It was some time before the health of my friend Mr. SherlockHolmes recovered from the strain caused by his immense exertionsin the spring of ’87. The whole question of the Netherland-SumatraCompany and of the colossal schemes of Baron Maupertuis are toorecent in the minds of the public, and are too intimately concernedwith politics and finance to be fitting subjects for this series ofsketches. They led, however, in an indirect fashion to a singularand complex problem which gave my friend an opportunity ofdemonstrating the value of a fresh weapon among the many withwhich he waged his life-long battle against crime.
On referring to my notes I see that it was upon the fourteenthof April that I received a telegram from Lyons which informedme that Holmes was lying ill in the Hotel Dulong. Within twentyfourhours I was in his sick-room, and was relieved to find thatthere was nothing formidable in his symptoms. Even his ironconstitution, however, had broken down under the strain of aninvestigation which had extended over two months, during whichperiod he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day, and hadmore than once, as he assured me, kept to his task for five daysat a stretch. Even the triumphant issue of his labors could notsave him from reaction after so terrible an exertion, and at a timewhen Europe was ringing with his name and when his room wasliterally ankle-deep with congratulatory telegrams I found him aprey to the blackest depression. Even the knowledge that he hadsucceeded where the police of three countries had failed, and thathe had outmanoeuvred at every point the most accomplishedswindler in Europe, was insufficient to rouse him from his nervousprostration.
Three days later we were back in Baker Street together; but itwas evident that my friend would be much the better for a change,and the thought of a week of spring time in the country was fullof attractions to me also. My old friend, Colonel Hayter, whohad come under my professional care in Afghanistan, had nowtaken a house near Reigate in Surrey, and had frequently asked meto come down to him upon a visit. On the last occasion he hadremarked that if my friend would only come with me he would beglad to extend his hospitality to him also. A little diplomacy wasneeded, but when Holmes understood that the establishment wasa bachelor one, and that he would be allowed the fullest freedom,he fell in with my plans and a week after our return from Lyons wewere under the Colonel’s roof. Hayter was a fine old soldier whohad seen much of the world, and he soon found, as I had expected,that Holmes and he had much in common.
On the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the Colonel’sgun-room after dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa, whileHayter and I looked over his little armory of Eastern weapons.
“By the way,” said he suddenly, “I think I’ll take one of thesepistols upstairs with me in case we have an alarm.”
“An alarm!” said I.
“Yes, we’ve had a scare in this part lately. Old Acton, who is oneof our county magnates, had his house broken into last Monday.
No great damage done, but the fellows are still at large.”
“No clue?” asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the colonel.
“None as yet. But the affair is a petty one, one of our littlecountry crimes, which must seem too small for your attention, Mr.
Holmes, after this great international affair.”
Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showedthat it had pleased him.
“Was there any feature of interest?”
“I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library and got verylittle for their pains. The whole place was turned upside down,drawers burst open, and presses ransacked, with the result thatan odd volume of Pope’s Homer, two plated candlesticks, an ivoryletter-weight, a small oak barometer, and a ball of twine are allthat have vanished.”
“What an extraordinary assortment!” I exclaimed.
“Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of everything theycould get.”
Holmes grunted from the sofa.
“The county police ought to make something of that,” said he;“why, it is surely obvious that—”
But I held up a warning finger.
“You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For Heaven’s sake don’tget started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds.”
Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comicresignation towards the Colonel, and the talk drifted away intoless dangerous channels.
It was destined, however, that all my professional caution shouldbe wasted, for next morning the problem obtruded itself upon usin such a way that it was impossible to ignore it, and our countryvisit took a turn which neither of us could have anticipated. Wewere at breakfast when the Colonel’s butler rushed in with all hispropriety shaken out of him.
“Have you heard the news, sir?” he gasped. “At the Cunningham’ssir!”
“Burglary!” cried the Colonel, with his coffee-cup in mid-air.
“Murder!”
The Colonel whistled. “By Jove!” said he. “Who’s killed, then?
The J.P. or his son?”
“Neither, sir. It was William the coachman. Shot through theheart, sir, and never spoke again.”
“Who shot him, then?”
“The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and got clean away. He’djust broke in at the pantry window when William came on himand met his end in saving his master’s property.”
“What time?”
“It was last night, sir, somewhere about twelve.”
“Ah, then, we’ll step over afterwards,” said the Colonel, coollysettling down to his breakfast again. “It’s a baddish business,”
he added when the butler had gone; “he’s our leading man abouthere, is old Cunningham, and a very decent fellow too. He’ll becut up over this, for the man has been in his service for years andwas a good servant. It’s evidently the same villains who broke intoActon’s.”
“And stole that very singular collection,” said Holmes,thoughtfully.
“Precisely.”
