Meanwhile, if we mean to keep up our characters, I suggest thatwe have our host in for a glass of his own wine and hold some highconverse upon eels and dace, which seems to be the straight roadto his affections. We may chance to come upon some useful localgossip in the process.”
In the morning Holmes discovered that we had come withoutour spoon-bait for jack, which absolved us from fishing for the day.
About eleven o’clock we started for a walk, and he obtained leaveto take the black spaniel with us.
“This is the place,” said he as we came to two high park gateswith heraldic griffins towering above them. “About midday, MrBarnes informs me, the old lady takes a drive, and the carriagemust slow down while the gates are opened. When it comesthrough, and before it gathers speed, I want you, Watson, to stopthe coachman with some question. Never mind me. I shall standbehind this holly-bush and see what I can see.”
It was not a long vigil. Within a quarter of an hour we saw thebig open yellow barouche coming down the long avenue, with twosplendid, high-stepping gray carriage horses in the shafts. Holmescrouched behind his bush with the dog. I stood unconcernedlyswinging a cane in the roadway. A keeper ran out and the gatesswung open.
The carriage had slowed to a walk, and I was able to get a goodlook at the occupants. A highly coloured young woman with flaxenhair and impudent eyes sat on the left. At her right was an elderlyperson with rounded back and a huddle of shawls about her faceand shoulders which proclaimed the invalid. When the horsesreached the highroad I held up my hand with an authoritativegesture, and as the coachman pulled up I inquired if Sir Robertwas at Shoscombe Old Place.
At the same moment Holmes stepped out and released thespaniel. With a joyous cry it dashed forward to the carriageand sprang upon the step. Then in a moment its eager greetingchanged to furious rage, and it snapped at the black skirt above it.
“Drive on! Drive on!” shrieked a harsh voice. The coachmanlashed the horses, and we were left standing in the roadway.
“Well, Watson, that’s done it,” said Holmes as he fastenedthe lead to the neck of the excited spaniel. “He thought it washis mistress, and he found it was a stranger. Dogs don’t makemistakes.”
“But it was the voice of a man!” I cried.
“Exactly! We have added one card to our hand, Watson, but itneeds careful playing, all the same.”
My companion seemed to have no further plans for the day, and1396 The Complete Sherlock Holmes we did actually use our fishing tackle in the mill-stream with theresult that we had a dish of trout for our supper. It was only afterthat meal that Holmes showed signs of renewed activity. Oncemore we found ourselves upon the same road as in the morning,which led us to the park gates. A tall, dark figure was awaitingus there, who proved to be our London acquaintance, Mr. JohnMason, the trainer.
“Good-evening, gentlemen,” said he. “I got your note, Mr.
Holmes. Sir Robert has not returned yet, but I hear that he isexpected to-night.”
“How far is this crypt from the house?” asked Holmes.
“A good quarter of a mile.”
“Then I think we can disregard him altogether.”
“I can’t afford to do that, Mr. Holmes. The moment he arriveshe will want to see me to get the last news of Shoscombe Prince.”
“I see! In that case we must work without you, Mr. Mason. Youcan show us the crypt and then leave us.”
It was pitch-dark and without a moon, but Mason led us overthe grass-lands until a dark mass loomed up in front of us whichproved to be the ancient chapel. We entered the broken gapwhich was once the porch, and our guide, stumbling among heapsof loose masonry, picked his way to the corner of the building,where a steep stair led down into the crypt. Striking a match, heilluminated the melancholy place—dismal and evil-smelling, withancient crumbling walls of rough-hewn stone, and piles of coffins,some of lead and some of stone, extending upon one side right upto the arched and groined roof which lost itself in the shadowsabove our heads. Holmes had lit his lantern, which shot a tinytunnel of vivid yellow light upon the mournful scene. Its rays werereflected back from the coffin-plates, many of them adorned withthe griffin and coronet of this old family which carried its honourseven to the gate of Death.
“You spoke of some bones, Mr. Mason. Could you show thembefore you go?”
“They are here in this corner.” The trainer strode across andthen stood in silent surprise as our light was turned upon theplace. “They are gone,” said he.
“So I expected,” said Holmes, chuckling. “I fancy the ashes ofthem might even now be found in that oven which had alreadyconsumed a part.”
“But why in the world would anyone want to burn the bones ofman who has been dead a thousand years?” asked John Mason.
“That is what we are here to find out,” said Holmes. “It maymean a long search, and we need not detain you. I fancy that weshall get our solution before morning.”
The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes 1397
When John Mason had left us, Holmes set to work making avery careful examination of the graves, ranging from a very ancientone, which appeared to be Saxon, in the centre, through a long lineof Norman Hugos and Odos, until we reached the Sir William andSir Denis Falder of the eighteenth century. It was an hour or morebefore Holmes came to a leaden coffin standing on end before theentrance to the vault. I heard his little cry of satisfaction and wasaware from his hurried but purposeful movements that he hadreached a goal. With his lens he was eagerly examining the edgesof the heavy lid. Then he drew from his pocket a short jemmy, abox-opener, which he thrust into a chink, levering back the wholefront, which seemed to be secured by only a couple of clamps.
There was a rending, tearing sound as it gave way, but it had hardlyhinged back and partly revealed the contents before we had anunforeseen interruption.
