"Yours faithfully,
"LESLIE ARMSTRONG."
"An outspoken, honest antagonist is the doctor," said Holmes. "Well,well, he excites my curiosity, and I must really know more before Ileave him."
"His carriage is at his door now," said I. "There he is stepping intoit. I saw him glance up at our window as he did so. Suppose I try myluck upon the bicycle?"
"No, no, my dear Watson! With all respect for your natural acumen I donot think that you are quite a match for the worthy doctor. I think thatpossibly I can attain our end by some independent explorations of myown. I am afraid that I must leave you to your own devices, as theappearance of TWO inquiring strangers upon a sleepy countryside mightexcite more gossip than I care for. No doubt you will find some sightsto amuse you in this venerable city, and I hope to bring back a morefavourable report to you before evening."
Once more, however, my friend was destined to be disappointed. He cameback at night weary and unsuccessful.
"I have had a blank day, Watson. Having got the doctor's generaldirection, I spent the day in visiting all the villages upon that sideof Cambridge, and comparing notes with publicans and other local newsagencies. I have covered some ground: Cheste
rton, Histon, Waterbeach,and Oakington have each been explored and have each proveddisappointing. The daily appearance of a brougham and pair could hardlyhave been overlooked in such Sleepy Hollows. The doctor has scored oncemore. Is there a telegram for me?"
"Yes; I opened it. Here it is: 'Ask for Pompey from Jeremy Dixon,Trinity College.' I don't understand it."
"Oh, it is clear enough. It is from our friend Overton, and is in answerto a question from me. I'll just send round a note to Mr. Jeremy Dixon,and then I have no doubt that our luck will turn. By the way, is thereany news of the match?"
"Yes, the local evening paper has an excellent account in its lastedition. Oxford won by a goal and two tries. The last sentences ofthe description say: 'The defeat of the Light Blues may be entirelyattributed to the unfortunate absence of the crack International,Godfrey Staunton, whose want was felt at every instant of the game. Thelack of combination in the three-quarter line and their weakness bothin attack and defence more than neutralized the efforts of a heavy andhard-working pack.'"
"Then our friend Overton's forebodings have been justified," saidHolmes. "Personally I am in agreement with Dr. Armstrong, and footballdoes not come within my horizon. Early to bed to-night, Watson, for Iforesee that to-morrow may be an eventful day."
I was horrified by my first glimpse of Holmes next morning, for hesat by the fire holding his tiny hypodermic syringe. I associated thatinstrument with the single weakness of his nature, and I feared theworst when I saw it glittering in his hand. He laughed at my expressionof dismay, and laid it upon the table.
"No, no, my dear fellow, there is no cause for alarm. It is not uponthis occasion the instrument of evil, but it will rather prove to be thekey which will unlock our mystery. On this syringe I base all my hopes.I have just returned from a small scouting expedition and everything isfavourable. Eat a good breakfast, Watson, for I propose to get upon Dr.Armstrong's trail to-day, and once on it I will not stop for rest orfood until I run him to his burrow."
"In that case," said I, "we had best carry our breakfast with us, for heis making an early start. His carriage is at the door."
"Never mind. Let him go. He will be clever if he can drive where Icannot follow him. When you have finished come downstairs with me, andI will introduce you to a detective who is a very eminent specialist inthe work that lies before us."
When we descended I followed Holmes into the stable yard, wherehe opened the door of a loose-box and led out a squat, lop-eared,white-and-tan dog, something between a beagle and a foxhound.
"Let me introduce you to Pompey," said he. "Pompey is the pride of thelocal draghounds, no very great flier, as his build will show, buta staunch hound on a scent. Well, Pompey, you may not be fast, butI expect you will be too fast for a couple of middle-aged Londongentlemen, so I will take the liberty of fastening this leather leash toyour collar. Now, boy, come along, and show what you can do." He led himacross to the doctor's door. The dog sniffed round for an instant, andthen with a shrill whine of excitement started off down the street,tugging at his leash in his efforts to go faster. In half an hour, wewere clear of the town and hastening down a country road.
"What have you done, Holmes?" I asked.
"A threadbare and venerable device, but useful upon occasion. I walkedinto the doctor's yard this morning and shot my syringe full of aniseedover the hind wheel. A draghound will follow aniseed from here to Johno' Groat's, and our friend Armstrong would have to drive through the Cambefore he would shake Pompey off his trail. Oh, the cunning rascal! Thisis how he gave me the slip the other night."
The dog had suddenly turned out of the main road into a grass-grownlane. Half a mile farther this opened into another broad road, and thetrail turned hard to the right in the direction of the town, which wehad just quitted. The road took a sweep to the south of the town andcontinued in the opposite direction to that in which we started.
"This DETOUR has been entirely for our benefit, then?" said Holmes. "Nowonder that my inquiries among those villages led to nothing. The doctorhas certainly played the game for all it is worth, and one would like toknow the reason for such elaborate deception. This should be the villageof Trumpington to the right of us. And, by Jove! here is the broughamcoming round the corner. Quick, Watson, quick, or we are done!"
He sprang through a gate into a field, dragging the reluctant Pompeyafter him. We had hardly got under the shelter of the hedge when thecarriage rattled past. I caught a glimpse of Dr. Armstrong within, hisshoulders bowed, his head sunk on his hands, the very image of distress.I could tell by my companion's graver face that he also had seen.
"I fear there is some dark ending to our quest," said he. "It cannotbe long before we know it. Come, Pompey! Ah, it is the cottage in thefield!"
There could be no doubt that we had reached the end of our journey.Pompey ran about and whined eagerly outside the gate where the marks ofthe brougham's wheels were still to be seen. A footpath led across tothe lonely cottage. Holmes tied the dog to the hedge, and we hastenedonwards. My friend knocked at the little rustic door, and knocked againwithout response. And yet the cottage was not deserted, for a low soundcame to our ears--a kind of drone of misery and despair, which wasindescribably melancholy. Holmes paused irresolute, and then he glancedback at the road which we had just traversed. A brougham was coming downit, and there could be no mistaking those grey horses.
"By Jove, the doctor is coming back!" cried Holmes. "That settles it. Weare bound to see what it means before he comes."
He opened the door and we stepped into the hall. The droning soundswelled louder upon our ears until it became one long, deep wail ofdistress. It came from upstairs. Holmes darted up and I followed him. Hepushed open a half-closed door and we both stood appalled at the sightbefore us.
A woman, young and beautiful, was lying dead upon the bed. Her calm,pale face, with dim, wide-opened blue eyes, looked upward from amid agreat tangle of golden hair. At the foot of the bed, half sitting, halfkneeling, his face buried in the clothes, was a young man, whose framewas racked by his sobs. So absorbed was he by his bitter grief that henever looked up until Holmes's hand was on his shoulder.
"Are you Mr. Godfrey Staunton?"
"Yes, yes; I am--but you are too late. She is dead."