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Page 73
"If it is not too much trouble."
The J. P. shrugged his shoulders, and led the way into
his own chamber, which was a plainly furnished and
commonplace room. As we moved across it in the
direction of the window, Holmes fell back until he and
I were the last of the group. Near the foot of the
bed stood a dish of oranges and a carafe of water. As
we passed it Holmes, to my unutterable astonishment,
leaned over in front of me and deliberately knocked
the whole thing over. The glass smashed into a
thousand pieces and the fruit rolled about into every
corner of the room.
"You've done it now, Watson," said he, coolly. "A
pretty mess you've made of the carpet."
I stooped in some confusion and began to pick up the
fruit, understanding for some reason my companion
desired me to take the blame upon myself. The others
did the same, and set the table on its legs again.
"Hullo!" cried the Inspector, "where's he got to?"
Holmes had disappeared.
"Wait here an instant," said young Alec Cunningham.
"The fellow is off his head, in my opinion. Come with
me, father, and see where he has got to!"
They rushed out of the room, leaving the Inspector,
the Colonel, and me staring at each other.
"'Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with Master
Alec," said the official. "It may be the effect of
this illness, but it seems to me that--"
His words were cut short by a sudden scream of "Help!
Help! Murder!" With a thrill I recognized the voice
of that of my friend. I rushed madly from the room on
to the landing. The cries, which had sunk down into a
hoarse, inarticulate shouting, came from the room
which we had first visited. I dashed in, and on into
the dressing-room beyond. The two Cunninghams were
bending over the prostrate figure of Sherlock Holmes,
the younger clutching his throat with both hands,
while the elder seemed to be twisting one of his
wrists. In an instant the three of us had torn them
away from him, and Holmes staggered to his feet, very
pale and evidently greatly exhausted.
"Arrest these men, Inspector," he gasped.
"On what charge?"
"That of murdering their coachman, William Kirwan."
The Inspector stared about him in bewilderment. "Oh,
come now, Mr. Holmes," said he at last, "I'm sure you
don't really mean to--"
"Tut, man, look at their faces!" cried Holmes, curtly.
Never certainly have I seen a plainer confession of
guilt upon human countenances. The older man seemed
numbed and dazed with a heavy, sullen expression upon
his strongly-marked face. The son, on the other hand,
had dropped all that jaunty, dashing style which had
characterized him, and the ferocity of a dangerous
wild beast gleamed in his dark eyes and distorted his
handsome features. The Inspector said nothing, but,
stepping to the door, he blew his whistle. Two of his
constables came at the call.
"I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham," said he. "I
trust that this may all prove to be an absurd mistake,
but you can see that--Ah, would you? Drop it!" He
struck out with his hand, and a revolver which the
younger man was in the act of cocking clattered down
upon the floor.
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