A quarter of an hour passed and then a second cyclist appeared. Thistime it was the young lady coming from the station. I saw her lookabout her as she came to the Charlington hedge. An instant later the manemerged from his hiding-place, sprang upon his cycle, and followedher. In all the broad landscape those were the only moving figures, thegraceful girl sitting very straight upon her machine, and the man behindher bending low over his handle-bar, with a curiously furtive suggestionin every movement. She looked back at him and slowed her pace. He slowedalso. She stopped. He at once stopped too, keeping two hundred yardsbehind her. Her next movement was as unexpected as it was spirited. Shesuddenly whisked her wheels round and dashed straight at him! He was asquick as she, however, and darted off in desperate flight. Presently shecame back up the road again, her head haughtily in the air, not deigningto take any further notice of her silent attendant. He had turned also,and still kept his distance until the curve of the road hid them from mysight.
I remained in my hiding-place, and it was well that I did so, forpresently the man reappeared cycling slowly back. He turned in at theHall gates and dismounted from his machine. For some few minutes I couldsee him standing among the trees. His hands were raised and he seemed tobe settling his necktie. Then he mounted his cycle and rode away fromme down the drive towards the Hall. I ran across the heath and peeredthrough the trees. Far away I could catch glimpses of the old greybuilding with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the drive ran through adense shrubbery, and I saw no more of my man.
However, it seemed to me that I had do
ne a fairly good morning's work,and I walked back in high spirits to Farnham. The local house-agentcould tell me nothing about Charlington Hall, and referred me to awell-known firm in Pall Mall. There I halted on my way home, and metwith courtesy from the representative. No, I could not have CharlingtonHall for the summer. I was just too late. It had been let about a monthago. Mr. Williamson was the name of the tenant. He was a respectableelderly gentleman. The polite agent was afraid he could say no more, asthe affairs of his clients were not matters which he could discuss.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long report which Iwas able to present to him that evening, but it did not elicit thatword of curt praise which I had hoped for and should have valued. Onthe contrary, his austere face was even more severe than usual as hecommented upon the things that I had done and the things that I had not.
"Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very faulty. You should havebeen behind the hedge; then you would have had a close view of thisinteresting person. As it is you were some hundreds of yards away, andcan tell me even less than Miss Smith. She thinks she does not knowthe man; I am convinced she does. Why, otherwise, should he be sodesperately anxious that she should not get so near him as to see hisfeatures? You describe him as bending over the handle-bar. Concealmentagain, you see. You really have done remarkably badly. He returns tothe house and you want to find out who he is. You come to a Londonhouse-agent!"
"What should I have done?" I cried, with some heat.
"Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the centre of countrygossip. They would have told you every name, from the master to thescullery-maid. Williamson! It conveys nothing to my mind. If he is anelderly man he is not this active cyclist who sprints away from thatathletic young lady's pursuit. What have we gained by your expedition?The knowledge that the girl's story is true. I never doubted it. Thatthere is a connection between the cyclist and the Hall. I never doubtedthat either. That the Hall is tenanted by Williamson. Who's the betterfor that? Well, well, my dear sir, don't look so depressed. We can dolittle more until next Saturday, and in the meantime I may make one ortwo inquiries myself."
Next morning we had a note from Miss Smith, recounting shortly andaccurately the very incidents which I had seen, but the pith of theletter lay in the postscript:--
"I am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes, when I tellyou that my place here has become difficult owing to the fact that myemployer has proposed marriage to me. I am convinced that his feelingsare most deep and most honourable. At the same time my promise is, ofcourse, given. He took my refusal very seriously, but also very gently.You can understand, however, that the situation is a little strained."
"Our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters," said Holmes,thoughtfully, as he finished the letter. "The case certainly presentsmore features of interest and more possibility of development than I hadoriginally thought. I should be none the worse for a quiet, peaceful dayin the country, and I am inclined to run down this afternoon and testone or two theories which I have formed."
Holmes's quiet day in the country had a singular termination, forhe arrived at Baker Street late in the evening with a cut lip and adiscoloured lump upon his forehead, besides a general air of dissipationwhich would have made his own person the fitting object of a ScotlandYard investigation. He was immensely tickled by his own adventures, andlaughed heartily as he recounted them.
"I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat," said he."You are aware that I have some proficiency in the good old Britishsport of boxing. Occasionally it is of service. To-day, for example, Ishould have come to very ignominious grief without it."
I begged him to tell me what had occurred.
"I found that country pub which I had already recommended to yournotice, and there I made my discreet inquiries. I was in the bar, anda garrulous landlord was giving me all that I wanted. Williamson is awhite-bearded man, and he lives alone with a small staff of servants atthe Hall. There is some rumour that he is or has been a clergyman; butone or two incidents of his short residence at the Hall struck me aspeculiarly unecclesiastical. I have already made some inquiries at aclerical agency, and they tell me that there WAS a man of that name inorders whose career has been a singularly dark one. The landlord furtherinformed me that there are usually week-end visitors--'a warm lot,sir'--at the Hall, and especially one gentleman with a red moustache,Mr. Woodley by name, who was always there. We had got as far as thiswhen who should walk in but the gentleman himself, who had been drinkinghis beer in the tap-room and had heard the whole conversation. Who wasI? What did I want? What did I mean by asking questions? He had a fineflow of language, and his adjectives were very vigorous. He ended astring of abuse by a vicious back-hander which I failed to entirelyavoid. The next few minutes were delicious. It was a straight leftagainst a slogging ruffian. I emerged as you see me. Mr. Woodley wenthome in a cart. So ended my country trip, and it must be confessed that,however enjoyable, my day on the Surrey border has not been much moreprofitable than your own."
The Thursday brought us another letter from our client.
"You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes," said she, "to hear that I amleaving Mr. Carruthers's employment. Even the high pay cannot reconcileme to the discomforts of my situation. On Saturday I come up to townand I do not intend to return. Mr. Carruthers has got a trap, and sothe dangers of the lonely road, if there ever were any dangers, are nowover.
"As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely the strainedsituation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the reappearance of that odiousman, Mr. Woodley. He was always hideous, but he looks more awfulthan ever now, for he appears to have had an accident and he is muchdisfigured. I saw him out of the window, but I am glad to say I didnot meet him. He had a long talk with Mr. Carruthers, who seemed muchexcited afterwards. Woodley must be staying in the neighbourhood, for hedid not sleep here, and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this morningslinking about in the shrubbery. I would sooner have a savage wildanimal loose about the place. I loathe and fear him more than I can say.How CAN Mr. Carruthers endure such a creature for a moment? However, allmy troubles will be over on Saturday."
"So I trust, Watson; so I trust," said Holmes, gravely. "There is somedeep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it is our duty tosee that no one molests her upon that last journey. I think, Watson,that we must spare time to run down together on Saturday morning,and make sure that this curious and inconclusive investigation has nountoward ending."
I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view ofthe case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre thandangerous. That a man should lie in wait for and follow a very handsomewoman is no unheard-of thing, and if he had so little audacity that henot only dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, hewas not a very formidable assailant. The ruffian Woodley was a verydifferent person, but, except on one occasion, he had not molested ourclient, and now he visited the house of Carruthers without intrudingupon her presence. The man on the bicycle was doubtless a member ofthose week-end parties at the Hall of which the publican had spoken; butwho he was or what he wanted was as obscure as ever. It was the severityof Holmes's manner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into hispocket before leaving our rooms which impressed me with the feeling thattragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events.
A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and theheath-covered country-side with the glowing clumps of flowering gorseseemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the duns anddrabs and slate-greys of London. Holmes and I walked along the broad,sandy road inhaling the fresh morning air, and rejoicing in the music ofthe birds and the fresh breath of the spring. From a rise of the road onthe shoulder of Crooksbury Hill we could see the grim Hall bristlingout from amidst the ancient oaks, which, old as they were, were stillyounger than the building which they surrounded. Holmes pointed down thelong tract of road which wound, a reddish yellow band, between the brown
of the heath and the budding green of the woods. Far away, a blackdot, we could see a vehicle moving in our direction. Holmes gave anexclamation of impatience.
"I had given a margin of half an hour," said he. "If that is her trapshe must be making for the earlier train. I fear, Watson, that she willbe past Charlington before we can possibly meet her."
From the instant that we passed the rise we could no longer see thevehicle, but we hastened onwards at such a pace that my sedentary lifebegan to tell upon me, and I was compelled to fall behind. Holmes,however, was always in training, for he had inexhaustible stores ofnervous energy upon which to draw. His springy step never slowed untilsuddenly, when he was a hundred yards in front of me, he halted, and Isaw him throw up his hand with a gesture of grief and despair. At thesame instant an empty dog-cart, the horse cantering, the reins trailing,appeared round the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us.
"Too late, Watson; too late!" cried Holmes, as I ran panting to hisside. "Fool that I was not to allow for that earlier train! It'sabduction, Watson--abduction! Murder! Heaven knows what! Block the road!Stop the horse! That's right. Now, jump in, and let us see if I canrepair the consequences of my own blunder."
We had sprung into the dog-cart, and Holmes, after turning the horse,gave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew back along the road. Aswe turned the curve the whole stretch of road between the Hall and theheath was opened up. I grasped Holmes's arm.
"That's the man!" I gasped.
A solitary cyclist was coming towards us. His head was down and hisshoulders rounded as he put every ounce of energy that he possessedon to the pedals. He was flying like a racer. Suddenly he raised hisbearded face, saw us close to him, and pulled up, springing from hismachine. That coal-black beard was in singular contrast to the pallor ofhis face, and his eyes were as bright as if he had a fever. He stared atus and at the dog-cart. Then a look of amazement came over his face.
"Halloa! Stop there!" he shouted, holding his bicycle to block our road."Where did you get that dog-cart? Pull up, man!" he yelled, drawing apistol from his side pocket. "Pull up, I say, or, by George, I'll put abullet into your horse."
Holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from the cart.