“Good, Watson, very good—but quite inadmissable. A Spaniardwould write to a Spaniard in Spanish. The writer of this note iscertainly English. Well, we can only possess our souls in patienceuntil this excellent inspector comes back for us. Meanwhile we canthank our lucky fate which has rescued us for a few short hoursfrom the insufferable fatigues of idleness.”
An answer had arrived to Holmes’s telegram before our Surreyofficer had returned. Holmes read it and was about to place it inhis notebook when he caught a glimpse of my expectant face. Hetossed it across with a laugh.
“We are moving in exalted circles,” said he.
The telegram was a list of names and addresses:
Lord Harringby, The Dingle; Sir George Ffolliott, OxshottTowers; Mr. Hynes Hynes, J.P., Purdley Place; Mr. James BakerWilliams, Forton Old Hall; Mr. Henderson, High Gable; Rev.
Joshua Stone, Nether Walsling.
“This is a very obvious way of limiting our field of operations,”
said Holmes. “No doubt Baynes, with his methodical mind, hasalready adopted some similar plan.”
“I don’t quite understand.”
“Well, my dear fellow, we have already arrived at the conclusionthat the massage received by Garcia at dinner was an appointmentor an assignation. Now, if the obvious reading of it is correct, andin order to keep this tryst one has to ascend a main stair and seekthe seventh door in a corridor, it is perfectly clear that the houseis a very large one. It is equally certain that this house cannot bemore than a mile or two from Oxshott, since Garcia was walkingin that direction and hoped, according to my reading of the facts,to be back in Wisteria Lodge in time to avail himself of an alibi,which would only be valid up to one o’clock. As the number oflarge houses close to Oxshott must be limited, I adopted theobvious method of sending to the agents mentioned by ScottEccles and obtaining a list of them. Here they are in this telegram,and the other end of our tangled skein must lie among them.”
It was nearly six o’clock before we found ourselves in the prettySurrey village of Esher, with Inspector Baynes as our companion.
Holmes and I had taken things for the night, and foundcomfortable quarters at the Bull. Finally we set out in the companyof the detective on our visit to Wisteria Lodge. It was a cold, darkMarch evening, with a sharp wind and a fine rain beating uponour faces, a fit setting for the wild common over which our roadpassed and the tragic goal to which it led us.
2. The Tiger of San Pedro
A cold and melancholy walk of a couple of miles brought usto a high wooden gate, which opened into a gloomy avenue ofchestnuts. The curved and shadowed drive led us to a low, darkhouse, pitch-black against a slate-coloured sky. From the frontwindow upon the left of the door there peeped a glimmer of afeeble light.
“There’s a constable in possession,” said Baynes. “I’ll knock atthe window.” He stepped across the grass plot and tapped withhis hand on the pane. Through the fogged glass I dimly saw a manspring up from a chair beside the fire, and heard a sharp cry fromwithin the room. An instant later a white-faced, hard-breathingpoliceman had opened the door, the candle wavering in histrembling hand.
“What’s the matter, Walters?” asked Baynes sharply.
The man mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and gave along sigh of relief.
“I am glad you have come, sir. It has been a long evening, and Idon’t think my nerve is as good as it was.”
“Your nerve, Walters? I should not have thought you had a nervein your body.”
“Well, sir, it’s this lonely, silent house and the queer thing in thekitchen. Then when you tapped at the window I thought it hadcome again.”
“That what had come again?”
“The devil, sir, for all I know. It was at the window.”
“What was at the window, and when?”
“It was just about two hours ago. The light was just fading. Iwas sitting reading in the chair. I don’t know what made me lookup, but there was a face looking in at me through the lower pane.
Lord, sir, what a face it was! I’ll see it in my dreams.”
“Tut, tut, Walters. This is not talk for a police-constable.”
“I know, sir, I know; but it shook me, sir, and there’s no use todeny it. It wasn’t black, sir, nor was it white, nor any colour that Iknow but a kind of queer shade like clay with a splash of milk in it.
Then there was the size of it—it was twice yours, sir. And the lookof it—the great staring goggle eyes, and the line of white teeth likea hungry beast. I tell you, sir, I couldn’t move a finger, nor get mybreath, till it whisked away and was gone. Out I ran and throughthe shrubbery, but thank God there was no one there.”
“If I didn’t know you were a good man, Walters, I should puta black mark against you for this. If it were the devil himself aconstable on duty should never thank God that he could not layhis hands upon him. I suppose the whole thing is not a vision anda touch of nerves?”
“That, at least, is very easily settled,” said Holmes, lighting hislittle pocket lantern. “Yes,” he reported, after a short examinationof the grass bed, “a number twelve shoe, I should say. If he was allon the same scale as his foot he must certainly have been a giant.”
“What became of him?”
“He seems to have broken through the shrubbery and made forthe road.”
“Well,” said the inspector with a grave and thoughtful face,“whoever he may have been, and whatever he may have wanted,he’s gone for the present, and we have more immediate things toattend to. Now, Mr. Holmes, with your permission, I will showyou round the house.”
