Section 11 of the Case Book of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur
Conan Doyle. This Librivox recording is in
the public domain, Read by Thomas Copeland.
Story 11 The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place Sherlock
Holmes had been bending for a long time over a low power
microscope. Now he straightened himself up
and looked round at me in triumph.
It is glue, Watson said he Unquestionably it is glue.
Have a look at these scattered objects in the field.
I stooped to the eyepiece and focused for my vision.
Those hairs are threads from a tweed coat.
The irregular grey masses are dust.
There are epithelial scales on the left.
Those brown blobs in the centre are undoubtedly glue.
Well, I said, laughing, I am prepared to take your word for
it. Does anything depend upon it?
It is a very fine demonstration, he answered.
In the Saint Pancras case, you may remember that a cap was
found beside the dead policeman. The accused man denies that it
is his, but he is a picture frame maker who habitually
handles glue. Is it one of your cases?
No, my friend Maryvale of the Yard asked me to look into the
case. Since I ran down that corner.
By the zinc and copper filings in the seam of his cuff, they
have begun to realise the importance of the microscope.
He looked impatiently at his watch.
I had a new client calling, but he is overdue.
And by the way, Watson, you know something of racing.
I ought to. I'd pay for it with about half
of my wound pension. Then I'll make you my handy
guide to the turf. What about Sir Robert Norbertan,
does the name recall anything? Well, I should say so.
He lives at Shoskam Old Place and I know it well for my summer
quarters were down there once. Norberton nearly came within
your province once. How was that?
It was when he horse whipped Sam Brewer, the well known Curzon
St. money lender on Newmarket Heath.
He nearly killed the man. Ah, he sounds interesting.
Does he often indulge in that way?
Well, he has the name of being a dangerous man.
He is about the most daredevil rider in England, second in the
Grand National a few years back. He is one of those men who have
overshot their true generation. He should have been a buck in
the days of the Regency, a boxer, an athlete, a plunger on
the turf, a lover of Fair ladies, and by all account, so
far down Queer St. that he may never find his way back again.
Capital Watson. A thumbnail sketch.
I seem to know the man now. Can you give me some idea of
Shoscombe Old Place? Only that it is in the centre of
Shoscombe Park and that the famous Shoscombe Stud and
training quarters are to be found there, and the head
trainer, said Holmes is John Mason.
You need not look surprised at my knowledge, Watson, for this
is a letter from him which I am unfolding.
But let us have some more about Shoscombe.
I seem to have struck a rich vein.
There are the Shoscombe spaniels, said I.
You hear of them at every dog show.
The most exclusive breed in England.
They are the special pride of the lady of Shoscombe.
Old place, Sir Robert Norbertan's wife.
I presume Sir Robert has never married.
And just as well, I think, considering his prospects, he
lives with his widowed sister, Lady Beatrice Fulder.
You mean that she lives with him?
No, No. The place belonged to her late
husband. Sir James Norberton has no claim
on it at all. It is only a life interest, and
reverts to her husband's brother.
In the meantime she draws the rents every year, and Brother
Robert, I suppose, spends the said rents.
That is about the size of it. He is a devil of a fellow, and
must lead her our most uneasy life yet.
I have heard that she is devoted to him.
But what is amiss at Shoscombe? Ah, that is just what I want to
know, and here, I expect, is the man who can tell us.
The door had opened and the page had shown in a tall, clean
shaven man, with the firm, austere expression which is only
seen upon those who have to control horses or boys, Mr. John
Mason had many of both under his sway, and he looked equal to the
task. He bowed with cold self
possession and seated himself upon the chair to which Holmes
had waved him. You had my note, Mr. Holmes?
Yes, but it explained nothing. It was too delicate a thing for
me to put the details on paper, and too complicated.
It was only face to face. I could do it.
Well, we are at your disposal. First of all, Mr. Holmes, I
think that my employer, Sir Robert, has gone mad.
Holmes raised his eyebrows. This is Baker Street, not Harley
Street, said he. But why do you say so?
Well, Sir, when a man does one queer thing or two queer things,
there may be a meaning to it. But when everything he does is
queer, then you begin to wonder. I believe Shoscombe Prince and
the Derby have turned his brain. That is a colt.
You are running the best in England, Mr. Holmes.
I should know if anyone does. Now, I'll be plain with you, for
I know you are a gentleman of honour and that it won't go
beyond the room. Sir Robert has got to win this
Derby. He's up to the neck and it's his
last chance. Everything he could raise or
borrow is on the horse and at fine odds too.
You can get 40s now, but it was nearer the 100 when he began to
back him. But how is that if the horses so
good? The public don't know how good
he is. Sir Robert has been too clever
for the touts. He has the Prince's half brother
out for spins. You can't tell him apart, but
there are two lengths in a furlong between them.
When it comes to a gallop he thinks of nothing but the horse
and the race. His whole life is on it.
He is holding off the Jews till then.
If the Prince fails him he is done.
It seems a rather desperate gamble.
But where does the madness come in?
Well, first of all, you won't have to look at him.
I don't believe he sleeps at night.
He is down at the stables at all hours.
His eyes are wild. It has all been too much for his
nerves. Then there is his conduct to
Lady Beatrice. Ah, what is that?
They have always been the best of friends.
They had the same tastes, the two of them, and she loved the
horses as much as he did. Every day at the same hour she
would drive down to see them, and above all, she loved the
Prince. He would prick up his ears when
he heard the wheels on the gravel, and he would trot out
each morning to the carriage to get his lump of sugar.
But that's all over now. Why?
Well, she seems to have lost all interest in the horses.
For a week now she has driven past the stables with never so
much as good morning. You think there has been a
quarrel? And a bitter, savage, spiteful
quarrel at that. Why else would he give away a
pet spaniel that she loved as if he were her child?
He gave it away a few days ago to old Barnes.
What keeps the green dragon 3 miles off at Crandall?
That certainly did seem strange. Of course, with her weak heart
and dropsy, one couldn't expect that she could get about with
him. But he spent two hours every
evening in a room. He might well do what he could,
for she has been a rare good friend to him.
But that's all over, too. He never goes nearer, and she
takes it to heart. She is brooding and sulky and
drinking, Mr. Holmes, drinking like a fish.
Did she drink before this estrangement?
Well, she took her glass, but now it is often a whole bottle
of an evening. So Stevens the Butler told me.
It's all changed, Mr. Holmes, and there is something damned
rotten about it. But then again, what is Master
doing down at the old church crypt at night, and who is the
man that meets him there? Holmes rubbed his hands.
Go on, Mr. Mason, you get more and more interesting.
It was the Butler who saw him go 12:00 at night and raining hard.
So next night I was up at the house, and sure enough, Master
was off again. Stevens and I went after him,
but it was jumpy work, for it would have been a bad job if he
had seen us. He's a terrible man with his
fists if he gets started, and no respecter of persons.
So we were shy of getting too near, but we marked him down all
right. It was the haunted crypt that he
was making for, and there was a man waiting for him there.
What is this haunted crypt? Well, Sir, there is an old
ruined Chapel in the park. It is so old that nobody could
fix its date, and under it there's a crypt which has a bad
name among us. It's a dark, damp, lonely place
by day, but there are few in that county that would have the
nerve to go near it at night. But the master's not afraid.
He never feared anything in his life.
But what is he doing there in the night time?
Wait a bit, said Holmes. You say there is another man
there. It must be one of your own
stable men or someone from the house.
Surely you have only to spot who it is and question him.
There's no one I know. How can you say that?
Because I have seen him, Mr. Holmes.
It was on that second night Sir Robert turned and passed us, me
and Stephens quaking in the bushes like 2 Bunny rabbits, for
there was a bit of moon that night but we could hear the
other moving about behind. We were not afraid of him so we
up when Mr. Robert was gone and pretended we were just having a
walk like in the moonlight, and so we came right on him, as
casual and innocent as you please Hollow mate, who may you
be, says I. I guess he had not heard his
coming, so he looked over his shoulder with a face as if he
had seen the devil coming out of hell.
He let out a yell, and away he went, as hard as he could lick
it in the darkness. He could run, I'll give him
that. In a minute he was out of sight
and hearing, and who he was or what he was, we never found.
But you saw him clearly in the moonlight.
Yes, I would swear to his yellow face a a mean dog, I should say.
What could he have in common with Sir Robert?
Holmes sat for some time lost in thought.
Who keeps Lady Beatrice folder company?
He asked at last. Oh, there is her maid, Carrie
Evans. She has been with her this five
years and is no doubt devoted. Mr. Mason shuffled
uncomfortably. She's devoted enough, he
answered at last. But I won't say to whom.
Ah, said Holmes, I can't tell tales out of school.
I quite understand Mr. Mason. Of course, the situation is
clear enough. From Doctor Watson's description
of Sir Robert, I can realise that no woman is safe from him.
Don't you think the quarrel between brother and sister may
lie there? Well, the scandal has been
pretty clear for a long time, but she may not have seen it
before. Let us suppose that she has
suddenly found it out. She wants to get rid of the
woman. Her brother will not permit it.
The invalid, with her weak heart and inability to get about, has
no means of enforcing her will. The hated maid is still tied to
her. The lady refuses to speak,
sulks, takes to drink. Sir Robert, in his anger, takes
her pet spaniel away from her. Does not all this hang together?
Well, it might do, so far as it goes, exactly as far as it goes.
How would all that bear upon the visits by night to the old
crypt? We can't fit that into our plot.
No, Sir. And there is something more that
I can't fit in. Why should Sir Robert want to
dig up a dead body? Holmes sat up abruptly.
We only found it out yesterday, after I had written to you
yesterday. Sir Robert had gone to London,
so Stevens and I went down to the crypt.
It was all in order, Sir, except that in one corner was a bit of
a human body. You informed the police, I
suppose? Our visitors smiled grimly.
Well, Sir, I think it would hardly interest them.
It was just the head and a few bones of a mummy.
It may have been 1000 years old, but it wasn't there before that,
I'll swear. And so will Stevens.
It had been stowed away in a corner and covered over with a
board. But that corner had always been
empty before. What did you do with it?
Well, we just left it there and that was wise.
You say Sir Robert was away yesterday.
Has he returned? We expect him back today.
When did Sir Robert give away his sister's dog?
It was just a week ago today. The creature was howling outside
the old well house, and Sir Robert was in one of his
tantrums that morning. He caught it up, and I thought
he would have killed it. Then he gave it to Sandy Bain,
the jockey, and told him to take the dog to Old Barns at the
Green Dragon, for he never wished to see it again.
Holmes sat for some time in silent thought.
He had lit the oldest and foulest of his pipes.
I am not clear yet what you want me to do in this matter, Mr.
Mason, he said at last. Can't you make it more definite?
Perhaps this will make it more definite, Mr. Holmes, said.
Our visitor. He took a paper from his pocket,
and, unwrapping it carefully, he exposed A charred fragment of
bone. Holmes examined it with
interest. Where did you get it?
There is a central heating furnace in the cellar under Lady
Beatrice's room. It's been off for some time, but
Sir Robert complained of cold and had it on again.
Harvey runs it. He's one of my lads.
This very morning he came to me with this, which he found raking
out the cinders. He didn't like the look of it,
Nor do I, said Holmes. What do you make of it, Watson?
It was burned to a black cinder, but there could be no question
as to its anatomical significance.
It's the upper condyle of a human femur.
Said I. Exactly.
Holmes had become very serious. When does this lad tend to the
furnace? He makes it up every evening and
then leaves it. Then anyone could visit it
during the night. Yes, Sir.
Can you enter it from outside? There is one door.
From outside there is another which leads up by a stair to the
passage in which Lady Beatrice's room is situated.
These are deep waters, Mr. Mason.
Deep and rather dirty. You say that Sir Robert was not
at home last night? No, Sir.
Then whoever was burning bones, it was not he.
That's true, Sir. What is the name of that inn you
spoke of? The Green Dragon is there good
fishing in that part of Berkshire?
The honest trainer showed very clearly upon his face that he
was convinced that yet another lunatic had come into his Harris
life. Well, Sir, I've heard there are
trout in the Millstream and Pike in the whole lake.
That's good enough. Watson and I are famous
fishermen, are we not? Watson?
You may address us in future at the Green Dragon.
We should reach it tonight. I need not say that we don't
want to see you, Mr. Mason, but a note will reach us, and no
doubt I could find you if I want you.
When we have gone a little farther into the matter I will
let you have a considered opinion.
Thus it was that on a bright May evening Holmes and I found
ourselves alone in a first class carriage and bound for the
little halt on demand station of Shoscombe.
The rack above us was covered with a formidable litter of
rods, reels and baskets. On reaching our destination, a
short drive took us to an old fashioned Tavern, where our
sporting host, Josiah Barnes, entered eagerly into our plans
for the extirpation of the fish of the neighborhood.
What about the Hall Lake and the chance of a Pike?
Said Holmes, The face of the innkeeper clouded.
That wouldn't do, Sir. You might chance to find
yourself in the lake before you were through.
How's that then? It's Sir Robert, Sir.
He's terrible jealous of touts. If you 2 strangers were as near
as training quarters as that, he'd be after you as sure as
fate. He ain't takin no chances, Sir.
Robert ain't. I've heard he has a horse
entered for the Derby. Yes, and a good colt too.
He carries all our money for the race and all Sir Roberts into
the bargain. And by the way, he looked at us
with thoughtful eyes. I suppose you ain't on the turf
yourselves? No, indeed.
Just two weary Londoners who badly need some good Berkshire
hare. Well, you are in the right place
for that. There's a deal of it lying
about. But mind what I have told you
about Sir Robert. He's the sort that strikes 1st
and speaks afterwards. Keep clear of the park.
Surely, Mr. Barnes, We certainly shall.
By the way, that was our most beautiful spaniel that was
whining in the hall. Now I should say it was.
That was the real Shas cum breed.
There ain't a better in England. I'm a dog fancier myself, said
Holmes. Now, if it is a fair question,
what would a prized dog like that cost?
more than I could pay, Sir. It was Sir Robert himself who
gave me this one. That's why I have to keep it on
a lead. It would be off to the hall in a
jiffy if I gave it its head. We're getting some cards in our
hand, Watson, said Holmes, when the landlord had left us.
It is not an easy one to play, but we may see our way in a day
or two. By the way, Sir Robert is still
in London. I hear we might perhaps enter
the sacred domain tonight without fear of bodily assault.
There are one or two points on which I should like reassurance.
Have you any theory, Holmes? Only this, Watson, that
something happened a week or so ago which has cut deep into the
life of the Shoscombe household. What is that?
Something? We can only guess at it from its
effects. They seem to be of a curiously
mixed character. But that should surely help us.
It is only the colourless, uneventful case which is
hopeless. Let us consider our data.
The brother no longer visits the beloved invalid sister.
He gives away her favorite dog, her dog Watson.
Does that suggest nothing to you?
Nothing but the brother's spite? Well, it might be so.
Or, well, there is an alternative.
Now to continue our review of the situation.
From the time that the quarrel, if there is a quarrel, began,
the lady keeps to her room, alters her habits, is not seen
save when she drives out with her maid, refuses to stop at the
stables to greet her favorite horse, and apparently takes to
drink. That covers the case, does it
not? Save for the business in the
crypt. That is another line of thought.
There are two, and I beg you will not tangle them.
Line A, which concerns Lady Beatrice, has a vaguely sinister
flavour, has it not? I can make nothing of it.
Well, now, let us take up Line B, which concerns Sir Robert.
He is mad keen upon winning the Derby.
He is in the hands of the Jews, and may at any moment be sold up
and his racing stables seized by his creditors.
He is a daring and desperate man.
He derives his income from his sister.
His sister's maid is his willing tool.
So far we seem to be on fairly safe ground, do we not?
But the crypt? Ah, yes, the crypt.
Let us suppose, Watson, It is merely A scandalous supposition,
a hypothesis put forward for argument.
Say that Sir Robert has done away with his sister.
My dear Holmes, it is out of the question.
Very possibly, Watson. Sir Robert is a man of an
honourable stock, but you do occasionally find a carrion crow
among the eagles. Let us for a moment argue upon
this supposition. He could not fly the country
until he had realised his fortune, and that fortune could
only be realised by bringing off this coup with Shoscombe Prince.
Therefore he has still to stand his ground.
To do this he would have to dispose of the body of his
victim, and he would also have to find a substitute who would
impersonate her. With the maid as his confidante.
That would not be impossible. The woman's body might be
conveyed to the crypt, which is a place so seldom visited, and
it might be secretly destroyed at night in the furnace, leaving
behind it such evidence as we have already seen.
What Sayer to that, Watson? Well, it is all possible, if you
grant the original monstrous supposition.
I think that there is a small experiment which we may try to
Morrow Watson, in order to throw some light on the matter.
Meanwhile, if we mean to keep up our characters, I suggest that
we have our host in for a glass of his own wine, and hold some
high converse upon eels and dace, which seems to be the
straight road to his affections. We may chance to come upon some
useful local gossip in the process.
In the morning Holmes discovered that we had come without our
spoon bait for Jack, which absolved us from fishing for the
day. About 11:00 we started for a
walk and he obtained leave to take the black spaniel with us.
This is the place, said he, as we came to two high park gates
with heralded Griffins towering above them.
About mid-day, Mr. Barnes informs me, the old lady takes a
drive and the carriage must slow down while the gates are opened.
When it comes through and before it gathers speed, I want you,
Watson, to stop the coachman with some question.
Never mind me, I shall stand behind this holly Bush and see
what I can see. It was not a long vigil.
Within 1/4 of an hour we saw the big open yellow barouche coming
down the Long Ave. with two splendid high stepping dray
carriage horses in the shafts. Holmes crouched behind his Bush
with the dog. I stood unconcernedly swinging a
cane in the roadway. A keeper ran out and the gates
swung open. The carriage had slowed to a
walk and it was able to get a good look at the occupants.
A highly coloured young woman with flaxen hair and impudent
eyes sat on the left. At her right was an elderly
person with rounded back and a huddle of shawls about her face
and shoulders which proclaimed the invalid.
When the horses reached the High Road, I held up my hand with an
authoritative gesture, and as the coachman pulled up, I
inquired if Sir Robert was at Shoskemo Place.
At the same moment Holmes stepped out and released the
spaniel. With a joyous cry.
It dashed forward to the carriage and sprang upon the
step. Then in a moment, its eager
greeting changed to furious rage, and it snapped at the
black skirt above it. Drive on, drive on, shrieked A
harsh voice. The coachman lashed the horses
and we were left standing in the roadway.
Well, Watson, that's done it, said Holmes as he fastened the
lead to the neck of the excited spaniel.
He thought it was his mistress and he found it was a stranger.
Dogs don't make mistakes, but it was the voice of a man.
I cried exactly. We have added one card to our
hand Watson, but it needs careful playing all the same.
My companion seemed to have no further plans for the day and we
did actually use our fishing tackle in the Mill Stream, with
the result that we had a dish of trout for our supper.
It was only after that meal that Holmes showed signs of renewed
activity once more. We found ourselves upon the same
Rd. as in the morning, which led us to the park gates.
A tall, dark figure was awaiting us there, who proved to be our
London acquaintance, Mr. John Mason, the trainer.
Good evening, gentlemen, said he.
I got your note, Mr. Holmes. Sir Robert has not returned yet,
but I hear that he is expected tonight.
How far is this crypt from the house?
Asked Holmes. A good quarter of a mile.
Then I think we can disregard him altogether.
I can't afford to do that, Mister Holmes.
The moment he arrives he will want to see me to get the latest
news of Shoscombe Prince. I see.
In that case we must work without you, Mr. Mason.
You can show us the crypt and then leave us.
It was pitch dark and without a moon, but Mason LED us over the
grasslands until a dark mass loomed up in front of us, which
proved to be the ancient Chapel. We entered the broken gap which
was once the porch, and our guide, stumbling among heaps of
loose masonry, picked his way to the corner of the building where
a steep stair LED down into the crypt.
Striking a match, he illuminated the melancholy place, dismal and
evil spelling, with ancient crumbling walls of rough hewn
stone and piles of coffins, some of lead and some of stone,
extending upon one side right up to the arched and groin roof,
which lost itself in the shadows above our heads.
Holmes had lit his Lantern, which shot a tiny tunnel of
vivid yellow light upon the mournful scene.
Its rays were reflected back from the coffin plates, many of
them adorned with the griffon and coronet of this old family
which carried its honours even to the gate of Death.
You spoke of some bones, Mr. Mason.
Could you show them before you go?
They're here in this corner. The trainer strode across and
then stood in silent surprise as our light was turned upon the
place. They're gone, said he.
So I expected, said Holmes, chuckling.
I fancy the ashes of them might even now be found in that oven
which has already consumed a part.
But why in the world would anyone want to burn the bones of
a man who has been dead for 1000 years?
Asked John Mason. That is what we are here to find
out, said Holmes. It may mean a long search and we
need not detain you. I fancy that we shall get our
solution before mourning. When John Mason had left us,
Holmes set to work making a very careful examination of the
graves, ranging from a very ancient one, which appeared to
be Saxon in the centre, through a long line of Norman Hugos and
Odos until we reached the Sir William and Sir Denis folder of
the 18th century. It was an hour or more before
Holmes came to a leaden coffin standing on end before the
entrance to the vault. I heard his little cry of
satisfaction, and was aware from his hurried but purposeful
movements that he had reached a goal.
With his lens he was eagerly examining the edges of the heavy
lid. Then he drew from his pocket a
short jemmy, a box opener, which he thrust into a chink, levering
back the whole front, which seemed to be secured by only a
couple of clamps. There was a rending, tearing
sound as it gave way, but it had hardly hinged back and partly
revealed the contents before we had an unforeseen interruption.
Someone was walking in the Chapel above.
It was the firm, rapid step of one who came with a definite
purpose, and knew well the ground upon which he walked.
A light streamed down the stairs, and an instant later the
man who bore it was framed in the Gothic archway.
He was a terrible figure, huge in stature and fierce in manner.
A large, stable Lantern, which he held in front of him, shone
upwards upon a strong, heavily mustached face and angry eyes
which glared round him into every recess of the vault,
finally fixing themselves with a deadly stare upon my companion
and myself. Who the devil are you?
He thundered. And what are you doing upon my
property? Then, as Holmes returned no
answer, he took a couple of steps forward and raised a heavy
stick which he carried. Do you hear me?
He cried. Who are you?
What are you doing here? His cudgel quivered in the air,
but instead of shrinking, Holmes advanced to meet him.
I I also have a question to ask you Sir Robert, he said in his
sternest tone. Who is this and what is it doing
here? He turned and tore open the
coffin lid behind him. In the glare of the Lantern I
saw a body swathed in a sheet from head to foot with dreadful
witch like features, all nose and chin projecting at 1 end.
The dim glazed eyes staring from a discoloured and crumbling
face. The baronet had staggered back
with a cry and supported himself against a stone sarcophagus.
How came you to know of this? He cried, and then with some
return of his truculent manner. What business is it of yours?
My name is Sherlock Holmes, said my companion.
Possibly it is familiar to you. In any case, my business is that
of every other good citizen to uphold the law.
It seems to me that you have much to answer for, Sir.
Robert glared for a moment, but Holmes's quiet voice and cool,
assured manner had their effect. For God, Mr. Holmes, it's all
right, said he. Appearances are against me, I'll
admit, but I could act no otherwise.
I should be happy to think so that I fear your explanations
must be for the police. Sir Robert shrugged his broad
shoulders. Well, if it must be, it must
come up to the house, and you can judge for yourself how the
matter stands. Quarter of an hour later we
found ourselves in what I judge from the lines of polished
barrels behind glass covers, to be the gun room of the old
house. It was comfortably furnished.
And here Sir Robert left us for a few moments.
When he returned he had two companions with him, the one the
Florida young woman whom we had seen in the carriage, the other
a small rat faced man with a disagreeably furtive manner.
These two wore an appearance of utter bewilderment which showed
that the baronet had not yet had time to explain to them the turn
events had taken. There, said Sir Robert with a
wave of his hand, are Mr. and Missus Norlett.
Missus Norlett, under her maiden name of Evans, has for some
years been my sister's confidential maid.
I have brought them here because I feel that my best course is to
explain the true position to you, and they are the two people
upon earth who can substantiate what I say.
Is this necessary, Sir Robert? Have you thought what you are
doing? Cried the woman.
As to me, I entirely disclaim all responsibility, said her
husband. Sir Robert gave him a glance of
contempt. I will take all responsibility,
said he. Now, Mr. Holmes, listen to a
plain statement of the facts. You have clearly gone pretty
deeply into my affairs, or I should not have found you where
I did. Therefore you know already, in
all probability, that I am running a dark horse for the
Derby, and that everything depends upon my success.
If I win, all is easy. If I lose, well, I dare not
think of that. I understand the position, said
Holmes. I am dependent upon my sister
Lady Beatrice for everything, but it is well known that her
interest in the estate is for her own life only.
For myself, I am deeply in the hands of the Jews.
I have always known that if my sister were to die, my creditors
would be on to my estate like a flock of vultures.
Everything would be seized, my stables, my horses, everything.
Well, Mr. Holmes, my sister did die just a week ago.
And you told no one. What could I do?
Absolute ruin faced me. If I could stave things off for
three weeks, all would be well. Her maid's husband.
This man here is an actor. It came into our heads.
It came into my head that he could for that short period,
personate my sister. It was but a case of appearing
daily in the carriage, for no one need enter her room save a
maid. It was not difficult to arrange.
My sister died of the dropsy which had long afflicted her.
That will be for a coroner to decide.
Her doctor would certify that for months her symptoms had
threatened such an end. Well, what did you do?
The body could not remain there on the first night.
Naulit and I carried it out to the old well house, which is now
never used. We were followed, however, by
her pet spaniel, which yapped continually at the door.
So I felt some safer place was needed.
I got rid of the spaniel and we carried the body to the crypt of
the church. There was no indignity or
irreverence. Mr. Holmes, I do not feel that I
have wronged the dead. Your conduct seems to me
inexcusable, Sir Robert. The baronet shook his head
impatiently. It is easy to preach, said he.
Perhaps you would have felt differently if you had been in
my position. 1 cannot see all one's hopes and all one's plans
shattered at the last moment, and make no effort to save them.
It seemed to me that it would be no unworthy resting place if we
put her for the time in one of the coffins of her husband's
ancestors, lying in what is still consecrated ground.
We opened such a coffin, removed the contents, and placed her as
you have seen her. As to the old relics which we
took out, we could not leave them on the floor of the crypt.
Naulit and I removed them, and he descended at night and burned
them in that central furnace. There is my story, Mr. Holmes,
though how you forced my hand so that I have to tell it is more
than I can say. Holmes sat for some time, lost
in thought. There is one flaw in your
narrative, Sir Robert, he said. At last your bets on the race,
and therefore your hopes for the future, would hold good.
Even if your creditors seized your estate, the horse would be
part of the estate. Or do they care for my bets?
As likely as not they would not run him at all.
My chief creditor is unhappily my most bitter enemy, a rascally
fellow, Sam Brewer, whom I was once compelled to horse whip on
Newmarket Heath. Do you suppose that he would try
to save me? Well, Sir Robert, said Holmes
rising, this matter must of course, be referred to the
police. It was my duty to bring the
facts to light, and there I must leave it.
As to the morality or decency of your conduct, it is not for me
to express an opinion. It is nearly midnight Watson,
and I think we may make our way back to our humble abode.
It is generally known now that this singular episode ended upon
a happier note than Sir Robert's actions deserved.
Shroscombe Prince did win the Derby, the sporting owner did
net 80,000 lbs in bets and the creditors did hold their hand
until the race was over when they were paid in full and
enough was left to re establish Sir Robert in a fair position in
life. Both police and coroner took a
lenient view of the transaction and beyond a mild censure for
the delay in registering the ladies to cease, the lucky owner
got away scathless from this strange incident in a career
which has now outlived its shadows and promises to end in
an honoured old age. End of the adventure of
Shoscombe Old Place.