A line of rocks lay above it at the base of the cliff, and along thisI led the way, peering eagerly into the depths beneath me. I hadreached the deepest and stillest pool when my eyes caught that forwhich they were searching, and I burst into a shout of triumph.
“Cyanea!” I cried. “Cyanea! Behold the Lion’s Mane!”
The strange object at which I pointed did indeed look like atangled mass torn from the mane of a lion. It lay upon a rockyshelf some three feet under the water, a curious waving, vibrating,hairy creature with streaks of silver among its yellow tresses. Itpulsated with a slow, heavy dilation and contraction.
“It has done mischief enough. Its day is over!” I cried. “Help me,Stackhurst! Let us end the murderer forever.”
There was a big boulder just above the ledge, and we pushedit until it fell with a tremendous splash into the water. Whenthe ripples had cleared we saw that it had settled upon the ledgebelow. One flapping edge of yellow membrane showed that ourvictim was beneath it. A thick oily scum oozed out from below thestone and stained the water round, rising slowly to the surface.
“Well, this gets me!” cried the inspector. “What was it, Mr. Holmes? I’m born and bred in these parts, but I never saw such athing. It don’t belong to Sussex.”
“Just as well for Sussex,” I remarked. “It may have been thesouthwest gale that brought it up. Come back to my house, bothof you, and I will give you the terrible experience of one who hasgood reason to remember his own meeting with the same peril ofthe seas.”
When we reached my study we found that Murdoch was so farrecovered that he could sit up. He was dazed in mind, and everynow and then was shaken by a paroxysm of pain. In broken wordshe explained that he had no notion what had occurred to him,save that terrific pangs had suddenly shot through him, and that ithad taken all his fortitude to reach the bank.
“Here is a book,” I said, taking up the little volume, “which firstbrought light into what might have been forever dark. It is Outof Doors, by the famous observer, J. G. Wood. Wood himself verynearly perished from contact with this vile creature, so he wrotewith a very full knowledge. Cyanea capillata is the miscreant’s fullname, and he can be as dangerous to life as, and far more painfulthan, the bite of the cobra. Let me briefly give this extract.
“If the bather should see a loose roundish mass of tawnymembranes and fibres, something like very large handfuls oflion’s mane and silver paper, let him beware, for this is the fearfulstinger, Cyanea capillata.
Could our sinister acquaintance be more clearly described?
“He goes on to tell of his own encounter with one when swimmingoff the coast of Kent. He found that the creature radiated almostinvisible filaments to the distance of fifty feet, and that anyonewithin that circumference from the deadly centre was in danger ofdeath. Even at a distance the effect upon Wood was almost fatal.
“The multitudinous threads caused light scarlet lines upon theskin which on closer examination resolved into minute dots orpustules, each dot charged as it were with a red-hot needle makingits way through the nerves.
“The local pain was, as he explains, the least part of the exquisitetorment.
“Pangs shot through the chest, causing me to fall as if struck bya bullet. The pulsation would cease, and then the heart would givesix or seven leaps as if it would force its way through the chest.
“It nearly killed him, although he had only been exposed toit in the disturbed ocean and not in the narrow calm waters ofa bathing-pool. He says that he could hardly recognize himselfafterwards, so white, wrinkled and shrivelled was his face. Hegulped down brandy, a whole bottleful, and it seems to have savedhis life. There is the book, Inspector. I leave it with you, and youcannot doubt that it contains a full explanation of the tragedy ofpoor McPherson.”
“And incidentally exonerates me,” remarked Ian Murdoch with awry smile. “I do not blame you, Inspector, nor you, Mr. Holmes, foryour suspicions were natural. I feel that on the very eve of my arrestI have only cleared myself by sharing the fate of my poor friend.”
“No, Mr. Murdoch. I was already upon the track, and had I beenout as early as I intended I might well have saved you from thisterrific experience.”
“But how did you know, Mr. Holmes?”
“I am an omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memoryfor trifles. That phrase ‘the Lion’s Mane’ haunted my mind. I knewthat I had seen it somewhere in an unexpected context. You haveseen that it does describe the creature. I have no doubt that it wasfloating on the water when McPherson saw it, and that this phrasewas the only one by which he could convey to us a warning as tothe creature which had been his death.”
“Then I, at least, am cleared,” said Murdoch, rising slowly to hisfeet. “There are one or two words of explanation which I shouldgive, for I know the direction in which your inquiries have run.
It is true that I loved this lady, but from the day when she chosemy friend McPherson my one desire was to help her to happiness.
I was well content to stand aside and act as their go-between.
Often I carried their messages, and it was because I was in theirconfidence and because she was so dear to me that I hastened totell her of my friend’s death, lest someone should forestall me ina more sudden and heartless manner. She would not tell you, sir,of our relations lest you should disapprove and I might suffer. Butwith your leave I must try to get back to The Gables, for my bedwill be very welcome.”
Stackhurst held out his hand. “Our nerves have all been atconcert-pitch,” said he. “Forgive what is past, Murdoch. We shallunderstand each other better in the future.” They passed outtogether with their arms linked in friendly fashion. The inspectorremained, staring at me in silence with his ox-like eyes.
“Well, you’ve done it!” he cried at last. “I had read of you, but Inever believed it. It’s wonderful!”
