Stackhurst was round in an hour or two to tell me that the bodyhad been removed to The Gables, where the inquest would beheld. He brought with him some serious and definite news. As Iexpected, nothing had been found in the small caves below thecliff, but he had examined the papers in McPherson’s desk andthere were several which showed an intimate correspondencewith a certain Miss Maud Bellamy, of Fulworth. We had thenestablished the identity of the writer of the note.
“The police have the letters,” he explained. “I could not bringthem. But there is no doubt that it was a serious love affair. I seeno reason, however, to connect it with that horrible happeningsave, indeed, that the lady had made an appointment with him.”
“But hardly at a bathing-pool which all of you were in the habitof using,” I remarked.
“It is mere chance,” said he, “that several of the students werenot with McPherson.”
“Was it mere chance?”
Stackhurst knit his brows in thought.
“Ian Murdoch held them back,” said he. “He would insist uponsome algebraic demonstration before breakfast. Poor chap, he isdreadfully cut up about it all.”
“And yet I gather that they were not friends.”
“At one time they were not. But for a year or more Murdoch hasbeen as near to McPherson as he ever could be to anyone. He isnot of a very sympathetic disposition by nature.”
The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes 1367
“So I understand. I seem to remember your telling me onceabout a quarrel over the ill-usage of a dog.”
“That blew over all right.”
“But left some vindictive feeling, perhaps.”
“No, no, I am sure they were real friends.”
“Well, then, we must explore the matter of the girl. Do youknow her?”
“Everyone knows her. She is the beauty of the neighbourhood—areal beauty, Holmes, who would draw attention everywhere. Iknew that McPherson was attracted by her, but I had no notionthat it had gone so far as these letters would seem to indicate.”
“But who is she?”
“She is the daughter of old Tom Bellamy who owns all the boatsand bathing-cots at Fulworth. He was a fisherman to start with,but is now a man of some substance. He and his son William runthe business.”
“Shall we walk into Fulworth and see them?”
“On what pretext?”
“Oh, we can easily find a pretext. After all, this poor man didnot ill-use himself in this outrageous way. Some human hand wason the handle of that scourge, if indeed it was a scourge whichinflicted the injuries. His circle of acquaintances in this lonelyplace was surely limited. Let us follow it up in every direction andwe can hardly fail to come upon the motive, which in turn shouldlead us to the criminal.”
It would have been a pleasant walk across the thyme-scenteddowns had our minds not been poisoned by the tragedy we hadwitnessed. The village of Fulworth lies in a hollow curving in asemicircle round the bay. Behind the old-fashioned hamlet severalmodern houses have been built upon the rising ground. It was toone of these that Stackhurst guided me.
“That’s The Haven, as Bellamy called it. The one with thecorner tower and slate roof. Not bad for a man who started withnothing but—By Jove, look at that!”
The garden gate of The Haven had opened and a man hademerged. There was no mistaking that tall, angular, stragglingfigure. It was Ian Murdoch, the mathematician. A moment laterwe confronted him upon the road.
“Hullo!” said Stackhurst. The man nodded, gave us a sidewaysglance from his curious dark eyes, and would have-passed us, buthis principal pulled him up.
“What were you doing there?” he asked.
Murdoch’s face flushed with anger. “I am your subordinate, sir,under your roof. I am not aware that I owe you any account of myprivate actions.”
The Complete Sherlock Holmes
Stackhurst’s nerves were near the surface after all he hadendured. Otherwise, perhaps, he would have waited. Now he losthis temper completely.
“In the circumstances your answer is pure impertinence, Mr. Murdoch.”
“Your own question might perhaps come under the sameheading.”
“This is not the first time that I have had to overlook yourinsubordinate ways. It will certainly be the last. You will kindlymake fresh arrangements for your future as speedily as you can.”
“I had intended to do so. I have lost to-day the only person whomade The Gables habitable.”
He strode off upon his way, while Stackhurst, with angry eyes,stood glaring after him. “Is he not an impossible, intolerable man?” he cried.
The one thing that impressed itself forcibly upon my mindwas that Mr. Ian Murdoch was taking the first chance to open apath of escape from the scene of the crime. Suspicion, vague andnebulous, was now beginning to take outline in my mind. Perhapsthe visit to the Bellamys might throw some further light upon thematter. Stackhurst pulled himself together, and we went forwardto the house.
Mr. Bellamy proved to be a middle-aged man with a flaming redbeard. He seemed to be in a very angry mood, and his face wassoon as florid as his hair.
“No, sir, I do not desire any particulars. My son here” —indicatingpowerful young man, with a heavy, sullen face, in the corner ofthe sitting-room— “is of one mind with me that Mr. McPherson’sattentions to Maud were insulting. Yes, sir, the word ‘marriage’ wasnever mentioned, and yet there were letters and meetings, and agreat deal more of which neither of us could approve. She has nomother, and we are her only guardians. We are determined——”
But the words were taken from his mouth by the appearanceof the lady herself. There was no gainsaying that she would havegraced any assembly in the world. Who could have imaginedthat so rare a flower would grow from such a root and in suchan atmosphere? Women have seldom been an attraction to me,for my brain has always governed my heart, but I could not lookupon her perfect clear-cut face, with all the soft freshness of thedownlands in her delicate colouring, without realizing that noyoung man would cross her path unscathed. Such was the girl whohad pushed open the door and stood now, wide-eyed and intense,in front of Harold Stackhurst.
