My first days in this village were devoted to a series of walksin which in the intervals of my botanical researches I made areconnaissance of all the large houses and an examination of thefamily history of the occupants. One house, and only one, rivetedmy attention. It is the famous old Jacobean grange of High Gable,one mile on the farther side of Oxshott, and less than half a milefrom the scene of the tragedy. The other mansions belonged toprosaic and respectable people who live far aloof from romance.
But Mr. Henderson, of High Gable, was by all accounts a curiousman to whom curious adventures might befall. I concentrated myattention, therefore, upon him and his household.
“A singular set of people, Watson—the man himself the mostsingular of them all. I managed to see him on a plausible pretext,but I seemed to read in his dark, deep-set, brooding eyes thathe was perfectly aware of my true business. He is a man of fifty,strong, active, with iron-gray hair, great bunched black eyebrows,the step of a deer and the air of an emperor—a fierce, masterfulman, with a red-hot spirit behind his parchment face. He is eithera foreigner or has lived long in the tropics, for he is yellow andsapless, but tough as whipcord. His friend and secretary, Mr.
Lucas, is undoubtedly a foreigner, chocolate brown, wily, suave,and catlike, with a poisonous gentleness of speech. You see,Watson, we have come already upon two sets of foreigners—one atWisteria Lodge and one at High Gable—so our gaps are beginningto close.
“These two men, close and confidential friends, are the centreof the household; but there is one other person who for ourimmediate purpose may be even more important. Henderson hastwo children—girls of eleven and thirteen. Their governess is aMiss Burnet, an Englishwoman of forty or thereabouts. Thereis also one confidential manservant. This little group forms thereal family, for they travel about together, and Henderson is agreat traveller, always on the move. It is only within the last fewweeks that he has returned, after a year’s absence, to High Gable.
I may add that he is enormously rich, and whatever his whimsmay be he can very easily satisfy them. For the rest, his houseis full of butlers, footmen, maidservants, and the usual overfed,underworked staff of a large English country-house.
“So much I learned partly from village gossip and partly frommy own observation. There are no better instruments thandischarged servants with a grievance, and I was lucky enough tofind one. I call it luck, but it would not have come my way had Inot been looking out for it. As Baynes remarks, we all have oursystems. It was my system which enabled me to find John Warner,late gardener of High Gable, sacked in a moment of temper byhis imperious employer. He in turn had friends among the indoorservants who unite in their fear and dislike of their master. So Ihad my key to the secrets of the establishment.
“Curious people, Watson! I don’t pretend to understand it allyet, but very curious people anyway. It’s a double-winged house,and the servants live on one side, the family on the other. There’sno link between the two save for Henderson’s own servant, whoserves the family’s meals. Everything is carried to a certain door,which forms the one connection. Governess and children hardlygo out at all, except into the garden. Henderson never by anychance walks alone. His dark secretary is like his shadow. Thegossip among the servants is that their master is terribly afraid ofsomething. ‘Sold his soul to the devil in exchange for money,’ saysWarner, ‘and expects his creditor to come up and claim his own.’
Where they came from, or who they are, nobody has an idea. Theyare very violent. Twice Henderson has lashed at folk with his dogwhip,and only his long purse and heavy compensation have kepthim out of the courts.
“Well, now, Watson, let us judge the situation by this newinformation. We may take it that the letter came out of thisstrange household and was an invitation to Garcia to carry outsome attempt which had already been planned. Who wrote thenote? It was someone within the citadel, and it was a woman. Whothen but Miss Burnet, the governess? All our reasoning seems topoint that way. At any rate, we may take it as a hypothesis and seewhat consequences it would entail. I may add that Miss Burnet’sage and character make it certain that my first idea that theremight be a love interest in our story is out of the question.
“If she wrote the note she was presumably the friend andconfederate of Garcia. What, then, might she be expected todo if she heard of his death? If he met it in some nefariousenterprise her lips might be sealed. Still, in her heart, she mustretain bitterness and hatred against those who had killed him andwould presumably help so far as she could to have revenge uponthem. Could we see her, then and try to use her? That was myfirst thought. But now we come to a sinister fact. Miss Burnet hasnot been seen by any human eye since the night of the murder.
From that evening she has utterly vanished. Is she alive? Has sheperhaps met her end on the same night as the friend whom shehad summoned? Or is she merely a prisoner? There is the pointwhich we still have to decide.
“You will appreciate the difficulty of the situation, Watson.
There is nothing upon which we can apply for a warrant. Ourwhole scheme might seem fantastic if laid before a magistrate.
The woman’s disappearance counts for nothing, since in thatextraordinary household any member of it might be invisible for aweek. And yet she may at the present moment be in danger of herlife. All I can do is to watch the house and leave my agent, Warner,on guard at the gates. We can’t let such a situation continue. If thelaw can do nothing we must take the risk ourselves.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I know which is her room. It is accessible from the top of anouthouse. My suggestion is that you and I go to-night and see ifwe can strike at the very heart of the mystery.”