A DAWNING LIGHT
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 latethey 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
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 minds 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,
I shrugged my shoulders. It is no business of
mine, said I.
Perhaps some day you will do me justice. If you only
There is no need why Dr. Watson should realize,
said Barker quickly. As he has himself said, it is no possible business of
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, thats it, said Barker eagerly. Is
he on his own or is he entirely in with them?
I really dont know that I should be justified in
discussing such a point.
I begI implore that you will, Dr. Watson! I assure
you that you will be helping ushelping me greatly if you will guide us on that
There was such a ring of sincerity in the womans 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 dont say that we have fathomed itfar from itbut when we
have traced the missing 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 dont 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,
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, Watsona great, big, thumping, obtrusive,
uncompromising lie thats what meets us on the threshold! There is our starting
point. The whole story told by Barker is a lie. But Barkers 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 mans finger, to replace the
other ringa thing which he would surely never have doneand to put that
singular card beside his victim. I say that this was obviously impossible.
You may arguebut I have too much respect for your
judgment, Watson, to think that you will do sothat 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 housekeepers
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.
Allens 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 husbands 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 mans spoken word stand between them and
that husbands 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.
I am sure, cannot be true, said I, thinking of the beautiful smiling face in the
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 wont slip into
their places. Why a cut-off shotgun of all weaponsand an American one at that? How
could they be so sure that the sound of it would not bring someone on to them? Its 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 cant 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 mans wedding ring. The
vendetta might conceivably date back to the mans 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?
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 couplerealize 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 Barkers 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 notwell, 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 whole-hearted about Barker. I shall sit in
that room and see if its atmosphere brings me inspiration. Im a believer in the
genius loci. You smile, Friend Watson. Well, we shall see. By the way, you have that big
unbrella of yours, have you not?
It is here.
Well, Ill borrow that if I may.
Certainlybut what a wretched weapon! If there is
Nothing serious, my dear Watson, or I should certainly
ask for your assistance. But Ill 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
Man, Ill admeet that I had my doubts if there was
ever an outsider, said MacDonald; but thats all past now. Weve had
the bicycle identified, and we have a description of our man; so thats a long step
on our journey.
It sounds to me like the beginning of the end,
said Holmes. Im 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! Its a lesson in being
practical, Mr. Mac.
Ay, its just that, Mr. Holmes, said the
inspector with satisfaction.
But this may all fit in with your theories, I
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
Thats 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
descriptionwhat of that?
MacDonald referred to his notebook. Here we have it so
far as they could give it. They dont 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
And how do you consider that all this bears upon the
Well, Mr. Holmes, said MacDonald, when we
have got our manand you may be sure that I had his description on the wires within
five minutes of hearing itwe 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.
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 murderers escapeor at least that they
reached the room before he escapedand that they fabricated evidence of his escape
through the window, whereas in all probability they had themselves let him go by lowering
the bridge. Thats 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. Watsons umbrellamy
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 questionwhy should
an athletic man develop his frame upon so unnatural an instrument as a single
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
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, thats lucky, he said, and not another
word would he utter that night.