“Why not? There was wine in each glass.”
“Exactly, but there was beeswing only in one glass. You musthave noticed that fact. What does that suggest to your mind?”
“The last glass filled would be most likely to contain beeswing.”
“Not at all. The bottle was full of it, and it is inconceivable thatthe first two glasses were clear and the third heavily charged withit. There are two possible explanations, and only two. One is thatafter the second glass was filled the bottle was violently agitated,and so the third glass received the beeswing. That does not appearprobable. No, no, I am sure that I am right.”
“What, then, do you suppose?”
“That only two glasses were used, and that the dregs of bothwere poured into a third glass, so as to give the false impressionthat three people had been here. In that way all the beeswingwould be in the last glass, would it not? Yes, I am convinced thatthis is so. But if I have hit upon the true explanation of this onesmall phenomenon, then in an instant the case rises from thecommonplace to the exceedingly remarkable, for it can only meanthat Lady Brackenstall and her maid have deliberately lied to us,that not one word of their story is to be believed, that they havesome very strong reason for covering the real criminal, and that wemust construct our case for ourselves without any help from them.
That is the mission which now lies before us, and here, Watson, isthe Sydenham train.”
The household at the Abbey Grange were much surprised atour return, but Sherlock Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins hadgone off to report to headquarters, took possession of the diningroom,locked the door upon the inside, and devoted himself for twohours to one of those minute and laborious investigations whichform the solid basis on which his brilliant edifices of deductionwere reared. Seated in a corner like an interested student whoobserves the demonstration of his professor, I followed every stepof that remarkable research. The window, the curtains, the carpet,the chair, the rope—each in turn was minutely examined and dulypondered. The body of the unfortunate baronet had been removed,and all else remained as we had seen it in the morning. Finally, to myastonishment, Holmes climbed up on to the massive mantelpiece.
Far above his head hung the few inches of red cord which were stillattached to the wire. For a long time he gazed upward at it, andthen in an attempt to get nearer to it he rested his knee upon awooden bracket on the wall. This brought his hand within a fewinches of the broken end of the rope, but it was not this so muchas the bracket itself which seemed to engage his attention. Finally,he sprang down with an ejaculation of satisfaction.
“It’s all right, Watson,” said he. “We have got our case—one ofthe most remarkable in our collection. But, dear me, how slowwittedI have been, and how nearly I have committed the blunderof my lifetime! Now, I think that, with a few missing links, mychain is almost complete.”
“You have got your men?”
“Man, Watson, man. Only one, but a very formidable person.
Strong as a lion—witness the blow that bent that poker! Six footthree in height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers,finally, remarkably quick-witted, for this whole ingenious story isof his concoction. Yes, Watson, we have come upon the handiworkof a very remarkable individual. And yet, in that bell-rope, he hasgiven us a clue which should not have left us a doubt.”
“Where was the clue?”
“Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson, where wouldyou expect it to break? Surely at the spot where it is attached to thewire. Why should it break three inches from the top, as this one hasdone?”
“Because it is frayed there?”
“Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is frayed. He wascunning enough to do that with his knife. But the other end is notfrayed. You could not observe that from here, but if you were onthe mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off without anymark of fraying whatever. You can reconstruct what occurred. Theman needed the rope. He would not tear it down for fear of givingthe alarm by ringing the bell. What did he do? He sprang up on themantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his knee on the bracket—you will see the impression in the dust—and so got his knife to bearupon the cord. I could not reach the place by at least three inches—from which I infer that he is at least three inches a bigger man than I.
Look at that mark upon the seat of the oaken chair! What is it?”
“Blood.”
“Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the lady’s story out ofcourt. If she were seated on the chair when the crime was done,how comes that mark? No, no, she was placed in the chair afterthe death of her husband. I’ll wager that the black dress shows acorresponding mark to this. We have not yet met our Waterloo,Watson, but this is our Marengo, for it begins in defeat andends in victory. I should like now to have a few words with thenurse, Theresa. We must be wary for a while, if we are to get theinformation which we want.”
She was an interesting person, this stern Australian nurse—taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time beforeHolmes’s pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she saidthawed her into a corresponding amiability. She did not attemptto conceal her hatred for her late employer.
