The room, as I gazed round, was a most singular mixture ofdates and of places. The half-panelled walls may well have belongedto the original yeoman farmer of the seventeenth century. Theywere ornamented, however, on the lower part by a line of wellchosenmodern water-colours; while above, where yellow plastertook the place of oak, there was hung a fine collection of SouthAmerican utensils and weapons, which had been brought, nodoubt, by the Peruvian lady upstairs. Holmes rose, with that quickcuriosity which sprang from his eager mind, and examined themwith some care. He returned with his eyes full of thought.
“Hullo!” he cried. “Hullo!”
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A spaniel had lain in a basket in the corner. It came slowlyforward towards its master, walking with difficulty. Its hindlegs moved irregularly and its tail was on the ground. It lickedFerguson’s hand.
“What is it, Mr. Holmes?”
“The dog. What’s the matter with it?”
“That’s what puzzled the vet. A sort of paralysis. Spinal meningitis,he thought. But it is passing. He’ll be all right soon—won’t you,Carlo?”
A shiver of assent passed through the drooping tail. The dog’smournful eyes passed from one of us to the other. He knew thatwe were discussing his case.
“Did it come on suddenly?”
“In a single night.”
“How long ago?”
“It may have been four months ago.”
“Very remarkable. Very suggestive.”
“What do you see in it, Mr. Holmes?”
“A confirmation of what I had already thought.”
“For God’s sake, what do you think, Mr. Holmes? It may be amere intellectual puzzle to you, but it is life and death to me! Mywife a would-be murderer—my child in constant danger! Don’tplay with me, Mr. Holmes. It is too terribly serious.”
The big Rugby three-quarter was trembling all over. Holmes puthis hand soothingly upon his arm.
“I fear that there is pain for you, Mr. Ferguson, whatever thesolution may be,” said he. “I would spare you all I can. I cannot saymore for the instant, but before I leave this house I hope I mayhave something definite.”
“Please God you may! If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will goup to my wife’s room and see if there has been any change.”
He was away some minutes, during which Holmes resumedhis examination of the curiosities upon the wall. When our hostreturned it was clear from his downcast face that he had made noprogress. He brought with him a tall, slim, brown-faced girl.
“The tea is ready, Dolores,” said Ferguson. “See that yourmistress has everything she can wish.”
“She verra ill,” cried the girl, looking with indignant eyes ather master. “She no ask for food. She verra ill. She need doctor. Ifrightened stay alone with her without doctor.”
Ferguson looked at me with a question in his eyes.
“I should be so glad if I could be of use.”
“Would your mistress see Dr. Watson?”
“I take him. I no ask leave. She needs doctor.”
“Then I’ll come with you at once.”
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I followed the girl, who was quivering with strong emotion,up the staircase and down an ancient corridor. At the end was aniron-clamped and massive door. It struck me as I looked at it thatif Ferguson tried to force his way to his wife he would find it noeasy matter. The girl drew a key from her pocket, and the heavyoaken planks creaked upon their old hinges. I passed in and sheswiftly followed, fastening the door behind her.
On the bed a woman was lying who was clearly in a high fever.
She was only half conscious, but as I entered she raised a pair offrightened but beautiful eyes and glared at me in apprehension.
Seeing a stranger, she appeared to be relieved and sank back witha sigh upon the pillow. I stepped up to her with a few reassuringwords, and she lay still while I took her pulse and temperature. Bothwere high, and yet my impression was that the condition was ratherthat of mental and nervous excitement than of any actual seizure.
“She lie like that one day, two day. I ’fraid she die,” said the girl.
The woman turned her flushed and handsome face towards me.
“Where is my husband?”
“He is below and would wish to see you.”
“I will not see him. I will not see him.” Then she seemed towander off into delirium. “A fiend! A fiend! Oh, what shall I dowith this devil?”
“Can I help you in any way?”
“No. No one can help. It is finished. All is destroyed. Do what Iwill, all is destroyed.”
The woman must have some strange delusion. I could not seehonest Bob Ferguson in the character of fiend or devil.
“Madame,” I said, “your husband loves you dearly. He is deeplygrieved at this happening.”
Again she turned on me those glorious eyes.
“He loves me. Yes. But do I not love him? Do I not love himeven to sacrifice myself rather than break his dear heart? That ishow I love him. And yet he could think of me—he could speak ofme so.”
“He is full of grief, but he cannot understand.”
“No, he cannot understand. But he should trust.”
“Will you not see him?” I suggested.
“No, no, I cannot forget those terrible words nor the look uponhis face. I will not see him. Go now. You can do nothing for me.
Tell him only one thing. I want my child. I have a right to mychild. That is the only message I can send him.” She turned herface to the wall and would say no more.
I returned to the room downstairs, where Ferguson and Holmesstill sat by the fire. Ferguson listened moodily to my account ofthe interview.
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“How can I send her the child?” he said. “How do I know whatstrange impulse might come upon her? How can I ever forgethow she rose from beside it with its blood upon her lips?” Heshuddered at the recollection. “The child is safe with Mrs. Mason,and there he must remain.”
A smart maid, the only modern thing which we had seen in thehouse, had brought in some tea. As she was serving it the dooropened and a youth entered the room. He was a remarkable lad,pale-faced and fair-haired, with excitable light blue eyes whichblazed into a sudden flame of emotion and joy as they rested uponhis father. He rushed forward and threw his arms round his neckwith the abandon of a loving girl.
