In recordinc from time to time some of the curious experiences and
interesting recollections which I associate with my long and intimate
friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continually been faced by
difficulties caused by his own aversion to publicity. To his sombre and
cynical spirit all popular applause was always abhorrent, and nothing
amused him more at the end of a successful case than to hand over the
actual exposure to some orthodox official, and to listen with a mocking
smile to the general chorus of misplaced congratulation. It was indeed
this attitude upon the part of my friend and certainly not any lack of
interesting material which has caused me of late years to lay very few of
my records before the public. My participation in some of his adventures
was always a privilege which entailed discretion and reticence upon me.
It was, then, with considerable surprise that I received a telegram
from Holmes last Tuesday –– he has never been known to write where a
telegram would serve –– in the following terms:
Why not tell them of the Cornish horror –– strangest case I have handled.
I have no idea what backward sweep of memory had brought the matter
fresh to his mind, or what freak had caused him to desire that I should
recount it; but I hasten, before another cancelling telegram may arrive,
to hunt out the notes which give me the exact details of the case and to
lay the narrative before my readers.
It was, then, in the spring of the year 1897 that Holmes's iron
constitution showed some symptoms of giving way in the face of constant
hard work of a most exacting kind, aggravated, perhaps, by occasional
indiscretions of his own. In March of that year Dr. Moore Agar, of Harley
Street, whose dramatic introduction to Holmes I may some day recount, gave
positive injunctions that the famous private agent lay aside all his cases
and surrender himself to complete rest if he wished to avert an absolute
breakdown. The state of his health was not a matter in which he himself
took the faintest interest, for his mental detachment was absolute, but he
was induced at last, on the threat of being permanently disqualified from
work, to give himself a complete change of scene and air. Thus it was that
in the early spring of that year we found ourselves together in a small
cottage near Poldhu Bay, at the further extremity of the Cornish
peninsula.
It was a singular spot, and one peculiarly well suited to the grim
humour of my patient. From the windows of our little whitewashed house,
which stood high upon a grassy headland, we looked down upon the whole
sinister semicircle of Mounts Bay, that old death trap of sailing vessels,
with its fringe of black cliffs and surge-swept reefs on which innumerable
seamen have met their end. With a northerly breeze it lies placid and
sheltered, inviting the storm-tossed craft to tack into it for rest and
protection.
Then come the sudden swirl round of the wind, the blustering gale
from the south-west, the dragging anchor, the lee shore, and the last
battle in the creaming breakers. The wise mariner stands far out from that
evil place.
On the land side our surroundings were as sombre as on the sea. It
was a country of rolling moors, lonely and dun-coloured, with an
occasional church tower to mark the site of some oldworld village. In
every direction upon these moors there were traces of some vanished race
which had passed utterly away, and left as its sole record strange
monuments of stone, irregular mounds which contained the burned ashes of
the dead, and curious earthworks which hinted at prehistoric strife. The
glamour and mystery of the place, with its sinister atmosphere of
forgotten nations, appealed to the imagination of my friend, and he spent
much of his time in long walks and solitary meditations upon the moor. The
ancient Cornish language had also arrested his attention, and he had, I
remember, conceived the idea that it was akin to the Chaldean, and had
been largely derived from the Phoenician traders in tin. He had received a
consignment of books upon philology and was settling down to develop this
thesis when suddenly, to my sorrow and to his unfeigned delight, we found
ourselves, even in that land of dreams, plunged into a problem at our very
doors which was more intense, more engrossing, and infinitely more
mysterious than any of those which had driven us from London. Our simple
life and peaceful, healthy routine were violently interrupted, and we were
precipitated into the midst of a series of events which caused the utmost
excitement not only in Cornwall but throughout the whole west of England.
Many of my readers may retain some recollection of what was called at the
time "The Cornish Horror," though a most imperfect account of the matter
reached the London press. Now, after thirteen years, I will give the true
details of this inconceivable affair to the public.
I have said that scattered towers marked the villages which dotted
this part of Cornwall. The nearest of these was the hamlet of Tredannick
Wollas, where the cottages of a couple of hundred inhabitants clustered
round an ancient, moss-grown church. The vicar of the parish, Mr.
Roundhay, was something of an archeologist, and as such Holmes had made
his acquaintance. He was a middle-aged man, portly and affable, with a
considerable fund of local lore. At his invitation we had taken tea at the
vicarage and had come to know, also, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis, an
independent gentleman, who increased the clergyman's scanty resources by
taking rooms in his large, straggling house. The vicar, being a bachelor,
was glad to come to such an arrangement, though he had little in common
with his lodger, who was a thin, dark, spectacled man, with a stoop which
gave the impression of actual, physical deformity. I remember that during
our short visit we found the vicar garrulous, but his lodger strangely
reticent, a sad-faced, introspective man, sitting with averted eyes,
brooding apparently upon his own affairs.
These were the two men who entered abruptly into our little
sitting-room on Tuesday, March the 16th, shortly after our breakfast hour,
as we were smoking together, preparatory to our daily excursion upon the
moors.
"Mr. Holmes," said the vicar in an agitated voice, "the most
extraordinary and tragic affair has occurred during the night. It is the
most unheard-of business. We can only regard it as a special Providence
that you should chance to be here at the time, for in all England you are
the one man we need."
I glared at the intrusive vicar with no very friendly eyes; but
Holmes took his pipe from his lips and sat up in his chair like an old
hound who hears the view-halloa. He waved his hand to the sofa, and our
palpitating visitor with his agitated companion sat side by side upon it.
Mr. Mortimer Tregennis was more selfcontained than the clergyman, but the
twitching of his thin hands and the brightness of his dark eyes showed
that they shared a common emotion.
"Shall I speak or you?" he asked of the vicar.
"Well, as you seem to have made the discovery, whatever it may be,
and the vicar to have had it second-hand, perhaps you had better do the
speaking," said Holmes.
I glanced at the hastily clad clergyman, with the formally dressed
lodger seated beside him, and was amused at the surprise which Holmes's
simple deduction had brought to their faces.
"Perhaps I had best say a few words first," said the vicar, "and then
you can judge if you will listen to the details from Mr. Tregennis, or
whether we should not hasten at once to the scene of this mysterious
affair. I may explain, then, that our friend here spent last evening in
the company of his two brothers, Owen and George, and of his sister
Brenda, at their house of Tredannick Wartha, which is near the old stone
cross upon the moor. He left them shortly after ten o'clock, playing cards
round the dining-room table, in excellent health and spirits. This
morning, being an early riser, he walked in that direction before
breakfast and was overtaken by the carriage of Dr. Richards, who explained
that he had just been sent for on a most urgent call to Tredannick Wartha.
Mr. Mortimer Tregennis naturally went with him. When he arrived at
Tredannick Wartha he found an extraordinary state of things. His two
brothers and his sister were seated round the table exactly as he had left
them, the cards still spread in front of them and the candles burned down
to their sockets. The sister lay back stone-dead in her chair, while the
two brothers sat on each side of her laughing, shouting, and singing, the
senses stricken clean out of them. All three of them, the dead woman and
the two demented men, retained upon their faces an expression of the
utmost horror –– a convulsion of terror which was dreadful to look upon.
There was no sign of the presence of anyone in the house, except Mrs.
Porter, the old cook and housekeeper, who declared that she had slept
deeply and heard no sound during the night. Nothing had been stolen or
disarranged, and there is absolutely no explanation of what the horror can
be which has frightened a woman to death and two strong men out of their
senses. There is the situation, Mr. Holmes, in a nutshell, and if you can
help us to clear it up you will have done a great work."
I had hoped that in some way I could coax my companion back into the
quiet which had been the object of our journey; but one glance at his
intense face and contracted eyebrows told me how vain was now the
expectation. He sat for some little time in silence, absorbed in the
strange drama which had broken in upon our peace.
"I will look into this matter," he said at last. "On the face of it,
it would appear to be a case of a very exceptional nature. Have you been
there yourself, Mr. Roundhay?"
"No, Mr. Holmes. Mr. Tregennis brought back the account to the
vicarage, and I at once hurried over with him to consult you."
"How far is it to the house where this singular tragedy occurred?"
"About a mile inland."
"Then we shall walk over together. But before we start I must ask you
a few questions, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis."
The other had been silent all this time, but I had observed that his
more controlled excitement was even greater than the obtrusive emotion of
the clergyman. He sat with a pale, drawn face, his anxious gaze fixed opon
Holmes, and his thin hands clasped convulsively together. His pale lips
quivered as he listened to the dreadful experience which had befallen his
family, and his dark eyes seemed to reflect something of the horror of the
scene.
"Ask what you like, Mr. Holmes," said he eagerly. "It is a bad thing
to speak of, but I will answer you the truth."
"Tell me about last night."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, I supped there, as the vicar has said, and my
elder brother George proposed a game of whist afterwards. We sat down
about nine o'clock. It was a quarter-past ten when I moved to go. I left
thern all round the table, as merry as could be."
"Who let you out?"
"Mrs. Porter had gone to bed, so I let myself out. I shut the hall
door behind me. The window of the room in which they sat was closed, but
the blind was not drawn down. There was no change in door or window this
morning, nor any reason to think that any stranger had been to the house.
Yet there they sat, driven clean mad with terror, and Brenda lying dead of
fright, with her head hanging over the arm of the chair. I'll never get
the sight of that room out of my mind so long as I live."
"The facts, as you state them, are certainly most remarkable," said
Holmes. "I take it that you have no theory yourself which can in any way
account for them?"
"It's devilish, Mr. Holmes, devilish!" cried Mortimer Tregennis. "It
is not of this world. Something has come into that room which has dashed
the light of reason from their minds. What human contrivance could do
that?"
"I fear," said Holmes~, "that if the matter is beyond humanity it is
certainly beyond me. Yet we must exhaust all natural explanations before
we fall back upon such a theory as this. As to yourself, Mr. Tregenrlis, I
take it you were divided in some way from your family, since they lived
together and you had rooms apart?"
"That is so, Mr. Holmes, though the matter is past and done with. We
were a family of tin-miners at Redruth, but we sold out our venture to a
company, and so retired with enough to keep us. I won't deny that there
was some feeling about the division of the money and it stood between us
for a time, but it was all forgiven and forgotten, and we were the best of
friends together."
"Looking back at the evening which you spent together, does anything
stand out in your memory as throwing any possible light upon the tragedy?
Think carefully, Mr. Tregennis, for any clue which can help me."
"There is nothing at all, sir."
"Your people were in their usual spirits?"
"Never better."
"Were they nervous people? Did they ever show any apprehension of
coming danger?"
"Nothing of the kind."
"You have nothing to add then, which could assist me?"
Mortimer Tregennis considered earnestly for a moment.
"There is one thing occurs to me," said he at last. "As we sat at the
table my back was to the window, and my brother George, he being my
partner at cards, was facing it. I saw him once look hard over my
shoulder, so I turned round and looked also. The blind was up and the
window shut, but I could just make out the bushes on the lawn, and it
seemed to me for a moment that I saw something moving among them. I
couldn't even say if it was man or animal, but I just thought there was
something there. When I asked him what he was looking at, he told me that
he had the same feeling. That is all that I can say."
"Did you not investigate?"
"No; the matter passed as unimportant."
"You left them, then, without any premonition of evil?"
"None at all."
"I am not clear how you came to hear the news so early this morning."
"I am an early riser and generally take a walk before breakfast. This
morning I had hardly started when the doctor in his carriage overtook me.
He told me that old Mrs. Porter had sent a boy down with an urgent
message. I sprang in beside him and we drove on. When we got there we
looked into that dreadful room. The candles and the fire must have burned
out hours before, and they had been sitting there in the dark until dawn
had broken. The doctor said Brenda must have been dead at least six hours.
There were no signs of violence. She just lay across the arm of the chair
with that look on her face. George and Owen were singing snatches of songs
and gibbering like two great apes. Oh, it was awful to see! I couldn't
stand it, and the doctor was as white as a sheet. Indeed, he fell into a
chair in a sort of faint, and we nearly had him on our hands as well."
"Remarkable –– most remarkable!" said Holmes, rising and taking his
hat. "I think, perhaps, we had better go down to Tredannick Wartha without
further delay. I confess that I have seldom known a case which at first
sight presented a more singular problem."
Our proceedings of that first morning did little to advance the
investigation. It was marked, however, at the outset by an incident which
left the most sinister impression upon my mind. The approach to the spot
at which the tragedy occurred is down a narrow, winding, country lane.
While we made our way along it we heard the raffle of a carriage coming
towards us and stood aside to let it pass. As it drove by us I caught a
glimpse through the closed window of a horribly contorted, grinning face
glaring out at us. Those staring eyes and gnashing teeth flashed past us
like a dreadful vision.
"My brothers!" cried Mortimer Tregennis, white to his lips. "They are
taking them to Helston."
We looked with horror after the black carriage, lumbering upon its
way. Then we turned our steps towards this ill-omened house in which they
had met their strange fate.
It was a large and bright dwelling, rather a villa than a cottage,
with a considerable garden which was already, in that Cornish air, well
filled with spring flowers. Towards this garden the window of the
sitting-room fronted, and from it, according to Mortimer Tregennis, must
have come that thing of evil which had by sheer horror in a single instant
blasted their minds. Holmes walked slowly and thoughtfully among the
flower-plots and along the path before we entered the porch. So absorbed
was he in his thoughts, I remember, that he stumbled over the
watering-pot, upset its contents, and deluged both our feet and the garden
path. Inside the house we were met by the e1derly Cornish housekeeper,
Mrs. Porter, who, with the aid of a young girl, looked after the wants of
the family. She readily answered all Holmes's questions. She had heard
nothing in the night. Her employers had all been in excellent spirits
lately, and she had never known them more cheerful and prosperous. She had
fainted with horror upon entering the room in the morning and seeing that
dreadful company round the table. She had, when she recovered, thrown open
the window to let the morning air in and had run down to the lane, whence
she sent a farm-lad for the doctor. The lady was on her bed upstairs if we
cared to see her. It took four strong men to get the brothers into the
asylum carriage. She would not herself stay in the house another day and
was starting that very afternoon to rejoin her family at St. Ives.
We ascended the stairs and viewed the body. Miss Brenda Tregennis had
been a very beautiful girl, though now verging upon middle age. Her dark,
clear-cut face was handsome, even in death, but there still lingered upon
it something of that convulsion of horror which had been her last human
emotion. From her bedroom we descended to the sitting-room, where this
strange tragedy had actually occurred. The charred ashes of the overnight
fire lay in the grate. On the table were the four guttered and burned-out
candles, with the cards scattered over its surface. The chairs had been
moved back against the walls, but all else was as it had been the night
before. Holmes paced with light, swift steps about the room; he sat in the
various chairs, drawing them up and reconstructing their positions. He
tested how much of the garden was visible; he examined the floor, the
ceiling, and the fireplace; but never once did I see that sudden
brightening of his eyes and tightening of his lips which would have told
me that he saw some gleam of light in this utter darkness.
"Why a fire?" he asked once. "Had they always a fire in this small
room on a spring evening?"
Mortimer Tregennis explained that the night was cold and damp. For
that reason, after his arrival, the fire was lit. "What are you going to
do now, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.
My friend smiled and laid his hand upon my arm. "I think, Watson,
that I shall resume that course of tobacco-poisoning which you have so
often and so justly condemned," said he. "With your permission, gentlemen,
we will now return to our cottage, for I am not aware that any new factor
is likely to come to our notice here. I will turn the facts over in my
mind, Mr. Tregennis, and should anything occur to me I will certainly
communicate with you and the vicar. In the meantime I wish you both
good-morning."
It was not until long after we were back in Poldhu Cottage that
Holmes broke his complete and absorbed silence. He sat coiled in his
armchair, his haggard and ascetic face hardly visible amid the blue swirl
of his tobacco smoke, his black brows drawn down, his forehead contracted,
his eyes vacant and far away. Finally he laid down his pipe and sprang to
his feet.
"It won't do, Watson!" said he with a laugh. "Let us walk along the
cliffs together and search for flint arrows. We are more likely to find
them than clues to this problem. To let the brain work without sufficient
material is like racing an engine. It racks itself to pieces. The sea air,
sunshine, and patience, Watson –– all else will come.
"Now, let us calmly define our position, Watson," he continued as we
skirted the cliffs together. "Let us get a firm grip of the very little
which we do know, so that when fresh facts arise we may be ready to fit
them into their places. I take it, in the first place, that neither of us
is prepared to admit diabolical intrusions into the affairs of men. Let us
begin by ruling that entirely out of our minds. Very good. There remain
three persons who have been grievously stricken by some conscious or
unconscious human agency. That is firm ground. Now, when did this occur?
Evidently, assuming his narrative to be true, it was immediately after Mr.
Mortimer Tregennis had left the room. That is a very important point. The
presumption is that it was within a few minutes afterwards. The cards
still lay upon the table. It was already past their usual hour for bed.
Yet they had not changed their position or pushed back their chairs. I
repeat then, that the occurrence was immediately after his departure, and
not later than eleven o'clock last night.
"Our next obvious step is to check, so far as we can, the movements
of Mortimer Tregennis after he left the room. In this there is no
difficulty, and they seem to be above suspicion. Knowing my methods as you
do, you were, of course, conscious of the somewhat clumsy water-pot
expedient by which I obtained a clearer impress of his foot than might
otherwise have been possible. The wet, sandy path took it admirably. Last
night was also wet, you will remember, and it was not difficult –– having
obtained a sample print –– to pick out his track among others and to
follow his movements. He appears to have walked away swiftly in the
direction of the vicarage.
"If, then, Mortimer Tregennis disappeared from the scene, and yet
some outside person affected the cardplayers, how can we reconstruct that
person, and how was such an impression of horror conveyed? Mrs. Porter may
be eliminated. She is evidently harmless. Is there any evidence that
someone crept up to the garden window and in some manner produced so
terrific an effect that he drove those who saw it out of their senses? The
only suggestion in this direction comes from Mortimer Tregennis himself,
who says that his brother spoke about some movement in the garden. That is
certainly remarkable, as the night was rainy, cloudy, and dark. Anyone who
had the design to alarm these people would be compelled to place his very
face against the glass before he could be seen. There is a three-foot
flowerborder outside this window, but no indication of a footmark. It is
difficult to imagine, then, how an outsider could have made so terrible an
impression upon the company, nor have we found any possible motive for so
strange and elaborate an attempt. You perceive our difficulties, Watson?"
"They are only too clear," I answered with conviction.
"And yet, with a little more material, we may prove that they are not
insurmountable," said Holrnes. "I fancy that among your extensive
archives, Watson, you may find some which were nearly as obscure.
Meanwhile, we shall put the case aside until more accurate data are
available, and devote the rest of our morning to the pursuit of neolithic
man."
I may have commented upon my friend's power of mental detachment, but
never have I wondered at it more than upon that spring morning in Cornwall
when for two hours he discoursed upon Celts, arrowheads, and shards, as
lightly as if no sinister mystery were waiting for his solution. It was
not until we had returned in the afternoon to our cottlge that we found a
visitor awaiting us, who soon brought our minds back to the matter in
hand. Neither of us needed to be told who that visitor was. The huge body,
the craggy and deeply seamed face with the fierce eyes and hawk-like nose,
the grizzled hair which nearly brushed our cottage ceiling, the beard ––
golden at the fringes and white near the lips, save for the nicotin stain
from his perpetual cigar –– all these were as well known in London as in
Africa, and could only be associated with the tremendous personality of
Dr. Leon Sterndale, the great lion-hunter and explorer.
We had heard of his presence in the district and had once or twice
caught sight of his tall figure upon the moorland paths. He made no
advances to us, however, nor would we have dreamed of doing so to him, as
it was well known that it was his love of seclusion which caused him to
spend the greater part of the intervals between his journeys in a small
bungalow buried in the lonely wood of Beauchamp Arriance. Here, amid his
books and his maps, he lived an absolutely lonely life, attending to his
own simple wants and paying little apparent heed to the affairs of his
neighbours. It was a surprise to me, therefore, to hear him asking Holmes
in an eager voice whether he had made any advance in his reconstruction of
this mysterious episode. "The county police are utterly at fault," said
he, "but perhaps your wider experience has suggested some conceivable
explanation. My only claim to being taken into your confidence is that
during my many residences here I have come to know this family of
Tregennis very well –– indeed, upon my Cornish mother's side I could call
them cousins –– and their strange fate has naturally been a great shock to
me. I may tell you that I had got as far as Plymouth upon my way to
Africa, but the news reached me this morning, and I came straight back
again to help in the inquiry."
Holmes raised his eyebrows.
"Did you lose your boat through it?"
"I will take the next."
"Dear me! that is friendship indeed."
"I tell you they were relatives."
"Quite so –– cousins of your mother. Was your baggage aboard the ship?"
"Some of it, but the main part at the hotel."
"I see. But surely this event could not have found its way into the Plymouth morning papers."
"No, sir; I had a telegram."
"Might I ask from whom?"
A shadow passed over the gaunt face of the explorer.
"You are very inquisitive, Mr. Holmes."
"It is my business."
With an effort Dr. Sterndale recovered his ruffled composure.
"I have no objection to telling you," he said. "It was Mr. Roundhay,
the vicar, who sent me the telegram which recalled me."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "I may say in answer to your original
question that I have not cleared my mind entirely on the subject of this
case, but that I have every hope of reaching some conclusion. It would be
premature to say more."
"Perhaps you would not mind telling me if your suspicions point in any particular direction?"
"No, I can hardly answer that."
"Then I have wasted my time and need not prolong my visit." The
famous doctor strode out of our cottage in considerable ill-humour, and
within five minutes Holmes had followed him. I saw him no more until the
evening, when he returned with a slow step and haggard face which assured
me that he had made no great progress with his investigation. He glanced
at a telegram which awaited him and threw it into the grate.
"From the Plymouth hotel, Watson," he said. "I learned the name of it
from the vicar, and I wired to make certain that Dr. Leon Stemdale's
account was true. It appears that he did indeed spend last night there,
and that he has actually allowed some of his baggage to go on to Africa,
while he returned to be present at this investigation. What do you make of
that, Watson?"
"He is deeply interested."
"Deeply interested –– yes. There is a thread here which we have not
yet grasped and which might lead us through the tangle. Cheer up, Watson,
for I am very sure that our material has not yet all come to hand. When it
does we may soon leave our difficulties behind us."
Little did I think how soon the words of Holmes would be realized, or
how strange and sinister would be that new development which opened up an
entirely fresh line of investigation. I was shaving at my window in the
morning when I heard the rattle of hoofs and, looking up, saw a dog-cart
coming at a gallop down the road. It pulled up at our door, and our
friend, the vicar, sprang from it and rushed up our garden path. Holmes
was already dressed, and we hastened down to meet him.
Our visitor was so excited that he could hardly articulate, but at
last in gasps and bursts his tragic story came out of him.
"We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes! My poor parish is devilridden!" he
cried. "Satan himself is loose in it! We are given over into his hands!"
He danced about in his agitation, a ludicrous object if it were not for
his ashy face and startled eyes. Finally he shot out his terrible news.
"Mr. Mortimer Tregennis died during the night, and with exactly the
same symptoms as the rest of his family."
Holmes sprang to his feet, all energy in an instant.
"Can you fit us both into your dog-cart?"
"Yes, I can."
"Then, Watson, we will postpone our breakfast. Mr. Roundhay, we are
entirely at your disposal. Hurry –– hurry, before things get disarranged."
The lodger occupied two rooms at the vicarage, which were in an angle
by themselves, the one above the other. Below was a large sitting-room;
above, his bedroom. They looked out upon a croquet lawn which came up to
the windows. We had arrived before the doctor or the police, so that
everything was absolutely undisturbed. Let me describe exactly the scene
as we saw it upon that misty March morning. It has left an impression
which can never be effaced from my mind.
The atmosphere of the room was of a horrible and depressing
stuffiness. The servant who had first entered had thrown up the window, or
it would have been even more intolerable. This might partly be due to the
fact that a lamp stood flaring and smoking on the centre table. Beside it
sat the dead man, leaning back in his chair, his thin beard projecting,
his spectacles pushed up on to his forehead, and his lean dark face turned
towards the window and twisted into the same distortion of terror which
had marked the features of his dead sister. His limbs were convulsed and
his fingers contorted as though he had died in a very paroxysm of fear. He
was fully clothed, though there were signs that his dressing had been done
in a hurry. We had already learned that his bed had been slept in, and
that the tragic end had come to him in the early morning.
One realized the red-hot energy which underlay Holmes's phlegmatic
exterior when one saw the sudden change which came over him from the
moment that he entered the fatal apartment. In an instant he was tense and
alert, his eyes shining, his face set, his limbs quivering with eager
activity. He was out on the lawn, in through the window, round the room,
and up into the bedroom, for all the world like a dashing foxhound drawing
a cover. In the bedroom he made a rapid cast around and ended by throwing
open the window, which appeared to give him some fresh cause for
excitement, for he leaned out of it with loud ejaculations of interest and
delight. Then he rushed down the stair, out through the open window, threw
himself upon his face on the lawn, sprang up and into the room once more,
all with the energy of the hunter who is at the very heels of his quarry.
The lamp, which was an ordinaly standard, he examined with minute care,
making certain measurements upon its bowl. He carefully scrutinized with
his lens the tale shield which covered the top of the chimney and scraped
off some ashes which adhered to its upper surface, putting some of them
into an envelope, which he placed in his pocketbook. Finally, just as the
doctor and the official police put in an appearance, he beckoned to the
vicar and we all three went out upon the lawn.
"I am glad to say that my investigation has not been entirely
barren," he remarked. "I cannot remain to discuss the matter with the
police, but I should be exceedingly obliged, Mr. Roundhay, if you would
give the inspector my compliments and direct his attention to the bedroom
window and to the sittingroom lamp. Each is suggestive, and together they
are almost conclusive. If the police would desire further information I
shall be happy to see any of them at the conage. And now, Watson, I think
that, perhaps, we shall be better employed elsewhere."
It may be that the police resented the intrusion of an amateur, or
that they imagined themselves to be upon some hopeful line of
investigation; but it is certain that we heard nothing from them for the
next two days. During this time Holmes spent some of his time smoking and
dreaming in the cottage; but a greater portion in country walks which he
undertook alone, returning after many hours without remark as to where he
had been. One experiment served to show me the line of his investigation.
He had bought a lamp which was the duplicate of the one which had burned
in the room of Mortimer Tregennis on the morning of the tragedy. This he
filled with the same oil as that used at the vicarage, and he carefully
timed the period which it would take to be exhausted. Another experiment
which he made was of a more unpleasant nature, and one which I am not
likely ever to forget.
"You will remember, Watson," he remarked one afternoon, "that there
is a single common point of resemblance in the varying reports which have
reached us. This concerns the effect of the atmosphere of the room in each
case upon those who had first entered it. You will recollect that Mortimer
Tregennis, in describing the episode of his last visit to his brother's
house, remarked that the doctor on entering the room fell into a chair?
You had forgotten? Well, I can answer for it that it was so. Now, you will
remember also that Mrs. Porter, the housekeeper, told us that she herself
fainted upon entering the room and had afterwards opened the window. In
the second case –– that of Mortimer Tregennis himself –– you cannot have
forgotten the horrible stuffiness of the room when we arrived. though the
servant had thrown open the window. That servant, I found upon inquiry,
was so ill that she had gone to her bed. You will admit, Watson, that
these facts are very suggestive. In each case there is evidence of a
poisonous atmosphere. In each case, also, there is combustion going on in
the room –– in the one case a fire, in the other a lamp. The fire was
needed, but the lamp was lit –– as a comparison of the oil consumed will
show –– long after it was broad daylight. Why? Surely because there is
some connection between three things –– the burning, the stuffy
atmosphere, and, finally, the madness or death of those unfortunate
people. That is clear, is it not?"
"It would appear so."
"At least we may accept it as a working hypothesis. We will suppose,
then, that something was burned in each case which produced an atmosphere
causing strange toxic effects. Very good. In the first instance –– that of
the Tregennis family –– this substance was placed in the fire. Now the
window was shut, but the fire would naturally carry fumes to some extent
up the chimney. Hence one would expect the effects of the poison to be
less than in the second case, where there was less escape for the vapour.
The result seems to indicate that it was so, since in the first case only
the woman, who had presumably the more sensitive organism, was killed, the
others exhibiting that temporary or permanent lunacy which is evidently
the first effect of the drug. In the second case the result was complete.
The facts, therefore, seem to bear out the theory of a poison which worked
by combustion.
"With this train of reasoning in my head I naturally looked about in
Mortimer Tregennis's room to find some remains of this substance. The
obvious place to look was the talc shield or smoke-guard of the lamp.
There, sure enough, I perceived a number of flaky ashes, and round the
edges a fringe of brownish powder, which had not yet been consumed. Half
of this I took, as you saw, and I placed it in an envelope."
"Why half, Holmes?"
"It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the
official police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The
poison still remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now,
Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to
open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of
society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair
unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the
affair. Oh, you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson.
This chair I will place opposite yours, so that we may be the same
distance from the poison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar.
Each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment
to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well,
then, I take our powder –– or what remains of it –– from the envelope, and
I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sit down and
await developments."
They were not long in coming. I had hardlv settled in my chair before
I was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very
first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A
thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in
this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled
senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and
inconceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid
the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, the
advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow
would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession of me. I felt that
my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth wag
opened, and my tongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such
that something must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguely aware
of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from
myself. At the same moment, in some effort of escape, I broke through that
cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and
drawn with horror –– the very look which I had seen upon the features of
the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of
strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together
we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown
ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious
only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the
hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our
souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned,
and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and
looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that
terrific experience which we had undergone.
"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice,
"I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable
experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really
very sorry."
"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I had never seen so
much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege
to help you."
He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which
was his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would be superfluous to
drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would celtainly
declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an
experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so
sudden and so severe." He dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with
the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of
brambles. "We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it,
Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these
tragedies were produced?"
"None whatever."
"But the cause remains as obscure as before. Come into the arbour
here and let us discuss it together. That villainous stuff seems still to
linger round my throat. I think we must admit that all the evidence points
to this man, Mortimer Tregennis, having been the criminal in the first
tragedy, though he was the victim in the second one. We must remember, in
the first place, that there is some story of a family quarrel, followed by
a reconciliation. How bitter that quarrel may have been, or how hollow the
reconciliation we cannot tell. When I think of Mortimer Tregennis, with
the foxy face and the small shrewd, beady eyes behind the spectacles, he
is not a man whom I should judge to be of a particularly forgiving
disposition. Well, in the next place, you will remember that this idea of
someone moving in the garden, which took our attention for a moment from
the real cause of the tragedy, emanated from him. He had a motive in
misleading us. Finally, if he did not throw this substance into the fire
at the moment of leaving the room, who did do so? The affair happened
immediately after his departure. Had anyone else come in, the family would
certainly have risen from the table. Besides, in peaceful Cornwall,
visitors do not arrive after ten o'clock at night. We may take it, then,
that all the evidence points to Mortimer Tregennis as the culprit."
"Then his own death was suicide!"
"Well, Watson, it is on the face of it a not impossible supposition.
The man who had the guilt upon his soul of having brought such a fate upon
his own family might well be driven by remorse to inflict it upon himself.
There are, however, some cogent reasons against it. Forturlately, there is
one man in England who knows all about it, and I have made arrangements by
which we shall hear the facts this afternoon from his own lips. Ah! he is
a little before his time. Perhaps you would kindly step this way, Dr. Leon
Sterndale. We have been conducting a chemical experiment indoors which has
left our little room hardly fit for the reception of so distinguished a
visitor."
I had heard the click of the garden gate, and now the majestic figure
of the great African explorer appeared upon the path. He turned in some
surprise towards the rustic arbour in which we sat.
"You sent for me, Mr. Holmes. I had your note about an hour ago, and
I have come, though I really do not know why I should obey your summons."
"Perhaps we can clear the point up before we separate," said Holmes.
"Meanwhile, I am much obliged to you for your courteous acquiescence. You
will excuse this informal reception in the open air, but my friend Watson
and I have nearly furnished an additional chapter to what the papers call
the Cornish Horror, and we prefer a clear atmosphere for the present.
Perhaps, since the matters which we have to discuss will affect you
personally in a very intimate fashion, it is as well that we should talk
where there can be no eavesdropping."
The explorer took his cigar from his lips and gazed sternly at my
companlon.
"I am at a loss to know, sir," he said, "what you can have to speak
about which affects me personally in a very intimate fashion."
"The killing of Mortimer Tregennis," said Holmes.
For a moment I wished that I were armed. Stemdale's fierce face
turned to a dusky red, his eyes glared, and the knotted, passionate veins
started out in his forehead, while he sprang forward with clenched hands
towards my companion. Then he stopped, and with a violent effort he
resumed a cold, rigid calmness, which was, perhaps, more suggestive of
danger than his hot-headed outburst.
"I have lived so long among savages and beyond the law," said he,
"that I have got into the way of being a law to myself. You would do well,
Mr. Holmes, not to forget it, for I have no desire to do you an injury."
"Nor have I any desire to do you an injury, Dr. Sterndale. Surely the
clearest proof of it is that, knowing what I know, I have sent for you and
not for the police."
Sterndale sat down with a gasp, overawed for, perhaps, the first time
in his adventurous life. There was a calm assurance of power in Holmes's
manner which could not be withstood. Our visitor stammered for a moment,
his great hands opening and shutting in his agitation.
"What do you mean?" he asked at last. "If this is bluff upon your
part, Mr. Holmes, you have chosen a bad man for your experiment. Let us
have no more beating about the bush. What do you mean?"
"I will tell you," said Holmes, "and the reason why I tell you is
that I hope frankness may beget frankness. What my next step may be will
depend entirely upon the nature of your own defence."
"My defence?"
"Yes, sir."
"My defence against what?"
"Against the charge of killing Mortimer Tregennis."
Sterndale mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Upon my word,
you are getting on," said he. "Do all your successes depend upon this
prodigious power of bluff?"
"The bluff," said Holmes sternly, "is upon your side, Dr. Leon
Sterndale, and not upon mine. As a proof I will tell you some of the facts
upon which my conclusions are based. Of your return from Plymouth,
allowing much of your property to go on to Africa, I will say nothing save
that it first informed me that you were one of the factors which had to be
taken into account in reconstructing this drama –– "
"I came back –– "
"I have heard your reasons and regard them as unconvincing and
inadequate. We will pass that. You came down here to ask me whom I
suspected. I refused to answer you. You then went to the vicarage, waited
outside it for some time, and finally returned to your cottage."
"How do you know that?"
"I followed you."
"I saw no one."
"That is what you may expect to see when I follow you. You spent a
restless night at your cottage, and you formed certain plans, which in the
early morning you proceeded to put into execution. Leaving your door just
as day was breaking, you filled your pocket with some reddish gravel that
was lying heaped beside your gate."
Sterndale gave a violent start and looked at Holmes in amazement.
"You then walked swiftly for the mile which separated you from the
vicarage. You were wearing, I may remark, the same pair of ribbed tennis
shoes which are at the present moment upon your feet. At the vicarage you
passed through the orchard and the side hedge, coming out under the window
of the lodger Tregennis. It was now daylight, but the household was not
yet stirring. You drew some of the gravel from your pocket, and you threw
it up at the window above you."
Sterndale sprang to his feet.
"I believe that you are the devil himself!" he cried.
Holmes smiled at the compliment. "It took two, or possibly three,
handfuls before the lodger came to the window. You beckoned him to come
down. He dressed hurriedly and descended to his sitting-room. You entered
by the window. There was an interview –– a short one –– during which you
walked up and down the room. Then you passed out and closed the window,
standing on the lawn outside smoking a cigar and watching what occurred.
Finally, after the death of Tregennis, you withdrew as you had come. Now,
Dr. Sterndale, how do you justify such conduct, and what were the motives
for your actions? If you prevaricate or trifle with me, I give you my
assurance that the matter will pass out ol my hands forever."
Our visitor's face had turned ashen gray as he listened to the words
of his accuser. Now he sat for some time in thought with his face sunk in
his hands. Then with a sudden impulsive gesture he plucked a photograph
from his breast-pocket and threw it on the rustic table before us.
"That is why I have done it," said he.
It showed the bust and face of a very beautiful woman. Holmes stooped
over it.
"Brenda Tregennis," said he.
"Yes, Brenda Tregennis," repeated our visitor. "For years I have
loved her. For years she has loved me. There is the secret of that Cornish
seclusion which people have marvelled at. It has brought me close to the
one thing on earth that was dear to me. I could not marry her, for I have
a wife who has left me for years and yet whom, by the deplorable laws of
England, I could not divorce. For years Brenda waited. For years I waited.
And this is what we have waited for." A terrible sob shook his great
frame, and he clutched his throat under his brindled beard. Then with an
effort he mastered himself and spoke on:
"The vicar knew. He was in our confidence. He would tell you that she
was an angel upon earth. That was why he telegraphed to me and I returned.
What was my baggage or Africa to me when I learned that such a fate had
come upon my darling? There you have the missing clue to my action, Mr.
Holmes."
"Proceed," said my friend.
Dr. Sterndale drew from his pocket a paper packet and laid it upon
the table. On the outside was written "Radix pedis diaboli" with a red
poison label beneath it. He pushed it towards me. "I understand that you
are a doctor, sir. Have you ever heard of this preparation?"
"Devil's-foot root! No, I have never heard of it."
"It is no reflection upon your professional knowledge," said he, "for
I believe that, save for one sample in a laboratory at Buda, there is no
other specimen in Europe. It has not yet found its way either into the
pharmacopceia or into the literature of toxicology. The root is shaped
like a foot, half human, half goatlike; hence the fanciful name given by a
botanical missionary. It is used as an ordeal poison by the medicine-men
in certain districts of West Africa and is kept as a secret among them.
This particular specimen I obtained under very extraordinary circumstances
in the Ubangi country." He opened the paper as he spoke and disclosed a
heap of reddish-brown, snuff-like powder.
"Well, sir?" asked Holmes sternly.
"I am about to tell you, Mr. Holmes, all that actually occurred, for
you already know so much that it is clearly to my interest that you should
know all. I have already explained the relationship in which I stood to
the Tregennis family. For the sake of the sister I was friendly with the
brothers. There was a family quarrel about money which estranged this man
Mortimer, but it was supposed to be made up, and I afterwards met him as I
did the others. He was a sly, subtle, scheming man, and several things
arose which gave me a suspicion of him, but I had no cause for any
positive quarrel.
"One day, only a couple of weeks ago, he came down to my cottage and
I showed him some of my African curiosities. Among other things I
exhibited this powder, and I told him of its strange properties, how it
stimulates those brain centres which control the emotion of fear, and how
either madness or death is the fate of the unhappy native who is subjected
to the ordeal by the priest of his tribe. I told him also how powerless
European science would be to detect it. How hi took it I cannot say, for I
never left the room, but there is no doubt that it was then, while I was
opening cabinets and stooping to boxes, that he managed to abstract some
of the devil's-foot root. I well remember how he plied me with questions
as to the amount and the time that was needed for its effect, but I little
dreamed that he could have a personal reason for asking.
"I thought no more of the matter until the vicar's telegram reached
me at Plymouth. This villain had thought that I would be at sea before the
news could reach me, and that I should be lost for years in Africa. But I
returned at once. Of course, I could not listen to the details without
feeling assured that my poison had been used. I came round to see you on
the chance tbat some other explanation had suggesteid itself to you. But
there could be none. I was convinced that Mortimer Tregennis was the
murderer; that for the sake of money, and with the idea, perhaps, that if
the other members of his family were all insane he would be the sole
guardian of their joint property, he had used the devil's-foot powder upon
them, driven two of them out of their senses, and killed his sister
Brenda, the one human being whom I have ever loved or who has ever loved
me. There was his crime; what was to be his punishment?
"Should I appeal to the law? Where were my proofs? I knew that the
facts were true, but could I help to make a jury of countrymen believe so
fantastic a story? I might or I might not. But I could not afford to fail.
My soul cried out for revenge. I have said to you once before, Mr. Holmes,
that I have spent much of my life outside the law, and that I have come at
last to be a law to myself. So it was now. I determined that the fate
which he had given to others should be shared by himself. Either that or I
would do justice upon him with my own hand. In all England there can be no
man who sets less value upon his own life than I do at the present moment.
"Now I have told you all. You have yourself supplied the rest. I did,
as you say, after a restless night, set off early from my cottage. I
foresaw the difficulty of arousing him, so I gathered some gravel from the
pile which you have mentioned, and I used it to throw up to his window. He
came down and admitted me through the window of the sitting-room. I laid
his offence before him. I told him that I had come both as judge and
executioner. The wretch sank into a chair, paralyzed at the sight of my
revolver. I lit the lamp, put the powder above it, and stood outside the
window, ready to carry out my threat to shoot him should he try to leave
the room. In five minutes he died. My God! how he died! But my heart was
flint, for he endured nothing which my innocent darling had not felt
before him. There is my story, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps, if you loved a woman,
you would have done as much yourself. At any rate, I am in your hands. You
can take what steps you like. As I have already said, there is no man
living who can fear death less than I do. "
Holmes sat for some little time in silence.
"What were your plans?" he asked at last.
"I had intended to bury myself in central Africa. My work there is
but half finished."
"Go and do the other half," said Holmes. "I, at least, am not
prepared to prevent you."
Dr. Sterndale raised his giant figure, bowed gravely, and waliked
from the arbour. Holmes lit his pipe and handed me his pouch.
"Some fumes which are not poisonous would be a welcome change," said
he. "I think you must agree, Watson, that it is not a case in which we are
called upon to interfere. Our investigation has been independent, and our
action shall be so also. You would not denounce the man?"
"Certainly not," I answered.
"I have never loved, Watson, but if I did and if the woman I loved
had met such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done.
Who knows? Well, Watson, I will not offend your intelligence by explaining
what is obvious. The gravel upon the window-sill was, of course, the
starting-point of my research. It was unlike anything in the vicarage
garden. Only when my attention had been drawn to Dr. Sterndale and his
cottage did I find its counterpart. The lamp shining in broad daylight and
the remains of powder upon the shield were successive links in a fairly
obvious chain. And now, my dear Watson, I think we may dismiss the matter
from our mind and go back with a clear conscience to the study of those
Chaldean roots which are surely to be traced in the Cornish branch of the
great Celtic speech."
