“She hated me, Mr. Holmes. She hated me with all the fervourof her tropical nature. She was a woman who would do nothingby halves, and the measure of her love for her husband wasthe measure also of her hatred for me. It is probable that shemisunderstood our relations. I would not wish to wrong her,but she loved so vividly in a physical sense that she could hardlyunderstand the mental, and even spiritual, tie which held herhusband to me, or imagine that it was only my desire to influencehis power to good ends which kept me under his roof. I can seenow that I was wrong. Nothing could justify me in remainingwhere I was a cause of unhappiness, and yet it is certain that theunhappiness would have remained even if I had left the house.”
“Now, Miss Dunbar,” said Holmes, “I beg you to tell us exactlywhat occurred that evening.”
“I can tell you the truth so far as I know it, Mr. Holmes, but Iam in a position to prove nothing, and there are points—the mostvital points—which I can neither explain nor can I imagine anyexplanation.”
“If you will find the facts, perhaps others may find the explanation.”
“With regard, then, to my presence at Thor Bridge that night,I received a note from Mrs. Gibson in the morning. It lay on thetable of the schoolroom, and it may have been left there by herown hand. It implored me to see her there after dinner, said shehad something important to say to me, and asked me to leave ananswer on the sundial in the garden, as she desired no one to bein our confidence. I saw no reason for such secrecy, but I did asshe asked, accepting the appointment. She asked me to destroyher note and I burned it in the schoolroom grate. She was verymuch afraid of her husband, who treated her with a harshness forwhich I frequently reproached him, and I could only imagine thatshe acted in this way because she did not wish him to know of ourinterview.”
“Yet she kept your reply very carefully?”
“Yes. I was surprised to hear that she had it in her hand whenshe died.”
“Well, what happened then?”
“I went down as I had promised. When I reached the bridgeshe was waiting for me. Never did I realize till that moment howthis poor creature hated me. She was like a mad woman—indeed,I think she was a mad woman, subtly mad with the deep power ofdeception which insane people may have. How else could she havemet me with unconcern every day and yet had so raging a hatredof me in her heart? I will not say what she said. She poured herwhole wild fury out in burning and horrible words. I did not evenanswer—I could not. It was dreadful to see her. I put my hands tomy ears and rushed away. When I left her she was standing, stillshrieking out her curses at me, in the mouth of the bridge.”
“Where she was afterwards found?”
“Within a few yards from the spot.”
“And yet, presuming that she met her death shortly after youleft her, you heard no shot?”
“No, I heard nothing. But, indeed, Mr. Holmes, I was so agitatedand horrified by this terrible outbreak that I rushed to get backto the peace of my own room, and I was incapable of noticinganything which happened.”
“You say that you returned to your room. Did you leave it againbefore next morning?”
“Yes, when the alarm came that the poor creature had met herdeath I ran out with the others.”
“Did you see Mr. Gibson?”
“Yes, he had just returned from the bridge when I saw him. Hehad sent for the doctor and the police.”
“Did he seem to you much perturbed?”
“Mr. Gibson is a very strong, self-contained man. I do not thinkthat he would ever show his emotions on the surface. But I, whoknew him so well, could see that he was deeply concerned.”
“Then we come to the all-important point. This pistol that wasfound in your room. Had you ever seen it before?”
“Never, I swear it.”
“When was it found?”
“Next morning, when the police made their search.”
“Among your clothes?”
“Yes, on the floor of my wardrobe under my dresses.”
“You could not guess how long it had been there?”
“It had not been there the morning before.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I tidied out the wardrobe.”
“That is final. Then someone came into your room and placedthe pistol there in order to inculpate you.”
“It must have been so.”
“And when?”
“It could only have been at meal-time, or else at the hours whenI would be in the schoolroom with the children.”
“As you were when you got the note?”
“Yes, from that time onward for the whole morning.”
“Thank you, Miss Dunbar. Is there any other point which couldhelp me in the investigation?”
“I can think of none.”
“There was some sign of violence on the stonework of thebridge—a perfectly fresh chip just opposite the body. Could yousuggest any possible explanation of that?”
“Surely it must be a mere coincidence.”
“Curious, Miss Dunbar, very curious. Why should it appear atthe very time of the tragedy, and why at the very place?”
“But what could have caused it? Only great violence could havesuch an effect.”
Holmes did not answer. His pale, eager face had suddenlyassumed that tense, far-away expression which I had learned toassociate with the supreme manifestations of his genius. So evidentwas the crisis in his mind that none of us dared to speak, and we sat,barrister, prisoner, and myself, watching him in a concentrated andabsorbed silence. Suddenly he sprang from his chair, vibrating withnervous energy and the pressing need for action.
“Come, Watson, come!” he cried.
“What is it, Mr. Holmes?”
“Never mind, my dear lady. You will hear from me, Mr. Cummings. With the help of the god of justice I will give youa case which will make England ring. You will get news by tomorrow,Miss Dunbar, and meanwhile take my assurance that theclouds are lifting and that I have every hope that the light of truthis breaking through.”
