I descended to breakfast prepared to find my companion indepressed spirits, for, like all great artists, he was easily impressedby his surroundings. On the contrary, I found that he had nearlyfinished his meal, and that his mood was particularly bright andjoyous, with that somewhat sinister cheerfulness which wascharacteristic of his lighter moments.
“You have a case, Holmes?” I remarked.
“The faculty of deduction is certainly contagious, Watson,” heanswered. “It has enabled you to probe my secret. Yes, I have acase. After a month of trivialities and stagnation the wheels moveonce more.”
“Might I share it?”
“There is little to share, but we may discuss it when you haveconsumed the two hard-boiled eggs with which our new cookhas favoured us. Their condition may not be unconnected withthe copy of the Family Herald which I observed yesterday uponthe hall-table. Even so trivial a matter as cooking an egg demandsan attention which is conscious of the passage of time andincompatible with the love romance in that excellent periodical.”
A quarter of an hour later the table had been cleared and wewere face to face. He had drawn a letter from his pocket.
“You have heard of Neil Gibson, the Gold King?” he said.
“You mean the American Senator?”
“Well, he was once Senator for some Western state, but is betterknown as the greatest gold-mining magnate in the world.”
“Yes, I know of him. He has surely lived in England for sometime. His name is very familiar.”
“Yes, he bought a considerable estate in Hampshire some fiveyears ago. Possibly you have already heard of the tragic end of hiswife?”
“Of course. I remember it now. That is why the name is familiar.
But I really know nothing of the details.”
Holmes waved his hand towards some papers on a chair. “Ihad no idea that the case was coming my way or I should havehad my extracts ready,” said he. “The fact is that the problem,though exceedingly sensational, appeared to present no difficulty.
The interesting personality of the accused does not obscure theclearness of the evidence. That was the view taken by the coroner’sjury and also in the police-court proceedings. It is now referred tothe Assizes at Winchester. I fear it is a thankless business. I candiscover facts, Watson, but I cannot change them. Unless someentirely new and unexpected ones come to light I do not see whatmy client can hope for.”
“Your client?”
“Ah, I forgot I had not told you. I am getting into your involvedhabit, Watson, of telling a story backward. You had best read thisfirst.”
The letter which he handed to me, written in a bold, masterfulhand, ran as follows:
CLARIDGE’S HOTEL,
October 3rd.
DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:
I can’t see the best woman God ever made go to her deathwithout doing all that is possible to save her. I can’t explainthings—I can’t even try to explain them, but I know beyond alldoubt that Miss Dunbar is innocent. You know the facts—whodoesn’t? It has been the gossip of the country. And never a voiceraised for her! It’s the damned injustice of it all that makes me crazy.
That woman has a heart that wouldn’t let her kill a fly. Well, I’llcome at eleven to-morrow and see if you can get some ray of light inthe dark. Maybe I have a clue and don’t know it. Anyhow, all I knowand all I have and all I am are for your use if only you can save her.
If ever in your life you showed your powers, put them now into thiscase.
Yours faithfully,
J. NEIL GIBSON.
“There you have it,” said Sherlock Holmes, knocking out theashes of his after-breakfast pipe and slowly refilling it. “That is thegentleman I await. As to the story, you have hardly time to masterall these papers, so I must give it to you in a nutshell if you areto take an intelligent interest in the proceedings. This man is thegreatest financial power in the world, and a man, as I understand,of most violent and formidable character. He married a wife, thevictim of this tragedy, of whom I know nothing save that shewas past her prime, which was the more unfortunate as a veryattractive governess superintended the education of two youngchildren. These are the three people concerned, and the scene isa grand old manor house, the centre of a historical English state.
Then as to the tragedy. The wife was found in the grounds nearlyhalf a mile from the house, late at night, clad in her dinner dress,with a shawl over her shoulders and a revolver bullet through herbrain. No weapon was found near her and there was no local clueas to the murder. No weapon near her, Watson—mark that! Thecrime seems to have been committed late in the evening, and thebody was found by a gamekeeper about eleven o’clock, when it wasexamined by the police and by a doctor before being carried up tothe house. Is this too condensed, or can you follow it clearly?”
“It is all very clear. But why suspect the governess?”
“Well, in the first place there is some very direct evidence.
A revolver with one discharged chamber and a calibre whichcorresponded with the bullet was found on the floor of herwardrobe.” His eyes fixed and he repeated in broken words, “On—the—floor—of—her—wardrobe.” Then he sank into silence, andI saw that some train of thought had been set moving which Ishould be foolish to interrupt. Suddenly with a start he emergedinto brisk life once more. “Yes, Watson, it was found. Prettydamning, eh? So the two juries thought. Then the dead womanhad a note upon her making an appointment at that very place andsigned by the governess. How’s that? Finally there is the motive.
Senator Gibson is an attractive person. If his wife dies, who morelikely to succeed her than the young lady who had already by allaccounts received pressing attentions from her employer? Love,fortune, power, all depending upon one middle-aged life. Ugly,Watson—very ugly!”
“Yes, indeed, Holmes.”
“Nor could she prove an alibi. On the contrary, she had to admitthat she was down near Thor Bridge—that was the scene of thetragedy—about that hour. She couldn’t deny it, for some passingvillager had seen her there.”