The inspector shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t quite know, sir.
Between ourselves, I think Mr. Holmes had not quite got over hisillness yet. He’s been behaving very queerly, and he is very muchexcited.”
“I don’t think you need alarm yourself,” said I. “I have usuallyfound that there was method in his madness.”
“Some folk might say there was madness in his method,”
muttered the inspector. “But he’s all on fire to start, Colonel, sowe had best go out if you are ready.”
We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his chin sunkupon his breast, and his hands thrust into his trousers pockets.
“The matter grows in interest,” said he. “Watson, your countrytriphas been a distinct success. I have had a charming morning.”
“You have been up to the scene of the crime, I understand,” saidthe colonel.
“Yes, the inspector and I have made quite a little reconnaissancetogether.”
“Any success?”
“Well, we have seen some very interesting things. I’ll tell you whatwe did as we walk. First of all, we saw the body of this unfortunateman. He certainly died from a revolver wound as reported.”
“Had you doubted it, then?”
“Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our inspection was notwasted. We then had an interview with Mr. Cunningham and hisson, who were able to point out the exact spot where the murdererhad broken through the garden-hedge in his flight. That was ofgreat interest.”
“Naturally.”
“Then we had a look at this poor fellow’s mother. We could getno information from her, however, as she is very old and feeble.”
“And what is the result of your investigations?”
“The conviction that the crime is a very peculiar one. Perhapsour visit now may do something to make it less obscure. I thinkthat we are both agreed, Inspector that the fragment of paper inthe dead man’s hand, bearing, as it does, the very hour of his deathwritten upon it, is of extreme importance.”
“It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes.”
“It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that note was the man whobrought William Kirwan out of his bed at that hour. But where isthe rest of that sheet of paper?”
“I examined the ground carefully in the hope of finding it,” saidthe Inspector.
“It was torn out of the dead man’s hand. Why was someone soanxious to get possession of it? Because it incriminated him. Andwhat would he do with it? Thrust it into his pocket, most likely,never noticing that a corner of it had been left in the grip of thecorpse. If we could get the rest of that sheet it is obvious that weshould have gone a long way towards solving the mystery.”
“Yes, but how can we get at the criminal’s pocket before wecatch the criminal?”
“Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then there is anotherobvious point. The note was sent to William. The man who wroteit could not have taken it; otherwise, of course, he might havedelivered his own message by word of mouth. Who brought thenote, then? Or did it come through the post?”
“I have made inquiries,” said the inspector. “William received aletter by the afternoon post yesterday. The envelope was destroyedby him.”
“Excellent!” cried Holmes, clapping the inspector on the back.
“You’ve seen the postman. It is a pleasure to work with you. Well,here is the lodge, and if you will come up, Colonel, I will show youthe scene of the crime.”
We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man hadlived, and walked up an oak-lined avenue to the fine old QueenAnne house, which bears the date of Malplaquet upon the lintel ofthe door. Holmes and the Inspector led us round it until we cameto the side gate, which is separated by a stretch of garden fromthe hedge which lines the road. A constable was standing at thekitchen door.
“Throw the door open, officer,” said Holmes. “Now, it was onthose stairs that young Mr. Cunningham stood and saw the twomen struggling just where we are. Old Mr. Cunningham was atthat window—the second on the left—and he saw the fellow getaway just to the left of that bush. Then Mr. Alec ran out and kneltbeside the wounded man. The ground is very hard, you see, andthere are no marks to guide us.” As he spoke two men came downthe garden path, from round the angle of the house. The one wasan elderly man, with a strong, deep-lined, heavy-eyed face; theother a dashing young fellow, whose bright, smiling expression andshowy dress were in strange contract with the business which hadbrought us there.
“Still at it, then?” said he to Holmes. “I thought you Londonerswere never at fault. You don’t seem to be so very quick, after all.”
“Ah, you must give us a little time,” said Holmes goodhumoredly.
“You’ll want it,” said young Alec Cunningham. “Why, I don’t seethat we have any clue at all.”
“There’s only one,” answered the inspector. “We thought thatif we could only find——Good heavens, Mr. Holmes! What is thematter?”
My poor friend’s face had suddenly assumed the most dreadfulexpression. His eyes rolled upwards, his features writhed in agony,and with a suppressed groan he dropped on his face upon theground. Horrified at the suddenness and severity of the attack, wecarried him into the kitchen, where he lay back in a large chair,and breathed heavily for some minutes. Finally, with a shamefacedapology for his weakness, he rose once more.
“Watson would tell you that I have only just recovered from asevere illness,” he explained. “I am liable to these sudden nervousattacks.”
“Shall I send you home in my trap?” asked old Cunningham.
“Well, since I am here, there is one point on which I should liketo feel sure. We can very easily verify it.”
“What was it?”
“Well, it seems to me that it is just possible that the arrival ofthis poor fellow William was not before, but after, the entrance ofthe burglary into the house. You appear to take it for granted that,although the door was forced, the robber never got in.”
“I fancy that is quite obvious,” said Mr. Cunningham gravely.
“Why, my son Alec had not yet gone to bed, and he wouldcertainly have heard any one moving about.”
“Where was he sitting?”
“I was smoking in my dressing-room.”
“Which window is that?”