The case-book of Sherlock Holmes
"Yes, sir. It was one of a pair that he had."
"One of a pair? Where is the other?"
"Well, the gentleman has a lot of fire-arms of one sort and another.
We never quite matched that particular pistol--but the box was made for
two."
"If it was one of a pair you should surely be able to match it."
"Well, we have them all laid out at the house if you would care to look
them over."
"Later, perhaps. I think we will walk down together and have a look at
the scene of the tragedy."
This conversation had taken place in the little front room of Sergeant
Coventry's humble cottage which served as the local police-station. A
walk of half a mile or so across a wind-swept heath, all gold and
bronze with the fading ferns, brought us to a side-gate opening into
the grounds of the Thor Place estate. A path led us through the
pheasant preserves, and then from a clearing we saw the wide-spread,
half-timbered house, half Tudor and half Georgian, upon the crest of
the hill. Beside us there was a long, reedy pool, constricted in the
centre where the main carriage drive passed over a stone bridge, but
swelling into small lakes on either side. Our guide paused at the
mouth of this bridge, and he pointed to the ground.
"That was where Mrs. Gibson's body lay. I marked it by that stone."
"I understand that you were there before it was moved?"
"Yes; they sent for me at once."
"Who did?"
"Mr. Gibson himself. The moment the alarm was given and he had rushed
down with others from the house, he insisted that nothing should be
moved until the police should arrive."
"That was sensible. I gathered from the newspaper report that the shot
was fired from close quarters."
"Yes, sir, very close."
"Near the right temple?"
"Just behind it, sir."
"How did the body lie?"
"On the back, sir. No trace of a struggle. No marks. No weapon. The
short note from Miss Dunbar was clutched in her left hand."
"Clutched, you say?"
"Yes, sir; we could hardly open the fingers."
"That is of great importance. It excludes the idea that anyone could
have placed the note there after death in order to furnish a false
clue. Dear me! The note, as I remember, was quite short. 'I will be
at Thor Bridge at nine o'clock.--G. Dunbar.' Was that not so?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did Miss Dunbar admit writing it?"
"Yes, sir."
"What was her explanation?"
"Her defence was reserved for the Assizes. She would say nothing."
"The problem is certainly a very interesting one. The point of the
letter is very obscure, is it not?"
"Well, sir," said the guide, "it seemed, if I may be so bold as to say
so, the only really clear point in the whole case."
Holmes shook his head.
"Granting that the letter is genuine and was really written, it was
certainly received some time before--say one hour or two. Why, then,
was this lady still clasping it in her left hand? Why should she carry
it so carefully? She did not need to refer to it in the interview.
Does it not seem remarkable?"
"Well, sir, as you put it, perhaps it does."
"I think I should like to sit quietly for a few minutes and think it
out." He seated himself upon the stone ledge of the bridge, and I
could see his quick grey eyes darting their questioning glances in
every direction. Suddenly he sprang up again and ran across to the
opposite parapet, whipped his lens from his pocket, and began to
examine the stonework.
"This is curious," said he.
"Yes, sir; we saw the chip on the ledge. I expect it's been done by
some passer-by."
The stonework was grey, but at this one point it showed white for a
space not larger than a sixpence. When examined closely one could see
that the surface was chipped as by a sharp blow.
"It took some violence to do that," said Holmes thoughtfully. With his
cane he struck the ledge several times without leaving a mark. "Yes,
it was a hard knock. In a curious place, too. It was not from above
but from below, for you see that it is on the _lower_ edge of the
parapet."
"But it is at least fifteen feet from the body."
"Yes, it is fifteen feet from the body. It may have nothing to do with
the matter, but it is a point worth noting. I do not think that we
have anything more to learn here. There were no footsteps, you say?"
"The ground was iron hard, sir. There were no traces at all."
"Then we can go. We will go up to the house first and look over these
weapons of which you speak. Then we shall get on to Winchester, for I
should desire to see Miss Dunbar before we go farther."
Mr. Neil Gibson had not returned from town, but we saw in the house the
neurotic Mr. Bates who had called upon us in the morning. He showed us
with a sinister relish the formidable array of fire-arms of various
shapes and sizes which his employer had accumulated in the course of an
adventurous life.
"Mr. Gibson has his enemies, as anyone would expect who knew him and
his methods," said he. "He sleeps with a loaded revolver in the drawer
beside his bed. He is a man of violence, sir, and there are times when
all of us are afraid of him. I am sure that the poor lady who has
passed was often terrified."
"Did you ever witness physical violence towards her?"
"No, I cannot say that. But I have heard words which were nearly as
bad--words of cold, cutting contempt, even before the servants."
"Our millionaire does not seem to shine in private life," remarked
Holmes, as we made our way to the station. "Well, Watson, we have come
on a good many facts, some of them new ones, and yet I seem some way
from my conclusion. In spite of the very evident dislike which Mr.
Bates has to his employer, I gather from him that when the alarm came
he was undoubtedly in his library. Dinner was over at eight-thirty and
all was normal up to then. It is true that the alarm was somewhat late
in the evening, but the tragedy certainly occurred about the hour named
in the note. There is no evidence at all that Mr. Gibson had been out
of doors since his return from town at five o'clock. On the other
hand, Miss Dunbar, as I understand it, admits that she had made an
appointment to meet Mrs. Gibson at the bridge. Beyond this she would
say nothing, as her lawyer had advised her to reserve her defence. We
have several very vital questions to ask that young lady, and my mind
will not be easy until we have seen her. I must confess that the case
would seem to me to be very black against her if it were not for one
thing."
"And what is that, Holmes?"
"The finding of the pistol in her wardrobe."
"Dear me, Holmes!" I cried, "that seemed to me to be the most damning
incident of all."
"Not so, Watson. It had struck me even at my first perfunctory reading
as very strange, and now that I am in closer touch with the case it is
my only firm ground for hope. We must look for consistency. Where
there is a want of it we must suspect deception."
"I hardly follow you."
"Well now, Watson, suppose for a moment that we visualize you in the
character of a woman who, in a cold, premeditated fashion, is about to
get rid of a rival. You have planned it. A note has been written.
The victim has come. You have your weapon. The crime is done. It has
been workman-like and complete. Do you tell me that after carrying out
so crafty a crime you would now ruin your reputation as a criminal by
forgetting to fling your weapon into those adjacent reed-beds which
would for ever cover it, but you must needs carry it carefully home and
put it in your own wardrobe, the very first place that would be
searched? Your best friends would hardly call you a schemer, Watson,
and yet I could not picture you doing anything so crude as that."
"In the excitement of the moment----"
"No, no, Watson, I will not admit that it is possible. Where a crime
is coolly premeditated, then the means of covering it are coolly
premeditated also. I hope, therefore, that we are in the presence of a
serious misconception."
"But there is so much to explain."
"Well, we shall set about explaining it. When once your point of view
is changed, the very thing which was so damning becomes a clue to the
truth. For example, there is this revolver. Miss Dunbar disclaims all
knowledge of it. On our new theory she is speaking truth when she says
so. Therefore, it was placed in her wardrobe. Who placed it there?
Someone who wished to incriminate her. Was not that person the actual
criminal? You see how we come at once upon a most fruitful line of
inquiry."
We were compelled to spend the night at Winchester, as the formalities
had not yet been completed, but next morning, in the company of Mr.
Joyce Cummings, the rising barrister who was entrusted with the
defence, we were allowed to see the young lady in her cell. I had
expected from all that we had heard to see a beautiful woman, but I can
never forget the effect which Miss Dunbar produced upon me. It was no
wonder that even the masterful millionaire had found in her something
more powerful than himself--something which could control and guide
him. One felt, too, as one looked at that strong, clear-cut, and yet
sensitive face, that even should she be capable of some impetuous deed,
none the less there was an innate nobility of character which would
make her influence always for the good. She was a brunette, tall, with
a noble figure and commanding presence, but her dark eyes had in them
the appealing, helpless expression of the hunted creature who feels the
nets around it, but can see no way out from the toils. Now, as she
realized the presence and the help of my famous friend, there came a
touch of colour in her wan cheeks and a light of hope began to glimmer
in the glance which she turned upon us.
"Perhaps Mr. Neil Gibson has told you something of what occurred
between us?" she asked, in a low, agitated voice.
"Yes," Holmes answered; "you need not pain yourself by entering into
that part of the story. After seeing you, I am prepared to accept Mr.
Gibson's statement both as to the influence which you had over him and
as to the innocence of your relations with him. But why was the whole
situation not brought out in court?"
"It seemed to me incredible that such a charge could be sustained. I
thought that if we waited the whole thing must clear itself up without
our being compelled to enter into painful details of the inner life of
the family. But I understand that far from clearing it has become even
more serious."
"My dear young lady," cried Holmes earnestly, "I beg you to have no
illusions upon the point. Mr. Cummings here would assure you that all
the cards are at present against us, and that we must do everything
that is possible if we are to win clear. It would be a cruel deception
to pretend that you are not in very great danger. Give me all the help
you can, then, to get at the truth."
"I will conceal nothing."
"Tell us, then, of your true relations with Mr. Gibson's wife."
"She hated me, Mr. Holmes. She hated me with all the fervour of her
tropical nature. She was a woman who would do nothing by halves, and
the measure of her love for her husband was the measure also of her
hatred for me. It is probable that she misunderstood our relations. I
would not wish to wrong her, but she loved so vividly in a physical
sense that she could hardly understand the mental, and even spiritual,
tie which held her husband to me, or imagine that it was only my desire
to influence his power to good ends which kept me under his roof. I
can see now that I was wrong. Nothing could justify me in remaining
where I was a cause of unhappiness, and yet it is certain that the
unhappiness would have remained even if I had left the house."
"Now, Miss Dunbar," said Holmes, "I beg you to tell us exactly what