Williamson is a white-bearded man, and he lives alone with a smallstaff of servants at the Hall. There is some rumor that he is or hasbeen a clergyman, but one or two incidents of his short residenceat the Hall struck me as peculiarly unecclesiastical. I have alreadymade some inquiries at a clerical agency, and they tell me thatthere WAS a man of that name in orders, whose career has been asingularly dark one. The landlord further informed me that thereare usually week-end visitors—a warm lot, sir—at the Hall, andespecially one gentleman with a red moustache, Mr. Woodley byname, who was always there. We had got as far as this, when whoshould walk in but the gentleman himself, who had been drinkinghis beer in the tap-room and had heard the whole conversation.
Who was I? What did I want? What did I mean by askingquestions? He had a fine flow of language, and his adjectives werevery vigorous. He ended a string of abuse by a vicious backhander,which I failed to entirely avoid. The next few minutes weredelicious. It was a straight left against a slogging ruffian. I emergedas you see me. Mr. Woodley went home in a cart. So ended mycountry trip, and it must be confessed that, however enjoyable, myday on the Surrey border has not been much more profitable thanyour own.”
The Thursday brought us another letter from our client.
You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes [said she] to hear that I amleaving Mr. Carruthers’s employment. Even the high pay cannotreconcile me to the discomforts of my situation. On Saturday Icome up to town, and I do not intend to return. Mr. Carruthers hasgot a trap, and so the dangers of the lonely road, if there ever wereany dangers, are now over.
As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely the strainedsituation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the reappearance of thatodious man, Mr. Woodley. He was always hideous, but he looksmore awful than ever now, for he appears to have had an accidentand he is much disfigured. I saw him out of the window, but Iam glad to say I did not meet him. He had a long talk with Mr.
Carruthers, who seemed much excited afterwards. Woodley mustbe staying in the neighbourhood, for he did not sleep here, and yetI caught a glimpse of him again this morning, slinking about in theshrubbery. I would sooner have a savage wild animal loose aboutthe place. I loathe and fear him more than I can say. How CAN Mr.
Carruthers endure such a creature for a moment? However, all mytroubles will be over on Saturday.
“So I trust, Watson, so I trust,” said Holmes, gravely. “Thereis some deep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it isour duty to see that no one molests her upon that last journey. Ithink, Watson, that we must spare time to run down together onSaturday morning and make sure that this curious and inclusiveinvestigation has no untoward ending.”
I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view ofthe case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarrethan dangerous. That a man should lie in wait for and follow a veryhandsome woman is no unheard-of thing, and if he has so littleaudacity that he not only dared not address her, but even fled fromher approach, he was not a very formidable assailant. The ruffianWoodley was a very different person, but, except on one occasion,he had not molested our client, and now he visited the house ofCarruthers without intruding upon her presence. The man on thebicycle was doubtless a member of those week-end parties at theHall of which the publican had spoken, but who he was, or whathe wanted, was as obscure as ever. It was the severity of Holmes’smanner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into his pocketbefore leaving our rooms which impressed me with the feeling thattragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events.
A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and theheath-covered countryside, with the glowing clumps of floweringgorse, seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were wearyof the duns and drabs and slate grays of London. Holmes and Iwalked along the broad, sandy road inhaling the fresh morning airand rejoicing in the music of the birds and the fresh breath of thespring. From a rise of the road on the shoulder of Crooksbury Hill,we could see the grim Hall bristling out from amidst the ancientoaks, which, old as they were, were still younger than the buildingwhich they surrounded. Holmes pointed down the long tract ofroad which wound, a reddish yellow band, between the brown ofthe heath and the budding green of the woods. Far away, a blackdot, we could see a vehicle moving in our direction. Holmes gavean exclamation of impatience.
“I have given a margin of half an hour,” said he. “If that is hertrap, she must be making for the earlier train. I fear, Watson, thatshe will be past Charlington before we can possibly meet her.”
From the instant that we passed the rise, we could no longersee the vehicle, but we hastened onward at such a pace that mysedentary life began to tell upon me, and I was compelled tofall behind. Holmes, however, was always in training, for he hadinexhaustible stores of nervous energy upon which to draw. Hisspringy step never slowed until suddenly, when he was a hundredyards in front of me, he halted, and I saw him throw up his handwith a gesture of grief and despair. At the same instant an emptydog-cart, the horse cantering, the reins trailing, appeared roundthe curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us.
“Too late, Watson, too late!” cried Holmes, as I ran panting tohis side. “Fool that I was not to allow for that earlier train! It’sabduction, Watson—abduction! Murder! Heaven knows what!
Block the road! Stop the horse! That’s right. Now, jump in, and letus see if I can repair the consequences of my own blunder.”
We had sprung into the dog-cart, and Holmes, after turningthe horse, gave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew backalong the road. As we turned the curve, the whole stretch ofroad between the Hall and the heath was opened up. I graspedHolmes’s arm.