The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes

Holmes shook his head. 'They are faded through ex­posure to daylight,' said he, 'and this is not. There can be little doubt that it comes from a door-curtain, of which there are none in this room. Well, there is little more to be learned here.'

The two police-agents conferred together and Gregson turned to Holmes. 'As it is after midnight,' said he, 'we had better retire to the village hostelry and tomorrow pursue our enquiries separately. I cannot but agree with Inspector Dawlish that while we are theorizing here the murderer may reach the coast.'

'I wish to be clear on one point, Gregson. Am I offi­cially employed on this case by the police?'

'Impossible, Mr. Holmes!'

'Quite so. Then I am free to use my own judgment. But give me five minutes in the courtyard and Doctor Watson and I will be with you.'

The bitter cold smote upon us as I slowly followed the gleam of Holmes's dark lantern along the path that, banked with thick snow, led across the courtyard to the front door. 'Fools'! he cried, stooping over the powdered sur­face. 'Look at it, Watson! A regiment would have done less damage Carriage-wheels in three places. And here's Dawlish's boots and a pair of hobnails, probably a groom. A woman now, and running. Of course, Lady Cope and the first alarm. Yes, certainly it is she. What was Stephen doing out here? There is no mistaking his square-toed shoes. Doubtless you observed them, Watson, when he opened the door to us. But what have we here?' The lantern paused and then moved slowly onwards. 'Pumps pumps,' he cried eagerly, 'and coming from the front door. See, here he is again. Probably a tall man, from the  size of his feet and carrying some heavy object. The stride is shortened and the toes more clearly marked than the heels. A burdened man always tends to throw his weight forward. He returns! Ah, just so, just so! Well, I think that we have earned our beds.'

My friend remained silent during our journey back to the village. But, as we separated from Inspector Dawlish at the door of the inn, he laid a hand on his shoulder.

'The man who has done this deed is tall and spare,' said he. 'He is about fifty years of age with a turned-in left foot and strongly addicted to Turkish cigarettes which he smokes from a holder.'

'Captain Lothian!' grunted Dawlish. 'I know nothing about feet or cigarette holders, but the rest of your description is accurate enough. But who told you his ap­pearance?'

'I will set you a question in reply. Were the Copes ever a Catholic family?'

The local inspector glanced significantly at Gregson and tapped his forehead. 'Catholic? Well, now that you mention it, I believe they were in the old times. But what on earth—!'

'Merely that I would recommend you to your own guide-book. Good night.'

On the following morning, after dropping my friend and myself at the castle gate, the two police-officers drove off to pursue their enquiries further afield. Holmes watched their departure with a twinkle in his eye.

'I fear that I have done you injustice over the years, Watson,' he commented somewhat enigmatically, as we turned away.

The elderly manservant opened the door to us and, as we followed him into the great hall, it was painfully obvious that the honest fellow was still deeply afflicted by his master's death.

'There is naught for you here,' he cried shrilly. 'My God, will you never leave us in peace?'

I have remarked previously on Holmes's gift for putting others at their ease, and by degrees the old man recovered his composure. 'I take it that this is the Agincourt win­dow,' observed Holmes, staring up at a small but ex­quisitely coloured stained-glass casement through which the winter sunlight threw a pattern of brilliant colours on the ancient stone floor.

'It is, sir. Only two in all England.'

'Doubtless you have served the family for many years,' continued my friend gently.

'Served 'em? Aye, me and mine for nigh two centuries. Ours is the dust that lies upon their funeral palls.

'I fancy they have an interesting history.'

'They have that, sir.'

'I seem to have heard that this ill-omened guillotine was specially built for some ancestor of your late master?'

'Aye, the Marquis de Rennes. Built by his own tenants, the varmints, hated him, they did, simply because he kept up old customs.'

'Indeed. What custom?'

'Something about women, sir. The book in the library don't explain exactly.'

'Le droit du seigneur, perhaps.'

'Well, I don't speak heathern, but I believe them was the very words.'

'H'm. I should like to see this library.'

The old man's eyes slid to the door at the end of the hall. 'See the library?' he grumbled. 'What do you want there? Nothing but old books, and her ladyship don't like —Oh, very well.'

He led the way ungraciously into a long, low room lined to the ceiling with volumes and ending in a magnificent Gothic fireplace. Holmes, after strolling about listlessly, paused to light a cheroot.

'Well, Watson, I think that we'll be getting back,' said he. 'Thank you, Stephen. It is a fine room, though I am surprised to see Indian rugs.'

'Indian!' protested the old man indignantly. They're antique Persian.'

'Surely Indian.'

'Persian, I tell you! Them marks are inscriptions, as a gentleman like you should know. Can't see without your spy-glass? Well, use it then. Now, drat it, if he hasn't spilled his matches!'

As we rose to our feet after gathering up the scattered vestas, I was puzzled to account for the sudden flush of excitement in Holmes's sallow cheeks.

'I was mistaken,' said he. 'They are Persian. Come, Watson, it is high time that we set out for the village and our train back to town.'

A few minutes later, we had left the castle. But to my surprise, on emerging from the outer bailey, Holmes led the way swiftly along a lane leading to the stables.

'You intend to enquire about the missing horse,' I suggested.

'The horse? My dear fellow, I have no doubt that it is safely concealed in one of the home farms, while Gregson rushes all over the county. This is what I am looking for.'

He entered the first loose box and returned with his arms full of straw. 'Another bundle for you, Watson, and it should be enough for our purpose.'

'But what is our purpose?'

'Principally to reach the front door without being observed,' he chuckled, as he shouldered his burden.

Having retraced our footsteps, Holmes laid his finger on his lips and, cautiously opening the great door, slipped into a near-by closet, full of capes and sticks, where he proceeded to throw both our bundles on the floor.

'It should be safe enough,' he whispered, 'for it is stone-built. Ah! These two mackintoshes will assist admirably. I have no doubt,' he added, as he struck a match and dropped it into the pile, 'that I shall have other occasions to use this modest stratagem.'

As the flames spread through the straw and reached the mackintoshes, thick black wreaths of smoke poured from the cloak-room door into the hall of Arnsworth Castle, accompanied by a hissing and crackling from the burning rubber.

'Good heavens, Holmes,' I gasped, the tears rolling down my face. 'We shall be suffocated!'

His fingers closed on my arm.

'Wait,' he muttered, and even as he spoke, there came a sudden rush of feet and a yell of horror.

'Fire!'

In that despairing wail, I recognized Stephen's voice.

'Fire!' he shrieked again, and we caught the clatter of his footsteps as he fled across the hall.

'Now!' whispered Holmes and, in an instant he was out of the cloak-room and running headlong for the library. The door was half open but, as we burst in, the man drumming with hysterical hands on the great fireplace did not even turn his head.

'Fire! The house is on fire!' he shrieked. 'Oh, my poor master! My lord! My lord!'

Holmes's hand fell upon his shoulder. 'A bucket of water in the cloak-room will meet the case,' he said