The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock Holmes 3) - Page 22

"There's a cold-blooded scoundrel!" said Holmes, laughing, as hethrew himself down into his chair once more. "That fellow willrise from crime to crime until he does something very bad, andends on a gallows. The case has, in some respects, been notentirely devoid of interest."

"I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning," Iremarked.

"Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr.Hosmer Angel must have some strong object for his curiousconduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who reallyprofited by the incident, as far as we could see, was thestepfather. Then the fact that the two men were never together,but that the one always appeared when the other was away, wassuggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice,which both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. Mysuspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action intypewriting his signature, which, of course, inferred that hishandwriting was so familiar to her that she would recognise eventhe smallest sample of it. You see all these isolated facts,together with many minor ones, all pointed in the samedirection."

"And how did you verify them?"

"Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. Iknew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printeddescription. I eliminated everything from it which could be theresult of a disguise--the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and Isent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform mewhether it answered to the description of any of theirtravellers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of thetypewriter, and I wrote to the man himself at his businessaddress asking him if he would come here. As I expected, hisreply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial butcharacteristic defects. The same post brought me a letter fromWesthouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that thedescription tallied in every respect with that of their employe,James Windibank. Voila tout!"

"And Miss Sutherland?"

"If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the oldPersian saying, 'There is danger for him who taketh the tigercub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.'There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as muchknowledge of the world."

ADVENTURE IV. THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY

We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when themaid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ranin this way:

"Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for fromthe west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy.Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect.Leave Paddington by the 11:15."

"What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at me."Will you go?"

"I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list atpresent."

"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been lookinga little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good,and you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes' cases."

"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gainedthrough one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must packat once, for I have only half an hour."

My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had theeffect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants werefew and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in acab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. SherlockHolmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gauntfigure made even gaunter and taller by his long greytravelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.

"It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he. "Itmakes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me onwhom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthlessor else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shallget the tickets."

We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter ofpapers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummagedand read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, untilwe were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into agigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.

"Have you heard anything of the case?" he asked.

"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days."

"The London press has not had very full accounts. I have justbeen looking through all the recent papers in order to master theparticulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of thosesimple cases which are so extremely difficult."

"That sounds a little paradoxical."

"But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably aclue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the moredifficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, theyhave established a very serious case against the son of themurdered man."

"It is a murder, then?"

"Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing forgranted until I have the opportunity of looking personally intoit. I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I havebeen able to understand it, in a very few words.

"Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, inHerefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is aMr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returnedsome years ago to the old country. One of the farms which heheld, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who wasalso an ex-Australian. The men had known each other in thecolonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came tosettle down they should do so as near each other as possible.Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became histenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfectequality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had one son,a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the sameage, but neither of them had wives living. They appear to haveavoided the society of the neighbouring English families and tohave led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond ofsport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of theneighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl.Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at theleast. That is as much as I have been able to gather about thefamilies. Now for the facts.

"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house atHatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to theBoscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading outof the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had beenout with his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had toldthe man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment ofimportance to keep at three. From that appointment he never cameback alive.

"From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of amile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. Onewas an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other wasWilliam Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Boththese witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. Thegame-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr.McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going thesame way with a gun under his arm. To the best of his belief, thefather was actually in sight at the time, and the son wasfollowing him. He thought no more of the matter until he heard inthe evening of the tragedy that had occurred.

"The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder,the game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thicklywooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round theedge. A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter ofthe lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of thewoods picking flowers. She states that while she was there shesaw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, Mr.McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having aviolent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using verystrong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up hishand as if to strike his father. She was so frightened by theirviolence that she ran away and told her mother when she reachedhome that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling nearBoscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going tofight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy camerunning up to the lodge to say that he had found his father deadin the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. He wasmuch excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his righthand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. Onfollowing him they found the dead body stretched out upon thegrass beside the pool. The head had been beaten in by repeatedblows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The injuries were such asmight very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his son'sgun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of thebody. Under these circumstances the young man was instantlyarrested, and a verdict of 'wilful murder' having been returnedat the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday brought before themagistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the nextAssizes. Those are the main facts of the case as they came outbefore the coroner and the police-court."

"I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked. "Ifever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does sohere."

"Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered Holmesthoughtfully. "It may seem to point very straight to one thing,but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find itpointing in an equally uncompromising manner to somethingentirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the caselooks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is verypossible that he is indeed the culprit. There are several peoplein the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss Turner, thedaughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in hisinnocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollectin connection with the Study in Scarlet, to work out the case inhis interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred thecase to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen areflying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of quietlydigesting their breakfasts at home."

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