The Boscombe Valley Mystery

We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I,

when the maid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock

Holmes and ran in this way:

Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired

for from the west of England in connection with Boscombe

Valley tragedy. Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air

and scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the 11:15.

"What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at

me. "Will you go?"

"I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at

present."

"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been

looking a little pale lately. I think that the change would do you

good, and you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes's

cases."

"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained

through one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must

pack at once, for I have only half an hour."

My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the

effect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants

were few and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in

a cab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station.

Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall,

gaunt figure made even gaunter and taller by his long gray

travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.

"It is reaily very good of you to come, Watson," said he. "It

makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me

on whom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either

worthless or else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I

shall get the tickets."

We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of

papers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he

rummaged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of medita-

tion, until we were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them

all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.

"Have you heard anything of the case?" he asked.

"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days."

"The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just

been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the

particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those

simple cases which are so extremely difficult."

"That sounds a little paradoxical."

"But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a

clue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the

more difficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they

have established a very serious case against the son of the

murdered man."

"It is a murder, then?"

"Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for

granted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it.

I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have been able

to understand it, in a very few words.

"Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from

Ross, in Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part

is a Mr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and

returned some years ago to the old country. One of the farms

which he held, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCar-

thy, who was also an ex-Australian. The men had known each

other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they

came to settle down they should do so as near each other as

possible. Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy

became his tenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of

perfect equality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had

one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of

the same age, but neither of them had wives living. They appear

to have avoided the society of the neighbouring English families

and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were

fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of

the neighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants -- a man and a

girl. Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at

the least. That is as much as I have been able to gather about the

families. Now for the facts.

"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his

house at Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down

to the Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the

spreading out of the stream which runs down the Boscombe

Valley. He had been out with his serving-man in the morning at

Ross, and he had told the man that he must hurry, as he had an

appointment of importance to keep at three. From that appoint-

ment he never came back alive.

"From Hatherley Farmhouse to the Boscombe Pool is a quar-

ter of a mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this

ground. One was an old woman, whose name is not mentioned,

and the other was William Crowder, a game-keeper in the em-

ploy of Mr. Turner. Both these witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy

was walking alone. The game-keeper adds that within a few

minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had seen his son,

Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under

his arm. To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight

at the time, and the son was following him. He thought no more

of the matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that had

occurred.

"The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William

Crowder, the game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe

Pool is thickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of

reeds round the edge. A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is

the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate,

was in one of the woods picking flowers. She states that while

she was there she saw, at the border of the wood and close by

the lake, Mr. McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be

having a violent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder

using very strong language to his son, and she saw the latter

raise up his hand as if to strike his father. She was so frightened

by their violence that she ran away and told her mother when she

reached home that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling

near Boscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were

going to fight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr.

McCarthy came running up to the lodge to say that he had found

his father dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the

lodge-keeper. He was much excited, without either his gun or his

hat, and his right hand and sleeve were observed to be stained

with fresh blood. On following him they found the dead body

stretched out upon the grass beside the pool. The head had been

beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon.

The injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by

the butt-end of his son's gun, which was found lying on the grass

within a few paces of the body. Under these circumstances the

young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of 'wilful mur-

der' having been returned at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on

Wednesday brought before the magistrates at Ross, who have

referred the case to the next Assizes. Those are the main facts of

the case as they came out before the coroner and the police-court."

"I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked.

"If ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so

here."

"Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered

Holmes thoughtfully. "It may seem to point very straight to one

thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may

find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to some-

thing entirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the

case looks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is

very possible that he is indeed the culprit. There are several

people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss

Turner, the daughter of the neighbouring landowner, who be-

lieve in his innocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom

you may recollect in connection with 'A Study in Scarlet', to

work out the case in his interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled,

has referred the case to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged

gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of

quietly digesting their breakfasts at home."

"I am afraid," said I, "that the facts are so obvious that you

will find little credit to be gained out of this case."

"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," he

answered, laughing. "Besides, we may chance to hit upon some

other obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious

to Mr. Lestrade. You know me too well to think that I am

boasting when I say that I shall either confirm or destroy his

theory by means which he is quite incapable of employing, or

even of understanding. To take the first example to hand, I very

clearly perceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the

right-hand side, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would

have noted even so self-evident a thing as that."

"How on earth --"

"My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military

neatness which characterizes you. You shave every morning, and

in this season you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving

is less and less complete as we get farther back on the left side,

until it becomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of

the jaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated

than the other. I could not imagine a man of your habits looking

at himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a result.

I only quote this as a trivial example of observation and infer-

ence. Therein lies my metier, and it is just possible that it may

be of some service in the investigation which lies before us.

There are one or two minor points which were brought out in the

inquest, and which are worth considering."

"What are they?"

"It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after

the return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary

informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was

not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts.

This observation of his had the natural effect of removing any

traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the

coroner's jury."

"It was a confession!"

"No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence."

"Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was

at least a most suspicious remark."

"On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift

which I can at present see in the clouds. However innocent he

might be, he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see

that the circumstances were very black against him. Had he

appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it,

I should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such

surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances,

and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man.

His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an

innocent man, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and

firmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not

unnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of

his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day so

far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and

even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so important,

to raise his hand as if to strike him. The self-reproach and

contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to me to be

the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty on."

I shook my head. "Many men have been hanged on far

slighter evidence," I remarked.

"So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged."

"What is the young man's own account of the matter?"

"It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters,

though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive.

You will find it here, and may read it for yourself."

He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire

paper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the

paragraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his

own statement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in

the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this

way:

Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased,

was then called and gave evidence as follows: "I had been

away from home for three days at Bristol, and had only just

returned upon the morning of last Monday, the 3d. My

father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and I

was informed by the maid that he had driven over to Ross

with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after my return I heard

the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out of my

window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard,

though I was not aware in which direction he was going. I

then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the

Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit-

warren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw

William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his

evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following

my father. I had no idea that he was in front of me. When

about a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of

'Cooee!' which was a usual signal between my father and

myself. I then hurried forward, and found him standing by

the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me

and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. A

conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to

blows, for my father was a man of a very violent temper.

Seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, I left

him and returned towards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone

more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous

outcry behind me, which caused me to run back again.

I found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head

terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in my

arms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for

some minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's

lodge-keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for assis-

tance. I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I

have no idea how he came by his injuries. He was not a

popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his

manners, but he had, as far as I know, no active enemies. I

know nothing further of the matter."

The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you

before he died?

Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only

catch some allusion to a rat.

The Coroner: What did you understand by that?

Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he

was delirious.

The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and

your father had this final quarrel?

Witness: I should prefer not to answer.

The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it.

Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can

assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy

which followed.

The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not

point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice

your case considerably in any future proceedings which may

arise.

Witness: I must still refuse.

The Coroner: I understand that the cry of "Cooee" was a

common signal between you and your father?

Witnesls: It was.

The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before

he saw you, and before he even knew that you had returned

from Bristol?

Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.

A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your

suspiclons when you returned on hearing the cry and found

your father fatally injured?

Witness: Nothing definite.

The Coroner: What do you mean?

Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out

into the open, that I could think of nothing except of my

father. Yet I have a vague impression that as I ran forward

something lay upon the ground to the left of me. It seemed

to me to be something gray in colour, a coat of some sort,

or a plaid perhaps. When I rose from my father I looked

round for it, but it was gone.

"Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for

help?"

"Yes, it was gone."

"You cannot say what it was?"

"No, I had a feeling something was there."

"How far from the body?"

"A dozen yards or so."

"And how far from the edge of the wood?"

"About the same."

"Then if it was removed it was while you were within a

dozen yards of it?"

"Yes, but with my back towards it."

This concluded the examination of the witness.

"I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "that the

coroner in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young

McCarthy. He calls attention, and with reason, to the discrep-

ancy about his father having signalled to him before seeing him

also to his refusal to give details of his conversation with his

father, and his singular account of his father's dying words.

They are all, as he remarks, very much against the son."

Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out

upon the cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been

at some pains," said he, "to single out the very strongest points

in the young man's favour. Don't you see that you alternately

give him credit for having too much imaginition and too little?

Too little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would

give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from

his own inner consciousness anything so outre as a dying refer-

ence to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I

shall approach this case from the point of view that what this

young man says is true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis

will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and not

another word shall I say of this case until we are on the scene of

action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall be there in

twenty minutes."

It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing

through the beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming

Severn, found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross.

A lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for

us upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and

leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic sur-

roundings, I had no difficulty in recognizing Lestrade, of Scot-

land Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a

room had already been engaged for us.

"I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as we sat over a

cup of tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would

not be happy until you had been on the scene of the crime."

"It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes an-

swered. "It is entirely a question of barometric pressure."

Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said.

"How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a

cloud in the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need

smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country

hotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall

use the carriage to-night."

Lestrade laughed indulgently. "Yau have, no doubt, already

formed your conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "The

case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the

plainer it becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and

such a very positive one, too. She hai heard of you, and would

have your opinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was

nothing which you could do which I had not already done. Why,

bless my soul! here is her carriage at the door."

He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of

the most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life.

Her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her

cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpower-

ing excitement and concern.

"Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to

the other of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition,

fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad that you have

come. I have driven down to tell you so. I know that James

didn't do it. I know it, and I want you to start upon your work

knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We

have known each other since we were little children, and I know

his faults as no one else does; but he is too tenderhearted to hurt

a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him."

"I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock

Holmes. "You may rely upon my doing all that I can."

"But you have read the evidence. You have formed some

conclusion? Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you

not yourself think that he is innocent?"

"I think that it is very probable."

"There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and looking

defiantly at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes."

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my col-

league has been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he

said.

"But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did

it. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the

reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was

because I was concerned in it."

"In what way?" asked Holmes.

"It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father

had many disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very

anxious that there should be a marriage between us. James and I

have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course

he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and -- and -- well,

he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there

were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them."

"And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of

such a union?"

"No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was

in favour of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face

as Holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.

"Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see your

father if I call to-morrow?"

"I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."

"The doctor?"

"Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong

for years back, but this has broken him down completely. He has

taken to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and

that his nlervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only

man alive who had known dad in the old days in Victoria."

"Ha! ln Victoria! That is important."

"Yes, at the mines."

"Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr.

Turner made his money."

"Yes, certainly."

"Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assis-

tance to me."

"You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt

you will go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr.

Holmes, do tell him that I know him to be innocent."

"I will, Miss Turner."

"I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so

if I leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertak-

ing." She hurried from the room as impulsively as she had

entered, and we heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down

the street.

"I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity

after a few minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes

which you are bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of

heart, but I call it cruel."

"I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," said

Holmes. "Have you an order to see him in prison?"

"Yes, but only for you and me."

"Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We

have still time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?"

"Ample."

"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very

slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours."

I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered

through the streets of the little town, finally returning to the

hotel, where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a

yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin,

however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we

were groping, and I found my attention wander so continually

from the action to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room

and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of

the day. Supposing that this unhappy young man's story were

absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely unfore-

seen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between the

time when he parted from his father, and the moment when

drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was

something terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the

nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? I

rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which

contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon's

deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal

bone and the left half of the occipital bone hail been shattered by

a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my

own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck from

behind. That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as

when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. Still, it

did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned

his back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to

call Holmes's attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying

reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be

delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly

become delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to

explain how he met his fate. But what could it indicate? I

cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. And then

the incident of the gray cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that

were true the murderer must have dropped some part of his

dress, presumably his overcoat, in his flight, and must have had

the hardihood to return and to carry it away at the instant when

the son was kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off.

What a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing

was! I did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so

much faith in Sherlock Holmes's insight that I could not lose

hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his convic-

tion of young McCarthy's innocence.

It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back

alone, for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.

"The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat

down. "It is of importance that it should not rain before we are

able to go over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be

at his very best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did

not wish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen

young McCarthy."

"And what did you learn from him?"

"Nothing."

"Could he throw no light?"

"None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew

who had done it and was screening him or her, but I am

convinced now that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a

very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should

think, sound at heart."

"I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a fact

that he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady

as this Miss Turner."

"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly,

insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was

only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away

five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get

into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a

registry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you can

imagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for

not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he

knows to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this

sort which made him throw his hands up into the air when his

father, at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to

Miss Turner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting

himself, and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard

man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the

truth. It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last

three days in Bristol, and his father did not know where he was.

Mark that point. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil,

however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in

serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over

utterly and has written to him to say that she has a husband

already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie

between them. I think that that bit of news has consoled young

McCarthy for all that he has suffered."

"But if he is innocent, who has done it?"

"Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two

points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with

someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been

his son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he

would return. The second is that the murdered man was heard to

cry 'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are

the crucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us

talk about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all

minor matters until to-morrow."

There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning

broke bright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for

us with the carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the

Boscombe Pool.

"There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It

is said that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is

despaired of."

"An elderly man, I presume?" saild Holmes.

"About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his

life abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This

business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old

friend of McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him,

for I have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."

"Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.

"Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Every-

body about here speaks of his kindness to him."

"Really! Does it not strike- you as a little singular that this

McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to

have been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of

marrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably,

heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as

if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow?

It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself was

averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not

deduce something from that?"

"We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said

Lestrade, winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts,

Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies."

"You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very

hard to tackle the facts."

"Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it

difficult to get hold of," replied Lesbiade with some warmth.

"And that is --"

"That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior

and that all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine."

"Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said Holmes,

laughing. "But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley

Farm upon the left."

"Yes, that is it." It was a widespread, comfortable-looking

building, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of

lichen upon the gray walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless

chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight

of this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door, when

the maid, at Holmes's request, showed us the boots which her

master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son's,

though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured

these very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes

desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed

the winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.

Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such

a scent as this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and

logician of Baker Street would have failed to recognize him. His

face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard

black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a

steely glitter. His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed,

his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his

long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely

animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely con-

centrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark

fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a

quick, impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his

way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by

way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy

ground, as is all that district, and there were marks of many feet,

both upon the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on

either side. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop

dead, and once he made quite a little detour into the meadow.

Lestrade and I walked behind him, the detective indifferent and

contemptuous, while I watched my friend with the interest which

sprang from the conviction that every one of his actions was

directed towards a definite end.

The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water

some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the

Hatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner.

Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could

see the red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich

landowner's dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the

woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden

grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees land the

reeds which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at

which the body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the

ground, that I could plainly see the traces which had been left by

the fall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his

eager face and peering eyes, very many other things were to be

read upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is

picking up a scent, and then turned upon my companion.

"What did you go into the pool for?" he asked.

"I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some

weapon or other trace. But how on earth --"

"Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its