give them publicity. If, as I imagine, there is no breach of the law in this matter, you can absolutely depend upon mydiscretion and my cooperation in keeping the facts out of the papers."Dr. Armstrong took a quick step forward and wrung Holmes by thehand."You are a good fellow," said he. "I had misjudged you. I thank heaventhat my compunction at leaving poor Staunton all alone in this plightcaused me to turn my carriage back and so to make your acquaintance.Knowing as much as you do, the situation is very easily explained. A yearago Godfrey Staunton lodged in London for a time and becamepassionately attached to his landlady's daughter, whom he married. Shewas as good as she was beautiful and as intelligent as she was good. Noman need be ashamed of such a wife. But Godfrey was the heir to thiscrabbed old nobleman, and it was quite certain that the news of hismarriage would have been the end of his inheritance. I knew the lad well,and I loved him for his many excellent qualities. I did all I could to helphim to keep things straight. We did our very best to keep the thing fromeveryone, for, when once such a whisper gets about, it is not long beforeeveryone has heard it. Thanks to this lonely cottage and his owndiscretion, Godfrey has up to now succeeded. Their secret was known tono one save to me and to one excellent servant, who has at present gonefor assistance to Trumpington. But at last there came a terrible blow in theshape of dangerous illness to his wife. It was consumption of the mostvirulent kind. The poor boy was half crazed with grief, and yet he had togo to London to play this match, for he could not get out of it withoutexplanations which would expose his secret. I tried to cheer him up bywire, and he sent me one in reply, imploring me to do all I could. Thiswas the telegram which you appear in some inexplicable way to haveseen. I did not tell him how urgent the danger was, for I knew that hecould do no good here, but I sent the truth to the girl's father, and he veryinjudiciously communicated it to Godfrey. The result was that he camestraight away in a state bordering on frenzy, and has remained in the samestate, kneeling at the end of her bed, until this morning death put an end toher sufferings. That is all, Mr. Holmes, and I am sure that I can rely uponyour discretion and that of your friend."Holmes grasped the doctor's hand."Come, Watson," said he, and we passed from that house of grief intothe pale sunlight of the winter day