was not to be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by man or devil. When these hot

fits were over, however, he would rush tumultuously in at the door and lock and

bar it behind him, like a man who can brazen it out no longer against the

terror which lies at the roots of his soul. At such times I have seen his face,

even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though it were new raised from a

basin.


“Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not to abuse your

patience, there came a night when he made one of those drunken sallies from

which he never came back. We found him, when we went to search for him, face

downward in a little green-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden.

There was no sign of any violence, and the water was but two feet deep, so that

the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity, brought in a verdict of

‘suicide.’ But I, who knew how he winced from the very thought of

death, had much ado to persuade myself that he had gone out of his way to meet

it. The matter passed, however, and my father entered into possession of the

estate, and of some £ 14,000, which lay to his credit at the bank.”


“One moment,” Holmes interposed, “your statement is, I

foresee, one of the most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me have

the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and the date of his

supposed suicide.”


“The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. His death was seven weeks later,

upon the night of May 2nd.”


“Thank you. Pray proceed.”


“When my father took over the Horsham property, he, at my request, made a

careful examination of the attic, which had been always locked up. We found the

brass box there, although its contents had been destroyed. On the inside of the

cover was a paper label, with the initials of K. K. K. repeated upon it, and

‘Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register’ written beneath.