The  Abbey Grange

Arthur Conan Doyle

It was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning during the winter of '97 that I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. It was Holmes. The candle in his hand shone upon his eager, stooping face and told me at a glance that something was amiss.

“Come, Watson, come!” he cried. “The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!”

Ten minutes later we were both in a cab and rattling through the silent streets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faint winter's dawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see the occasional figure of an early workman as he passed us, blurred and indistinct in the opalescent London reek. Holmes nestled in silence into his heavy coat, and I was glad to do the same, for the air was most bitter and neither of us had broken our fast. It was not until we had consumed some hot tea at the station, and taken our places in the Kentish train, that we were sufficiently thawed, he to speak and I to listen. Holmes drew a note from his pocket and read it aloud:

“Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent,

“3.30 a.m.

“My dear Mr. Holmes:

“I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in what promises to be a most remarkable case. It is something quite in your line. Except for releasing the lady I will see that everything is kept exactly as I have found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant, as it is difficult to leave Sir Eustace there.

“Yours faithfully,

“Stanley Hopkins.”

“Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion his summons has been entirely justified,” said Holmes. “I fancy that every one of his cases has found its way into your collection, and I must admit, Watson, that you have some power of selection which atones for much which I deplore in your narratives. Your fatal habit of looking at everything from the point of view of a story instead of as a scientific exercise has ruined what might have been an instructive and even classical series of demonstrations. You slur over work of the utmost finesse and delicacy in order to dwell upon sensational details which may excite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader.”

“Why do you not write them yourself?” I said, with some bitterness.

“I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, as you know, fairly busy, but I propose to devote my declining years to the composition of a text-book which shall focus the whole art of detection into one volume. Our present research appears to be a case of murder.”

“You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?”

“I should say so. Hopkins's writing shows considerable agitation, and he is not an emotional man. Yes, I gather there has been violence, and that the body is left for our inspection. A mere suicide would not have caused him to send for me. As to the release of the lady, it would appear that she has been locked in her room during the tragedy. We are moving in high life, Watson; crackling paper, ‘E.B.’ monogram, coat-of-arms, picturesque address. I think that friend Hopkins will live up to his reputation and that we shall have an interesting morning. The crime was committed before twelve last night.”

“How can you possibly tell?”

“By an inspection of the trains and by reckoning the time. The local police had to be called in, they had to communicate with Scotland Yard, Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to send for me. All that makes a fair night's work. Well, here we are at Chislehurst Station, and we shall soon set our doubts at rest.”

A drive of a couple of miles through narrow country lanes brought us to a park gate, which was opened for us by an old lodge-keeper, whose haggard face bore the reflection of some great disaster. The avenue ran through a noble park, between lines of ancient elms, and ended in a low, widespread house, pillared in front after the fashion of Palladio. The central part was evidently of a great age and shrouded in ivy, but the large windows showed that modern changes had been carried out, and one wing of the house appeared to be entirely new. The youthful figure and alert, eager face of Inspector Stanley Hopkins confronted us in the open doorway.

“I'm very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. And you too, Dr. Watson! But, indeed, if I had my time over again I should not have troubled you, for since the lady has come to herself she has given so clear an account of the affair that there is not much left for us to do. You remember that Lewisham gang of burglars?”

“What, the three Randalls?”

“Exactly; the father and two sons. It's their work. I have not a doubt of it. They did a job at Sydenham a fortnight ago, and were seen and described. Rather cool to do another so soon and so near, but it is they, beyond all doubt. It's a hanging matter this time.”

“Sir Eustace is dead, then?”

“Yes; his head was knocked in with his own poker.”

“Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me.”

“Exactly—one of the richest men in Kent. Lady Brackenstall is in the morning-room. Poor lady, she has had a most dreadful experience. She seemed half dead when I saw her first. I think you had best see her and hear her account of the facts. Then we will examine the dining-room together.”

Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Seldom have I seen so graceful a figure, so womanly a presence, and so beautiful a face. She was a blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and would, no doubt, have had the perfect complexion which goes with such colouring had not her recent experience left her drawn and haggard. Her sufferings were physical as well as mental, for over one eye rose a hideous, plum-coloured swelling, which her maid, a tall, austere woman, was bathing assiduously with vinegar and water. The lady lay back exhausted upon a couch, but her quick, observant gaze as we entered the room, and the alert expression of her beautiful features, showed that neither her wits nor her courage had been shaken by her terrible experience. She was enveloped in a loose dressing-gown of blue and silver, but a black sequin-covered dinner-dress was hung upon the couch beside her.

“I have told you all that happened, Mr. Hopkins,” she said, wearily; “could you not repeat it for me? Well, if you think it necessary, I will tell these gentlemen what occurred. Have they been in the dining-room yet?”

“I thought they had better hear your ladyship's story first.”

“I shall be glad when you can arrange matters. It is horrible to me to think of him still lying there.” She shuddered and buried her face in her hands. As she did so the loose gown fell back from her forearms. Holmes uttered an exclamation.

“You have other injuries, madam! What is this?” Two vivid red spots stood out on one of the white, round limbs. She hastily covered it.

“It is nothing. It has no connection with the hideous business of last night. If you and your friend will sit down I will tell you all I can.

“I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. I have been married about a year. I suppose that it is no use my attempting to conceal that our marriage has not been a happy one. I fear that all our neighbours would tell you that, even if I were to attempt to deny it. Perhaps the fault may be partly mine. I was brought up in the freer, less conventional atmosphere of South Australia, and this English life, with its proprieties and its primness, is not congenial to me. But the main reason lies in the one fact which is notorious to everyone, and that is that Sir Eustace was a confirmed drunkard. To be with such a man for an hour is unpleasant. Can you imagine what it means for a sensitive and high-spirited woman to be tied to him for day and night? It is a sacrilege, a crime, a villainy to hold that such a marriage is binding. I say that these monstrous laws of yours will bring a curse upon the land—Heaven will not let such wickedness endure.” For an instant she sat up, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes blazing from under the terrible mark upon her brow. Then the strong, soothing hand of the austere maid drew her head down on to the cushion, and the wild anger died away into passionate sobbing. At last she continued:—

“I will tell you about last night. You are aware, perhaps, that in this house all servants sleep in the modern wing. This central block is made up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen behind and our bedroom above. My maid Theresa sleeps above my room. There is no one else, and no sound could alarm those who are in the farther wing. This must have been well known to the robbers, or they would not have acted as they did.

“Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten. The servants had already gone to their quarters. Only my maid was up, and she had remained in her room at the top of the house until I needed her services. I sat until after eleven in this room, absorbed in a book. Then I walked round to see that all was right before I went upstairs. It was my custom to do this myself, for, as I have explained, Sir Eustace was not always to be trusted. I went into the kitchen, the butler's pantry, the gun-room, the billiard-room, the drawing-room, and finally the dining-room. As I approached the window, which is covered with thick curtains, I suddenly felt the wind blow upon my face and realized that it was open. I flung the curtain aside and found myself face to face with a broad-shouldered, elderly man who had just stepped into the room. The window is a long French one, which really forms a door leading to the lawn. I held my bedroom candle lit in my hand, and, by its light, behind the first man I saw two others, who were in the act of entering. I stepped back, but the fellow was on me in an instant. He caught me first by the wrist and then by the throat. I opened my mouth to scream, but he struck me a savage blow with his fist over the eye, and felled me to the ground. I must have been unconscious for a few minutes, for when I came to myself I found that they had torn down the bell-rope and had secured me tightly to the oaken chair which stands at the head of the dining-room table. I was so firmly bound that I could not move, and a handkerchief round my mouth prevented me from uttering any sound. It was at this instant that my unfortunate husband entered the room. He had evidently heard some suspicious sounds, and he came prepared for such a scene as he found. He was dressed in his shirt and trousers, with his favourite blackthorn cudgel in his hand. He rushed at one of the burglars, but another—it was the elderly man—stooped, picked the poker out of the grate, and struck him a horrible blow as he passed. He fell without a groan, and never moved again. I fainted once more, but again it could only have been a very few minutes during which I was insensible. When I opened my eyes I found that they had collected the silver from the sideboard, and they had drawn a bottle of wine which stood there. Each of them had a glass in his hand. I have already told you, have I not, that one was elderly, with a beard, and the others young, hairless lads. They might have been a father with his two sons. They talked together in whispers. Then they came over and made sure that I was still securely bound. Finally they withdrew, closing the window after them. It was quite a quarter of an hour before I got my mouth free. When I did so my screams brought the maid to my assistance. The other servants were soon alarmed, and we sent for the local police, who instantly communicated with London. That is really all that I can tell you, gentlemen, and I trust that it will not be necessary for me to go over so painful a story again.”

“Any questions, Mr. Holmes?” asked Hopkins.

“I will not impose any further tax upon Lady Brackenstall's patience and time,” said Holmes. “Before I go into the dining-room I should like to hear your experience.” He looked at the maid.

“I saw the men before ever they came into the house,” said she. “As I sat by my bedroom window I saw three men in the moonlight down by the lodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing of it at the time. It was more than an hour after that I heard my mistress scream, and down I ran, to find her, poor lamb, just as she says, and him on the floor with his blood and brains over the room. It was enough to drive a woman out of her wits, tied there, and her very dress spotted with him; but she never wanted courage, did Miss Mary Fraser of Adelaide, and Lady Brackenstall of Abbey Grange hasn't learned new ways. You've questioned her long enough, you gentlemen, and now she is coming to her own room, just with her old Theresa, to get the rest that she badly needs.”

With a motherly tenderness the gaunt woman put her arm round her mistress and led her from the room.

“She has been with her all her life,” said Hopkins. “Nursed her as a baby, and came with her to England when they first left Australia eighteen months ago. Theresa Wright is her name, and the kind of maid you don't pick up nowadays. This way, Mr. Holmes, if you please!”

The keen interest had passed out of Holmes's expressive face, and I knew that with the mystery all the charm of the case had departed. There still remained an arrest to be effected, but what were these commonplace rogues that he should soil his hands with them? An abstruse and learned specialist who finds that he has been called in for a case of measles would experience something of the annoyance which I read in my friend's eyes. Yet the scene in the dining-room of the Abbey Grange was sufficiently strange to arrest his attention and to recall his waning interest.

It was a very large and high chamber, with carved oak ceiling, oaken panelling, and a fine array of deer's heads and ancient weapons around the walls. At the farther end from the door was the high French window of which we had heard. Three smaller windows on the right-hand side filled the apartment with cold winter sunshine. On the left was a large, deep fireplace, with a massive, over-hanging oak mantelpiece. Beside the fireplace was a heavy oaken chair with arms and cross-bars at the bottom. In and out through the open woodwork was woven a crimson cord, which was secured at each side to the crosspiece below. In releasing the lady the cord had been slipped off her, but the knots with which it had been secured still remained. These details only struck our attention afterwards, for our thoughts were entirely absorbed by the terrible object which lay upon the tiger-skin hearthrug in front of the fire.

It was the body of a tall, well-made man, about forty years of age. He lay upon his back, his face upturned, with his white teeth grinning through his short black beard. His two clenched hands were raised above his head, and a heavy blackthorn stick lay across them. His dark, handsome, aquiline features were convulsed into a spasm of vindictive hatred, which had set his dead face in a terribly fiendish expression. He had evidently been in his bed when the alarm had broken out, for he wore a foppish embroidered night-shirt, and his bare feet projected from his trousers. His head was horribly injured, and the whole room bore witness to the savage ferocity of the blow which had struck him down. Beside him lay the heavy poker, bent into a curve by the concussion. Holmes examined both it and the indescribable wreck which it had wrought.

“He must be a powerful man, this elder Randall,” he remarked.

“Yes,” said Hopkins. “I have some record of the fellow, and he is a rough customer.”

“You should have no difficulty in getting him.”

“Not the slightest. We have been on the look-out for him, and there was some idea that he had got away to America. Now that we know the gang are here I don't see how they can escape. We have the news at every seaport already, and a reward will be offered before evening. What beats me is how they could have done so mad a thing, knowing that the lady could describe them, and that we could not fail to recognise the description.”

“Exactly. One would have expected that they would have silenced Lady Brackenstall as well.”

“They may not have realized,” I suggested, “that she had recovered from her faint.”

“That is likely enough. If she seemed to be senseless they would not take her life. What about this poor fellow, Hopkins? I seem to have heard some queer stories about him.”

“He was a good-hearted man when he was sober, but a perfect fiend when he was drunk, or rather when he was half drunk, for he seldom really went the whole way. The devil seemed to be in him at such times, and he was capable of anything. From what I hear, in spite of all his wealth and his title, he very nearly came our way once or twice. There was a scandal about his drenching a dog with petroleum and setting it on fire—her ladyship's dog, to make the matter worse—and that was only hushed up with difficulty. Then he threw a decanter at that maid, Theresa Wright; there was trouble about that. On the whole, and between ourselves, it will be a brighter house without him. What are you looking at now?”

Holmes was down on his knees examining with great attention the knots upon the red cord with which the lady had been secured. Then he carefully scrutinized the broken and frayed end where it had snapped off when the burglar had dragged it down.

“When this was pulled down the bell in the kitchen must have rung loudly,” he remarked.

“No one could hear it. The kitchen stands right at the back of the house.”

“How did the burglar know no one would hear it? How dared he pull at a bell-rope in that reckless fashion?”

“Exactly, Mr. Holmes, exactly. You put the very question which I have asked myself again and again. There can be no doubt that this fellow must have known the house and its habits. He must have perfectly understood that the servants would all be in bed at that comparatively early hour, and that no one could possibly hear a bell ring in the kitchen. Therefore he must have been in close league with one of the servants. Surely that is evident. But there are eight servants, and all of good character.”

“Other things being equal,” said Holmes, “one would suspect the one at whose head the master threw a decanter. And yet that would involve treachery towards the mistress to whom this woman seems devoted. Well, well, the point is a minor one, and when you have Randall you will probably find no difficulty in securing his accomplice. The lady's story certainly seems to be corroborated, if it needed corroboration, by every detail which we see before us.” He walked to the French window and threw it open. “There are no signs here, but the ground is iron hard, and one would not expect them. I see that these candles on the mantelpiece have been lighted.”

“Yes; it was by their light and that of the lady's bedroom candle that the burglars saw their way about.”

“And what did they take?”

“Well, they did not take much—only half-a-dozen articles of plate off the sideboard. Lady Brackenstall thinks that they were themselves so disturbed by the death of Sir Eustace that they did not ransack the house as they would otherwise have done.”

“No doubt that is true. And yet they drank some wine, I understand.”

“To steady their own nerves.”

“Exactly. These three glasses upon the sideboard have been untouched, I suppose?”

“Yes; and the bottle stands as they left it.”

“Let us look at it. Halloa! halloa! what is this?”

The three glasses were grouped together, all of them tinged with wine, and one of them containing some dregs of bees-wing. The bottle stood near them, two-thirds full, and beside it lay a long, deeply-stained cork. Its appearance and the dust upon the bottle showed that it was no common vintage which the murderers had enjoyed.

A change had come over Holmes's manner. He had lost his listless expression, and again I saw an alert light of interest in his keen, deep-set eyes. He raised the cork and examined it minutely.

“How did they draw it?” he asked.

Hopkins pointed to a half-opened drawer. In it lay some table linen and a large cork-screw.

“Did Lady Brackenstall say that screw was used?”

“No; you remember that she was senseless at the moment when the bottle was opened.”

“Quite so. As a matter of fact that screw was not used. This bottle was opened by a pocket-screw, probably contained in a knife, and not more than an inch and a half long. If you examine the top of the cork you will observe that the screw was driven in three times before the cork was extracted. It has never been transfixed. This long screw would have transfixed it and drawn it with a single pull. When you catch this fellow you will find that he has one of these multiplex knives in his possession.”

“Excellent!” said Hopkins.

“But these glasses do puzzle me, I confess. Lady Brackenstall actually saw the three men drinking, did she not?”

“Yes; she was clear about that.”

“Then there is an end of it. What more is to be said? And yet you must admit that the three glasses are very remarkable, Hopkins. What, you see nothing remarkable! Well, well, let it pass. Perhaps when a man has special knowledge and special powers like my own it rather encourages him to seek a complex explanation when a simpler one is at hand. Of course, it must be a mere chance about the glasses. Well, good morning, Hopkins. I don't see that I can be of any use to you, and you appear to have your case very clear. You will let me know when Randall is arrested, and any further developments which may occur. I trust that I shall soon have to congratulate you upon a successful conclusion. Come, Watson, I fancy that we may employ ourselves more profitably at home.”

During our return journey I could see by Holmes's face that he was much puzzled by something which he had observed. Every now and then, by an effort, he would throw off the impression and talk as if the matter were clear, but then his doubts would settle down upon him again, and his knitted brows and abstracted eyes would show that his thoughts had gone back once more to the great dining-room of the Abbey Grange in which this midnight tragedy had been enacted. At last, by a sudden impulse, just as our train was crawling out of a suburban station, he sprang on to the platform and pulled me out after him.

“Excuse me, my dear fellow,” said he, as we watched the rear carriages of our train disappearing round a curve; “I am sorry to make you the victim of what may seem a mere whim, but on my life, Watson, I simply can't leave that case in this condition. Every instinct that I possess cries out against it. It's wrong—it's all wrong—I'll swear that it's wrong. And yet the lady's story was complete, the maid's corroboration was sufficient, the detail was fairly exact. What have I to put against that? Three wine-glasses, that is all. But if I had not taken things for granted, if I had examined everything with care which I would have shown had we approached the case de novo and had no cut-and-dried story to warp my mind, would I not then have found something more definite to go upon? Of course I should. Sit down on this bench, Watson, until a train for Chislehurst arrives, and allow me to lay the evidence before you, imploring you in the first instance to dismiss from your mind the idea that anything which the maid or her mistress may have said must necessarily be true. The lady's charming personality must not be permitted to warp our judgment.

“Surely there are details in her story which, if we looked at it in cold blood, would excite our suspicion. These burglars made a considerable haul at Sydenham a fortnight ago. Some account of them and of their appearance was in the papers, and would naturally occur to anyone who wished to invent a story in which imaginary robbers should play a part. As a matter of fact, burglars who have done a good stroke of business are, as a rule, only too glad to enjoy the proceeds in peace and quiet without embarking on another perilous undertaking. Again, it is unusual for burglars to operate at so early an hour; it is unusual for burglars to strike a lady to prevent her screaming, since one would imagine that was the sure way to make her scream; it is unusual for them to commit murder when their numbers are sufficient to overpower one man; it is unusual for them to be content with a limited plunder when there is much more within their reach; and finally I should say that it was very unusual for such men to leave a bottle half empty. How do all these unusuals strike you, Watson?”

“Their cumulative effect is certainly considerable, and yet each of them is quite possible in itself. The most unusual thing of all, as it seems to me, is that the lady should be tied to the chair.”

“Well, I am not so clear about that, Watson; for it is evident that they must either kill her or else secure her in such a way that she could not give immediate notice of their escape. But at any rate I have shown, have I not, that there is a certain element of improbability about the lady's story? And now on the top of this comes the incident of the wine-glasses.”

“What about the wine-glasses?”

“Can you see them in your mind's eye?”

“I see them clearly.”

“We are told that three men drank from them. Does that strike you as likely?”

“Why not? There was wine in each glass.”

“Exactly; but there was bees-wing only in one glass. You must have noticed that fact. What does that suggest to your mind?”

“The last glass filled would be most likely to contain bees-wing.”

“Not at all. The bottle was full of it, and it is inconceivable that the first two glasses were clear and the third heavily charged with it. There are two possible explanations, and only two. One is that after the second glass was filled the bottle was violently agitated, and so the third glass received the bees-wing. That does not appear probable. No, no; I am sure that I am right.”

“What, then, do you suppose?”

“That only two glasses were used, and that the dregs of both were poured into a third glass, so as to give the false impression that three people had been here. In that way all the bees-wing would be in the last glass, would it not? Yes, I am convinced that this is so. But if I have hit upon the true explanation of this one small phenomenon, then in an instant the case rises from the commonplace to the exceedingly remarkable, for it can only mean that Lady Brackenstall and her maid have deliberately lied to us, that not one word of their story is to be believed, that they have some very strong reason for covering the real criminal, and that we must construct our case for ourselves without any help from them. That is the mission which now lies before us, and here, Watson, is the Chislehurst train.”

The household of the Abbey Grange were much surprised at our return, but Sherlock Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins had gone off to report to head-quarters, took possession of the dining-room, locked the door upon the inside, and devoted himself for two hours to one of those minute and laborious investigations which formed the solid basis on which his brilliant edifices of deduction were reared. Seated in a corner like an interested student who observes the demonstration of his professor, I followed every step of that remarkable research. The window, the curtains, the carpet, the chair, the rope—each in turn was minutely examined and duly pondered. The body of the unfortunate baronet had been removed, but all else remained as we had seen it in the morning. Then, to my astonishment, Holmes climbed up on to the massive mantelpiece. Far above his head hung the few inches of red cord which were still attached to the wire. For a long time he gazed upward at it, and then in an attempt to get nearer to it he rested his knee upon a wooden bracket on the wall. This brought his hand within a few inches of the broken end of the rope, but it was not this so much as the bracket itself which seemed to engage his attention. Finally he sprang down with an ejaculation of satisfaction.

“It's all right, Watson,” said he. “We have got our case—one of the most remarkable in our collection. But, dear me, how slow-witted I have been, and how nearly I have committed the blunder of my lifetime! Now, I think that with a few missing links my chain is almost complete.”

“You have got your men?”

“Man, Watson, man. Only one, but a very formidable person. Strong as a lion—witness the blow that bent that poker. Six foot three in height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers; finally, remarkably quick-witted, for this whole ingenious story is of his concoction. Yes, Watson, we have come upon the handiwork of a very remarkable individual. And yet in that bell-rope he has given us a clue which should not have left us a doubt.”

“Where was the clue?”

“Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson, where would you expect it to break? Surely at the spot where it is attached to the wire. Why should it break three inches from the top as this one has done?”

“Because it is frayed there?”

“Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is frayed. He was cunning enough to do that with his knife. But the other end is not frayed. You could not observe that from here, but if you were on the mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off without any mark of fraying whatever. You can reconstruct what occurred. The man needed the rope. He would not tear it down for fear of giving the alarm by ringing the bell. What did he do? He sprang up on the mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his knee on the bracket—you will see the impression in the dust—and so got his knife to bear upon the cord. I could not reach the place by at least three inches, from which I infer that he is at least three inches a bigger man than I. Look at that mark upon the seat of the oaken chair! What is it?”

“Blood.”

“Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the lady's story out of court. If she were seated on the chair when the crime was done, how comes that mark? No, no; she was placed in the chair after the death of her husband. I'll wager that the black dress shows a corresponding mark to this. We have not yet met our Waterloo, Watson, but this is our Marengo, for it begins in defeat and ends in victory. I should like now to have a few words with the nurse Theresa. We must be wary for awhile, if we are to get the information which we want.”

She was an interesting person, this stern Australian nurse. Taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before Holmes's pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said thawed her into a corresponding amiability. She did not attempt to conceal her hatred for her late employer.

“Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. I heard him call my mistress a name, and I told him that he would not dare to speak so if her brother had been there. Then it was that he threw it at me. He might have thrown a dozen if he had but left my bonny bird alone. He was for ever illtreating her, and she too proud to complain. She will not even tell me all that he has done to her. She never told me of those marks on her arm that you saw this morning, but I know very well that they come from a stab with a hat-pin. The sly fiend—Heaven forgive me that I should speak of him so, now that he is dead, but a fiend he was if ever one walked the earth. He was all honey when first we met him, only eighteen months ago, and we both feel as if it were eighteen years. She had only just arrived in London. Yes, it was her first voyage—she had never been from home before. He won her with his title and his money and his false London ways. If she made a mistake she has paid for it, if ever a woman did. What month did we meet him? Well, I tell you it was just after we arrived. We arrived in June, and it was July. They were married in January of last year. Yes, she is down in the morning-room again, and I have no doubt she will see you, but you must not ask too much of her, for she has gone through all that flesh and blood will stand.”

Lady Brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but looked brighter than before. The maid had entered with us, and began once more to foment the bruise upon her mistress's brow.

“I hope,” said the lady, “that you have not come to cross-examine me again?”

“No,” Holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, “I will not cause you any unnecessary trouble, Lady Brackenstall, and my whole desire is to make things easy for you, for I am convinced that you are a much-tried woman. If you will treat me as a friend and trust me you may find that I will justify your trust.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“To tell me the truth.”

“Mr. Holmes!”

“No, no, Lady Brackenstall, it is no use. You may have heard of any little reputation which I possess. I will stake it all on the fact that your story is an absolute fabrication.”

Mistress and maid were both staring at Holmes with pale faces and frightened eyes.

“You are an impudent fellow!” cried Theresa. “Do you mean to say that my mistress has told a lie?”

Holmes rose from his chair.

“Have you nothing to tell me?”

“I have told you everything.”

“Think once more, Lady Brackenstall. Would it not be better to be frank?”

For an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face. Then some new strong thought caused it to set like a mask.

“I have told you all I know.”

Holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders. “I am sorry,” he said, and without another word we left the room and the house. There was a pond in the park, and to this my friend led the way. It was frozen over, but a single hole was left for the convenience of a solitary swan. Holmes gazed at it and then passed on to the lodge gate. There he scribbled a short note for Stanley Hopkins and left it with the lodge-keeper.

“It may be a hit or it may be a miss, but we are bound to do something for friend Hopkins, just to justify this second visit,” said he. “I will not quite take him into my confidence yet. I think our next scene of operations must be the shipping office of the Adelaide-Southampton line, which stands at the end of Pall Mall, if I remember right. There is a second line of steamers which connect South Australia with England, but we will draw the larger cover first.”

Holmes's card sent in to the manager ensured instant attention, and he was not long in acquiring all the information which he needed. In June of '95 only one of their line had reached a home port. It was the Rock of Gibraltar, their largest and best boat. A reference to the passenger list showed that Miss Fraser of Adelaide, with her maid, had made the voyage in her. The boat was now on her way to Australia, somewhere to the south of the Suez Canal. Her officers were the same as in '95, with one exception. The first officer, Mr. Jack Croker, had been made a captain and was to take charge of their new ship, the Bass Rock, sailing in two days' time from Southampton. He lived at Sydenham, but he was likely to be in that morning for instructions, if we cared to wait for him.

No; Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but would be glad to know more about his record and character.

His record was magnificent. There was not an officer in the fleet to touch him. As to his character, he was reliable on duty, but a wild, desperate fellow off the deck of his ship, hot-headed, excitable, but loyal, honest, and kind-hearted. That was the pith of the information with which Holmes left the office of the Adelaide-Southampton company. Thence he drove to Scotland Yard, but instead of entering he sat in his cab with his brows drawn down, lost in profound thought. Finally he drove round to the Charing Cross telegraph office, sent off a message, and then, at last, we made for Baker Street once more.

“No, I couldn't do it, Watson,” said he, as we re-entered our room. “Once that warrant was made out nothing on earth would save him. Once or twice in my career I feel that I have done more real harm by my discovery of the criminal than ever he had done by his crime. I have learned caution now, and I had rather play tricks with the law of England than with my own conscience. Let us know a little more before we act.”

Before evening we had a visit from Inspector Stanley Hopkins. Things were not going very well with him.

“I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes. I really do sometimes think that you have powers that are not human. Now, how on earth could you know that the stolen silver was at the bottom of that pond?”

“I didn't know it.”

“But you told me to examine it.”

“You got it, then?”

“Yes, I got it.”

“I am very glad if I have helped you.”

“But you haven't helped me. You have made the affair far more difficult. What sort of burglars are they who steal silver and then throw it into the nearest pond?”

“It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. I was merely going on the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons who did not want it, who merely took it for a blind as it were, then they would naturally be anxious to get rid of it.”

“But why should such an idea cross your mind?”

“Well, I thought it was possible. When they came out through the French window there was the pond, with one tempting little hole in the ice, right in front of their noses. Could there be a better hiding-place?”

“Ah, a hiding-place—that is better!” cried Stanley Hopkins. “Yes, yes, I see it all now! It was early, there were folk upon the roads, they were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they sank it in the pond, intending to return for it when the coast was clear. Excellent, Mr. Holmes—that is better than your idea of a blind.”

“Quite so; you have got an admirable theory. I have no doubt that my own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that they have ended in discovering the silver.”

“Yes, sir, yes. It was all your doing. But I have had a bad set-back.”

“A set-back?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were arrested in New York this morning.”

“Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against your theory that they committed a murder in Kent last night.”

“It is fatal, Mr. Holmes, absolutely fatal. Still, there are other gangs of three besides the Randalls, or it may be some new gang of which the police have never heard.”

“Quite so; it is perfectly possible. What, are you off?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes; there is no rest for me until I have got to the bottom of the business. I suppose you have no hint to give me?”

“I have given you one.”

“Which?”

“Well, I suggested a blind.”

“But why, Mr. Holmes, why?”

“Ah, that's the question, of course. But I commend the idea to your mind. You might possibly find that there was something in it. You won't stop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us know how you get on.”

Dinner was over and the table cleared before Holmes alluded to the matter again. He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet to the cheerful blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at his watch.

“I expect developments, Watson.”

“When?”

“Now—within a few minutes. I dare say you thought I acted rather badly to Stanley Hopkins just now?”

“I trust your judgment.”

“A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look at it this way: what I know is unofficial; what he knows is official. I have the right to private judgment, but he has none. He must disclose all, or he is a traitor to his service. In a doubtful case I would not put him in so painful a position, and so I reserve my information until my own mind is clear upon the matter.”

“But when will that be?”

“The time has come. You will now be present at the last scene of a remarkable little drama.”

There was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened to admit as fine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through it. He was a very tall young man, golden-moustached, blue-eyed, with a skin which had been burned by tropical suns, and a springy step which showed that the huge frame was as active as it was strong. He closed the door behind him, and then he stood with clenched hands and heaving breast, choking down some overmastering emotion.

“Sit down, Captain Croker. You got my telegram?”

Our visitor sank into an arm-chair and looked from one to the other of us with questioning eyes.

“I got your telegram, and I came at the hour you said. I heard that you had been down to the office. There was no getting away from you. Let's hear the worst. What are you going to do with me? Arrest me? Speak out, man! You can't sit there and play with me like a cat with a mouse.”

“Give him a cigar,” said Holmes. “Bite on that, Captain Croker, and don't let your nerves run away with you. I should not sit here smoking with you if I thought that you were a common criminal, you may be sure of that. Be frank with me, and we may do some good. Play tricks with me, and I'll crush you.”

“What do you wish me to do?”

“To give me a true account of all that happened at the Abbey Grange last night—a true account, mind you, with nothing added and nothing taken off. I know so much already that if you go one inch off the straight I'll blow this police whistle from my window and the affair goes out of my hands for ever.”

The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck his leg with his great, sun-burned hand.

“I'll chance it,” he cried. “I believe you are a man of your word, and a white man, and I'll tell you the whole story. But one thing I will say first. So far as I am concerned I regret nothing and I fear nothing, and I would do it all again and be proud of the job. Curse the beast, if he had as many lives as a cat he would owe them all to me! But it's the lady, Mary—Mary Fraser—for never will I call her by that accursed name. When I think of getting her into trouble, I who would give my life just to bring one smile to her dear face, it's that that turns my soul into water. And yet—and yet—what less could I do? I'll tell you my story, gentlemen, and then I'll ask you as man to man what less could I do.

“I must go back a bit. You seem to know everything, so I expect that you know that I met her when she was a passenger and I was first officer of the Rock of Gibraltar. From the first day I met her she was the only woman to me. Every day of that voyage I loved her more, and many a time since have I kneeled down in the darkness of the night watch and kissed the deck of that ship because I knew her dear feet had trod it. She was never engaged to me. She treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated a man. I have no complaint to make. It was all love on my side, and all good comradeship and friendship on hers. When we parted she was a free woman, but I could never again be a free man.

“Next time I came back from sea I heard of her marriage. Well, why shouldn't she marry whom she liked? Title and money—who could carry them better than she? She was born for all that is beautiful and dainty. I didn't grieve over her marriage. I was not such a selfish hound as that. I just rejoiced that good luck had come her way, and that she had not thrown herself away on a penniless sailor. That's how I loved Mary Fraser.

“Well, I never thought to see her again; but last voyage I was promoted, and the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to wait for a couple of months with my people at Sydenham. One day out in a country lane I met Theresa Wright, her old maid. She told me about her, about him, about everything. I tell you, gentlemen, it nearly drove me mad. This drunken hound, that he should dare to raise his hand to her whose boots he was not worthy to lick! I met Theresa again. Then I met Mary herself—and met her again. Then she would meet me no more. But the other day I had a notice that I was to start on my voyage within a week, and I determined that I would see her once before I left. Theresa was always my friend, for she loved Mary and hated this villain almost as much as I did. From her I learned the ways of the house. Mary used to sit up reading in her own little room downstairs. I crept round there last night and scratched at the window. At first she would not open to me, but in her heart I know that now she loves me, and she could not leave me in the frosty night. She whispered to me to come round to the big front window, and I found it open before me so as to let me into the dining-room. Again I heard from her own lips things that made my blood boil, and again I cursed this brute who mishandled the woman that I loved. Well, gentlemen, I was standing with her just inside the window, in all innocence, as Heaven is my judge, when he rushed like a madman into the room, called her the vilest name that a man could use to a woman, and welted her across the face with the stick he had in his hand. I had sprung for the poker, and it was a fair fight between us. See here on my arm where his first blow fell. Then it was my turn, and I went through him as if he had been a rotten pumpkin. Do you think I was sorry? Not I! It was his life or mine, but far more than that it was his life or hers, for how could I leave her in the power of this madman? That was how I killed him. Was I wrong? Well, then, what would either of you gentlemen have done if you had been in my position?

“She had screamed when he struck her, and that brought old Theresa down from the room above. There was a bottle of wine on the sideboard, and I opened it and poured a little between Mary's lips, for she was half dead with the shock. Then I took a drop myself. Theresa was as cool as ice, and it was her plot as much as mine. We must make it appear that burglars had done the thing. Theresa kept on repeating our story to her mistress, while I swarmed up and cut the rope of the bell. Then I lashed her in her chair, and frayed out the end of the rope to make it look natural, else they would wonder how in the world a burglar could have got up there to cut it. Then I gathered up a few plates and pots of silver, to carry out the idea of a robbery, and there I left them with orders to give the alarm when I had a quarter of an hour's start. I dropped the silver into the pond and made off for Sydenham, feeling that for once in my life I had done a real good night's work. And that's the truth and the whole truth, Mr. Holmes, if it costs me my neck.”

Holmes smoked for some time in silence. Then he crossed the room and shook our visitor by the hand.

“That's what I think,” said he. “I know that every word is true, for you have hardly said a word which I did not know. No one but an acrobat or a sailor could have got up to that bell-rope from the bracket, and no one but a sailor could have made the knots with which the cord was fastened to the chair. Only once had this lady been brought into contact with sailors, and that was on her voyage, and it was someone of her own class of life, since she was trying hard to shield him and so showing that she loved him. You see how easy it was for me to lay my hands upon you when once I had started upon the right trail.”

“I thought the police never could have seen through our dodge.”

“And the police haven't; nor will they, to the best of my belief. Now, look here, Captain Croker, this is a very serious matter, though I am willing to admit that you acted under the most extreme provocation to which any man could be subjected. I am not sure that in defence of your own life your action will not be pronounced legitimate. However, that is for a British jury to decide. Meanwhile I have so much sympathy for you that if you choose to disappear in the next twenty-four hours I will promise you that no one will hinder you.”

“And then it will all come out?”

“Certainly it will come out.”

The sailor flushed with anger.

“What sort of proposal is that to make a man? I know enough of law to understand that Mary would be had as accomplice. Do you think I would leave her alone to face the music while I slunk away? No, sir; let them do their worst upon me, but for Heaven's sake, Mr. Holmes, find some way of keeping my poor Mary out of the courts.”

Holmes for a second time held out his hand to the sailor.

“I was only testing you, and you ring true every time. Well, it is a great responsibility that I take upon myself, but I have given Hopkins an excellent hint, and if he can't avail himself of it I can do no more. See here, Captain Croker, we'll do this in due form of law. You are the prisoner. Watson, you are a British jury, and I never met a man who was more eminently fitted to represent one. I am the judge. Now, gentleman of the jury, you have heard the evidence. Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?”

“Not guilty, my lord,” said I.

“Vox populi, vox Dei. You are acquitted, Captain Croker. So long as the law does not find some other victim you are safe from me. Come back to this lady in a year, and may her future and yours justify us in the judgment which we have pronounced this night.”

格兰其庄园

一八九七年冬末一个下霜的早晨，黎明时分，有人推动我的肩膀，我醒来一看原来是福尔摩斯。他手里拿着蜡烛，带着焦急的面容，俯身告诉我发生了一件紧急案子。

他喊道：“快，华生，快！事情十分急迫。什么也不要问，穿上衣服赶快走！”

十分钟后我们乘上马车。马车隆隆地行驶在寂静的街道上，直奔查林十字街火车站。天色已经微微发亮，在伦敦的灰白色晨雾中时而可以朦胧地看到一两个上早班的工人。福尔摩斯裹在厚厚的大衣里一言不发，我也是同样，因为天气很冷，而且我们也没吃早饭。

在火车站上我们喝过热茶，走进车厢找到座位，这时才感到身一体逐渐暖和过来。火车是开往肯特郡的，一路上福尔摩斯不停地讲着，我只是听。他从口袋里拿出一封信，大声读道：

肯特，玛尔舍姆，格兰其庄园

下午三点三十分

亲一爱一的福尔摩斯先生：

我希望你能够立刻协助我解决这桩极特殊的案件。处理这一类案件正是你的特长。现在除去已把那位夫人放开之外，现场一切东西全未移动，我请求你火速赶来，因为单独留下优斯塔斯爵士是不妥当的。

您的忠实朋友斯坦莱·霍普金

福尔摩斯说：“霍普金找我到现场有七次，每次确实都很需要我的帮助。我想你一定已经把他的案子全收到你的集子里去了，当然我承认你很会选材，这弥补了你叙述不够得力的缺陷。但是你看待一切问题总是从写故事的角度出发，而不是从科学破案的角度，这样就毁坏了这些典型案例的示范一性一。你把侦破的技巧和细节一笔带过，以便尽情地描写动人心弦的情节，你这样做，只能使读者的感情一时激动，并不能使读者受到教育。”

我有些不高兴地说：“你为什么不自己写呢？”

“亲一爱一的华生，我是要写的。你知道，目前我很忙，但是我想在我的晚年写一本教科书，要把全部侦查艺术写进去。我们现在要侦查的象是一件谋杀案。”

“这么说你认为优斯塔斯爵士已经死了？”

“我想是这样的。霍普金的信说明他心情相当激动，可是他并不是易动感情的人。我想一定是有人被害，等我们去验一尸一。如果是自一杀，他不会找我们的。信中谈到已把夫人放开，好象是在发生惨案的时候，她被锁在自己的屋中。华生，这个案件是发生在上流社会里，你看信纸的质地很好，上面有Ｅ、Ｂ两个字母组成的图案做为家徽，出事地点是个风景如画的地方。霍普金不会随便写信的，所以我们今天上午一定够忙的。凶杀是在昨天夜里十二点以前发生的。”

“你怎么知道呢？”

“算一下火车往来以及办事的时间就可以知道。出事后要找当地的警察，警察还要报告苏格兰场，霍普金要去现场，还要发信找我，这至少需要一整夜。好，齐赛尔贺斯特火车站已经到了，我们这些疑问马上就会得到解决。”

在狭窄的乡村小道上我们匆匆忙忙地走了两英里，来到一座庭园的门前。一个看门的老人走过来，给我们打开了大门，他憔悴的面容证实这里确实发生了不幸的事件。一进富丽堂皇的庭园，就看见两排老榆树，恰好形成一条林荫道，通向一座低矮而宽敞的房屋，正面有帕拉弟奥式的柱子。房屋①的中央部分被常春藤覆盖着显得十分古老陈旧，但是从高大的窗户可以看出，这栋房子进行过改建，并且有一侧完全是新建的。年轻机智的霍普金正站在门道里迎接我们，看样子显得很焦急——

①帕拉弟奥（！”５！”８年，！”５８０年），意大利建筑家。——译者注

“福尔摩斯先生，华生大夫，你们来了我真高兴。不是情况紧急，我是不会如此冒昧的。现在夫人已经苏醒过来，她把事情讲得很清楚，所以我们要做的事不多了。你还记得路易珊姆那伙强盗吗？”

“怎么，就是那三个姓阮达尔的吗？”

“是的，父亲和两个儿子。毫无疑问是他们干的。两周以前他们在西顿汉姆做了案，有人发现后报告了我们。这么快就又害了人，真是残酷，一定是他们干的。一定要把他们绞死！”

“那么优斯塔斯爵士死了？”

“是的，他的头部被通条打破了。”

“车夫在路上告诉我，爵士的姓名是优斯塔斯·布莱肯斯特尔。”

“不错。他是肯特郡最大的富翁。夫人正在盥洗室，真可怜，她遭遇了这样可怕的事，我刚一看见她的时候，她简直象是个半死的人。你最好见见她，听她给你们叙述一下。然后我们再一起去餐厅查看。”

布莱肯斯特尔夫人是个很不平常的人，象她这样仪态优柔、风度高雅、容貌美丽的女人我还很少看到。她有白皙的皮肤、金黄色的头发、深蓝色的眼睛，加上她那秀丽的面容，真可谓天姿国色。可是这桩不幸的事件使她神情一陰一郁，脸色憔悴。她的一只眼睛红肿，可以看出，她不仅忍受着一精一神上的、而且还忍受着肉一体上的痛苦。她的女仆——一个神色严厉的高个子妇女，正用稀释了的醋不停地给她冲洗眼睛。夫人品惫地躺在睡椅上。我刚一进屋就看出，她那灵敏的、富有观察力的目光以及脸上的机警的神情表明：她的智慧和勇气并没有被这桩惨案所动摇。她穿着蓝白相间的宽大的晨服，身旁还放着一件镶有白色金属起的黑色餐服。

她厌倦地说：“霍普金先生，所发生的事情我已经都告诉你了。你能不能替一我重复一遍呢？不过，如果你认为有必要的话，我就再讲一次。他们去过餐厅了吗？”

“我想还是让他们先听夫人讲讲为好。”

“既然如此，我就再重复一遍，我一想到餐厅里的一尸一体，就感到非常恐怖。"她浑身颤一抖，抬起手来挡住脸，这时宽大晨服袖口向下滑一动，露出她的前臂。福尔摩斯惊讶地喊道：夫人，您受伤不止一处！这是怎么一回事？

红肿的伤痕。她匆忙地用衣服把它盖住。并且说道：“没有什么。这和夜里的惨案没有关系。你和你的朋友都请坐，我把一切都告诉你们。

“我是优斯塔斯·布莱肯斯特尔的妻子。我结婚已经有一年了。我们的婚姻是不幸的，我想没有必要掩盖这一点。即使我想否认，我的邻居们也会告诉你的。对于婚后双方的关系，也许我也应负一部分责任。我是在澳大利亚南部比较自一由、不很守旧的环境中长大的，这里拘谨的、讲究礼节的英国式生活不合我的口味。不过主要的原因是由另外一件人所共知的事情引起的，那就是：布莱肯斯特尔爵士已经嗜酒成癖，和这样的人在一起，哪怕是一小时，也会使人感到烦恼。把一个活泼伶俐的妇女整日整夜地拴在他身边，你能想象出这是多么无法忍受的事吗？谁要是认为这样的婚姻不能解除那简直就是犯罪，是亵渎神圣，是败坏道德。你们荒谬的法律会给英国带来一场灾难，上帝是会制止一切不义行为的。”她从睡椅上坐直身一子，两颊涨红，她的眼睛从青肿的眼眶里发出愤怒的光芒。那个神色严厉的女仆有力而又一温一和地把夫人的头部放回到靠垫上，她愤怒的高一亢的说话声渐渐变成了激动的呜咽。停了一会儿她继续说：

“昨天夜里，所有的仆人全象往常一样睡在这所房子新建的那一边。这栋房子正中部分包括起居室、它后面的厨房以及我们楼上的卧室。我的女仆梯芮萨住在我卧室上面的阁楼。这个正中部分没有别人住，无论什么声音都不会传到新建的一侧惊醒仆人们。这些情况强盗们一定都知道，否则他们决不会这样肆无忌惮。

“优斯塔斯爵士大约十点半休息。那时仆人们都已经回到他们自己的屋子。只有我的女仆还没有睡，她在阁楼上自己的房间里，听候吩咐。在我上楼前总要亲自去各处看看是不是一切都收拾妥当了，这是我的一习一惯，因为优斯塔斯是靠不住的。我总是先到厨房、食起室、猎槍室、弹子房、客厅，最后到餐厅。我走到餐厅的窗户前，窗户上还挂着厚窗帘，我忽地感到一阵风吹到脸上，这才看到窗户还开着。我把窗帘向旁边一掀，呵，迎面竟站着一个宽肩膀的壮年人，他象是刚刚走进屋里。餐厅的窗户是高大的法国式的窗户，也可以当作通到草坪的门。当时我手中拿着我卧室里的蜡烛台，借着蜡烛的微光，我看见这个人背后，还有两个人正要进来。我吓得退后了一步，这个人立即向我扑来。他先抓住我的手腕，然后又卡住我的脖子。我正要开口喊，他的拳头便狠狠地打在我的眼睛上，把我打倒在地。我一定是昏过去了好几分钟，因为等我苏醒过来的时候，看见他们已经把叫佣人的铃绳弄断，把我紧紧地缚在餐桌一头的一把橡木椅子上。我全身被缚得很牢，一点也动不了，嘴里塞着手绢，喊不出声。正在这时我倒霉的丈夫来到餐厅。显然他是听到了一些可疑的声音，所以他是有准备的。他穿着睡衣和睡裤，手里拿着他喜欢用的黑刺李木棍。他冲向强盗，可是那个年纪较大的早已蹲下一身一子从炉栅上拿起了通条，当爵士走过的时候，他凶猛地向爵士头上打去。爵士呻一吟一声便倒下了，再也未动一动。我又一次昏过去，我失去知觉的时间大概还是几分钟。我睁开眼睛的时候看到，他们从餐具柜里把刀叉拿出，还拿了一啤酒，每人手中有个玻璃杯。我已经说过，一个强盗年纪较大有一胡一子，其他两个是尚未成年的孩子。他们可能是一家人——父亲带着两个儿子。他们在一起耳语了一会儿，然后走过来看看是否已把我缚紧。后来，他们出去了，并且随手关上了窗户。又过了足足一刻钟我才把手绢从口里弄出去，这时我喊叫女仆来解一开我。其他的仆人们也听到了，我们找来警察，警察又立即和伦敦联系。先生们，我知道的就是这些，我希望以后不要让我再重复这段痛苦的经历了。”

霍普金问：“福尔摩斯先生，有什么问题吗？”

福尔摩斯说：“我不想再使布莱肯斯特尔夫人感到不耐烦，也不想再耽误她的时间了。然后他对女仆说：“在我去餐厅以前，希望你讲讲你看到的情况。”

她说：“这三个人还没有走进屋子，我就已经看见他们了。当时我正坐在我卧室的窗户旁，在月光下我看到大门那儿有三个人，但是那时我没有把这当回事。过了一个多小时以后，我听见女主人的喊声，才跑下楼去，看见这可怜的人儿。正象她自己所说的那样，爵士倒在地板上，他的血和脑浆溅了满屋子。我想这些事使她吓昏过去，她被绑在那儿，衣服上溅了许多血点。要不是这位澳大利亚阿得雷德港的玛丽·弗莱泽女士，也就是这位格兰其庄园的布莱肯斯特尔夫人变得一性一格坚强，那她一定会失掉生活的勇气了。先生们，你们询问她的时间已经够长的了，现在她该回到自己的屋里，好好地休息一会儿了。”

这个瘦削的女仆象母亲般一温一柔地把她的手搭在女主人肩上，把她领走了。

霍普金说：“她俩一直在一起。这位夫人是由她从小照料大的，十八个月前夫人离开澳大利亚，她也随同来到了英国。她的名字叫梯芮萨·瑞特，这种女仆现在没处找了。福尔摩斯先生，请从这边走。”

福尔摩斯表情丰富的脸上，原来那种浓厚的兴致已经消失了，我知道这是由于案情并不复杂，丧失了它的吸引力。看来事情只剩下逮捕罪犯，而逮捕一般罪犯又何必麻烦他呢？此刻我的朋友眼睛中流露出的烦恼，正象一个学识渊博的专家被请去看病，却发现患者只是一般疾病时所感到的那种烦恼。不过格兰其庄园的餐厅倒是景象奇异，足以引起福尔摩斯的重视，并且能够再度激其他那渐渐消失的兴趣。

这间餐厅又高又大，屋顶的橡木天花板上刻满了花纹，四周的墙壁上画着一排排的鹿头和古代武器，墙壁下端有橡木嵌板。门的对面是刚才谈过的高大的法国式窗户，其右侧有三扇小窗户，冬季的微弱