Chapter: The three detectives had many matters of detail into which to inquire;
so I returned alone to our modest quarters at the village inn. But
before doing so I took a stroll in the curious old-world garden which
flanked the house. Rows of very ancient yew trees cut into strange
designs girded it round. Inside was a beautiful stretch of lawn with an
old sundial in the middle, the whole effect so soothing and restful that
it was welcome to my somewhat jangled nerves.

In that deeply peaceful atmosphere one could forget, or remember only
as some fantastic nightmare, that darkened study with the sprawling,
bloodstained figure on the floor. And yet, as I strolled round it and
tried to steep my soul in its gentle balm, a strange incident occurred,
which brought me back to the tragedy and left a sinister impression in
my mind.

I have said that a decoration of yew trees circled the garden. At the
end farthest from the house they thickened into a continuous hedge.
On the other side of this hedge, concealed from the eyes of anyone
approaching from the direction of the house, there was a stone seat.
As I approached the spot I was aware of voices, some remark in the deep
tones of a man, answered by a little ripple of feminine laughter.

An instant later I had come round the end of the hedge and my eyes
lit upon Mrs. Douglas and the man Barker before they were aware of my
presence. Her appearance gave me a shock. In the dining-room she had
been demure and discreet. Now all pretense of grief had passed away from
her. Her eyes shone with the joy of living, and her face still quivered
with amusement at some remark of her companion. He sat forward, his
hands clasped and his forearms on his knees, with an answering smile
upon his bold, handsome face. In an instant--but it was just one instant
too late--they resumed their solemn masks as my figure came into view.
A hurried word or two passed between them, and then Barker rose and came
towards me.

"Excuse me, sir," said he, "but am I addressing Dr. Watson?"

I bowed with a coldness which showed, I dare say, very plainly the
impression which had been produced upon my mind.

"We thought that it was probably you, as your friendship with Mr.
Sherlock Holmes is so well known. Would you mind coming over and
speaking to Mrs. Douglas for one instant?"

I followed him with a dour face. Very clearly I could see in my mind's
eye that shattered figure on the floor. Here within a few hours of the
tragedy were his wife and his nearest friend laughing together behind a
bush in the garden which had been his. I greeted the lady with reserve.
I had grieved with her grief in the dining room. Now I met her appealing
gaze with an unresponsive eye.

"I fear that you think me callous and hard-hearted," said she.

I shrugged my shoulders. "It is no business of mine," said I.

"Perhaps some day you will do me justice. If you only realized--"

"There is no need why Dr. Watson should realize," said Barker quickly.
"As he has himself said, it is no possible business of his."

"Exactly," said I, "and so I will beg leave to resume my walk."

"One moment, Dr. Watson," cried the woman in a pleading voice. "There is
one question which you can answer with more authority than anyone else
in the world, and it may make a very great difference to me. You know
Mr. Holmes and his relations with the police better than anyone
else can. Supposing that a matter were brought confidentially to his
knowledge, is it absolutely necessary that he should pass it on to the
detectives?"

"Yes, that's it," said Barker eagerly. "Is he on his own or is he
entirely in with them?"

"I really don't know that I should be justified in discussing such a
point."

"I beg--I implore that you will, Dr. Watson! I assure you that you will
be helping us--helping me greatly if you will guide us on that point."

There was such a ring of sincerity in the woman's voice that for the
instant I forgot all about her levity and was moved only to do her will.

"Mr. Holmes is an independent investigator," I said. "He is his own
master, and would act as his own judgment directed. At the same time, he
would naturally feel loyalty towards the officials who were working on
the same case, and he would not conceal from them anything which would
help them in bringing a criminal to justice. Beyond this I can say
nothing, and I would refer you to Mr. Holmes himself if you wanted
fuller information."

So saying I raised my hat and went upon my way, leaving them still
seated behind that concealing hedge. I looked back as I rounded the far
end of it, and saw that they were still talking very earnestly together,
and, as they were gazing after me, it was clear that it was our
interview that was the subject of their debate.

"I wish none of their confidences," said Holmes, when I reported to him
what had occurred. He had spent the whole afternoon at the Manor House
in consultation with his two colleagues, and returned about five with
a ravenous appetite for a high tea which I had ordered for him. "No
confidences, Watson; for they are mighty awkward if it comes to an
arrest for conspiracy and murder."

"You think it will come to that?"

He was in his most cheerful and debonair humour. "My dear Watson, when
I have exterminated that fourth egg I shall be ready to put you in touch
with the whole situation. I don't say that we have fathomed it--far from
it--but when we have traced the missing dumb-bell--"

"The dumb-bell!"

"Dear me, Watson, is it possible that you have not penetrated the fact
that the case hangs upon the missing dumb-bell? Well, well, you need not
be downcast; for between ourselves I don't think that either Inspector
Mac or the excellent local practitioner has grasped the overwhelming
importance of this incident. One dumb-bell, Watson! Consider an athlete
with one dumb-bell! Picture to yourself the unilateral development, the
imminent danger of a spinal curvature. Shocking, Watson, shocking!"

He sat with his mouth full of toast and his eyes sparkling with
mischief, watching my intellectual entanglement. The mere sight of his
excellent appetite was an assurance of success; for I had very clear
recollections of days and nights without a thought of food, when his
baffled mind had chafed before some problem while his thin, eager
features became more attenuated with the asceticism of complete mental
concentration. Finally he lit his pipe, and sitting in the inglenook
of the old village inn he talked slowly and at random about his case,
rather as one who thinks aloud than as one who makes a considered
statement.

"A lie, Watson--a great, big, thumping, obtrusive, uncompromising
lie--that's what meets us on the threshold! There is our starting
point. The whole story told by Barker is a lie. But Barker's story is
corroborated by Mrs. Douglas. Therefore she is lying also. They are both
lying, and in a conspiracy. So now we have the clear problem. Why are
they lying, and what is the truth which they are trying so hard to
conceal? Let us try, Watson, you and I, if we can get behind the lie and
reconstruct the truth.

"How do I know that they are lying? Because it is a clumsy fabrication
which simply could not be true. Consider! According to the story given
to us, the assassin had less than a minute after the murder had been
committed to take that ring, which was under another ring, from the dead
man's finger, to replace the other ring--a thing which he would surely
never have done--and to put that singular card beside his victim. I say
that this was obviously impossible.

"You may argue--but I have too much respect for your judgment, Watson,
to think that you will do so--that the ring may have been taken before
the man was killed. The fact that the candle had been lit only a short
time shows that there had been no lengthy interview. Was Douglas, from
what we hear of his fearless character, a man who would be likely to
give up his wedding ring at such short notice, or could we conceive of
his giving it up at all? No, no, Watson, the assassin was alone with
the dead man for some time with the lamp lit. Of that I have no doubt at
all.

"But the gunshot was apparently the cause of death. Therefore the shot
must have been fired some time earlier than we are told. But there
could be no mistake about such a matter as that. We are in the presence,
therefore, of a deliberate conspiracy upon the part of the two people
who heard the gunshot--of the man Barker and of the woman Douglas.
When on the top of this I am able to show that the blood mark on the
windowsill was deliberately placed there by Barker, in order to give
a false clue to the police, you will admit that the case grows dark
against him.

"Now we have to ask ourselves at what hour the murder actually did
occur. Up to half-past ten the servants were moving about the house; so
it was certainly not before that time. At a quarter to eleven they
had all gone to their rooms with the exception of Ames, who was in
the pantry. I have been trying some experiments after you left us this
afternoon, and I find that no noise which MacDonald can make in the
study can penetrate to me in the pantry when the doors are all shut.

"It is otherwise, however, from the housekeeper's room. It is not so far
down the corridor, and from it I could vaguely hear a voice when it was
very loudly raised. The sound from a shotgun is to some extent muffled
when the discharge is at very close range, as it undoubtedly was in this
instance. It would not be very loud, and yet in the silence of the night
it should have easily penetrated to Mrs. Allen's room. She is, as she
has told us, somewhat deaf; but none the less she mentioned in her
evidence that she did hear something like a door slamming half an hour
before the alarm was given. Half an hour before the alarm was given
would be a quarter to eleven. I have no doubt that what she heard was
the report of the gun, and that this was the real instant of the murder.

"If this is so, we have now to determine what Barker and Mrs. Douglas,
presuming that they are not the actual murderers, could have been doing
from quarter to eleven, when the sound of the shot brought them down,
until quarter past eleven, when they rang the bell and summoned the
servants. What were they doing, and why did they not instantly give
the alarm? That is the question which faces us, and when it has been
answered we shall surely have gone some way to solve our problem."

"I am convinced myself," said I, "that there is an understanding between
those two people. She must be a heartless creature to sit laughing at
some jest within a few hours of her husband's murder."

"Exactly. She does not shine as a wife even in her own account of what
occurred. I am not a whole-souled admirer of womankind, as you are
aware, Watson, but my experience of life has taught me that there are
few wives, having any regard for their husbands, who would let any man's
spoken word stand between them and that husband's dead body. Should I
ever marry, Watson, I should hope to inspire my wife with some feeling
which would prevent her from being walked off by a housekeeper when my
corpse was lying within a few yards of her. It was badly stage-managed;
for even the rawest investigators must be struck by the absence of the
usual feminine ululation. If there had been nothing else, this incident
alone would have suggested a prearranged conspiracy to my mind."

"You think then, definitely, that Barker and Mrs. Douglas are guilty of
the murder?"

"There is an appalling directness about your questions, Watson," said
Holmes, shaking his pipe at me. "They come at me like bullets. If you
put it that Mrs. Douglas and Barker know the truth about the murder, and
are conspiring to conceal it, then I can give you a whole-souled answer.
I am sure they do. But your more deadly proposition is not so clear. Let
us for a moment consider the difficulties which stand in the way.

"We will suppose that this couple are united by the bonds of a guilty
love, and that they have determined to get rid of the man who stands
between them. It is a large supposition; for discreet inquiry among
servants and others has failed to corroborate it in any way. On the
contrary, there is a good deal of evidence that the Douglases were very
attached to each other."

"That, I am sure, cannot be true," said I, thinking of the beautiful
smiling face in the garden.

"Well at least they gave that impression. However, we will suppose that
they are an extraordinarily astute couple, who deceive everyone upon
this point, and conspire to murder the husband. He happens to be a man
over whose head some danger hangs--"

"We have only their word for that."

Holmes looked thoughtful. "I see, Watson. You are sketching out a theory
by which everything they say from the beginning is false. According
to your idea, there was never any hidden menace, or secret society, or
Valley of Fear, or Boss MacSomebody, or anything else. Well, that is a
good sweeping generalization. Let us see what that brings us to. They
invent this theory to account for the crime. They then play up to the
idea by leaving this bicycle in the park as proof of the existence of
some outsider. The stain on the windowsill conveys the same idea. So
does the card on the body, which might have been prepared in the house.
That all fits into your hypothesis, Watson. But now we come on the
nasty, angular, uncompromising bits which won't slip into their places.
Why a cut-off shotgun of all weapons--and an American one at that? How
could they be so sure that the sound of it would not bring someone on to
them? It's a mere chance as it is that Mrs. Allen did not start out to
inquire for the slamming door. Why did your guilty couple do all this,
Watson?"

"I confess that I can't explain it."

"Then again, if a woman and her lover conspire to murder a husband,
are they going to advertise their guilt by ostentatiously removing his
wedding ring after his death? Does that strike you as very probable,
Watson?"

"No, it does not."

"And once again, if the thought of leaving a bicycle concealed outside
had occurred to you, would it really have seemed worth doing when the
dullest detective would naturally say this is an obvious blind, as the
bicycle is the first thing which the fugitive needed in order to make
his escape."

"I can conceive of no explanation."

"And yet there should be no combination of events for which the wit of
man cannot conceive an explanation. Simply as a mental exercise, without
any assertion that it is true, let me indicate a possible line of
thought. It is, I admit, mere imagination; but how often is imagination
the mother of truth?

"We will suppose that there was a guilty secret, a really shameful
secret in the life of this man Douglas. This leads to his murder by
someone who is, we will suppose, an avenger, someone from outside.
This avenger, for some reason which I confess I am still at a loss
to explain, took the dead man's wedding ring. The vendetta might
conceivably date back to the man's first marriage, and the ring be taken
for some such reason.

"Before this avenger got away, Barker and the wife had reached the room.
The assassin convinced them that any attempt to arrest him would lead
to the publication of some hideous scandal. They were converted to
this idea, and preferred to let him go. For this purpose they probably
lowered the bridge, which can be done quite noiselessly, and then raised
it again. He made his escape, and for some reason thought that he could
do so more safely on foot than on the bicycle. He therefore left his
machine where it would not be discovered until he had got safely away.
So far we are within the bounds of possibility, are we not?"

"Well, it is possible, no doubt," said I, with some reserve.

"We have to remember, Watson, that whatever occurred is certainly
something very extraordinary. Well, now, to continue our supposititious
case, the couple--not necessarily a guilty couple--realize after the
murderer is gone that they have placed themselves in a position in
which it may be difficult for them to prove that they did not themselves
either do the deed or connive at it. They rapidly and rather clumsily
met the situation. The mark was put by Barker's bloodstained slipper
upon the windowsill to suggest how the fugitive got away. They obviously
were the two who must have heard the sound of the gun; so they gave the
alarm exactly as they would have done, but a good half hour after the
event."

"And how do you propose to prove all this?"

"Well, if there were an outsider, he may be traced and taken. That would
be the most effective of all proofs. But if not--well, the resources of
science are far from being exhausted. I think that an evening alone in
that study would help me much."

"An evening alone!"

"I propose to go up there presently. I have arranged it with the
estimable Ames, who is by no means wholehearted about Barker. I shall
sit in that room and see if its atmosphere brings me inspiration. I'm
a believer in the genius loci. You smile, Friend Watson. Well, we shall
see. By the way, you have that big umbrella of yours, have you not?"

"It is here."

"Well, I'll borrow that if I may."

"Certainly--but what a wretched weapon! If there is danger--"

"Nothing serious, my dear Watson, or I should certainly ask for your
assistance. But I'll take the umbrella. At present I am only awaiting
the return of our colleagues from Tunbridge Wells, where they are at
present engaged in trying for a likely owner to the bicycle."

It was nightfall before Inspector MacDonald and White Mason came back
from their expedition, and they arrived exultant, reporting a great
advance in our investigation.

"Man, I'll admeet that I had my doubts if there was ever an outsider,"
said MacDonald, "but that's all past now. We've had the bicycle
identified, and we have a description of our man; so that's a long step
on our journey."

"It sounds to me like the beginning of the end," said Holmes. "I'm sure
I congratulate you both with all my heart."

"Well, I started from the fact that Mr. Douglas had seemed disturbed
since the day before, when he had been at Tunbridge Wells. It was at
Tunbridge Wells then that he had become conscious of some danger. It was
clear, therefore, that if a man had come over with a bicycle it was
from Tunbridge Wells that he might be expected to have come. We took the
bicycle over with us and showed it at the hotels. It was identified at
once by the manager of the Eagle Commercial as belonging to a man named
Hargrave, who had taken a room there two days before. This bicycle and
a small valise were his whole belongings. He had registered his name
as coming from London, but had given no address. The valise was London
made, and the contents were British; but the man himself was undoubtedly
an American."

"Well, well," said Holmes gleefully, "you have indeed done some solid
work while I have been sitting spinning theories with my friend! It's a
lesson in being practical, Mr. Mac."

"Ay, it's just that, Mr. Holmes," said the inspector with satisfaction.

"But this may all fit in with your theories," I remarked.

"That may or may not be. But let us hear the end, Mr. Mac. Was there
nothing to identify this man?"

"So little that it was evident that he had carefully guarded himself
against identification. There were no papers or letters, and no marking
upon the clothes. A cycle map of the county lay on his bedroom table. He
had left the hotel after breakfast yesterday morning on his bicycle, and
no more was heard of him until our inquiries."

"That's what puzzles me, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason. "If the fellow
did not want the hue and cry raised over him, one would imagine that he
would have returned and remained at the hotel as an inoffensive tourist.
As it is, he must know that he will be reported to the police by the
hotel manager and that his disappearance will be connected with the
murder."

"So one would imagine. Still, he has been justified of his wisdom up
to date, at any rate, since he has not been taken. But his
description--what of that?"

MacDonald referred to his notebook. "Here we have it so far as they
could give it. They don't seem to have taken any very particular stock
of him; but still the porter, the clerk, and the chambermaid are all
agreed that this about covers the points. He was a man about five foot
nine in height, fifty or so years of age, his hair slightly grizzled, a
grayish moustache, a curved nose, and a face which all of them described
as fierce and forbidding."

"Well, bar the expression, that might almost be a description of Douglas
himself," said Holmes. "He is just over fifty, with grizzled hair and
moustache, and about the same height. Did you get anything else?"

"He was dressed in a heavy gray suit with a reefer jacket, and he wore a
short yellow overcoat and a soft cap."

"What about the shotgun?"

"It is less than two feet long. It could very well have fitted into
his valise. He could have carried it inside his overcoat without
difficulty."

"And how do you consider that all this bears upon the general case?"

"Well, Mr. Holmes," said MacDonald, "when we have got our man--and you
may be sure that I had his description on the wires within five minutes
of hearing it--we shall be better able to judge. But, even as it stands,
we have surely gone a long way. We know that an American calling himself
Hargrave came to Tunbridge Wells two days ago with bicycle and valise.
In the latter was a sawed-off shotgun; so he came with the deliberate
purpose of crime. Yesterday morning he set off for this place on his
bicycle, with his gun concealed in his overcoat. No one saw him arrive,
so far as we can learn; but he need not pass through the village
to reach the park gates, and there are many cyclists upon the road.
Presumably he at once concealed his cycle among the laurels where it
was found, and possibly lurked there himself, with his eye on the house,
waiting for Mr. Douglas to come out. The shotgun is a strange weapon to
use inside a house; but he had intended to use it outside, and there it
has very obvious advantages, as it would be impossible to miss with it,
and the sound of shots is so common in an English sporting neighbourhood
that no particular notice would be taken."

"That is all very clear," said Holmes.

"Well, Mr. Douglas did not appear. What was he to do next? He left his
bicycle and approached the house in the twilight. He found the bridge
down and no one about. He took his chance, intending, no doubt, to make
some excuse if he met anyone. He met no one. He slipped into the first
room that he saw, and concealed himself behind the curtain. Thence he
could see the drawbridge go up, and he knew that his only escape was
through the moat. He waited until quarter-past eleven, when Mr. Douglas
upon his usual nightly round came into the room. He shot him and
escaped, as arranged. He was aware that the bicycle would be described
by the hotel people and be a clue against him; so he left it there and
made his way by some other means to London or to some safe hiding place
which he had already arranged. How is that, Mr. Holmes?"

"Well, Mr. Mac, it is very good and very clear so far as it goes. That
is your end of the story. My end is that the crime was committed half an
hour earlier than reported; that Mrs. Douglas and Barker are both in
a conspiracy to conceal something; that they aided the murderer's
escape--or at least that they reached the room before he escaped--and
that they fabricated evidence of his escape through the window, whereas
in all probability they had themselves let him go by lowering the
bridge. That's my reading of the first half."

The two detectives shook their heads.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one mystery
into another," said the London inspector.

"And in some ways a worse one," added White Mason. "The lady has never
been in America in all her life. What possible connection could she have
with an American assassin which would cause her to shelter him?"

"I freely admit the difficulties," said Holmes. "I propose to make a
little investigation of my own to-night, and it is just possible that it
may contribute something to the common cause."

"Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?"

"No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watson's umbrella--my wants are simple. And
Ames, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch a point for me. All my
lines of thought lead me back invariably to the one basic question--why
should an athletic man develop his frame upon so unnatural an instrument
as a single dumb-bell?"

It was late that night when Holmes returned from his solitary excursion.
We slept in a double-bedded room, which was the best that the little
country inn could do for us. I was already asleep when I was partly
awakened by his entrance.

"Well, Holmes," I murmured, "have you found anything out?"

He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then the tall,
lean figure inclined towards me. "I say, Watson," he whispered, "would
you be afraid to sleep in the same room with a lunatic, a man with
softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?"

"Not in the least," I answered in astonishment.

"Ah, that's lucky," he said, and not another word would he utter that
night.

 Watson decides to let the detectives talk amongst themselves and head back to the village inn. First, though, he decides to wander about the lovely and peaceful gardens around Manor House. As he comes across a clump of yew trees with a bench, he sees Barker and Mrs. Douglas. They seem very friendly: Mrs. Douglas's face is lit up unlike it was in the house, and the two lean in toward each other intimately. Watson turns to leave, but the pair identifies him, and Barker calls him over. Watson is cool and says he cares not for their business. He makes to leave but they call him back. Mrs. Douglas asks if Holmes is the sort of detective who does things on his own, or if he would tell law enforcement the things he finds out. Watson is annoyed by this and moves to leave again, but the woman cries out and he is struck by the sincerity in her voice. He finally concedes that Holmes is an independent investigator, but that he has great respect for the men with whom he works. Watson walks away, and sees the two whispering to one another. Holmes later says he wants none of their confidence. He then cheerfully says he is making progress as long as they can find the missing dumbbell, for only one was found in the study near the body. Watson is surprised and wonders what this has to do with the case. Holmes replies that no one works out with only one dumbbell. Holmes is the picture of contentment and intellectual excitement. He lights his pipe and begins to ruminate. He notes that Mrs. Douglas and Barker are collaborating on the lie. There was no way that the murderer could have killed Douglas and left in the amount of time allotted. The assassin must have been alone with Douglas for some time before killing him. The gunshot was clearly the cause of death, but it most likely happened earlier than Barker described. In fact, the housekeeper had mentioned hearing a muffled noise like a door slamming a half hour before the gunshot was said to have gone off, and this was probably the real shot. What, he wonders, did Barker and Mrs. Douglas do in that half hour. It is a badly stage-managed affair, he observes. Watson asks if he thinks the two of them murdered Douglas; Holmes prefers not to answer that directly, though he indicates that they were certainly involved somehow. Everyone questioned told him that the Douglases seemed very much in love. There is also the issue of the "Valley of Fear," and association of danger with Douglas. Watson is skeptical of this, and Holmes humors him. He says yes, perhaps they made all that up to cover their tracks, but the choice of the shotgun as weapon makes no sense. It is also absurd that they would take the dead man's wedding ring; this practically advertised their putative affair. Holmes continues, suggesting that it seems likely that an outsider connected to Douglas who was desirous of seeking some sort of vengeance came and killed the man. Barker and Mrs. Douglas arrived, Holmes speculates, and the assassin spoke to them and convinced them that if they said anything he would reveal a scandalous secret about Douglas. The man then escaped and decided to go on foot and left his bicycle. Barker and Mrs. Douglas set up the scene. Watson is a bit more convinced, but still wary. Holmes announces he needs a night alone in the study to think about this. He says he needs only an umbrella, which Watson points out is a useless weapon. That evening, MacDonald and Mason return. MacDonald is pleased because he was able to trace the bicycle to a man named Hargrave. This man, clearly an American but carrying a British suitcase and the bicycle, checked into a hotel two days ago. There is no more information about his background, and no knowledge of what he did after he left yesterday with his bicycle. MacDonald reads the description of the man, which is quite curious because it sounds like Douglas, the murdered man. MacDonald offers a theory as to what happened. Hargrave carried the shotgun in his valise and set off for Manor House. He hid his bicycle and waited for Douglas. He intended to use the gun outside where it would have attracted no undue notice. Douglas never came outside, so Hargrave snuck into the house, shot Douglas, and escaped. Holmes nods in appreciation, and tells them bluntly Barker and Mrs. Douglas are in a conspiracy together. Mason sighs and says that the woman has never been to America, and thus this is all very strange. Holmes tells them his plan to stay in the study and figure out why there is only one dumbbell. Watson retires to bed. Holmes wakes him in the middle of the night and asks if Watson would be afraid to sleep in the same room as a lunatic or an idiot. Watson is surprised and says no, and Holmes replies that that is a good thing

