succeeded. Their secret was known to no one save to me and toone excellent servant, who has at present gone for assistance toTrumpington. But at last there came a terrible blow in the shapeof dangerous illness to his wife. It was consumption of the mostvirulent kind. The poor boy was half crazed with grief, and yet hehad to go to London to play this match, for he could not get outof it without explanations which would expose his secret. I triedto cheer him up by wire, and he sent me one in reply, imploringme to do all I could. This was the telegram which you appearin some inexplicable way to have seen. I did not tell him howurgent the danger was, for I knew that he could do no good here,but I sent the truth to the girl’s father, and he very injudiciouslycommunicated it to Godfrey. The result was that he came straightaway in a state bordering on frenzy, and has remained in the samestate, kneeling at the end of her bed, until this morning death putan end to her sufferings. That is all, Mr. Holmes, and I am surethat I can rely upon your discretion and that of your friend.”
Holmes grasped the doctor’s hand.
“Come, Watson,” said he, and we passed from that house ofgrief into the pale sunlight of the winter day.
The Adventure of the Abbey Grange
It was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning, towards the end ofthe winter of ‘97, that I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder.
It was Holmes. The candle in his hand shone upon his eager,stooping face, and told me at a glance that something was amiss.
“Come, Watson, come!” he cried. “The game is afoot. Not aword! Into your clothes and come!”
Ten minutes later we were both in a cab, and rattling through thesilent streets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faintwinter’s dawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see theoccasional figure of an early workman as he passed us, blurred andindistinct in the opalescent London reek. Holmes nestled in silenceinto his heavy coat, and I was glad to do the same, for the air wasmost bitter, and neither of us had broken our fast.
It was not until we had consumed some hot tea at the stationand taken our places in the Kentish train that we were sufficientlythawed, he to speak and I to listen. Holmes drew a note from hispocket, and read aloud:
Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent,
3:30 A.M.
“My dear Mr. Holmes:
I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in whatpromises to be a most remarkable case. It is something quite in your1048 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
line. Except for releasing the lady I will see that everything is keptexactly as I have found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant, as itis difficult to leave Sir Eustace there.
“Yours faithfully,
“STANLEY HOPKINS.
“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 evidentlyThe Return of Sherlock Holmes 1049
of 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.”