The Adventure of the Devil's Foot
In recording from time to time some of the curious experiencesand interesting recollections which I associate with my long andintimate friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continuallybeen faced by difficulties caused by his own aversion topublicity. To his sombre and cynical spirit all popular applausewas always abhorrent, and nothing amused him more at the end of asuccessful case than to hand over the actual exposure to someorthodox official, and to listen with a mocking smile to thegeneral chorus of misplaced congratulation. It was indeed thisattitude upon the part of my friend and certainly not any lack ofinteresting material which has caused me of late years to layvery few of my records before the public. My participation insome if his adventures was always a privilege which entaileddiscretion and reticence upon me.It was, then, with considerable surprise that I received atelegram from Holmes last Tuesday--he has never been known towrite where a telegram would serve--in the following terms:Why not tell them of the Cornish horror--strangest case I havehandled.I have no idea what backward sweep of memory had brought thematter fresh to his mind, or what freak had caused him to desirethat I should recount it; but I hasten, before another cancellingtelegram may arrive, to hunt out the notes which give me theexact details of the case and to lay the narrative before myreaders.It was, then, in the spring of the year 1897 that Holmes's ironconstitution showed some symptoms of giving way in the face ofconstant hard work of a most exacting kind, aggravated, perhaps,by occasional indiscretions of his own. In March of that yearDr. Moore Agar, of Harley Street, whose dramatic introduction toHolmes I may some day recount, gave positive injunctions that thefamous private agent lay aside all his cases and surrenderhimself to complete rest if he wished to avert an absolutebreakdown. The state of his health was not a matter in which hehimself took the faintest interest, for his mental detachment wasabsolute, but he was induced at last, on the threat of beingpermanently disqualified from work, to give himself a completechange of scene and air. Thus it was that in the early spring ofthat year we found ourselves together in a small cottage nearPoldhu Bay, at the further extremity of the Cornish peninsula.It was a singular spot, and one peculiarly well suited to thegrim humour of my patient. From the windows of our littlewhitewashed house, which stood high upon a grassy headland, welooked down upon the whole sinister semicircle of Mounts Bay,that old death trap of sailing vessels, with its fringe of blackcliffs and surge-swept reefs on which innumerable seamen have mettheir end. With a northerly breeze it lies placid and sheltered,inviting the storm-tossed craft to tack into it for rest andprotection.Then come the sudden swirl round of the wind, the blistering galefrom the south-west, the dragging anchor, the lee shore, and thelast battle in the creaming breakers. The wise mariner standsfar out from that evil place.On the land side our surroundings were as sombre as on the sea.It was a country of rolling moors, lonely and dun-colored, withan occasional church tower to mark the site of some old-worldvillage. In every direction upon these moors there were tracesof some vanished race which had passed utterly away, and left asit sole record strange monuments of stone, irregular mounds whichcontained the burned ashes of the dead, and curious earthworkswhich hinted at prehistoric strife. The glamour and mystery ofthe place, with its sinister atmosphere of forgotten nations,appealed to the imagination of my friend, and he spent much ofhis time in long walks and solitary meditations upon the moor.The ancient Cornish language had also arrested his attention, andhe had, I remember, conceived the idea that it was akin to theChaldean, and had been largely derived from the Phoeniciantraders in tin. He had received a consignment of books uponphilology and was settling down to develop this thesis whensuddenly, to my sorrow and to his unfeigned delight, we foundourselves, even in that land of dreams, plunged into a problem atour very doors which was more intense, more engrossing, andinfinitely more mysterious than any of those which had driven usfrom London. Our simple life and peaceful, healthy routine wereviolently interrupted, and we were precipitated into the midst ofa series of events which caused the utmost excitement not only inCornwall but throughout the whole west of England. Many of myreaders may retain some recollection of what was called at thetime "The Cornish Horror," though a most imperfect account of thematter reached the London press. Now, after thirteen years, Iwill give the true details of this inconceivable affair to thepublic.I have said that scattered towers marked the villages whichdotted this part of Cornwall. The nearest of these was thehamlet of Tredannick Wollas, where the cottages of a couple ofhundred inhabitants clustered round an ancient, moss-grownchurch. The vicar of the parish, Mr. Roundhay, was something ofan archaeologist, and as such Holmes had made his acquaintance.He was a middle-aged man, portly and affable, with a considerablefund of local lore. At his invitation we had taken tea at thevicarage and had come to know, also, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis, anindependent gentleman, who increased the clergyman's scantyresources by taking rooms in his large, straggling house. Thevicar, being a bachelor, was glad to come to such an arrangement,though he had little in common with his lodger, who was a thin,dark, spectacled man, with a stoop which gave the impression ofactual, physical deformity. I remember that during our shortvisit we found the vicar garrulous, but his lodger strangelyreticent, a sad-faced, introspective man, sitting with avertedeyes, brooding apparently upon his own affairs.These were the two men who entered abruptly into our littlesitting-room on Tuesday, March the 16th, shortly after ourbreakfast hour, as we were smoking together, preparatory to ourdaily excursion upon the moors."Mr. Holmes," said the vicar in an agitated voice, "the mostextraordinary and tragic affair has occurred during the night.It is the most unheard-of business. We can only regard it as aspecial Providence that you should chance to be here at the time,for in all England you are the one man we need."I glared at the intrusive vicar with no very friendly eyes; butHolmes took his pipe from his lips and sat up in his chair likean old hound who hears the view-halloa. He waved his hand to thesofa, and our palpitating visitor with his agitated companion satside by side upon it. Mr. Mortimer Tregennis was more self-contained than the clergyman, but the twitching of his thin handsand the brightness of his dark eyes showed that they shared acommon emotion."Shall I speak or you?" he asked of the vicar."Well, as you seem to have made the discovery, whatever it maybe, and the vicar to have had it second-hand, perhaps you hadbetter do the speaking," said Holmes.I glanced at the hastily clad clergyman, with the formallydressed lodger seated beside him, and was amused at the surprisewhich Holmes's simple deduction had brought to their faces."Perhaps I had best say a few words first," said the vicar, "andthen you can judge if you will listen to the details from Mr.Tregennis, or whether we should not hasten at once to the sceneof this mysterious affair. I may explain, then, that our friendhere spent last evening in the company of his two brothers, Owenand George, and of his sister Brenda, at their house ofTredannick Wartha, which is near the old stone cross upon themoor. He left them shortly after ten o'clock, playing cardsround the dining-room table, in excellent health and spirits.This morning, being an early riser, he walked in that directionbefore breakfast and was overtaken by the carriage of Dr.Richards, who explained that he had just been sent for on a mosturgent call to Tredannick Wartha. Mr. Mortimer Tregennisnaturally went with him. When he arrived at Tredannick Wartha hefound an extraordinary state of things. His two brothers and hissister were seated round the table exactly as he had left them,the cards still spread in front of them and the candles burneddown to their sockets. The sister lay back stone-dead in herchair, while the two brothers sat on each side of her laughing,shouting, and singing, the senses stricken clean out of them.All three of them, the dead woman and the two demented men,retained upon their faces an expression of the utmost horror--aconvulsion of terror which was dreadful to look upon. There wasno sign of the presence of anyone in the house, except Mrs.Porter, the old cook and housekeeper, who declared that she hadslept deeply and heard no sound during the night. Nothing hadbeen stolen or disarranged, and there is absolutely noexplanation of what the horror can be which has frightened awoman to death and two strong men out of their senses. There isthe situation, Mr. Holmes, in a nutshell, and if you can help usto clear it up you will have done a great work."I had hoped that in some way I could coax my companion back intothe quiet which had been the object of our journey; but oneglance at his intense face and contracted eyebrows told me howvain was now the expectation. He sat for some little time insilence, absorbed in the strange drama which had broken in uponour peace."I will look into this matter," he said at last. "On the face ofit, it would appear to be a case of a very exceptional nature.Have you been there yourself, Mr. Roundhay?""No, Mr. Holmes. Mr. Tregennis brought back the account to thevicarage, and I at once hurried over with him to consult you.""How far is it to the house where this singular tragedyoccurred?""About a mile inland.""Then we shall walk over together. But before we start I mustask you a few questions, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis."The other had been silent all this time, but I had observed thathis more controlled excitement was even greater than theobtrusive emotion of the clergyman. He sat with a pale, drawnface, his anxious gaze fixed upon Holmes, and his thin handsclasped convulsively together. His pale lips quivered as helistened to the dreadful experience which had befallen hisfamily, and his dark eyes seemed to reflect something of thehorror of the scene."Ask what you like, Mr. Holmes," said he eagerly. "It is a badthing to speak of, but I will answer you the truth.""Tell me about last night.""Well, Mr. Holmes, I supped there, as the vicar has said, and myelder brother George proposed a game of whist afterwards. We satdown about nine o'clock. It was a quarter-past ten when I movedto go. I left them all round the table, as merry as could be.""Who let you out?""Mrs. Porter had gone to bed, so I let myself out. I shut thehall door behind me. The window of the room in which they satwas closed, but the blind was not drawn down. There was nochange in door or window this morning, or any reason to thinkthat any stranger had been to the house. Yet there they sat,driven clean mad with terror, and Brenda lying dead of fright,with her head hanging over the arm of the chair. I'll never getthe sight of that room out of my mind so long as I live.""The facts, as you state them, are certainly most remarkable,"said Holmes. "I take it that you have no theory yourself whichcan in any way account for them?""It's devilish, Mr. Holmes, devilish!" cried Mortimer Tregennis."It is not of this world. Something has come into that roomwhich has dashed the light of reason from their minds. Whathuman contrivance could do that?""I fear," said Holmes, "that if the matter is beyond humanity itis certainly beyond me. Yet we must exhaust all naturalexplanations before we fall back upon such a theory as this. Asto yourself, Mr. Tregennis, I take it you were divided in someway from your family, since they lived together and you had roomsapart?""That is so, Mr. Holmes, though the matter is past and done with.We were a family of tin-miners at Redruth, but we sold ourventure to a company, and so retired with enough to keep us. Iwon't deny that there was some feeling about the division of themoney and it stood between us for a time, but it was all forgivenand forgotten, and we were the best of friends together.""Looking back at the evening which you spent together, doesanything stand out in your memory as throwing any possible lightupon the tragedy? Think carefully, Mr. Tregennis, for any cluewhich can help me.""There is nothing at all, sir.""Your people were in their usual spirits?""Never better.""Were they nervous people? Did they ever show any apprehensionof coming danger?""Nothing of the kind.""You have nothing to add then, which could assist me?"Mortimer Tregennis considered earnestly for a moment."There is one thing occurs to me," said he at last. "As we satat the table my back was to the window, and my brother George, hebeing my partner at cards, was facing it. I saw him once lookhard over my shoulder, so I turned round and looked also. Theblind was up and the window shut, but I could just make out thebushes on the lawn, and it seemed to me for a moment that I sawsomething moving among them. I couldn't even say if it was manor animal, but I just thought there was something there. When Iasked him what he was looking at, he told me that he had the samefeeling. That is all that I can say.""Did you not investigate?""No; the matter passed as unimportant.""You left them, then, without any premonition of evil?""None at all.""I am not clear how you came to hear the news so early thismorning.""I am an early riser and generally take a walk before breakfast.This morning I had hardly started when the doctor in his carriageovertook me. He told me that old Mrs. Porter had sent a boy downwith an urgent message. I sprang in beside him and we drove on.When we got there we looked into that dreadful room. The candlesand the fire must have burned out hours before, and they had beensitting there in the dark until dawn had broken. The doctor saidBrenda must have been dead at least six hours. There were nosigns of violence. She just lay across the arm of the chair withthat look on her face. George and Owen were singing snatches ofsongs and gibbering like two great apes. Oh, it was awful tosee! I couldn't stand it, and the doctor was as white as asheet. Indeed, he fell into a chair in a sort of faint, and wenearly had him on our hands as well.""Remarkable--most remarkable!" said Holmes, rising and taking hishat. "I think, perhaps, we had better go down to TredannickWartha without further delay. I confess that I have seldom knowna case which at first sight presented a more singular problem."Our proceedings of that first morning did little to advance theinvestigation. It was marked, however, at the outset by anincident which left the most sinister impression upon my mind.The approach to the spot at which the tragedy occurred is down anarrow, winding, country lane. While we made our way along it weheard the rattle of a carriage coming towards us and stood asideto let it pass. As it drove by us I caught a glimpse through theclosed window of a horribly contorted, grinning face glaring outat us. Those staring eyes and gnashing teeth flashed past uslike a dreadful vision."My brothers!" cried Mortimer Tregennis, white to his lips."They are taking them to Helston."We looked with horror after the black carriage, lumbering uponits way. Then we turned our steps towards this ill-omened housein which they had met their strange fate.It was a large and bright dwelling, rather a villa than acottage, with a considerable garden which was already, in thatCornish air, well filled with spring flowers. Towards thisgarden the window of the sitting-room fronted, and from it,according to Mortimer Tregennis, must have come that thing ofevil which had by sheer horror in a single instant blasted theirminds. Holmes walked slowly and thoughtfully among the flower-plots and along the path before we entered the porch. Soabsorbed was he in his thoughts, I remember, that he stumbledover the watering-pot, upset its contents, and deluged both ourfeet and the garden path. Inside the house we were met by theelderly Cornish housekeeper, Mrs. Porter, who, with the aid of ayoung girl, looked after the wants of the family. She readilyanswered all Holmes's questions. She had heard nothing in thenight. Her employers had all been in excellent spirits lately,and she had never known them more cheerful and prosperous. Shehad fainted with horror upon entering the room in the morning andseeing that dreadful company round the table. She had, when sherecovered, thrown open the window to let the morning air in, andhad run down to the lane, whence she sent a farm-lad for thedoctor. The lady was on her bed upstairs if we cared to see her.It took four strong men to get the brothers into the asylumcarriage. She would not herself stay in the house another dayand was starting that very afternoon to rejoin her family at St.Ives.We ascended the stairs and viewed the body. Miss BrendaTregennis had been a very beautiful girl, though now verging uponmiddle age. Her dark, clear-cut face was handsome, even indeath, but there still lingered upon it something of thatconvulsion of horror which had been her last human emotion. Fromher bedroom we descended to the sitting-room, where this strangetragedy had actually occurred. The charred ashes of theovernight fire lay in the grate. On the table were the fourguttered and burned-out candles, with the cards scattered overits surface. The chairs had been moved back against the walls,but all else was as it had been the night before. Holmes pacedwith light, swift steps about the room; he sat in the variouschairs, drawing them up and reconstructing their positions. Hetested how much of the garden was visible; he examined the floor,the ceiling, and the fireplace; but never once did I see thatsudden brightening of his eyes and tightening of his lips whichwould have told me that he saw some gleam of light in this utterdarkness."Why a fire?" he asked once. "Had they always a fire in thissmall room on a spring evening?"Mortimer Tregennis explained that the night was cold and damp.For that reason, after his arrival, the fire was lit. "What areyou going to do now, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.My friend smiled and laid his hand upon my arm. "I think,Watson, that I shall resume that course of tobacco-poisoningwhich you have so often and so justly condemned," said he. "Withyour permission, gentlemen, we will now return to our cottage,for I am not aware that any new factor is likely to come to ournotice here. I will turn the facts over in my mid, Mr,Tregennis, and should anything occur to me I will certainlyommunicate with you and the vicar. In the meantime I wish youboth good-morning."It was not until long after we were back in Poldhu Cottage thatHolmes broke his complete and absorbed silence. He sat coiled inhis armchair, his haggard and ascetic face hardly visible amidthe blue swirl of his tobacco smoke, his black brows drawn down,his forehead contracted, his eyes vacant and far away. Finallyhe laid down his pipe and sprang to his feet."It won't do, Watson!" said he with a laugh. "Let us walk alongthe cliffs together and search for flint arrows. We are morelikely to find them than clues to this problem. To let the brainwork without sufficient material is like racing an engine. Itracks itself to pieces. The sea air, sunshine, and patience,Watson--all else will come."Now, let us calmly define our position, Watson," he continued aswe skirted the cliffs together. "Let us get a firm grip of thevery little which we DO know, so that when fresh facts arise wemay be ready to fit them into their places. I take it, in thefirst place, that neither of us is prepared to admit diabolicalintrusions into the affairs of men. Let us begin by ruling thatentirely out of our minds. Very good. There remain threepersons who have been grievously stricken by some conscious orunconscious human agency. That is firm ground. Now, when didthis occur? Evidently, assuming his narrative to be true, it wasimmediately after Mr. Mortimer Tregennis had left the room. Thatis a very important point. The presumption is that it was withina few minutes afterwards. The cards still lay upon the table.It was already past their usual hour for bed. Yet they had notchanged their position or pushed back their chairs. I repeat,then, that the occurrence was immediately after his departure,and not later than eleven o'clock last night."Our next obvious step is to check, so far as we can, themovements of Mortimer Tregennis after he left the room. In thisthere is no difficulty, and they seem to be above suspicion.Knowing my methods as you do, you were, of course, conscious ofthe somewhat clumsy water-pot expedient by which I obtained aclearer impress of his foot than might otherwise have beenpossible. The wet, sandy path took it admirably. Last night wasalso wet, you will remember, and it was not difficult--havingobtained a sample print--to pick out his track among others andto follow his movements. He appears to have walked away swiftlyin the direction of the vicarage."If, then, Mortimer Tregennis disappeared from the scene, and yetsome outside person affected the card-players, how can wereconstruct that person, and how was such an impression of horrorconveyed? Mrs. Porter may be eliminated. She is evidentlyharmless. Is there any evidence that someone crept up to thegarden window and in some manner produced so terrific an effectthat he drove those who saw it out of their senses? The onlysuggestion in this direction comes from Mortimer Tregennishimself, who says that his brother spoke about some movement inthe garden. That is certainly remarkable, as the night wasrainy, cloudy, and dark. Anyone who had the design to alarmthese people would be compelled to place his very face againstthe glass before he could be seen. There is a three-foot flower-border outside this window, but no indication of a footmark. Itis difficult to imagine, then, how an outsider could have made soterrible an impression upon the company, nor have we found anypossible motive for so strange and elaborate an attempt. Youperceive our difficulties, Watson?""They are only too clear," I answered with conviction."And yet, with a little more material, we may prove that they arenot insurmountable," said Holmes. "I fancy that among yourextensive archives, Watson, you may find some which were nearlyas obscure. Meanwhile, we shall put the case aside until moreaccurate data are available, and devote the rest of our morningto the pursuit of neolithic man."I may have commented upon my friend's power of mental detachment,but never have I wondered at it more than upon that springmorning in Cornwall when for two hours he discoursed upon celts,arrowheads, and shards, as lightly as if no sinister mystery werewaiting for his solution. It was not until we had returned inthe afternoon to our cottage that we found a visitor awaiting us,who soon brought our minds back to the matter in hand. Neitherof us needed to be told who that visitor was. The huge body, thecraggy and deeply seamed face with the fierce eyes and hawk-likenose, the grizzled hair which nearly brushed our cottage ceiling,the beard--golden at the fringes and white near the lips, savefor the nicotine stain from his perpetual cigar--all these wereas well known in London as in Africa, and could only beassociated with the tremendous personality of Dr. Leon Sterndale,the great lion-hunter and explorer.We had heard of his presence in the district and had once ortwice caught sight of his tall figure upon the moorland paths.He made no advances to us, however, nor would we have dreamed ofdoing so to him, as it was well known that it was his love ofseclusion which caused him to spend the greater part of theintervals between his journeys in a small bungalow buried in thelonely wood of Beauchamp Arriance. Here, amid his books and hismaps, he lived an absolutely lonely life, attending to his ownsimple wants and paying little apparent heed to the affairs ofhis neighbours. It was a surprise to me, therefore, to hear himasking Holmes in an eager voice whether he had made any advancein his reconstruction of this mysterious episode. "The countypolice are utterly at fault," said he, "but perhaps your widerexperience has suggested some conceivable explanation. My onlyclaim to being taken into your confidence is that during my manyresidences here I have come to know this family of Tregennis verywell--indeed, upon my Cornish mother's side I could call themcousins--and their strange fate has naturally been a great shockto me. I may tell you that I had got as far as Plymouth upon myway to Africa, but the news reached me this morning, and I camestraight back again to help in the inquiry."Holmes raised his eyebrows."Did you lose your boat through it?""I will take the next.""Dear me! that is friendship indeed.""I tell you they were relatives.""Quite so--cousins of your mother. Was your baggage aboard theship?""Some of it, but the main part at the hotel.""I see. But surely this event could not have found its way intothe Plymouth morning papers.""No, sir; I had a telegram.""Might I ask from whom?"A shadow passed over the gaunt face of the explorer."You are very inquisitive, Mr. Holmes.""It is my business."With an effort Dr. Sterndale recovered his ruffled composure."I have no objection to telling you," he said. "It was Mr.Roundhay, the vicar, who sent me the telegram which recalled me.""Thank you," said Holmes. "I may say in answer to your originalquestion that I have not cleared my mind entirely on the subjectof this case, but that I have every hope of reaching someconclusion. It would be premature to say more.""Perhaps you would not mind telling me if your suspicions pointin any particular direction?""No, I can hardly answer that.""Then I have wasted my time and need not prolong my visit." Thefamous doctor strode out of our cottage in considerable ill-humour, and within five minutes Holmes had followed him. I sawhim no more until the evening, when he returned with a slow stepand haggard face which assured me that he had made no greatprogress with his investigation. He glanced at a telegram whichawaited him and threw it into the grate."From the Plymouth hotel, Watson," he said. "I learned the nameof it from the vicar, and I wired to make certain that Dr. LeonSterndale's account was true. It appears that he did indeedspend last night there, and that he has actually allowed some ofhis baggage to go on to Africa, while he returned to be presentat this investigation. What do you make of that, Watson?""He is deeply interested.""Deeply interested--yes. There is a thread here which we had notyet grasped and which might lead us through the tangle. Cheerup, Watson, for I am very sure that our material has not yet allcome to hand. When it does we may soon leave our difficultiesbehind us."Little did I think how soon the words of Holmes would berealized, or how strange and sinister would be that newdevelopment which opened up an entirely fresh line ofinvestigation. I was shaving at my window in the morning when Iheard the rattle of hoofs and, looking up, saw a dog-cart comingat a gallop down the road. It pulled up at our door, and ourfriend, the vicar, sprang from it and rushed up our garden path.Holmes was already dressed, and we hastened down to meet him.Our visitor was so excited that he could hardly articulate, butat last in gasps and bursts his tragic story came out of him."We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes! My poor parish is devil-ridden!" he cried. "Satan himself is loose in it! We are givenover into his hands!" He danced about in his agitation, aludicrous object if it were not for his ashy face and startledeyes. Finally he shot out his terrible news."Mr. Mortimer Tregennis died during the night, and with exactlythe same symptoms as the rest of his family."Holmes sprang to his feet, all energy in an instant."Can you fit us both into your dog-cart?""Yes, I can.""Then, Watson, we will postpone our breakfast. Mr. Roundhay, weare entirely at your disposal. Hurry--hurry, before things getdisarranged."The lodger occupied two rooms at the vicarage, which were in anangle by themselves, the one above the other. Below was a largesitting-room; above, his bedroom. They looked out upon a croquetlawn which came up to the windows. We had arrived before thedoctor or the police, so that everything was absolutelyundisturbed. Let me describe exactly the scene as we saw it uponthat misty March morning. It has left an impression which cannever be effaced from my mind.The atmosphere of the room was of a horrible and depressingstuffiness. The servant had first entered had thrown up thewindow, or it would have been even more intolerable. This mightpartly be due to the fact that a lamp stood flaring and smokingon the centre table. Beside it sat the dead man, leaning back inhis chair, his thin beard projecting, his spectacles pushed upon to his forehead, and his lean dark face turned towards thewindow and twisted into the same distortion of terror which hadmarked the features of his dead sister. His limbs were convulsedand his fingers contorted as though he had died in a veryparoxysm of fear. He was fully clothed, though there were signsthat his dressing had been done in a hurry. We had alreadylearned that his bed had been slept in, and that the tragic endhad come to him in the early morning.One realized the red-hot energy which underlay Holmes'sphlegmatic exterior when one saw the sudden change which cameover him from the moment that he entered the fatal apartment. Inan instant he was tense and alert, his eyes shining, his faceset, his limbs quivering with eager activity. He was out on thelawn, in through the window, round the room, and up into thebedroom, for all the world like a dashing foxhound drawing acover. In the bedroom he made a rapid cast around and ended bythrowing open the window, which appeared to give him some freshcause for excitement, for he leaned out of it with loudejaculations of interest and delight. Then he rushed down thestair, out through the open window, threw himself upon his faceon the lawn, sprang up and into the room once more, all with theenergy of the hunter who is at the very heels of his quarry. Thelamp, which was an ordinary standard, he examined with minutecare, making certain measurements upon its bowl. He carefullyscrutinized with his lens the talc shield which covered the topof the chimney and scraped off some ashes which adhered to itsupper surface, putting some of them into an envelope, which heplaced in his pocketbook. Finally, just as the doctor and theofficial police put in an appearance, he beckoned to the vicarand we all three went out upon the lawn."I am glad to say that my investigation has not been entirelybarren," he remarked. "I cannot remain to discuss the matterwith the police, but I should be exceedingly obliged, Mr.Roundhay, if you would give the inspector my compliments anddirect his attention to the bedroom window and to the sitting-room lamp. Each is suggestive, and together they are almostconclusive. If the police would desire further information Ishall be happy to see any of them at the cottage. And now,Watson, I think that, perhaps, we shall be better employedelsewhere."It may be that the police resented the intrusion of an amateur,or that they imagined themselves to be upon some hopeful line ofinvestigation; but it is certain that we heard nothing from themfor the next two days. During this time Holmes spent some of histime smoking and dreaming in the cottage; but a greater portionin country walks which he undertook alone, returning after manyhours without remark as to where he had been. One experimentserved to show me the line of his investigation. He had bought alamp which was the duplicate of the one which had burned in theroom of Mortimer Tregennis on the morning of the tragedy. Thishe filled with the same oil as that used at the vicarage, and hecarefully timed the period which it would take to be exhausted.Another experiment which he made was of a more unpleasant nature,and one which I am not likely ever to forget."You will remember, Watson," he remarked one afternoon, "thatthere is a single common point of resemblance in the varyingreports which have reached us. This concerns the effect of theatmosphere of the room in each case upon those who had firstentered it. You will recollect that Mortimer Tregennis, indescribing the episode of his last visit to his brother's house,remarked that the doctor on entering the room fell into a chair?You had forgotten? Well I can answer for it that it was so.Now, you will remember also that Mrs. Porter, the housekeeper,told us that she herself fainted upon entering the room and hadafterwards opened the window. In the second case--that ofMortimer Tregennis himself--you cannot have forgotten thehorrible stuffiness of the room when we arrived, though theservant had thrown open the window. That servant, I found uponinquiry, was so ill that she had gone to her bed. You willadmit, Watson, that these facts are very suggestive. In eachcase there is evidence of a poisonous atmosphere. In each case,also, there is combustion going on in the room--in the one case afire, in the other a lamp. The fire was needed, but the lamp waslit--as a comparison of the oil consumed will show--long after itwas broad daylight. Why? Surely because there is someconnection between three things--the burning, the stuffyatmosphere, and, finally, the madness or death of thoseunfortunate people. That is clear, is it not?""It would appear so.""At least we may accept it as a working hypothesis. We willsuppose, then, that something was burned in each case whichproduced an atmosphere causing strange toxic effects. Very good.In the first instance--that of the Tregennis family--thissubstance was placed in the fire. Now the window was shut, butthe fire would naturally carry fumes to some extent up thechimney. Hence one would expect the effects of the poison to beless than in the second case, where there was less escape for thevapour. The result seems to indicate that it was so, since inthe first case only the woman, who had presumably the moresensitive organism, was killed, the others exhibiting thattemporary or permanent lunacy which is evidently the first effectof the drug. In the second case the result was complete. Thefacts, therefore, seem to bear out the theory of a poison whichworked by combustion."With this train of reasoning in my head I naturally looked aboutin Mortimer Tregennis's room to find some remains of thissubstance. The obvious place to look was the talc shelf orsmoke-guard of the lamp. There, sure enough, I perceived a numberof flaky ashes, and round the edges a fringe of brownish powder,which had not yet been consumed. Half of this I took, as yousaw, and I placed it in an envelope.""Why half, Holmes?""It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of theofficial police force. I leave them all the evidence which Ifound. The poison still remained upon the talc had they the witto find it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will,however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid thepremature decease of two deserving members of society, and youwill seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless,like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with theaffair. Oh, you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew myWatson. This chair I will place opposite yours, so that we maybe the same distance from the poison and face to face. The doorwe will leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the otherand to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seemalarming. Is that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder--orwhat remains of it--from the envelope, and I lay it above theburning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sit down and awaitdevelopments."They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chairbefore I was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle andnauseous. At the very first whiff of it my brain and myimagination were beyond all control. A thick, black cloudswirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud,unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses,lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous andinconceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled andswam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning ofsomething coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon thethreshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezinghorror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising,that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was opened, and mytongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such thatsomething must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguelyaware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distantand detached from myself At the same moment, in some effort ofescape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpseof Holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror--the verylook which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was thatvision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. Idashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together welurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrownourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side,conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting itsway through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in.Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscapeuntil peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon thegrass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehensionat each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experiencewhich we had undergone."Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteadyvoice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was anunjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for afriend. I am really very sorry.""You know," I answered with some emotion, for I have never seenso much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy andprivilege to help you."He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical veinwhich was his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would besuperfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candidobserver would certainly declare that we were so already beforewe embarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I neverimagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe." Hedashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lampheld at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles."We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it,Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to howthese tragedies were produced?""None whatever.""But the cause remains as obscure as before. Come into thearbour here and let us discuss it together. That villainousstuff seems still to linger round my throat. I think we mustadmit that all the evidence points to this man, MortimerTregennis, having been the criminal in the first tragedy, thoughhe was the victim in the second one. We must remember, in thefirst place, that there is some story of a family quarrel,followed by a reconciliation. How bitter that quarrel may havebeen, or how hollow the reconciliation we cannot tell. When Ithink of Mortimer Tregennis, with the foxy face and the smallshrewd, beady eyes behind the spectacles, he is not a man whom Ishould judge to be of a particularly forgiving disposition.Well, in the next place, you will remember that this idea ofsomeone moving in the garden, which took our attention for amoment from the real cause of the tragedy, emanated from him. Hehad a motive in misleading us. Finally, if he did not throw thesubstance into the fire at the moment of leaving the room, whodid do so? The affair happened immediately after his departure.Had anyone else come in, the family would certainly have risenfrom the table. Besides, in peaceful Cornwall, visitors did notarrive after ten o'clock at night. We may take it, then, thatall the evidence points to Mortimer Tregennis as the culprit.""Then his own death was suicide!""Well, Watson, it is on the face of it a not impossiblesupposition. The man who had the guilt upon his soul of havingbrought such a fate upon his own family might well be driven byremorse to inflict it upon himself. There are, however, somecogent reasons against it. Fortunately, there is one man inEngland who knows all about it, and I have made arrangements bywhich we shall hear the facts this afternoon from his own lips.Ah! he is a little before his time. Perhaps you would kindlystep this way, Dr. Leon Sterndale. We have been conducing achemical experiment indoors which has left our little room hardlyfit for the reception of so distinguished a visitor."I had heard the click of the garden gate, and now the majesticfigure of the great African explorer appeared upon the path. Heturned in some surprise towards the rustic arbour in which wesat."You sent for me, Mr. Holmes. I had your note about an hour ago,and I have come, though I really do not know why I should obeyyour summons.""Perhaps we can clear the point up before we separate," saidHolmes. "Meanwhile, I am much obliged to you for your courteousacquiescence. You will excuse this informal reception in theopen air, but my friend Watson and I have nearly furnished anadditional chapter to what the papers call the Cornish Horror,and we prefer a clear atmosphere for the present. Perhaps, sincethe matters which we have to discuss will affect you personallyin a very intimate fashion, it is as well that we should talkwhere there can be no eavesdropping."The explorer took his cigar from his lips and gazed sternly at mycompanion."I am at a loss to know, sir," he said, "what you can have tospeak about which affects me personally in a very intimatefashion.""The killing of Mortimer Tregennis," said Holmes.For a moment I wished that I were armed. Sterndale's fierce faceturned to a dusky red, his eyes glared, and the knotted,passionate veins started out in his forehead, while he sprangforward with clenched hands towards my companion. Then hestopped, and with a violent effort he resumed a cold, rigidcalmness, which was, perhaps, more suggestive of danger than hishot-headed outburst."I have lived so long among savages and beyond the law," said he,"that I have got into the way of being a law to myself. Youwould do well, Mr. Holmes, not to forget it, for I have no desireto do you an injury.""Nor have I any desire to do you an injury, Dr. Sterndale.Surely the clearest proof of it is that, knowing what I know, Ihave sent for you and not for the police."Sterndale sat down with a gasp, overawed for, perhaps, the firsttime in his adventurous life. There was a calm assurance ofpower in Holmes's manner which could not be withstood. Ourvisitor stammered for a moment, his great hands opening andshutting in his agitation."What do you mean?" he asked at last. "If this is bluff uponyour part, Mr. Holmes, you have chosen a bad man for yourexperiment. Let us have no more beating about the bush. What DOyou mean?""I will tell you," said Holmes, "and the reason why I tell you isthat I hope frankness may beget frankness. What my next step maybe will depend entirely upon the nature of your own defence.""My defence?""Yes, sir.""My defence against what?""Against the charge of killing Mortimer Tregennis."Sterndale mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Upon myword, you are getting on," said he. "Do all your successesdepend upon this prodigious power of bluff?""The bluff," said Holmes sternly, "is upon your side, Dr. LeonSterndale, and not upon mine. As a proof I will tell you some ofthe facts upon which my conclusions are based. Of your returnfrom Plymouth, allowing much of your property to go on to Africa,I will say nothing save that it first informed me that you wereone of the factors which had to be taken into account inreconstructing this drama--""I came back--""I have heard your reasons and regard them as unconvincing andinadequate. We will pass that. You came down here to ask mewhom I suspected. I refused to answer you. You then went to thevicarage, waited outside it for some time, and finally returnedto your cottage.""How do you know that?""I followed you.""I saw no one.""That is what you may expect to see when I follow you. You spenta restless night at your cottage, and you formed certain plans,which in the early morning you proceeded to put into execution.Leaving your door just as day was breaking, you filled yourpocket with some reddish gravel that was lying heaped beside yourgate."Sterndale gave a violent start and looked at Holmes in amazement."You then walked swiftly for the mile which separated you fromthe vicarage. You were wearing, I may remark, the same pair ofribbed tennis shoes which are at the present moment upon yourfeet. At the vicarage you passed through the orchard and theside hedge, coming out under the window of the lodger Tregennis.It was now daylight, but the household was not yet stirring. Youdrew some of the gravel from your pocket, and you threw it up atthe window above you."Sterndale sprang to his feet."I believe that you are the devil himself!" he cried.Holmes smiled at the compliment. "It took two, or possiblythree, handfuls before the lodger came to the window. Youbeckoned him to come down. He dressed hurriedly and descended tohis sitting-room. You entered by the window. There was aninterview--a short one--during which you walked up and down theroom. Then you passed out and closed the window, standing on thelawn outside smoking a cigar and watching what occurred.Finally, after the death of Tregennis, you withdrew as you hadcome. Now, Dr. Sterndale, how do you justify such conduct, andwhat were the motives for your actions? If you prevaricate ortrifle with me, I give you my assurance that the matter will passout of my hands forever."Our visitor's face had turned ashen gray as he listened to thewords of his accuser. Now he sat for some time in thought withhis face sunk in his hands. Then with a sudden impulsive gesturehe plucked a photograph from his breast-pocket and threw it onthe rustic table before us."That is why I have done it," said he.It showed the bust and face of a very beautiful woman. Holmesstooped over it."Brenda Tregennis," said he."Yes, Brenda Tregennis," repeated our visitor. "For years I haveloved her. For years she has loved me. There is the secret ofthat Cornish seclusion which people have marvelled at. It hasbrought me close to the one thing on earth that was dear to me.I could not marry her, for I have a wife who has left me foryears and yet whom, by the deplorable laws of England, I couldnot divorce. For years Brenda waited. For years I waited. Andthis is what we have waited for." A terrible sob shook his greatframe, and he clutched his throat under his brindled beard. Thenwith an effort he mastered himself and spoke on:"The vicar knew. He was in our confidence. He would tell youthat she was an angel upon earth. That was why he telegraphed tome and I returned. What was my baggage or Africa to me when Ilearned that such a fate had come upon my darling? There youhave the missing clue to my action, Mr. Holmes.""Proceed," said my friend.Dr. Sterndale drew from his pocket a paper packet and laid itupon the table. On the outside was written "Radix pedis diaboli"with a red poison label beneath it. He pushed it towards me. "Iunderstand that you are a doctor, sir. Have you ever heard ofthis preparation?""Devil's-foot root! No, I have never heard of it.""It is no reflection upon your professional knowledge," said he,"for I believe that, save for one sample in a laboratory at Buda,there is no other specimen in Europe. It has not yet found itsway either into the pharmacopoeia or into the literature oftoxicology. The root is shaped like a foot, half human, halfgoatlike; hence the fanciful name given by a botanicalmissionary. It is used as an ordeal poison by the medicine-menin certain districts of West Africa and is kept as a secret amongthem. This particular specimen I obtained under veryextraordinary circumstances in the Ubangi country." He openedthe paper as he spoke and disclosed a heap of reddish-brown,snuff-like powder."Well, sir?" asked Holmes sternly."I am about to tell you, Mr. Holmes, all that actually occurred,for you already know so much that it is clearly to my interestthat you should know all. I have already explained therelationship in which I stood to the Tregennis family. For thesake of the sister I was friendly with the brothers. There was afamily quarrel about money which estranged this man Mortimer, butit was supposed to be made up, and I afterwards met him as I didthe others. He was a sly, subtle, scheming man, and severalthings arose which gave me a suspicion of him, but I had no causefor any positive quarrel."One day, only a couple of weeks ago, he came down to my cottageand I showed him some of my African curiosities. Among otherthings I exhibited this powder, and I told him of its strangeproperties, how it stimulates those brain centres which controlthe emotion of fear, and how either madness or death is the fateof the unhappy native who is subjected to the ordeal by thepriest of his tribe. I told him also how powerless Europeanscience would be to detect it. How he took it I cannot say, forI never left the room, but there is no doubt that it was then,while I was opening cabinets and stooping to boxes, that hemanaged to abstract some of the devil's-foot root. I wellremember how he plied me with questions as to the amount and thetime that was needed for its effect, but I little dreamed that hecould have a personal reason for asking."I thought no more of the matter until the vicar's telegramreached me at Plymouth. This villain had thought that I would beat sea before the news could reach me, and that I should be lostfor years in Africa. But I returned at once. Of course, I couldnot listen to the details without feeling assured that my poisonhad been used. I came round to see you on the chance that someother explanation had suggested itself to you. But there couldbe none. I was convinced that Mortimer Tregennis was themurderer; that for the sake of money, and with the idea, perhaps,that if the other members of his family were all insane he wouldbe the sole guardian of their joint property, he had used thedevil's-foot powder upon them, driven two of them out of theirsenses, and killed his sister Brenda, the one human being whom Ihave ever loved or who has ever loved me. There was his crime;what was to be his punishment?"Should I appeal to the law? Where were my proofs? I knew thatthe facts were true, but could I help to make a jury ofcountrymen believe so fantastic a story? I might or I might not.But I could not afford to fail. My soul cried out for revenge.I have said to you once before, Mr. Holmes, that I have spentmuch of my life outside the law, and that I have come at last tobe a law to myself. So it was even now. I determined that thefate which he had given to others should be shared by himself.Either that or I would do justice upon him with my own hand. Inall England there can be no man who sets less value upon his ownlife than I do at the present moment."Now I have told you all. You have yourself supplied the rest.I did, as you say, after a restless night, set off early from mycottage. I foresaw the difficulty of arousing him, so I gatheredsome gravel from the pile which you have mentioned, and I used itto throw up to his window. He came down and admitted me throughthe window of the sitting-room. I laid his offence before him.I told him that I had come both as judge and executioner. Thewretch sank into a chair, paralyzed at the sight of my revolver.I lit the lamp, put the powder above it, and stood outside thewindow, ready to carry out my threat to shoot him should he tryto leave the room. In five minutes he died. My God! how hedied! But my heart was flint, for he endured nothing which myinnocent darling had not felt before him. There is my story, Mr.Holmes. Perhaps, if you loved a woman, you would have done asmuch yourself. At any rate, I am in your hands. You can takewhat steps you like. As I have already said, there is no manliving who can fear death less than I do."Holmes sat for some little time in silence."What were your plans?" he asked at last."I had intended to bury myself in central Africa. My work thereis but half finished.""Go and do the other half," said Holmes. "I, at least, am notprepared to prevent you."Dr. Sterndale raised his giant figure, bowed gravely, and walkedfrom the arbour. Holmes lit his pipe and handed me his pouch."Some fumes which are not poisonous would be a welcome change,"said he. "I think you must agree, Watson, that it is not a casein which we are called upon to interfere. Our investigation hasbeen independent, and our action shall be so also. You would notdenounce the man?""Certainly not," I answered."I have never loved, Watson, but if I did and if the woman Iloved had met such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done. Who knows? Well, Watson, I will not offendyour intelligence by explaining what is obvious. The gravel uponthe window-sill was, of course, the starting-point of myresearch. It was unlike anything in the vicarage garden. Onlywhen my attention had been drawn to Dr. Sterndale and his cottagedid I find its counterpart. The lamp shining in broad daylightand the remains of powder upon the shield were successive linksin a fairly obvious chain. And now, my dear Watson, I think wemay dismiss the matter from our mind and go back with a clearconscience to the study of those Chaldean roots which are surelyto be traced in the Cornish branch of the great Celtic speech."
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