The Boscombe Valley Mystery The Story (student version) The Boscombe Valley Mystery The Story chapter 1: the murder case


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The Boscombe Valley Mystery

The Story
(student version)

The Boscombe Valley Mystery

The Story


Dr Watson is telling the story.

“Have you heard anything of the case of Boscombe Valley?” Holmes asked me.

“Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days.”

“The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so extremely difficult.”

“That sounds a little contradictory.”

“But it is very true. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they have established a very serious case against the son of the murdered man.”

“It is a murder, then?”

“Well, it is thought to be so. I shall take nothing for granted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it. I will explain the case to you, as far as I have been able to understand it.

1.1 Background of the murdered man

“Boscombe Valley is a country district in Herefordshire. The murdered man is Mr. Charles McCarthy. He had rented his farm at Hatherley from a Mr. John Turner, the largest land owner in that part, who made his money in Australia and returned some years ago to England. McCarthy was also an ex-Australian, and the two men had known each other when they were in Australia, so apparently when they came to settle down they did so as near each other as possible. McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wives living. They appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring English families and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the neighbourhood. McCarthy had two servants – a man and a girl. Turner had a big household, with at least half a dozen servants. That is as much as I have been able to gather about the families. Now for the facts.

“On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his home about three in the afternoon and walked down to the Boscombe Pool near his farmhouse. He had told his servant that he was in a hurry, as he had an important appointment to keep at three. From that appointment he never came back alive.

1.2 The Witnesses’ reports

“From Hatherley Farmhouse to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. They were an old woman and a game-keeper. Both these witnesses said they saw Mr. McCarthy walking alone. William Crowder, the game-keeper added that a few minutes after seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a shotgun under his arm. He believed the son was following the father.

“The two McCarthys were later seen again by a girl who was picking flowers at the edge of the wood near the Boscombe Pool. She is Patience Moran, a girl of fourteen, who is the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley Estate. She states that while she was there she saw Mr. McCarthy and his son at the edge of the wood and close by the lake, where they appeared to be having a violent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using very strong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise his hand as if to strike his father. She was so frightened by their violence that she ran away and told her mother when she reached home that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going to fight.

“She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy came running up to the lodge to say that he had found his father dead in the wood, and to ask the lodge-keeper for help. He was much excited, without either his shotgun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve were stained with fresh blood.

“On following him they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside the pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The injuries seemed to have been made by the butt-end of his son's shotgun, which was found lying on the grass within a few feet from the body. Under these circumstances the young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of 'wilful murder' has been returned at the inquest on Tuesday. On the next day he was brought before the magistrates at Herefordshire, who have referred the case to the district court. Those are the main facts of the case as they came out before the coroner and the police-court.”

1.3 Circumstantial evidence

“I could hardly imagine a more damning case,” I remarked. “If ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here.”

“Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing,” answered Holmes thoughtfully. “It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally convincing manner to something entirely different. I must admit, however, that the case looks exceedingly serious against the young man, and it is very possible that he is indeed the murderer. There are several people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss Turner, the daughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believes in his innocence, and who has appointed Lestrade of Scotland Yard to work out the case in his interest. As Lestrade is rather puzzled, he has referred the case to me.”

“I am afraid that the facts are so obvious that you will gain very little out of this case.”

“There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact,” Holmes answered, laughing. “Besides, we may hit upon some other obvious facts which may have not been obvious to Mr. Lestrade… There are one or two minor points which were brought out in the inquest, and which are worth considering.”

“What are they?”

“It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after he returned to Hatherley Farm. When the inspector told him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not surprised to hear it, and it was no more than what he deserved. Such a response naturally removed any traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the coroner's jury.”

“It was a confession,” I said.

“No, for he then protested he was innocent.”

“Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at least a most suspicious remark.”

“On the contrary,” said Holmes, “it is the brightest rift which I can at present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be, he could not be such an absolute fool as not to see that the circumstances were very black against him. Had he appeared surprised at his own arrest, or pretended to be very angry about it, I should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances. Instead, it might appear to be the best policy to a cunning man. His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent man, or else as a man of considerable self-control and firmness. As to his remark that he deserved to be accused, it was also not unnatural if you consider that, according to the little girl, he had on that very day quarrelled with his father and even raise his hand as if to strike him. His remark appears to me to be the sign of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty one.”

I shook my head. “Many men have been hanged on far less evidence,” I remarked.

“So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged.”

1.4 Statement of the suspect

“What is the young man's own account of the matter?”

“It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters, though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive. You will find it here, and may read it for yourself.”

He picked out from his brief-case a copy of the local Herefordshire paper, and pointed out on a sheet the paragraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his own statement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this way:

Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called and gave evidence as follows:

“I had been away from home for three days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon the morning of last Monday, the 3rd. When I arrived home, I was told by the maid that my father was out. Shortly after that I heard the wheels of his carriage in the yard, and, looking out of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard, though I was not aware in which direction he was going. I then took my shotgun and strolled out in the direction of the Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit-holes. On my way I saw William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father. I had no idea that he was in front of me.

When about a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of “Cooee!” which was a usual signal between my father and myself. I then hurried forward, and found him standing by the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. We had a conversation which led to angry words and we almost fought, for my father was a man of a very violent temper. Seeing that he was very emotional, I left him and returned towards Hatherley Farm.

I had not gone more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous cry behind me, and so I ran back. I found my father stretching on the ground, with his head terribly injured. I dropped my shot-gun and held him in my arms, but he almost instantly died. I knelt beside him for some minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's lodge house, as it was the nearest, to ask for assistance.

I saw no one near my father when I left him, and I have no idea how he came by his injuries. He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as I know, no active enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.”

1.5 Examination of the suspect

The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before he died?

Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some allusion to a rat.

The Coroner: What did you understand by that?

Witness: It did not make any sense to me. I thought that he was delirious.

The Coroner: What was the quarrel between you and your father about?

Witness: I prefer not to answer.

The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it.

Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed.

The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. You should know that your refusal to answer will make your case more negative.

Witness: I must still refuse.

The Coroner: I understand that the cry of “Cooee” was a common signal between you and your father?

Witness: It was.

The Coroner: Why then did he utter it before he saw you, and before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol?

Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.

A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions when you returned on hearing the cry and found your father fatally injured?

Witness: Nothing definite.

The Coroner: What do you mean?

Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into the open, that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet I have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay upon the ground my left. It seemed to me to be something grey in colour, perhaps a coat of some sort. When I rose from my father I looked round for it, but it was gone.

“Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?”

“Yes, it was gone.”

“You cannot say what it was?”

“No, I had a feeling something was there.”

“How far from the body?”

“A dozen yards or so.”

“And how far from the edge of the wood?”

“About the same.”

“Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of it?”

“Yes, but with my back towards it.”

This concluded the examination of the witness.

“I see,” said I as I glanced down the column, “that the coroner in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy. He calls attention, and with reason, to the strange facts that his father had signalled to him before seeing him, that he refused to give details of his conversation with his father, and he gave the strange account of his father's dying words. They are all, as the coroner remarks, very much against the son.”

Holmes laughed softly to himself. “Both you and the coroner have been at some pains,” said he, “to single out the very strongest points in the young man's favour. Don't you see that you alternately give him credit for having too much imagination and too little? Too little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he invented anything so strange as a dying remark about a rat, and the incident of the disappearing cloth. No, sir, I shall approach this case from the point of view that what this young man says is true, and we shall see where that hypothesis will lead us.”


2.1 Meeting Miss Turner

It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through the beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming River Severn, found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A lean, cunning and sly-looking man was waiting for us upon the platform. He was Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a room had already been reserved for us.

“I have ordered a carriage,” said Lestrade as we sat over a cup of tea. “I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy until you had been on the scene of the crime.”

“It was very nice and helpful of you,” Holmes answered.

Lestrade laughed pleasantly. “You have, no doubt, already formed your conclusions from the newspapers,” he said. “The case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such a very positive one, too. She has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was nothing which you could do which I had not already done. Why, bless my soul! Here is her carriage at the door.”

He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of her natural beauty lost in her overpowering excitement and concern.

“Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!” she cried, glancing from one to the other of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition, fastening upon my companion, “I am so glad that you have come. I have driven here to tell you so. I know that James didn't do it. I know it, and I want you to start upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. James and I have known each other since we were little children, and I know his faults as no one else does; but he is too tenderhearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him.”

“I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner,” said Sherlock Holmes. “You may rely upon my doing all that I can.”

“But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion? Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think that he is innocent?”

“I think that it is very probable.”

“There, now!” she cried, throwing back her head and looking angrily at Lestrade. “You hear! He gives me hope.”

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “I am afraid that my colleague has been a little quick in forming his conclusions,” he said.

“But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did it. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because I was concerned in it.”

“In what way?” asked Holmes.

“It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had many disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that we should marry. James and I have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and… and… well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them.”

“And your father?” asked Holmes. “Was he in favour of the marriage?”

“No, he was against it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in favour of it.” A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.

“Thank you for this information,” said he. “May I see your father if I call to-morrow?”

“I am afraid the doctor won't allow it.”

“The doctor?”

“Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for years back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his nervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had known my father in the old days in Victoria.”

“ln Victoria? At the gold-mines, where Mr. Turner made his money.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of great assistance to me.”

“You will tell me if you have any news tomorrow. No doubt you will go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell him that I know he is innocent.”

“I will, Miss Turner.”

“I must go home now, for my father is very ill, and he misses me so if I leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your investigation.” She hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.

“I am ashamed of you, Holmes,” said Lestrade with dignity after a few minutes' silence. “Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel.”

“I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy,” said Holmes. “Have you an order to see him in prison?”

“Yes, but only for you and me.”

“I shall go away a couple of hours and when I come back we’ll take a train to Hereford to see him to-night.”

2.2 James McCarthy

It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned from Hereford.

“The humidity is still very high,” he remarked as he sat down. “It is important that it should not rain before we are able to go over the scene of the crime. On the other hand, I need to be at my very best and keenest for such work, and I do not wish to do it when I’m exhausted by a long journey. I have seen young McCarthy.”

“And what did you learn from him? Could he throw any light?”

“None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew who had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced now that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very quick-witted youth, though attractive to look at and, I should think, sound at heart.”

“I cannot admire his taste,” I remarked, “if it is indeed true that he refuses to marry so charming a young lady as this Miss Turner.”

“Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful story. This fellow is madly, insanely, in love with her. But, she has been away two years at a boarding-school, and recently this silly young man got into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and married her at a registry office. No one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening it must be to him to be blamed by his father for not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer anger and pain of this sort which made him throw his hands up into the air when his father, at their last interview, was pushing him on to propose to Miss Turner. On the other hand, he had no income to support himself, and his father, who was a very hard man, would have thrown him over completely had he known the truth. It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has decided to desert him and has written to him to say that she has a husband already in London, so that there is really no tie between them. I think that that bit of news is a comfort to young McCarthy for all that he has suffered.”

2.3 Who has done it?

“But if he is innocent, who has done it?”

“Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry 'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are the crucial points upon which the case depends. Let’s deal with these tomorrow.”

There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke bright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us with the carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe Pool.

“There is serious news this morning,” Lestrade observed. “It is said that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that he is going to die soon.”

“An elderly man, I presume?” said Holmes.

“About sixty; but his health has been shattered by his life abroad, and he has been in poor health for some time. This tragedy has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend of McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free.”

“Indeed! That is interesting,” said Holmes.

“Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody about here speaks of his kindness to him.”

“Really! Does it not strike you as a little strange that this McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is going to be heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself was against the idea. Do you not deduce something from that?”

“We have got to the deductions and the inferences,” said Lestrade, winking at me. “I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies. Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult to get hold of,” replied Lestrade with some warmth.

“And that is…”

“That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine.”

“Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog,” said Holmes, laughing. “But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley Farm upon the left.”

2.4 Scene of the crime

“Yes, that is it.” It was a widespread, comfortable-looking building, two-storied, with great yellow patches of lichen upon the grey walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight of this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door, when the maid, at Holmes's request, showed us the boots which her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son's, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured these very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed the winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.

Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent as this. His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like wires in his long, thin neck. His nostrils seemed to open with a purely animal interest for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark seemed to fall upon deaf ears, or, at the most, only received a quick, impatient reply.

Swiftly and silently he made his way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon the path and amid the short grass around it. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he made quite a little indirect route into the meadow. Lestrade and I walked behind him. Lestrade was indifferent and contemptuous, while I watched my friend with interest as I was certain that every one of his actions was directed towards a definite end.

The Boscombe Pool, which is a little sheet of water some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the Hatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner. Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see the red roofs of the rich landowner's house. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of marshy grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the bushes which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which the body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground, that I could plainly see the traces which had been left by the fall of the murdered man. To Holmes, as I could see by his eager face and peering eyes, very many other things were to be read upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog that is picking up a scent, and then turned upon Lestrade.

“What did you go into the pool for?” he asked.

“How on earth…”

“Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its inward twist is all over the place, and there it disappears among the bushes. Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and trotted all over it. Here is where the party with the lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or eight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks of the same feet.”

He drew out a lens and lay down upon his raincoat to have a better view, talking all the time rather to himself than to us. “These are young McCarthy's feet. Twice he was walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out his story. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here are the father's feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It is the butt-end of the shotgun as the son stood listening. And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite unusual boots! They come, they go, they come again… of course that was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?”

He ran up and down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we were well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks, gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and examining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully examined and kept. Then he followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the highroad, where all traces were lost.

“It has been a case of considerable interest,” he remarked, returning to his natural manner. “I fancy that this grey house on the right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have a word with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done that, we may drive back to take our lunch. You may walk to the cab, and I shall be with you soon.” It was about ten minutes before we returned to our cab and drove back to our hotel in Ross. Holmes was still carrying with him the stone which he had picked up in the wood.

“This may interest you, Lestrade,” he remarked, holding out the stone. “The murder was done with it.”

“I see no marks.”

“There are none.”

“How do you know, then?”

“The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few days. There was no sign of a place where it had been taken. It corresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any other weapon.”

“And the murderer?''

“Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our search.”

Lestrade laughed. “I am afraid that I am still doubtful,” he said. “Theories are all very well, but we have to convince a stubborn British jury.”

“Fine,” answered Holmes calmly. “You work your own method, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably return to London by the evening train.”

“And leave your case unfinished?”

“No, finished.”

“But the mystery?”

“It is solved.'

“Who was the criminal, then?”

“The gentleman I describe.”

“But who is he?''

“Surely it would not be difficult to find out. Hereford is only a small town.”

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “I am a practical man,” he said, “and I really cannot start to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with limps in a leg. I should become the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard.”

“All right,” said Holmes quietly. “I have given you the chance. Here is your hotel. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before I leave.”

Having left Lestrade, we drove to our hotel, where we found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in thought with a puzzled expression upon his face.

“Look here, Watson,” he said when the cloth was cleared, “just sit down in this chair and let me talk to you for a little. I don't know quite what to do, and I should value your advice.”

“Please do so.”

2.5 Two points to consider

“Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young McCarthy's narrative which struck us both instantly, although they impressed me in his favour and you against him. One was the fact that his father should, according to his account, cry 'Cooee!' before seeing him. The other was his strange dying remarks about a rat. He mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son's ear. Now from this double point our research must start, and we will begin it by assuming that what the son says is absolutely true.”

“What of this 'Cooee!' then?”

“Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The son, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was within earshot. The 'Cooee!' was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But 'Cooee' is a Australian cry, and one which is used between Australians. There is a strong possibility that the person whom McCarthy expected to meet at Boscombe Pool was someone who had been in Australia.”

“What of the rat, then?”

Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it out on the table. “This is a map of Victoria,” he said. “I wired to Bristol for it last night.” He put his hand over part of the map. “What do you read?”

“ARAT,” I read.

“And now?” he raised his hand.


“Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter the name of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat.”

“It is wonderful!” I exclaimed.

“It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down considerably. The possession of a grey garment was a third point which, granting the son's statement to be correct, was a certainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite fact of an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak.”


“And one who was living in the district, for the pool can only be approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardly wander.”

“Quite so.”

“Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the ground I gained the trivial details which I gave to that stupid Lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal.”

“But how did you gain them?”

“You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles.”

“His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length of his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces.”

“Yes, they were peculiar boots.”

“But his lameness?”

“The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than his left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped – he was lame.”

“But his left-handedness.”

“You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by the surgeon at-the inquest. The blow was struck from immediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how can that be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behind that tree during the interview between the father and son. He had even smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to tell it was an Indian cigar. I have, as you know, devoted some time to this, and written a little book on the ashes of 140 different types of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found the ash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss where he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar.”

“And the cigar-holder?”

“I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he used a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife.”

“Holmes,” I said, “you have drawn a net round this man from which he cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent man’s life. I see the direction in which all this points. The culprit is…”


3.1 Mr. John Turner

“Mr. John Turner,” cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our sitting-room, and showing in a visitor.

The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His slow, limping step and bowed shoulders made him look worn out, and yet his hard, deep-lined, rough features, and his enormous limbs showed that he had unusual strength of body and character. His tangled beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an ashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that he was seriously ill.

“Please sit down on the sofa,” said Holmes gently. “You had my note?”

“Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to see me here to avoid scandal.”

“I thought people would talk if I went to your house.”

“And why did you wish to see me?” He looked across at my companion with despair in his tired eyes, as though his question was already answered.

“Yes,” said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. “It is so. I know all about McCarthy.”

The old man sank his face in his hands. “God help me!” he cried. “But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you my word that I would speak out if it went against him at the district court.”

“I am glad to hear you say so,” said Holmes gravely.

“I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It would break her heart… it will break her heart when she hears that I am arrested.”

“It may not come to that,” said Holmes.


“I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter who required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests. Young McCarthy must be got off, however.”

“I am a dying man,” said old Turner. “I have had diabetes for years. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a jail.”

Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a stack of paper before him. “Just tell us the truth,” he said. “I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson here can witness it. Then I could produce your confession when it is necessary to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall not use it unless it is absolutely needed.”

“It's as well,” said the old man, “it matters little to me, but I should wish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the thing clear to you; it has been happening for a long time, but will not take me long to tell.

3.2 Black Jack of Ballarat

“You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devilish man. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years, and he has ruined my life. I'll tell you first how I came to be in his power.

“It was in the early sixties at the mines. I was a young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, took to the bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highway robber. There were six of us, and we had a wild, free life, sticking up a station from time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings. Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party is still remembered in Australia as the Ballarat Gang. One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and we lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six guards and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first combat. Three of our boys were killed, however, before we got the gold. I put my pistol to the head of the wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the Lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature.

“We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to England without being suspected. There I parted from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life. I bought this estate, and I set myself to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had earned it. I married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice. Even when she was just a baby her little hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was going well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.

“I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in the street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot.

“'Here we are, Jack,' says he, touching me on the arm; 'we'll be as good as a family to you. There's two of us, me and my son, and you can take care of us. If you don't… it's a fine, law-abiding country is England, and there's always a policeman around.'

“Well, down they came to Hereford, there was no shaking them off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; wherever I turn, there was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more afraid of her knowing my past than of the police. Whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him without question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing which I could not give. He asked for Alice.

“His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine move to him that his lad should step into the whole property. But there I was firm. I would not have his evil family mixed with mine; not that I had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that was enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I challenged him to do his worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between our houses to talk it over.

“When we went down there I found him talking with his son, so smoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone. But as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in me seemed to come up. He was urging his son to marry my daughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she were a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that I and all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a man as this. Could I not take the move? I was already a dying and a desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, I knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl! Both could be saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned, I have led a good life to make up for it. But that my girl should be caught in the same trap which held me was more than I could suffer. I struck him down with no more reluctance than if he had been some fierce and fearful beast. His cry brought back his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I was forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in my flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred.”

3.3 The end

“Well, it is not for me to judge you,” said Holmes as the old man signed the statement which had been drawn out. “I pray that we may never be exposed to such a temptation.”

“I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?”

“In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the District court. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is condemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or dead, shall be safe with us.”

“Farewell, then,” said the old man solemnly. “Your own deathbeds, when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace which you have given to mine.” Tottering and shaking in all his giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.

“God help us!” said Holmes after a long silence. “Why does fate play such tricks with poor, helpless souls?”

James McCarthy was acquitted at the District court on the strength of a number of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes and submitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven months after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is every possibility that the son and daughter may come to live happily together in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their past.

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