My most puzzling informant was the girl Dolores, who fortunately spoke English well, though with a stronger accent than her husband. At first she had little to say, answering in curt monosyllables or merely shrugging her graceful shoulders by way of reply. But then, by luck or instinct, I ventured to ask what were her personal views of her employer. At once her dark eyes blazed and I caught a glimpse of splendid white teeth.
‘He is cold!’ she cried. ‘He is a good man, this Sir Harry Fair-fax, a fine English gentleman, but he is cold! His blood is like the blood of a fish!’
Making no move to restrain her, for we were out of hearing of the household at the time, I did no more than encourage her to explain herself.
‘I cannot! How can I, to another Englishman?’
‘Has he treated you unkindly?’
‘Unkindly, never; I tell you he is a good man. But coldly, coldly!’
‘In what way coldly?’
Again the girl did no more than shrug her shoulders. I sensed I would get no further along this path and took a new approach by asking whether Carlos also held the opinion that Sir Harry was a good man.
‘Yes, yes,’ was the reply, accompanied by a toss of the head. ‘I think so. Or perhaps I should better say that I hope so, I greatly hope so.’
‘Why is that?’
But here once more I found there was no more progress to be made. I revolved in my mind this interview, together with other matters, through an agreeable luncheon and the earlier part of a confoundedly sultry afternoon. Half-past four found me in the drawing-room taking tea with my hostess.
‘We won’t wait for Harry,’ said she. ‘He often misses tea altogether.’
‘Where is Sir Harry at this moment?’
‘At the stables. He should be safe enough there.’
‘I see there is a fourth cup.’
‘In case Miles should decide to join us.’
‘But you make no provision for Captain Bradshaw.’
‘Ah, he never takes tea. Nothing must be allowed to interfere with his afternoon walk. Jack Bradshaw is a very serious man.’
‘He is certainly very serious about you, Lady Fairfax.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s in love with you, as you know. I learned it last night, at dinner. You showed signs of strong fear; Bradshaw had not seen what it was that had frightened you, but he could tell its direction from your gaze, and at once — before I was on my feet, and I moved quickly — interposed himself between you and the source of danger. Such speed comes from instinct founded on deep emotion, not from the conscious part of the mind.’
The lady was not indignant, nor did she affect disbelief or surprise. I was sufficiently emboldened by this further evidence of her sagacity to inquire if I might go further in plain speaking.
‘We shall make no progress if we allow ourselves to be circumscribed by false notions of delicacy,’ she replied.
‘Very well. Remember that I am discussing remote contingencies, nothing more. Now — if I wanted to procure Sir Harry’s demise, when should I best make my attempt?’
‘When his life had recently been threatened by a convicted felon.’
‘Just so. What of my motive?’
‘We know of one possibility, that your victim stands between you and the object of your passion. No doubt there are others.’
‘Certainly. Perhaps I’m the prey of a special kind of envy, or a sense that Fortune has been unjust to me.’
‘I follow you.’
‘Or again I may feel that my honour has been slighted so grievously that only death can redress the wrong.’
‘Do you call that plain speaking, Dr Watson?’ was a question never answered, for at that moment the tea-cup in that graceful hand shattered into fragments and the crack of a rifle was heard from the nearer distance. Bidding Lady Fairfax lie down, I hastened out through the open French windows and searched the adjacent shrubbery, but with no result. On my return to the house, I found the baronet with his arms about his wife, who was decidedly less shocked than many young women would have been after such an experience. After satisfying myself that she needed none of my professional care, I searched for the bullet that had passed between us and eventually retrieved it from the corner where it had ricocheted after hitting the back wall. This contact had somewhat deformed it, but I was soon satisfied that it had come from the Rossi-Charles rifle.
By now, Miles Fairfax had arrived from his sitting-room on the first floor, unaware, on his account, of anything amiss until summoned by a servant. Had he not heard the shot? He had indeed heard a shot, but had taken it for one more of the hundreds fired in the vicinity every year for peaceful purposes. Bradshaw appeared a little later, back, he declared, from his walk, and evidently much agitated at the narrowness of Lady Fairfax’s escape.
He clutched his forehead wildly. ‘In Heaven’s name, what lunatic would seek to harm so innocent a creature?’ he cried.
‘Oh, I think it must have been to me that harm was intended, Jack,’ said Sir Harry. ‘Consider where Watson was sitting. From any distance, it would have been perfectly possible to mistake him for me.’
‘Harry,’ said his wife in tones of resolve, ‘there must be no shoot tomorrow. I forbid it.’
‘What shoot is this?’ I asked.
‘A very modest affair, Doctor,’ returned Sir Harry. ‘We intend to do no more than clear some of the pigeons from the east wood. A few people from round about will be joining us.’
‘And is your intention known in the district?’
‘Well, it is our yearly custom. I suppose it must be known.’
‘Don’t go, dearest,’ implored the lady. ‘Let the others do as they please, but you remain behind.’
I took it upon myself to intervene. ‘My dear Lady Fairfax,’ said I, ‘Sir Harry must be there. It’s our best chance. We must bring Black Ralph into the open and end this menace. I will be responsible for your husband’s safety.’
And, with the support of Bradshaw and, unexpectedly, that of Miles Fairfax, I carried the day. Later I made some preparations with which I will not weary the reader, and, in common with the rest of the household, retired early. I was drifting off to sleep when, just as on the previous night, I heard the door above me shut. In an instant I was fully awake. The voices began again, but with the immediate difference that the man was unmistakably Sir Harry Fairfax, speaking with a measured harshness that chilled the blood. I caught a phrase here and there — ‘castigation of sin’ and ‘suffer condign punishment’. They were enough to recall to me what hitherto the name of Fairfax and the sight of the fiendish representation in the dining-room had failed to do. It had been an eighteenth-century occupant of that baronetcy, one Sir Thomas Fairfax, who had conducted nameless rites in this very house, subjecting his own wife to indignities which I cannot set down here. At that moment I heard from upstairs the voice of the present Lady Fairfax raised in piteous entreaty and then what could have been nothing but the savage crack of a whip. A stifled scream followed.
I could hesitate no longer. Lighting a candle, I took my revolver from its hiding-place at the bottom of my travelling-bag, threw on a dressing-gown and made for the upper storey. Within seconds I had found the room I sought and paused outside it before committing myself.