This startling information I conveyed to Holmes as succinctly as I could, and I saw his hollow cheeks flush with horror. He ran his eyes over the assembled servants – they were still standing in the doorway, shivering with fear yet continuing to stare at the macabre tableau inside the attic room – and finally let them settle upon a handsome, tow-haired, barefoot young man dressed in nothing but a long white nightshirt.
‘You are Edward Gable, are you not?’ he enquired of him.
‘Yes, sir, I am,’ the youth answered rather hoarsely, no doubt in awe of Holmes’s masterful presence.
‘How old are you, Edward?’
‘Just passed eighteen, sir.’
‘Now, my boy,’ said Holmes, softening his tone, ‘you realise, don’t you, that your brother is dead?’
‘I do, sir,’ replied Edward, who, bar a faint trembling of his lower lip, allowed no expression of feeling to be visible on his face. ‘It was… it was I who found him so.’
‘Well, my name is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and later I shall have to ask you and everybody else a number of important questions. But first, I think, your father should be comforted. Will you take him downstairs and pour him some brandy?’
‘Yes, sir, I will.’
And, without a further word being spoken by either, he took his father by the arm and guided that now visibly broken man along the corridor and down the staircase.
Holmes meanwhile, facing the others, spoke to the oldest and most responsible-looking person there, a woman whose plump and kindly face was still streaked with the copious tears which she had already shed.
‘You are …?’
‘Mrs. Treadwell, sir. I am Dr. Gable’s housekeeper, if you please,’ replied this typical specimen of the housekeeping breed.
‘I do not imagine, Mrs. Treadwell,’ said Holmes, ‘that anyone has had the mind to send for the police?’
‘Why no, sir … that’s to say … if you please, sir, it all happened so sudden …’
‘Quite so. Then, Jerrold, may I suggest you take the dog-cart back to Aylesbury and alert the constabulary there.’
Tapping his cap respectfully with his bandaged hand, Jerrold left at once to carry out the request.
Holmes now closed the attic door. ‘As for you young women,’ he continued in his most authoritative manner, addressing Mary Jane and two other hysterically twittering maids, ‘I propose that you go downstairs also, that you stay close together and await the arrival of the police from Aylesbury. Mrs. Treadwell, if you will remain behind, I would like to ask you a few questions.’
Once the maids had left, Holmes turned towards that good lady.
‘Now, Mrs. Treadwell,’ said he, ‘it was Edward, I understand, who discovered his brother’s body?’
‘By rights, sir, it was him and me both.’
‘How so? Please tell me everything that occurred and omit no detail, however insignificant it may strike you.’
‘Well, sir, the facts are these. There’s been a fearful state of affairs in this house ever since Dr. Gable’s crates were shipped here and a horrid great rat –’
‘Yes, I know all about that,’ Holmes smoothly interrupted. ‘I wish you to relate only what happened here this evening.’
‘It’s just that, because of the rat and the stories that were being spread of it, young Master James, who was such a lively boy, always full of humour, had of late sunk into a kind of terror. And this very evening, when we heard its scratchings louder than ever, he swore he wouldn’t pass the night in his own bedroom – there being no lock on its door, you see – but would sleep in the attic, a room that no one ever entered or cleaned but could at least be locked from the inside. And that he did, sir, and turned the key behind him, at about half-past nine, I should say. Well, I was undressing in my own room when, no more than five or ten minutes after, I heard a scream coming from upstairs, a scream that changed me to stone, sir! I rushed out, just as you see me now, and I met Master Edward in the corridor, him only half-undressed himself. We came up here, and knocked on this door as loud as could be, but no answer was forthcoming. We cried, “Jamie! Jamie!” fit to wake the dead in Mentmore graveyard, but there wasn’t a stirring from him.’
‘And the door was locked from inside?’
‘Oh yes, sir. We tried rattling it, but it wouldn’t budge. At last Master Edward thought that it could be brought down by force – it was old and damp, sir, quite eaten up with rot – and it took just two heaves with his strong young shoulder to break it open. And there … Oh, Mr Holmes,’ she said, now openly weeping, ‘it was the most inhuman thing I ever saw …’
‘Please bear up, Mrs. Treadwell. What happened next?’
The housekeeper endeavoured to gather her thoughts. ‘Next …? Yes, Master Edward told me to go and wake Mary Jane that she might keep a lookout for Dr. Gable who, as we knew, was due back from London. I did wake the girl, and returned here within the quarter-hour to find him still standing watch at the door.’
‘You did not examine James to make certain he was dead?’
‘Master Edward did, and hoped to revive him too. But the boy was dead, sir, with not a breath of life left in him. And his face … If I live to be a hundred …’
‘Yes, indeed, it is a terrible business. But you have been of the greatest assistance to me, Mrs. Treadwell, and I would ask you now to join the others downstairs.’
After she had taken her leave, Holmes smiled grimly. ‘Well now, Watson, let us, you and I, turn our attention to the scene of the crime. For I believe we’ll have a clear run of an hour or more until the police arrive, and I am most anxious to explore the room before the hobnailed boots of the Aylesbury constabulary contrive to stamp out what evidence there yet may be.’
Inside the attic, Holmes undertook his investigation as coolly as if there had been nobody at all on the cot, let alone the mangled corpse of a once personable young lad whose expression of naked terror appeared to pursue me wherever I moved. The door, as Holmes ascertained, had indeed been forcibly burst open, and its key was still in the lock – on the inside. That key impressed me as being, so to speak, the key to the whole affair, for I could not conceive how either a human being or a rodent had entered and subsequently quit the room without in some fashion causing it to be disturbed. And it was then it occurred to me that, if the cot on which James was lying sat too low on the floor to conceal a man, there was certainly space enough for a rat still to be lurking …
At that moment Holmes, with a negligent disregard for his trouser knees, clambered atop the chest-of-drawers and peered out of the barred window.
‘Interesting, by Jove,’ said he, as, with remarkable agility even for him, he leapt back down on the floor.
‘What is?’ I asked, one eye warily on the cot.
‘Running underneath the wall there appears to be a stream, which doubtless serves as a drainage conduit for the house. Watson, have you something the matter with your eye?’
‘Not at all,’ I answered impatiently; then, mutely signalling my suspicion as to what might still be cowering under the bed, I said, ‘There is, I suppose, absolutely nothing to this queer story of a rat?’
Holmes looked up at me interrogatively and managed the closest to a true smile that I had seen on his features since we had ventured into this tragic house.
‘Your conjecture is,’ he said, ‘that the Sumatran rat is even now preparing to ambush us from beneath the bed?’
‘No, no, of course not,’ I muttered, none too convincingly, I fear. ‘However, as I see it, no man could have left this room, but a small animal might have climbed on to the chest-of-drawers, crept out of the window and plunged into the stream below.’