“Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and notto abuse your patience, there came a night when he made one ofthose drunken sallies from which he never came back. We foundhim, when we went to search for him, face downward in a littlegreen-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden. Therewas no sign of any violence, and the water was but two feet deep,so that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity, broughtin a verdict of ‘suicide.’ But I, who knew how he winced from thevery thought of death, had much ado to persuade myself that hehad gone out of his way to meet it. The matter passed, however,and my father entered into possession of the estate, and of some￡14,000, which lay to his credit at the bank.”
“One moment,” Holmes interposed, “your statement is, Iforesee, one of the most remarkable to which I have ever listened.
Let me have the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter,and the date of his supposed suicide.”
“The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. His death was sevenweeks later, upon the night of May 2nd.”
“Thank you. Pray proceed.”
“When my father took over the Horsham property, he, atmy request, made a careful examination of the attic, which hadbeen always locked up. We found the brass box there, althoughits contents had been destroyed. On the inside of the cover wasa paper label, with the initials of K. K. K. repeated upon it, and‘Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register’ written beneath.
These, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers whichhad been destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest, therewas nothing of much importance in the attic save a great manyscattered papers and note-books bearing upon my uncle’s life inAmerica. Some of them were of the war time and showed thathe had done his duty well and had borne the repute of a bravesoldier. Others were of a date during the reconstruction of theSouthern states, and were mostly concerned with politics, forhe had evidently taken a strong part in opposing the carpet-bagpoliticians who had been sent down from the North.
“Well, it was the beginning of ’84 when my father came to live atHorsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the Januaryof ’85. On the fourth day after the new year I heard my father givea sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the breakfast-table.
There he was, sitting with a newly opened envelope in one handand five dried orange pips in the outstretched palm of the otherone. He had always laughed at what he called my cock-and-bullstory about the colonel, but he looked very scared and puzzlednow that the same thing had come upon himself.
“ ‘Why, what on earth does this mean, John?’ he stammered.
“My heart had turned to lead. ‘It is K. K. K.,’ said I.
“He looked inside the envelope. ‘So it is,’ he cried. ‘Here are thevery letters. But what is this written above them?’
“ ‘Put the papers on the sundial,’ I read, peeping over hisshoulder.
“ ‘What papers? What sundial?’ he asked.
“ ‘The sundial in the garden. There is no other,’ said I; ‘but thepapers must be those that are destroyed.’
“ ‘Pooh!’ said he, gripping hard at his courage. ‘We are in acivilised land here, and we can’t have tomfoolery of this kind.
Where does the thing come from?’
“ ‘From Dundee,’ I answered, glancing at the postmark.
“ ‘Some preposterous practical joke,’ said he. ‘What have I to dowith sundials and papers? I shall take no notice of such nonsense.’
“ ‘I should certainly speak to the police,’ I said.
“ ‘And be laughed at for my pains. Nothing of the sort.’
“ ‘then let me do so?’
“ ‘No, I forbid you. I won’t have a fuss made about such nonsense.’
“It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinateman. I went about, however, with a heart which was full offorebodings.
“On the third day after the coming of the letter my father wentfrom home to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, whois in command of one of the forts upon Portsdown Hill. I wasglad that he should go, for it seemed to me that he was fartherfrom danger when he was away from home. In that, however,I was in error. Upon the second day of his absence I receiveda telegram from the major, imploring me to come at once. Myfather had fallen over one of the deep chalk-pits which aboundin the neighbourhood, and was lying senseless, with a shatteredskull. I hurried to him, but he passed away without having everrecovered his consciousness. He had, as it appears, been returningfrom Fareham in the twilight, and as the country was unknownto him, and the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation inbringing in a verdict of ‘death from accidental causes.’ Carefullyas I examined every fact connected with his death, I was unableto find anything which could suggest the idea of murder. Therewere no signs of violence, no footmarks, no robbery, no record ofstrangers having been seen upon the roads. And yet I need not tellyou that my mind was far from at ease, and that I was well-nighcertain that some foul plot had been woven round him.
“In this sinister way I came into my inheritance. You will ask mewhy I did not dispose of it? I answer, because I was well convincedthat our troubles were in some way dependent upon an incidentin my uncle’s life, and that the danger would be as pressing in onehouse as in another.
“It was in January, ’85, that my poor father met his end, and twoyears and eight months have elapsed since then. During that timeI have lived happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope thatthis curse had passed away from the family, and that it had endedwith the last generation. I had begun to take comfort too soon,however; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape inwhich it had come upon my father.”
The young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope,and turning to the table he shook out upon it five little driedorange pips.
“This is the envelope,” he continued. “The postmark isLondon—eastern division. Within are the very words which wereupon my father’s last message: ‘K. K. K.’ ; and then ‘Put the paperson the sundial.’ ”
“What have you done?” asked Holmes.
“Nothing.”