APDL Eductation Resources/APDL Eductation Resources.iso/text/authors/s_holmes/devilsfoot/DEVILSFOOT

Text File | 1994-09-03 | 54.6 KB | 1,046 lines

            The Adventure of the Devil's Foot


In recording from time to time some of the curious experiences and
interesting recollections which I associate with my long and intimate
friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continually been faced by
difficulties caused by his own aversion to publicity. To his sombre and
cynical spirit all popular applause was always abhorrent, and nothing
amused him more at the end of a successful case than to hand over the
actual  exposure to some orthodox official, and to listen with a mocking
smile  to the general chorus of misplaced congratulation. It was indeed
this  attitude upon the part of my friend and certainly not any lack of
interesting material which has caused me of late years to lay very few
of my records before the public. My participation in some of his
adventures was always a privilege which entailed discretion and
reticence upon me.

It was, then, with considerable surprise that I received a telegram from
Holmes last Tuesday -- he has never been known to write where a telegram
would serve -- in the following terms:


     Why not tell them of the Cornish horror -- strangest case  I have
handled.

I have no idea what backward sweep of memory had brought the matter
fresh to his mind, or what freak had caused him to desire that I should
recount it; but I hasten, before another cancelling telegram may arrive,
to  hunt out the notes which give me the exact details of the case and
to lay the  narrative before my readers.

It was, then, in the spring of the year 1897 that Holmes's iron
constitution  showed some symptoms of giving way in the face of constant
hard work of a  most exacting kind, aggravated, perhaps, by occasional
indiscretions of his  own. In March of that year Dr. Moore Agar, of
Harley Street, whose dramatic  introduction to Holmes I may some day
recount, gave positive injunctions  that the famous private agent lay
aside all his cases and surrender himself to  complete rest if he wished
to avert an absolute breakdown. The state of his  health was not a
matter in which he himself took the faintest interest, for  his mental
detachment was absolute, but he was induced at last, on the threat  of
being permanently disqualified from work, to give himself a complete
change  of scene and air. Thus it was that in the early spring of that
year we found  ourselves together in a small cottage near Poldhu Bay, at
the further  extremity of the Cornish peninsula.

It was a singular spot, and one peculiarly well suited to the grim
humour of  my patient. From the windows of our little whitewashed house,
which stood  high upon a grassy headland, we looked down upon the whole
sinister  semicircle of Mounts Bay, that old death trap of sailing
vessels, with its  fringe of black cliffs and surge-swept reefs on which
innumerable seamen have met their end. With a northerly breeze it lies
placid and sheltered,  inviting the storm-tossed craft to tack into it
for rest and protection.

Then come the sudden swirl round of the wind, the blustering gale from
the south-west, the dragging anchor, the lee shore, and the last battle
in the  creaming breakers. The wise mariner stands far out from that
evil place.

On the land side our surroundings were as sombre as on the sea. It was a
country of rolling moors, lonely and dun-coloured, with an occasional
church  tower to mark the site of some oldworld village. In every
direction upon  these moors there were traces of some vanished race
which had passed  utterly away, and left as its sole record strange
monuments of stone,  irregular mounds which contained the burned ashes
of the dead, and curious  earthworks which hinted at prehistoric strife.
The glamour and mystery of  the place, with its sinister atmosphere of
forgotten nations, appealed to the  imagination of my friend, and he
spent much of his time in long walks and  solitary meditations upon the
moor. The ancient Cornish language had also  arrested his attention, and
he had, I remember, conceived the idea that it  was akin to the
Chaldean, and had been largely derived from the Phoenician  traders in
tin. He had received a consignment of books upon philology and  was
settling down to develop this thesis when suddenly, to my sorrow and to
his unfeigned delight, we found ourselves, even in that land of dreams,
plunged into a problem at our very doors which was more intense, more
engrossing, and infinitely more mysterious than any of those which had
driven us from London. Our simple life and peaceful, healthy routine
were  violently interrupted, and we were precipitated into the midst of
a series of  events which caused the utmost excitement not only in
Cornwall but  throughout the whole west of England. Many of my readers
may retain some  recollection of what was called at the time "The
Cornish Horror," though a  most imperfect account of the matter reached
the London press. Now, after  thirteen years, I will give the true
details of this inconceivable affair to  the public.

I have said that scattered towers marked the villages which dotted this
part  of Cornwall. The nearest of these was the hamlet of Tredannick
Wollas, where  the cottages of a couple of hundred inhabitants clustered
round an ancient,  moss-grown church. The vicar of the parish, Mr.
Roundhay, was something of  an archeologist, and as such Holmes had made
his acquaintance. He was a middle-aged man, portly and affable, with a
considerable fund of local lore.  At his invitation we had taken tea at
the vicarage and had come to know, also,  Mr. Mortimer Tregennis, an
independent gentleman, who increased the  clergyman's scanty resources
by taking rooms in his large, straggling house.  The vicar, being a
bachelor, was glad to come to such an arrangement, though  he had little
in common with his lodger, who was a thin, dark, spectacled man,  with a
stoop which gave the impression of actual, physical deformity. I
remember that during our short visit we found the vicar garrulous, but
his  lodger strangely reticent, a sad-faced, introspective man, sitting
with  averted eyes, brooding apparently upon his own affairs.

These were the two men who entered abruptly into our little sitting-room
on Tuesday, March the 16th, shortly after our breakfast hour, as we were
smoking together, preparatory to our daily excursion upon the moors.

"Mr. Holmes," said the vicar in an agitated voice, "the most
extraordinary  and tragic affair has occurred during the night. It is
the most unheard-of  business. We can only regard it as a special
Providence that you should  chance to be here at the time, for in all
England you are the one man we need."

I glared at the intrusive vicar with no very friendly eyes; but Holmes
took  his pipe from his lips and sat up in his chair like an old hound
who hears the  view-halloa. He waved his hand to the sofa, and our
palpitating visitor with  his agitated companion sat side by side upon
it. Mr. Mortimer Tregennis was  more selfcontained than the clergyman,
but the twitching of his thin hands  and the brightness of his dark eyes
showed that they shared a common  emotion.

"Shall I speak or you?" he asked of the vicar.

"Well, as you seem to have made the discovery, whatever it may be, and
the  vicar to have had it second-hand, perhaps you had better do the
speaking,"  said Holmes.

I glanced at the hastily clad clergyman, with the formally dressed
lodger  seated beside him, and was amused at the surprise which Holmes's
simple  deduction had brought to their faces.

"Perhaps I had best say a few words first," said the vicar, "and then
you  can judge if you will listen to the details from Mr. Tregennis, or
whether we  should not hasten at once to the scene of this mysterious
affair. I may  explain, then, that our friend here spent last evening in
the company of his  two brothers, Owen and George, and of his sister
Brenda, at their house of Tredannick Wartha, which is near the old stone
cross upon the moor. He left  them shortly after ten o'clock, playing
cards round the dining-room table, in  excellent health and spirits.
This morning, being an early riser, he walked in  that direction before
breakfast and was overtaken by the carriage of Dr.  Richards, who
explained that he had just been sent for on a most urgent call  to
Tredannick Wartha. Mr. Mortimer Tregennis naturally went with him.  When
he arrived at Tredannick Wartha he found an extraordinary state of
things. His two brothers and his sister were seated round the table
exactly  as he had left them, the cards still spread in front of them
and the candles  burned down to their sockets. The sister lay back
stone-dead in her chair,  while the two brothers sat on each side of her
laughing, shouting, and  singing, the senses stricken clean out of them.
All three of them, the dead  woman and the two demented men, retained
upon their faces an expression  of the utmost horror -- a convulsion of
terror which was dreadful to look  upon. There was no sign of the
presence of anyone in the house, except Mrs.  Porter, the old cook and
housekeeper, who declared that she had slept  deeply and heard no sound
during the night. Nothing had been stolen or  disarranged, and there is
absolutely no explanation of what the horror can  be which has
frightened a woman to death and two strong men out of their  senses.
There is the situation, Mr. Holmes, in a nutshell, and if you can help
us to clear it up you will have done a great work."

I had hoped that in some way I could coax my companion back into the
quiet which had been the object of our journey; but one glance at his
intense  face and contracted eyebrows told me how vain was now the
expectation.  He sat for some little time in silence, absorbed in the
strange drama which  had broken in upon our peace.

"I will look into this matter," he said at last. "On the face of it, it
would appear to be a case of a very exceptional nature. Have you been
there  yourself, Mr. Roundhay?"

"No, Mr. Holmes. Mr. Tregennis brought back the account to the vicarage,
and I at once hurried over with him to consult you."

"How far is it to the house where this singular tragedy occurred?"

"About a mile inland."

"Then we shall walk over together. But before we start I must ask you a
few  questions, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis."

The other had been silent all this time, but I had observed that his
more  controlled excitement was even greater than the obtrusive emotion
of the  clergyman. He sat with a pale, drawn face, his anxious gaze
fixed opon Holmes,  and his thin hands clasped convulsively together.
His pale lips quivered as he  listened to the dreadful experience which
had befallen his family, and his  dark eyes seemed to reflect something
of the horror of the scene.

"Ask what you like, Mr. Holmes," said he eagerly. "It is a bad thing to
speak of, but I will answer you the truth."

"Tell me about last night."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I supped there, as the vicar has said, and my elder
brother George proposed a game of whist afterwards. We sat down about
nine  o'clock. It was a quarter-past ten when I moved to go. I left
thern all  round the table, as merry as could be."

"Who let you out?"

"Mrs. Porter had gone to bed, so I let myself out. I shut the hall door
behind me. The window of the room in which they sat was closed, but the
blind  was not drawn down. There was no change in door or window this
morning, nor  any reason to think that any stranger had been to the
house. Yet there they  sat, driven clean mad with terror, and Brenda
lying dead of fright, with her  head hanging over the arm of the chair.
I'll never get the sight of that room  out of my mind so long as I
live."

"The facts, as you state them, are certainly most remarkable," said
Holmes.  "I take it that you have no theory yourself which can in any
way account for  them?"

"It's devilish, Mr. Holmes, devilish!" cried Mortimer Tregennis. "It is
not  of this world. Something has come into that room which has dashed
the light of  reason from their minds. What human contrivance could do
that?"

"I fear," said Holmes~, "that if the matter is beyond humanity it is
certainly beyond me. Yet we must exhaust all natural explanations before
we  fall back upon such a theory as this. As to yourself, Mr.
Tregenrlis, I take  it you were divided in some way from your family,
since they lived together  and you had rooms apart?"

"That is so, Mr. Holmes, though the matter is past and done with. We
were a  family of tin-miners at Redruth, but we sold out our venture to
a company,  and so retired with enough to keep us. I won't deny that
there was some  feeling about the division of the money and it stood
between us for a time,  but it was all forgiven and forgotten, and we
were the best of friends  together."

"Looking back at the evening which you spent together, does anything
stand out in your memory as throwing any possible light upon the
tragedy?  Think carefully, Mr. Tregennis, for any clue which can help
me."

"There is nothing at all, sir."

"Your people were in their usual spirits?"

"Never better."

"Were they nervous people? Did they ever show any apprehension of
coming danger?"

"Nothing of the kind."

"You have nothing to add then, which could assist me?"

Mortimer Tregennis considered earnestly for a moment.

"There is one thing occurs to me," said he at last. "As we sat at the
table  my back was to the window, and my brother George, he being my
partner at  cards, was facing it. I saw him once look hard over my
shoulder, so I turned  round and looked also. The blind was up and the
window shut, but I could  just make out the bushes on the lawn, and it
seemed to me for a moment  that I saw something moving among them. I
couldn't even say if it was man  or animal, but I just thought there was
something there. When I asked him  what he was looking at, he told me
that he had the same feeling. That is all  that I can say."

"Did you not investigate?"

"No; the matter passed as unimportant."

"You left them, then, without any premonition of evil?"

"None at all."

"I am not clear how you came to hear the news so early this morning."

"I am an early riser and generally take a walk before breakfast. This
morning I had hardly started when the doctor in his carriage overtook
me.  He told me that old Mrs. Porter had sent a boy down with an urgent
message. I sprang in beside him and we drove on. When we got there we
looked into that dreadful room. The candles and the fire must have
burned  out hours before, and they had been sitting there in the dark
until dawn  had broken. The doctor said Brenda must have been dead at
least six hours.  There were no signs of violence. She just lay across
the arm of the chair  with that look on her face. George and Owen were
singing snatches of songs  and gibbering like two great apes. Oh, it was
awful to see! I couldn't stand  it, and the doctor was as white as a
sheet. Indeed, he fell into a chair in  a sort of faint, and we nearly
had him on our hands as well."

"Remarkable -- most remarkable!" said Holmes, rising and taking his hat.
"I  think, perhaps, we had better go down to Tredannick Wartha without
further delay. I confess that I have seldom known a case which at first
sight  presented a more singular problem."


Our proceedings of that first morning did little to advance the
investigation. It was marked, however, at the outset by an incident
which  left the most sinister impression upon my mind. The approach to
the spot at  which the tragedy occurred is down a narrow, winding,
country lane. While we  made our way along it we heard the raffle of a
carriage coming towards us and  stood aside to let it pass. As it drove
by us I caught a glimpse through the  closed window of a horribly
contorted, grinning face glaring out at us. Those  staring eyes and
gnashing teeth flashed past us like a dreadful vision.

"My brothers!" cried Mortimer Tregennis, white to his lips. "They are
taking  them to Helston."

We looked with horror after the black carriage, lumbering upon its way.
Then we turned our steps towards this ill-omened house in which they had
met their strange fate.

It was a large and bright dwelling, rather a villa than a cottage, with
a  considerable garden which was already, in that Cornish air, well
filled with  spring flowers. Towards this garden the window of the
sitting-room fronted,  and from it, according to Mortimer Tregennis,
must have come that thing of  evil which had by sheer horror in a single
instant blasted their minds.  Holmes walked slowly and thoughtfully
among the flower-plots and along  the path before we entered the porch.
So absorbed was he in his thoughts, I  remember, that he stumbled over
the watering-pot, upset its contents, and  deluged both our feet and the
garden path. Inside the house we were met  by the e1derly Cornish
housekeeper, Mrs. Porter, who, with the aid of a  young girl, looked
after the wants of the family. She readily answered all  Holmes's
questions. She had heard nothing in the night. Her employers had  all
been in excellent spirits lately, and she had never known them more
cheerful and prosperous. She had fainted with horror upon entering the
room in the morning and seeing that dreadful company round the table.
She  had, when she recovered, thrown open the window to let the morning
air in and  had run down to the lane, whence she sent a farm-lad for the
doctor. The lady  was on her bed upstairs if we cared to see her. It
took four strong men to  get the brothers into the asylum carriage. She
would not herself stay in the  house another day and was starting that
very afternoon to rejoin her family  at St. Ives.

We ascended the stairs and viewed the body. Miss Brenda Tregennis had
been a very beautiful girl, though now verging upon middle age. Her
dark,  clear-cut face was handsome, even in death, but there still
lingered upon it  something of that convulsion of horror which had been
her last human  emotion. From her bedroom we descended to the
sitting-room, where this  strange tragedy had actually occurred. The
charred ashes of the overnight fire  lay in the grate. On the table were
the four guttered and burned-out candles,  with the cards scattered over
its surface. The chairs had been moved back  against the walls, but all
else was as it had been the night before. Holmes  paced with light,
swift steps about the room; he sat in the various chairs,  drawing them
up and reconstructing their positions. He tested how much of  the garden
was visible; he examined the floor, the ceiling, and the fireplace;  but
never once did I see that sudden brightening of his eyes and tightening
of  his lips which would have told me that he saw some gleam of light in
this  utter darkness.

"Why a fire?" he asked once. "Had they always a fire in this small room
on a  spring evening?"

Mortimer Tregennis explained that the night was cold and damp. For that
reason, after his arrival, the fire was lit. "What are you going to do
now,  Mr. Holmes?" he asked.

My friend smiled and laid his hand upon my arm. "I think, Watson, that I
shall resume that course of tobacco-poisoning which you have so often
and so  justly condemned," said he. "With your permission, gentlemen, we
will now  return to our cottage, for I am not aware that any new factor
is likely to  come to our notice here. I will turn the facts over in my
mind, Mr. Tregennis, and should anything occur to me I will certainly
communicate with you and  the vicar. In the meantime I wish you both
good-morning."

It was not until long after we were back in Poldhu Cottage that Holmes
broke  his complete and absorbed silence. He sat coiled in his armchair,
his haggard  and ascetic face hardly visible amid the blue swirl of his
tobacco smoke, his  black brows drawn down, his forehead contracted, his
eyes vacant and far  away. Finally he laid down his pipe and sprang to
his feet.

"It won't do, Watson!" said he with a laugh. "Let us walk along the
cliffs  together and search for flint arrows. We are more likely to find
them than  clues to this problem. To let the brain work without
sufficient material is  like racing an engine. It racks itself to
pieces. The sea air, sunshine, and  patience, Watson -- all else will
come.

"Now, let us calmly define our position, Watson," he continued as we
skirted  the cliffs together. "Let us get a firm grip of the very little
which we do  know, so that when fresh facts arise we may be ready to fit
them into their  places. I take it, in the first place, that neither of
us is prepared to admit  diabolical intrusions into the affairs of men.
Let us begin by ruling that  entirely out of our minds. Very good. There
remain three persons who have  been grievously stricken by some
conscious or unconscious human agency.  That is firm ground. Now, when
did this occur? Evidently, assuming his  narrative to be true, it was
immediately after Mr. Mortimer Tregennis had  left the room. That is a
very important point. The presumption is that it was  within a few
minutes afterwards. The cards still lay upon the table. It was  already
past their usual hour for bed. Yet they had not changed their position
or pushed back their chairs. I repeat then, that the occurrence was
immediately after his departure, and not later than eleven o'clock last
night.

"Our next obvious step is to check, so far as we can, the movements of
Mortimer Tregennis after he left the room. In this there is no
difficulty, and  they seem to be above suspicion. Knowing my methods as
you do, you were,  of course, conscious of the somewhat clumsy water-pot
expedient by which I  obtained a clearer impress of his foot than might
otherwise have been  possible. The wet, sandy path took it admirably.
Last night was also wet, you  will remember, and it was not difficult --
having obtained a sample print --  to pick out his track among others
and to follow his movements. He appears to  have walked away swiftly in
the direction of the vicarage.

"If, then, Mortimer Tregennis disappeared from the scene, and yet some
outside person affected the cardplayers, how can we reconstruct that
person,  and how was such an impression of horror conveyed? Mrs. Porter
may be  eliminated. She is evidently harmless. Is there any evidence
that someone  crept up to the garden window and in some manner produced
so terrific an effect that he drove those who saw it out of their
senses? The only  suggestion in this direction comes from Mortimer
Tregennis himself, who  says that his brother spoke about some movement
in the garden. That is  certainly remarkable, as the night was rainy,
cloudy, and dark. Anyone who  had the design to alarm these people would
be compelled to place his very  face against the glass before he could
be seen. There is a three-foot  flowerborder outside this window, but no
indication of a footmark. It is  difficult to imagine, then, how an
outsider could have made so terrible an  impression upon the company,
nor have we found any possible motive for  so strange and elaborate an
attempt. You perceive our difficulties, Watson?"

"They are only too clear," I answered with conviction.

"And yet, with a little more material, we may prove that they are not
insurmountable," said Holrnes. "I fancy that among your extensive
archives,  Watson, you may find some which were nearly as obscure.
Meanwhile, we  shall put the case aside until more accurate data are
available, and devote  the rest of our morning to the pursuit of
neolithic man."

I may have commented upon my friend's power of mental detachment, but
never have I wondered at it more than upon that spring morning in
Cornwall when for two hours he discoursed upon Celts, arrowheads, and
shards, as lightly as if no sinister mystery were waiting for his
solution. It  was not until we had returned in the afternoon to our
cottlge that we found  a visitor awaiting us, who soon brought our minds
back to the matter in  hand. Neither of us needed to be told who that
visitor was. The huge body,  the craggy and deeply seamed face with the
fierce eyes and hawk-like nose,  the grizzled hair which nearly brushed
our cottage ceiling, the beard --  golden at the fringes and white near
the lips, save for the nicotin stain  from his perpetual cigar -- all
these were as well known in London as in  Africa, and could only be
associated with the tremendous personality of Dr.  Leon Sterndale, the
great lion-hunter and explorer.

We had heard of his presence in the district and had once or twice
caught  sight of his tall figure upon the moorland paths. He made no
advances to us,  however, nor would we have dreamed of doing so to him,
as it was well  known that it was his love of seclusion which caused him
to spend the  greater part of the intervals between his journeys in a
small bungalow  buried in the lonely wood of Beauchamp Arriance. Here,
amid his books  and his maps, he lived an absolutely lonely life,
attending to his own simple wants and paying little apparent heed to the
affairs of his  neighbours. It was a surprise to me, therefore, to hear
him asking Holmes in  an eager voice whether he had made any advance in
his reconstruction of  this mysterious episode. "The county police are
utterly at fault," said he,  "but perhaps your wider experience has
suggested some conceivable  explanation. My only claim to being taken
into your confidence is that  during my many residences here I have come
to know this family of  Tregennis very well -- indeed, upon my Cornish
mother's side I could call  them cousins -- and their strange fate has
naturally been a great shock to me.  I may tell you that I had got as
far as Plymouth upon my way to Africa, but  the news reached me this
morning, and I came straight back again to help  in the inquiry."

Holmes raised his eyebrows.

"Did you lose your boat through it?"

"I will take the next."

"Dear me! that is friendship indeed."

"I tell you they were relatives."

"Quite so -- cousins of your mother. Was your baggage aboard the ship?"

"Some of it, but the main part at the hotel."

"I see. But surely this event could not have found its way into the
Plymouth  morning papers."

"No, sir; I had a telegram."

"Might I ask from whom?"

A shadow passed over the gaunt face of the explorer.

"You are very inquisitive, Mr. Holmes."

"It is my business."

With an effort Dr. Sterndale recovered his ruffled composure.

"I have no objection to telling you," he said. "It was Mr. Roundhay, the
vicar, who sent me the telegram which recalled me."

"Thank you," said Holmes. "I may say in answer to your original question
that I have not cleared my mind entirely on the subject of this case,
but  that I have every hope of reaching some conclusion. It would be
premature  to say more."

"Perhaps you would not mind telling me if your suspicions point in any
particular direction?"

"No, I can hardly answer that."

"Then I have wasted my time and need not prolong my visit." The famous
doctor strode out of our cottage in considerable ill-humour, and within
five  minutes Holmes had followed him. I saw him no more until the
evening, when he  returned with a slow step and haggard face which
assured me that he had made  no great progress with his investigation.
He glanced at a telegram which  awaited him and threw it into the grate.

"From the Plymouth hotel, Watson," he said. "I learned the name of it
from the vicar, and I wired to make certain that Dr. Leon Stemdale's
account was true. It appears that he did indeed spend last night there,
and  that he has actually allowed some of his baggage to go on to
Africa, while  he returned to be present at this investigation. What do
you make of that,  Watson?"

"He is deeply interested."

"Deeply interested -- yes. There is a thread here which we have not yet
grasped and which might lead us through the tangle. Cheer up, Watson,
for  I am very sure that our material has not yet all come to hand. When
it  does we may soon leave our difficulties behind us."

Little did I think how soon the words of Holmes would be realized, or
how  strange and sinister would be that new development which opened up
an  entirely fresh line of investigation. I was shaving at my window in
the  morning when I heard the rattle of hoofs and, looking up, saw a
dog-cart  coming at a gallop down the road. It pulled up at our door,
and our friend,  the vicar, sprang from it and rushed up our garden
path. Holmes was  already dressed, and we hastened down to meet him.

Our visitor was so excited that he could hardly articulate, but at last
in  gasps and bursts his tragic story came out of him.

"We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes! My poor parish is devilridden!" he
cried.  "Satan himself is loose in it! We are given over into his
hands!" He danced  about in his agitation, a ludicrous object if it were
not for his ashy face  and startled eyes. Finally he shot out his
terrible news.

"Mr. Mortimer Tregennis died during the night, and with exactly the same
symptoms as the rest of his family."

Holmes sprang to his feet, all energy in an instant.

"Can you fit us both into your dog-cart?"

"Yes, I can."

"Then, Watson, we will postpone our breakfast. Mr. Roundhay, we are
entirely at your disposal. Hurry -- hurry, before things get
disarranged. "

The lodger occupied two rooms at the vicarage, which were in an angle by
themselves, the one above the other. Below was a large sitting-room;
above, his bedroom. They looked out upon a croquet lawn which came up to
the  windows. We had arrived before the doctor or the police, so that
everything  was absolutely undisturbed. Let me describe exactly the
scene as we saw it  upon that misty March morning. It has left an
impression which can never be  effaced from my mind.

The atmosphere of the room was of a horrible and depressing stuffiness.
The servant who had first entered had thrown up the window, or it would
have been even more intolerable. This might partly be due to the fact
that a  lamp stood flaring and smoking on the centre table. Beside it
sat the dead  man, leaning back in his chair, his thin beard projecting,
his spectacles  pushed up on to his forehead, and his lean dark face
turned towards the  window and twisted into the same distortion of
terror which had marked the  features of his dead sister. His limbs were
convulsed and his fingers  contorted as though he had died in a very
paroxysm of fear. He was fully  clothed, though there were signs that
his dressing had been done in a hurry.  We had already learned that his
bed had been slept in, and that the tragic  end had come to him in the
early morning.

One realized the red-hot energy which underlay Holmes's phlegmatic
exterior  when one saw the sudden change which came over him from the
moment  that he entered the fatal apartment. In an instant he was tense
and alert, his  eyes shining, his face set, his limbs quivering with
eager activity. He was  out on the lawn, in through the window, round
the room, and up into the  bedroom, for all the world like a dashing
foxhound drawing a cover. In the  bedroom he made a rapid cast around
and ended by throwing open the  window, which appeared to give him some
fresh cause for excitement, for he  leaned out of it with loud
ejaculations of interest and delight. Then he  rushed down the stair,
out through the open window, threw himself upon his  face on the lawn,
sprang up and into the room once more, all with the energy  of the
hunter who is at the very heels of his quarry. The lamp, which was an
ordinaly standard, he examined with minute care, making certain
measurements upon its bowl. He carefully scrutinized with his lens the
tale  shield which covered the top of the chimney and scraped off some
ashes  which adhered to its upper surface, putting some of them into an
envelope,  which he placed in his pocketbook. Finally, just as the
doctor and the  official police put in an appearance, he beckoned to the
vicar and we all  three went out upon the lawn.

"I am glad to say that my investigation has not been entirely barren,"
he  remarked. "I cannot remain to discuss the matter with the police,
but I  should be exceedingly obliged, Mr. Roundhay, if you would give
the inspector  my compliments and direct his attention to the bedroom
window and to the  sittingroom lamp. Each is suggestive, and together
they are almost conclusive.  If the police would desire further
information I shall be happy to see any of  them at the conage. And now,
Watson, I think that, perhaps, we shall be  better employed elsewhere."

It may be that the police resented the intrusion of an amateur, or that
they  imagined themselves to be upon some hopeful line of investigation;
but it is  certain that we heard nothing from them for the next two
days. During this  time Holmes spent some of his time smoking and
dreaming in the cottage; but  a greater portion in country walks which
he undertook alone, returning after  many hours without remark as to
where he had been. One experiment  served to show me the line of his
investigation. He had bought a lamp which  was the duplicate of the one
which had burned in the room of Mortimer  Tregennis on the morning of
the tragedy. This he filled with the same oil as  that used at the
vicarage, and he carefully timed the period which it would  take to be
exhausted. Another experiment which he made was of a more  unpleasant
nature, and one which I am not likely ever to forget.

"You will remember, Watson," he remarked one afternoon, "that there is a
single common point of resemblance in the varying reports which have
reached us. This concerns the effect of the atmosphere of the room in
each  case upon those who had first entered it. You will recollect that
Mortimer  Tregennis, in describing the episode of his last visit to his
brother's house,  remarked that the doctor on entering the room fell
into a chair? You had  forgotten? Well, I can answer for it that it was
so. Now, you will remember  also that Mrs. Porter, the housekeeper, told
us that she herself fainted upon  entering the room and had afterwards
opened the window. In the second  case -- that of Mortimer Tregennis
himself -- you cannot have forgotten the  horrible stuffiness of the
room when we arrived. though the servant had  thrown open the window.
That servant, I found upon inquiry, was so ill that  she had gone to her
bed. You will admit, Watson, that these facts are very  suggestive. In
each case there is evidence of a poisonous atmosphere. In each  case,
also, there is combustion going on in the room -- in the one case a
fire, in the other a lamp. The fire was needed, but the lamp was lit --
as a  comparison of the oil consumed will show -- long after it was
broad daylight.  Why? Surely because there is some connection between
three things -- the  burning, the stuffy atmosphere, and, finally, the
madness or death of those  unfortunate people. That is clear, is it
not?"

"It would appear so."

"At least we may accept it as a working hypothesis. We will suppose,
then,  that something was burned in each case which produced an
atmosphere  causing strange toxic effects. Very good. In the first
instance -- that of the  Tregennis family -- this substance was placed
in the fire. Now the window was  shut, but the fire would naturally
carry fumes to some extent up the chimney.  Hence one would expect the
effects of the poison to be less than in the second  case, where there
was less escape for the vapour. The result seems to indicate  that it
was so, since in the first case only the woman, who had presumably the
more sensitive organism, was killed, the others exhibiting that
temporary or  permanent lunacy which is evidently the first effect of
the drug. In the  second case the result was complete. The facts,
therefore, seem to bear out  the theory of a poison which worked by
combustion.

"With this train of reasoning in my head I naturally looked about in
Mortimer Tregennis's room to find some remains of this substance. The
obvious  place to look was the talc shield or smoke-guard of the lamp.
There, sure  enough, I perceived a number of flaky ashes, and round the
edges a fringe of  brownish powder, which had not yet been consumed.
Half of this I took, as you  saw, and I placed it in an envelope."

"Why half, Holmes?"

"It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official
police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison
still  remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson,
we will  light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open
our window to  avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of
society, and you will  seat yourself near that open window in an
armchair unless, like a sensible  man, you determine to have nothing to
do with the affair. Oh, you will see it  out, will you? I thought I knew
my Watson. This chair I will place opposite  yours, so that we may be
the same distance from the poison and face to face.  The door we will
leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring
the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming.  Is that all
clear? Well, then, I take our powder -- or what remains of it -- from
the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let
us sit down and await developments."

They were not long in coming. I had hardlv settled in my chair before I
was  conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very
first  whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control.
A thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in
this cloud, unseen as yet,  but about to spring out upon my appalled
senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and
inconceivably wicked in the  universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam
amid the dark cloud-bank, each a  menace and a warning of something
coming, the advent of some unspeakable  dweller upon the threshold,
whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing  horror took
possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes  were
protruding, that my mouth wag opened, and my tongue like leather. The
turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I
tried to  scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my
own voice, but  distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in
some effort of  escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a
glimpse of Holmes's  face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror --  the
very look which I had seen  upon the features of the dead. It was that
vision which gave me an instant of  sanity and of strength. I dashed
from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes,  and together we lurched
through the door, and an instant afterwards had  thrown ourselves down
upon the grass plot and were lying side by side,  conscious only of the
glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through  the hellish cloud
of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our  souls like the
mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned,  and we were
sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking  with
apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific
experience which we had undergone.

"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I
owe  you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable
experiment even  for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really
very sorry."

"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I had never seen so much
of  Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to
help you."

He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was
his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would be superfluous to
drive  us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would
celtainly  declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so
wild an  experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect
could be so  sudden and so severe." He dashed into the cottage, and,
reappearing with  the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw
it among a bank of  brambles. "We must give the room a little time to
clear. I take it, Watson,  that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt
as to how these tragedies were  produced?"

"None whatever."

"But the cause remains as obscure as before. Come into the arbour here
and  let us discuss it together. That villainous stuff seems still to
linger round  my throat. I think we must admit that all the evidence
points to this man,  Mortimer Tregennis, having been the criminal in the
first tragedy, though he  was the victim in the second one. We must
remember, in the first place, that  there is some story of a family
quarrel, followed by a reconciliation. How  bitter that quarrel may have
been, or how hollow the reconciliation we  cannot tell. When I think of
Mortimer Tregennis, with the foxy face and the small shrewd, beady eyes
behind the spectacles, he is not a man whom I  should judge to be of a
particularly forgiving disposition. Well, in the next  place, you will
remember that this idea of someone moving in the garden,  which took our
attention for a moment from the real cause of the tragedy,  emanated
from him. He had a motive in misleading us. Finally, if he did not
throw this substance into the fire at the moment of leaving the room,
who  did do so? The affair happened immediately after his departure. Had
anyone  else come in, the family would certainly have risen from the
table. Besides,  in peaceful Cornwall, visitors do not arrive after ten
o'clock at night. We  may take it, then, that all the evidence points to
Mortimer Tregennis as the  culprit."

"Then his own death was suicide!"

"Well, Watson, it is on the face of it a not impossible supposition. The
man  who had the guilt upon his soul of having brought such a fate upon
his  own family might well be driven by remorse to inflict it upon
himself. There are, however, some cogent reasons against it.
Forturlately, there is one  man in England who knows all about it, and I
have made arrangements by which  we shall hear the facts this afternoon
from his own lips. Ah! he is a little  before his time. Perhaps you
would kindly step this way, Dr. Leon Sterndale.  We have been conducting
a chemical experiment indoors which has left our  little room hardly fit
for the reception of so distinguished a visitor."

I had heard the click of the garden gate, and now the majestic figure of
the  great African explorer appeared upon the path. He turned in some
surprise  towards the rustic arbour in which we sat.

"You sent for me, Mr. Holmes. I had your note about an hour ago, and I
have  come, though I really do not know why I should obey your summons."

"Perhaps we can clear the point up before we separate," said Holmes.
"Meanwhile, I am much obliged to you for your courteous acquiescence.
You  will excuse this informal reception in the open air, but my friend
Watson and  I have nearly furnished an additional chapter to what the
papers call the  Cornish Horror, and we prefer a clear atmosphere for
the present. Perhaps,  since the matters which we have to discuss will
affect you personally in a  very intimate fashion, it is as well that we
should talk where there can be no  eavesdropping."

The explorer took his cigar from his lips and gazed sternly at my
companlon.

"I am at a loss to know, sir," he said, "what you can have to speak
about  which affects me personally in a very intimate fashion."

"The killing of Mortimer Tregennis," said Holmes.

For a moment I wished that I were armed. Stemdale's fierce face turned
to a  dusky red, his eyes glared, and the knotted, passionate veins
started out in  his forehead, while he sprang forward with clenched
hands towards my  companion. Then he stopped, and with a violent effort
he resumed a cold,  rigid calmness, which was, perhaps, more suggestive
of danger than his hotheaded outburst.

"I have lived so long among savages and beyond the law," said he, "that
I  have got into the way of being a law to myself. You would do well,
Mr.  Holmes, not to forget it, for I have no desire to do you an
injury."

"Nor have I any desire to do you an injury, Dr. Sterndale. Surely the
clearest proof of it is that, knowing what I know, I have sent for you
and  not for the police."

Sterndale sat down with a gasp, overawed for, perhaps, the first time in
his adventurous life. There was a calm assurance of power in Holmes's
manner which could not be withstood. Our visitor stammered for a
moment, his great hands opening and shutting in his agitation.

"What do you mean?" he asked at last. "If this is bluff upon your part,
Mr.  Holmes, you have chosen a bad man for your experiment. Let us have
no  more beating about the bush. What do you mean?"

"I will tell you," said Holmes, "and the reason why I tell you is that I
hope frankness may beget frankness. What my next step may be will depend
entirely upon the nature of your own defence."

"My defence?"

"Yes, sir."

"My defence against what?"

"Against the charge of killing Mortimer Tregennis."

Sterndale mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Upon my word, you
are getting on," said he. "Do all your successes depend upon this
prodigious  power of bluff?"

"The bluff," said Holmes sternly, "is upon your side, Dr. Leon
Sterndale,  and not upon mine. As a proof I will tell you some of the
facts upon which my  conclusions are based. Of your return from
Plymouth, allowing much of  your property to go on to Africa, I will say
nothing save that it first  informed me that you were one of the factors
which had to be taken into  account in reconstructing this drama --"

"I came back --"

"I have heard your reasons and regard them as unconvincing and
inadequate. We will pass that. You came down here to ask me whom I
suspected. I refused to answer you. You then went to the vicarage,
waited  outside it for some time, and finally returned to your cottage."

"How do you know that?"

"I followed you."

"I saw no one."

"That is what you may expect to see when I follow you. You spent a
restless night at your cottage, and you formed certain plans, which in
the  early morning you proceeded to put into execution. Leaving your
door just  as day was breaking, you filled your pocket with some reddish
gravel that  was lying heaped beside your gate."

Sterndale gave a violent start and looked at Holmes in amazement.

"You then walked swiftly for the mile which separated you from the
vicarage. You were wearing, I may remark, the same pair of ribbed tennis
shoes which are at the present moment upon your feet. At the vicarage
you passed through the orchard and the side hedge, coming out under the
window of the lodger Tregennis. It was now daylight, but the household
was  not yet stirring. You drew some of the gravel from your pocket, and
you  threw it up at the window above you."

Sterndale sprang to his feet.

"I believe that you are the devil himself!" he cried.

Holmes smiled at the compliment. "It took two, or possibly three,
handfuls  before the lodger came to the window. You beckoned him to come
down. He  dressed hurriedly and descended to his sitting-room. You
entered by the  window. There was an interview -- a short one -- during
which you walked up  and down the room. Then you passed out and closed
the window, standing  on the lawn outside smoking a cigar and watching
what occurred. Finally,  after the death of Tregennis, you withdrew as
you had come. Now, Dr.  Sterndale, how do you justify such conduct, and
what were the motives for  your actions? If you prevaricate or trifle
with me, I give you my assurance  that the matter will pass out ol my
hands forever."

Our visitor's face had turned ashen gray as he listened to the words of
his  accuser. Now he sat for some time in thought with his face sunk in
his  hands. Then with a sudden impulsive gesture he plucked a photograph
from his breast-pocket and threw it on the rustic table before us.

"That is why I have done it," said he.

It showed the bust and face of a very beautiful woman. Holmes stooped
over it.

"Brenda Tregennis," said he.

"Yes, Brenda Tregennis," repeated our visitor. "For years I have loved
her.  For years she has loved me. There is the secret of that Cornish
seclusion  which people have marvelled at. It has brought me close to
the one thing  on earth that was dear to me. I could not marry her, for
I have a wife who  has left me for years and yet whom, by the deplorable
laws of England, I  could not divorce. For years Brenda waited. For
years I waited. And this is  what we have waited for." A terrible sob
shook his great frame, and he  clutched his throat under his brindled
beard. Then with an effort he  mastered himself and spoke on:

"The vicar knew. He was in our confidence. He would tell you that she
was  an angel upon earth. That was why he telegraphed to me and I
returned.  What was my baggage or Africa to me when I learned that such
a fate had  come upon my darling? There you have the missing clue to my
action, Mr.  Holmes."

"Proceed," said my friend.

Dr. Sterndale drew from his pocket a paper packet and laid it upon the
table. On the outside was written "Radix pedis diaboli" with a red
poison  label beneath it. He pushed it towards me. "I understand that
you are a  doctor, sir. Have you ever heard of this preparation?"

"Devil's-foot root! No, I have never heard of it."

"It is no reflection upon your professional knowledge," said he, "for I
believe that, save for one sample in a laboratory at Buda, there is no
other  specimen in Europe. It has not yet found its way either into the
pharmacopceia or into the literature of toxicology. The root is shaped
like a foot, half  human, half goatlike; hence the fanciful name given
by a botanical missionary. It is used as an ordeal poison by the
medicine-men in certain districts of  West Africa and is kept as a
secret among them. This particular specimen I  obtained under very
extraordinary circumstances in the Ubangi country." He  opened the paper
as he spoke and disclosed a heap of reddish-brown, snuff-like  powder.

"Well, sir?" asked Holmes sternly.

"I am about to tell you, Mr. Holmes, all that actually occurred, for you
already know so much that it is clearly to my interest that you should
know  all. I have already explained the relationship in which I stood to
the  Tregennis family. For the sake of the sister I was friendly with
the brothers. There was a family quarrel about money which estranged
this man Mortimer, but  it was supposed to be made up, and I afterwards
met him as I did the others.  He was a sly, subtle, scheming man, and
several things arose which gave me a  suspicion of him, but I had no
cause for any positive quarrel.

"One day, only a couple of weeks ago, he came down to my cottage and I
showed him some of my African curiosities. Among other things I
exhibited  this powder, and I told him of its strange properties, how it
stimulates those  brain centres which control the emotion of fear, and
how either madness or  death is the fate of the unhappy native who is
subjected to the ordeal by the  priest of his tribe. I told him also how
powerless European science would be  to detect it. How hi took it I
cannot say, for I never left the room, but  there is no doubt that it
was then, while I was opening cabinets and stooping  to boxes, that he
managed to abstract some of the devil's-foot root. I well  remember how
he plied me with questions as to the amount and the time that  was
needed for its effect, but I little dreamed that he could have a
personal  reason for asking.

"I thought no more of the matter until the vicar's telegram reached me
at  Plymouth. This villain had thought that I would be at sea before the
news  could reach me, and that I should be lost for years in Africa. But
I returned  at once. Of course, I could not listen to the details
without feeling assured  that my poison had been used. I came round to
see you on the chance tbat some  other explanation had suggesteid itself
to you. But there could be none. I was  convinced that Mortimer
Tregennis was the murderer; that for the sake of  money, and with the
idea, perhaps, that if the other members of his family  were all insane
he would be the sole guardian of their joint property, he had  used the
devil's-foot powder upon them, driven two of them out of their  senses,
and killed his sister Brenda, the one human being whom I have ever
loved or who has ever loved me. There was his crime; what was to be his
punishment?

"Should I appeal to the law? Where were my proofs? I knew that the facts
were true, but could I help to make a jury of countrymen believe so
fantastic  a story? I might or I might not. But I could not afford to
fail. My soul  cried out for revenge. I have said to you once before,
Mr. Holmes, that I  have spent much of my life outside the law, and that
I have come at last to  be a law to myself. So it was now. I determined
that the fate which he had  given to others should be shared by himself.
Either that or I would do  justice upon him with my own hand. In all
England there can be no man who  sets less value upon his own life than
I do at the present moment.

"Now I have told you all. You have yourself supplied the rest. I did, as
you say, after a restless night, set off early from my cottage. I
foresaw the  difficulty of arousing him, so I gathered some gravel from
the pile which you  have mentioned, and I used it to throw up to his
window. He came down and  admitted me through the window of the
sitting-room. I laid his offence before  him. I told him that I had come
both as judge and executioner. The wretch sank  into a chair, paralyzed
at the sight of my revolver. I lit the lamp, put the  powder above it,
and stood outside the window, ready to carry out my  threat to shoot him
should he try to leave the room. In five minutes he died.  My God! how
he died! But my heart was flint, for he endured nothing which  my
innocent darling had not felt before him. There is my story, Mr. Holmes.
Perhaps, if you loved a woman, you would have done as much yourself. At
any rate, I am in your hands. You can take what steps you like. As I
have  already said, there is no man living who can fear death less than
I do. "

Holmes sat for some little time in silence.

"What were your plans?" he asked at last.

"I had intended to bury myself in central Africa. My work there is but
half finished."

"Go and do the other half," said Holmes. "I, at least, am not prepared
to  prevent you."

Dr. Sterndale raised his giant figure, bowed gravely, and waliked from
the  arbour. Holmes lit his pipe and handed me his pouch.

"Some fumes which are not poisonous would be a welcome change," said he.
"I think you must agree, Watson, that it is not a case in which we are
called  upon to interfere. Our investigation has been independent, and
our action  shall be so also. You would not denounce the man?"

"Certainly not," I answered.

"I have never loved, Watson, but if I did and if the woman I loved had
met  such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done.
Who  knows? Well, Watson, I will not offend your intelligence by
explaining what  is obvious. The gravel upon the window-sill was, of
course, the startingpoint of my research. It was unlike anything in the
vicarage garden. Only  when my attention had been drawn to Dr. Sterndale
and his cottage did I  find its counterpart. The lamp shining in broad
daylight and the remains of  powder upon the shield were successive
links in a fairly obvious chain. And  now, my dear Watson, I think we
may dismiss the matter from our mind  and go back with a clear
conscience to the study of those Chaldean roots  which are surely to be
traced in the Cornish branch of the great Celtic  speech."