however, and as he began to respond to the enquiries of my friend, I realized that we had before us — if not necessarily a personage of superior intellect — at the least a dedicated and competent officer with, it seemed, a laudable doggedness of approach.
The wolf’s first victim, he explained, had been an odd, vaguely sinister individual, a shabbily-dressed and wild-haired man of advanced years. He had shown up abruptly in Hexham some weeks before his death, skulking about and frightening women and children with inarticulate ravings. He did not stay at the inn, seemingly being without ready funds, and after a day or two the constable was called in by concerned citizens to learn the nameless man’s business. After a search, the constable discovered the man staying in an abandoned wood- cutter’s hut within the borders of Kielder Forest. The man refused to answer the constable’s enquiries or to explain himself in any way.
“Inarticulate ravings?” Holmes repeated. “If you could be more precise?”
“He spoke to himself a great deal, gesturing frantically, quite a lot of nonsense, really. Something about all the wrongs that had been done him. Amongst other rot.”
“Rot, you say. Such as?”
“Mere fragments. How he had been betrayed. Persecuted. How cold he was. How he would go to law and get a judgement.”
“Anything else?” Holmes pressed.
“No,” replied the constable. “Oh yes — one other very odd thing. He often mentioned carrots.”
“Carrots?”
Constable Frazier nodded.
“Was he hungry? Did he mention any other foods?”
“No. Just carrots.”
“And you say he mentioned carrots not once, but many times?”
“The word seemed to come up again and again. But as I said, Mr. Holmes, it was all a jumble. None of it meant anything.”
This line of questioning struck me as a useless diversion. To dwell on the ravings of a madman seemed folly, and I could see no connection to his tragic end at the jaws of a wolf. I sensed that Constable Frazier felt as I did, for he took to looking at Holmes with a certain speculative expression.
“Tell me more about the man’s appearance,” Holmes said. “Everything that you can remember. Pray spare no details.”
“He was singularly unkempt, his clothes mere rags, his hair uncombed. His eyes were bloodshot, and his teeth black.”
“Black, you say?” Holmes interrupted with sudden eagerness. “You mean, black as in unsound? Decayed?”
“No. It was more a dark, uniform grey that in dim light almost looked black. And he seemed to be in a state of continual intoxication, though where he got the money for liquor I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“How do you know he was intoxicated?”
“The usual symptoms of dipsomania: slurred speech, shaking hands, unsteady gait.”
“Did you come across any liquor bottles in the wood-cutter’s hut?”
“No.”
“When you spoke with him, did you smell spirits on his breath?”
“No. But I’ve had to deal with enough drunkards in my time to know the signs, Mr. Holmes. The matter is absolutely beyond question.”
“Very well. Pray continue.”
The constable took up again the thread of his narrative with evident relief. “Well, opinion in town was strong against him, so strong that I was about to run him off, when that wolf did the job for me. The morning after I questioned him, he was found on the edge of the forest, his body dreadfully torn and mangled, with tooth marks on the arms and legs.”
“I see,” said Holmes. “And the second victim?”
At this point, I confess I nearly objected to the line of enquiry. Holmes had questioned the constable closely on trivial matters, but was leaving the main points unbroached. Who, for example, had found the body? But I held my tongue, and Constable Frazier continued.
“That took place two weeks later,” the constable said. “The victim was a visiting naturalist up from Oxford to study the red fox.”
“Found in the same location as the first?”
“Not far away. Somewhat nearer the bog.”
“And how do you know both killings were done by the same animal?”
“It was the look of the wounds, sir. If anything, the second attack was even more vicious. This time, the man was…partially eaten.”
“How did the town react to this second killing?”
“There was a lot of talk. Talk — and fear. Sir Percival took an interest in the case. And his son, who was recently returned from the Indian campaign, began roaming the woods at night, armed with a rifle, intent on shooting the beast. I opened an investigation of my own.”
“After the second killing, you mean.”
“Beg pardon, Mr. Holmes, but there didn’t seem to be any purpose to one before. You understand: good riddance to that ancient ruffian. But this time, the victim was a respectable citizen — and we clearly had a man- eater on our hands. If the wolf had killed twice, he would kill again…if he could.”
“Did you interview the eyewitnesses?”
“Yes.”
“And did their stories agree?”
The constable nodded. “After the second killing, they saw the beast skulking back into the forest, a fearsome creature.”
“Seen from how far away?”
“At a distance, at night, but with a moon. Close enough to note the fur on its head having gone snow white.”
Holmes thought for a moment. “What did the doctor who presided over the inquests have to say?”
“As I said, amongst other things he noted the fact that, whilst both victims were severely mauled, the second had been partially eaten.”
“Yet the first merely had a few tentative bite marks.” Holmes turned to me. “Do you know, Watson, that that is the usual pattern by which beasts become man-eaters? So it was with the Tsavo lions, as we spoke of previously.”
I nodded. “Perhaps this wolf’s hunting range is deep within the forest, and it has been driven closer to civilization because of the long, cold winter.”
Holmes turned back to the constable. “And have you made any further observations?”
“Lack of observations is more like it, I’m afraid, Mr. Holmes.”
“Pray explain.”
“Well, it’s strange.” Constable Frazier’s face assumed a look of perplexity. “My family farm is at the edge of the forest, and I’ve had opportunity to go out looking for traces of the animal half a dozen times, at least. You’d think a beast that large would be easy to track. But I only found a few tracks, just after the second killing. I’m no tracker, but I could swear there was something unusual in that beast’s movements.”
“Unusual?” Holmes asked. “In what way?”
“In the paucity of sign. It’s as if the beast were a ghost, coming and going invisibly. That’s why I’ve been out of an evening, searching for fresh track.”
At this, Holmes leaned forwards in his chair. “Permit me to advise you right now, Constable, I want you to put a stop to that immediately. There are to be no more nocturnal ramblings in the forest.”
The constable frowned. “But I have certain obligations, Mr. Holmes. Besides, the person in true danger is young Master Aspern. He is out half the night, every night, looking for the creature.”
“Listen to me,” Holmes said severely. “That is utter nonsense. Aspern is in no danger. But you, Constable, I warn you — look to yourself.”
