“I went down as I had promised. When I reached the bridgeshe was waiting for me. Never did I realize till that moment howthis poor creature hated me. She was like a mad woman—indeed,I think she was a mad woman, subtly mad with the deep power ofdeception which insane people may have. How else could she havemet me with unconcern every day and yet had so raging a hatredof me in her heart? I will not say what she said. She poured herwhole wild fury out in burning and horrible words. I did not evenanswer—I could not. It was dreadful to see her. I put my hands tomy ears and rushed away. When I left her she was standing, stillshrieking out her curses at me, in the mouth of the bridge.”
“Where she was afterwards found?”
“Within a few yards from the spot.”
“And yet, presuming that she met her death shortly after youleft her, you heard no shot?”
“No, I heard nothing. But, indeed, Mr. Holmes, I was so agitatedand horrified by this terrible outbreak that I rushed to get backto the peace of my own room, and I was incapable of noticinganything which happened.”
“You say that you returned to your room. Did you leave it againbefore next morning?”
“Yes, when the alarm came that the poor creature had met herdeath I ran out with the others.”
“Did you see Mr. Gibson?”
“Yes, he had just returned from the bridge when I saw him. Hehad sent for the doctor and the police.”
“Did he seem to you much perturbed?”
“Mr. Gibson is a very strong, self-contained man. I do not thinkthat he would ever show his emotions on the surface. But I, whoknew him so well, could see that he was deeply concerned.”
“Then we come to the all-important point. This pistol that wasfound in your room. Had you ever seen it before?”
“Never, I swear it.”
“When was it found?”
“Next morning, when the police made their search.”
“Among your clothes?”
“Yes, on the floor of my wardrobe under my dresses.”
“You could not guess how long it had been there?”
“It had not been there the morning before.”
1342 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
“How do you know?”
“Because I tidied out the wardrobe.”
“That is final. Then someone came into your room and placedthe pistol there in order to inculpate you.”
“It must have been so.”
“And when?”
“It could only have been at meal-time, or else at the hours whenwould be in the schoolroom with the children.”
“As you were when you got the note?”
“Yes, from that time onward for the whole morning.”
“Thank you, Miss Dunbar. Is there any other point which couldhelp me in the investigation?”
“I can think of none.”
“There was some sign of violence on the stonework of thebridge—a perfectly fresh chip just opposite the body. Could yousuggest any possible explanation of that?”
“Surely it must be a mere coincidence.”
“Curious, Miss Dunbar, very curious. Why should it appear atthe very time of the tragedy, and why at the very place?”
“But what could have caused it? Only great violence could havesuch an effect.”
Holmes did not answer. His pale, eager face had suddenlyassumed that tense, far-away expression which I had learned toassociate with the supreme manifestations of his genius. So evidentwas the crisis in his mind that none of us dared to speak, and we sat,barrister, prisoner, and myself, watching him in a concentrated andabsorbed silence. Suddenly he sprang from his chair, vibrating withnervous energy and the pressing need for action.
“Come, Watson, come!” he cried.
“What is it, Mr. Holmes?”
“Never mind, my dear lady. You will hear from me, Mr.
Cummings. With the help of the god of justice I will give youcase which will make England ring. You will get news by tomorrow,Miss Dunbar, and meanwhile take my assurance that theclouds are lifting and that I have every hope that the light of truthbreaking through.”
It was not a long journey from Winchester to Thor Place, but itwas long to me in my impatience, while for Holmes it was evidentthat it seemed endless; for, in his nervous restlessness he could notsit still, but paced the carriage or drummed with his long, sensitivefingers upon the cushions beside him. Suddenly, however, as weneared our destination he seated himself opposite to me—we hadfirst-class carriage to ourselves—and laying a hand upon each ofmy knees he looked into my eyes with the peculiarly mischievousgaze which was characteristic of his more imp-like moods.
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“Watson,” said he, “I have some recollection that you go armedupon these excursions of ours.”
It was as well for him that I did so, for he took little care forhis own safety when his mind was once absorbed by a problem sothat more than once my revolver had been a good friend in need. Ireminded him of the fact.
“Yes, yes, I am a little absent-minded in such matters. But haveyou your revolver on you?”
I produced it from my hip-pocket, a short, handy, but veryserviceable little weapon. He undid the catch, shook out thecartridges, and examined it with care.
“It’s heavy—remarkably heavy,” said he.
“Yes, it is a solid bit of work.”
He mused over it for a minute.
“Do you know, Watson,” said he, “I believe your revolver isgoing to have a very intimate connection with the mystery whichwe are investigating.”
“My dear Holmes, you are joking.”
“No, Watson, I am very serious. There is a test before us. Ifthe test comes off, all will be clear. And the test will depend uponthe conduct of this little weapon. One cartridge out. Now wewill replace the other five and put on the safety-catch. So! Thatincreases the weight and makes it a better reproduction.”
I had no glimmer of what was in his mind, nor did he enlightenme, but sat lost in thought until we pulled up in the littleHampshire station. We secured a ramshackle trap, and in a quarterof an hour were at the house of our confidential friend, thesergeant.
“A clue, Mr. Holmes? What is it?”
“It all depends upon the behaviour of Dr. Watson’s revolver,”
said my friend. “Here it is. Now, officer, can you give me ten yardsof string?”
The village shop provided a ball of stout twine.
