had turned a cat loose in an aviary, and I was so horrified
at his brutal cruelty that I would have nothing more to do
with him.' She rummaged in a bureau, and presently she
produced a photograph of a woman, shamefully defaced and
mutilated with a knife. 'That is my own photograph,' she
said. 'He sent it to me in that state, with his curse,
upon my wedding morning.'
"'Well,' said I, 'at least he has forgiven you now, since
he has left all his property to your son.'
"'Neither my son nor I want anything from Jonas Oldacre,
dead or alive,' she cried, with a proper spirit. 'There is
a God in Heaven, Mr. Holmes, and that same God who has
punished that wicked man will show in His own good time
that my son's hands are guiltless of his blood.'
"Well, I tried one or two leads, but could get at nothing
which would help our hypothesis, and several points which
would make against it. I gave it up at last and off I went
to Norwood.
"This place, Deep Dene House, is a big modern villa of
staring brick, standing back in its own grounds, with a
laurel-clumped lawn in front of it. To the right and some
distance back from the road was the timber-yard which had
been the scene of the fire. Here's a rough plan on a leaf
of my note-book. This window on the left is the one which
opens into Oldacre's room. You can look into it from the
road, you see. That is about the only bit of consolation I
have had to-day. Lestrade was not there, but his head
constable did the honours. They had just made a great
treasure-trove. They had spent the morning raking among
the ashes of the burned wood-pile, and besides the charred
organic remains they had secured several discoloured metal
discs. I examined them with care, and there was no doubt
that they were trouser buttons. I even distinguished that
one of them was marked with the name of 'Hyams,' who was
Oldacre's tailor. I then worked the lawn very carefully
for signs and traces, but this drought has made everything
as hard as iron. Nothing was to be seen save that some
body or bundle had been dragged through a low privet hedge
which is in a line with the wood-pile. All that, of
course, fits in with the official theory. I crawled about
the lawn with an August sun on my back, but I got up at
the end of an hour no wiser than before.
"Well, after this fiasco I went into the bedroom and
examined that also. The blood-stains were very slight,
mere smears and discolorations, but undoubtedly fresh.
The stick had been removed, but there also the marks were
slight. There is no doubt about the stick belonging to our
client. He admits it. Footmarks of both men could be made
out on the carpet, but none of any third person, which
again is a trick for the other side. They were piling up
their score all the time and we were at a standstill.
"Only one little gleam of hope did I get -- and yet it
amounted to nothing. I examined the contents of the safe,
most of which had been taken out and left on the table.
The papers had been made up into sealed envelopes, one or
two of which had been opened by the police. They were not,
so far as I could judge, of any great value, nor did the
bank-book show that Mr. Oldacre was in such very affluent
circumstances. But it seemed to me that all the papers
were not there. There were allusions to some deeds --
possibly the more valuable -- which I could not find.
This, of course, if we could definitely prove it, would
turn Lestrade's argument against himself, for who would
steal a thing if he knew that he would shortly inherit it?
"Finally, having drawn every other cover and picked up no
scent, I tried my luck with the housekeeper. Mrs.
Lexington is her name, a little, dark, silent person, with
suspicious and sidelong eyes. She could tell us something
if she would -- I am convinced of it. But she was as close
as wax. Yes, she had let Mr. McFarlane in at half-past
nine. She wished her hand had withered before she had done
so. She had gone to bed at half-past ten. Her room was at
the other end of the house, and she could hear nothing of
what passed. Mr. McFarlane had left his hat, and to the
best of her belief his stick, in the hall. She had been
awakened by the alarm of fire. Her poor, dear master had
certainly been murdered. Had he any enemies? Well, every
man had enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept himself very much to
himself, and only met people in the way of business. She
had seen the buttons, and was sure that they belonged to
the clothes which he had worn last night. The wood-pile
was very dry, for it had not rained for a month. It burned
like tinder, and by the time she reached the spot nothing
could be seen but flames. She and all the firemen smelled
the burned flesh from inside it. She knew nothing of the
papers, nor of Mr. Oldacre's private affairs.
"So, my dear Watson, there's my report of a failure. And
yet -- and yet ----" -- he clenched his thin hands in a
paroxysm of conviction -- "I _know_ it's all wrong. I feel
it in my bones. There is something that has not come out,
and that housekeeper knows it. There was a sort of sulky
defiance in her eyes, which only goes with guilty
knowledge. However, there's no good talking any more about
it, Watson; but unless some lucky chance comes our way I
fear that the Norwood Disappearance Case will not figure in
that chronicle of our successes which I foresee that a
patient public will sooner or later have to endure."
"Surely," said I, "the man's appearance would go far with
any jury?"
"That is a dangerous argument, my dear Watson.
You remember that terrible murderer, Bert Stevens,
who wanted us to get him off in '87? Was there ever a more
mild-mannered, Sunday-school young man?"
"It is true."
"Unless we succeed in establishing an alternative theory
this man is lost. You can hardly find a flaw in the case
which can now be presented against him, and all further
investigation has served to strengthen it. By the way,
there is one curious little point about those papers which
may serve us as the starting-point for an inquiry.
On looking over the bank-book I found that the low state of
the balance was principally due to large cheques which have
been made out during the last year to Mr. Cornelius.
I confess that I should be interested to know who this
Mr. Cornelius may be with whom a retired builder has such very
large transactions. Is it possible that he has had a hand
in the affair? Cornelius might be a broker, but we have
found no scrip to correspond with these large payments.
Failing any other indication my researches must now take
the direction of an inquiry at the bank for the gentle
man
who has cashed these cheques. But I fear, my dear fellow,
that our case will end ingloriously by Lestrade hanging our
client, which will certainly be a triumph for Scotland Yard."
I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that
night, but when I came down to breakfast I found him pale
and harassed, his bright eyes the brighter for the dark
shadows round them. The carpet round his chair was
littered with cigarette-ends and with the early editions of
the morning papers. An open telegram lay upon the table.
"What do you think of this, Watson?" he asked, tossing it
across.
It was from Norwood, and ran as follows:--
"IMPORTANT FRESH EVIDENCE TO HAND. MCFARLANE'S GUILT DEFINITELY
ESTABLISHED. ADVISE YOU TO ABANDON CASE. -- LESTRADE." {2}
"This sounds serious," said I.
"It is Lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory," Holmes
answered, with a bitter smile. "And yet it may be
premature to abandon the case. After all, important fresh
evidence is a two-edged thing, and may possibly cut in a
very different direction to that which Lestrade imagines.
Take your breakfast, Watson, and we will go out together
and see what we can do. I feel as if I shall need your
company and your moral support to-day."
My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his
peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would
permit himself no food, and I have known him presume upon
his iron strength until he has fainted from pure inanition.
"At present I cannot spare energy and nerve force for
digestion," he would say, in answer to my medical
remonstrances. I was not surprised, therefore, when this
morning he left his untouched meal behind him and started
with me for Norwood. A crowd of morbid sightseers were
still gathered round Deep Dene House, which was just such
a suburban villa as I had pictured. Within the gates
Lestrade met us, his face flushed with victory, his manner
grossly triumphant.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, have you proved us to be wrong yet?
Have you found your tramp?" he cried.
"I have formed no conclusion whatever," my companion
answered.
"But we formed ours yesterday, and now it proves to be
correct; so you must acknowledge that we have been a little
in front of you this time, Mr. Holmes."
"You certainly have the air of something unusual having
occurred," said Holmes.
Lestrade laughed loudly.
"You don't like being beaten any more than the rest of us
do," said he. "A man can't expect always to have it his
own way, can he, Dr. Watson? Step this way, if you please,
gentlemen, and I think I can convince you once for all that
it was John McFarlane who did this crime."
He led us through the passage and out into a dark hall beyond.
"This is where young McFarlane must have come out to get
his hat after the crime was done," said he. "Now, look at
this." With dramatic suddenness he struck a match and by
its light exposed a stain of blood upon the whitewashed
wall. As he held the match nearer I saw that it was more
than a stain. It was the well-marked print of a thumb.
"Look at that with your magnifying glass, Mr. Holmes."
"Yes, I am doing so."
"You are aware that no two thumb marks are alike?"
"I have heard something of the kind."
"Well, then, will you please compare that print with this
wax impression of young McFarlane's right thumb, taken by
my orders this morning?"
As he held the waxen print close to the blood-stain it did
not take a magnifying glass to see that the two were
undoubtedly from the same thumb. It was evident to me that
our unfortunate client was lost.
"That is final," said Lestrade.
"Yes, that is final," I involuntarily echoed.
"It is final," said Holmes.
Something in his tone caught my ear, and I turned to look
at him. An extraordinary change had come over his face.
It was writhing with inward merriment. His two eyes were
shining like stars. It seemed to me that he was making
desperate efforts to restrain a convulsive attack of laughter.
"Dear me! Dear me!" he said at last. "Well, now, who
would have thought it? And how deceptive appearances may
be, to be sure! Such a nice young man to look at! It is
a lesson to us not to trust our own judgment, is it not,
Lestrade?"
"Yes, some of us are a little too much inclined to be
cocksure, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade. The man's insolence
was maddening, but we could not resent it.
"What a providential thing that this young man should press
his right thumb against the wall in taking his hat from the
peg! Such a very natural action, too, if you come to think
of it." Holmes was outwardly calm, but his whole body gave
a wriggle of suppressed excitement as he spoke. "By the way,
Lestrade, who made this remarkable discovery?"
"It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Lexington, who drew the night
constable's attention to it."
"Where was the night constable?"
"He remained on guard in the bedroom where the crime was
committed, so as to see that nothing was touched."
"But why didn't the police see this mark yesterday?"
"Well, we had no particular reason to make a careful
examination of the hall. Besides, it's not in a very
prominent place, as you see."
"No, no, of course not. I suppose there is no doubt that
the mark was there yesterday?"
Lestrade looked at Holmes as if he thought he was going out
of his mind. I confess that I was myself surprised both at
his hilarious manner and at his rather wild observation.
"I don't know whether you think that McFarlane came out of
gaol in the dead of the night in order to strengthen the
evidence against himself," said Lestrade. "I leave it to any
expert in the world whether that is not the mark of his thumb."
"It is unquestionably the mark of his thumb."
"There, that's enough," said Lestrade. "I am a practical
man, Mr. Holmes, and when I have got my evidence I come to
my conclusions. If you have anything to say you will find
me writing my report in the sitting-room."
Holmes had recovered his equanimity, though I still seemed
to detect gleams of amusement in his expression.
"Dear me, this is a very sad development, Watson, is it not?"
said he. "And yet there are singular points about it which
hold out some hopes for our client."
"I am delighted to hear it," said I, heartily. "I was
afraid it was all up with him."
"I would hardly go so far as to say that, my dear Watson.
The fact is that there is one really serious flaw in this
evidence to which our friend attaches so much importance."
"Indeed, Holmes! What is it?"
"Only this: that I _know_ that that mark was not there when
I exami
ned the hall yesterday. And now, Watson, let us
have a little stroll round in the sunshine."
With a confused brain, but with a heart into which some
warmth of hope was returning, I accompanied my friend in a
walk round the garden. Holmes took each face of the house
in turn and examined it with great interest. He then led
the way inside and went over the whole building from
basement to attics. Most of the rooms were unfurnished,
but none the less Holmes inspected them all minutely.
Finally, on the top corridor, which ran outside three
untenanted bedrooms, he again was seized with a spasm of
merriment.
"There are really some very unique features about this
case, Watson," said he. "I think it is time now that we
took our friend Lestrade into our confidence. He has had
his little smile at our expense, and perhaps we may do as
much by him if my reading of this problem proves to be
correct. Yes, yes; I think I see how we should approach it."
The Scotland Yard inspector was still writing in the
parlour when Holmes interrupted him.
"I understood that you were writing a report of this case,"
said he.
"So I am."
"Don't you think it may be a little premature? I can't
help thinking that your evidence is not complete."
Lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard his words.
He laid down his pen and looked curiously at him.
"What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?"
"Only that there is an important witness whom you have not
seen."
"Can you produce him?"
"I think I can."
"Then do so."
"I will do my best. How many constables have you?"
"There are three within call."
"Excellent!" said Holmes. "May I ask if they are all
large, able-bodied men with powerful voices?"
"I have no doubt they are, though I fail to see what their
voices have to do with it."
"Perhaps I can help you to see that and one or two other
things as well," said Holmes. "Kindly summon your men,
and I will try."
Five minutes later three policemen had assembled in the hall.
"In the outhouse you will find a considerable quantity of
straw," said Holmes. "I will ask you to carry in two
bundles of it. I think it will be of the greatest
assistance in producing the witness whom I require. Thank
you very much. I believe you have some matches in your
pocket, Watson. Now, Mr. Lestrade, I will ask you all to
accompany me to the top landing."
As I have said, there was a broad corridor there, which ran
outside three empty bedrooms. At one end of the corridor
we were all marshalled by Sherlock Holmes, the constables
grinning and Lestrade staring at my friend with amazement,
expectation, and derision chasing each other across his
features. Holmes stood before us with the air of a
conjurer who is performing a trick.
"Would you kindly send one of your constables for two
buckets of water? Put the straw on the floor here, free
from the wall on either side. Now I think that we are all
ready."
Lestrade's face had begun to grow red and angry.
"I don't know whether you are playing a game with us, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes," said he. "If you know anything, you can
surely say it without all this tomfoolery."
"I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I have an excellent
reason for everything that I do. You may possibly remember
that you chaffed me a little some hours ago, when the sun
seemed on your side of the hedge, so you must not grudge me
a little pomp and ceremony now. Might I ask you, Watson,
to open that window, and then to put a match to the edge of
the straw?"
I did so, and, driven by the draught, a coil of grey smoke
swirled down the corridor, while the dry straw crackled and
flamed.
"Now we must see if we can find this witness for you,
Lestrade. Might I ask you all to join in the cry of