Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

"Hulloa", I said. "Here is a candle, Holmes."

I bent closer.

"And recently used, I should say, judging by the spent matches which are perfectly dry and not wet as they would be had they been there a long time."

Holmes came to look over my shoulder.

"You are constantly improving, my dear fellow. You are not far out."

He went back into the rear of the cave which the failing daylight still penetrated.

"Someone has made a fire," I said, as he stirred the blackened ashes on the rough floor with his boot. "A tramp has been living here, perhaps."

"Perhaps, Watson," he said, as though his thoughts were far away.

Then he stooped to pick up a small slip of cardboard from the remains of the fire. I went across to see what he had found. I made out the faint white lettering on a blue background: carroll and co.

"What does it mean, Holmes?"

"I do not yet know," he said reflectively. "Time will tell. I think I have seen enough here to confirm my tentative theories. In the meantime we must get back to the cottage before it is completely dark."

And he led the way up the quarry at a swift pace. He put his finger to his lips as we drew close to our destination and

bending down behind the large boulder our client had indicated, he brought out the massive wrought-iron key. It was the work of a moment to open the cottage door and re-lock it from the other side. The key turned smoothly so it was obvious why Smedhurst's mysterious intruder had been able to gain entry so easily.

"Could we have a light, Holmes?" I whispered.

"There is a dark lantern on the table yonder, which I observed on our previous visit. I think we might risk it for a few minutes to enable us to settle down. If he is coming at all tonight our man will not move until long after dark. I have baited the trap. Now let us just see what comes to the net."

I could not repress a shudder at these words, and I felt something of the terror that Smedhurst had experienced in that lonely place. But the comforting feel of my revolver in my overcoat did much to reassure me. I lit the lantern, shielding the match with my hand, and when we had deposited our sandwiches and made ourselves comfortable in two wing chairs, I closed the shutter of the lantern so that only a thin line of luminescence broke the darkness. I placed it beneath the table where it could not be seen from the windows, and after loading my pistol and securing the safety catch I placed it and my whisky flask near at hand as the light slowly faded.

What can I say of that dreary vigil?That the dark cloud of horror which seemed to hang about the cottage that night will remain with me until my dying day. Combined with the melancholy screeching of distant owls, it merely emphasized the sombreness of our night watch. Holmes seemed impervious to all this for he sat immobile in his chair, for I could see his calm face in the dim light that still filtered through the parlour windows. Presently we ate the sandwiches and fortified with draughts of whisky from my flask, I became more alert. Several hours must have passed when I became aware that Holmes had stirred in his chair.

"I think the moment is approaching. Your pistol, Watson, if you please."

Then I heard what his keen ears had already caught. A very faint, furtive scraping on the rocky path that led to the cottage. I had the pistol in my hand now and eased off the safety catch. The clouds had lifted momentarily and pale moonlight outlined the casement bars. By its spectral glow I suddenly saw a ghastly, crumpled face appear in the nearest frame and I almost cried aloud. But Holmes's hand was on my arm and I waited with racing heart.

Then there was a metallic click and a key inserted from outside began to turn the lock. I was about to whisper to my companion when the door was suddenly flung wide and cold, damp air flowed into the room. We were both on our feet now. I vaguely glimpsed two figures in the doorway and then Holmes had thrown the shutter of the dark lantern back and its light flooded in, dispelling the gloom and revealing a dark-clad figure and behind him, the hideous thing that had appeared at the window. A dreadful cry of alarm and dismay, the pounding of feet back down the path and then the horrible creature had turned the other way.

"Quickly, Watson! Time is of the essence! I recognized the second man but we must identify the other."

We were racing down the tangled pathway now, stumbling over the rocky surface but the white-faced creature was quicker still. I discharged my pistol into the air and our quarry dodged aside and redoubled its efforts. Then we were in thick bushes and I fired again. The flash and the explosion were followed by the most appalling cry. When we rounded the next corner I could see by the light of the lantern which Holmes still carried, that the thing had misjudged the distance on the blind bend and had fallen straight down into the quarry.

"It cannot have survived that fall, Holmes," I said.

He shook his head.

"It was not your fault, old fellow. But we must hasten down in case he needs medical aid."

A few minutes later we had scrambled to ground level and cautiously approached the motionless thing with the smashed body that told my trained eye that he had died instantly. I gently turned him over while Holmes held the lantern. When he removed the hideous carnival mask we found ourselves looking into the bloodied face of young Ashton, the surveyor, whose expression bore all the elements of shock and surprise that one often finds in cases of violent death.

Holmes's hammering at the knocker of the substantial Georgian house at the edge of the town, presently brought a tousled house-keeper holding a candle in a trembling hand to a ground-floor window.

"I must see your master at once!" said Holmes. "I know he has just returned home so do not tell me that he cannot be disturbed. It is a matter of life and death!"

The door was unbolted at once and we slipped inside.

"Do not be alarmed, my good woman," said Holmes gently. "Despite the hour, our errand is a vital one. I see by the muddy footprints on the parquet that your master has only recently returned. Pray tell him to come downstairs or we shall have to go up to him."

The housekeeper nodded, the fright slowly fading from her face.

"I will not be a moment, gentlemen. Just let me light this lamp on the hall table."

We sat down on two spindly chairs to wait, listening to the mumbled conversation going on above.The man who staggered down the stairs to meet us was a completely changed apparition to the smooth professional we had previously met.

"You may leave us, Mrs Hobbs," he said through trembling lips.

He looked from one to the other of us while anger and despair fought for mastery in his features.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion in the middle of the night, Mr Robinson?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," said my companion sternly. "Your friend is dead. We must have the truth or you are a lost man!"

Amos Hardcastle's face was ashen. He mumbled incoherently and I thought he was going to have a stroke. I put my hand under his arm to help him down the last few treads and he almost fell into the chair I had just vacated. He looked round blankly, as though in a daze.

"Jabez Crawley's nephew dead? And you are the detective, Sherlock Holmes."

"Tell us the truth, Mr Hardcastle," said Holmes, a smile of triumph on his face. "Or shall I tell the story for you."

Something like anger flared momentarily in the lawyer's eyes. "My client…" he began but Holmes cut him short.

"Must I repeat; your client is dead. He tried to kill Mr Smedhurst. That makes you an accessory."

The lawyer's face turned even whiter if that were possible.

"I knew nothing of that," he whispered. "Did you kill him?"