surveyor by profession. My aunt and I occasionally lunch or dine at The George and Dragon and we made his acquaintance there. He is in practice here, but we are friends, nothing more.'
'Ah, that is good news indeed, Miss Reynolds,' said Holmes, rising abruptly from his chair. 'I cannot confide in you at the moment but you may be sure that all will yet be well between you.'
'Ah, if only I could believe you, Mr Holmes!'
'You may. And I might add that he was thinking only of you in his present troubles and did not wish you involved.'
The girl shook hands with us warmly, and after Holmes had again asked her not to reveal his identity, we left the house with its occupants more cheerful than when we had arrived.
'Now Mr Smedhurst, Watson. I must prime him as to his role in our little drama. Ah, there is our man himself!'
He had just noticed our client's reflection in a shop window and, turning, we saw that he was making for The George and Dragon. We followed as quickly as possible, catching him at the entrance, where Holmes had a muffled conversation, before following him into the crowded restaurant. A waiter hurried forward as we sat down to order our meal when Smedhurst
gave an exclamation and said, 'Why, there is young Ashton at the table yonder.'
Holmes leaned forward and put his hand gently on our client's shoulder.
'You have no need to worry. Miss Reynolds and Ashton are merely friends.'
With a muffled apology he rose from the table and I was astonished to see him make straight for the surveyor, who was lunching alone at a side table. He bent over, presumably to introduce himself and then beckoned me across.
'Please forgive this intrusion, Mr Ashton, but I understand you are a surveyor. Myself and my friend Mr Watson are hoping to buy a cottage down here and have found exactly what we require. Mr Smedhurst, who is lunching with us, as you have perhaps noticed, is anxious to sell and we wondered whether you would be kind enough to undertake the survey.'
Ashton, who was a pleasant-looking man of about thirty with black curly hair, seemed embarrassed, I thought.
'Certainly, Mr Robinson,' he stammered. 'But this is the first I have heard of it. Miss Reynolds did not mention it.'
'It was a sudden decision,' said Holmes smoothly. 'Mr Smedhurst is going to London for a few days this evening, but is leaving the key of the cottage with us. I have the address of your office. And now, I have interrupted your lunch long enough.'
Ashton got up to shake hands with the pair of us.
'Honoured, my dear sir,' he said with a smile. My hours are from nine-thirty a.m. until six p.m., unless I am out on survey. I look forward to seeing you soon.'
'I cannot see, Holmes…' I began as we regained our table.
'I seem to have heard you say that before, Watson,' said my companion with a disarming smile. 'I think the oxtail soup and then the steak will do admirably in my case.'
And he talked of nothing but trivial matters until the meal was over.
5
'Now, you understand the procedures I have outlined to you, Mr Smedhurst,' said Holmes as we regained the street. Our client nodded.
'I will leave Parvise Magna this afternoon, in daylight, with my luggage and make sure my departure is noted in the town, both by pony and trap and by train. I will give out that I am going to London for a week to see an aunt and make myself conspicuous on the platform. I will stay away for three nights. I will leave the cottage key behind a big boulder about thirty feet from the front door. You cannot miss it, Mr Holmes. There is a fissure at the back and I will place it there, well concealed.'
'Excellent, Mr Smedhurst. Now there is just one thing more.'
'What is that, Mr Holmes?'
My companion gave him a thin smile.
'Shave off your beard. Miss Reynolds does not like it.'
I spent part of the afternoon reading in the smoking room of The George and Dragon, while Holmes was away on some errand of his own. Presently he rejoined me and we both noted with satisfaction the departure of Smedhurst as his pony and trap clattered down the main street on its way to the station. As gas lamps began to be lit in the street outside Holmes rose from his deep leather chair, his whole being tense and animated.
'I think you might fetch your revolver, old fellow. We may need it before the night is out. I have some provisions in my greatcoat pocket so we shall not go hungry.'
'In that case I will bring my whisky flask,' said I.
A quarter of an hour later we left the hotel and made our way inconspicuously through side streets, as though taking an innocuous afternoon stroll. Though there was still an hour or so of daylight the sky was dark and sombre as we cleared the outskirts of Parvise Magna and a pallid mist was rising from the drenched fields which skirted the rounded hills. We were both silent as we continued our walk and presently Holmes turned aside to avoid approaching our client's cottage from the front. When we could just see the roof of the property through the bare branches of leafless trees, we diverged from the path and in a few moments found ourselves on the overgrown track that led to the quarry. It was a grim place at that late time of day and we both paused as though possessed of the same impulse, and gazed down over the hundred foot drop.
'An awful spot, Holmes.'
'Indeed, Watson. But I think there is a more agreeable approach yonder.'
He pointed forward and I then saw what appeared to be a white thread which turned out to be a shelving part of the quarry that led downward in gentle slopes. Our feet gritted on the loose shale and after we had descended about halfway my companion gave a sharp exclamation.
He led the way across the face of the quarry to where a dark hole gaped. It was obviously man-made and had perhaps
provided shelter for the quarrymen in years gone by. I followed him in and saw that the cavern was about ten feet across and some twenty feet deep. There was a narrow shelf of rock on the left-hand side, about five feet in.
'Hulloa', I said. 'Here is a candle, Holmes.'
I bent closer.
'And recently used, I should say, judging by the spent matches which are perfectly dry and not wet as they would be had they been there a long time.'
Holmes came to look over my shoulder.
'You are constantly improving, my dear fellow. You are not far out.'
He went back into the rear of the cave which the failing daylight still penetrated.
'Someone has made a fire,' I said, as he stirred the blackened ashes on the rough floor with his boot. 'A tramp has been living here, perhaps.'
'Perhaps, Watson,' he said, as though his thoughts were far away.
Then he stooped to pick up a small slip of cardboard from the remains of the fire. I went across to see what he had found. I made out the faint white lettering on a blue background: carroll and co.
'What does it mean, Holmes?'
'I do not yet know,' he said reflectively. 'Time will tell. I think I have seen enough here to confirm my tentative theories. In the meantime we must get back to the cottage before it is completely dark.'
And he led the way up the quarry at a swift pace. He put his finger to his lips as we drew close to our destination and
bending down behind the large boulder our client had indicated, he brought out the massive wrought-iron key. It was the work of a moment to open the cottage door and re-lock it from the other side. The key turned smoothly
