"I don't mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways very stronglyin favour of your theory," said he. "I only wish to point out that thereare other theories possible. As you say, the future will decide. Goodmorning! I dare say that in the course of the day I shall drop in atNorwood and see how you are getting on."
When the detective departed my friend rose and made his preparationsfor the day's work with the alert air of a man who has a congenial taskbefore him.
"My first movement, Watson," said he, as he bustled into his frock-coat,"must, as I said, be in the direction of Blackheath."
"And why not Norwood?"
"Because we have in this case one singular incident coming close to theheels of another singular incident. The police are making the mistake ofconcentrating their attention upon the second, because it happens tobe the one which is actually criminal. But it is evident to me that thelogical way to approach the case is to begin by trying to throw somelight upon the first incident--the curious will, so suddenly made, andto so unexpected an heir. It may do something to simplify what followed.No, my dear fellow, I don't think you can help me. There is no prospectof danger, or I should not dream of stirring out without you. I trustthat when I see you in the evening I will be able to report that I havebeen able to do something for this unfortunate youngster who has thrownhimself upon my protection."
It was late when my friend returned, and I could see by a glance at hishaggard and anxious face that the high hopes with which he had startedhad not been fulfilled. For an hour he droned away upon his violin,endeavouring to soothe his own ruffled spirits. At last he flung downthe instrument and plunged into a detailed account of his misadventures.
"It's all going wrong, Watson--all as wrong as it can go. I kept a boldface before Lestrade, but, upon my soul, I believe that for once thefellow is on the right track and we are on the wrong. All my instinctsare one way and all the facts are the other, and I much fear thatBritish juries have not yet attained that pitch of intelligence whenthey will give the preference to my theories over Lestrade's facts."
"Did you go to Blackheath?"
"Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very quickly that the latelamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable black-guard. The father wasaway in search of his son. The mother was at home--a little, fluffy,blue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear and indignation. Of course, shewould not admit even the possibility of his guilt. But she would notexpress either surprise or regret over the fate of Oldacre. Onthe contrary, she spoke of him with such bitterness that she wasunconsciously considerably strengthening the case of the police, for,of course, if her son had heard her speak of the man in this fashion itwould predispose him towards hatred and violence. 'He was more like amalignant and cunning ape than a human being,' said she, 'and he alwayswas, ever since he was a young man.'
"'You knew him at that time?' said I.
"'Yes, I knew him well; in fact, he was an old suitor of mine. ThankHeaven that I had the sense to turn away from him and to marry a better,if a poorer, man. I was engaged to him, Mr. Holmes, when I heard ashocking story of how he had turned a cat loose in an aviary, and I wasso horrified at his brutal cruelty that I would have nothing more todo with him.' She rummaged in a bureau, and presently she produced aphotograph of a woman, shamefully defaced and mutilated with a knife.'That is my own photograph,' she said. 'He sent it to me in that state,with his curse, upon my wedding morning.'
"'Well,' said I, 'at least he has forgiven you now, since he has
leftall his property to your son.'
"'Neither my son nor I want anything from Jonas Oldacre, dead or alive,'she cried, with a proper spirit. 'There is a God in Heaven, Mr. Holmes,and that same God who has punished that wicked man will show in His owngood time that my son's hands are guiltless of his blood.'
"Well, I tried one or two leads, but could get at nothing which wouldhelp our hypothesis, and several points which would make against it. Igave it up at last and off I went to Norwood.
"This place, Deep Dene House, is a big modern villa of staring brick,standing back in its own grounds, with a laurel-clumped lawn in frontof it. To the right and some distance back from the road was thetimber-yard which had been the scene of the fire. Here's a rough plan ona leaf of my note-book. This window on the left is the one which opensinto Oldacre's room. You can look into it from the road, you see. Thatis about the only bit of consolation I have had to-day. Lestrade wasnot there, but his head constable did the honours. They had just made agreat treasure-trove. They had spent the morning raking among the ashesof the burned wood-pile, and besides the charred organic remains theyhad secured several discoloured metal discs. I examined them withcare, and there was no doubt that they were trouser buttons. I evendistinguished that one of them was marked with the name of 'Hyams,' whowas Oldacre's tailor. I then worked the lawn very carefully for signsand traces, but this drought has made everything as hard as iron.Nothing was to be seen save that some body or bundle had been draggedthrough a low privet hedge which is in a line with the wood-pile. Allthat, of course, fits in with the official theory. I crawled about thelawn with an August sun on my back, but I got up at the end of an hourno wiser than before.
"Well, after this fiasco I went into the bedroom and examined that also.The blood-stains were very slight, mere smears and discolorations, butundoubtedly fresh. The stick had been removed, but there also the markswere slight. There is no doubt about the stick belonging to our client.He admits it. Footmarks of both men could be made out on the carpet,but none of any third person, which again is a trick for the otherside. They were piling up their score all the time and we were at astandstill.
"Only one little gleam of hope did I get--and yet it amounted tonothing. I examined the contents of the safe, most of which had beentaken out and left on the table. The papers had been made up into sealedenvelopes, one or two of which had been opened by the police. They werenot, so far as I could judge, of any great value, nor did the bank-bookshow that Mr. Oldacre was in such very affluent circumstances. But itseemed to me that all the papers were not there. There were allusions tosome deeds--possibly the more valuable--which I could not find. This, ofcourse, if we could definitely prove it, would turn Lestrade's argumentagainst himself, for who would steal a thing if he knew that he wouldshortly inherit it?
"Finally, having drawn every other cover and picked up no scent, I triedmy luck with the housekeeper. Mrs. Lexington is her name, a little,dark, silent person, with suspicious and sidelong eyes. She could tellus something if she would--I am convinced of it. But she was as close aswax. Yes, she had let Mr. McFarlane in at half-past nine. She wishedher hand had withered before she had done so. She had gone to bed athalf-past ten. Her room was at the other end of the house, and she couldhear nothing of what passed. Mr. McFarlane had left his hat, and to thebest of her belief his stick, in the hall. She had been awakened by thealarm of fire. Her poor, dear master had certainly been murdered. Had heany enemies? Well, every man had enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept himselfvery much to himself, and only met people in the way of business. Shehad seen the buttons, and was sure that they belonged to the clotheswhich he had worn last night. The wood-pile was very dry, for it had notrained for a month. It burned like tinder, and by the time she reachedthe spot nothing could be seen but flames. She and all the firemensmelled the burned flesh from inside it. She knew nothing of the papers,nor of Mr. Oldacre's private affairs.
"So, my dear Watson, there's my report of a failure. And yet--andyet--"--he clenched his thin hands in a paroxysm of conviction--"I KNOWit's all wrong. I feel it in my bones. There is something that hasnot come out, and that housekeeper knows it. There was a sort of sulkydefiance in her eyes, which only goes with guilty knowledge. However,there's no good talking any more about it, Watson; but unless some luckychance comes our way I fear that the Norwood Disappearance Case will notfigure in that chronicle of our successes which I foresee that a patientpublic will sooner or later have to endure."
"Surely," said I, "the man's appearance would go far with any jury?"
"That is a dangerous argument, my dear Watson. You remember thatterrible murderer, Bert Stevens, who wanted us to get him off in '87?Was there ever a more mild-mannered, Sunday-school young man?"
"It is true."
"Unless we succeed in establishing an alternative theory this man islost. You can hardly find a flaw in the case which can now be presentedagainst him, and all further investigation has served to strengthen it.By the way, there is one curious little point about those papers whichmay serve us as the starting-point for an inquiry. On looking over thebank-book I found that the low state of the balance was principally dueto large cheques which have been made out during the last year to Mr.Cornelius. I confess that I should be interested to know who thisMr. Cornelius may be with whom a retired builder has such very largetransactions. Is it possible that he has had a hand in the affair?Cornelius might be a broker, but we have found no scrip to correspondwith these large payments. Failing any other indication my researchesmust now take the direction of an inquiry at the bank for the gentlemanwho has cashed these cheques. But I fear, my dear fellow, that ourcase will end ingloriously by Lestrade hanging our client, which willcertainly be a triumph for Scotland Yard."
I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night, butwhen I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his brighteyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them. The carpet round hischair was littered with cigarette-ends and with the early editions ofthe morning papers. An open telegram lay upon the table.
"What do you think of this, Watson?" he asked, tossing it across.
It was from Norwood, and ran as follows:--
"IMPORTANT FRESH EVIDENCE TO HAND. MCFARLANE'S GUILT DEFINITELY ESTABLISHED. ADVISE YOU TO ABANDON CASE. --LESTRADE."
"This sounds serious," said I.
"It is Lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory," Holmes answered,with a bitter smile. "And yet it may be premature to abandon the case.After all, important fresh evidence is a two-edged thing, and maypossibly cut in a very different direction to that which Lestradeimagines. Take your breakfast, Watson, and we will go out together andsee what we can do. I feel as if I shall need your company and yourmoral support to-day."