Some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the traintogether, bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village.
There were Sherlock Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, InspectorBradstreet, of Scotland Yard, a plain-clothes man, and myself.
Bradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out uponthe seat and was busy with his compasses drawing a circle withEyford for its centre.
“There you are,” said he. “That circle is drawn at a radius of tenmiles from the village. The place we want must be somewherenear that line. You said ten miles, I think, sir.”
“It was an hour’s good drive.”
“And you think that they brought you back all that way whenyou were unconscious?”
“They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, ofhaving been lifted and conveyed somewhere.”
“What I cannot understand,” said I, “is why they should havespared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden.
Perhaps the villain was softened by the woman’s entreaties.”
“I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face inmy life.”
“Oh, we shall soon clear up all that,” said Bradstreet. “Well, Ihave drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point uponit the folk that we are in search of are to be found.”
“I think I could lay my finger on it,” said Holmes quietly.
“Really, now!” cried the inspector, “you have formed youropinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it issouth, for the country is more deserted there.”
“And I say east,” said my patient.
“I am for west,” remarked the plain-clothes man. “There areseveral quiet little villages up there.”
“And I am for north,” said I, “because there are no hills there,and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up any.”
“Come,” cried the inspector, laughing; “it’s a very prettydiversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Whodo you give your casting vote to?”
“You are all wrong.”
“But we can’t all be.”
“Oh, yes, you can. This is my point.” He placed his finger in thecentre of the circle. “This is where we shall find them.”
“But the twelve-mile drive?” gasped Hatherley.
“Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that thehorse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be thatif it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?”
“Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough,” observed Bradstreet thoughtfully.
“Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature of this gang.”
“None at all,” said Holmes. “They are coiners on a large scale,and have used the machine to form the amalgam which has takenthe place of silver.”
“We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work,”
said the inspector. “They have been turning out half-crowns by thethousand. We even traced them as far as Reading, but could get nofarther, for they had covered their traces in a way that showed thatthey were very old hands. But now, thanks to this lucky chance, Ithink that we have got them right enough.”
But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were notdestined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into EyfordStation we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed upfrom behind a small clump of trees in the neighbourhood andhung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape.
“A house on fire?” asked Bradstreet as the train steamed offagain on its way.
“Yes, sir!” said the station-master.
“When did it break out?”
“I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse, andthe whole place is in a blaze.”
“Whose house is it?”
“Dr. Becher’s.”
“Tell me,” broke in the engineer, “is Dr. Becher a German, verythin, with a long, sharp nose?”
The station-master laughed heartily. “No, sir, Dr. Becher is anEnglishman, and there isn’t a man in the parish who has a betterlinedwaistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him, apatient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if alittle good Berkshire beef would do him no harm.”
The station-master had not finished his speech before we wereall hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a lowhill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building infront of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in thegarden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep theflames under.
“That’s it!” cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. “There isthe gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. Thatsecond window is the one that I jumped from.”
“Well, at least,” said Holmes, “you have had your revenge uponthem. There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which,when it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls,though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you toobserve it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd foryour friends of last night, though I very much fear that they are agood hundred miles off by now.”
And Holmes’ fears came to be realised, for from that day to thisno word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, thesinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morninga peasant had met a cart containing several people and some verybulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but thereall traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes’ ingenuityfailed ever to discover the least clue as to their whereabouts.
The firemen had been much perturbed at the strangearrangements which they had found within, and still more so bydiscovering a newly severed human thumb upon a window-sill ofthe second floor. About sunset, however, their efforts were at lastsuccessful, and they subdued the flames, but not before the roofhad fallen in, and the whole place been reduced to such absoluteruin that, save some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not atrace remained of the machinery which had cost our unfortunateacquaintance so dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin werediscovered stored in an out-house, but no coins were to be found,which may have explained the presence of those bulky boxeswhich have been already referred to.
