The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
don’t know what other odds and ends.”
“Well, we are quite in your hands, Mr. Holmes,” said old
Cunningham. “Anything which you or the Inspector may suggest will
most certainly be done.”
“In the first place,” said Holmes, “I should like you to offer a
reward—coming from yourself, for the officials may take a little
time before they would agree upon the sum, and these things
cannot be done too promptly. I have jotted down the form here, if
you would not mind signing it. Fifty pounds was quite enough, I
thought.”
“I would willingly give five hundred,” said the J.P., taking the
slip of paper and the pencil which Holmes handed to him. “This is
not quite correct, however,” he added, glancing over the
document.
“I wrote it rather hurriedly.”
“You see you begin, ‘Whereas, at about a quarter to one on
Tuesday morning an attempt was made,’ and so on. It was at a
quarter to twelve, as a matter of fact.”
I was pained at the mistake, for I knew how keenly Holmes would
feel any slip of the kind. It was his specialty to be accurate as
to fact, but his recent illness had shaken him, and this one
little incident was enough to show me that he was still far from
being himself. He was obviously embarrassed for an instant, while
the Inspector raised his eyebrows, and Alec Cunningham burst into
a laugh. The old gentleman corrected the mistake, however, and
handed the paper back to Holmes.
“Get it printed as soon as possible,” he said; “I think your idea
is an excellent one.”
Holmes put the slip of paper carefully away into his pocket-book.
“And now,” said he, “it really would be a good thing that we
should all go over the house together and make certain that this
rather erratic burglar did not, after all, carry anything away
with him.”
Before entering, Holmes made an examination of the door which had
been forced. It was evident that a chisel or strong knife had
been thrust in, and the lock forced back with it. We could see
the marks in the wood where it had been pushed in.
“You don’t use bars, then?” he asked.
“We have never found it necessary.”
“You don’t keep a dog?”
“Yes, but he is chained on the other side of the house.”
“When do the servants go to bed?”
“About ten.”
“I understand that William was usually in bed also at that hour.”
“Yes.”
“It is singular that on this particular night he should have been
up. Now, I should be very glad if you would have the kindness to
show us over the house, Mr. Cunningham.”
A stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens branching away from
it, led by a wooden staircase directly to the first floor of the
house. It came out upon the landing opposite to a second more
ornamental stair which came up from the front hall. Out of this
landing opened the drawing-room and several bedrooms, including
those of Mr. Cunningham and his son. Holmes walked slowly, taking
keen note of the architecture of the house. I could tell from his
expression that he was on a hot scent, and yet I could not in the
least imagine in what direction his inferences were leading him.
“My good sir,” said Mr. Cunningham with some impatience, “this is
surely very unnecessary. That is my room at the end of the
stairs, and my son’s is the one beyond it. I leave it to your
judgment whether it was possible for the thief to have come up
here without disturbing us.”
“You must try round and get on a fresh scent, I fancy,” said the
son with a rather malicious smile.
“Still, I must ask you to humour me a little further. I should
like, for example, to see how far the windows of the bedrooms
command the front. This, I understand is your son’s room”—he
pushed open the door—“and that, I presume, is the dressing-room
in which he sat smoking when the alarm was given. Where does the
window of that look out to?” He stepped across the bedroom,
pushed open the door, and glanced round the other chamber.
“I hope that you are satisfied now?” said Mr. Cunningham, tartly.
“Thank you, I think I have seen all that I wished.”
“Then if it is really necessary we can go into my room.”
“If it is not too much trouble.”
The J.P. shrugged his shoulders, and led the way into his own
chamber, which was a plainly furnished and commonplace room. As
we moved across it in the direction of the window, Holmes fell
back until he and I were the last of the group. Near the foot of
the bed stood a dish of oranges and a carafe of water. As we
passed it Holmes, to my unutterable astonishment, leaned over in
front of me and deliberately knocked the whole thing over. The
glass smashed into a thousand pieces and the fruit rolled about
into every corner of the room.
“You’ve done it now, Watson,” said he, coolly. “A pretty mess
you’ve made of the carpet.”
I stooped in some confusion and began to pick up the fruit,
understanding for some reason my companion desired me to take the
blame upon myself. The others did the same, and set the table on
its legs again.
“Halloa!” cried the Inspector, “where’s he got to?”
Holmes had disappeared.
“Wait here an instant,” said young Alec Cunningham. “The fellow
is off his head, in my opinion. Come with me, father, and see
where he has got to!”
They rushed out of the room, leaving the Inspector, the Colonel,
and me staring at each other.
“’Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with Master Alec,” said the
official. “It may be the effect of this illness, but it seems to
me that—”
His words were cut short by a sudden scream of “Help! Help!
Murder!” With a thrill I recognised the voice of that of my
friend. I rushed madly from the room on to the landing. The
cries, which had sunk down into a hoarse, inarticulate shouting,
came from the room which we had first visited. I dashed in, and
on into the dressing-room beyond. The two Cunninghams were
bending over the prostrate figure of Sherlock Holmes, the younger
clutching his throat with both hands, while the elder seemed to
be twisting one of his wrists. In an instant the three of us had
torn them away from him, and Holmes staggered to his feet, very
pale and evidently greatly exhausted.
“Arrest these men, Inspector!” he gasped.
“On what charge?”
“That of murdering their coachman, William Kirwan!”
The Inspector stared about him in bewilderment. “Oh, come now,
Mr. Holmes,” said he at last, “I’m sure you don’t really mean
to—”
“Tut, man, look at their faces!” cried Holmes, curtly.
Never, certainly, have I seen a plainer confession of guilt upon
human countenances. The older man seemed numbed and dazed with a
heavy, sullen expression upon his strongly-marked face. The son,
on the other hand, had dropped all that jaunty, dashing style
which had characterized him, and the ferocity of a dangerous wild
beast gleamed in his dark eyes and distorted his handsome
features. The Inspector said nothing, but, stepping to the door,
he blew his whistle. Two of his constables came at the call.
“I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham,” said he. “I trust that
this may all prove to be an absurd mistake, but you can see
that—Ah, would you? Drop it!” He struck out with his hand, and a
revolver which the younger man was in the act of cocking
clattered down upon the floor.
“Keep that,” said Holmes, quietly putting his foot upon it; “you
will find it useful at the trial. But this is what we really
wanted.” He held up a little crumpled piece of paper.
“The remainder of the sheet!” cried the Inspector.
“Precisely.”
“And where was it?”
“Where I was sure it must be. I’ll make the whole matter clear to
you presently. I think, Colonel, that you and Watson might return
now, and I will be with you again in an hour at the furthest. The
Inspector and I must have a word with the prisoners, but you will
certainly see me back at luncheon time.”
Sherlock Holmes was as good as his word, for about one o’clock he
rejoined us in the Colonel’s smoking-room. He was accompanied by
a little elderly gentleman, who was introduced to me as the Mr.
Acton whose house had been the scene of the original burglary.
“I wished Mr. Acton to be present while I demonstrated this small
matter to you,” said Holmes, “for it is natural that he should
take a keen interest in the details. I am afraid, my dear
Colonel, that you must regret the hour that you took in such a
stormy petrel as I am.”
“On the contrary,” answered the Colonel, warmly, “I consider it
the greatest privilege to have been permitted to study your
methods of working. I confess that they quite surpass my
expectations, and that I am utterly unable to account for your
result. I have not yet seen the vestige of a clue.”
“I am afraid that my explanation may disillusionize you but it
has always been my habit to hide none of my methods, either from
my friend Watson or from any one who might take an intelligent
interest in them. But, first, as I am rather shaken by the
knocking about which I had in the dressing-room, I think that I
shall help myself to a dash of your brandy, Colonel. My strength
has been rather tried of late.”
“I trust that you had no more of those nervous attacks.”
Sherlock Holmes laughed heartily. “We will come to that in its
turn,” said he. “I will lay an account of the case before you in
its due order, showing you the various points which guided me in
my decision. Pray interrupt me if there is any inference which is
not perfectly clear to you.
“It is of the highest importance in the art of detection to be
able to recognise, out of a number of facts, which are incidental
and which vital. Otherwise your energy and attention must be
dissipated instead of being concentrated. Now, in this case there
was not the slightest doubt in my mind from the first that the
key of the whole matter must be looked for in the scrap of paper
in the dead man’s hand.
“Before going into this, I would draw your attention to the fact
that, if Alec Cunningham’s narrative was correct, and if the
assailant, after shooting William Kirwan, had _instantly_ fled,
then it obviously could not be he who tore the paper from the
dead man’s hand. But if it was not he, it must have been Alec
Cunningham himself, for by the time that the old man had
descended several servants were upon the scene. The point is a
simple one, but the Inspector had overlooked it because he had
started with the supposition that these county magnates had had
nothing to do with the matter. Now, I make a point of never
having any prejudices, and of following docilely wherever fact
may lead me, and so, in the very first stage of the
investigation, I found myself looking a little askance at the
part which had been played by Mr. Alec Cunningham.