“Consider,” I said, “all the essential gaps in your case. On themorning of the crime he can surely prove an alibi. He had beenwith his scholars till the last moment, and within a few minutes ofMcPherson’s appearance he came upon us from behind. Then bearin mind the absolute impossibility that he could single-handedhave inflicted this outrage upon a man quite as strong as himself.
Finally, there is this question of the instrument with which theseinjuries were inflicted.”
“What could it be but a scourge or flexible whip of some sort?”
“Have you examined the marks?” I asked.
“I have seen them. So has the doctor.”
“But I have examined them very carefully with a lens. They havepeculiarities.”
“What are they, Mr. Holmes?”
I stepped to my bureau and brought out an enlargedphotograph. “This is my method in such cases,” I explained.
“You certainly do things thoroughly, Mr. Holmes.”
“I should hardly be what I am if I did not. Now let us considerthis weal which extends round the right shoulder. Do you observenothing remarkable?”
“I can’t say I do.”
“Surely it is evident that it is unequal in its intensity. There isa dot of extravasated blood here, and another there. There aresimilar indications in this other weal down here. What can thatmean?”
“I have no idea. Have you?”
“Perhaps I have. Perhaps I haven’t. I may be able to say moresoon. Anything which will define what made that mark will bringus a long way towards the criminal.”
“It is, of course, an absurd idea,” said the policeman, “but ifa red-hot net of wire had been laid across the back, then thesebetter marked points would represent where the meshes crossedeach other.”
“A most ingenious comparison. Or shall we say a very stiff cat-o’-nine-tails with small hard knots upon it?”
“By Jove, Mr. Holmes, I think you have hit it.”
“Or there may be some very different cause, Mr. Bardle. Butyour case is far too weak for an arrest. Besides, we have those lastwords—the ‘Lion’s Mane.’ ”
“I have wondered whether Ian——”
“Yes, I have considered that. If the second word had borne anyresemblance to Murdoch—but it did not. He gave it almost in ashriek. I am sure that it was ‘Mane.’ ”
“Have you no alternative, Mr. Holmes?”
“Perhaps I have. But I do not care to discuss it until there issomething more solid to discuss.”
“And when will that be?”
“In an hour—possibly less.”
The inspector rubbed his chin and looked at me with dubiouseyes.
“I wish I could see what was in your mind, Mr. Holmes. Perhapsit’s those fishing-boats.”
“No, no, they were too far out.”
“Well, then, is it Bellamy and that big son of his? They werenot too sweet upon Mr. McPherson. Could they have done him amischief?”
“No, no, you won’t draw me until I am ready,” said I with asmile. “Now, Inspector, we each have our own work to do. Perhapsif you were to meet me here at midday——”
So far we had got when there came the tremendous interruptionwhich was the beginning of the end.
My outer door was flung open, there were blundering footstepsin the passage, and Ian Murdoch staggered into the room, pallid,dishevelled, his clothes in wild disorder, clawing with his bonyhands at the furniture to hold himself erect. “Brandy! Brandy!” hegasped, and fell groaning upon the sofa.
He was not alone. Behind him came Stackhurst, hatless andpanting, almost as distrait as his companion.
“Yes, yes, brandy!” he cried. “The man is at his last gasp. It wasall I could do to bring him here. He fainted twice upon the way.”
Half a tumbler of the raw spirit brought about a wondrouschange. He pushed himself up on one arm and swung his coatfrom his shoulders. “For God’s sake oil, opium, morphia!” he cried.
“Anything to ease this infernal agony!”
The inspector and I cried out at the sight. There, crisscrossedupon the man’s naked shoulder, was the same strange reticulatedpattern of red, inflamed lines which had been the death-mark ofFitzroy McPherson.
The pain was evidently terrible and was more than local, forthe sufferer’s breathing would stop for a time, his face would turnblack, and then with loud gasps he would clap his hand to hisheart, while his brow dropped beads of sweat. At any moment hemight die. More and more brandy was poured down his throat,each fresh dose bringing him back to life. Pads of cotton-woolsoaked in salad-oil seemed to take the agony from the strangewounds. At last his head fell heavily upon the cushion. ExhaustedNature had taken refuge in its last storehouse of vitality. It washalf a sleep and half a faint, but at least it was ease from pain.
To question him had been impossible, but the moment we wereassured of his condition Stackhurst turned upon me.
“My God!” he cried, “what is it, Holmes? What is it?”
“Where did you find him?”
“Down on the beach. Exactly where poor McPherson met hisend. If this man’s heart had been weak as McPherson’s was, hewould not be here now. More than once I thought he was gone as Ibrought him up. It was too far to The Gables, so I made for you.”
“Did you see him on the beach?”
“I was walking on the cliff when I heard his cry. He was at theedge of the water, reeling about like a drunken man. I ran down,threw some clothes about him, and brought him up. For heaven’ssake, Holmes, use all the powers you have and spare no pains tolift the curse from this place, for life is becoming unendurable.
Can you, with all your world-wide reputation, do nothing for us?”
“I think I can, Stackhurst. Come with me now! And you,Inspector, come along! We will see if we cannot deliver thismurderer into your hands.”
Leaving the unconscious man in the charge of my housekeeper,we all three went down to the deadly lagoon. On the shingle therewas piled a little heap of towels and clothes left by the strickenman. Slowly I walked round the edge of the water, my comradesin Indian file behind me. Most of the pool was quite shallow, butunder the cliff where the beach was hollowed out it was four orfive feet deep. It was to this part that a swimmer would naturallygo, for it formed a beautiful pellucid green pool as clear as crystal.
