This time it was the young lady coming from the station. I saw herlook about her as she came to the Charlington hedge. An instantlater the man emerged from his hiding-place, sprang upon hiscycle, and followed her. In all the broad landscape those were theonly moving figures, the graceful girl sitting very straight upon hermachine, and the man behind her bending low over his handle-barwith a curiously furtive suggestion in every movement. She lookedback at him and slowed her pace. He slowed also. She stopped. Heat once stopped, too, keeping two hundred yards behind her. Hernext movement was as unexpected as it was spirited. She suddenlywhisked her wheels round and dashed straight at him. He was asquick as she, however, and darted off in desperate flight. Presentlyshe came back up the road again, her head haughtily in the air, notdeigning to take any further notice of her silent attendant. He hadturned also, and still kept his distance until the curve of the roadhid them from my sight.
I remained in my hiding-place, and it was well that I did so, forpresently the man reappeared, cycling slowly back. He turned inat the Hall gates, and dismounted from his machine. For someminutes I could see him standing among the trees. His hands wereraised, and he seemed to be settling his necktie. Then he mountedhis cycle, and rode away from me down the drive towards the Hall.
I ran across the heath and peered through the trees. Far away Icould catch glimpses of the old gray building with its bristlingTudor chimneys, but the drive ran through a dense shrubbery, andI saw no more of my man.
However, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly goodmorning’s work, and I walked back in high spirits to Farnham. Thelocal house agent could tell me nothing about Charlington Hall,and referred me to a well known firm in Pall Mall. There I haltedon my way home, and met with courtesy from the representative.
No, I could not have Charlington Hall for the summer. I was justtoo late. It had been let about a month ago. Mr. Williamson wasthe name of the tenant. He was a respectable, elderly gentleman.
The polite agent was afraid he could say no more, as the affairs ofhis clients were not matters which he could discuss.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long reportwhich I was able to present to him that evening, but it did notelicit that word of curt praise which I had hoped for and shouldhave valued. On the contrary, his austere face was even moresevere than usual as he commented upon the things that I haddone and the things that I had not.
“Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very faulty. You shouldhave been behind the hedge, then you would have had a closeview of this interesting person. As it is, you were some hundredsof yards away and can tell me even less than Miss Smith. Shethinks she does not know the man; I am convinced she does. Why,otherwise, should he be so desperately anxious that she should notget so near him as to see his features? You describe him as bendingover the handle-bar. Concealment again, you see. You really havedone remarkably badly. He returns to the house, and you want tofind out who he is. You come to a London house agent!”
“What should I have done?” I cried, with some heat.
“Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the centre ofcountry gossip. They would have told you every name, from themaster to the scullery-maid. Williamson? It conveys nothing tomy mind. If he is an elderly man he is not this active cyclist whosprints away from that young lady’s athletic pursuit. What have wegained by your expedition? The knowledge that the girl’s story istrue. I never doubted it. That there is a connection between thecyclist and the Hall. I never doubted that either. That the Hall istenanted by Williamson. Who’s the better for that? Well, well, mydear sir, don’t look so depressed. We can do little more until nextSaturday, and in the meantime I may make one or two inquiriesmyself.”
Next morning, we had a note from Miss Smith, recountingshortly and accurately the very incidents which I had seen, but thepith of the letter lay in the postscript:
I am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes, when Itell you that my place here has become difficult, owing to the factthat my employer has proposed marriage to me. I am convincedthat his feelings are most deep and most honourable. At the sametime, my promise is of course given. He took my refusal veryseriously, but also very gently. You can understand, however, that thesituation is a little strained.
“Our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters,”
said Holmes, thoughtfully, as he finished the letter. “The casecertainly presents more features of interest and more possibility ofdevelopment than I had originally thought. I should be none theworse for a quiet, peaceful day in the country, and I am inclined torun down this afternoon and test one or two theories which I haveformed.”
Holmes’s quiet day in the country had a singular termination,for he arrived at Baker Street late in the evening, with a cut lipand a discoloured lump upon his forehead, besides a general airof dissipation which would have made his own person the fittingobject of a Scotland Yard investigation. He was immensely tickledby his own adventures and laughed heartily as he recounted them.
“I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat,” said he. “Youare aware that I have some proficiency in the good old Britishsport of boxing. Occasionally, it is of service, to-day, for example,I should have come to very ignominious grief without it.”
I begged him to tell me what had occurred.
“I found that country pub which I had already recommendedto your notice, and there I made my discreet inquiries. I was inthe bar, and a garrulous landlord was giving me all that I wanted.
