“Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasionhis summons has been entirely justified,” said Holmes. “I fancythat every one of his cases has found its way into your collection,and I must admit, Watson, that you have some power of selection,which atones for much which I deplore in your narratives. Yourfatal habit of looking at everything from the point of view of astory instead of as a scientific exercise has ruined what might havebeen an instructive and even classical series of demonstrations.
You slur over work of the utmost finesse and delicacy, in orderto dwell upon sensational details which may excite, but cannotpossibly instruct, the reader.”
“Why do you not write them yourself ?” I said, with somebitterness.
“I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, as you know, fairlybusy, but I propose to devote my declining years to the compositionof a textbook, which shall focus the whole art of detection into onevolume. Our present research appears to be a case of murder.”
“You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?”
“I should say so. Hopkins’s writing shows considerableagitation, and he is not an emotional man. Yes, I gather therehas been violence, and that the body is left for our inspection. Amere suicide would not have caused him to send for me. As to therelease of the lady, it would appear that she has been locked inher room during the tragedy. We are moving in high life, Watson,crackling paper, ‘E.B.’ monogram, coat-of-arms, picturesqueaddress. I think that friend Hopkins will live up to his reputation,and that we shall have an interesting morning. The crime wascommitted before twelve last night.”
“How can you possibly tell?”
“By an inspection of the trains, and by reckoning the time. Thelocal police had to be called in, they had to communicate withScotland Yard, Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to sendfor me. All that makes a fair night’s work. Well, here we are atChiselhurst Station, and we shall soon set our doubts at rest.”
A drive of a couple of miles through narrow country lanesbrought us to a park gate, which was opened for us by an oldlodge-keeper, whose haggard face bore the reflection of somegreat disaster. The avenue ran through a noble park, between linesof ancient elms, and ended in a low, widespread house, pillared infront after the fashion of Palladio. The central part was evidentlyof a great age and shrouded in ivy, but the large windows showedthat modern changes had been carried out, and one wing of thehouse appeared to be entirely new. The youthful figure and alert,eager face of Inspector Stanley Hopkins confronted us in the opendoorway.
“I’m very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. And you, too, Dr.
Watson. But, indeed, if I had my time over again, I should nothave troubled you, for since the lady has come to herself, she hasgiven so clear an account of the affair that there is not much leftfor us to do. You remember that Lewisham gang of burglars?”
“What, the three Randalls?”
“Exactly; the father and two sons. It’s their work. I have not adoubt of it. They did a job at Sydenham a fortnight ago and wereseen and described. Rather cool to do another so soon and so near,but it is they, beyond all doubt. It’s a hanging matter this time.”
“Sir Eustace is dead, then?”
“Yes, his head was knocked in with his own poker.”
“Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me.”
“Exactly—one of the richest men in Kent—Lady Brackenstallis in the morning-room. Poor lady, she has had a most dreadfulexperience. She seemed half dead when I saw her first. I think youhad best see her and hear her account of the facts. Then we willexamine the dining-room together.”
Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Seldom have I seenso graceful a figure, so womanly a presence, and so beautiful a face.
She was a blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and would no doubthave had the perfect complexion which goes with such colouring,had not her recent experience left her drawn and haggard. Hersufferings were physical as well as mental, for over one eye rose ahideous, plum-coloured swelling, which her maid, a tall, austerewoman, was bathing assiduously with vinegar and water. The ladylay back exhausted upon a couch, but her quick, observant gaze,as we entered the room, and the alert expression of her beautifulfeatures, showed that neither her wits nor her courage had beenshaken by her terrible experience. She was enveloped in a loosedressing-gown of blue and silver, but a black sequin-covereddinner-dress lay upon the couch beside her.
“I have told you all that happened, Mr. Hopkins,” she said,wearily. “Could you not repeat it for me? Well, if you think itnecessary, I will tell these gentlemen what occurred. Have theybeen in the dining-room yet?”
“I thought they had better hear your ladyship’s story first.”
“I shall be glad when you can arrange matters. It is horrible tome to think of him still lying there.” She shuddered and buried herface in her hands. As she did so, the loose gown fell back from herforearms. Holmes uttered an exclamation.
“You have other injuries, madam! What is this?” Two vivid redspots stood out on one of the white, round limbs. She hastilycovered it.
“It is nothing. It has no connection with this hideous businessto-night. If you and your friend will sit down, I will tell you all Ican.