"You know me, then?"
"No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palmof your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you hada good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reachedthe station."
The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at mycompanion.
"There is no mystery, my dear madam," said he, smiling. "The leftarm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than sevenplaces. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save adog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when yousit on the left-hand side of the driver."
"Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct," saidshe. "I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead attwenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, Ican stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues.I have no one to turn to--none, save only one, who cares for me,and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you,Mr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom youhelped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I hadyour address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me,too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darknesswhich surrounds me? At present it is out of my power to rewardyou for your services, but in a month or six weeks I shall bemarried, with the control of my own income, and then at least youshall not find me ungrateful."
Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a smallcase-book, which he consulted.
"Farintosh," said he. "Ah yes, I recall the case; it wasconcerned with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time,Watson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devotethe same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As toreward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at libertyto defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time whichsuits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before useverything that may help us in forming an opinion upon thematter."
"Alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror of my situationlies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicionsdepend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial toanother, that even he to whom of all others I have a right tolook for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about itas the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I canread it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I haveheard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifoldwickedness of the human heart. You may advise me how to walk amidthe dangers which encompass me."
"I am all attention, madam."
"My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, whois the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families inEngland, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border ofSurrey."
Holmes nodded his head. "The name is familiar to me," said he.
"The family was at one time among the richest in England, and theestates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north,and Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, foursuccessive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition,and the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in thedays of the Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of ground,and the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed undera heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existencethere, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; buthis only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself tothe new conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, whichenabled him to take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta,where, by his professional skill and his force of character, heestablished a large practice. In a fit of anger, however, causedby some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, hebeat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capitalsentence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment andafterwards returned to England a morose and disappointed man.
"When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner,the young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery.My sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years oldat the time of my mother's re-marriage. She had a considerablesum of money--not less than 1000 pounds a year--and this shebequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with him,with a provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed toeach of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly after our returnto Englan
d my mother died--she was killed eight years ago in arailway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned hisattempts to establish himself in practice in London and took usto live with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran. Themoney which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, andthere seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.
"But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time.Instead of making friends and exchanging visits with ourneighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott ofStoke Moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up inhis house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferociousquarrels with whoever might cross his path. Violence of temperapproaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of thefamily, and in my stepfather's case it had, I believe, beenintensified by his long residence in the tropics. A series ofdisgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in thepolice-court, until at last he became the terror of the village,and the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man ofimmense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.
"Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into astream, and it was only by paying over all the money which Icould gather together that I was able to avert another publicexposure. He had no friends at all save the wandering gipsies,and he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the fewacres of bramble-covered land which represent the family estate,and would accept in return the hospitality of their tents,wandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. He has apassion also for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by acorrespondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon,which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by thevillagers almost as much as their master.
"You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and Ihad no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay withus, and for a long time we did all the work of the house. She wasbut thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had alreadybegun to whiten, even as mine has."
"Your sister is dead, then?"
"She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wishto speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which Ihave described, we were little likely to see anyone of our ownage and position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother's maidensister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and wewere occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady'shouse. Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met therea half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. Mystepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned andoffered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight ofthe day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible eventoccurred which has deprived me of my only companion."
Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyesclosed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened hislids now and glanced across at his visitor.
"Pray be precise as to details," said he.
"It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadfultime is seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I havealready said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. Thebedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-roomsbeing in the central block of the buildings. Of these bedroomsthe first is Dr. Roylott's, the second my sister's, and the thirdmy own. There is no communication between them, but they all openout into the same corridor. Do I make myself plain?"
"Perfectly so."
"The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. Thatfatal night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though weknew that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubledby the smell of the strong Indian cigars which it was his customto smoke. She left her room, therefore, and came into mine, whereshe sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding. Ateleven o'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the doorand looked back.
"'Tell me, Helen,' said she, 'have you ever heard anyone whistlein the dead of the night?'
"'Never,' said I.
"'I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, inyour sleep?'
"'Certainly not. But why?'
"'Because during the last few nights I have always, about threein the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper,and it has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from--perhapsfrom the next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I wouldjust ask you whether you had heard it.'
"'No, I have not. It must be those wretched gipsies in theplantation.'