Sherlock Holmes In Montague Street Volume 2 (5 page)

Holmes did not take his steady gaze from the nurse's face for some seconds after she had finished speaking. Then he only said, “Thank you, Mrs. Turton. I need scarcely assure you, after what Mr. Crellan has said, that your confidence shall not be betrayed. I think that is all, unless you have more to tell us.”

Mrs. Turton bowed and rose. “There is nothing more,” she said, and left the room.

As soon as she had gone, “Is Mrs. Turton at all interested in the will,” Holmes asked.

“No, there is nothing for her. She is a new-comer, you see. Perhaps,” Mr. Crellan went on, struck by an idea, “she may be jealous, or something. She seems a spiteful woman - and really, I can't believe her story for a moment.”

“Why?”

“Well, you see, it's absurd. Why should Miss Garth go to all this secret trouble to do herself an injury - to make a beggar of herself? And besides, she's not in the habit of telling barefaced lies. She distinctly assured us, you remember, that she had never been to the bureau for any purpose whatever.”

“But the nurse has an honest character, hasn't she?”

“Yes, her character is excellent. Indeed, from all accounts, she is a very excellent woman, except for a desire to govern everybody, and a habit of spite if she is thwarted. But, of course, that sort of thing sometimes leads people rather far.”

“So it does,” Holmes replied. “But consider now. Is it not possible that Miss Garth, completely infatuated with Mr. Mellis, thinks she is doing a noble thing for him by destroying the will and giving up her whole claim to his uncle's property? Devoted women do just such things, you know.”

Mr. Crellan stared, bent his head to his hand, and considered. “So they do, so they do,” he said. “Insane foolery. Really, it's the sort of thing I can imagine her doing - she's honor and generosity itself. But then those lies,” he resumed, sitting up and slapping his leg; “I can't believe she'd tell such tremendous lies as that for anybody. And with such a calm face, too - I'm sure she couldn't.”

“Well, that's as it may be. You can scarcely set a limit to the lengths a woman will go on behalf of a man she loves. I suppose, by the bye, Miss Garth is not exactly what you would call a ‘strong-minded' woman?”

“No, she's not that. She'd never get on in the world by herself. She's a good little soul, but nervous - very; and her month of anxiety, grief, and want of sleep seems to have broken her up.”

“Mr. Mellis knows of the death, I suppose?”

“I telegraphed to him at his chambers in London the first thing yesterday - Tuesday - morning, as soon as the telegraph office was open. He came here (as I've forgotten to tell you as yet) the first thing this morning - before I was over here myself, in fact. He had been staying not far off - at Ockham, I think - and the telegram had been sent on. He saw Miss Garth, but couldn't stay, having to get back to London. I met him going away as I came, about eleven o'clock. Of course I said nothing about the fact that I couldn't find the will, but he will probably be down again soon, and may ask questions.”

“Yes,” Holmes replied. “And speaking of that matter, you can no doubt talk with Miss Garth on very intimate and familiar terms?”

“Oh yes - yes; I've told you what old friends we are.”

“I wish you could manage, at some favorable opportunity today, to speak to her alone, and without referring to the will in any way, get to know, as circumspectly and delicately as you can, how she stands in regard to Mr. Mellis. Whether he is an accepted lover, or likely to be one, you know. Whatever answer you may get, you may judge, I expect, by her manner how things really are.”

“Very good - I'll seize the first chance. Meanwhile what to do?”

“Nothing, I'm afraid, except perhaps to examine other pieces of furniture as closely as we have examined this bureau.”

Other bureaux, desks, tables, and chests were examined fruitlessly. It was not until after dinner that Mr. Crellan saw a favorable opportunity of sounding Miss Garth as he had promised. Half an hour later he came to Holmes in the study, more puzzled than ever.

“There's no engagement between them,” he reported, “secret or open, nor ever has been. It seems, from what I can make out, going to work as diplomatically as possible, that Mellis
did
propose to her, or something very near it, a time ago, and was point-blank refused. Altogether, Miss Garth's sentiment for him appears to be rather dislike than otherwise.”

“That rather knocks a hole in the theory of self-sacrifice, doesn't it?” Holmes remarked. “I shall have to think over this, and sleep on it. It's possible that it may be necessary tomorrow for you to tax Miss Garth, point-blank, with having taken away the will. Still, I hope not.”

“I hope not, too,” Mr. Crellan said, rather dubious as to the result of such an experiment. “She has been quite upset enough already. And, by the bye, she didn't seem any the better or more composed after Mellis' visit this morning.”

“Still,
then
the will was gone.”

“Yes.”

And so Holmes and Mr. Crellan talked on late into the evening, turning over every apparent possibility and finding reason in none. The household went to bed at ten, and, soon after, Miss Garth came to bid Mr. Crellan good night. It had been settled that both Sherlock Holmes and Mr. Crellan should stay the night at Wedbury Hall.

Soon all was still, and the ticking of the tall clock in the hall below could be heard as distinctly as though it were in the study, while the rain without dropped from eaves and sills in regular splashes. Twelve o'clock struck, and Mr. Crellan was about to suggest retirement, when the sound of a light footstep startled Holmes's alert ear. He raised his hand to enjoin silence, and stepped to the door of the room, Mr. Crellan following him.

There was a light over the staircase, seven or eight yards away, and down the stairs came Miss Garth in dressing gown and slippers; she turned at the landing and vanished in a passage leading to the right.

“Where does that lead to?” Holmes whispered hurriedly.

“Toward the small staircase - other end of house,” Mr. Crellan replied in the same tones.

“Come quietly,” said Holmes, and stepped lightly after Miss Garth, Mr. Crellan at his heels.

She was nearing the opposite end of the passage, walking at a fair pace and looking neither to right nor left. There was another light over the smaller staircase at the end. Without hesitation Miss Garth turned down the stairs till about half down the flight, and then stopped and pressed her hand against the oak wainscot.

Immediately the vertical piece of framing against which she had placed her hand turned on central pivots top and bottom, revealing a small recess, three feet high and little more than six inches wide. Miss Garth stooped and felt about at the bottom of this recess for several seconds. Then with every sign of extreme agitation and horror she withdrew her hand empty, and sank on the stairs. Her head rolled from side to side on her shoulders, and beads of perspiration stood on her forehead. Holmes with difficulty restrained Mr. Crellan from going to her assistance.

Presently, with a sort of shuddering sigh, Miss Garth rose, and after standing irresolute for a moment, descended the flight of stairs to the bottom. There she stopped again, and pressing her hand to her forehead, turned and began to re-ascend the stairs.

Holmes touched his companion's arm, and the two hastily but noiselessly made their way back along the passage to the study. Miss Garth left the open framing as it was, reached the top of the landing, and without stopping proceeded along the passage and turned up the main staircase, while Holmes and Mr. Crellan still watched her from the study door.

At the top of the flight she turned to the right, and up three or four more steps toward her own room. There she stopped, and leaned thoughtfully on the handrail.

“Go up,” whispered Holmes to Mr. Crellan, “as though you were going to bed. Appear surprised to see her; ask if she isn't well, and, if you can, manage to repeat that question of mine about secret hiding-places in the house.”

Mr. Crellan nodded and started quickly up the stairs. Half-way up he turned his head, and, as he went on, “Why, Nelly, my dear,” he said, “what's the matter? Aren't you well?”

Mr. Crellan acted his part well, and waiting below, Holmes heard this dialogue:

“No, uncle, I don't feel very well, but it's nothing. I think my room seems close. I can scarcely breathe.”

“Oh, it isn't close tonight. You'll be catching cold, my dear. Go and have a good sleep; you mustn't worry that wise little head of yours, you know. Mr. Holmes and I have been making quite a night of it, but I'm off to bed now.”

“I hope they've made you both quite comfortable, uncle?”

“Oh, yes; capital, capital. We've been talking over business, and, no doubt, we shall put that matter all in order soon. By the bye, I suppose since you saw Mr. Holmes you haven't happened to remember anything more to tell him?”

“No.”

“You still can't remember any hiding-places or panels, or that sort of thing in the wainscot or anywhere?”

“No, I'm sure I don't know of any, and I don't believe for a moment that any exist.”

“Quite sure of that, I suppose?”

“Oh yes.”

“All right. Now go to bed. You'll catch
such
a cold in these draughty landings. Come, I won't move a step till I see your door shut behind you. Good night.”

“Good night, uncle.”

Mr. Crellan came downstairs again with a face of blank puzzlement.

“I wouldn't have believed it,” he assured Sherlock Holmes; “positively I wouldn't have believed she'd have told such a lie, and with such confidence, too. There's something deep and horrible here, I'm afraid. What does it mean?”

“We'll talk of that afterwards,” Holmes replied. “Come now and take a look at that recess.”

They went, quietly still, to the small staircase, and there, with a candle, closely examined the recess. It was a mere box, three feet high, a foot or a little more deep, and six or seven inches wide. The piece of oak framing, pivoted to the stair at the bottom and to a horizontal piece of framing at the top, stood edge forward, dividing the opening down the centre. There was nothing whatever in the recess.

Holmes ascertained that there was no catch, the plank simply remaining shut by virtue of fitting tightly, so that nothing but pressure on the proper part was requisite to open it. He had closed the plank and turned to speak to Mr. Crellan, when another interruption occurred.

On each floor the two staircases were joined by passages, and the ground-floor passage, from the foot of the flight they were on, led to the entrance hall. Distinct amid the loud clicking of the hall clock, Holmes now heard a sound, as of a person's foot shifting on a stone step.

Mr. Crellan heard it too, and each glanced at the other. Then Holmes, shading the candle with his hand, led the way to the hall. There they listened for several seconds - almost an hour - it seemed - and then the noise was repeated. There was no doubt of it. It was at the other side of the front door.

In answer to Holmes's hurried whispers, Mr. Crellan assured him that there was no window from which, in the dark, a view could be got of a person standing outside the door. Also that any other way out would be equally noisy, and would entail the circuit of the house. The front door was fastened by three heavy bolts, an immense old-fashioned lock, and a bar. It would take nearly a minute to open at least, even if everything went easily. But, as there was no other way, Holmes determined to try it. Handing the candle to his companion, he first lifted the bar, conceiving that it might be done with the least noise. It went easily, and, handling it carefully, Holmes let it hang from its rivet without a sound. Just then, glancing at Mr. Crellan, he saw that he was forgetting to shade the candle, whose rays extended through the fanlight above the door, and probably through the wide crack under it. But it was too late. At the same moment the light was evidently perceived from outside; there was a hurried jump from the steps, and for an instant a sound of running on gravel. Holmes tore back the bolts, flung the door open, and dashed out into the darkness, leaving Mr. Crellan on the doorstep with the candle.

Holmes was gone, perhaps, five or ten minutes, although to Mr. Crellan - standing there at the open door in a state of high nervous tension, and with no notion of what was happening or what it all meant - the time seemed an eternity. When at last Holmes reached the door again, “What was it?” asked Mr. Crellan, much agitated. “Did you see? Have you caught them?”

Holmes shook his head.

“I hadn't a chance,” he said. “The wall is low over there, and there's a plantation of trees at the other side. But I think - yes, I begin to think - that I may possibly be able to see my way through this business in a little while. See this?”

On the top step in the sheltered porch there remained the wet prints of two feet. Holmes took a letter from his pocket, opened it out, spread it carefully over the more perfect of the two marks, pressed it lightly and lifted it. Then, when the door was shut, he produced his pocket scissors, and with great care cut away the paper round the wet part, leaving a piece, of course, the shape of a boot sole.

“Come,” said Holmes, “we may get at something after all. Don't ask me to tell you anything now; I don't know anything, as a matter of fact. I hope this is the end of the night's entertainment, but I'm afraid the case is rather an unpleasant business. There is nothing for us to do now but to go to bed, I think. I suppose there's a handy man kept about the place?”

“Yes, he's gardener and carpenter and carpet-beater, and so on.”

“Good! Where's his sanctum? Where does he keep his shovels and carpet sticks?”

“In the shed by the coach house, I believe. I think it's generally unlocked.”