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Page 70
"Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's pocket
before we catch the criminal?"
"Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then there
is another obvious point. The note was sent to
William. The man who wrote it could not have taken
it; otherwise, of course, he might have delivered his
own message by word of mouth. Who brought the note,
then? Or did it come through the post?"
"I have made inquiries," said the Inspector. "William
received a letter by the afternoon post yesterday.
The envelope was destroyed by him."
"Excellent!" cried Holmes, clapping the Inspector on
the back. "You've seen the postman. It is a pleasure
to work with you. Well, here is the lodge, and if you
will come up, Colonel, I will show you the scene of
the crime."
We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man
had lived, and walked up an oak-lined avenue to the
fine old Queen Anne house, which bears the date of
Malplaquet upon the lintel of the door. Holmes and
the Inspector led us round it until we came to the
side gate, which is separated by a stretch of garden
from the hedge which lines the road. A constable was
standing at the kitchen door.
"Throw the door open, officer," said Holmes. "Now, it
was on those stairs that young Mr. Cunningham stood
and saw the two men struggling just where we are. Old
Mr. Cunningham was at that window--the second on the
left--and he saw the fellow get away just to the left
of that bush. Then Mr. Alec ran out and knelt beside
the wounded man. The ground is very hard, you see,
and there are no marks to guide us." As he spoke two
men came down the garden path, from round the angle of
the house. The one was an elderly man, with a strong,
deep-lined, heavy-eyed face; the other a dashing young
fellow, whose bright, smiling expression and showy
dress were in strange contract with the business which
had brought us there.
"Still at it, then?" said he to Holmes. "I thought
you Londoners were never at fault. You don't seem to
be so very quick, after all."
"Ah, you must give us a little time," said Holmes
good-humoredly.
"You'll want it," said young Alec Cunningham. "Why, I
don't see that we have any clue at all."
"There's only one," answered the Inspector. "We
thought that if we could only find--Good heavens, Mr.
Holmes! What is the matter?"
My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed the most
dreadful expression. His eyes rolled upwards, his
features writhed in agony, and with a suppressed groan
he dropped on his face upon the ground. Horrified at
the suddenness and severity of the attack, we carried
him into the kitchen, where he lay back in a large
chair, and breathed heavily for some minutes.
Finally, with a shamefaced apology for his weakness,
he rose once more.
"Watson would tell you that I have only just recovered
from a severe illness," he explained. "I am liable to
these sudden nervous attacks."
"Shall I send you home in my trap?" asked old
Cunningham.
"Well, since I am here, there is one point on which I
should like to feel sure. We can very easily verify
it."
"What was it?"
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