A red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. Inthe middle of it was the black figure of the secretary, his headadvanced, peering out into the night. It was evident that he wasexpecting someone. Then at last there were steps in the road, asecond figure was visible for an instant against the light, the doorshut, and all was black once more. Five minutes later a lamp waslit in a room upon the first floor.
“It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by theFighting Cock,” said Holmes.
“The bar is on the other side.”
“Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests. Now,what in the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at thishour of night, and who is the companion who comes to meethim there? Come, Watson, we must really take a risk and try toinvestigate this a little more closely.”
Together we stole down to the road and crept across to the doorof the inn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes struckmatch and held it to the back wheel, and I heard him chuckleas the light fell upon a patched Dunlop tire. Up above us was thelighted window.
“I must have a peep through that, Watson. If you bend your backand support yourself upon the wall, I think that I can manage.”
An instant later, his feet were on my shoulders, but he washardly up before he was down again.
“Come, my friend,” said he, “our day’s work has been quite longenough. I think that we have gathered all that we can. It’s a longwalk to the school, and the sooner we get started the better.”
He hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across themoor, nor would he enter the school when he reached it, but wenton to Mackleton Station, whence he could send some telegrams.
Late at night I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated bythe tragedy of his master’s death, and later still he entered myroom as alert and vigorous as he had been when he started in themorning. “All goes well, my friend,” said he. “I promise that before tomorrowevening we shall have reached the solution of the mystery.”
At eleven o’clock next morning my friend and I were walkingup the famous yew avenue of Holdernesse Hall. We were usheredthrough the magnificent Elizabethan doorway and into his Grace’sstudy. There we found Mr. James Wilder, demure and courtly, butwith some trace of that wild terror of the night before still lurkingin his furtive eyes and in his twitching features.
“You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry, but the fact is thatthe Duke is far from well. He has been very much upset by thetragic news. We received a telegram from Dr. Huxtable yesterdayafternoon, which told us of your discovery.”
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“I must see the Duke, Mr. Wilder.”
“But he is in his room.”
“Then I must go to his room.”
“I believe he is in his bed.”
“I will see him there.”
Holmes’s cold and inexorable manner showed the secretary thatit was useless to argue with him.
“Very good, Mr. Holmes, I will tell him that you are here.”
After an hour’s delay, the great nobleman appeared. His facewas more cadaverous than ever, his shoulders had rounded, and heseemed to me to be an altogether older man than he had been themorning before. He greeted us with a stately courtesy and seatedhimself at his desk, his red beard streaming down on the table.
“Well, Mr. Holmes?” said he.
But my friend’s eyes were fixed upon the secretary, who stoodby his master’s chair.
“I think, your Grace, that I could speak more freely in Mr.
Wilder’s absence.”
The man turned a shade paler and cast a malignant glance atHolmes.
“If your Grace wishes——”
“Yes, yes, you had better go. Now, Mr. Holmes, what have youto say?”
My friend waited until the door had closed behind the retreatingsecretary.
“The fact is, your Grace,” said he, “that my colleague, Dr.
Watson, and myself had an assurance from Dr. Huxtable that areward had been offered in this case. I should like to have thisconfirmed from your own lips.”
“Certainly, Mr. Holmes.”
“It amounted, if I am correctly informed, to five thousandpounds to anyone who will tell you where your son is?”
“Exactly.”
“And another thousand to the man who will name the person orpersons who keep him in custody?”
“Exactly.”
“Under the latter heading is included, no doubt, not only thosewho may have taken him away, but also those who conspire tokeep him in his present position?”
“Yes, yes,” cried the Duke, impatiently. “If you do your workwell, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you will have no reason to complain ofniggardly treatment.”
My friend rubbed his thin hands together with an appearance ofavidity which was a surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes.
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“I fancy that I see your Grace’s check-book upon the table,”
said he. “I should be glad if you would make me out a check for sixthousand pounds. It would be as well, perhaps, for you to cross it. TheCapital and Counties Bank, Oxford Street branch are my agents.”
His Grace sat very stern and upright in his chair and lookedstonily at my friend.
“Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly a subject for pleasantry.”
“Not at all, your Grace. I was never more earnest in my life.”
“What do you mean, then?”
“I mean that I have earned the reward. I know where your sonis, and I know some, at least, of those who are holding him.”
The Duke’s beard had turned more aggressively red than everagainst his ghastly white face.
“Where is he?” he gasped.
“He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock Inn, about twomiles from your park gate.”
The Duke fell back in his chair.
“And whom do you accuse?”
Sherlock Holmes’s answer was an astounding one. He steppedswiftly forward and touched the Duke upon the shoulder.
“I accuse you,” said he. “And now, your Grace, I’ll trouble youfor that check.”
Never shall I forget the Duke’s appearance as he sprang up and clawedwith his hands, like one who is sinking into an abyss. Then, with anextraordinary effort of aristocratic self-command, he sat down andsank his face in his hands. It was some minutes before he spoke.
“How much do you know?” he asked at last, without raising hishead.