clerical agency, and they tell me that there WAS a man of that name
in orders, whose career has been a singularly dark one. The landlord
further informed 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 this, when who should walk in but the gentleman himself, who had been
drinking his beer in the tap-room and had heard the whole conversation.
Who was I? What did I want? What did I mean by asking questions? He had
a fine flow of language, and his adjectives were very vigorous. He ended
a string of abuse by a vicious backhander, which I failed to entirely
avoid. The next few minutes were delicious. It was a straight left
against a slogging ruffian. I emerged as you see me. Mr. Woodley went
home 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 more
profitable 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 am
leaving Mr. Carruthers's employment. Even the high pay cannot reconcile
me to the discomforts of my situation. On Saturday I come up to town,
and I do not intend to return. Mr. Carruthers has got a trap, and so
the dangers of the lonely road, if there ever were any dangers, are now
over.
As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely the strained
situation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the reappearance of that odious
man, Mr. Woodley. He was always hideous, but he looks more awful
than ever now, for he appears to have had an accident and he is much
disfigured. I saw him out of the window, but I am glad to say I did
not meet him. He had a long talk with Mr. Carruthers, who seemed much
excited afterwards. Woodley must be staying in the neighbourhood, for
he did not sleep here, and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this
morning, slinking about in the shrubbery. I would sooner have a savage
wild animal 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, all my troubles will be over on Saturday.
"So I trust, Watson, so I trust," said Holmes, gravely. "There is some
deep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it is our duty to
see 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 inclusive investigation has no untoward
ending."
I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view of
the case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre than
dangerous. That a man should lie in wait for and follow a very handsome
woman is no unheard-of thing, and if he has so little audacity that he
not only dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, he
was not a very formidable assailant. The ruffian Woodley was a very
different person, but, except on one occasion, he had not molested our
client, and now he visited the house of Carruthers without intruding
upon her presence. The man on the bicycle was doubtless a member of
those week-end parties at the Hall of which the publican had spoken,
but who he was, or what he wanted, was as obscure as ever. It was the
severity of Holmes's manner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into
his pocket before leaving our rooms which impressed me with the feeling
that tragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events.
A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and the
heath-covered countryside, with the glowing clumps of flowering gorse,
seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the duns and
drabs and slate grays of London. Holmes and I walked along the broad,
sandy road inhaling the fresh morning air and rejoicing in the music of
the birds and the fresh breath of the spring. From a rise of the road
on the shoulder of Crooksbury Hill, we could see the grim Hall bristling
out from amidst the ancient oaks, which, old as they were, were still
younger than the building which they surrounded. Holmes pointed down the
long 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 black
dot, we could see a vehicle moving in our direction. Holmes gave an
exclamation of impatience.
"I have given a margin of half an hour," said he. "If that is her trap,
she must be making for the earlier train. I fear, Watson, that she will
be past Charlington before we can possibly meet her."
From the instant that we passed the rise, we could no longer see the
vehicle, but we hastened onward at such a pace that my sedentary life
began to tell upon me, and I was compelled to fall behind. Holmes,
however, was always in training, for he had inexhaustible stores of
nervous energy upon which to draw. His springy step never slowed until
suddenly, when he was a hundred yards in front of me, he halted, and I
saw him throw up his hand with a gesture of grief and despair. At the
same 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 his
side. "Fool that I was not to allow for that earlier train! It's
abduction, Watson - abduction! Murder! Heaven knows what! Block the road!
Stop the horse! That's right. Now, jump in, and let us see if I can
repair 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. As
we turned the curve, the whole stretch of road between the Hall and the
heath 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 his shoulders rounded, as he put every ounce of
energy that he possessed on to the pedals. He was flying like a racer.
Suddenly he raised his bearded face, saw us close to him, and pulled
up, springing from his machine. That coal-black beard was in singular
contrast to eyes were as bright as if he had a fever. He stared at us
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 a
pistol from his side "Pull up, I say, or, by George, I'll put a bullet
into your horse."
Holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from the cart.
"You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss Violet Smith?" he said, in
his quick, clear way.
"That's what I'm asking you. You're in her dog-cart. You ought to know
where she is."
"We met the dog-cart on the road. There was no one in it. We drove back
to help the young lady."
"Good Lord! Good Lord! What shall I do?" cried the stranger, in an
ecstasy of despair. "They've got her, that hell-hound Woodley and the
blackguard parson. Come, man, come, if you really are her friend. Stand
by me and we'll save her, if I have to leave my carcass in Charlington
Wood."
He ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, towards a gap in the hedge.
Holmes followed him, and I, leaving the horse grazing beside the road,
followed Holmes.
"This is where they came through," said he, pointing to the marks of
several feet upon the muddy path. "Halloa! Stop a minute! Who's this in
the bush?"
It was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an ostler, with
leather cords and gaiters. He lay upon his back, his knees drawn up, a
terrible cut upon his head. He was insensible, but alive. A glance at
his wound told me that it had not penetrated the bone.
"That's Peter, the groom," cried the stranger. "He drove her. The beasts
have pulled him off and clubbed him. Let him lie; we can't do him any
good, but we may save her from the worst fate that can befall a woman."
We ran frantically down the path, which wound among the trees. We had
reached the shrubbery which surrounded the house when Holmes pulled up.
"They didn't go to the house. Here are their marks on the left - here,
beside the laurel bushes. Ah! I said so."
As he spoke, a woman's shrill scream - a scream which vibrated with a
frenzy of horror - burst from the thick, green clump of bushes in front
of us. It ended suddenly on its highest note with a choke and a gurgle.
"This way! This way! They are in the bowling-alley," cried the
stranger, darting through the bushes. "Ah, the cowardly dogs! Follow me,
gentlemen! Too late! too late! by the living Jingo!"
We had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of greensward surrounded by
ancient trees. On the farther side of it, under the shadow of a mighty
oak, there stood a singular group of three people. One was a woman, our
client, drooping and faint, a handkerchief round her mouth. Opposite her
stood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-moustached young man, his gaitered legs
parted wide, one arm akimbo, the other waving a riding crop, his whole
attitude suggestive of triumphant bravado. Between them an elderly,
gray-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light tweed suit,
had evidently just completed the wedding service, for he pocketed his
prayer-book as we appeared, and slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the
back in jovial congratulation.
"They're married!" I gasped.
"Come on!" cried our guide, "come on!" He rushed across the glade,
Holmes and I at his heels. As we approached, the lady staggered against
the trunk of the tree for support. Williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowed
to us with mock politeness, and the bully, Woodley, advanced with a
shout of brutal and exultant laughter.
"You can take your beard off, Bob," said he. "I know you, right enough.
Well, you and your pals have just come in time for me to be able to
introduce you to Mrs. Woodley."
Our guide's answer was a singular one. He snatched off the dark beard
which had disguised him and threw it on the ground, disclosing a long,
sallow, clean-shaven face below it. Then he raised his revolver and
covered the young ruffian, who was advancing upon him with his dangerous
riding-crop swinging in his hand.
"Yes," said our ally, "I am Bob Carruthers, and I'll see this woman
righted, if I have to swing for it. I told you what I'd do if you
molested her, and, by the Lord! I'll be as good as my word."
"You're too late. She's my wife."
"No, she's your widow."
His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt from the front of
Woodley's waistcoat. He spun round with a scream and fell upon his back,
his hideous red face turning suddenly to a dreadful mottled pallor. The
old man, still clad in his surplice, burst into such a string of foul
oaths as I have never heard, and pulled out a revolver of his own, but,
before he could raise it, he was looking down the barrel of Holmes's
weapon.
"Enough of this," said my friend, coldly. "Drop that pistol! Watson,
pick it up! Hold it to his head. Thank you. You, Carruthers, give me
that revolver. We'll have no more violence. Come, hand it over!"
"Who are you, then?"
"My name is Sherlock Holmes."
"Good Lord!"
"You have heard of me, I see. I will represent the official police until
their arrival. Here, you!" he shouted to a frightened groom, who had
appeared at the edge of the glade. "Come here. Take this note as hard as
you can ride to Farnham." He scribbled a few words upon a leaf from his
notebook. "Give it to the superintendent at the police-station. Until he
comes, I must detain you all under my personal custody."
The strong, masterful personality of Holmes dominated the tragic scene,
and all were equally puppets in his hands. Williamson and Carruthers
found themselves carrying the wounded Woodley into the house, and I gave
my arm to the frightened girl. The injured man was laid on his bed, and
at Holmes's request I examined him. I carried my report to where he sat
in the old tapestry-hung dining-room with his two prisoners before him.
"He will live," said I.
"What!" cried Carruthers, springing out of his chair. "I'll go upstairs
and finish him first. Do you tell me that that angel, is to be tied to
Roaring Jack Woodley for life?"
"You need not concern yourself about that," said Holmes. "There are two
very good reasons why she should, under no circumstances, be his wife.
In the first place, we are very safe in questioning Mr. Williamson's
right to solemnize a marriage."
"I have been ordained," cried the old rascal.
"And also unfrocked."
"Once a clergyman, always a clergyman."
"I think not. How about the license?"
"We had a license for the marriage. I have it here in my pocket."
"Then you got it by trick. But, in any case a forced marriage is no
marriage, but it is a very serious felony, as you will discover before
you have finished. You'll have time to think the point out during the
next ten years or so, unless I am mistaken. As to you, Carruthers, you
would have done better to keep your pistol in your pocket."
"I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes, but when I thought of all the
precaution I had taken to shield this girl - for I loved her, Mr. Holmes,
and it is the only time that ever I knew what love was - it fairly drove
me mad to think that she was in the power of the greatest brute and
bully in South Africa - a man whose name is a holy terror from Kimberley
to Johannesburg. Why, Mr. Holmes, you'll hardly believe it, but ever
since that girl has been in my employment I never once let her go past
this house, where I knew the rascals were lurking, without following her
on my bicycle, just to see that she came to no harm. I kept my distance
from her, and I wore a beard, so that she should not recognize me, for
she is a good and high-spirited girl, and she wouldn't have stayed in
my employment long if she had thought that I was following her about the
country roads."
"Why didn't you tell her of her danger?"
"Because then, again, she would have left me, and I couldn't bear to
face that. Even if she couldn't love me, it was a great deal to me just
to see her dainty form about the house, and to hear the sound of her
voice."
"Well," said I, "you call that love, Mr. Carruthers, but I should call
it selfishness."
"Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I couldn't let her go.
Besides, with this crowd about, it was well that she should have someone
near to look after her. Then, when the cable came, I knew they were
bound to make a move."
"What cable?"
Carruthers took a telegram from his pocket "That's it," said he.
It was short and concise:
The old man is dead.
"Hum!" said Holmes. "I think I see how things worked, and I can
understand how this message would, as you say, bring them to a head. But
while you wait, you might tell me what you can."
The old reprobate with the surplice burst into a volley of bad language.
"By heaven!" said he, "if you squeal on us, Bob Carruthers, I'll serve
you as you served Jack Woodley. You can bleat about the girl to your
heart's content, for that's your own affair, but if you round on your
pals to this plain-clothes copper, it will be the worst day's work that
ever you did."
"Your reverence need not be excited," said Holmes, lighting a cigarette.
"The case is clear enough against you, and all I ask is a few details
for my private curiosity. However, if there's any difficulty in your
telling me, I'll do the talking, and then you will see how far you have
a chance of holding back your secrets. In the first place, three of you
came from South Africa on this game - you Williamson, you Carruthers, and
Woodley."
"Lie number one," said the old man; "I never saw either of them until
two months ago, and I have never been in Africa in my life, so you can
put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Busybody Holmes!"
"What he says is true," said Carruthers.
"Well, well, two of you came over. His reverence is our own homemade
article. You had known Ralph Smith in South Africa. You had reason
to believe he would not live long. You found out that his niece would
inherit his fortune. How's that - eh?"
Carruthers nodded and Williamson swore.
"She was next of kin, no doubt, and you were aware that the old fellow
would make no will."
"Couldn't read or write," said Carruthers.
"So you came over, the two of you, and hunted up the girl. The idea
was that one of you was to marry her, and the other have a share of the
plunder. For some reason, Woodley was chosen as the husband. Why was
that?"
"We played cards for her on the voyage. He won."
"I see. You got the young lady into your service, and there Woodley was
to do the courting. She recognized the drunken brute that he was, and
would have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, your arrangement was
rather upset by the fact that you had yourself fallen in love with the
lady. You could no longer bear the idea of this ruffian owning her?"
"No, by George, I couldn't!"
"There was a quarrel between you. He left you in a rage, and began to
make his own plans independently of you."
"It strikes me, Williamson, there isn't very much that we can tell this
gentleman," cried Carruthers, with a bitter laugh. "Yes, we quarreled,
and he knocked me down. I am level with him on that, anyhow. Then I lost
sight of him. That was when he picked up with this outcast padre here.
I found that they had set up housekeeping together at this place on the
line that she had to pass for the station. I kept my eye on her after
that, for I knew there was some devilry in the wind. I saw them from
time to time, for I was anxious to know what they were after. Two days
ago Woodley came up to my house with this cable, which showed that Ralph
Smith was dead. He asked me if I would stand by the bargain. I said I
would not. He asked me if I would marry the girl myself and give him a
share. I said I would willingly do so, but that she would not have me.
He said, 'Let us get her married first and after a week or two she may
see things a bit different.' I said I would have nothing to do with
violence. So he went off cursing, like the foul-mouthed blackguard that
he was, and swearing that he would have her yet. She was leaving me this
week-end, and I had got a trap to take her to the station, but I was
so uneasy in my mind that I followed her on my bicycle. She had got a
start, however, and before I could catch her, the mischief was done.
The first thing I knew about it was when I saw you two gentlemen driving
back in her dog-cart."
Holmes rose and tossed the end of his cigarette into the grate. "I have
been very obtuse, Watson," said he. "When in your report you said that
you had seen the cyclist as you thought arrange his necktie in
the shrubbery, that alone should have told me all. However, we may
congratulate ourselves upon a curious and, in some respects, a unique
case. I perceive three of the county constabulary in the drive, and I am
glad to see that the little ostler is able to keep pace with them, so
it is likely that neither he nor the interesting bridegroom will be
permanently damaged by their morning's adventures. I think, Watson, that
in your medical capacity, you might wait upon Miss Smith and tell her
that if she is sufficiently recovered, we shall be happy to escort her
to her mother's home. If she is not quite convalescent you will find
that a hint that we were about to telegraph to a young electrician
in the Midlands would probably complete the cure. As to you, Mr.
Carruthers, I think that you have done what you could to make amends for
your share in an evil plot. There is my card, sir, and if my evidence
can be of help in your trial, it shall be at your disposal."
In the whirl of our incessant activity, it has often been difficult for
me, as the reader has probably observed, to round off my narratives, and
to give those final details which the curious might expect. Each case
has been the prelude to another, and the crisis once over, the actors
have passed for ever out of our busy lives. I find, however, a short
note at the end of my manuscript dealing with this case, in which I have
put it upon record that Miss Violet Smith did indeed inherit a large
fortune, and that she is now the wife of Cyril Morton, the senior
partner of Morton & Kennedy, the famous Westminster electricians.
Williamson and Woodley were both tried for abduction and assault, the
former getting seven years the latter ten. Of the fate of Carruthers,
I have no record, but I am sure that his assault was not viewed very
gravely by the court, since Woodley had the reputation of being a most
dangerous ruffian, and I think that a few, months were sufficient to
satisfy the demands of justice.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE PRIORY SCHOOL
We have had some dramatic entrances and exits upon our small stage at
Baker Street, but I cannot recollect anything more sudden and startling
than the first appearance of Thorneycroft Huxtable, M.A., Ph.D., etc.
His card, which seemed too small to carry the weight of his academic
distinctions, preceded him by a few seconds, and then he entered
himself - so large, so pompous, and so dignified that he was the very
embodiment of self-possession and solidity. And yet his first action,
when the door had closed behind him, was to stagger against the table,
whence he slipped down upon the floor, and there was that majestic
figure prostrate and insensible upon our bearskin hearth-rug.
We had sprung to our feet, and for a few moments we stared in silent
amazement at this ponderous piece of wreckage, which told of some sudden
and fatal storm far out on the ocean of life. Then Holmes hurried with
a cushion for his head, and I with brandy for his lips. The heavy, white
face was seamed with lines of trouble, the hanging pouches under the
closed eyes were leaden in colour, the loose mouth drooped dolorously at
the corners, the rolling chins were unshaven. Collar and shirt bore
the grime of a long journey, and the hair bristled unkempt from the
well-shaped head. It was a sorely stricken man who lay before us.
"What is it, Watson?" asked Holmes.
"Absolute exhaustion - possibly mere hunger and fatigue," said I, with my
finger on the thready pulse, where the stream of life trickled thin and
small.
"Return ticket from Mackleton, in the north of England," said Holmes,
drawing it from the watch-pocket. "It is not twelve o'clock yet. He has
certainly been an early starter."
The puckered eyelids had begun to quiver, and now a pair of vacant gray
eyes looked up at us. An instant later the man had scrambled on to his
feet, his face crimson with shame.
"Forgive this weakness, Mr. Holmes, I have been a little overwrought.
Thank you, if I might have a glass of milk and a biscuit, I have no
doubt that I should be better. I came personally, Mr. Holmes, in order
to insure that you would return with me. I feared that no telegram would
convince you of the absolute urgency of the case."
"When you are quite restored - - "
"I am quite well again. I cannot imagine how I came to be so weak. I
wish you, Mr. Holmes, to come to Mackleton with me by the next train."
My friend shook his head.
"My colleague, Dr. Watson, could tell you that we are very busy at
present. I am retained in this case of the Ferrers Documents, and the
Abergavenny murder is coming up for trial. Only a very important issue
could call me from London at present."
"Important!" Our visitor threw up his hands. "Have you heard nothing of
the abduction of the only son of the Duke of Holdernesse?"
"What! the late Cabinet Minister?"
"Exactly. We had tried to keep it out of the papers, but there was some
rumor in the GLOBE last night. I thought it might have reached your
ears."
Holmes shot out his long, thin arm and picked out Volume "H" in his
encyclopaedia of reference.
"'Holdernesse, 6th Duke, K.G., P.C.' - half the alphabet! 'Baron
Beverley, Earl of Carston' - dear me, what a list! 'Lord Lieutenant
of Hallamshire since 1900. Married Edith, daughter of Sir Charles
Appledore, 1888. Heir and only child, Lord Saltire. Owns about two
hundred and fifty thousand acres. Minerals in Lancashire and Wales.
Address: Carlton House Terrace; Holdernesse Hall, Hallamshire; Carston
Castle, Bangor, Wales. Lord of the Admiralty, 1872; Chief Secretary of
State for - - ' Well, well, this man is certainly one of the greatest
subjects of the Crown!"
"The greatest and perhaps the wealthiest. I am aware, Mr. Holmes, that
you take a very high line in professional matters, and that you are
prepared to work for the work's sake. I may tell you, however, that his