Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Valley of Fear Chapter 4 DARKNESS

AT THREE in the morning the chief Sussex detective, obeying the urgentcall from Sergeant Wilson of Birlstone, arrived from headquarters in alight dog-cart behind a breathless trotter. By the five-forty train in themorning he had sent his message to Scotland Yard, and he was at theBirlstone station at twelve o'clock to welcome [785] us. White Mason wasa quiet, comfortable-looking person in a loose tweed suit, with a cleanshaved, ruddy face, a stoutish body, and powerful bandy legs adornedwith gaiters, looking like a small farmer, a retired gamekeeper, oranything upon earth except a very favourable specimen of the provincialcriminal officer."A real downright snorter, Mr. MacDonald!" he kept repeating. "We'llhave the pressmen down like flies when they understand it. I'm hopingwe will get our work done before they get poking their noses into it andmessing up all the trails. There has been nothing like this that I canremember. There are some bits that will come home to you, Mr. Holmes,or I am mistaken. And you also, Dr. Watson; for the medicos will have aword to say before we finish. Your room is at the Westville Arms.There's no other place; but I hear that it is clean and good. The man willcarry your bags. This way, gentlemen, if you please."He was a very bustling and genial person, this Sussex detective. In tenminutes we had all found our quarters. In ten more we were seated in theparlour of the inn and being treated to a rapid sketch of those eventswhich have been outlined in the previous chapter. MacDonald made anoccasional note; while Holmes sat absorbed, with the expression ofsurprised and reverent admiration with which the botanist surveys the rareand precious bloom."Remarkable!" he said, when the story was unfolded, "mostremarkable! I can hardly recall any case where the features have beenmore peculiar.""I thought you would say so, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason in greatdelight. "We're well up with the times in Sussex. I've told you now howmatters were, up to the time when I took over from Sergeant Wilsonbetween three and four this morning. My word! I made the old mare go!But I need not have been in such a hurry, as it turned out; for there wasnothing immediate that I could do. Sergeant Wilson had all the facts. Ichecked them and considered them and maybe added a few of my own.""What were they?" asked Holmes eagerly."Well, I first had the hammer examined. There was Dr. Wood there tohelp me. We found no signs of violence upon it. I was hoping that if Mr. Douglas defended himself with the hammer, he might have left his markupon the murderer before he dropped it on the mat. But there was nostain.""That, of course, proves nothing at all," remarked InspectorMacDonald. "There has been many a hammer murder and no trace on thehammer.""Quite so. It doesn't prove it wasn't used. But there might have beenstains, and that would have helped us. As a matter of fact there were none.Then I examined the gun. They were buckshot cartridges, and, asSergeant Wilson pointed out, the triggers were wired together so that, ifyou pulled on the hinder one, both barrels were discharged. Whoeverfixed that up had made up his mind that he was going to take no chancesof missing his man. The sawed gun was not more than two foot long-onecould carry it easily under one's coat. There was no complete maker'sname; but the printed letters P-E-N were on the fluting between thebarrels, and the rest of the name had been cut off by the saw.""A big P with a flourish above it, E and N smaller?" asked Holmes."Exactly.""Pennsylvania Small Arms Company-well known American firm,"said Holmes.White Mason gazed at my friend as the little village practitioner looksat the Harley Street specialist who by a word can solve the difficulties thatperplex him."That is very helpful, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. Wonderful![786] Wonderful! Do you carry the names of all the gun makers in theworld in your memory?"Holmes dismissed the subject with a wave."No doubt it is an American shotgun," White Mason continued. "Iseem to have read that a sawed-off shotgun is a weapon used in someparts of America. Apart from the name upon the barrel, the idea hadoccurred to me. There is some evidence, then, that this man who enteredthe house and killed its master was an American."MacDonald shook his head. "Man, you are surely travelling overfast,"said he. "I have heard no evidence yet that any stranger was ever in thehouse at all.""The open window, the blood on the sill, the queer card, the marks ofboots in the corner, the gun!""Nothing there that could not have been arranged. Mr. Douglas was anAmerican, or had lived long in America. So had Mr. Barker. You don'tneed to import an American from outside in order to account forAmerican doings.""Ames, the butler- -""What about him? Is he reliable?""Ten years with Sir Charles Chandos-as solid as a rock. He has beenwith Douglas ever since he took the Manor House five years ago. He hasnever seen a gun of this sort in the house.""The gun was made to conceal. That's why the barrels were sawed. Itwould fit into any box. How could he swear there was no such gun in thehouse?" "Well, anyhow, he had never seen one."MacDonald shook his obstinate Scotch head. "I'm not convinced yetthat there was ever anyone in the house," said he. "I'm asking you toconseedar" (his accent became more Aberdonian as he lost himself in hisargument) "I'm asking you to conseedar what it involves if you supposethat this gun was ever brought into the house, and that all these strangethings were done by a person from outside. Oh, man, it's justinconceivable! It's clean against common sense! I put it to you, Mr.Holmes, judging it by what we have heard.""Well, state your case, Mr. Mac," said Holmes in his most judicial style."The man is not a burglar, supposing that he ever existed. The ringbusiness and the card point to premeditated murder for some privatereason. Very good. Here is a man who slips into a house with thedeliberate intention of committing murder. He knows, if he knowsanything, that he will have a deeficulty in making his escape, as the houseis surrounded with water. What weapon would he choose? You would saythe most silent in the world. Then he could hope when the deed was doneto slip quickly from the window, to wade the moat, and to get away at hisleisure. That's understandable. But is it understandable that he should goout of his way to bring with him the most noisy weapon he could select,knowing well that it will fetch every human being in the house to the spotas quick as they can run, and that it is all odds that he will be seen beforehe can get across the moat? Is that credible, Mr. Holmes?""Well, you put the case strongly," my friend replied thoughtfully. "Itcertainly needs a good deal of justification. May I ask, Mr. White Mason,whether you examined the farther side of the moat at once to see if therewere any signs of the man having climbed out from the water?""There were no signs, Mr. Holmes. But it is a stone ledge, and onecould hardly expect them.""No tracks or marks?"[787] "None.""Ha! Would there be any objection, Mr. White Mason, to our goingdown to the house at once? There may possibly be some small pointwhich might be suggestive.""I was going to propose it, Mr. Holmes; but I thought it well to put youin touch with all the facts before we go. I suppose if anything shouldstrike you- -" White Mason looked doubtfully at the amateur."I have worked with Mr. Holmes before," said Inspector MacDonald."He plays the game.""My own idea of the game, at any rate," said Holmes, with a smile. "Igo into a case to help the ends of justice and the work of the police. If Ihave ever separated myself from the official force, it is because they havefirst separated themselves from me. I have no wish ever to score at theirexpense. At the same time, Mr. White Mason, I claim the right to work inmy own way and give my results at my own time-complete rather than instages.""I am sure we are honoured by your presence and to show you all weknow, " said White Mason cordially. "Come along, Dr. Watson, andwhen the time comes we'll all hope for a place in your book." We walked down the quaint village street with a row of pollarded elmson each side of it. Just beyond were two ancient stone pillars, weatherstained and lichen-blotched, bearing upon their summits a shapelesssomething which had once been the rampant lion of Capus of Birlstone. Ashort walk along the winding drive with such sward and oaks around it asone only sees in rural England, then a sudden turn, and the long, lowJacobean house of dingy, liver-coloured brick lay before us, with an oldfashioned garden of cut yews on each side of it. As we approached it,there was the wooden drawbridge and the beautiful broad moat as stilland luminous as quicksilver in the cold, winter sunshine.Three centuries had flowed past the old Manor House, centuries ofbirths and of homecomings, of country dances and of the meetings of foxhunters. Strange that now in its old age this dark business should havecast its shadow upon the venerable walls! And yet those strange, peakedroofs and quaint, overhung gables were a fitting covering to grim andterrible intrigue. As I looked at the deep-set windows and the long sweepof the dull-coloured, water-lapped front, I felt that no more fitting scenecould be set for such a tragedy."That's the window," said White Mason, "that one on the immediateright of the drawbridge. It's open just as it was found last night.""It looks rather narrow for a man to pass.""Well, it wasn't a fat man, anyhow. We don't need your deductions,Mr. Holmes, to tell us that. But you or I could squeeze through all right."Holmes walked to the edge of the moat and looked across. Then heexamined the stone ledge and the grass border beyond it."I've had a good look, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason. "There isnothing there, no sign that anyone has landed-but why should he leaveany sign?""Exactly. Why should he? Is the water always turbid?""Generally about this colour. The stream brings down the clay.""How deep is it?""About two feet at each side and three in the middle.""So we can put aside all idea of the man having been drowned incrossing.""No, a child could not be drowned in it."[788] We walked across the drawbridge, and were admitted by a quaint,gnarled, dried-up person, who was the butler, Ames. The poor old fellowwas white and quivering from the shock. The village sergeant, a tall,formal, melancholy man, still held his vigil in the room of Fate. Thedoctor had departed."Anything fresh, Sergeant Wilson?" asked White Mason."No, sir.""Then you can go home. You've had enough. We can send for you ifwe want you. The butler had better wait outside. Tell him to warn Mr.Cecil Barker, Mrs. Douglas, and the housekeeper that we may want aword with them presently. Now, gentlemen, perhaps you will allow me togive you the views I have formed first, and then you will be able to arriveat your own."He impressed me, this country specialist. He had a solid grip of fact anda cool, clear, common-sense brain, which should take him some way inhis profession. Holmes listened to him intently, with no sign of thatimpatience which the official exponent too often produced."Is it suicide, or is it murder-that's our first question, gentlemen, is itnot? If it were suicide, then we have to believe that this man began bytaking off his wedding ring and concealing it; that he then came downhere in his dressing gown, trampled mud into a corner behind the curtainin order to give the idea someone had waited for him, opened the window,put blood on the- -""We can surely dismiss that," said MacDonald."So I think. Suicide is out of the question. Then a murder has beendone. What we have to determine is, whether it was done by someoneoutside or inside the house.""Well, let's hear the argument.""There are considerable difficulties both ways, and yet one or the otherit must be. We will suppose first that some person or persons inside thehouse did the crime. They got this man down here at a time wheneverything was still and yet no one was asleep. They then did the deedwith the queerest and noisiest weapon in the world so as to tell everyonewhat had happened-a weapon that was never seen in the house before.That does not seem a very likely start, does it?""No, it does not.""Well, then, everyone is agreed that after the alarm was given only aminute at the most had passed before the whole household-not Mr. CecilBarker alone, though he claims to have been the first, but Ames and all of them were on the spot. Do you tell me that in that time the guilty personmanaged to make footmarks in the corner, open the window, mark the sillwith blood, take the wedding ring off the dead man's finger, and all therest of it? It's impossible!""You put it very clearly," said Holmes. "I am inclined to agree withyou.""Well, then, we are driven back to the theory that it was done bysomeone from outside. We are still faced with some big difficulties; butanyhow they have ceased to be impossibilities. The man got into thehouse between four-thirty and six; that is to say, between dusk and thetime when the bridge was raised. There had been some visitors, and thedoor was open; so there was nothing to prevent him. He may have been acommon burglar, or he may have had some private grudge against Mr.Douglas. Since Mr. Douglas has spent most of his life in America, andthis shotgun seems to be an American weapon, it would seem that theprivate grudge is the more likely theory. He slipped into this roombecause it was the first he came to, and he hid behind the curtain. Therehe remained [789] until past eleven at night. At that time Mr. Douglasentered the room. It was a short interview, if there were any interview atall; for Mrs. Douglas declares that her husband had not left her more thana few minutes when she heard the shot.""The candle shows that," said Holmes."Exactly. The candle, which was a new one, is not burned more thanhalf an inch. He must have placed it on the table before he was attacked;otherwise, of course, it would have fallen when he fell. This shows that hewas not attacked the instant that he entered the room. When Mr. Barkerarrived the candle was lit and the lamp was out.""That's all clear enough.""Well, now, we can reconstruct things on those lines. Mr. Douglasenters the room. He puts down the candle. A man appears from behind thecurtain. He is armed with this gun. He demands the wedding ring-Heavenonly knows why, but so it must have been. Mr. Douglas gave it up. Theneither in cold blood or in the course of a struggle-Douglas may havegripped the hammer that was found upon the mat-he shot Douglas in thishorrible way. He dropped his gun and also it would seem this queercard-V. V. 341, whatever that may mean- and he made his escapethrough the window and across the moat at the very moment when CecilBarker was discovering the crime. How's that, Mr. Holmes?""Very interesting, but just a little unconvincing.""Man, it would be absolute nonsense if it wasn't that anything else iseven worse!" cried MacDonald. "Somebody killed the man, and whoeverit was I could clearly prove to you that he should have done it some otherway. What does he mean by allowing his retreat to be cut off like that?What does he mean by using a shotgun when silence was his one chanceof escape? Come, Mr. Holmes, it's up to you to give us a lead, since yousay Mr. White Mason's theory is unconvincing."Holmes had sat intently observant during this long discussion, missingno word that was said, with his keen eyes darting to right and to left, andhis forehead wrinkled with speculation."I should like a few more facts before I get so far as a theory, Mr.Mac," said he, kneeling down beside the body. "Dear me! these injuriesare really appalling. Can we have the butler in for a moment? . . . Ames, Iunderstand that you have often seen this very unusual mark-a brandedtriangle inside a circle-upon Mr. Douglas's forearm?""Frequently, sir.""You never heard any speculation as to what it meant?""No, sir.""It must have caused great pain when it was inflicted. It is undoubtedlya burn. Now, I observe, Ames, that there is a small piece of plaster at theangle of Mr. Douglas's jaw. Did you observe that in life?""Yes, sir, he cut himself in shaving yesterday morning.""Did you ever know him to cut himself in shaving before?""Not for a very long time, sir.""Suggestive!" said Holmes. "It may, of course, be a mere coincidence,or it may point to some nervousness which would indicate that he hadreason to apprehend danger. Had you noticed anything unusual in hisconduct, yesterday, Ames?""It struck me that he was a little restless and excited, sir.""Ha! The attack may not have been entirely unexpected. We do seem tomake [790] a little progress, do we not? Perhaps you would rather do thequestioning, Mr. Mac?""No, Mr. Holmes, it's in better hands than mine.""Well, then, we will pass to this card-V. V. 341. It is rough cardboard.Have you any of the sort in the house?""I don't think so."Holmes walked across to the desk and dabbed a little ink from eachbottle on to the blotting paper. "It was not printed in this room," he said;"this is black ink and the other purplish. It was done by a thick pen, andthese are fine. No, it was done elsewhere, I should say. Can you makeanything of the inscription, Ames?" "No, sir, nothing.""What do you think, Mr. Mac?""It gives me the impression of a secret society of some sort; the samewith his badge upon the forearm.""That's my idea, too," said White Mason."Well, we can adopt it as a working hypothesis and then see how farour difficulties disappear. An agent from such a society makes his wayinto the house, waits for Mr. Douglas, blows his head nearly off with thisweapon, and escapes by wading the moat, after leaving a card beside thedead man, which will, when mentioned in the papers, tell other membersof the society that vengeance has been done. That all hangs together. Butwhy this gun, of all weapons?""Exactly.""And why the missing ring?""Quite so.""And why no arrest? It's past two now. I take it for granted that sincedawn every constable within forty miles has been looking out for a wetstranger?""That is so, Mr. Holmes.""Well, unless he has a burrow close by or a change of clothes ready,they can hardly miss him. And yet they have missed him up to now!"Holmes had gone to the window and was examining with his lens theblood mark on the sill. "It is clearly the tread of a shoe. It is remarkablybroad; a splay-foot, one would say. Curious, because, so far as one cantrace any footmark in this mud-stained corner, one would say it was amore shapely sole. However, they are certainly very indistinct. What'sthis under the side table?""Mr. Douglas's dumb-bells," said Ames."Dumb-bell-there's only one. Where's the other?""I don't know, Mr. Holmes. There may have been only one. I have notnoticed them for months.""One dumb-bell- -" Holmes said seriously; but his remarks wereinterrupted by a sharp knock at the door.A tall, sunburned, capable-looking, clean-shaved man looked in at us. Ihad no difficulty in guessing that it was the Cecil Barker of whom I hadheard. His masterful eyes travelled quickly with a questioning glancefrom face to face."Sorry to interrupt your consultation," said he, "but you should hear thelatest news.""An arrest?""No such luck. But they've found his bicycle. The fellow left hisbicycle behind him. Come and have a look. It is within a hundred yards ofthe hall door."We found three or four grooms and idlers standing in the driveinspecting a [791] bicycle which had been drawn out from a clump ofevergreens in which it had been concealed. It was a well used RudgeWhitworth, splashed as from a considerable journey. There was asaddlebag with spanner and oilcan, but no clue as to the owner."It would be a grand help to the police," said the inspector, "if thesethings were numbered and registered. But we must be thankful for whatwe've got. If we can't find where he went to, at least we are likely to getwhere he came from. But what in the name of all that is wonderful madethe fellow leave it behind? And how in the world has he got away without it? We don't seem to get a gleam of light in the case, Mr. Holmes.""Don't we?" my friend answered thoughtfully. "I wonder!"