The man was so dazed that he could not be made to understand that wewere anything but doctors who had been sent to his assistance. Holmeswas endeavouring to utter a few words of consolation, and to explain thealarm which had been caused to his friends by his sudden disappearance,when there was a step upon the stairs, and there was the heavy, stern,questioning face of Dr. Armstrong at the door.
"So, gentlemen," said he, "you have attained your end, and havecertainly chosen a particularly delicate moment for your intrusion. Iwould not brawl in the presence of death, but I can assure you that if Iwere a younger man your monstrous conduct would not pass with impunity."
"Excuse me, Dr. Armstrong, I think we are a little at cross-purposes,"said my friend, with dignity. "If you could step downstairs with us wemay each be able to give some light to the other upon this miserableaffair."
A minute later the grim doctor and ourselves were in the sitting-roombelow.
"Well, sir?" said he.
"I wish you to understand, in the first place, that I am not employedby Lord Mount-James, and that my sympathies in this matter are entirelyagainst that nobleman. When a man is lost it is my duty to ascertain hisfate, but having done so the matter ends so far as I am concerned; andso long as there is nothing criminal, I am much more anxious to hush upprivate scandals than to give them publicity. If, as I imagine, there isno breach of the law in this matter, you can absolutely depend upon mydiscretion and my co-operation in keeping the facts out of the papers."
Dr. Armstrong took a quick step forward and wrung Holmes by the hand.
"You are a good fellow," said he. "I had misjudged you. I thank Heaventhat my compunction at leaving poor Staunton all alone in this plightcaused me to turn my carriage back, and so to m
ake your acquaintance.Knowing as much as you do, the situation is very easily explained.A year ago Godfrey Staunton lodged in London for a time, and becamepassionately attached to his landlady's daughter, whom he married. Shewas as good as she was beautiful, and as intelligent as she was good.No man need be ashamed of such a wife. But Godfrey was the heir to thiscrabbed old nobleman, and it was quite certain that the news of hismarriage would have been the end of his inheritance. I knew the ladwell, and I loved him for his many excellent qualities. I did all Icould to help him to keep things straight. We did our very best to keepthe thing from everyone, for when once such a whisper gets about it isnot long before everyone has heard it. Thanks to this lonely cottage andhis own discretion, Godfrey has up to now succeeded. Their secret wasknown to no one save to me and to one excellent servant who has atpresent gone for assistance to Trumpington. But at last there came aterrible blow in the shape of dangerous illness to his wife. It wasconsumption of the most virulent kind. The poor boy was half crazed withgrief, and yet he had to go to London to play this match, for he couldnot get out of it without explanations which would expose his secret. Itried to cheer him up by a wire, and he sent me one in reply imploringme to do all I could. This was the telegram which you appear in someinexplicable way to have seen. I did not tell him how urgent the dangerwas, for I knew that he could do no good here, but I sent the truth tothe girl's father, and he very injudiciously communicated it to Godfrey.The result was that he came straight away in a state bordering onfrenzy, and has remained in the same state, kneeling at the end of herbed, until this morning death put an end to her sufferings. That is all,Mr. Holmes, and I am sure that I can rely upon your discretion and thatof your friend."
Holmes grasped the doctor's hand.
"Come, Watson," said he, and we passed from that house of grief into thepale sunlight of the winter day.
*****
THE STRAND MAGAZINE Vol. 28 SEPTEMBER, 1904 THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
XII.--The Adventure of the Abbey Grange.
It was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning during the winter of '97that I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. It was Holmes. Thecandle in his hand shone upon his eager, stooping face and told me at aglance that something was amiss.
"Come, Watson, come!" he cried. "The game is afoot. Not a word! Intoyour clothes and come!"
Ten minutes later we were both in a cab and rattling through the silentstreets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faint winter'sdawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see the occasionalfigure of an early workman as he passed us, blurred and indistinct inthe opalescent London reek. Holmes nestled in silence into his heavycoat, and I was glad to do the same, for the air was most bitter andneither of us had broken our fast. It was not until we had consumed somehot tea at the station, and taken our places in the Kentish train, thatwe were sufficiently thawed, he to speak and I to listen. Holmes drew anote from his pocket and read it aloud:--
"Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent, "3.30 a.m. "MY DEAR MR. HOLMES,--I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in what promises to be a most remarkable case. It is something quite in your line. Except for releasing the lady I will see that everything is kept exactly as I have found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant, as it is difficult to leave Sir Eustace there. "Yours faithfully, STANLEY HOPKINS."
"Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion his summonshas been entirely justified," said Holmes. "I fancy that every one ofhis cases has found its way into your collection, and I must admit,Watson, that you have some power of selection which atones for muchwhich I deplore in your narratives. Your fatal habit of looking ateverything from the point of view of a story instead of as a scientificexercise has ruined what might have been an instructive and evenclassical series of demonstrations. You slur over work of the utmostfinesse and delicacy in order to dwell upon sensational details whichmay excite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader."
"Why do you not write them yourself?" I said, with some bitterness.
"I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, as you know, fairlybusy, but I propose to devote my declining years to the composition of atext-book which shall focus the whole art of detection into one volume.Our present research appears to be a case of murder."
"You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"I should say so. Hopkins's writing shows considerable agitation, and heis not an emotional man. Yes, I gather there has been violence, andthat the body is left for our inspection. A mere suicide would nothave caused him to send for me. As to the release of the lady, it wouldappear that she has been locked in her room during the tragedy. Weare moving in high life, Watson; crackling paper, 'E.B.' monogram,coat-of-arms, picturesque address. I think that friend Hopkins will liveup to his reputation and that we shall have an interesting morning. Thecrime was committed before twelve last night."
"How can you possibly tell?"
"By an inspection of the trains and by reckoning the time. The localpolice had to be called in, they had to communicate with Scotland Yard,Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to send for me. All that makesa fair night's work. Well, here we are at Chislehurst Station, and weshall soon set our doubts at rest."
A drive of a couple of miles through narrow country lanes brought usto a park gate, which was opened for us by an old lodge-keeper, whosehaggard face bore the reflection of some great disaster. The avenue ranthrough a noble park, between lines of ancient elms, and ended in a low,widespread house, pillared in front after the fashion of Palladio. Thecentral part was evidently of a great age and shrouded in ivy, but thelarge windows showed that modern changes had been carried out, and onewing of the house appeared to be entirely new. The youthful figure andalert, eager face of Inspector Stanley Hopkins confronted us in the opendoorway.
"I'm very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. And you too, Dr. Watson! But,indeed, if I had my time over again I should not have troubled you, forsince the lady has come to herself she has given so clear an account ofthe affair that there is not much left for us to do. You remember thatLewisham gang of burglars?"
"What, the three Randalls?"
"Exactly; the father and two sons. It's their work. I have not a doubtof it. They did a job at Sydenham a fortnight ago, and were seen anddescribed. Rather cool to do another so soon and so near, but it isthey, beyond all doubt. It's a hanging matter this time."
"Sir Eustace is dead, then?"