me rather grotesque
and bizarre than dangerous. that a man should lie in wait
for and follow a very handsome woman is no unheard-of
thing, and if he had so little audacity that he not only
dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, he
was not a very formidable assailant. the ruffian woodley
was a very different person, but, except on one occasion,
he had not molested our client, and now he visited the
house of carruthers without intruding upon her presence.
the man on the bicycle was doubtless a member of those
week-end parties at the hall of which the publican had
spoken; but who he was or what he wanted was as obscure as
ever. it was the severity of holmes's manner and the fact
that he slipped a revolver into his pocket before leaving
our rooms which impressed me with the feeling that tragedy
might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events.
a rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and
the heath-covered country-side with the glowing clumps of
flowering gorse seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which
were weary of the duns and drabs and slate-greys of london.
holmes and i walked along the broad, sandy road inhaling
the fresh morning air, and rejoicing in the music of the
birds and the fresh breath of the spring. from a rise of
the road on the shoulder of crooksbury hill we could see
the grim hall bristling out from amidst the ancient oaks,
which, old as they were, were still younger than the
building which they surrounded. holmes pointed down the
long tract of road which wound, a reddish yellow band,
between the brown of the heath and the budding green of
the woods. far away, a black dot, we could see a vehicle
moving in our direction. holmes gave an exclamation of
impatience.
"i had given a margin of half an hour," said he.
"if that is her trap she must be making for the earlier train.
i fear, watson, that she will be past charlington before we
can possibly meet her."
from the instant that we passed the rise we could no longer
see the vehicle, but we hastened onwards at such a pace
that my sedentary life began to tell upon me, and i was
compelled to fall behind. holmes, however, was always in
training, for he had inexhaustible stores of nervous energy
upon which to draw. his springy step never slowed until
suddenly, when he was a hundred yards in front of me, he
halted, and i saw him throw up his hand with a gesture of
grief and despair. at the same instant an empty dog-cart,
the horse cantering, the reins trailing, appeared round
the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us.
"too late, watson; too late!" cried holmes, as i ran
panting to his side. "fool that i was not to allow for
that earlier train! it's abduction, watson -- abduction!
murder! heaven knows what! block the road! stop the
horse! that's right. now, jump in, and let us see if i
can repair the consequences of my own blunder."
we had sprung into the dog-cart, and holmes, after turning
the horse, gave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew
back along the road. as we turned the curve the whole
stretch of road between the hall and the heath was opened up.
i grasped holmes's arm.
"that's the man!" i gasped.
a solitary cyclist was coming towards us. his head was
down and his shoulders rounded as he put every ounce of
energy that he possessed on to the pedals. he was flying
like a racer. suddenly he raised his bearded face, saw us
close to him, and pulled up, springing from his machine.
that coal-black beard was in singular contrast to the
pallor of his face, and his eyes were as bright as if
he had a fever. he stared at us and at the dog-cart.
then a look of amazement came over his face.
"halloa! stop there!" he shouted, holding his bicycle to
block our road. "where did you get that dog-cart? pull
up, man!" he yelled, drawing a pistol from his side pocket.
"pull up, i say, or, by george, i'll put a bullet into your
horse."
holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from the
cart.
"you're the man we want to see. where is miss violet
smith?" he said, in his quick, clear way.
"that's what i am asking you. you're in her dog-cart.
you ought to know where she is."
"we met the dog-cart on the road. there was no one in it.
we drove back to help the young lady."
"good lord! good lord! what shall i do?" cried the
stranger, in an ecstasy of despair. "they've got her, that
hellhound woodley and the blackguard parson. come, man,
come, if you really are her friend. stand by me and we'll
save her, if i have to leave my carcass in charlington wood."
he ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, towards a gap
in the hedge. holmes followed him, and i, leaving the
horse grazing beside the road, followed holmes.
"this is where they came through," said he, pointing to the
marks of severa
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