Sherlock Holmes’s eyes glistened, his pale cheeks took a warmerhue, and his whole eager face shone with an inward light whenthe call for work reached him. Leaning forward in the cab, helistened intently to MacDonald’s short sketch of the problemwhich awaited us in Sussex. The inspector was himself dependent,as he explained to us, upon a scribbled account forwarded to himby the milk train in the early hours of the morning. White Mason,the local officer, was a personal friend, and hence MacDonald hadbeen notified much more promptly than is usual at Scotland Yardwhen provincials need their assistance. It is a very cold scent uponwhich the Metropolitan expert is generally asked to run.
“DEAR INSPECTOR MACDONALD [said the letter which he readto us]:
“Official requisition for your services is in separate envelope. Thisis for your private eye. Wire me what train in the morning you canget for Birlstone, and I will meet it—or have it met if I am toooccupied. This case is a snorter. Don’t waste a moment in gettingstarted. If you can bring Mr. Holmes, please do so; for he will findsomething after his own heart. We would think the whole thing hadbeen fixed up for theatrical effect if there wasn’t a dead man in themiddle of it. My word! it is a snorter.”
“Your friend seems to be no fool,” remarked Holmes.
“No, sir, White Mason is a very live man, if I am any judge.”
“Well, have you anything more?”
“Only that he will give us every detail when we meet.”
“Then how did you get at Mr. Douglas and the fact that he hadbeen horribly murdered?”
“That was in the inclosed official report. It didn’t say ‘horrible’:
that’s not a recognized official term. It gave the name JohnDouglas. It mentioned that his injuries had been in the head, fromthe discharge of a shotgun. It also mentioned the hour of thealarm, which was close on to midnight last night. It added thatthe case was undoubtedly one of murder, but that no arrest hadbeen made, and that the case was one which presented some veryperplexing and extraordinary features. That’s absolutely all wehave at present, Mr. Holmes.”
“Then, with your permission, we will leave it at that, Mr. Mac.
The temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient datais the bane of our profession. I can see only two things for certainat present—a great brain in London, and a dead man in Sussex. It’sthe chain between that we are going to trace.”
The Tragedy of Birlstone
Now for a moment I will ask leave to remove my owninsignificant personality and to describe events which occurredbefore we arrived upon the scene by the light of knowledge whichcame to us afterwards. Only in this way can I make the readerappreciate the people concerned and the strange setting in whichtheir fate was cast.
The village of Birlstone is a small and very ancient cluster ofhalf-timbered cottages on the northern border of the countyof Sussex. For centuries it had remained unchanged; but withinthe last few years its picturesque appearance and situation haveattracted a number of well-to-do residents, whose villas peep outfrom the woods around. These woods are locally supposed to bethe extreme fringe of the great Weald forest, which thins awayuntil it reaches the northern chalk downs. A number of smallshops have come into being to meet the wants of the increasedpopulation; so there seems some prospect that Birlstone may soongrow from an ancient village into a modern town. It is the centrefor a considerable area of country, since Tunbridge Wells, thenearest place of importance, is ten or twelve miles to the eastward,over the borders of Kent.
About half a mile from the town, standing in an old park famousfor its huge beech trees, is the ancient Manor House of Birlstone.
Part of this venerable building dates back to the time of the firstcrusade, when Hugo de Capus built a fortalice in the centre of theestate, which had been granted to him by the Red King. This wasdestroyed by fire in 1543, and some of its smoke-blackened cornerstones were used when, in Jacobean times, a brick country houserose upon the ruins of the feudal castle.
The Manor House, with its many gables and its small diamondpanedwindows, was still much as the builder had left it in theearly seventeenth century. Of the double moats which had guardedits more warlike predecessor, the outer had been allowed to dryup, and served the humble function of a kitchen garden. The innerone was still there, and lay forty feet in breadth, though now onlya few feet in depth, round the whole house. A small stream fed itand continued beyond it, so that the sheet of water, though turbid,was never ditchlike or unhealthy. The ground floor windows werewithin a foot of the surface of the water.
The only approach to the house was over a drawbridge, thechains and windlass of which had long been rusted and broken.
The latest tenants of the Manor House had, however, withcharacteristic energy, set this right, and the drawbridge was notonly capable of being raised, but actually was raised every eveningand lowered every morning. By thus renewing the custom of theold feudal days the Manor House was converted into an islandduring the night—a fact which had a very direct bearing upon themystery which was soon to engage the attention of all England.
The house had been untenanted for some years and wasthreatening to moulder into a picturesque decay when theDouglases took possession of it. This family consisted of onlytwo individuals—John Douglas and his wife. Douglas was aremarkable man, both in character and in person. In age he mayhave been about fifty, with a strong-jawed, rugged face, a grizzlingmoustache, peculiarly keen gray eyes, and a wiry, vigorous figurewhich had lost nothing of the strength and activity of youth. Hewas cheery and genial to all, but somewhat offhand in his manners,giving the impression that he had seen life in social strata on somefar lower horizon than the county society of Sussex.
