The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge Read Online Free
Author: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
good man, Walters, I should put a black
mark against you for this. If it were the devil himself a constable on
duty should never thank God that he could not lay his hands upon him.
I suppose the whole thing is not a vision and a touch of nerves?"
"That, at least, is very easily settled," said Holmes, lighting his
little pocket lantern. "Yes," he reported, after a short examination
of the grass bed, "a number twelve shoe, I should say. If he was all
on the same scale as his foot he must certainly have been a giant."
"What became of him?"
"He seems to have broken through the shrubbery and made for the road."
"Well," said the inspector with a grave and thoughtful face, "whoever
he may have been, and whatever he may have wanted, he's gone for the
present, and we have more immediate things to attend to. Now, Mr.
Holmes, with your permission, I will show you round the house."
The various bedrooms and sitting-rooms had yielded nothing to a careful
search. Apparently the tenants had brought little or nothing with
them, and all the furniture down to the smallest details had been taken
over with the house. A good deal of clothing with the stamp of Marx
and Co., High Holborn, had been left behind. Telegraphic inquiries had
been already made which showed that Marx knew nothing of his customer
save that he was a good payer. Odds and ends, some pipes, a few
novels, two of them in Spanish, and old-fashioned pinfire revolver, and
a guitar were among the personal property.
"Nothing in all this," said Baynes, stalking, candle in hand, from room
to room. "But now, Mr. Holmes, I invite your attention to the kitchen."
It was a gloomy, high-ceilinged room at the back of the house, with a
straw litter in one corner, which served apparently as a bed for the
cook. The table was piled with half-eaten dishes and dirty plates, the
debris of last night's dinner.
"Look at this," said Baynes. "What do you make of it?"
He held up his candle before an extraordinary object which stood at the
back of the dresser. It was so wrinkled and shrunken and withered that
it was difficult to say what it might have been. One could but say that
it was black and leathery and that it bore some resemblance to a
dwarfish, human figure. At first, as I examined it, I thought that it
was a mummified negro baby, and then it seemed a very twisted and
ancient monkey. Finally I was left in doubt as to whether it was
animal or human. A double band of white shells were strung round the
centre of it.
"Very interesting—very interesting, indeed!" said Holmes, peering at
this sinister relic. "Anything more?"
In silence Baynes led the way to the sink and held forward his candle.
The limbs and body of some large, white bird, torn savagely to pieces
with the feathers still on, were littered all over it. Holmes pointed
to the wattles on the severed head.
"A white cock," said he. "Most interesting! It is really a very
curious case."
But Mr. Baynes had kept his most sinister exhibit to the last. From
under the sink he drew a zinc pail which contained a quantity of blood.
Then from the table he took a platter heaped with small pieces of
charred bone.
"Something has been killed and something has been burned. We raked all
these out of the fire. We had a doctor in this morning. He says that
they are not human."
Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands.
"I must congratulate you, Inspector, on handling so distinctive and
instructive a case. Your powers, if I may say so without offence, seem
superior to your opportunities."
Inspector Baynes's small eyes twinkled with pleasure.
"You're right, Mr. Holmes. We stagnate in the provinces. A case of
this sort gives a man a chance, and I hope that I shall take it. What
do you make of these bones?"
"A lamb, I should say, or a kid."
"And the white cock?"
"Curious, Mr. Baynes, very curious. I should say almost unique."
"Yes, sir, there must have been some very strange people with some very
strange ways in this house. One of them is dead. Did his
mark against you for this. If it were the devil himself a constable on
duty should never thank God that he could not lay his hands upon him.
I suppose the whole thing is not a vision and a touch of nerves?"
"That, at least, is very easily settled," said Holmes, lighting his
little pocket lantern. "Yes," he reported, after a short examination
of the grass bed, "a number twelve shoe, I should say. If he was all
on the same scale as his foot he must certainly have been a giant."
"What became of him?"
"He seems to have broken through the shrubbery and made for the road."
"Well," said the inspector with a grave and thoughtful face, "whoever
he may have been, and whatever he may have wanted, he's gone for the
present, and we have more immediate things to attend to. Now, Mr.
Holmes, with your permission, I will show you round the house."
The various bedrooms and sitting-rooms had yielded nothing to a careful
search. Apparently the tenants had brought little or nothing with
them, and all the furniture down to the smallest details had been taken
over with the house. A good deal of clothing with the stamp of Marx
and Co., High Holborn, had been left behind. Telegraphic inquiries had
been already made which showed that Marx knew nothing of his customer
save that he was a good payer. Odds and ends, some pipes, a few
novels, two of them in Spanish, and old-fashioned pinfire revolver, and
a guitar were among the personal property.
"Nothing in all this," said Baynes, stalking, candle in hand, from room
to room. "But now, Mr. Holmes, I invite your attention to the kitchen."
It was a gloomy, high-ceilinged room at the back of the house, with a
straw litter in one corner, which served apparently as a bed for the
cook. The table was piled with half-eaten dishes and dirty plates, the
debris of last night's dinner.
"Look at this," said Baynes. "What do you make of it?"
He held up his candle before an extraordinary object which stood at the
back of the dresser. It was so wrinkled and shrunken and withered that
it was difficult to say what it might have been. One could but say that
it was black and leathery and that it bore some resemblance to a
dwarfish, human figure. At first, as I examined it, I thought that it
was a mummified negro baby, and then it seemed a very twisted and
ancient monkey. Finally I was left in doubt as to whether it was
animal or human. A double band of white shells were strung round the
centre of it.
"Very interesting—very interesting, indeed!" said Holmes, peering at
this sinister relic. "Anything more?"
In silence Baynes led the way to the sink and held forward his candle.
The limbs and body of some large, white bird, torn savagely to pieces
with the feathers still on, were littered all over it. Holmes pointed
to the wattles on the severed head.
"A white cock," said he. "Most interesting! It is really a very
curious case."
But Mr. Baynes had kept his most sinister exhibit to the last. From
under the sink he drew a zinc pail which contained a quantity of blood.
Then from the table he took a platter heaped with small pieces of
charred bone.
"Something has been killed and something has been burned. We raked all
these out of the fire. We had a doctor in this morning. He says that
they are not human."
Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands.
"I must congratulate you, Inspector, on handling so distinctive and
instructive a case. Your powers, if I may say so without offence, seem
superior to your opportunities."
Inspector Baynes's small eyes twinkled with pleasure.
"You're right, Mr. Holmes. We stagnate in the provinces. A case of
this sort gives a man a chance, and I hope that I shall take it. What
do you make of these bones?"
"A lamb, I should say, or a kid."
"And the white cock?"
"Curious, Mr. Baynes, very curious. I should say almost unique."
"Yes, sir, there must have been some very strange people with some very
strange ways in this house. One of them is dead. Did his