“It’s all going wrong, Watson—all as wrong as it can go. I kepta bold face before Lestrade, but, upon my soul, I believe that foronce the fellow is on the right track and we are on the wrong.
All my instincts are one way, and all the facts are the other, and Imuch fear that British juries have not yet attained that pitch ofintelligence when they will give the preference to my theories overLestrade’s facts.”
“Did you go to Blackheath?”
“Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very quickly that thelate lamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable blackguard. Thefather was away in search of his son. The mother was at home—alittle, fluffy, blue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear and indignation.
Of course, she would not admit even the possibility of his guilt.
But she would not express either surprise or regret over the fate ofOldacre. On the contrary, she spoke of him with such bitternessthat she was unconsciously considerably strengthening the caseof the police for, of course, if her son had heard her speak of theman in this fashion, it would predispose him towards hatred andviolence. ‘He was more like a malignant and cunning ape than ahuman being,’ said she, ‘and he always was, ever since he was ayoung man.’
“ ‘You knew him at that time?’ said I.
“ ‘Yes, I knew him well, in fact, he was an old suitor of mine.
Thank heaven that I had the sense to turn away from him and tomarry a better, if poorer, man. I was engaged to him, Mr. Holmes,when I heard a shocking story of how he had turned a cat loose inan aviary, and I was so horrified at his brutal cruelty that I wouldhave nothing more to do with him.’ She rummaged in a bureau,and presently she produced a photograph of a woman, shamefullydefaced and mutilated with a knife. ‘That is my own photograph,’
she said. ‘He sent it to me in that state, with his curse, upon mywedding morning.’
“ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘at least he has forgiven you now, since he has leftall his property to your son.’
“ ‘Neither my son nor I want anything from Jonas Oldacre, deador alive!’ she cried, with a proper spirit. ‘There is a God in heaven,Mr. Holmes, and that same God who has punished that wickedman will show, in His own good time, that my son’s hands areguiltless of his blood.’
“Well, I tried one or two leads, but could get at nothing whichwould help our hypothesis, and several points which would makeagainst it. I gave it up at last and off I went to Norwood.
“This place, Deep Dene House, is a big modern villa of staringbrick, standing back in its own grounds, with a laurel-clumpedlawn in front of it. To the right and some distance back fromthe road was the timber-yard which had been the scene of thefire. Here’s a rough plan on a leaf of my notebook. This windowon the left is the one which opens into Oldacre’s room. You canlook into it from the road, you see. That is about the only bit ofconsolation I have had to-day. Lestrade was not there, but his headconstable did the honours. They had just found a great treasuretrove.
They had spent the morning raking among the ashes ofthe burned wood-pile, and besides the charred organic remainsthey had secured several discoloured metal discs. I examinedthem with care, and there was no doubt that they were trouserbuttons. I even distinguished that one of them was marked withthe name of ‘Hyams,’ who was Oldacres tailor. I then worked thelawn very carefully for signs and traces, but this drought has madeeverything as hard as iron. Nothing was to be seen save that somebody or bundle had been dragged through a low privet hedgewhich is in a line with the wood-pile. All that, of course, fits inwith the official theory. I crawled about the lawn with an Augustsun on my back, but I got up at the end of an hour no wiser thanbefore.
“Well, after this fiasco I went into the bedroom and examinedthat also. The blood-stains were very slight, mere smears anddiscolourations, but undoubtedly fresh. The stick had beenremoved, but there also the marks were slight. There is no doubtabout the stick belonging to our client. He admits it. Footmarksof both men could be made out on the carpet, but none of anythird person, which again is a trick for the other side. They werepiling up their score all the time and we were at a standstill.
“Only one little gleam of hope did I get—and yet it amountedto nothing. I examined the contents of the safe, most of whichhad been taken out and left on the table. The papers had beenmade up into sealed envelopes, one or two of which had beenopened by the police. They were not, so far as I could judge, ofany great value, nor did the bank-book show that Mr. Oldacrewas in such very affluent circumstances. But it seemed to methat all the papers were not there. There were allusions to somedeeds—possibly the more valuable—which I could not find. This,of course, if we could definitely prove it, would turn Lestrade’sargument against himself, for who would steal a thing if he knewthat he would shortly inherit it?
