op as
this one has done?"
"because it is frayed there?"
"exactly. this end, which we can examine, is frayed. he was
cunning enough to do that with his knife. but the other end is
not frayed. you could not observe that from here, but if you were
on the mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off without
any mark of fraying whatever. you can reconstruct what occurred.
the man needed the rope. he would not tear it down for fear of
giving the alarm by ringing the bell. what did he do? he sprang
up on the mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his knee on
the bracket -- you will see the impression in the dust -- and so
got his knife to bear upon the cord. i could not reach the place
by at least three inches, from which i infer that he is at least
three inches a bigger man than i. look at that mark upon the seat
of the oaken chair! what is it?"
"blood."
"undoubtedly it is blood. this alone puts the lady's story out of
court. if she were seated on the chair when the crime was done,
how comes that mark? no, no; she was placed in the chair _after_
the death of her husband. i'll wager that the black dress shows a
corresponding mark to this. we have not yet met our waterloo,
watson, but this is our marengo, for it begins in defeat and ends
in victory. i should like now to have a few words with the nurse
theresa. we must be wary for awhile, if we are to get the
information which we want."
she was an interesting person, this stern australian nurse.
taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before
holmes's pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said
thawed her into a corresponding amiability. she did not attempt
to conceal her hatred for her late employer.
"yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. i heard
him call my mistress a name, and i told him that he would not dare
to speak so if her brother had been there. then it was that he
threw it at me. he might have thrown a dozen if he had but left
my bonny bird alone. he was for ever illtreating her, and she too
proud to complain. she will not even tell me all that he has done
to her. she never told me of those marks on her arm that you saw
this morning, but i know very well that they come from a stab with
a hat-pin. the sly fiend -- heaven forgive me that i should speak
of him so, now that he is dead, but a fiend he was if ever one
walked the earth. he was all honey when first we met him, only
eighteen months ago, and we both feel as if it were eighteen
years. she had only just arrived in london. yes, it was her
first voyage -- she had never been from home before. he won her
with his title and his money and his false london ways. if she
made a mistake she has paid for it, if ever a woman did. what
month did we meet him? well, i tell you it was just after we
arrived. we arrived in june, and it was july. they were married
in january of last year. yes, she is down in the morning-room
again, and i have no doubt she will see you, but you must not ask
too much of her, for she has gone through all that flesh and blood
will stand."
lady brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but looked
brighter than before. the maid had entered with us, and began
once more to foment the bruise upon her mistress's brow.
"i hope," said the lady, "that you have not come to cross-examine
me again?"
"no," holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, "i will not cause
you any unnecessary trouble, lady brackenstall, and my whole
desire is to make things easy for you, for i am convinced that you
are a much-tried woman. if you will treat me as a friend and
trust me you may find that i will justify your trust."
"what do you want me to do?"
"to tell me the truth."
"mr. holmes!"
"no, no, lady brackenstall, it is no use. you may have heard of
any little reputation which i possess. i will stake it all on the
fact that your story is an absolute fabrication."
mistress and maid were both staring at holmes with pale faces and
frightened eyes.
"you are an impudent fellow!" cried theresa. "do you mean to say
that my mistress has told a lie?"
holmes rose from his chair.
"have you nothing to tell me?"
"i have told you everything."
"think once more, lady brackenstall. would it not be better to be
frank?"
for an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face. then
some new strong thought caused it to set like a mask.
"i have told you all i know."
holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders. "i am sorry," he
said, and without another word we left the room and the house.
there was a pond in the park, and to this my friend led the way.
it was frozen over, but a single hole was left for the convenience
of a solitary swan. holmes gazed at it and then passed on to the
lodge gate. there he scribbled a short note for stanley hopkin
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