From The Gables I walked down to the bathing-pool. Thesun had sunk and the shadow of the great cliff lay black acrossthe water, which glimmered dully like a sheet of lead. The placewas deserted and there was no sign of life save for two sea-birdscircling and screaming overhead. In the fading light I could dimlymake out the little dog’s spoor upon the sand round the very rockon which his master’s towel had been laid. For a long time I stoodin deep meditation while the shadows grew darker around me.
My mind was filled with racing thoughts. You have known whatit was to be in a nightmare in which you feel that there is someall-important thing for which you search and which you know isthere, though it remains forever just beyond your reach. That washow I felt that evening as I stood alone by that place of death.
Then at last I turned and walked slowly homeward.
I had just reached the top of the path when it came to me. Likea flash, I remembered the thing for which I had so eagerly andvainly grasped. You will know, or Watson has written in vain, thatI hold a vast store of out-of-the-way knowledge without scientificsystem, but very available for the needs of my work. My mind islike a crowded box-room with packets of all sorts stowed awaytherein—so many that I may well have but a vague perceptionof what was there. I had known that there was something whichmight bear upon this matter. It was still vague, but at least I knewhow I could make it clear. It was monstrous, incredible, and yet itwas always a possibility. I would test it to the full.
1372 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
There is a great garret in my little house which is stuffed withbooks. It was into this that I plunged and rummaged for an hour.
At the end of that time I emerged with a little chocolate andsilver volume. Eagerly I turned up the chapter of which I had adim remembrance. Yes, it was indeed a far-fetched and unlikelyproposition, and yet I could not be at rest until I had made sure ifmight, indeed, be so. It was late when I retired, with my mindeagerly awaiting the work of the morrow.
But that work met with an annoying interruption. I had hardlyswallowed my early cup of tea and was starting for the beach whenhad a call from Inspector Bardle of the Sussex Constabulary—asteady, solid, bovine man with thoughtful eyes, which looked at menow with a very troubled expression.
“I know your immense experience, sir,” said he. “This is quiteunofficial, of course, and need go no farther. But I am fairly upagainst it in this McPherson case. The question is, shall I make anarrest, or shall I not?”
“Meaning Mr. Ian Murdoch?”
“Yes, sir. There is really no one else when you come to think ofit. That’s the advantage of this solitude. We narrow it down to avery small compass. If he did not do it, then who did?”
“What have you against him?”
He had gleaned along the same furrows as I had. There wasMurdoch’s character and the mystery which seemed to hang roundthe man. His furious bursts of temper, as shown in the incident ofthe dog. The fact that he had quarrelled with McPherson in thepast, and that there was some reason to think that he might haveresented his attentions to Miss Bellamy. He had all my points,but no fresh ones, save that Murdoch seemed to be making everypreparation for departure.
“What would my position be if I let him slip away with all thisevidence against him?” The burly, phlegmatic man was sorelytroubled in his mind.
“Consider,” I said, “all the essential gaps in your case. On themorning of the crime he can surely prove an alibi. He had beenwith his scholars till the last moment, and within a few minutes ofMcPherson’s appearance he came upon us from behind. Then bearin mind the absolute impossibility that he could single-handedhave inflicted this outrage upon a man quite as strong as himself.
Finally, there is this question of the instrument with which theseinjuries were inflicted.”
“What could it be but a scourge or flexible whip of some sort?”
“Have you examined the marks?” I asked.
“I have seen them. So has the doctor.”
The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes 1373
“But I have examined them very carefully with a lens. They havepeculiarities.”
“What are they, Mr. Holmes?”
I stepped to my bureau and brought out an enlargedphotograph. “This is my method in such cases,” I explained.
“You certainly do things thoroughly, Mr. Holmes.”
“I should hardly be what I am if I did not. Now let us considerthis weal which extends round the right shoulder. Do you observenothing remarkable?”
“I can’t say I do.”
“Surely it is evident that it is unequal in its intensity. There isa dot of extravasated blood here, and another there. There aresimilar indications in this other weal down here. What can thatmean?”
“I have no idea. Have you?”
“Perhaps I have. Perhaps I haven’t. I may be able to say moresoon. Anything which will define what made that mark will bringus a long way towards the criminal.”
“It is, of course, an absurd idea,” said the policeman, “but ifa red-hot net of wire had been laid across the back, then thesebetter marked points would represent where the meshes crossedeach other.”
“A most ingenious comparison. Or shall we say a very stiff cat-o’-nine-tails with small hard knots upon it?”
“By Jove, Mr. Holmes, I think you have hit it.”
“Or there may be some very different cause, Mr. Bardle. Butyour case is far too weak for an arrest. Besides, we have those lastwords—the ‘Lion’s Mane.’ ”
“I have wondered whether Ian——”
“Yes, I have considered that. If the second word had borne anyresemblance to Murdoch—but it did not. He gave it almost in ashriek. I am sure that it was ‘Mane.’ ”
“Have you no alternative, Mr. Holmes?”
“Perhaps I have. But I do not care to discuss it until there issomething more solid to discuss.”
“And when will that be?”
“In an hour—possibly less.”
The inspector rubbed his chin and looked at me with dubiouseyes.
“I wish I could see what was in your mind, Mr. Holmes. Perhapsit’s those fishing-boats.”
“No, no, they were too far out.”