The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes

And, as I am now able to testify, Miss Murray spoke the literal truth.

'Yes, distinctly this is more satisfactory!' said Holmes, rubbing his long, thin fingers together. 'Was it Colonel Warburton's habit to bolt the door upon himself and his wife—in the curio room, you said?—each evening after dinner?'

A sudden perplexity showed in our visitor's face,

'Good heavens, no!' she answered. 'I never thought of it.'

'Still, I fear it cannot affect the issue. On the contrary, it strengthens the indications of madness.'

Cora Murray's grey eyes were steady now.

'No one, Mr. Holmes, is better aware of it than I. If it had been Colonel Warburton's wish to destroy Eleanor and himself—well, can I deny he would have bolted the door?'

'If I may say so, madam,' remarked Sherlock Holmes, 'you are a young lady of uncommon good sense. Apart from his Indian curios, would you say that the colonel was a man of conventional habits?'

'Eminently so. And yet...'

'You would speak of feminine intuition?'

'Sir, what are your own boasted judgements but mascu­line intuition?'

'They are logic, madam! However, pray forgive my irascible temper of a morning.'

Miss Murray bowed her head graciously.

'The household was roused by the two shots,' she continued after a moment. 'When we looked through the window, and saw those two crumpled figures lying on the floor and the light of the shaded lamps striking a cold blue glitter from the lapis-lazuli eyes of that horrible death-mask, I was seized with superstitious dread.'

Holmes was lounging back in his arm-chair, his old mouse-coloured dressing-gown drawn about his shoulders, in a bored and discontented fashion.

'My dear Watson,' said he, 'you will find the cigars in the coal-scuttle. Be good enough to pass me the box: that is, if Miss Murray has no objection to the smoke of a cigar?'

'The daughter of an Anglo-Indian, Mr. Holmes,' said our fair visitor, 'would scarcely object to that.' She hesitated, biting her lip.

'Indeed, when Major Earnshaw and Captain Lasher and I burst into that locked room, my most distinct memory is the smell of Colonel Warburton's cigar.'

This casual remark was followed by a moment of in­tense silence. Sherlock Holmes had sprung to his feet, the cigar-box in his hand, and was staring down at Miss Murray.

'I would not distress you, madam, but are you quite sure of what you say?'

'Mr. Sherlock Holmes,' retorted the lady, 'I am not in the habit of meaningless speech. I remember even the incongruous thought flashing through my mind that in­cense would have been more suitable than cigar-smoke in a room glimmering with brasswork and wooden idols and rose-coloured lamps.'

For a moment Holmes stood motionless before the fire. 'It is possible that there may be a hundred and forty-first sort,' he observed thoughtfully. 'At the same time, Miss Murray, I should like to hear a little more of what happened. For example, you mentioned a Major Earn­shaw and a Captain Lasher. Were these gentlemen also guests at the house?'

'Major Earnshaw has been a guest for some time, yes. But Captain Lasher'—was it my fancy, or did a blush tinge Cora Murray's face at the mention of the captain's name?—'Captain Lasher merely paid a brief call. He is Colonel Warburton's nephew, his only relative, in fact, and  is—is much  younger  than   Major  Earnshaw.'

'But your account of last night, madam?'

Cora Murray paused for a time as though marshalling her thoughts, and then began to speak in a low but intense voice.

'Eleanor Warburton was my best friend in India. She is an exceptionally beautiful woman, and I am not being unkind when I say we were all surprised when she con­sented to become the wife of Colonel Warburton. He was a soldier of distinguished reputation and strong character; but not, I should judge, an easy man with whom to share one's domestic life. He was inclined to be fussy and short-tempered, especially about his large collection of Indian antiquities.

'Please understand that I liked George well enough, else I should not be here now. And, though their life was not without its quarrels—in fact, there was a quarrel last night—there was nothing, I swear, to account for this present horror!

'When they left India, I accompanied them to the house in Cambridge Terrace. There we lived almost as though we were at a hill-station in India, even to the white-clad figure of Chundra Lal, George's native butler, in a house full of strange gods and perhaps strange in­fluences too.

'Last night, after dinner, Eleanor demanded to speak with her husband. They retired to the curio room, while Major Earnshaw and I were sitting in a little study called the den.'

'One moment,' interposed Sherlock Holmes, who had made a note on his shirt-cuff. 'A while ago you stated that the house had two rooms facing the front garden, one of these being Colonel Warburton's curio room. Was the other front room this den?'

'No; the other front room is the dining-room. The den lies behind it, and the two do not communicate. Major Earnshaw was holding forth rather wearisomely when Jack hurried in. Jack... .'

'A welcome arrival?' interposed Holmes. 'I take it you refer to Captain Lasher?'

Our visitor raised her frank, clear eyes.

'A very welcome arrival,' she smiled. Then her face clouded. 'He told us that on his way through the hall, he had heard the sounds of a quarrel between his uncle and Eleanor. Poor Jack, how annoyed he was. 'Here I've come all the way from Kensington to see the old man,' he cried, 'and now I daren't interrupt them. What keeps them quarrelling all the time?'

'I protested that he was doing them an injustice.

' 'Well, I hate rows,' he replied, 'and I do feel, if only for uncle's sake, that Eleanor might make more effort to get on with the family.'

' 'She is devoted to your uncle,' I said, 'and, as for yourself, it is only that she feels as we all do that you live your life too recklessly.'

'When Major Earnshaw suggested three-handed whist, at twopence a point, I'm afraid Jack wasn't very courte­ous. If he must be reckless, he said, he preferred to drink a glass of port in the dining-room. So Major Earnshaw and I settled down to a game of bezique.'

'Did either you or Major Earnshaw leave the room after that?'

'Yes! As a matter of fact, the major did say something about fetching his snuff-box from upstairs.' Under other circumstances I felt Cora Murray might have laughed. 'He rushed out, fumbling in all his pockets, and swear­ ing he couldn't settle to cards without his snuff.

'I sat there, Mr. Holmes, with the cards in my hand and as I waited in that silent room it seemed as though all the nameless fears of the night gathered slowly round me. I remembered the glitter in Eleanor's eyes at dinner. I remembered the brown face of Chundra Lal, the native butler, who has seemed to gloat ever since the death-mask was brought into the house. At that precise moment, Mr. Holmes, I heard the two revolver shots.'

In her agitation, Cora Murray had risen to her feet.

'Oh, please don't think I was mistaken! Don't think I was misled by some other noise, or that these were not the shots which killed George and . . .'

Drawing a deep breath, she sat down again.

'For a moment, I was absolutely petrified. Then I ran out into the hall and almost collided with Major Earn­ shaw. He was muttering some incoherent reply to my questions when Jack Lasher came out of the dining-room with the decanter of port in his hand. 'You'd better stay back, Cora,' Jack said to me; 'there may be a burglar about.'

'The two men ran across to the door of the curio room.

' 'Locked, curse it,' I remember Major Earnshaw cry­ing out. 'Lend a hand, my lad, and we'll have this door down.'

' 'Look here, sir,' said Jack; 'you'd want siege-artillery against a door like that. Hold hard while I dash round and try the French windows.' As a result, all of us ran outside . . .'

'All of you?'

'Major Earnshaw, Jack Lasher, Chundra Lal, and my­self. One glimpse through the nearest window showed