Sherlock Holmes: Boscombe Valley Mystery

Morning.  My wife and I were seated at breakfast, when the maid brought a telegram.  It was from Sherlock Holmes.

"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 scenary 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.  A change would do you good."

"If I am to go, I have to pack at once, for I have only half an hour."

My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had atleast had the effect of making me a ready traveller. My wants were few and simple.  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 gray travelling-cloak and close fitting  cloth cap.

"It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he, "it makes a difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can rely.  "Keep the two corner seats, while I get the tickets."

We had a carriage to ourselves save for an immense volume of papers which Holmes had brought with him.  Among these he rummged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past Reading. Suddenly he rolled them into a 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 account.  I have been looking through all the papers.  It seems to be one of those cases which are so extremely difficult."

"That sounds a little paradoxical."

"The more featureless and common place a crime is, the more difficult is it to bring it home.  In this case, however, they have established a serious case against the son of the murdered man."

"It is a murder, then?"

"Well, it is conjectured to be so.  I take nothing for granted, until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it.  These are the state of things as I understand it, in a very few words."

"Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, Hertfordshire. The largest landed proprietor of it is 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 Hatherly, was let to Mr Charles Mcarthy, who was also an ex-Australian.  The men who 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 seemed, 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 found of sports, and were frequently seen at race meetings of the neighborhood.  McCarthy kept two servants - a man and a girl.  Turner had a considerable household, some half a dozen at the least.  That is as much as I have been able to gather about families.  Now for the facts.

"On Monday, June 3, Mcarthy left his house at Hatherly about three in the afternoon, and walked down to 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.

"From Hatherly Farm-House to 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 gamekeeper 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 McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr James McCarthy going the way with a gun under his arm.  To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight at the time, and the son was following him.  He thought no more of the matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that had occurred.

"The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder, the game-keeper, lost sight of them.  The Boscombe Pool is thickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the edge.  A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the woods picking flowers.  She states that while she was there she saw, at the boarder of the wood and close by the lake, Mr McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a violent quarrel.  She heard Mr McCarthy the elder using very strong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his hand as to strike his father.  She was so frightened by their violence she ran away, and told her mother when she reached home that she had left the two McCarthys quarreling near the Boscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going to fight. She had hardly said the words when the young McCarthy came running upto the lodge to say that he had found his father dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper.  He was much excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood.  On following him they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass  beside the pool.  The head had been beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon.  The injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his son's gun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the body.  Under these circumstances the young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of 'wilful murder' have been alleged at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday brought before the magistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the next assizes. Those are the main facts of the case that came before the coroner and the police court.

"I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked.  "If ever a circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here."

"Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered Holmes, thoughtfully. "It may seem to point very straight to one thing at one angle, but may not be so at another angle.  Anyway, the case is exceedingly grave against the young man.  It is very possible that he is indeed the culprit.  But Miss Turner, the daughter of neighbouring land owner, believe in his innocence.  She has retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect in connection with the Study in Scarlet.  He, being puzzled referred the case to me.  That is how we, the middle aged gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an hour,[1] instead of enjoying their breakfast at home.

"I am afraid," said I, "that the facts are so obvious, that you will have nothing to do in this case."

"What appears obvious now, may turn out deceptive later," said Holmes, laughing.  "We may hit upon some other facts which may have been overlooked by Lestrade. Besides, there are one or two minor points which were brought out into the inquest, which are worth considering."

"What are they?"

"It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after the return to Hatherly Farm.  On the inspector of constabulary informing that he was a prisoner he remarked that he was not surprised to hear it, and that it was not more than his deserts.  This observation of his had the natural effect of removing any traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of coroner's jury."

"It was a confession."

"No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence."

"It was atleast a most auspicious remark."

"On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift which I can at present see in the clouds.  His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent man, or else as a man of considerable restraint and firmness."

"Many men have been hanged for slightest evidence," I remarked.

"So they have.  And many men have been wrongfully hanged."

"What is the young man's own account of the matter?" I asked.

"It is not encouraging.  You will find it here," said Holmes, handing a copy of the local Hertfordshire paper.  I settled myself down in the corner of the carriage, and read it carefully.  It ran this way: 

"Mr James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called, and gave evidence as follows: 'I had been away from home for three days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon the morning of last Monday, the third.  My father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and I was informed by the maid that he had driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom.  Shortly after my return I heard the wheels of his carriage in the yard, and looking out of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidity out of the yard, though I was not aware in which direction he was going.  I then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit-warren which is on the other side.  On my way I saw William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father.  I had no idea that he was in front of me.  When about a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of "Close" which was a usual signal between my father and myself.  I then hurried forward, and found him standing by the Pool.  He appeared to be so much surprised at seeing me, and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there.  A conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows, for my father was a man of violent temper.  Seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, I left him, and returned towards Hatherly Farm.  I had not gone more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous outcry behind me, which cause me to run back.  I found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head terribly injured.  I dropped my gun, and held him in my arms, but he almost instantly expired.  I knelt before him for some minutes, and then made my way to Mr Turner's lodge-keeper, his house being the nestest, to ask for assistance.  I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I have no idea how he came by his injuries.  He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his manners; but he had, as far as I know, no active enemies.  I know nothing further of the matter.'

"The coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before he died?

"Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some allusion to a rat.

"What did you understand by that?

"It conveyed no meaning to me.  I thought he was delirious.

"Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father had this final quarrel?

"Witness: I am afraid that I must press it.

"Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you.  I can assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed.

"Coroner: That is for the court to decide.  I need not point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case considerably in any future proceedings which may arise.

"Witness: I must still refuse.

"Coroner: I understand that the cry of 'Cooee' was a common signal between you and your father?

"Witness: It was.

"Coroner: How was it then, that he uttered it before he saw you, and before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol?

"Witness(with considerable confusion): I do not know.

"A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions when you returned on hearing the cry, and found your father fatally injured?

"Witness: Nothing definite.

"The coroner: What do you mean?

"Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into the open, that I could think of nothing except my father.  Yet I have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay upon the ground to the left of me.  It seemed to me to be something gray in colour, a coat of some sort or a plaid perhaps.  When I rose from my father I looked round for it, but it was gone.

"Did you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?

"Yes, it was gone.

"You cannot say what it was?

"No, I had a feeling something was there.

"How far from the body?

"A dozen yard or so.

"And how far from the edge of the wood?

"About the same.

"Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of it?

"Yes, but with my back towards it.

"This concluded the examination of the witness.

"I see," said I, as I glanced down the column, that the coroner in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy.  He calls attention, land with reason, to the discrepancy about his father having signalled to him before seeing him, also to his refusal to give details of his conversation with his father, and his singular account of his father's dying words.  These are all against his son."

Holmes laughed and stretched himself out upon the cushioned seat.

"I shall approach this case from the point of view that what this young man says is true.  We shall see the scene of action after we lunch at Swindon.  We shall be there in twenty minutes." [2]

It was nearly four o'clock, when we found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross.  A lean, ferret-like man, furtive, sly-looking was waiting for us upon the platform. In spite of his rustic attire I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of Scotland yard.  With him we drove to Hereford Arms where a room had already been engaged for us.

"I had engaged a carriage," said Lestrade, as we sat together over a cup of tea.  "I know your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy until you have been on the scene of crime."

"It is a very nice compliment," said Holmes, I do not think that I shall use the carriage tonight."

Lestrade laughed indulgently.  "You have, no doubt, already formed your conclusions from the newspapers," he said.  The case is so plain as a pikestaff, and more one goes into it the plainer it becomes.  Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, why bless my soul!  Here is her carriage at the door."

He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room a lovely young woman, in excitement.  "Oh, Mr Holmes," she cried, glancing at us with her shining violet eyes, and with a quick intution, fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad that you have come.  I have driven down to tell you so.  I know that James didn't do it.  I know it, and I want you to start upon knowing it.  We have known each other since we were little children, and I know his faults, as no one else does.  But he is too tender hearted to hurt a fly.  Such a charge is absurd."

"I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock Holmes.  "You may rely upon my doing all that I can."

"But you have read the evidence.  Do you not see some flaws.  Do you not yourself think that he is innocent?"

"I think it is probable."

"There, Now!" she cried, throwing back her head, and looking defiantly at Lestrade.  "He gives me hope."

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders.  "I am afraid that my colleague is a little quick in forming his conclusions," he said.

"But he is right.  Oh! I know that he is right.  James never did it.  And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because I was concerned in it."

"In what way?" asked Holmes.

"It is no time for me to hide anything.  James and his father had many disagreements about me.  Mr McCarthy was very anxious that there should be a marriage between us.  James and I have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young, and has seen very little of life and -and- well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet.  So there were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them."

"And your father?" asked Holmes, "was he in favour of such a union?"

"No. He was averse to it also.  No one, but Mr McCarthy was in favour of it."  A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot one of his keen questioning glances at her.

"Thank you for this information," said he.  "May I see your father if I call tomorrow?"

"I am afraid, the doctor won't allow it."

"The doctor?"

"Yes, have you not heard?  Poor father has not been strong for years back, but this has broken him down completely.  He has taken to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck, and that his nervous system is shattered.  Mr McCarthy was the only man alive who had known dad in the olden days in Victoria."

"Ha! In Victoria! That is important."

"Yes, at the mines."

"Quite so.  At the gold mine.  Where as I understand he made his money."

"Yes, certainly."

"Thank you.  Miss Turner.  You have been of material assistance to me."

"You will tell me if you have any news tomorrow.  No doubt you will go to the prison to see James.  Oh, if you do, Mr Holmes, tell that I know him to be innocent."

"I will, Miss Turner."

"I must go for now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if I leave him.  Good by, and God help you in your undertaking." She returned from the room impulsively as she had entered, and we heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.

"I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade, with dignity, after few minutes in silence.  "Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound to disappoint?  I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel."

"I think I see my way to clearing Mr James McCarthy," said Holmes.  "Have you any order to see him in prison?"

"Yes, but only for you and me." 

"Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out.  We have still time to take a train to Hereford and see him tonight?"

"Ample.

"Then let us do so.  Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours."

I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel.  The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we are groping, and I found my attention wander from fiction to fact, that I flung it across the room, and came to the events of the day.  Suppose something extraordinary happened between the time when the unhappy young man parted from his father and the moment he is drawn back by his father's scream.  Might not the nature of injury reveal something to my medical instinct?  I rang the bell and called for weekly county paper.

The paper contained a verbatim account of the inquest. Surgeon's disposition: the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon.  Clearly such a blow must have been struck from behind. This was to some extent in favour of the accused: he was face to face with his father while quarreling as seen by the witness.  Still it did not go very much, for the older man might have turned his back before the blow fell.  Then there was the peculiar dying reference to a rat.  What could it mean? It could not be delirium.  A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become delirious.  Then the gray cloth. Must have been accidently dropped by the murderer. A part of his dress.  Presumably his overcoat.  He must have recovered it at the instant when the son was kneeling down with his back turned.

It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned.  He was alone, for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town. 

"The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down, "it should not rain before we are able to go over the ground.  I did not wish to do it when fagged by such a long journey.  Anyway we will do it.  I have seen young McCarthy."

"And what did you learn from him?"

"Could be throw no light?" 

"None at all.  I was inclined to think at one time that he knew who had done it, and was screening him or her, but I am convinced now that he is as puzzled as everyone else.  He is not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at, and I think, sound at heart."

"I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is a fact that he is averse to marriage with so charming a lady as Miss Turner."

"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale.  This fellow is madly in love with her. But some two years ago, when he was only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a Boarding school, what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol, and marry her in a registry office?  No one knows a word of the matter. How maddening it must to him to be upbraided for not doing what he could do in the eyes of Mr McCarthy. He knows it to be impossible, but his father did not.  It was out of this sheer frenzy that he threw his hands up into the air, when his father was goading him on to propose to Miss Turner.  He had no means of supporting himself, and his father, a very hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. He was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in Bristol, and his father did not know where he was.  Mark that point.  It is of importance.  Good has come out of evil; for, the barmaid, finding from papers, that he is in serious trouble, and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over, and has written to him that she has a husband already in Bermuda dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them.  I think, that piece of news has consoled young Mr McCarthy for all that he has suffered."

"But if he is innocent, who has done it?"

"Ah! Who? I call your attention to two points. One: the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the Pool. And that someone could not have been his son, for he was away. The second: the murdered man was heard to cry "Cooee" before he knew that his son had returned.  These are the crucial point upon which the case depends."

There was no rain, as Holmes had feared, and the morning broke bright and cloudless.  At nine o'clock Lestrade came with his carriage, and we set off for Hatherly Farm at Boscombe Pool.

"There is a serious news this morning," Lestrade observed.  "It is said that Mr Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is despaired of."

"An elderly man," said Holmes.

"About sixty, but his constitution has been shattered by his life abroad, and he has been in failing health for sometime.  This business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend of McCarthy, and a great benefactor to him, and I have learned that he gave him Hatherly Farm rent free."

"Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.

"Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him.  Everybody about here speaks of his kindness to him."

"Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular, that this McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such obligation to Mr Turner, should still talk of marrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow?  It is the more strange, since we know that Mr Turner himself was averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much.  Do you not deduce something from that?"

"We have got to the deductions and inferences," said Lestrade, winking at me.  "I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies."

"You are right," said Holmes, demurely; "you find it very hard to tackle the facts."

"Anyhow, I have grasped the fact that McCarthy the senior met his death from McCarthy the junior, and all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine."

"Well, moonshine is better than fog," said Holmes, laughing.  "But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherly Farm upon the left."

"Yes, it is."

It was a wide-spread, comfortable looking building, two storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of lichen upon the walls.  The drawn blinds and smokeless chimneys gave it a stricken look, as though the weight of this horror still lay upon it. We called at the door. The maid came, and at Holmes's request showed us the boots which her master wore at the time of his death.  And also the pair of the son.  Having measured these carefully, Holmes desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we followed the winding track which led to the Boscombe Pool. 

Swiftly and silently, Holmes made his way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of woods to the Boscombe Pool.  It was damp, marshy ground, and there were marks of many feet upon, both upon the path and smid the short grass which bounded it on either side.  Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he made quite a little detour into the meadow.  Lestrade and I walked behind.  Boscombe Pool is situated at the boundary between Hatherly Farm and the private park of the wealthy, Mr Turner.  Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see the red jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich land-owner's dwelling. On the Hatherly side of the pool the woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reeds which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot where the body had been found.  The ground was so moist that I could see the traces which had been left by the fall of stricken man.  Holmes ran around like a dog who is picking up the scent, and then turned upon my companion.

"What did you go into the Pool?"

"I fished about with a rake.  I thought there might be some weapon or other trace.  But how on earth-------"

"Oh tut, tut! I have no time!  That left foot of yours with its inward twist is all over the place.  A mole could trace it, and there it vanished among the reeds.  Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo, and wallowed all over it.  Here is where the party with lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or eight feet round the body. But here are three seperate tracks for the same feet."  He drew out a lense and lay down upon his waterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to himself than to us.  "These are young McCarthy's feet.  Twice he was walking, and once he ran swiftly so that the soles are deeply marked, and the heels hardly visible.  That bears out his story.  He ran when he saw his father on the ground.  Then here are father's feet as he paced up and down.  What is this, then?  It is the butt end of the gun as the son stood listening.  And this?  Ha, ha! What have we here?  Tiptoes! tiptoes!  Square, too; quite unusual boots!  They come, they go, they come again - of course that was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?"  He ran up and down, some times losing, and sometimes finding the track, until we were well within the edge of the wood, and under the shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the neighborhood.  Holmes traced his way to the farther side of this, and lays down once more upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction.  For a long time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks, gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope, and examining with his lense, not only the ground, but even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach.  A jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained.  Then he followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the high-road, where all traces were lost.

"A case of considerable interest," he remarked.  "I fancy that this gray house on the right must be a lodge.  I will go in and have a word with Moran, and perhaps write a little note.  After that, we may drive back to our luncheon.  You walk to the cab, and I shall be with you presently."

It was ten minutes before we get our cab, and drove back to Ross, Holmes still carrying with him, the stone which he had picked up in the wood.

"This may interest you, Lestrade," he said, holding it out.  "The murder was done with it."

"I see no marks."

"There are none."

"How do you know, then?"

"The grass was growing under it.  It had only lain there a few days.  There was no sign of place, from where it had been taken.  It corresponds with injuries.  There is no sign of any other weaplon."

"And the murderer?"

"Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and a gray cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigar holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket.  There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our search."

Lestrade laughed.  "I am afraid that I am still a sceptic," he said.  "Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with hard-headed British jury."

"Nouse Verrons," answered [1] Holmes, calmly.  "You work your own method, and I shall work mine.  I shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably return by the evening train. 

"And leave your case unfinished?

"No, finished."

"But the mystery?"

"It is solved."

"Who was the criminal?"

"The gentleman I describe."

"Who is he?"

"Surely it would not be difficult to find out.  This is not such a populous neighborhood."

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders.  "I am a practical man," he said, "and I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a game-leg.  I should become the laughing stock of Scotland yard."

"All right," said Holmes quietly.  "I have given you the chance.  Here are your lodgings.  Goodbye.  I shall drop you a line before I leave."

We left Lestrade and reached our hotel, and we found lunch upon the table.  Holmes was silent and buried in his thoughts.

"Look, Watson," said Holmes after lunch, "I don't know what to do.  I should value your advice.  Take a seat, and let me explain in detail."

"Pray do so," I said.

"There are two points about young McCarthy's narrative.  His father cried 'Cooee' before seeing him.  The other was his unusual dying reference to rat.  The dying man mumbled several words, but these two caught the young man's ears. Our research must commence from these two words."

"What of this 'cooee', then?"

"Well, obviously it could not have been for the son. The son as far as I know, was in Bristol.[3] It was a mere chance that he was within ear-shot. 'Cooee' was meant to attract the attention of someone, whom the senior McCarthy had an appointment with.  'Cooee' is distinctly an Australian cry.  There is a strong presumption that the senior was  expecting a person who had been in Australia.

"What of the rat, then?"

"Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket, and flattened it out on the table.  "This is a map of the colony of Victoria," he said. "I got it wired from Bristol last night." He put his hand over part of the map.  "What do you read?" he asked.

"ARAT" I read.

"And now?" He raised his hand.

"BALLARAT" 

"Quite so.". That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only caught the last two syllables.  He was trying to utter the name of his murderer.  So-and-so of BALLARAT."

"It is wonderful," I exclaimed.

"It is obvious. Now, I narrowed down the field, considerably.  The gray garment as told by the son is certain. An Australian from BALLARAT, with a gray cloak"

"Certainly."

"And the pool can only be approached by the farm or the by the estate, where strangers could hardly wander."

"Quite so."

"Then comes our expedition of today. The examination of the ground gave me trifling details, as to the personality of the killer."

"How did you gain them?"

"You know my method.  It is founded upon the observance of trifles."

"You might roughly judge his height from the length of his stride.  The size of his boots from their traces."

"Yes, they were peculiar boots."

"But his lameness?"

"He put less weight upon his lame foot."

"His left-handedness?"

"You did note the nature of injury, recorded by the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was from immediate behind, upon the left side.

How can be that unless it were by a left-handed?" The killer must have stood behind the tree during the interview between the father and son. He had even smoked there.  I found the ash of cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enabled to identify it as Indian cigar.  You know, I have a special interest in the study of tobacco ashes, and devoted some attention to this, and had written a monograph on the ashes of 140 varieties of pipe, and cigar and cigarette tobacco.  Having found the ash, I looked for the stump among the moss where he had tossed it.  It was an Indian cigar, rolled in Rotterdam."

"And the cigar holder?"

"I could see that the end had not been in his mouth.  Therefore he used a holder.  The tip had been cut off, not bitten off.  The cut was not a clean one, and I deduced a blunt pen-knife."

"You have drawn a net around the man from which he cannot escape," I said, "and you have saved an innocent man, and the culprit is ----"

"Mr John Turner," cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our sitting room and ushering in a visitor.

A strange and impressive figure entered.  His slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of an old worn out man, yet his hard, deep lined craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual strength of body and character.  His tangled beard, grizzled hair, and drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignity to his appearance, but his face was ash-white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue.  He was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.

"Pray, sit down," said Holmes gently. "You had my note?"

"Yes, the book-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to see me to avoid scandal."

"I thought people would talk if I went to ----"

"And why did you wish to see me?" He looked accross at my companion, with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question was already answered.

"Yes," said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. "It is so.  I know all about McCarthy."

The old man sank his face in his hands.  "God help me!" he cried.  I would not have let the young man come to harm.  I give you my word that I would have spoken out if it went against him at Assizes.[ 4 ]

"I am glad to hear you say so," said Holmes gravely.

"I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It would break her heart.  It would break her heart.  It will break her heart when she hears that I am arrested." 

"It may not come to that," said Holmes.

"What!"

"I am no official agent.  I understand that it was your daughter who required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests.  Young McCarthy must be got off, however."

"I am a dying man," said old Turner.  "I have had diabetes for years. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month.  Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a jail."

Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a bundle of paper with him.  "Just tell us the truth," he said.  "I shall jot down the facts, you will sign it and Watson here can witness it.  Then I could produce a confession at the last extremity to save young McCarthy.  I promise you that I shall not use it unless it is absolutely needed."

"It is as well," said the old man, "It's a question whether I shall live to Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I should wish to spare Alice the shock.  And now I will make the thing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but will not take me long to tell."

"You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy.  He was a devil incarnate.  I tell you that.  God keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he.  His grip has been upon me these twenty years, and he has blasted my life.  I'll tell you first how I came to be in his power.

"It was in the early sixties at the diggings. [5] I was a young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with my claim, take to the bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highway robber.  There were six of us.  We had a wild free life, robbing a station at gun point, or stopping the wagons on the road to diggings.  Ballarat gang was the name given to us, and I was the Black Jack of Ballarat. [6]

One day, we lay in wait for a gold convoy that moved from Ballarat to Melbourne and attacked it.  There were six troopers, and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first volley.  Three of our boys were killed, however, before we got our booty. I put my pistol to the head of the wagon driver, who was this very man McCarthy.  I wish to the lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature.  We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to England  without being suspected.  There I parted from my old pals, and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life. I bought this estate, which chanced to be in the market, and I set myself to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had earned it.  I married, too, and though my wife died young, she left me my dear little Alice.  Even she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done.  In a word, I turned over a new leaf, and did my best to make up for the past.  All was going well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.

"I had gone up to town for an investment, and I met him in regent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot.

" 'Here we are Jack,' says he touching me on my arm, 'we'll be as good as family to you.  There's two of us, me and my son, and you can have the keeping of us.  If you don't ---it's a fine law abiding country is England, and there's a policeman within hail.'

"Well, down they came to the West country, there was no shaking them off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since.  There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where I would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow.  It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more afraid of her knowing my past than of police.  Whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him without question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing, which I could not give.  He asked for Alice.

"His son, you see, had grown up, and so my girl, and as I was known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his lad should step into the whole property.  But there I was firm.  I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that I had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that was enough.  I stood firm.  McCarthy threatened.  I braved him to do his worst.  We were to meet at the pool midway between our houses to talk it over.

"When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so I smoked a cigar, and waited behind a tree until he should be alone.  But as I listened to him all that was black and bitter in me seemed to come uppermost.  He was urging his son to marry my daughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she were a slut from off the streets.  It drove me mad to think that I and all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a man as this.  Could I not snap the bond?  I was already a dying and desperate man.  Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, I knew that my own fate was sealed.  But my memory and my girl. Both could be saved, if I could but silence that foul tongue.  I did it, Mr Holmes.  I would do it again.  Deeply as I have sinned, I have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it.  But my girl should be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more than I could suffer.  I struck him down with no more compunction than he had been 

some foul venomous beast.  His cry brought back his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I was forced to go back to fetch the cloak I had dropped in my flight.  That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred."

"Well, it is not for me to judge you," said Holmes, as the old man signed the statement, which had been drawn out.  "I pray that we may never be exposed to such temptation."

"I pray not, sir.  And what do you intend to do?"

"In view of your health, nothing.  You are yourself aware that you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than Assizes.  I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is condemned, I shall be forced to use it.  If not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye, and your secret, whether you be alive or dead shall be safe with us."

"Farewell, then," said the old man, solemnly.  "Your own deathbeds, when they come, will be easier for the peace of mind which you have given to me." He limped out of the room slowly.

"God help us," said Holmes, after a long silence.  "Why does fate plays such tricks with helpless worms?"

James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a number of objections raised by defence counsel.  All these objections were drawn by Holmes. Old Turner lived for seven months after our interview, but he is now dead. The son and daughter may come to live happily together in ignorance of the black cloud which rest upon the past.

____________________________________

1. 50 miles means 80 kilometres. The railway system of Great Britain started with isolated wooden wagons. It was in the hands of local private operators in the late eighteenth century. In 1840s the industry got a boost as public started to invest in the shares of rail companies. Investor's mania in rail company shares reached such an extent that most of the companies were flop and investors lost their money.  The result of the bubble saw government intervention and the birth of public railway in 1825. This story was first published in October 1891. Before that they have brought the system to Calicut.

1. Swindon: A town located in southwest England.

2. Nous Verrons = we'll see (French)

3. Bristol is in Southwest England around River Avon.  Boscombe is around seventy five miles southeast of Bristol.

4. Assizes: The regional courts of Great Britain which were replaced by crown courts in 1971. A trial of hearing before such a court.  Singular form: Assize.

5. Diggings: An excavation site, as for mining ore, metals or precious stones.

6. Ballarat: The name Ballarat is derived from Wadawurrung language of Wathaurung aboriginals of places around Melbourne. The language was spoken by 25 clans, south of Werribee River. One of the earliest European settlers, Archibald Yuille named the place Ballarat, meaning resting place. The original meaning of the two syllables, Balla = bent elbow and Arat = place. The gold was first discovered here in 1851; and the story Boscombe Valley Mystery was first published in October 1891 in the Strand Magazine.