The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes (16 page)

Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson."

A shade of uneasiness seemed to flit across the dark face of the baronet as he looked at

Holmes.

"I've heard of ye," he growled. His gaze moved towards the dead man. "Yes, Buck Daley's

dead, and probably damned. I know his reputation now. Wine, horses, women —well, there

have been Lavingtons like that. Mayhap, Mr. Holmes, ye have the wit to recognize a

mischance when others talk of murder."

To my amazement Holmes seemed seriously to consider this monstrous statement. "Were

it not for one circumstance, Sir Reginald," he said at length, "I should probably agree with

you."

Gregson smiled sourly. "We're all aware of that circumstance. The missing knife—"

"I did not say that it was the knife."

"There was no need for you to say so, Mr. Holmes. Can a man cut his own throat by

accident and afterwards conceal the weapon?"

Seizing the candelabrum from the sergeant, Gregson held it up to the trophy of arms

which glittered against the dark panelling. His stern eyes met those of the baronet.

"Where is the dagger that hung here?" he demanded.

"I took it," said Sir Reginald.

"Oh, you did, did you? Why?"

"I've told Sergeant Bassett there. I was fishing this morning. I used that old blade to gut

the pike; ay, as my fathers did before me."

"Then you have it?"

"No; must I tell the police a dozen times? I lost it from my creel. Mayhap at the river, or on

my way home."

Gregson drew the sergeant to one side.

"I think there's little more we need," I heard him mutter. "His wife has given us the

motive, and we have it from his own lips that he took the weapon. Sir Reginald Lavington," he

said with authority, advancing upon the baronet, "I must ask you to accompany me to

Maidstone Police Station. There you will be formally charged with—"

Holmes darted forward. "One moment, Gregson!" he cried. "You must really give us twenty-

four hours to think this over. For your own sake I tell you that any good counsel would tear

your case to pieces."

"I think not, Mr. Holmes; especially with her ladyship in the witness-box."

Sir Reginald started violently, while a livid pallor mottled the swarthiness of his features.

"I warn ye not to drag my wife into this! Whatever she's said, she can't testify against her

husband!"

"We would not ask her to do so. It is sufficient that she repeat what she has already

stated in the presence of police witnesses. However, Mr. Holmes," Gregson added, "in

return for one or two small favours you've done us in the past, I see no harm in—well! in

delaying matters for a few more hours. As for you, Sir Reginald, should you attempt to leave

this house, you will be arrested at once. Well, Mr. Holmes, what now?"

My friend had dropped to his knees, and by the light of a candle was peering closely at the

horrible splashes of blood and wine which dabbled the oaken floor.

"Perhaps you would have the goodness, Watson, to pull that bell-rope," he said, as he

scrambled to his feet. "A word with the butler, who discovered the body, would not come amiss

before we seek accommodation at the village inn. Let us adjourn to the hall."

I think that each of us was glad to leave that black, vaulted room with its terrible occupant,

and to find ourselves once more before the log fire blazing on the hearth. Lady Lavington, pale

but beautiful in a gown of bronze velvet with a collar of Brussels lace, rose from a chair.

For a moment her eyes seemed to search each one of us with a mute, intense questioning,

and then she had swept to her husband's side.

"In God's name, Margaret, what have ye been saying?" he demanded, the veins swelling in

his thick neck. "Ye'll have me at the rope's end yet!"

"Whatever the sacrifice, I swear you shall not suffer! Surely it is better that—" She

whispered a few agitated words in his ear.

"Never! Never!" retorted her husband fiercely. "What? You here, Gillings? Have you too been

condemning your master?"

None of us had heard the butler's approach, but now he stepped into the circle of fire-light,

with a troubled expression on his honest face.

"Heaven forbid, Sir Reginald!" Gillings replied warmly. "I told Sergeant Bassett only what I

saw and heard. Colonel Daley called for a bottle of port. He was in the banqueting-hall. He—he

said he wished to drink a toast with you from the Luck of Lavington, to the victory of his

horse in the Leopardstown races next week. Since there was port in the decanter on the

buffet, I poured it into the great cup. I remember how the colonel laughed as he dismissed

me."

"He laughed, you say?" said Sherlock Holmes quickly. "When did you actually see Sir

Reginald with the colonel?"

"I did not actually see him, sir. But the colonel said—"

"And laughed when he said it," interposed Holmes. "Perhaps Lady Lavington would tell

us whether Colonel Daley was a frequent guest under this roof?"

It seemed to me that some swift emotion glowed for an instant in those wonderful

green eyes.

"For some years past, a frequent guest," she said. "But my husband was not even in the

house this morning! Has he not told you so already?"

"Excuse me, my lady," doggedly interrupted Sergeant Bassett. "Sir Reginald says he

was at the river, but he admits he can't prove it."

"Quite so," said Holmes. "Well, Watson, there is nothing more to be done here tonight."

We found comfortable accommodation at the Three Owls in the village of Lavington.

Holmes was moody and preoccupied. When I attempted to question him, he cut me short

with the statement that he had nothing further to add until he had visited Maidstone on the

morrow. I must confess that I could not understand my friend's attitude. It was evident

that Sir Reginald Lavington was a dangerous man, and that our visit appeared to have

made him more so but when I pointed out to Holmes that his duty lay at Lavington

Court rather than in the county town of Maidstone, he replied merely with the incongruous

observation that the Lavingtons were a historic family.

I passed a restless morning. The wild weather kept me indoors over a week-old

newspaper, and it was not until four o'clock in the afternoon that Holmes burst into our

private sitting-room. His cape was dripping and rain-sodden, but his eyes glittered and his

cheeks were flushed with some intense inner excitement.

"Good heavens!" I said. "You look as though you have found the answer to our

problem."

Before my friend could reply, there came a knock and the door of our sitting-room had

swung open. Holmes rose from the chair into which he had just relapsed.

"Ah, Lady Lavington," said he, "we are honoured by your visit."

Though her features were heavily veiled, there was no mistaking that tall, gracious figure now

hesitating on our threshold.

"I received your note, Mr. Holmes," she replied in a low voice, "and I came at once."

Sinking into the chair which I had wheeled forward, she raised her veil and let her head rest

back among the cushions. "I came at once," she repeated wearily.

The fire-light threw her face into strong relief, and, as I studied her features, still beautiful

despite the almost waxen pallor and restless brilliance of her eyes, I discerned in them the

shock of the event that had shattered the peace of her life and the privacy of her home. A sense

of compassion prompted me to speak.

"You may have complete confidence in my friend Sherlock Holmes," I said gently. "This

is indeed a painful time for you, Lady Lavington, but rest assured that everything will turn out

for the best."

She thanked me with a glance. But, when I rose to leave them together, she held up her

hand.

"I would much prefer that you stayed, Dr. Watson," she begged. "Your presence gives me

confidence. Why have you sent for me, Mr. Holmes?"

My friend, sitting back, had closed his eyes: "Shall we say that you are here in your

husband's interests?" he murmured. "You will not object if I ask you to elucidate a few small

points which are still obscure to me?"

Lady Lavington rose to her feet.

"Mr. Holmes, this is unworthy," she said coldly. "You are trying to trick me into

condemning my own husband! He is innocent, I tell you!"

"So I believe. Nevertheless, I pray that you will compose yourself and answer my

questions. I understand that this Buck Daley has been an intimate friend of Sir Reginald

for some years past."

Lady Lavington stared at him, and then began to laugh. She laughed most heartily, but with

a note in her mirth that jarred on me as a medical man.

"Friend?" she cried at last. "Why, he was unworthy to black my husband's boots!"

"I am relieved to hear you say so. And yet it is fair to suppose that both men moved in

the same circles during the London seasons, and, perhaps unknown to you, might have

shared interests in common—possibly of a sporting nature? When did your husband first

introduce Colonel Daley to you?"

"You are pitiably wrong in all your suppositions! I knew Colonel Daley for years before

my marriage. It was I who introduced him to my husband. Buck Daley was a creature of

society: ambitious, worldly, merciless, and yet with all the charm of his kind. What interest

could such as he share in common with a rough but honourable man whose world begins and

ends with the boundaries of his own ancestral lands?"

"A woman's love," said Holmes quietly.

Lady Lavington's eyes dilated. Then, dropping the veil over her face, she rushed from the

room.

For a long time Holmes smoked in silence, his brows drawn down and his gaze fixed

thoughtfully upon the fire. I knew from the expression on his face that he had reached some

final decision. Then he drew from his pocket a crumpled sheet of paper.

"A while ago, Watson, you asked whether I had found the answer to our problem. In one

sense, my dear fellow, I have. Listen closely to the vital evidence I shall read to you. It is

from the records in the Maidstone County Registry."

"I am all attention."

"This is a little transcription which I have put into comprehensible English. It was

originally written in the year 1485, when the House of Lancaster triumphed at last over the

House of York.

"And it came to pass that on the field of Bosworth Sir John Lavington did take prisoner

two knights and a squire, and carried them with him to Lavington Court. For he would take

no ransom from any who had raised banner for the House of York.

"That night, after Sir John had supped, each was brought to the table and offered the

Choice. One knight, he who was a kinsman of Sir John, drank from the Life and departed

without ransom. And one knight and the squire drank from the Death. It was a deed most un-

Christian, for they were unconfessed, and thereafter men spake far and wide of the Luck of

Lavington."

For a while we sat in silence after the reading of this extraordinary document, while the wind

lashed the rain against the windows and boomed in the ancient chimney. "Holmes," I said at last,

"I seem to sense something monstrous here. Yet what connection can there be between the

murder of a profligate gambler and the violence that followed on a battle four hundred years

ago? Only the room has remained the same."

"This, Watson, is the second most important thing that I have discovered."

"And the first?"

"We shall find it at Lavington Court. A black baronet, Watson! Might it not also suggest

blackmail?"

"You mean that Sir Reginald was being blackmailed?" My friend ignored the question.

"I have promised to meet Gregson at the house. Would you care to accompany me?"

"What is in your mind? I have seldom seen you so grave."

"It is already growing dark," said Sherlock Holmes. "The dagger that killed Colonel

Daley must do no further harm."

It was a wild, blustering evening. As we walked through the dusk to the old manor-house,

the air was filled with the creaking of tree-branches and I felt the cold touch of a blown leaf

against my cheek. Lavington Court was as shadowy as the hollow in which it lay; but, as

Gillings opened the door to us, a gleam of light showed in the direction of the banqueting-hall.

"Inspector Gregson has been asking for you, sir," said the butler, helping us off with our

wraps.

We hurried towards the light. Gregson, with a look of deep agitation, was pacing up and

down beside the table. He glanced at the now-empty chair beyond the great cup.

"Thank God you've come, Mr. Holmes!" he burst out. "Sir Reginald was telling the

truth. I didn't believe it, but he is innocent! Bassett has dug up two farmers who met him

walking from the river at ten-thirty yesterday morning. Why couldn't he have said he met

them?"

There was a singular light in Holmes's eyes as he looked at Gregson.

"There are such men," he said.

"Did you know this all the time?"

"I did not know of the witnesses, no. But I hoped that you would find a witness, since