“Someone had been hiding here, sure enough.” He held downthe light, and the marks of muddy boots were very visible in thecorner. “I’m bound to say this bears out your theory, Mr. Barker. Itlooks as if the man got into the house after four when the curtainswere drawn, and before six when the bridge was raised. He slippedinto this room, because it was the first that he saw. There wasno other place where he could hide, so he popped in behind thiscurtain. That all seems clear enough. It is likely that his main ideawas to burgle the house; but Mr. Douglas chanced to come uponhim, so he murdered him and escaped.”
“That’s how I read it,” said Barker. “But, I say, aren’t we wastingprecious time? Couldn’t we start out and scout the country beforethe fellow gets away?”
The sergeant considered for a moment.
“There are no trains before six in the morning; so he can’t getaway by rail. If he goes by road with his legs all dripping, it’s oddsthat someone will notice him. Anyhow, I can’t leave here myselfuntil I am relieved. But I think none of you should go until we seemore clearly how we all stand.”
The doctor had taken the lamp and was narrowly scrutinizingthe body. “What’s this mark?” he asked. “Could this have anyconnection with the crime?”
The dead man’s right arm was thrust out from his dressinggown, and exposed as high as the elbow. About halfway up theforearm was a curious brown design, a triangle inside a circle,standing out in vivid relief upon the lard-coloured skin.
“It’s not tattooed,” said the doctor, peering through his glasses.
“I never saw anything like it. The man has been branded at sometime as they brand cattle. What is the meaning of this?”
“I don’t profess to know the meaning of it,” said Cecil Barker;“but I have seen the mark on Douglas many times this last tenyears.”
“And so have I,” said the butler. “Many a time when the masterhas rolled up his sleeves I have noticed that very mark. I’ve oftenwondered what it could be.”
“Then it has nothing to do with the crime, anyhow,” said thesergeant. “But it’s a rum thing all the same. Everything about thiscase is rum. Well, what is it now?”
The butler had given an exclamation of astonishment and waspointing at the dead man’s outstretched hand.
“They’ve taken his wedding ring!” he gasped.
“What!”
“Yes, indeed. Master always wore his plain gold wedding ring onthe little finger of his left hand. That ring with the rough nuggeton it was above it, and the twisted snake ring on the third finger.
There’s the nugget and there’s the snake, but the wedding ring isgone.”
“He’s right,” said Barker.
“Do you tell me,” said the sergeant, “that the wedding ring wasBELOW the other?”
“Always!”
“Then the murderer, or whoever it was, first took off this ringyou call the nugget ring, then the wedding ring, and afterwards putthe nugget ring back again.”
“That is so!”
The worthy country policeman shook his head. “Seems to methe sooner we get London on to this case the better,” said he.
“White Mason is a smart man. No local job has ever been toomuch for White Mason. It won’t be long now before he is here tohelp us. But I expect we’ll have to look to London before we arethrough. Anyhow, I’m not ashamed to say that it is a deal too thickfor the likes of me.”
Darkness
At three in the morning the chief Sussex detective, obeyingthe urgent call from Sergeant Wilson of Birlstone, arrived fromheadquarters in a light dog-cart behind a breathless trotter. Bythe five-forty train in the morning he had sent his message toScotland Yard, and he was at the Birlstone station at twelve o’clockto welcome us. White Mason was a quiet, comfortable-lookingperson in a loose tweed suit, with a clean-shaved, ruddy face,a stoutish body, and powerful bandy legs adorned with gaiters,looking like a small farmer, a retired gamekeeper, or anything uponearth except a very favourable specimen of the provincial criminalofficer.
“A real downright snorter, Mr. MacDonald!” he kept repeating.
“We’ll have the pressmen down like flies when they understand it.
I’m hoping we will get our work done before they get poking theirnoses into it and messing up all the trails. There has been nothinglike this that I can remember. There are some bits that will comehome to you, Mr. Holmes, or I am mistaken. And you also, Dr.
Watson; for the medicos will have a word to say before we finish.
Your room is at the Westville Arms. There’s no other place; but Ihear that it is clean and good. The man will carry your bags. Thisway, gentlemen, if you please.”
He was a very bustling and genial person, this Sussex detective.
In ten minutes we had all found our quarters. In ten more we wereseated in the parlour of the inn and being treated to a rapid sketchof those events which have been outlined in the previous chapter.
MacDonald made an occasional note; while Holmes sat absorbed,with the expression of surprised and reverent admiration withwhich the botanist surveys the rare and precious bloom.
“Remarkable!” he said, when the story was unfolded, “mostremarkable! I can hardly recall any case where the features havebeen more peculiar.”
“I thought you would say so, Mr. Holmes,” said White Masonin great delight. “We’re well up with the times in Sussex. I’ve toldyou now how matters were, up to the time when I took over fromSergeant Wilson between three and four this morning. My word!
I made the old mare go! But I need not have been in such a hurry,as it turned out; for there was nothing immediate that I could do.
Sergeant Wilson had all the facts. I checked them and consideredthem and maybe added a few of my own.”
“What were they?” asked Holmes eagerly.
“Well, I first had the hammer examined. There was Dr. Woodthere to help me. We found no signs of violence upon it. I washoping that if Mr. Douglas defended himself with the hammer, hemight have left his mark upon the murderer before he dropped iton the mat. But there was no stain.”
“That, of course, proves nothing at all,” remarked InspectorMacDonald. “There has been many a hammer murder and notrace on the hammer.”
