Holmes was silent as we made inroads into the excellent fare and it had just turned seven when he produced his pipe and pouch and sat himself back in his chair by the fire.
'A foreign gentleman with a beard and a shabby case, Holmes,' I said at length, after the debris of our meal had been cleared and the room had resumed its normal aspect.
'Perhaps, Watson. But he may be an Englishman with a very mundane problem. It is unwise to speculate without sufficient data on which to base a prognosis.'
'As you say, Holmes,' I replied and sat down opposite him and immersed myself in the latest edition of
He was of great height, and his dark beard, turning slightly grey at the edges, now flecked with rain, hung down over his plaid cloak like a mat. His eyes were a brilliant blue beneath cavernous brows and his eyebrows, in contrast to the beard, were jet-black, which enhanced the piercing glance he gave to Holmes and myself. I had no time to take in anything else for I was now on my feet to extend a welcome. He stood just inside the door, water dripping from his clothing on to the carpet, looking owlishly from myself to Holmes, who had also risen from his chair.
'Mr Holmes? Dr Watson?' he said hesitantly in a deep bass voice.
'This is he,' I said, performing the introductions.
He gave an embarrassed look to both of us.
'I must apologize for this intrusion, gentlemen. Aristide Smedhurst at your service. Artist and writer, for my pains. I would not have bothered you, Mr Holmes, but I am in the most terrible trouble.'
'This is the sole purpose of this agency – to assist,' said Holmes, extending a thin hand to our strange guest.
'Watson, would you be so kind? I think, under the circumstances, a stiff whisky would not come amiss.'
'Of course, Holmes,' I said, hastening to the sideboard. 'That is most gracious of you, gentlemen,' said Smedhurst, allowing himself to be led to a comfortable chair by the fire.
As I handed him the whisky glass his face came forward into the light and I saw that he had an unnatural pallor on his cheeks.
'Thank you, Dr Watson.'
He gulped the fiery liquid gratefully and then, seeing Holmes's sharp eyes upon him, gave an apologetic shrug.
'Forgive me, Mr Holmes, but if you had been through what I have experienced, it would be enough to shake even your iron nerve.'
'Indeed,' said Holmes in reassuring tones. 'Pray do not apologize, my dear Mr Smedhurst. I observed when you first entered that your cape and trousers were covered in mud, as though you had fallen heavily. You have come all the way from Dorset today, I presume, so the matter must be serious.'
Our strange visitor gazed at Holmes open-mouthed.
'I did indeed have a nasty fall in my anxiety to catch my train. But how on earth could you know I came from Dorset?'
My old friend got up to light a spill for his pipe from the fire.
'There was nothing extraordinary about my surmise, I can assure you. Watson and I attended your exhibition at the Royal Academy last summer. Those extraordinary oils, water colours and pencil sketches of those weird landscapes remained long in my memory…'
'Why, of course, Holmes…' I broke in.
'And the exhibition catalogue, if I am not mistaken, gave your address in Dorset and said that you habitually worked in that fascinating part of the world,' Holmes went on smoothly. 'But you have a problem, obviously.'
'Yes, Mr Holmes. I thought Dorset was fascinating at first,' went on Smedhurst bitterly. 'But no longer after my experiences of the past two years.'
'But you called earlier and then went away. Why was that?' A haunted look passed across the bearded man's face.
'I thought I was followed here,' he mumbled, draining his glass. He eagerly accepted the replenishment I offered him.
'You are among friends, Mr Smedhurst,' Holmes went on. 'Pray take your time.You are staying in town, of course.'
'At the Clarence, yes.'
'An admirable establishment. Which means you are not pressed for time this evening?'
'No, sir.'
The haggard look was back on our visitor's face.
'For God's sake, Mr Holmes, help me! This ghastly thing has appeared again. Both my sanity and my life are at stake!'
2
There was a long silence in the room, broken only by the distant clatter of a passing hansom. Holmes waited until our visitor had regained his calm and then gently asked him to continue. Draining the contents of his second glass of whisky with one fierce gulp, Smedhurst plunged straight into his story.
'I had grown tired of London, Mr Holmes, and felt the need of country air. There was also a young lady with whom I had formed an attachment. We had met at one of my exhibitions and I had escorted her to several functions in London. She lived at Parvise Magna, a small village in Dorset, so when I went down I searched for a suitable dwelling in the area. I soon found what I wanted. It was an ancient cottage and needed a lot of repair but stood in its own land about a mile from the village. It had belonged to an old man, Jabez Crawley, who had let it go to rack and ruin, and who had died the previous year. However, I negotiated a fair price with a local lawyer who had handled Crawley's affairs, and moved in. At first, all went well and when my renovations had been completed I was extremely happy.'
Here Smedhurst paused and flushed slightly. Holmes leaned forward in his chair, a gentle smile softening his austere features.
'You had come to an understanding with this young lady.'
'Exactly so, Mr Holmes. A Miss Eveline Reynolds, a very charming person.'
'I can well imagine, Mr Smedhurst,' I put in.
Holmes's smile widened.
'Ah, there is your romantic streak again, Watson.'
'Well, Mr Holmes,' our visitor continued, 'as I have indicated things went admirably. I had my studio on the first floor of the cottage and was turning out good work. Eveline – Miss Reynolds, that is – was a frequent visitor to the cottage and I also visited her home. She is an orphan and lives with an elderly aunt, the latter making me welcome enough.The first indication that something was wrong occurred a few months after my taking up residence. I returned home from a visit to Eveline
one evening to find the premises in some disarray. Things had been moved from their familiar places, there were muddy boot-marks on the stairs, and some canvases in the studio had been disturbed.'
'In other words a search had been made,' said Holmes, a gleam of interest in his eyes.
'Exactly, sir. To say I was extremely annoyed, let alone alarmed and dismayed, would not adequately describe my feelings. I lit every lamp in the place and made a thorough search but found nothing.'
'The front door had been securely locked?'
'Certainly, Mr Holmes. I would never leave my home in that lonely place without first making all secure.'
'Perhaps your domestic help…' I put in.
Smedhurst shook his head.
'I have a woman who comes in twice a week to do some cleaning and cooking but she arrives only when I am there.' 'No one else has a key?' said Holmes.
'Not that I am aware of, Mr Holmes. There is only one key, an enormous thing more suited to the Bastille. The
