lawyer explained that the old man was terrified of being robbed and insisted on one key only and had a special lock fitted.'
'And the back door?'
'Firmly locked and bolted.'
'Nothing was stolen?'
'I made a thorough inventory but nothing was missing, so far as I could make out.'
'Did Miss Reynold have a key?'
Again the vehement shake of the head.
'I offered to have one made for her but she did not wish it. We both felt it might compromise her.'
'Quite so,' I put in.
Holmes got up to knock out his pipe in the fender, his face alive with interest.
'Hmm. This is intriguing. There is more, of course?'
'Much more, Mr Holmes, but I will be as concise as possible. The next thing that happened was strange noises around the house. Heavy footsteps as though someone were on the prowl. Then the front door latch would be tried. That was the most frightening thing of all, Mr Holmes. In a lonely cottage, late at night, all sorts of thoughts pass through one's head.'
'Quite so.'
'And then there were ghostly tappings at the window. I can tell you, Mr Holmes, that by that time my nerves were considerably on edge. These things continued for some months. In the interim Miss Reynolds and I had become engaged to be married.'
I was about to offer my congratulations when I was arrested by the warning look on Holmes's face.
'You told your fiancee nothing about these unnerving incidents?'
'Certainly not.'
'You did not investigate these happenings?'
'I did, Mr Holmes. I have a very powerful hand lantern and I lit that and went outside. But I left the front door open, so that the light spilled across the garden, and I never moved more than three yards from the door.'
'You were very wise, Mr Smedhurst. Someone was evidently attempting to lure you from your home.'
Smedhurst turned white and caught his breath with a little gasp.
'I had not thought of that, Mr Holmes. This happened on several occasions, but I could never find anyone though there were occasional traces of boots in the mud when the weather was wet. Thank God, all these activities stopped when spring came.'
'Obviously, Mr Smedhurst. The person who was trying to frighten you could not carry out his activities during light spring and summer evenings.'
'But what is the point of all this, Mr Holmes?'
'Hopefully, we shall see in due course,' said my companion.
'Well, with the cessation of these manifestations, I regained my spirits somewhat and Miss Reynolds and I formally announced our engagement. In the meantime I visited the lawyer and in a roundabout way asked whether the former occupier of the cottage, Jabez Crawley, had ever mentioned anything out of the way there.'
'And what was this gentleman's reaction?'
'Oh, he simply asked me a few questions about faulty drains, draught and damp and so forth and then queried whether I wished to sell the cottage.'
Holmes clasped his thin fingers before him and sat studying my client's troubled face in silence for a long moment.
'Last winter the things began again,' said Smedhurst. 'Only it was worse this time. Not only weird noises, footsteps and tappings but one evening a fortnight ago a ghastly face like crumpled parchment appeared at the parlour window. I had left the curtains drawn back and you may remember the severe weather in February, so that there was a rime of frost on the panes. I caught a glimpse only for a moment but it turned my soul sick inside. A hideous white idiot face like a dwarf. I sat slumped for what must have been an hour without stirring outside. Nothing else happened or I should not have been able to answer for my sanity.'
'You may well say so. But you have other troubles also, Mr Smedhurst.'
The bearded man looked startled.
'I have heard that you can work miracles, Mr Holmes, and that you can almost see into people's minds.'
Holmes gave a short laugh.
'Hardly, Mr Smedhurst. But I know a deeply troubled man when I see one. There is something beyond all this business, is there not? Something connected with Miss Reynolds?'
Smedhurst half-started from his chair and gave a strangled cry.
'You are right, Mr Holmes. There has been a growing estrangement because of all this. She wanted to know why I had changed but I did not want to involve her…'
He broke off and buried his head in his hands.
'Now I hear that she has taken up with a young man who has come to live in the village…'
Holmes put his finger to his lips and then laid his hand on our visitor's shoulder.
'All may yet come right, Mr Smedhurst. Do not despair.'
'I have not told you the worst, Mr Holmes. Last night someone tried to shoot me as I stood outside my cottage door. It was dusk and the shot missed me by inches. I have never been so frightened in my life.'
'Perhaps a poacher with a shotgun…' I began.
Smedhurst stood up abruptly, trying to control the trembling that shook his frame.
'No, Dr Watson. I know a rifle shot when I hear one. That
bullet was meant for me!'
'Why did you not call in the police, Mr Smedhurst?'
'We have only a sleepy village constable, Mr Holmes, and I
had no evidence.'
Holmes was on his feet now.
'Is there an inn in this Parvise Magna of yours?'
'Yes, Mr Holmes, the 'George and Dragon'. '
'Good. If you will telegraph for rooms we will accompany
you to Dorset in the morning. I take it you would wish to come,
Watson?'
'By all means, Holmes. I will just warn my locum that I may
be away for several days.'
'Admirable!Your revolver, Watson, and a packet of cartridges
in your luggage, if you please. We have no time to lose!'
3
It was a bitterly cold day with a fine drizzle when we left London the following morning and after several changes we found ourselves on the Somerset and Dorset Railway, in a small and uncomfortable carriage which seemed to be carrying us into a bleak and inhospitable landscape. We had the compartment to ourselves and our client, evidently exhausted from his trials of past days, sat huddled in deep sleep in a far corner. Holmes sat smoking furiously next to me, the fragrant emissions from his pipe seeming to emulate the black smoke our funny little engine was shovelling over its shoulder as we wound our interminable way into the gathering dusk.
'Well, what do you make of it, Watson?'
I shrugged.
'Pointless, Holmes. An old cottage ransacked, ghostly manifestations and then a murderous attack.'
'But it adds up to a definite pattern, my dear fellow.'
'If Mr Smedhurst has the only key to the cottage, how could a marauder gain entrance without breaking a window or something of that sort?'
'Ah, you have taken that point, have you. There must obviously be another. Or someone must have
