“In that case I will bring my whisky flask,” said I.
A quarter of an hour later we left the hotel and made our way inconspicuously through side streets, as though taking an innocuous afternoon stroll. Though there was still an hour or so of daylight the sky was dark and sombre as we cleared the outskirts of Parvise Magna and a pallid mist was rising from the drenched fields which skirted the rounded hills. We were both silent as we continued our walk and presently Holmes turned aside to avoid approaching our client’s cottage from the front. When we could just see the roof of the property through the bare branches of leafless trees, we diverged from the path and in a few moments found ourselves on the overgrown track that led to the quarry. It was a grim place at that late time of day and we both paused as though possessed of the same impulse, and gazed down over the hundred foot drop.
“An awful spot. Holmes.”
“Indeed, Watson. But I think there is a more agreeable approach yonder.”
He pointed forward and I then saw what appeared to be a white thread which turned out to be a shelving part of the quarry that led downward in gentle slopes. Our feet gritted on the loose shale and after we had descended about halfway my companion gave a sharp exclamation.
He led the way across the face of the quarry to where a dark hole gaped. It was obviously man-made and perhaps provided shelter for the quarrymen in years gone by. I followed him in and saw that the cavern was about ten feet across and some twenty feet deep. There was a narrow shelf of rock on the left-hand side, about five feet in.
“Hulloa,” I said. “Here is a candle, Holmes.”
I bent closer.
“And recently used, I should say, judging by the spent matches which are perfectly dry and not wet as they would be had they been there a long time.”
Holmes came to look over my shoulder.
“You are constantly improving, my dear fellow. You are not far out.”
He went back into the rear of the cave which the failing daylight still penetrated.
“Someone has made a fire,” I said, as he stirred the blackened ashes on the rough floor with his boot. “A tramp has been living here, perhaps.”
“Perhaps, Watson,” he said, as though his thoughts were far away.
Then he stooped to pick up a small clip of cardboard from the remains of the fire. I went across to see what he had found. I made out the faint white lettering on a blue background:
CARROLL AND CO.
“What does it mean, Holmes?”
“I do not yet know,” he said reflectively. “Time will tell. I think I have seen enough here to confirm my tentative theories. In the meantime we must get back to the cottage before it is completely dark.”
And he led the way up the quarry at a swift pace. He put his finger to his lips as we drew close to our destination and bending down behind the large boulder our client had indicated, he brought out the massive wrought-iron key. It was the work of a moment to open the cottage door and re-lock it from the other side. The key turned smoothly so it was obvious why Smedhurst’s mysterious intruder had been able to gain entry so easily.
“Could we have a light, Holmes?” I whispered.
“There is a dark lantern on the table yonder, which I observed on our previous visit. I think we might risk it for a few minutes to enable us to settle down. If he is coming at all tonight our man will not move until long after dark. I have baited the trap. Now let us just see what comes to the net.”
I could not repress a shudder at these words, and I felt something of the terror that Smedhurst had experienced in that lonely place. But the comforting feel of my revolver in my overcoat did much to reassure me. I lit the lantern, shielding the match with my hand, and when we had deposited our sandwiches and made ourselves comfortable in two wing chairs, I closed the shutter of the lantern so that only a thin line of luminescence broke the darkness. I placed it beneath the table where it could not be seen from the windows, and after loading my pistol and securing the safety catch I placed it and my whisky flask near at hand as the light slowly faded.
What can I say of that dreary vigil? That the dark cloud of horror which seemed to hang about the cottage that night will remain with me until my dying day. Combined with the melancholy screeching of distant owls, it merely emphasised the sombreness of our night watch. Holmes seemed impervious to all this for he sat immobile in his chair, for I could see his calm face in the dim light that still filtered through the parlour windows. Presently we ate the sandwiches and fortified with drafts of whisky from my flask, I became more alert. Several hours must have passed when I became aware that Holmes had stirred in his chair.
“I think the moment is approaching. Your pistol, Watson, if you please.”
Then I heard what his keen ears had already caught. A very faint, furtive scraping on the rocky path that led to the cottage. I had the pistol in my hand now and eased off the safety catch. The clouds had lifted momentarily and pale moonlight outlined the casement bars. By its spectral glow I suddenly saw a ghastly, crumpled face appear in the nearest frame and I almost cried aloud. But Holmes’ hand was on my arm and I waited with racing heart.
Then there was a metallic click and a key inserted from outside began to turn the lock. I was about to whisper to my companion when the door was suddenly flung wide and cold, damp air flowed into the room. We were both on our feet now. I vaguely glimpsed two figures in the doorway and then Holmes had thrown the shutter of the dark lantern back and its light flooded in, dispelling the gloom and revealing a dark-clad figure and behind him, the hideous thing that had appeared at the window. A dreadful cry of alarm and dismay, the pounding of feet back down the path and then the horrible creature had turned the other way.
“Quickly, Watson! Time is of the essence! I recognised the second man but we must identify the other.”
We were racing down the tangled pathway now, stumbling over the rocky surface but the white-faced creature was quicker still. I discharged my pistol into the air and our quarry dodged aside and redoubled its efforts. Then we were in thick bushes and I fired again. The flash and the explosion were followed by the most appalling cry. When we rounded the next corner I could see by the light of the lantern which Holmes still carried, that the thing had misjudged the distance on the blind bend and had fallen straight down into the quarry.
“It cannot have survived that fall, Holmes,” I said.
He shook his head.
“It was not your fault, old fellow. But we must hasten down in case he needs medical aid.”
A few minutes later we had scrambled to ground level and cautiously approached the motionless thing with the smashed body that told my trained eye that he had died instantly. I gently turned him over while Holmes held the lantern. When he removed the hideous carnival mask we found ourselves looking into the bloodied face of young Ashton, the surveyor, whose expression bore all the elements of shock and surprise that one often finds in cases of violent death.
6
Holmes’ hammering at the knocker of the substantial Georgian house at the edge of town, presently brought a tousled housekeeper holding a candle in a trembling hand to a ground floor window.
“I must see your master at once!” said Holmes. “I know he has just returned home so do not tell me that he cannot be disturbed. It is a matter of life and death!”
The door was unbolted at once and we slipped inside.
“Do not be alarmed, my good woman,” said Holmes gently. “Despite the hour, our errand is a vital one. I see by the muddy footprints on the parquet that your master has only recently returned. Pray tell him to come downstairs or we shall have to go up to him.”