“Well, sir, I think it would hardly interest them. It was just thehead and a few bones of a mummy. It may have been a thousandyears old. But it wasn’t there before. That I’ll swear, and so willStephens. It had been stowed away in a corner and covered overwith a board, but that corner had always been empty before.”
“What did you do with it?”
“Well, we just left it there.”
“That was wise. You say Sir Robert was away yesterday. Has hereturned?”
“We expect him back to-day.”
“When did Sir Robert give away his sister’s dog?”
“It was just a week ago to-day. The creature was howling outsidethe old wellhouse, and Sir Robert was in one of his tantrums thatmorning. 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 thedog to old Barnes at the Green Dragon, for he never wished to seeit again.”
Holmes sat for some time in silent thought. He had lit theoldest 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 ourvisitor.
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 LadyBeatrice’s room. It’s been off for some time, but Sir Robertcomplained of cold and had it on again.
Harvey runs it—he’s one of my lads. This very morning he cameto me with this which he found raking out the cinders. He didn’tlike 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 questionas to its anatomical significance.
“It’s the upper condyle of a human femur,” said I.
“Exactly!” Holmes had become very serious. “When does thislad 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 leadsup by a stair to the passage in which Lady Beatrice’s room issituated.”
“These are deep waters, Mr. Mason; deep and rather dirty. Yousay 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 honesttrainer showed very clearly upon his face that he was convincedthat yet another lunatic had come into his harassed life.
“Well, sir, I’ve heard there are trout in the mill-stream and pikein the Hall lake.”
“That’s good enough. Watson and I are famous fishermen—arewe not, Watson? You may address us in future at the GreenDragon. We should reach it to-night. I need not say that we don’twant to see you, Mr. Mason, but a note will reach us, and no doubtI could find you if I want you. When we have gone a little fartherinto the matter I will let you have a considered opinion.”
Thus it was that on a bright May evening Holmes and I foundourselves alone in a first-class carriage and bound for the little“halt-on-demand” station of Shoscombe. The rack above us wascovered with a formidable litter of rods, reels, and baskets. Onreaching our destination a short drive took us to an old-fashionedtavern, where a sporting host, Josiah Barnes, entered eagerly intoour plans for the extirpation of the fish of the neighbourhood.
“What about the Hall lake and the chance of a pike?” saidHolmes.
The face of the innkeeper clouded.
“That wouldn’t do, sir. You might chance to find yourself in thelake before you were through.”
“How’s that, then?”
“It’s Sir Robert, sir. He’s terrible jealous of touts. If you twostrangers were as near his training quarters as that he’d be afteryou as sure as fate. He ain’t taking 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 Robert’s into the bargain. By the way” —he looked at uswith thoughtful eyes— “I suppose you ain’t on the turf yourselves?”
“No, indeed. Just two weary Londoners who badly need somegood Berkshire air.”
“Well, you are in the right place for that. There is a deal of itlying about. But mind what I have told you about Sir Robert. He’sthe sort that strikes first and speaks afterwards. Keep clear of thepark.”
“Surely, Mr. Barnes! We certainly shall. By the way, that was amost beautiful spaniel that was whining in the hall.”
“I should say it was. That was the real Shoscombe breed. Thereain’t a better in England.”
“I am a dog-fancier myself,” said Holmes. “Now, if it is a fairquestion, what would a prize dog like that cost?”
“More than I could pay, sir. It was Sir Robert himself who gaveme this one. That’s why I have to keep it on a lead. It would be offto the Hall in a jiffy if I gave it its head.”
“We are getting some cards in our hand, Watson,” said Holmeswhen the landlord had left us. “It’s not an easy one to play, but wemay see our way in a day or two. By the way, Sir Robert is still inLondon, I hear. We might, perhaps, enter the sacred domain tonightwithout fear of bodily assault. There are one or two pointson which I should like reassurance.”
“Have you any theory, Holmes?”
“Only this, Watson, that something happened a week or so agowhich 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 shouldsurely help us. It is only the colourless, uneventful case which ishopeless.
“Let us consider our data. The brother no longer visits thebeloved invalid sister. He gives away her favourite dog. Her dog,Watson! Does that suggest nothing to you?”
“Nothing but the brother’s spite.”
