No More Learning

"

"No? "

"Well, you know father didn't like anything of the sort. He
wouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to
say that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But
then, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to
begin with, and I had not got mine yet. "

"But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt to see
you? "

"Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmer
wrote and said that it would be safer and better not to see each
other until he had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he
used to write every day. I took the letters in in the morning, so
there was no need for father to know. "

"Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time? "

"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk that
we took. Hosmer--Mr. Angel--was a cashier in an office in
Leadenhall Street--and--"

"What office? "

"That's the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I don't know. "

"Where did he live, then? "

"He slept on the premises. "

"And you don't know his address? "

"No--except that it was Leadenhall Street. "

"Where did you address your letters, then? "

"To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to be left till called
for. He said that if they were sent to the office he would be
chaffed by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady,
so I offered to typewrite them, like he did his, but he wouldn't
have that, for he said that when I wrote them they seemed to come
from me, but when they were typewritten he always felt that the
machine had come between us. That will just show you how fond he
was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that he would think
of. "

"It was most suggestive," said Holmes. "It has long been an axiom
of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.
Can you remember any other little things about Mr. Hosmer Angel? "

"He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with me
in the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to
be conspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he was. Even his
voice was gentle. He'd had the quinsy and swollen glands when he
was young, he told me, and it had left him with a weak throat,
and a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech. He was always
well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just
as mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare. "

"Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfather,
returned to France? "

"Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that we
should marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnest
and made me swear, with my hands on the Testament, that whatever
happened I would always be true to him. Mother said he was quite
right to make me swear, and that it was a sign of his passion.
Mother was all in his favour from the first and was even fonder
of him than I was. Then, when they talked of marrying within the
week, I began to ask about father; but they both said never to
mind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother
said she would make it all right with him. I didn't quite like
that, Mr. Holmes. It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, as
he was only a few years older than me; but I didn't want to do
anything on the sly, so I wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the
company has its French offices, but the letter came back to me on
the very morning of the wedding. "

"It missed him, then? "

"Yes, sir; for he had started to England just before it arrived. "

"Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then, for
the Friday. Was it to be in church? "

"Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviour's, near
King's Cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the St.
Pancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were
two of us he put us both into it and stepped himself into a
four-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in the
street. We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler
drove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and
when the cabman got down from the box and looked there was no one
there! The cabman said that he could not imagine what had become
of him, for he had seen him get in with his own eyes. That was
last Friday, Mr. Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything
since then to throw any light upon what became of him. "

"It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated," said
Holmes.

"Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, all
the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to
be true; and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to
separate us, I was always to remember that I was pledged to him,
and that he would claim his pledge sooner or later. It seemed
strange talk for a wedding-morning, but what has happened since
gives a meaning to it. "

"Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that some
unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him? "

"Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he
would not have talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw
happened. "

"But you have no notion as to what it could have been? "

"None. "

"One more question. How did your mother take the matter? "

"She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the matter
again. "

"And your father? Did you tell him? "

"Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had
happened, and that I should hear of Hosmer again. As he said,
what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of
the church, and then leaving me? Now, if he had borrowed my
money, or if he had married me and got my money settled on him,
there might be some reason, but Hosmer was very independent about
money and never would look at a shilling of mine. And yet, what
could have happened? And why could he not write? Oh, it drives me
half-mad to think of it, and I can't sleep a wink at night. " She
pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob
heavily into it.

"I shall glance into the case for you," said Holmes, rising, "and
I have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. Let the
weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind
dwell upon it further. Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel
vanish from your memory, as he has done from your life. "

"Then you don't think I'll see him again? "

"I fear not. "

"Then what has happened to him? "

"You will leave that question in my hands. I should like an
accurate description of him and any letters of his which you can
spare. "

"I advertised for him in last Saturday's Chronicle," said she.
"Here is the slip and here are four letters from him. "

"Thank you. And your address? "

"No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell. "

"Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is your
father's place of business? "

"He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers
of Fenchurch Street. "

"Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will
leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given
you. Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it
to affect your life. "

"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be
true to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back. "

For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was
something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which
compelled our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon
the table and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever
she might be summoned.

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips
still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him,
and his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down
from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a
counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with
the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of
infinite languor in his face.

"Quite an interesting study, that maiden," he observed. "I found
her more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way,
is rather a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you
consult my index, in Andover in '77, and there was something of
the sort at The Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however,
there were one or two details which were new to me. But the
maiden herself was most instructive. "

"You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite
invisible to me," I remarked.

"Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know where to
look, and so you missed all that was important. I can never bring
you to realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of
thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace.
Now, what did you gather from that woman's appearance? Describe
it. "

"Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with a
feather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beads
sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her
dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little
purple plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and
were worn through at the right forefinger. Her boots I didn't
observe. She had small round, hanging gold earrings, and a
general air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable,
easy-going way. "

Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.

"'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have
really done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed
everything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and
you have a quick eye for colour. Never trust to general
impressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. My
first glance is always at a woman's sleeve. In a man it is
perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. As you
observe, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most
useful material for showing traces. The double line a little
above the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the table,
was beautifully defined. The sewing-machine, of the hand type,
leaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and on the side
of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the
broadest part, as this was. I then glanced at her face, and,
observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, I
ventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed
to surprise her. "

"It surprised me. "

"But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and
interested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots
which she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were
really odd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and
the other a plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower
buttons out of five, and the other at the first, third, and
fifth. Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly
dressed, has come away from home with odd boots, half-buttoned,
it is no great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry. "

"And what else? " I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, by
my friend's incisive reasoning.

"I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving
home but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right
glove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see
that both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She had
written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have been
this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger.
All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must go back
to business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertised
description of Mr. Hosmer Angel? "

I held the little printed slip to the light.

"Missing," it said, "on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman
named Hosmer Angel. About five ft. seven in. in height;
strongly built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in
the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted
glasses, slight infirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen,
in black frock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert
chain, and grey Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over
elastic-sided boots. Known to have been employed in an office in
Leadenhall Street. Anybody bringing--"

"That will do," said Holmes. "As to the letters," he continued,
glancing over them, "they are very commonplace. Absolutely no
clue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There
is one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike
you. "

"They are typewritten," I remarked.

"Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the
neat little 'Hosmer Angel' at the bottom. There is a date, you
see, but no superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is
rather vague. The point about the signature is very suggestive--in
fact, we may call it conclusive. "

"Of what? "

"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it
bears upon the case? "

"I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able
to deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were
instituted. "

"No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters,
which should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, the
other is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking
him whether he could meet us here at six o'clock tomorrow
evening. It is just as well that we should do business with the
male relatives. And now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the
answers to those letters come, so we may put our little problem
upon the shelf for the interim. "

I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers
of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that
he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy
demeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which he had
been called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him to fail, in
the case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adler
photograph; but when I looked back to the weird business of the
Sign of Four, and the extraordinary circumstances connected with
the Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a strange tangle
indeed which he could not unravel.

I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the
conviction that when I came again on the next evening I would
find that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up
to the identity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary
Sutherland.

A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own
attention at the time, and the whole of next day I was busy at
the bedside of the sufferer. It was not until close upon six
o'clock that I found myself free and was able to spring into a
hansom and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I might be too
late to assist at the d? ? ? nouement of the little mystery. I found
Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin
form curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable
array of bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell
of hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the
chemical work which was so dear to him.

"Well, have you solved it? " I asked as I entered.

"Yes.
It was the bisulphate of baryta. "

"No, no, the mystery! " I cried.

"Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon.
There was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said
yesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawback
is that there is no law, I fear, that can touch the scoundrel. "

"Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss
Sutherland? "

The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet
opened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the
passage and a tap at the door.

"This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windibank," said
Holmes. "He has written to me to say that he would be here at
six. Come in! "

The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some
thirty years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a
bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and
penetrating grey eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of
us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a
slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.

"Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes. "I think that
this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an
appointment with me for six o'clock? "

"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not
quite my own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland
has troubled you about this little matter, for I think it is far
better not to wash linen of the sort in public. It was quite
against my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable,
impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily
controlled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I
did not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the
official police, but it is not pleasant to have a family
misfortune like this noised abroad. Besides, it is a useless
expense, for how could you possibly find this Hosmer Angel? "

"On the contrary," said Holmes quietly; "I have every reason to
believe that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel. "

Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. "I am
delighted to hear it," he said.

"It is a curious thing," remarked Holmes, "that a typewriter has
really quite as much individuality as a man's handwriting. Unless
they are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. Some
letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one
side. Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank, that
in every case there is some little slurring over of the 'e,' and
a slight defect in the tail of the 'r. ' There are fourteen other
characteristics, but those are the more obvious. "

"We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office,
and no doubt it is a little worn," our visitor answered, glancing
keenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes.

"And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study,
Mr. Windibank," Holmes continued. "I think of writing another
little monograph some of these days on the typewriter and its
relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted some
little attention. I have here four letters which purport to come
from the missing man. They are all typewritten. In each case, not
only are the 'e's' slurred and the 'r's' tailless, but you will
observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteen
other characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well. "

Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. "I
cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes,"
he said. "If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know
when you have done it. "

"Certainly," said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in
the door. "I let you know, then, that I have caught him! "

"What! where? " shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his lips
and glancing about him like a rat in a trap.

"Oh, it won't do--really it won't," said Holmes suavely. "There
is no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is quite too
transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that
it was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That's
right! Sit down and let us talk it over. "

Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a
glitter of moisture on his brow. "It--it's not actionable," he
stammered.

"I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves,
Windibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a
petty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the
course of events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong. "

The man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his
breast, like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet up
on the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his hands
in his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it seemed,
than to us.

"The man married a woman very much older than himself for her
money," said he, "and he enjoyed the use of the money of the
daughter as long as she lived with them. It was a considerable
sum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would have
made a serious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it.
The daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate
and warm-hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that with
her fair personal advantages, and her little income, she would
not be allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage would
mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her
stepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course of
keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company of
people of her own age. But soon he found that that would not
answer forever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and
finally announced her positive intention of going to a certain
ball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives an
idea more creditable to his head than to his heart. With the
connivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself,
covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with
a moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that clear voice
into an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the
girl's short sight, he appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off
other lovers by making love himself. "

"It was only a joke at first," groaned our visitor. "We never
thought that she would have been so carried away. "

"Very likely not. However that may be, the young lady was very
decidedly carried away, and, having quite made up her mind that
her stepfather was in France, the suspicion of treachery never
for an instant entered her mind. She was flattered by the
gentleman's attentions, and the effect was increased by the
loudly expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel began
to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as
far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. There
were meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the
girl's affections from turning towards anyone else. But the
deception could not be kept up forever. These pretended journeys
to France were rather cumbrous. The thing to do was clearly to
bring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner that it
would leave a permanent impression upon the young lady's mind and
prevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to
come. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and
hence also the allusions to a possibility of something happening
on the very morning of the wedding. James Windibank wished Miss
Sutherland to be so bound to Hosmer Angel, and so uncertain as to
his fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, she would not
listen to another man. As far as the church door he brought her,
and then, as he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished
away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a
four-wheeler and out at the other. I think that was the chain of
events, Mr. Windibank! "

Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while Holmes
had been talking, and he rose from his chair now with a cold
sneer upon his pale face.

"It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes," said he, "but if you
are so very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is
you who are breaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothing
actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door
locked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal
constraint. "

"The law cannot, as you say, touch you," said Holmes, unlocking
and throwing open the door, "yet there never was a man who
deserved punishment more. If the young lady has a brother or a
friend, he ought to lay a whip across your shoulders. By Jove! "
he continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon
the man's face, "it is not part of my duties to my client, but
here's a hunting crop handy, and I think I shall just treat
myself to--" He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he
could grasp it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs,
the heavy hall door banged, and from the window we could see Mr.
James Windibank running at the top of his speed down the road.

"There's a cold-blooded scoundrel! " said Holmes, laughing, as he
threw himself down into his chair once more. "That fellow will
rise from crime to crime until he does something very bad, and
ends on a gallows. The case has, in some respects, been not
entirely devoid of interest. "

"I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning," I
remarked.

"Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr.
Hosmer Angel must have some strong object for his curious
conduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who really
profited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the
stepfather. Then the fact that the two men were never together,
but that the one always appeared when the other was away, was
suggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice,
which both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My
suspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in
typewriting his signature, which, of course, inferred that his
handwriting was so familiar to her that she would recognise even
the smallest sample of it. You see all these isolated facts,
together with many minor ones, all pointed in the same
direction. "

"And how did you verify them? "

"Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. I
knew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printed
description. I eliminated everything from it which could be the
result of a disguise--the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I
sent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform me
whether it answered to the description of any of their
travellers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the
typewriter, and I wrote to the man himself at his business
address asking him if he would come here. As I expected, his
reply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but
characteristic defects. The same post brought me a letter from
Westhouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that the
description tallied in every respect with that of their employ? ? ? ,
James Windibank. Voil? ? ? tout! "

"And Miss Sutherland? "

"If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the old
Persian saying, 'There is danger for him who taketh the tiger
cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman. '
There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much
knowledge of the world. "



ADVENTURE IV. THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY

We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the
maid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran
in this way:

"Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from
the west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy.
Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect.
Leave Paddington by the 11:15. "

"What do you say, dear? " said my wife, looking across at me.
"Will you go? "

"I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at
present. "

"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking
a little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good,
and you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes' cases. "

"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained
through one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must pack
at once, for I have only half an hour. "

My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the
effect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were
few and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a
cab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. Sherlock
Holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt
figure made even gaunter and taller by his long grey
travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.

"It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he. "It
makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on
whom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless
or else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall
get the tickets. "

We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of
papers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged
and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until
we were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a
gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.

"Have you heard anything of the case? " he asked.

"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days. "

"The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just
been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the
particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those
simple cases which are so extremely difficult. "

"That sounds a little paradoxical. "

"But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a
clue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more
difficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they
have established a very serious case against the son of the
murdered man. "

"It is a murder, then? "

"Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for
granted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into
it. I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have
been able to understand it, in a very few words.

"Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in
Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a
Mr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned
some years ago to the old country. One of the farms which he
held, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was
also an ex-Australian. The men had known each other in the
colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came to
settle down they should do so as near each other as possible.
Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his
tenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect
equality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had one son,
a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the same
age, but neither of them had wives living. They appear to have
avoided the society of the neighbouring English families and to
have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond of
sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the
neighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl.
Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the
least. That is as much as I have been able to gather about the
families. Now for the facts.

"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at
Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the
Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out
of the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been
out with his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told
the man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of
importance to keep at three. From that appointment he never came
back alive.

"From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a
mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One
was an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was
William Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both
these witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The
game-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr.
McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr.