"Nothing."
"Could he throw no light?"
"None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knewwho had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convincednow that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a veryquick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think,sound at heart."
"I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a factthat he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady asthis Miss Turner."
"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly,insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he wasonly a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been awayfive years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but getinto the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at aregistry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you canimagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for notdoing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knowsto be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sortwhich made him throw his hands up into the air when his father,at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to MissTurner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself,and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, wouldhave thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. It was withhis barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days inBristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark thatpoint. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however,for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serioustrouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly andhas written to him to say that she has a husband already in theBermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. Ithink that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for allthat he has suffered."
"But if he is innocent, who has done it?"
"Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to twopoints. One is that the murdered man had an appointment withsomeone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been hisson, for his son was away, and he did not know when he wouldreturn. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are thecrucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talkabout George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave allminor matters until to-morrow."
There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning brokebright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us withthe carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the BoscombePool.
"There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It issaid that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life isdespaired of."
"An elderly man, I presume?" said Holmes.
"About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his lifeabroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. Thisbusiness has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friendof McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for Ihave learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."
"Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.
"Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybodyabout here speaks of his kindness to him."
"Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that thisMcCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to havebeen under such obligations to Turner, should still talk ofmarrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably,heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner,as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else wouldfollow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himselfwas averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you notdeduce something from that?"
"We have got to the deductions and the inferences," saidLestrade, winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts,Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies."
"You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very hardto tackle the facts."
"Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find itdifficult to get hold of," replied Lestrade with some warmth.
"And that is--"
"That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and thatall theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine."
"Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said Holmes,laughing. "But I am very much mistaken if this is not HatherleyFarm upon the left."
"Yes, that is it." It was a widespread, comfortable-lookingbuilding, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotchesof lichen upon the grey walls. The drawn blinds and the smokelesschimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weightof this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door,when the maid, at Holmes' request, showed us the boots which hermaster wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of theson's, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measuredthese very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmesdesired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followedthe winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.
Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scentas this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician ofBaker Street would have failed to recognise him. His face flushedand darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines,while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter.His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lipscompressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long,sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animallust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentratedupon the matter before him that a question or remark fellunheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick,impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his wayalong the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way ofthe woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as isall that district, and there were marks of many feet, both uponthe path and amid the short grass which bounded it on eitherside. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, andonce he made quite a little detour into the meadow. Lestrade andI walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous,while I watched my friend with the interest which sprang from theconviction that every one of his actions was directed towards adefinite end.
The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of watersome fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between theHatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner.Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could seethe red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the richlandowner's dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woodsgrew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grasstwenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reedswhich lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at whichthe body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground,that I could plainly see the traces which had been left by thefall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his eagerface and peering eyes, very many other things were to be readupon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is pickingup a scent, and then turned upon my companion.
"What did you go into the pool for?" he asked.
"I fished about with
a rake. I thought there might be some weaponor other trace. But how on earth--"
"Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with itsinward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, andthere it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would allhave been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffaloand wallowed all over it. Here is where the party with thelodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six oreight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks ofthe same feet." He drew out a lens and lay down upon hiswaterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather tohimself than to us. "These are young McCarthy's feet. Twice hewas walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles aredeeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out hisstory. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here arethe father's feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? Itis the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this?Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quiteunusual boots! They come, they go, they come again--of coursethat was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?" He ran upand down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until wewere well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of agreat beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes tracedhis way to the farther side of this and lay down once more uponhis face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time heremained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks,gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope andexamining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark ofthe tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying amongthe moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. Thenhe followed a pathway through the wood until he came to thehighroad, where all traces were lost.
"It has been a case of considerable interest," he remarked,returning to his natural manner. "I fancy that this grey house onthe right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have aword with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having donethat, we may drive back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab,and I shall be with you presently."
It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and droveback into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which hehad picked up in the wood.
"This may interest you, Lestrade," he remarked, holding it out."The murder was done with it."