Chapter 4 four dark

At three o'clock in the morning the Inspector-General of Sussex, having received an urgent telegram from Constable Wilson of Birlstone, arrived from headquarters in a buggy, out of breath.He sent the report to Scotland Yard by the train at 5:40 in the morning.He met us at Birlstone Station at twelve o'clock at noon.Mr. White Mason has a quiet personality and a peaceful face. He wears a large tweed coat. His rosy face is clean-shaven. Vibrant, he looked like a little mugger, or a retired gamekeeper, or anything in the world, but he just wasn't like a typical police officer in the local police department.

"It's a very unusual case, Mr. MacDonald," repeated White Mason. "The press will come like flies when they hear about it. Finish our work before this business and mess up all the footprints. I don't remember a case like this. There are certain circumstances that will interest you, Mr. Holmes. , or else I am mistaken. Dr. Watson, and you, for the doctor always has some opinion before we are done. Your lodgings are at the Westville Arms Hotel, and there is no other It's too late, but I've heard the house is nice and clean. The servants will take your luggage. Come with me, gentlemen, will you?"

The Sussex detective was a very lively and genial man.After walking for ten minutes, we arrived at the residence, and ten minutes later, we were sitting in the lounge of the small hotel, discussing the outline of the case.These I have described in the previous chapter.Macdonald sometimes made notes, and Holmes sat listening with the astonishment and heartfelt admiration that a botanist admires a rare flower. "Strange!" said Holmes, after hearing the facts of the case. "Extremely strange! I cannot think of a more curious case before." "Mr. Holmes, I expected you to say so," said White Mason with great pleasure. "We are a little bit ahead of our time in Sussex. Between three and four o'clock this morning I got a report from Inspector Wilson. I've told you all the circumstances up to the time I took this case. I came here with all my might! Oops! Turns out I didn't have to hurry. Because there's nothing I can do right now, Sergeant. Wilson has it all. I've checked it out, studied it carefully, and added a few points of my own."

"What is your opinion?" asked Holmes eagerly. "Well, first I examined the hammer very carefully. Dr. Wood was there to help. There was no sign of violence on the hammer. I thought perhaps Mr. Douglas had used the hammer in self-defense, and that he might have The hammer left a mark on the carpet before it was thrown, but the hammer left no mark at all." "Of course, that doesn't prove anything at all," said Inspector MacDonald, "because there have been many murders with hammers, and the hammers leave no marks." "Exactly. That doesn't necessarily prove it wasn't used. But if there were some marks left, it would have worked for us. But it didn't. I checked the gun again later. It's a large lead A shotgun. As Sergeant Wilson pointed out, the triggers are chained together so that if you pull the rear trigger, both barrels will fire simultaneously. Whoever did that must have made up his mind Never let his adversaries escape their doom. The truncated gun was no more than two feet long and could easily be concealed in a man's coat. Although the full name of the maker was not on the gun, the indentation between the two barrels The three letters 'PEN' are also engraved in the groove, and the other letters of the name have been sawn off."

"There is a capital 'P' in curlicue, and the 'E' and 'N' are smaller, is it not?" asked Holmes. "Not bad at all." "This is a well-known factory in America," said Holmes. White Mason watched my friend as a little country practitioner watches a Harley Street specialist who, in a single word, can unravel all the problems that perplex him. "Mr. Holmes, this is very useful. You are quite right. Strange! Strange! Have you memorized the names of all the munitions factories in the world?" Holmes waved his hand off the subject.

"The gun was undoubtedly an American musket," continued White Mason, "I seem to have read in books that a truncated musket was a weapon used in certain parts of America. Aside from mentioning the name, I thought of a problem, and there are some indications that the person who entered the house and killed the owner was an American." Macdonald shook his head and said, "My man, you are thinking too far. I have never heard any evidence that outsiders have entered this manor." "What about the open window, the blood on the sill, the strange business card, the boot print in the corner, and this musket?"

"There's nothing that can't be faked there. Mr. Douglas is an American, or has long lived in America. So is Mr. Barker. You don't need an American from outside to account for some of the Americans you see. as a search for answers." "That butler Ames..." "How is he? Is he reliable?" "He's been with Sir Charles Chandos for ten years and is very reliable. He came here when Douglas bought the estate five years ago. He never saw a gun like it on the estate. " "The gun has been modified so that it can be hidden. The barrel is cut off for this purpose, and any box can fit in it. How can he swear that there is no such gun in the manor?"

"Ah, anyway, he never saw it." MacDonald shook his naturally stubborn Scot's head. "I can't yet believe that any outsiders have been in the house. I ask you to think about it," said MacDonald, his Aberdeen accent growing stronger each time he lost an argument, "and you suppose the team The guns were brought in from outside, and all these strange things were done by a foreigner. I ask you to consider the effect of your assumption. Ah, man, this is incredible! It is also completely out of the ordinary Common sense. I put this question to you, Mr. Holmes. Please judge from what we have heard."

"Well, Mr. Mac, give your reasons," said Holmes, in a tone of great fairness. "Assuming the murderer existed, he was by no means a burglar. That ring and that card say it was a premeditated murder out of some personal grudge. Well, a man slipped into the house with the intent to murder. He understood that if If he has any sense, it will be very difficult for him to escape, because the house is surrounded by water. What kind of weapon will he choose? You must say that he wants the quietest weapon in the world. So that he can count on It was perfectly understandable to have taken his leisurely escape through the window, across the moat, when it was done, but if he had carried the loudest weapon he could have chosen, knowing that the sound of the shot would have killed all the people on the estate. Is it comprehensible that a man can get to the scene of the accident very quickly, and that he will be discovered most of the time before he has crossed the moat? Is it all plausible, Mr. Holmes?"

"Well, your reasons are very good," replied my friend thoughtfully, "and indeed a great deal is required. Mr. White Mason, did you immediately go across the moat to see if there were any Traces of people wading ashore?" "Mr. Holmes, there is no trace there. But there is a stony bank on the opposite side, and it is difficult to imagine what traces can be found." "Aren't there any footprints or handprints?" "No." "Ha! Mr. White Mason, don't you object that we go to the manor immediately? There may be some small clues that can enlighten us."

"Mr. Holmes, I would have suggested going, but I thought it best for you to get all the details out before we go. I think that if anything offends you..." White Mason looked hesitantly. said this colleague. "I have worked with Mr. Holmes before," said Inspector MacDonald. "He has always been aboveboard." Holmes replied with a smile: "At least in the way I understand it personally. I take part in cases to help bring about justice and to help the police. If I don't cooperate with the authorities, it's because they didn't cooperate with me in the first place." I never wanted to take credit for them. Meanwhile, Mr. White Mason, I claim the right to do the case exactly as I think, and to hand over my work when I think it's appropriate—all the way through, not just at some point. such rights at certain stages.” "I am sure it will be an honor for you to take part in the case. We will tell you all we know about the case," said White Mason earnestly. "Follow me, Dr. Watson. We all hope to be with you when the time comes." have a place in the book." We walked down the quaint country street, flanked by a row of truncated elms.In the distance is a pair of ancient stone pillars, which have been mottled and discolored by the wind and rain, covered with moss, and the things on the top of the stone pillars have lost their original shape, which used to be Birlstone's two hind legs.A short walk down the winding driveway is surrounded by meadows and oak trees such as one can only see in the English countryside.Then there was a sharp turn, and there was a long, low Jacobean house of dun-brown brick.There is also an old fashioned garden lined with manicured yew trees.When we walked to the manor, we saw a wooden suspension bridge and a beautiful and wide moat. The water in the river was like mercury in the cold winter sun, flat as a mirror, and sparkling. It has been more than 300 years since this ancient manor was built, and it reflects the vicissitudes, joys and sorrows of hundreds of years.Oddly enough, due to the long history, it seems that the harbingers of crime can now be shown from these ancient walls.And those strange soaring roofs and grotesquely projecting gables, more suitable for a hideous conspiracy.When I saw those gloomy windows and the sombre color and wash of water ahead, I felt that there could be no more fitting occasion for such a tragedy than here. "This is the window," said White Mason. "The one to the right of the drawbridge is open just as it was found last night." "The window is narrow enough to get through a person." "Perhaps the man is not fat. We need not use your inferences to tell us that, Mr. Holmes. But you and I can squeeze through." Holmes walked to the edge of the moat and looked across.Then he examined the ledge of stone and the edge of the grass behind it. "I have looked carefully, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason, "but there is nothing here, no sign of a person coming ashore. But why must he leave any trace?" "Yes, why did he have to leave traces? Is the moat always so turbid?" "It's usually this color. Because when the river flows down, it's always mixed with sand." "How deep is the river?" "It was about two feet or so on the sides and three feet deep in the middle." "Then we can rule out the idea that the man drowned while fording the moat." "No, not even a child will drown." We walked across the drawbridge and were ushered in by a surly, scrawny man.This is Butler Ames.The poor old man was frightened, pale and trembling.Rural Constable Wilson, a tall, solemn and melancholy man, remained at the scene of the house.The doctor has left. "Officer Wilson, is there anything new?" White Mason asked. "No, sir." "Then, you can go back. You have worked hard enough. If there is any need for you, we will send someone to fetch you. The butler had better wait outside the door. Let him inform Mr. Cecil Barker, Douglas We now have something to ask, ladies and housekeepers. Allow me now, gentlemen, to give you my opinion, and then you will draw your own." This township expert left a deep impression on me.He had a solid grasp of the facts, a cool, clear head, and a good deal of common sense.Based on these, he should be very developed in his career.Holmes listened to him attentively, without any of the impatience so often displayed by the official narrator. "Our first question now is, is this a suicide or a homicide? Gentlemen, is it right? If it is a suicide, then we have to believe that the man first took off his wedding ring and hid it, and then he wore it. Pajamas, come here, and stamp mud on the corner behind the curtains, to give the impression that someone had been waiting for him here, and opened the window to get the blood in the..." "We would never have thought of it that way," MacDonald said. "So I don't think it was suicide. Then he must have killed it. All we have to decide is, was the murderer a stranger, or a man from the estate?" "Okay, let's hear what you have to say." "It is very difficult to draw conclusions from these two possibilities, but one of them must be one. Let us first assume that one or a few people inside the manor committed the crime. When everything is quiet but people are not going to bed, they are here to arrest To come to this Douglas, and to commit crimes with the strangest and loudest weapon in the world, so that everyone knows what happened, and the weapon has never been seen on the estate. This reason does not seem so convincing. ,right?" "Yeah, it won't be like this." "Well, then, people here say that within a minute at most after the gunshot was heard, all the people in the house were on the scene. Although Mr. Cecil Barker claimed to be the first to arrive, Ai James and all the servants were there too. Can you tell that during that time criminals were able to do all sorts of things like leaving footprints in corners, opening windows, leaving bloodstains on windowsills, taking wedding rings from the fingers of the dead? What? It's impossible!" "You have analyzed it thoroughly, and I kind of agree with you," said Holmes. "Well, then, let's go back and say that it was someone from outside who did it. But we still have a lot of big problems. But, anyway, it's not so unlikely. This guy was between four-thirty and six o'clock." The manor had been entered in between, that is to say, between dusk and the lifting of the drawbridge. There had been some visitors, and the door was open, so the man slipped in without hindrance. He may be just a common thief, and perhaps he has some personal grudge with Mr. Douglas. Since Mr. Douglas has lived in America for most of his life, and the shotgun appears to be an American weapon, personal grudges seem most likely. That's right. He slipped into the room because he saw it first. He hid behind the curtains until after eleven o'clock at night when Mr. Douglas entered. The conversation was short—if If there was a real conversation—for Mrs. Douglas said she heard a gunshot within a few minutes of her husband leaving her." "That candle may illustrate the point," said Holmes. "Yes, the candle is new, not half an inch burned. Mr. Douglas must have put the candle on the table before he was attacked. Otherwise, if he fell, the candle would have fallen to the floor. That means he was not attacked when he first entered the house. When Mr Barker got here, he lit the lamp and extinguished the candle." "That's pretty clear." "Well, now we can imagine the situation in this way. Mr. Douglas came in and put down the candle. A man came out from behind the curtain with this musket in his hand. He asked him for the wedding ring--God knows." Why, but it must be so. Mr. Douglas gave him the ring. Then Mr. Douglas was shot in such a horrific manner by the man, or in the course of a struggle. In the meantime, Douglas may have picked up the hammer that we later found on the rug. Afterwards, the killer dropped the gun, and presumably this strange card that said 'VV341' - whatever it meant - and from there He escaped through the window, and escaped across the moat when Mr. Cecil Barker discovered the crime. What do you think of that, Mr. Holmes?" "You're very interesting, but a little unconvincing." "That's utter nonsense, man, nothing could be more unreasonable than that," cried MacDonald. "Someone killed Douglas, and whoever that man was, I can assure you clearly that he was Committed by other means. What does it mean that he has his escape route cut off in that way? Silence is a good condition of his escape, so what does it mean that he uses a musket to commit crimes? Well, Holmes Sir, since you say that Mr. White Mason's reasoning is not convincing, you should point us out." Throughout the long discussion Holmes sat listening attentively to every word that was said, looking here and there with his keen eyes, frowning in thought. Silent. "Mr. Mike, I want to find out some more facts before I can make inferences," said Holmes, kneeling beside the dead body. "Alas! This wound is truly appalling. Can you call for the butler? . . . Ames, I hear you've often seen Mr. Douglas on his forearm a curious mark, a triangular brand within a circle, have you not?" "Sir, I see it often." "Have you never heard of anyone speculating on the meaning of this brand?" "Never heard of it, sir." "It must be a burn mark, and it must have been painful. Ames, I noticed a little patch of ointment on the back of Mr. Douglas' chin. Did you notice it while he was alive?" "Yes, sir, he got it when he shaved yesterday morning." "Have you ever seen him shave his face before?" "Sir, I haven't seen you for a long time." Holmes said: "This is worth studying! Of course, this may also be a coincidence. However, it may also indicate that he is a little nervous and that he foresees danger. Ames, did you notice anything unusual about the master yesterday?" "I have a feeling, sir, that he seems a little restless and agitated." "Ha! Looks like the attack wasn't entirely unexpected. We've made some progress, haven't we? Maybe you have some questions, Mr. Mike?" "No, Mr. Holmes, you are a man of experience after all." "Okay, then we can study this card that says 'VV341'. It's a rough card. Are there any cards like this in your manor?" "I don't think so." Holmes went to the writing-table, dipped some ink from each bottle, and spilled it on to the blotting-paper. "This card is not written here," said Holmes. "It is black ink, and the writing on that card is purplish, with thick nibs, and these are fine. I think , which is written elsewhere. Ames, can you explain the meaning of this?" "No, sir, not at all." "Mr. Mike, what's your opinion?" "I think it's the name of some kind of secret society, the same as the marking on the forearm." "That's what I thought too," White Mason said. "Well, let's take that as a reasonable hypothesis. From there, we'll see how far our difficulties can be resolved. A man from the party managed to get into the estate and wait for Mr. Douglas, and with this The musket nearly knocked his head off, and he fled across the moat. He had left a card beside the dead man for one purpose, which the rest of the party would know when it came out in the papers: It has been reported. These things are all connected together. But there are plenty of weapons, why should he use this kind of musket alone?" "yes." "Also, what about the lost ring?" "Yes." "It's past two o'clock now, why hasn't the murderer been caught yet? I think every policeman within a radius of forty miles has been searching for a wet outsider since dawn." "Exactly, Mr. Holmes." "Well, they won't let him slip unless he has a hiding place nearby, or has a change of clothes ready beforehand. But have they let him go now?" Holmes went to the window. Looking at the bloodstain on the windowsill with his magnifying glass, he said, "It's obviously a shoe print, very wide--probably figure-footed. Strange, whoever came to see the footprints in this muddy corner He would have said that the sole was a nice pattern. But, of course, it's not clear. What's under that table next door?" "Mr. Douglas's dumb-bell," said Ames. "A dumbbell? There's only one here. Where's the other dumbbell?" "I don't know, Mr. Holmes. There may have been only one. I haven't seen the thing for months." "A dumb-bell..." said Holmes gravely, but was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.A tall, tanned, lean-looking, clean-shaven man peered at us.I figured it out right away, it was the Cecil Barker I had been told about.He gave everyone a quick glance with haughty questioning eyes. "I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation," Buck said, "but you should listen to the latest situation." "Have you caught the murderer?" "No such good thing. But people have found his bicycle. The fellow dropped his bicycle. Come and see it, a hundred yards from the hall door." We saw three or four servants and a few idlers standing in the carriageway, examining the bicycle, which had been hidden among the evergreens and had been dragged out.It was a well-worn Larch Whitworth bike.There was a lot of mud splashed on the car, as if it had been ridden a long way.There was a tool bag behind the seat with a wrench and an oil can, but there was no clue as to who the owner of the car was. "It would be very helpful to the police if these things were registered and numbered," said the sergeant, "but we should be very grateful to have them. Even if we can't figure out where he is, At least we have a good chance of finding out where he came from. But why on earth did the fellow leave the car? It is a curious thing. How did he get around without riding? Mr. Holmes, we There seems to be no clue to this case." "Is there really no clue?" My friend replied thoughtfully, "I don't think so!"

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