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:

My wife and I were having breakfast one morning when the maid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and read as follows:

“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.”

“Do you have a couple of days to spare? I’ve just been sent a telegram asking me to come to the west of England about the Boscombe Valley tragedy. I’d be glad if you came with me. The air and scenery are perfect. We leave Paddington on the 11:15.”

“What do you say, dear?” said my wife, looking across at me. “Will you go?”

“What do you think, dear?” my wife asked, looking across at me. “Will you go?”

“I really don’t know what to say. I have a fairly long list at present.”

“I really don’t know what to say. I have a fairly long list right now.”

“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’ cases.”

“Oh, Anstruther could do your work for you. You’ve looked a little pale lately. I think a change would do you good. And you’re always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes’ 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.”

“I would be ungrateful if I weren't, given what I gained through one of them,” I answered. “But if I'm going, I must pack now. I only have 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 grey travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.

My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least taught me to travel quickly and be ready. I needed little, so before the stated time was up, I was in a cab with my suitcase, rattling toward Paddington Station. Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and down the platform. His long gray traveling cloak and close-fitting cloth cap made his tall, thin figure look even taller and thinner.

“It is really 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.”

“It’s really kind of you to come, Watson,” he said. “It makes a big difference to have someone with me whom I can completely trust. Local help is always either useless or biased. If you’ll save the two corner seats, I’ll 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 meditation, until we were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.

We had the carriage to ourselves, apart from a huge pile of papers Holmes had brought with him. He sorted through them and read, pausing now and then to take notes or think, until we passed Reading. Then he suddenly rolled all the papers into a huge ball and tossed them onto the rack.

“Have you heard anything of the case?” he asked.

“Have you heard anything about the case?” he asked.

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

“Not a word. I haven't seen a newspaper in several 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.”

“The London newspapers have not given very full accounts. I have just read through all the recent papers to learn the details. From what I gather, this seems to be one of those simple cases that are extremely difficult.”

“That sounds a little paradoxical.”

“That sounds a little contradictory.”

“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.”

“But it is absolutely true. An unusual detail is almost always a clue. The more ordinary and unremarkable a crime is, the harder it is to solve. In this case, however, they have built a very strong case against the murdered man’s son.”

“It is a murder, then?”

“So it was murder?”

“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.

“Well, that is what people think. I won't take anything for granted until I can look into it myself. I'll explain the situation briefly, as far as I understand it.

“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 McCarthy, 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.

“Boscombe Valley is a rural district not far from Ross, in Herefordshire. The largest landowner there is Mr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia. He returned to England some years ago. He rented out one of his farms, Hatherley, to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who had also lived in Australia. The men had known each other in the colonies. So it was natural that they should settle as close to each other as possible. Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant. But they still seem to have treated each other as equals, as they often spent time together. McCarthy had one son, a boy of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the same age. Neither man’s wife was still alive. They seem to have avoided the company of neighboring English families and lived quiet lives. Both the McCarthys were fond of sport, though, and were often seen at local horse races. McCarthy had two servants, a man and a girl. Turner had a large household, with at least half a dozen servants. That is all I have been able to learn 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 appointment he never came back alive.

“On June 3rd, last Monday, McCarthy left his house at Hatherley around three in the afternoon. He walked down to the Boscombe Pool, a small lake where the stream running down the Boscombe Valley widens. That morning, he had been in Ross with his servant. He had told the man to hurry because he had an important appointment at three. He never returned from that appointment alive.

“From Hatherley Farmhouse to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter 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 employ 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.

“From Hatherley Farmhouse to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a mile. Two people saw Mr. McCarthy as he walked that distance. One was an old woman whose name is not mentioned. The other was William Crowder, a gamekeeper employed by Mr. Turner. Both witnesses testified that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The gamekeeper added that, within a few minutes of seeing Mr. McCarthy pass, he saw his son, Mr. James McCarthy. James was going the same way with a gun under his arm. As best Crowder could remember, the father was still in sight, and the son was following him. Crowder thought no more about it until he heard that evening about the tragedy.

“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 murder’ 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.”

“The two McCarthys were seen again after William Crowder, the gamekeeper, lost sight of them. Boscombe Pool is surrounded by thick woods, with only a narrow strip of grass and reeds along the edge. Patience Moran, a fourteen-year-old girl, was picking flowers in one of the woods. She is the daughter of the lodge keeper on the Boscombe Valley estate. She says she saw Mr. McCarthy and his son at the edge of the wood, close to the lake. They appeared to be having a violent quarrel. She heard the elder Mr. McCarthy using very strong language toward his son. She also saw the son raise his hand as if to strike his father. Their violence frightened her so much that she ran away. When she got home, she told her mother that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe Pool. She was afraid they were going to fight. She had hardly said this when young Mr. McCarthy came running up to the lodge. He said he had found his father dead in the wood and asked for the lodge keeper’s help. He was very agitated and had neither his gun nor his hat. His right hand and sleeve were stained with fresh blood. Those who followed him found the body stretched out on the grass beside the pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated blows from a heavy, blunt weapon. The injuries could very well have been caused by the butt of his son’s gun. The gun was found on the grass a few paces from the body. Under these circumstances, the young man was arrested immediately. At the inquest on Tuesday, the verdict was ‘wilful murder’. On Wednesday, he was brought before the magistrates at Ross, who sent 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.”

“I could hardly imagine a more convincing case,” I said. “If circumstantial evidence ever pointed to a criminal, it does 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 something 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 believe in his innocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect in connection with the 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.”

“Circumstantial evidence is very tricky,” Holmes answered thoughtfully. “It may seem to point directly to one conclusion. But if you change your point of view slightly, it may point just as firmly to something completely different. I must admit, however, that the evidence against the young man looks extremely serious. It is quite possible that he is indeed guilty. But several people in the neighborhood believe he is innocent. Among them is Miss Turner, the daughter of the neighboring landowner. They have hired Lestrade to investigate the case on the young man’s behalf. You may remember Lestrade from the Study in Scarlet. Lestrade is rather puzzled and has brought the case to me. That is why two middle-aged gentlemen are speeding 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.”

“I’m afraid,” I said, “that the facts are so obvious you’ll get little credit for solving 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.”

“There is nothing more misleading than an obvious fact,” he replied, laughing. “Besides, we may come across other obvious facts that were not obvious at all to Mr. Lestrade. You know me too well to think I am boasting. I will either confirm or disprove his theory using methods he cannot use or even understand. For a simple example, I can clearly see that your bedroom window is on the right side. Yet I doubt Mr. Lestrade would have noticed even something as obvious as that.”

“How on earth—”

“How on earth...”

“My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatness which characterises 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 inference. Therein lies my métier, 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.”

“My dear fellow, I know you well. I know how neat you are, like a military man. You shave every morning, and at this time of year you shave by sunlight. But your shave becomes less and less complete farther back on the left side. By the angle of your jaw, it is downright sloppy. Surely it is clear that this side gets less light than the other. I cannot imagine a man with your habits being satisfied with such a shave if both sides were equally lit. I mention this only as a small example of observation and deduction. That is my métier, and it may possibly be of some help in the investigation ahead of us. One or two minor points came up at the inquest that are worth considering.”

“What are they?”

“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 appears that he was not arrested immediately, but only after returning to Hatherley Farm. When the police inspector told him he was under arrest, he said he was not surprised. He added that he deserved it. His remark naturally removed any doubts that might have remained in the minds of the coroner’s jury.”

“It was a confession,” I ejaculated.

“It was a confession,” I exclaimed.

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

“No, because it was followed by a claim of innocence.”

“Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at least a most suspicious remark.”

“After such a damning series of events, the remark was at least highly suspicious.”

“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 one.”

“On the contrary,” said Holmes, “it is the brightest break I can see in the clouds at present. However innocent he might be, he could not be so foolish as to miss how strongly the circumstances pointed against him. If he had seemed surprised or pretended to be outraged at his arrest, I would have found that highly suspicious. Such surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances. Yet a scheming man might think it was the best way to act. His frank acceptance of the situation suggests he is either innocent or a man of considerable self-control and resolve. “As for his remark about getting what he deserved, that was natural too. Remember that he stood beside his father’s dead body. There is no doubt that he had neglected his duty as a son that very day by arguing with him. According to the little girl, whose evidence is so important, he had even raised his hand as if to strike him. The self-reproach and remorse in his remark seem to me signs of a healthy mind rather than a guilty one.”

I shook my head. “Many men have been hanged on far slighter evidence,” I remarked.

I shook my head. “Many men have been hanged on much less evidence,” I said.

“So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged.”

“So they have. And many men have been wrongly hanged.”

“What is the young man’s own account of the matter?”

“What does the young man himself say happened?”

“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.”

“I’m afraid it is not very encouraging for his supporters, though one or two points may offer clues. You will find it here and can 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:

He picked a copy of the local Herefordshire paper from his bundle and unfolded it. He pointed to a paragraph in which the unfortunate young man gave his own account of what had happened. I settled into the corner of the carriage and read it carefully. It read:

“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 3rd. 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 assistance. 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.’

“Mr. James McCarthy, the dead man’s only son, was then called to testify. He gave the following account: ‘I had been away from home for three days in Bristol. I had only just returned on the morning of last Monday, the 3rd. My father was not home when I arrived. The maid told me he had driven to Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after I returned, I heard the wheels of his carriage in the yard. I looked out of my window and saw him get out and walk quickly out of the yard. I did not know which direction he was going. ‘I then took my gun and walked toward Boscombe Pool. I intended to visit the rabbit warren on the other side. On my way, I saw William Crowder, the gamekeeper, as he said in his testimony. But he was mistaken in thinking I was following my father. I had no idea my father was ahead of me. When I was about a hundred yards from the pool, I heard someone call “Cooee!” It was a signal my father and I usually used. I hurried forward and found him standing by the pool. ‘He seemed very surprised to see me and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. We began talking, but the conversation led to angry words and almost to blows. My father had a very violent temper. When I saw that his anger was getting out of control, I left him and headed back toward Hatherley Farm. But I had gone no more than 150 yards when I heard a terrible cry behind me. I ran back and found my father dying on the ground, with a terrible head injury. I dropped my gun and held him in my arms, but he died almost at once. ‘I knelt beside him for a few minutes, then went to Mr. Turner’s lodge-keeper to ask for help. His house was the nearest. I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I have no idea how he was injured. He was not a popular man, as he was somewhat cold and unfriendly in his manner. But as far as I know, he had no active enemies. I know nothing else about the matter.’

“The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before he died?

“The Coroner: Did your father say anything to you before he died?

“Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some allusion to a rat.

“Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I only caught a mention of a rat.

“The Coroner: What did you understand by that?

“The Coroner: What did you think that meant?

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

“Witness: It meant nothing to me. I thought he was delirious.

“The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father had this final quarrel?

“The Coroner: What did you and your father argue about in your final quarrel?

“Witness: I should prefer not to answer.

“Witness: I would rather not answer.

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

“The Coroner: I'm afraid I must insist.

“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.

“Witness: I really can't tell you. I assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy that 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.

“The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I should not have to tell you that refusing to answer will seriously harm your case in any future proceedings that may arise.

“Witness: I must still refuse.

“Witness: I still have to refuse.

“The Coroner: I understand that the cry of ‘Cooee’ was a common signal between you and your father?

“The Coroner: Was ‘Cooee’ a signal you and your father often used?

“Witness: It was.

“Witness: 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?

“The Coroner: Then why did he say it before he saw you, or even knew you had returned from Bristol?

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

“Witness (very confused): I don't know.

“A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions when you returned on hearing the cry and found your father fatally injured?

“A Juror: When you returned after hearing the cry and found your father fatally injured, did anything make you suspicious?

“Witness: Nothing definite.

“Witness: Nothing definite.

“The Coroner: What do you mean?

“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 grey 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.

“Witness: I was so upset and excited as I rushed outside that I could think only of my father. Yet I have a vague impression that something was lying on the ground to my left as I ran forward. It seemed to be something gray, perhaps a coat or a plaid. When I got up from my father, I looked around for it, but it was gone.

“‘Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?’

“‘Do you mean it disappeared before you went for help?’

“‘Yes, it was gone.’

“‘Yes, it was gone.’

“ ‘You cannot say what it was?’

“ ‘You can't say what it was?’

“‘No, I had a feeling something was there.’

“‘No, I had a feeling something was there.’

“‘How far from the body?’

“‘How far from the body?’

“‘A dozen yards or so.’

“‘About twelve yards.’

“‘And how far from the edge of the wood?’

“‘And how far from the edge of the woods?’

“‘About the same.’

“‘About the same.’

“‘Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of it?’

“‘Then if it was removed, it happened while you were within twelve yards of it?’

“‘Yes, but with my back towards it.’

“‘Yes, but my back was to it.’

“This concluded the examination of the witness.”

“This ended the questioning 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 discrepancy 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.”

“I see,” I said as I glanced down the column, “that the coroner was quite harsh toward young McCarthy in his closing remarks. He rightly points out the inconsistency in the account of his father signaling to him before seeing him. He also notes McCarthy’s refusal to give details of their conversation and his strange account of his father’s dying words. As the coroner remarks, all of these things weigh heavily 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 imagination 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 outré as a dying reference 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.”

Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched out on the cushioned seat. “You and the coroner have both gone to some trouble to pick out the strongest points in the young man’s favor,” he said. “Don’t you see that you give him credit for too much imagination one moment and too little the next? Too little, if he couldn’t invent a reason for the quarrel that would win the jury’s sympathy. Too much, if he made up something as bizarre as a dying man’s reference to a rat and the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I shall approach this case assuming that what the young man says is true. We shall see where that assumption leads us. And now, here is my pocket Petrarch. I won’t say another word about the case until we reach the scene. We’ll have lunch at Swindon, and I see we’ll 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 surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a room had already been engaged for us.

It was nearly four o’clock when we finally reached the pretty little country town of Ross. We had passed through the beautiful Stroud Valley and crossed the broad, gleaming Severn. A lean, ferret-like man was waiting for us on the platform. He looked furtive and sly. He wore a light brown dustcoat and leather leggings to suit the rural surroundings. Even so, I had no difficulty recognizing Lestrade of Scotland Yard. We drove with him to the Hereford Arms, where a room had already been booked 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.”

“I’ve ordered a carriage,” said Lestrade as we sat drinking tea. “I knew how energetic you are and that you wouldn’t be happy until you had visited the crime scene.”

“It was very nice and complimentary of you,” Holmes answered. “It is entirely a question of barometric pressure.”

“That was very kind and flattering of you,” Holmes replied. “It is entirely a matter of air pressure.”

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

Lestrade looked startled. “I don't quite understand,” 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.”

“How is the barometer? Twenty-nine, I see. There is no wind and not a cloud in the sky. I have a case full of cigarettes that need smoking. The sofa is much better than the usual country hotel abomination. I do not think I will probably use the carriage tonight.”

Lestrade laughed indulgently. “You 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 has 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.”

Lestrade laughed indulgently. “You have no doubt already drawn your conclusions from the newspapers,” he said. “The case is perfectly clear, and the more you look into it, the clearer it becomes. Still, of course, one can’t refuse a lady, especially one so determined. She has heard of you and insisted on your opinion. I repeatedly told her there was nothing you could do that I hadn’t already done. Why, good heavens! Her carriage is 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 overpowering excitement and concern.

He had hardly spoken before one of the loveliest young women I have ever seen rushed into the room. Her violet eyes were shining, her lips were parted, and her cheeks were flushed pink. Her overwhelming excitement and concern had swept away all her usual reserve.

“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 tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him.”

“Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!” she cried. She glanced from one of us to the other. Then, with a woman’s quick intuition, she recognized my companion. “I am so glad you have come. I drove here to tell you so. I know James didn’t do it. I know it, and I want you to start your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt that. We have known each other since we were little children, and I know his faults better than anyone else. But he is too kindhearted to hurt a fly. Anyone who really knows him would find such a charge absurd.”

“I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner,” said Sherlock Holmes. “You may rely upon my doing all that I can.”

“I hope we can clear him, Miss Turner,” said Sherlock Holmes. “You can count on me to do all 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?”

“But you have read the evidence. Have you reached a conclusion? Can you see any loophole, any flaw? Don’t you think he is innocent yourself?”

“I think that it is very probable.”

“I think that’s very likely.”

“There, now!” she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly at Lestrade. “You hear! He gives me hopes.”

“There, you see!” she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly at Lestrade. “You hear that? He gives me hope.”

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “I am afraid that my colleague has been a little quick in forming his conclusions,” he said.

Lestrade shrugged. “I’m afraid my colleague has jumped to conclusions a little too quickly,” 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.”

“But he is right. Oh! I know he is right. James never did it. I’m sure he refused to tell the coroner about his quarrel with his father because I was involved.”

“In what way?” asked Holmes.

“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.”

“It’s no time for me to hide anything. James and his father often disagreed about me. Mr. McCarthy was very eager for us to marry. James and I have always loved each other like brother and sister. But of course, he is young and has seen very little of life yet. And, and, well, he naturally didn’t want to do anything like that yet. So they quarreled, and I’m sure this was one of those quarrels.”

“And your father?” asked Holmes. “Was he in favour of such a union?”

“And your father?” asked Holmes. “Did he approve of the marriage?”

“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.

“No, he was against it too. Only Mr. McCarthy was in favor of it.” Her fresh young face flushed briefly as Holmes gave her a sharp, questioning look.

“Thank you for this information,” said he. “May I see your father if I call to-morrow?”

“Thank you for the information,” he said. “May I see your father if I come by tomorrow?”

“I am afraid the doctor won’t allow it.”

“I’m afraid the doctor won’t allow it.”

“The doctor?”

“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 nervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had known dad in the old days in Victoria.”

“Yes, haven’t you heard? Poor father has been weak for years, but this has broken him completely. He has taken to his bed. Dr. Willows says he is a wreck and that his nervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only person alive who had known dad in the old days in Victoria.”

“Ha! In Victoria! That is important.”

“Ha! In Victoria! That’s important.”

“Yes, at the mines.”

“Yes, at the mines.”

“Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner made his money.”

“Exactly. At the gold mines, where I understand Mr. Turner made his money.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to me.”

“Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been a great help 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.”

“Please tell me if you have any news tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, please tell him that I know he’s innocent.”

“I will, Miss Turner.”

“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 undertaking.” 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 must go home now. Dad is very ill, and he misses me so much if I leave him. Goodbye, and God help you in your work.” She hurried out of the room as suddenly as she had entered. We heard her carriage wheels rattle away 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’m ashamed of you, Holmes,” said Lestrade with dignity after a few minutes of silence. “Why raise hopes you’re bound to disappoint? I’m not especially tenderhearted, but I call that cruel.”

“I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy,” said Holmes. “Have you an order to see him in prison?”

“I think I can see how to clear James McCarthy,” said Holmes. “Do you have permission to see him in prison?”

“Yes, but only for you and me.”

“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?”

“Then I’ll reconsider my decision about going out. Do we still have time to take a train to Hereford and see him tonight?”

“Ample.”

“Plenty.”

“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.”

“Then let’s do that. Watson, I’m afraid you’ll find it very slow, but I’ll only be away for 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 unforeseen 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 had 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’ 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 grey 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’ insight that I could not lose hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of young McCarthy’s innocence.

I walked with them to the station, then wandered through the streets of the little town. At last I returned to the hotel, where I lay on the sofa and tried to interest myself in a cheap novel. But its feeble plot seemed so thin compared with the deep mystery we were trying to unravel. My attention kept wandering from the story to the real events. At last I flung the book across the room and gave myself entirely to considering the events of the day. Suppose this unhappy young man’s story was absolutely true. What hellish thing, what utterly unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have happened after he left his father? What had happened before his father’s screams brought him rushing back into the glade? It was something terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might the nature of the injuries tell me something, as a doctor? I rang the bell and asked for the weekly county paper, which contained a word-for-word account of the inquest. The surgeon’s testimony stated that a heavy blow from a blunt weapon had shattered part of the skull. The damaged areas were the rear third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone. I marked the spot on my own head. Clearly, such a blow must have come from behind. That counted somewhat in the accused man’s favor, since he had been seen arguing with his father face to face. Still, it did not count for much. The older man might have turned his back before the blow fell. Even so, it might be worth calling Holmes’ attention to it. Then there was the strange reference to a rat in the dying man’s words. What could that mean? It could not have been delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not usually become delirious. No, he was more likely trying to explain how he had met his fate. But what could the words mean? I racked my brains for a possible explanation. Then there was the grey cloth young McCarthy had seen. If his account was true, the murderer must have dropped some part of his clothing, presumably his overcoat, while fleeing. He must then have dared to return and carry it away. He would have done so while the son was kneeling with his back turned, fewer than a dozen paces away. What a tangle of mysteries and unlikely events the whole affair was! I did not wonder at Lestrade’s opinion. Yet I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes’ insight that I could not lose hope. Every new fact seemed to strengthen his conviction that young McCarthy was innocent.

It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone, for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.

Sherlock Holmes returned late. He came back alone because Lestrade was staying in a rented room in 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.”

“The barometer is still very high,” he said as he sat down. “It is important that it does not rain before we can examine the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his sharpest for such delicate work. I did not want to do it while tired from a long journey. I have seen young McCarthy.”

“And what did you learn from him?”

“And what did you learn from him?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing.”

“Could he throw no light?”

“Could he tell you anything?”

“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.”

“None at all. At one time, I thought he might know who had done it and be protecting that person. But now I am convinced he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very quick-witted young man, though he is handsome and, I should think, good-hearted.”

“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.”

“I can’t admire his taste,” I said, “if he really didn’t want to marry such a charming young woman as 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.”

“Ah, that’s a rather painful story. This fellow is madly, insanely in love with her. But about two years ago, when he was only a boy, he did something idiotic. He fell into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and married her at a registry office. He didn’t really know the woman he loves then, because she had been away at boarding school for five years. No one knows a word about the marriage. But imagine how maddening it must be for him to be scolded for not proposing to her. He would give his very eyes to do it, but he knows it is absolutely impossible. That sort of frustration drove him to throw his hands up in the air. It happened when his father was pressing him to propose to Miss Turner at their last meeting. But he had no way to support himself. By all accounts, his father was a very hard man and would have disowned him completely if he had known the truth. He had spent the last three days in Bristol with his barmaid wife. His father did not know where he was. Remember that point. It is important. But something good has come out of this trouble. The barmaid read in the papers that he was in serious trouble and likely to be hanged. So she abandoned him completely and wrote to say she already had a husband in the Bermuda Dockyard. That means there is really no marriage between them. I think that news has consoled young McCarthy for all he has suffered.”

“But if he is innocent, who has done it?”

“But if he's innocent, who did 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.”

“Ah! Who? I want to draw your attention to two points in particular. First, the murdered man had arranged to meet someone at the pool. That person could not have been his son. His son was away, and the man did not know when he would return. Second, the murdered man was heard to cry ‘Cooee!’ before he knew his son had returned. Those are the crucial points on which the case depends. Now, if you please, let us talk about George Meredith. We can leave all minor matters until tomorrow.”

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 was no rain, as Holmes had predicted, and the morning was bright and cloudless. At nine o’clock Lestrade picked us up in a carriage. 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.”

“There is serious news this morning,” Lestrade said. “They say Mr. Turner of the Hall is so ill that he is not expected to live.”

“An elderly man, I presume?” said Holmes.

“An older man, I assume?” said 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.”

“About sixty. But his life abroad has ruined his health, and he has been getting weaker for some time. This business has affected him very badly. He was an old friend of McCarthy’s and, I should add, a great benefactor to him. I have learned that he gave McCarthy Hatherley Farm rent free.”

“Indeed! That is interesting,” said Holmes.

“Really! That is interesting,” said Holmes.

“Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody about here speaks of his kindness to him.”

“Oh, yes! He has helped him in a hundred other ways. Everyone around here talks about how kind he has been 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?”

“Really! Doesn’t it seem a little strange that McCarthy spoke of his son marrying Turner’s daughter? McCarthy seems to have had little of his own and to have owed Turner a great deal. Yet he spoke so confidently, as if his son had only to propose and everything else would follow. Turner’s daughter is presumably the heir to the estate. It is even stranger because we know that Turner himself was against the idea. His daughter told us as much. Can’t you 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.”

“Now we’ve come to deductions and inferences,” said Lestrade, winking at me. “I find facts hard enough to deal with, Holmes, without chasing theories and fantasies.”

“You are right,” said Holmes demurely; “you do find it very hard to tackle the facts.”

“You’re right,” said Holmes modestly. “You do find it very hard to deal with the facts.”

“Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult to get hold of,” replied Lestrade with some warmth.

“Anyway, I’ve understood one fact that you seem to have trouble grasping,” Lestrade replied with some irritation.

“And that is—”

“And that is...”

“That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine.”

“McCarthy junior killed McCarthy senior, and all theories claiming otherwise are pure nonsense.”

“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.”

“Well, moonlight is brighter than fog,” Holmes said, laughing. “But I’m quite sure that’s Hatherley Farm on 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 grey 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’ 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.

“Yes, that is it.” It was a large, comfortable-looking building with two stories and a slate roof. Great yellow patches of lichen covered its gray walls. But the drawn blinds and smokeless chimneys gave it a stricken look. It was as though the weight of this horror still lay heavily upon it. We went to the door, and Holmes asked the maid to show us the boots her master had worn when he died. She also showed us a pair of his son’s boots, though not the pair he had worn at the time. Holmes measured the boots very carefully in seven or eight places. He then asked to be taken to the courtyard. From there, we all followed the winding path 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 recognise 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 concentrated 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.

Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot on a trail like this. Men who knew him only as the quiet thinker and logician of Baker Street would not have recognized him. His face grew flushed and dark. His brows formed two hard black lines, and his eyes shone beneath them with a steely glitter. He held his head down and his shoulders were hunched. His lips were pressed together, and the veins stood out like cords in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to flare with a purely animal desire for the chase. His mind was so completely focused on the matter before him that he ignored questions and remarks. At most, they provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently, he followed the path through the meadows and then through the woods to the Boscombe Pool. The ground was damp and marshy, as it was throughout the district. Many footprints marked the path and the short grass on either side. Sometimes Holmes hurried forward, sometimes he stopped abruptly, and once he made a short detour into the meadow. Lestrade and I walked behind him. The detective was indifferent and contemptuous, while I watched my friend with interest. I was convinced that every one of his actions had a definite purpose.

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 and 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.

The Boscombe Pool is a small body of water, about fifty yards across, surrounded by reeds. It lies on the boundary between Hatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner. Woods lined the far side of the pool. Above them, we could see the projecting red pinnacles of the wealthy landowner’s house. On the Hatherley side, the woods were very thick. A narrow strip of soaked grass, twenty paces wide, lay between the trees and the reeds along the pool. Lestrade showed us the exact spot where the body had been found. The ground was so wet that I could clearly see the marks left when the stricken man fell. Holmes’s eager face and searching eyes told me that he could read much more in the trampled grass. He ran around like a dog picking up a scent, then turned to my companion.

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

“Why did you go into the pool?” he asked.

“I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some weapon or other trace. But how on earth—”

“I searched with a rake. I thought there might be a weapon or some other clue. But how on earth...”

“Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its inward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and there it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all over it. Here is where the party with the lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or eight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks of the same feet.” He drew out a lens and lay down upon his waterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to himself than to us. “These are young McCarthy’s feet. Twice he was walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out his story. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here are the father’s feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite unusual boots! They come, they go, they come again—of course that was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?” He ran up and down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we were well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks, gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and examining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. Then he followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the high road, where all traces were lost.

“Oh, come, come! I have no time! Your left foot, with its inward twist, has left marks everywhere. A mole could follow them, and there they disappear among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all have been if I had arrived before they came. They were like a herd of buffalo, trampling all over the place. The group with the lodge-keeper came through here. They have covered all the tracks for six or eight feet around the body. But here are three separate trails made by the same feet.” He took out a magnifying glass and lay down on his waterproof coat to get a better look. All the while, he talked more to himself than to us. “These are young McCarthy’s feet. Twice he walked, and once he ran swiftly. The soles left deep marks when he ran, but the heels are hardly visible. That supports his story. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. And here are the father’s footprints, made as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It is the butt of the gun, where the son stood listening. And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! Tiptoes! Square, too. Very unusual boots! They come, they go, they come again. Of course, that was for the cloak. Now, where did they come from?” He ran back and forth, sometimes losing the trail and sometimes finding it again. At last we were well inside the edge of the wood, under the shadow of a great beech. It was the largest tree in the area. Holmes followed the trail to the far side of the tree. With a little cry of satisfaction, he lay face down again. He stayed there a long time, turning over leaves and dry sticks. He gathered what looked to me like dust into an envelope. With his magnifying glass, he examined the ground and even the tree’s bark as high as he could reach. A jagged stone lay among the moss. He carefully examined it too and kept it. Then he followed a path through the wood until he reached the main road, where all traces disappeared.

“It has been a case of considerable interest,” he remarked, returning to his natural manner. “I fancy that this grey house on the right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have a word with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done that, we may drive back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab, and I shall be with you presently.”

“This has been a very interesting case,” he said, returning to his usual manner. “I think this gray house on the right must be the lodge. I’ll go in and speak with Moran, and perhaps write a short note. Then we can drive back for lunch. You can walk to the cab, and I’ll join you shortly.”

It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove back into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which he had picked up in the wood.

About ten minutes later, we returned to our cab and drove back into Ross. Holmes was still carrying the stone he had picked up in the woods.

“This may interest you, Lestrade,” he remarked, holding it out. “The murder was done with it.”

“This may interest you, Lestrade,” he said, holding it out. “It was used to commit the murder.”

“I see no marks.”

“I don't see any marks.”

“There are none.”

“There aren’t any.”

“How do you know, then?”

“How do you know, then?”

“The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few days. There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. It corresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any other weapon.”

“Grass was growing under it. It had only been there a few days. There was no sign of where it had been taken from. It matches the injuries. There is no sign of any other weapon.”

“And the murderer?”

“And the murderer?”

“Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our search.”

“He is tall and left-handed. He limps on his right leg and wears thick-soled shooting boots and a grey cloak. He smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigar holder, and carries a blunt pocketknife. There are several other clues, but these may be enough to help us find him.”

Lestrade laughed. “I am afraid that I am still a sceptic,” he said. “Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed British jury.”

Lestrade laughed. “I’m afraid I’m still skeptical,” he said. “Theories are fine, but we have to convince a practical British jury.”

“Nous verrons,” answered Holmes calmly. “You work your own method, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably return to London by the evening train.”

“We’ll see,” Holmes answered calmly. “You use your method, and I’ll use mine. I’ll be busy this afternoon and will probably return to London on the evening train.”

“And leave your case unfinished?”

“And leave your case unfinished?”

“No, finished.”

“No, finished.”

“But the mystery?”

“But what about the mystery?”

“It is solved.”

“It is solved.”

“Who was the criminal, then?”

“Who was the criminal, then?”

“The gentleman I describe.”

“The man I describe.”

“But who is he?”

“But who is he?”

“Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such a populous neighbourhood.”

“Surely it wouldn't be hard to find out. Not many people live in this neighborhood.”

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “I am a practical man,” he said, “and I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should become the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard.”

Lestrade shrugged. “I’m a practical man,” he said. “I can’t go around the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a bad leg. I’d be the laughingstock of Scotland Yard.”

“All right,” said Holmes quietly. “I have given you the chance. Here are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before I leave.”

“All right,” Holmes said quietly. “I gave you the chance. Here is where you’re staying. Goodbye. I’ll write to you before I leave.”

Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where we found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in thought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who finds himself in a perplexing position.

After leaving Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel. We found lunch on the table. Holmes was silent and deep in thought. He looked troubled, like someone facing a confusing situation.

“Look here, Watson,” he said when the cloth was cleared “just sit down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don’t know quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light a cigar and let me expound.”

“Look here, Watson,” he said after the table was cleared. “Just sit down in this chair and let me talk to you for a little while. I’m not quite sure what to do, and I’d value your advice. Light a cigar and let me explain.”

“Pray do so.”

“Please do.”

“Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young McCarthy’s narrative which struck us both instantly, although they impressed me in his favour and you against him. One was the fact that his father should, according to his account, cry ‘Cooee!’ before seeing him. The other was his singular dying reference to a rat. He mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son’s ear. Now from this double point our research must commence, and we will begin it by presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true.”

“Well, as we consider this case, two points in young McCarthy’s account immediately struck us both. They seemed to me to support his innocence, though you saw them as evidence against him. First, according to his account, his father called ‘Cooee!’ before seeing him. Second, his father made a strange reference to a rat as he was dying. He mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all his son caught. We must begin our investigation with these two points. We will start by assuming that everything the young man says is absolutely true.”

“What of this ‘Cooee!’ then?”

“What about this ‘Cooee!’ then?”

“Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The son, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was within earshot. The ‘Cooee!’ was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But ‘Cooee’ is a distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used between Australians. There is a strong presumption that the person whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool was someone who had been in Australia.”

“Well, obviously, the call could not have been meant for the son. As far as he knew, his son was in Bristol. It was pure chance that his son was close enough to hear it. The ‘Cooee!’ was meant to attract the attention of whoever he had arranged to meet. But ‘Cooee’ is a distinctly Australian call, used between Australians. There is strong reason to believe that the person McCarthy expected to meet at Boscombe Pool had been in Australia.”

“What of the rat, then?”

“What about the rat, then?”

Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it out on the table. “This is a map of the Colony of Victoria,” he said. “I wired to Bristol for it last night.” He put his hand over part of the map. “What do you read?”

Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and spread it out on the table. “This is a map of the Colony of Victoria,” he said. “I sent a telegram to Bristol for it last night.” He covered part of the map with his hand. “What do you read?”

“ARAT,” I read.

“ARAT,” I read.

“And now?” He raised his hand.

“And now?” He raised his hand.

“BALLARAT.”

“BALLARAT.”

“Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter the name of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat.”

“Exactly. That was the word the man said, and his son heard only its last two syllables. He was trying to say his murderer’s name. So and so, of Ballarat.”

“It is wonderful!” I exclaimed.

“It’s wonderful!” I exclaimed.

“It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down considerably. The possession of a grey garment was a third point which, granting the son’s statement to be correct, was a certainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak.”

“It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field considerably. The grey garment was a third certain detail, if the son’s statement was correct. We have moved beyond vague ideas to a clear picture of an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak.”

“Certainly.”

“Certainly.”

“And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only be approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardly wander.”

“And someone who knew the area, because the pool can only be reached through the farm or the estate. Strangers could hardly wander through either.”

“Quite so.”

“Exactly.”

“Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the ground I gained the trifling details which I gave to that imbecile Lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal.”

“Then came our expedition today. By examining the ground, I learned the few details about the criminal that I gave to that idiot Lestrade.”

“But how did you gain them?”

“But how did you get them?”

“You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles.”

“You know my method. It is based on noticing small details.”

“His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length of his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces.”

“I know you could roughly judge his height from the length of his stride. You could also identify his boots from their tracks.”

“Yes, they were peculiar boots.”

“Yes, they were unusual boots.”

“But his lameness?”

“But what about his limp?”

“The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than his left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped—he was lame.”

“His right footprint was always less clear than his left. He put less weight on his right foot. Why? Because he limped. He was lame.”

“But his left-handedness.”

“But he’s left-handed.”

“You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck from immediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how can that be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behind that tree during the interview between the father and son. He had even smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an Indian cigar. I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, and written a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found the ash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss where he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the variety which are rolled in Rotterdam.”

“You were struck by the nature of the injury as the surgeon described it at the inquest. The blow came from directly behind, yet it landed on the left side. How could that happen unless the man was left-handed? He had stood behind that tree during the conversation between the father and son. He had even smoked there. I found cigar ash, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes tells me came from an Indian cigar. As you know, I have studied tobacco ashes and written a short monograph on them. It covers the ashes of 140 varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. After finding the ash, I looked around and found the cigar butt among the moss where he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, one of the kind rolled in Rotterdam.”

“And the cigar-holder?”

“And the cigar holder?”

“I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he used a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife.”

“I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. So he used a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off. But the cut was not clean, so I concluded that he had used a blunt penknife.”

“Holmes,” I said, “you have drawn a net round this man from which he cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as truly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I see the direction in which all this points. The culprit is—”

“Holmes,” I said, “you have trapped this man, and he cannot escape. You have saved an innocent life as surely as if you had cut the rope hanging him. I see where all this is pointing. The culprit is...”

“Mr. John Turner,” cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor.

“Mr. John Turner,” called the hotel waiter as he opened the door to our sitting room and showed in a visitor.

The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of decrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual strength of body and of character. His tangled beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an ashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that he was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.

The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His slow, limping steps and hunched shoulders made him look frail. Yet his rugged, deeply lined face and enormous limbs showed unusual strength of body and character. His tangled beard, gray-streaked hair, and prominent, drooping eyebrows gave him an air of dignity and power. But his face was ash-white, and his lips and the edges of his nostrils had a bluish tint. I could see at a glance that he was suffering from a deadly, long-term disease.

“Pray sit down on the sofa,” said Holmes gently. “You had my note?”

“Please sit down on the sofa,” said Holmes gently. “Did you get my note?”

“Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to see me here to avoid scandal.”

“Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said you wanted to see me here to avoid a scandal.”

“I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall.”

“I thought people would gossip if I went to the Hall.”

“And why did you wish to see me?” He looked across at my companion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question was already answered.

“And why did you want to see me?” He looked across at my companion, despair in his tired eyes, as if his question had already been answered.

“Yes,” said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. “It is so. I know all about McCarthy.”

“Yes,” said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. “That’s right. I know all about McCarthy.”

The old man sank his face in his hands. “God help me!” he cried. “But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you my word that I would have spoken out if it went against him at the Assizes.”

The old man buried his face in his hands. “God help me!” he cried. “But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you my word that I would have spoken up if the trial went against him.”

“I am glad to hear you say so,” said Holmes gravely.

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” said Holmes seriously.

“I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It would break her heart—it will break her heart when she hears that I am arrested.”

“I would have spoken by now if it weren't for my dear girl. It would break her heart. It will break her heart when she hears that I'm arrested.”

“It may not come to that,” said Holmes.

“It may not come to that,” said Holmes.

“What?”

“What?”

“I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter who required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests. Young McCarthy must be got off, however.”

“I am not an official agent. I understand that your daughter asked me to come here, and I am acting in her interests. However, young McCarthy must be cleared.”

“I am a dying man,” said old Turner. “I have had diabetes for years. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a gaol.”

“I am dying,” said old Turner. “I have had diabetes for years. My doctor says I may not live another month. But I would rather die in my own home than in jail.”

Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a bundle of paper before him. “Just tell us the truth,” he said. “I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson here can witness it. Then I could produce your confession at the last extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall not use it unless it is absolutely needed.”

Holmes got up and sat at the table with a pen in his hand and a stack of paper before him. “Just tell us the truth,” he said. “I'll write down the facts. You will sign the statement, and Watson here can witness it. Then, as a last resort, I could use your confession to save young McCarthy. I promise I won't use it unless it's absolutely necessary.”

“It’s as well,” said the old man; “it’s a question whether I shall live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I should wish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the thing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but will not take me long to tell.

“That’s for the best,” said the old man. “I may not live until the Assizes, so it matters little to me. But I would like to spare Alice the shock. Now I will make everything clear to you. The events took a long time to unfold, but they won’t take long to tell.

“You didn’t know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil incarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years, and he has blasted my life. I’ll tell you first how I came to be in his power.

“You didn’t know the dead man, McCarthy. He was the devil himself. I’m telling you, he was. God keep you out of the hands of a man like him. He has had power over me for twenty years, and he has ruined my life. First, I’ll tell you how he gained power over me.

“It was in the early ’60’s at the diggings. I was a young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highway robber. There were six of us, and we had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings. Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party is still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.

“It was in the early 1860s, at the gold diggings. I was a young man then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to try anything. I fell in with bad company, started drinking, and had no luck with my mining claim. I took to the bush and, in short, became what you would call a highway robber over here. There were six of us, and we lived a wild, free life. From time to time, we robbed a station or stopped wagons on the road to the diggings. I went by the name Black Jack of Ballarat, and our group is still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.

“One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and we lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopers and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed, however, before we got the swag. I put my pistol to the head of the wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the Lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature. We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to England without being suspected. There I parted from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life. I bought this estate, which chanced to be in the market, and I set myself to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had earned it. I married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice. Even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was going well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.

“One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne. We lay in wait and attacked it. There were six troopers and six of us, so it was a close fight. But we knocked four of them out of their saddles with our first shots. Three of our boys were killed, however, before we got the gold. I put my pistol to the wagon driver’s head. That driver was none other than McCarthy. I wish to the Lord I had shot him then, but I spared him. All the while, I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though memorizing every feature. We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way to England without anyone suspecting us. There I parted from my old friends and decided to settle down to a quiet, respectable life. I bought this estate, which happened to be for sale. I set out to do a little good with my money, to make up for how I had earned it. I married, too, and though my wife died young, she left me my dear little Alice. Even as a baby, her tiny hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else ever had. In short, I turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was going well when McCarthy got his grip on me.

“I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in Regent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot.

“I had gone into town about an investment. I met him on Regent Street, with hardly any clothes or shoes.

“‘Here we are, Jack,’ says he, touching me on the arm; ‘we’ll be as good as a family to you. There’s two of us, me and my son, and you can have the keeping of us. If you don’t—it’s a fine, law-abiding country is England, and there’s always a policeman within hail.’

“‘Here we are, Jack,’ he says, touching my arm. ‘We’ll be like family to you. There are two of us, my son and me, and you can take care of us. If you don’t, England is a fine, law-abiding country, and there’s always a policeman within calling distance.’

“Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking them off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where I would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more afraid of her knowing my past than of the police. Whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him without question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing which I could not give. He asked for Alice.

“Well, they came down to the west country, and I couldn’t get rid of them. They have lived rent free on my best land ever since. I had no rest, no peace, no chance to forget. Wherever I turned, his cunning, grinning face was beside me. It grew worse as Alice grew up. He soon saw that I feared her learning about my past more than I feared the police. He had to have whatever he wanted. I gave it to him without question: land, money, houses. At last he asked for something I could not give. He asked for Alice.

“His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his lad should step into the whole property. But there I was firm. I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that I had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that was enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved him to do his worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between our houses to talk it over.

“His son had grown up, you see, and so had my daughter. I was known to be in poor health. So he thought it would be a fine opportunity for his son to inherit the whole property. But I was firm on that point. I would not have his cursed bloodline mixed with mine. It was not that I disliked the boy, but he had his father’s blood in him, and that was enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened me. I dared him to do his worst. We were to meet at the pool halfway between our houses to talk it over.

“When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so I smoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone. But as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in me seemed to come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry my daughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she were a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that I and all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a man as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying and a desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, I knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl! Both could be saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned, I have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But that my girl should be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more than I could suffer. I struck him down with no more compunction than if he had been some foul and venomous beast. His cry brought back his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I was forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in my flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred.”

“When I went down there, I found him talking with his son. So I smoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he was alone. But as I listened to him, all the darkness and bitterness in me seemed to rise to the surface. He was urging his son to marry my daughter. He cared no more about what she might think than if she were a slut from the streets. It drove me mad to think that I and everything I held most dear were in such a man’s power. Could I not break free? I was already a dying and desperate man. Though my mind was clear and my body fairly strong, I knew my fate was sealed. But what about my reputation and my girl? Both could be saved if only I could silence that foul tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Though I have sinned deeply, I have lived a life of torment to make up for it. But I could not bear to see my girl trapped in the same web that held me. I struck him down with no more guilt than if he had been some foul and poisonous beast. His cry brought his son back, but I had reached the shelter of the woods. I was forced to go back, though, to fetch the cloak I had dropped as I fled. That is the true story, gentlemen, of everything that happened.”

“Well, it is not for me to judge you,” said Holmes as the old man signed the statement which had been drawn out. “I pray that we may never be exposed to such a temptation.”

“Well, it is not for me to judge you,” said Holmes as the old man signed the prepared statement. “I pray that we may never face such a temptation.”

“I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?”

“I hope not, sir. And what do you intend to do?”

“In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the Assizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is condemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or dead, shall be safe with us.”

“Given your health, nothing. You know that soon you will have to answer for what you did in a higher court than the Assizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is convicted, I will have to use it. If not, no one will ever see it. Whether you live or die, your secret will be safe with us.”

“Farewell, then,” said the old man solemnly. “Your own deathbeds, when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace which you have given to mine.” Tottering and shaking in all his giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.

“Goodbye, then,” said the old man solemnly. “When you lie on your own deathbeds, you will find comfort in knowing you gave me peace on mine.” His giant body tottered and shook as he stumbled slowly out of the room.

“God help us!” said Holmes after a long silence. “Why does fate play such tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such a case as this that I do not think of Baxter’s words, and say, ‘There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.’”

“God help us!” said Holmes after a long silence. “Why does fate play such tricks on poor, helpless worms? Whenever I hear of a case like this, I think of Baxter’s words. I say, ‘There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.’”

James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a number of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes and submitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven months after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is every prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happily together in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their past.

James McCarthy was acquitted at the trial because of several objections Holmes had uncovered and passed to the defense lawyer. Old Turner lived for seven months after our interview, but he is now dead. There is every prospect that the son and daughter may live happily together, unaware of the dark cloud hanging over their past.