“It’s perfectly absurd, Mr. Holmes,” he said. “What can thisman possibly know of what has occurred? It is waste of time andmoney.”
“He would not have telegraphed to you if he did not knowsomething. Wire at once that you are coming.”
“I don’t think I shall go.”
Holmes assumed his sternest aspect.
“It would make the worst possible impression both on thepolice and upon myself, Mr. Amberley, if when so obvious a cluearose you should refuse to follow it up. We should feel that youwere not really in earnest in this investigation.”
Our client seemed horrified at the suggestion.
“Why, of course I shall go if you look at it in that way,” said he.
“On the face of it, it seems absurd to suppose that this parsonknows anything, but if you think——”
“I do think,” said Holmes with emphasis, and so we werelaunched upon our journey. Holmes took me aside before we leftthe room and gave me one word of counsel, which showed that heconsidered the matter to be of importance. “Whatever you do, seethat he really does go,” said he. “Should he break away or return,get to the nearest telephone exchange and send the single word‘Bolted.’ I will arrange here that it shall reach me wherever I am.”
Little Purlington is not an easy place to reach, for it is on abranch line. My remembrance of the journey is not a pleasant one,for the weather was hot, the train slow, and my companion sullenand silent, hardly talking at all save to make an occasional sardonicremark as to the futility of our proceedings. When we at lastreached the little station it was a two-mile drive before we cameto the Vicarage, where a big, solemn, rather pompous clergymanreceived us in his study. Our telegram lay before him.
“Well, gentlemen,” he asked, “what can I do for you?”
“We came,” I explained, “in answer to your wire.”
“My wire! I sent no wire.”
“I mean the wire which you sent to Mr. Josiah Amberley abouthis wife and his money.”
“If this is a joke, sir, it is a very questionable one,” said the vicarangrily. “I have never heard of the gentleman you name, and I havenot sent a wire to anyone.”
Our client and I looked at each other in amazement.
“Perhaps there is some mistake,” said I; “are there perhaps twovicarages? Here is the wire itself, signed Elman and dated from theVicarage.”
“There is only one vicarage, sir, and only one vicar, and thiswire is a scandalous forgery, the origin of which shall certainly beinvestigated by the police. Meanwhile, I can see no possible objectin prolonging this interview.”
So Mr. Amberley and I found ourselves on the roadside in whatseemed to me to be the most primitive village in England. Wemade for the telegraph office, but it was already closed. Therewas a telephone, however, at the little Railway Arms, and by it Igot into touch with Holmes, who shared in our amazement at theresult of our journey.
“Most singular!” said the distant voice. “Most remarkable! Imuch fear, my dear Watson, that there is no return train to-night.
I have unwittingly condemned you to the horrors of a countryinn. However, there is always Nature, Watson—Nature and JosiahAmberley—you can be in close commune with both.” I heard hisdry chuckle as he turned away.
It was soon apparent to me that my companion’s reputation asa miser was not undeserved. He had grumbled at the expense ofthe journey, had insisted upon travelling third-class, and was nowclamorous in his objections to the hotel bill. Next morning, whenwe did at last arrive in London, it was hard to say which of us wasin the worse humour.
“You had best take Baker Street as we pass,” said I. “Mr. Holmesmay have some fresh instructions.”
“If they are not worth more than the last ones they are not ofmuch use,” said Amberley with a malevolent scowl. None the less,he kept me company. I had already warned Holmes by telegramof the hour of our arrival, but we found a message waiting that hewas at Lewisham and would expect us there. That was a surprise,but an even greater one was to find that he was not alone inthe sitting-room of our client. A stern-looking, impassive mansat beside him, a dark man with gray-tinted glasses and a largeMasonic pin projecting from his tie.
“This is my friend Mr. Barker,” said Holmes. “He has beeninteresting himself also in your business, Mr. Josiah Amberley,though we have been working independently. But we both havethe same question to ask you!”
Mr. Amberley sat down heavily. He sensed impending danger. Iread it in his straining eyes and his twitching features.
“What is the question, Mr. Holmes?”
“Only this: What did you do with the bodies?”
The man sprang to his feet with a hoarse scream. He clawedinto the air with his bony hands. His mouth was open, and for theinstant he looked like some horrible bird of prey. In a flash we gota glimpse of the real Josiah Amberley, a misshapen demon witha soul as distorted as his body. As he fell back into his chair heclapped his hand to his lips as if to stifle a cough. Holmes sprangat his throat like a tiger and twisted his face towards the ground. Awhite pellet fell from between his gasping lips.
“No short cuts, Josiah Amberley. Things must be done decentlyand in order. What about it, Barker?”
“I have a cab at the door,” said our taciturn companion.
“It is only a few hundred yards to the station. We will gotogether. You can stay here, Watson. I shall be back within half anhour.”
The old colourman had the strength of a lion in that great trunkof his, but he was helpless in the hands of the two experiencedman-handlers. Wriggling and twisting he was dragged to thewaiting cab, and I was left to my solitary vigil in the ill-omenedhouse. In less time than he had named, however, Holmes wasback, in company with a smart young police inspector.
“I’ve left Barker to look after the formalities,” said Holmes. “Youhad not met Barker, Watson. He is my hated rival upon the Surreyshore. When you said a tall dark man it was not difficult for me tocomplete the picture. He has several good cases to his credit, hashe not, Inspector?”
