asked once. "Had they always a fire in this smallroom on a spring evening?"
Mortimer Tregennis explained that the night was cold and damp. For thatreason, after his arrival, the fire was lit. "What are you going to donow, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.
My friend smiled and laid his hand upon my arm. "I think, Watson, thatI shall resume that course of tobacco-poisoning which you have so oftenand so justly condemned," said he. "With your permission, gentlemen,we will now return to our cottage, for I am not aware that any newfactor is likely to come to our notice here. I will turn the factsover in my mind, Mr. Tregennis, and should anything occur to me I willcertainly communicate with you and the vicar. In the meantime I wishyou both good-morning."
It was not until long after we were back in Poldhu Cottage that Holmesbroke his complete and absorbed silence. He sat coiled in hisarmchair, his haggard and ascetic face hardly visible amid the blueswirl of his tobacco smoke, his black brows drawn down, his foreheadcontracted, his eyes vacant and far away. Finally he laid down hispipe and sprang to his feet.
"It won't do, Watson!" said he with a laugh. "Let us walk along thecliffs together and search for flint arrows. We are more likely tofind them than clues to this problem. To let the brain work withoutsufficient material is like racing an engine. It racks itself topieces. The sea air, sunshine, and patience, Watson--all else willcome.
"Now, let us calmly define our position, Watson," he continued as weskirted the cliffs together. "Let us get a firm grip of the verylittle which we DO know, so that when fresh facts arise we may be readyto fit them into their places. I take it, in the first place, thatneither of us is prepared to admit diabolical intrusions into theaffairs of men. Let us begin by ruling that entirely out of our minds.Very good. There remain three persons who have been grievouslystricken by some conscious or unconscious human agency. That is firmground. Now, when did this occur? Evidently, assuming his narrativeto be true, it was immediately after Mr. Mortimer Tregennis had leftthe room. That is a very important point. The presumption is that itwas within a few minutes afterwards. The cards still lay upon thetable. It was already past their usual hour for bed. Yet they had notchanged their position or pushed back their chairs. I repeat, then,that the occurrence was immediately after his departure, and not laterthan eleven o'clock last night.
"Our next obvious step is to check, so far as we can, the movements ofMortimer Tregennis after he left the room. In this there is nodifficulty, and they seem to be above suspicion. Knowing my methods asyou do, you were, of course, conscious of the somewhat clumsy water-potexpedient by which I obtained a clearer impress of his foot than mightotherwise have been possible. The wet, sandy path took it admirably.Last night was also wet, you will remember, and it was notdifficult--having obtained a sample print--to pick out his track amongothers and to follow his movements. He appears to have walked awayswiftly in the direction of the vicarage.
"If, then, Mortimer Tregennis disappeared from the scene, and yet someoutside person affected the card-players, how can we reconstruct thatperson, and how was such an impression of horror conveyed? Mrs. Portermay be eliminated. She is evidently harmless. Is there any evidencethat someone crept up to the garden window and in some manner producedso terrific an effect that he drove those who saw it out of theirsenses? The only suggestion in this direction comes from MortimerTregennis himself, who says that his brother spoke about some movementin the garden. That is certainly remarkable, as the night was rainy,cloudy, and dark. Anyone who had the design to alarm these peoplewould be compelled to place his very face against the glass before hecould be seen. There is a three-foot flower-border outside thiswindow, but no indication of a footmark. It is difficult to imagine,then, how an outsider could have made so terrible an impression uponthe company, nor have we found any possible motive for so strange andelaborate 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 notinsurmountable," said Holmes. "I fancy that among your extensivearchives, Watson, you may find some which were nearly as obscure.Meanwhile, we shall put the case aside until more accurate data areavailable, and devote the rest of our morning to the pursuit ofneolithic man."
I may have commented upon my friend's power of mental detachment, butnever have I wondered at it more than upon that spring morning inCornwall when for two hours he discoursed upon celts, arrowheads, andshards, as lightly as if no sinister mystery were waiting for hissolution. It was not until we had returned in the afternoon to ourcottage that we found a visitor awaiting us, who soon brought our mindsback to the matter in hand. Neither of us needed to be told who thatvisitor was. The huge body, the craggy and deeply seamed face with thefierce eyes and hawk-like nose, the grizzled hair which nearly brushedour cottage ceiling, the beard--golden at the fringes and white nearthe lips, save for the nicotine stain from his perpetual cigar--allthese were as well known in London as in Africa, and could only beassociated with the tremendous personality of Dr. Leon Sterndale, thegreat lion-hunter and explorer.
We had heard of his presence in the district and had once or twicecaught sight of his tall figure upon the moorland paths. He made noadvances 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 himto spend the greater part of the intervals between his journeys in asmall 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 tothe affairs of his neighbours. It was a surprise to me, therefore, tohear him asking Holmes in an eager voice whether he had made anyadvance in his reconstruction of this mysterious episode. "The countypolice are utterly at fault," said he, "but perhaps your widerexperience has suggested some conceivable explanation. My only claimto being taken into your confidence is that during my many residenceshere I have come to know this family of Tregennis very well--indeed,upon my Cornish mother's side I could call them cousins--and theirstrange fate has naturally been a great shock to me. I may tell youthat I had got as far as Plymouth upon my way to Africa, but the newsreached me this morning, and I came straight back again to help in theinquiry."
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 thePlymouth 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 originalquestion that I have not cleared my mind entirely on the subject ofthis case, but that I have every hope of reaching some conclusion. Itwould be premature to say more."
"Perhaps you would not mind telling me if your suspicions point in anyparticular direction?"
"No, I can hardly answer that."
"Then I have wasted my time and need not prolong my visit." The famousdoctor strode out of our cottage in considerable ill-humour, and withinfive minutes Holmes had followed him. I saw him no more until theevening, when he returned with a slow step and haggard face whichassured 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 itfrom the vicar, and I wired to make certain that Dr. Leon Sterndale'saccount was true. It appears that he did indeed spend last nightthere, and that he has actually allowed some of his baggage to go on toAfrica, while he returned to be present at this investigation. What doyou make of that, Watson?"
"He is deeply interested."
"Deeply interested--yes. There is a thread here which we had not yetgrasped 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, orhow strange and sinister would be that new development which opened upan