The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge (3 page)

It was nearly six o'clock before we found ourselves in the pretty
Surrey village of Esher, with Inspector Baynes as our companion.

Holmes and I had taken things for the night, and found comfortable
quarters at the Bull. Finally we set out in the company of the
detective on our visit to Wisteria Lodge. It was a cold, dark March
evening, with a sharp wind and a fine rain beating upon our faces, a
fit setting for the wild common over which our road passed and the
tragic goal to which it led us.

A cold and melancholy walk of a couple of miles brought us to a high
wooden gate, which opened into a gloomy avenue of chestnuts. The curved
and shadowed drive led us to a low, dark house, pitch-black against a
slate-coloured sky. From the front window upon the left of the door
there peeped a glimmer of a feeble light.

"There's a constable in possession," said Baynes. "I'll knock at the
window." He stepped across the grass plot and tapped with his hand on
the pane. Through the fogged glass I dimly saw a man spring up from a
chair beside the fire, and heard a sharp cry from within the room. An
instant later a white-faced, hard-breathing policeman had opened the
door, the candle wavering in his trembling hand.

"What's the matter, Walters?" asked Baynes sharply.

The man mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and agave a long sigh
of relief.

"I am glad you have come, sir. It has been a long evening, and I don't
think my nerve is as good as it was."

"Your nerve, Walters? I should not have thought you had a nerve in
your body."

"Well, sir, it's this lonely, silent house and the queer thing in the
kitchen. Then when you tapped at the window I thought it had come
again."

"That what had come again?"

"The devil, sir, for all I know. It was at the window."

"What was at the window, and when?"

"It was just about two hours ago. The light was just fading. I was
sitting reading in the chair. I don't know what made me look up, but
there was a face looking in at me through the lower pane. Lord, sir,
what a face it was! I'll see it in my dreams."

"Tut, tut, Walters. This is not talk for a police-constable."

"I know, sir, I know; but it shook me, sir, and there's no use to deny
it. It wasn't black, sir, nor was it white, nor any colour that I know
but a kind of queer shade like clay with a splash of milk in it. Then
there was the size of it—it was twice yours, sir. And the look of
it—the great staring goggle eyes, and the line of white teeth like a
hungry beast. I tell you, sir, I couldn't move a finger, nor get my
breath, till it whisked away and was gone. Out I ran and through the
shrubbery, but thank God there was no one there."

"If I didn't know you were a good man, Walters, I should put a black
mark against you for this. If it were the devil himself a constable on
duty should never thank God that he could not lay his hands upon him.
I suppose the whole thing is not a vision and a touch of nerves?"

"That, at least, is very easily settled," said Holmes, lighting his
little pocket lantern. "Yes," he reported, after a short examination
of the grass bed, "a number twelve shoe, I should say. If he was all
on the same scale as his foot he must certainly have been a giant."

"What became of him?"

"He seems to have broken through the shrubbery and made for the road."

"Well," said the inspector with a grave and thoughtful face, "whoever
he may have been, and whatever he may have wanted, he's gone for the
present, and we have more immediate things to attend to. Now, Mr.
Holmes, with your permission, I will show you round the house."

The various bedrooms and sitting-rooms had yielded nothing to a careful
search. Apparently the tenants had brought little or nothing with
them, and all the furniture down to the smallest details had been taken
over with the house. A good deal of clothing with the stamp of Marx
and Co., High Holborn, had been left behind. Telegraphic inquiries had
been already made which showed that Marx knew nothing of his customer
save that he was a good payer. Odds and ends, some pipes, a few
novels, two of them in Spanish, and old-fashioned pinfire revolver, and
a guitar were among the personal property.

"Nothing in all this," said Baynes, stalking, candle in hand, from room
to room. "But now, Mr. Holmes, I invite your attention to the kitchen."

It was a gloomy, high-ceilinged room at the back of the house, with a
straw litter in one corner, which served apparently as a bed for the
cook. The table was piled with half-eaten dishes and dirty plates, the
debris of last night's dinner.

"Look at this," said Baynes. "What do you make of it?"

He held up his candle before an extraordinary object which stood at the
back of the dresser. It was so wrinkled and shrunken and withered that
it was difficult to say what it might have been. One could but say that
it was black and leathery and that it bore some resemblance to a
dwarfish, human figure. At first, as I examined it, I thought that it
was a mummified negro baby, and then it seemed a very twisted and
ancient monkey. Finally I was left in doubt as to whether it was
animal or human. A double band of white shells were strung round the
centre of it.

"Very interesting—very interesting, indeed!" said Holmes, peering at
this sinister relic. "Anything more?"

In silence Baynes led the way to the sink and held forward his candle.
The limbs and body of some large, white bird, torn savagely to pieces
with the feathers still on, were littered all over it. Holmes pointed
to the wattles on the severed head.

"A white cock," said he. "Most interesting! It is really a very
curious case."

But Mr. Baynes had kept his most sinister exhibit to the last. From
under the sink he drew a zinc pail which contained a quantity of blood.
Then from the table he took a platter heaped with small pieces of
charred bone.

"Something has been killed and something has been burned. We raked all
these out of the fire. We had a doctor in this morning. He says that
they are not human."

Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands.

"I must congratulate you, Inspector, on handling so distinctive and
instructive a case. Your powers, if I may say so without offence, seem
superior to your opportunities."

Inspector Baynes's small eyes twinkled with pleasure.

"You're right, Mr. Holmes. We stagnate in the provinces. A case of
this sort gives a man a chance, and I hope that I shall take it. What
do you make of these bones?"

"A lamb, I should say, or a kid."

"And the white cock?"

"Curious, Mr. Baynes, very curious. I should say almost unique."

"Yes, sir, there must have been some very strange people with some very
strange ways in this house. One of them is dead. Did his companions
follow him and kill him? If they did we should have them, for every
port is watched. But my own views are different. Yes, sir, my own
views are very different."

"You have a theory then?"

"And I'll work it myself, Mr. Holmes. It's only due to my own credit
to do so. Your name is made, but I have still to make mine. I should
be glad to be able to say afterwards that I had solved it without your
help."

Holmes laughed good-humoredly.

"Well, well, Inspector," said he. "Do you follow your path and I will
follow mine. My results are always very much at your service if you
care to apply to me for them. I think that I have seen all that I wish
in this house, and that my time may be more profitably employed
elsewhere. Au revoir and good luck!"

I could tell by numerous subtle signs, which might have been lost upon
anyone but myself, that Holmes was on a hot scent. As impassive as
ever to the casual observer, there were none the less a subdued
eagerness and suggestion of tension in his brightened eyes and brisker
manner which assured me that the game was afoot. After his habit he
said nothing, and after mine I asked no questions. Sufficient for me
to share the sport and lend my humble help to the capture without
distracting that intent brain with needless interruption. All would
come round to me in due time.

I waited, therefore—but to my ever-deepening disappointment I waited
in vain. Day succeeded day, and my friend took no step forward. One
morning he spent in town, and I learned from a casual reference that he
had visited the British Museum. Save for this one excursion, he spent
his days in long and often solitary walks, or in chatting with a number
of village gossips whose acquaintance he had cultivated.

"I'm sure, Watson, a week in the country will be invaluable to you," he
remarked. "It is very pleasant to see the first green shoots upon the
hedges and the catkins on the hazels once again. With a spud, a tin
box, and an elementary book on botany, there are instructive days to be
spent." He prowled about with this equipment himself, but it was a
poor show of plants which he would bring back of an evening.

Occasionally in our rambles we came across Inspector Baynes. His fat,
red face wreathed itself in smiles and his small eyes glittered as he
greeted my companion. He said little about the case, but from that
little we gathered that he also was not dissatisfied at the course of
events. I must admit, however, that I was somewhat surprised when,
some five days after the crime, I opened my morning paper to find in
large letters:

THE OXSHOTT MYSTERY
A SOLUTION
ARREST OF SUPPOSED ASSASSIN

Holmes sprang in his chair as if he had been stung when I read the
headlines.

"By Jove!" he cried. "You don't mean that Baynes has got him?"

"Apparently," said I as I read the following report:

"Great excitement was caused in Esher and the neighbouring district
when it was learned late last night that an arrest had been effected in
connection with the Oxshott murder. It will be remembered that Mr.
Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, was found dead on Oxshott Common, his body
showing signs of extreme violence, and that on the same night his
servant and his cook fled, which appeared to show their participation
in the crime. It was suggested, but never proved, that the deceased
gentleman may have had valuables in the house, and that their
abstraction was the motive of the crime. Every effort was made by
Inspector Baynes, who has the case in hand, to ascertain the hiding
place of the fugitives, and he had good reason to believe that they had
not gone far but were lurking in some retreat which had been already
prepared. It was certain from the first, however, that they would
eventually be detected, as the cook, from the evidence of one or two
tradespeople who have caught a glimpse of him through the window, was a
man of most remarkable appearance—being a huge and hideous mulatto,
with yellowish features of a pronounced negroid type. This man has
been seen since the crime, for he was detected and pursued by Constable
Walters on the same evening, when he had the audacity to revisit
Wisteria Lodge. Inspector Baynes, considering that such a visit must
have some purpose in view and was likely, therefore, to be repeated,
abandoned the house but left an ambuscade in the shrubbery. The man
walked into the trap and was captured last night after a struggle in
which Constable Downing was badly bitten by the savage. We understand
that when the prison is brought before the magistrates a remand will be
applied for by the police, and that great developments are hoped from
his capture."

"Really we must see Baynes at once," cried Holmes, picking up his hat.
"We will just catch him before he starts." We hurried down the village
street and found, as we had expected, that the inspector was just
leaving his lodgings.

"You've seen the paper, Mr. Holmes?" he asked, holding one out to us.

"Yes, Baynes, I've seen it. Pray don't think it a liberty if I give
you a word of friendly warning."

"Of warning, Mr. Holmes?"

"I have looked into this case with some care, and I am not convinced
that you are on the right lines. I don't want you to commit yourself
too far unless you are sure."

"You're very kind, Mr. Holmes."

"I assure you I speak for your good."

It seemed to me that something like a wink quivered for an instant over
one of Mr. Baynes's tiny eyes.

"We agreed to work on our own lines, Mr. Holmes. That's what I am
doing."

"Oh, very good," said Holmes. "Don't blame me."

"No, sir; I believe you mean well by me. But we all have our own
systems, Mr. Holmes. You have yours, and maybe I have mine."

"Let us say no more about it."

"You're welcome always to my news. This fellow is a perfect savage, as
strong as a cart-horse and as fierce as the devil. He chewed Downing's
thumb nearly off before they could master him. He hardly speaks a word
of English, and we can get nothing out of him but grunts."

"And you think you have evidence that he murdered his late master?"

"I didn't say so, Mr. Holmes; I didn't say so. We all have our little
ways. You try yours and I will try mine. That's the agreement."

Holmes shrugged his shoulders as we walked away together. "I can't
make the man out. He seems to be riding for a fall. Well, as he says,
we must each try our own way and see what comes of it. But there's
something in Inspector Baynes which I can't quite understand."

"Just sit down in that chair, Watson," said Sherlock Holmes when we had
returned to our apartment at the Bull. "I want to put you in touch
with the situation, as I may need your help to-night. Let me show you
the evolution of this case so far as I have been able to follow it.
Simple as it has been in its leading features, it has none the less
presented surprising difficulties in the way of an arrest. There are
gaps in that direction which we have still to fill.