Denis Smith - The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘“How is he?” came one voice.

‘“Bad, very bad,” replied the other. “The doctor has practically given him up.”

‘“How much longer must we endure this torment?” asked the first.

‘“A few weeks at the most, so I understand; then all our troubles will be at an end.”

‘“Good. You do not know how I have prayed for the day it will all be over, and you and I can know happiness once more.”

‘Whether I drifted back to sleep then, or whether the conversation ceased, I cannot tell, but I heard no more. That night, however, I was sleeping only fitfully, as a result of the fever, when I was rendered suddenly wide awake by a sharp noise outside my bedroom window. The room was in darkness and I was alone, for my wife slept in another room during the course of my illness. For a few moments I lay still and listened, but no further sound came to my ears. Then I heard it, a soft, rustling sound, as of the wind disturbing the shrubs in the garden below; but I could see from the stillness of my curtains that there was no wind blowing. I left my bed, crept to the window and drew the curtain quietly aside. The garden appeared at first to be of a uniform blackness, but gradually I was able to make out the dark shapes of the shrubs and trees. Even as I looked, one shadow seemed to detach itself from the larger shadow of a bush, and flit without a sound across the lawn and into the darkness beside an old stone shed. Almost petrified – for the fever had set my nerves jangling quite enough already, before this unwonted visitation – I watched for fully ten minutes, but saw nothing more.’

‘One moment,’ interrupted Holmes. ‘What was the size of this moving shadow?’

‘It seemed at the time somewhat smaller than a man, but it could, of course, have been someone crouching low. It was certainly not an animal I saw, if that is what you have in mind.’

‘Do you believe, then, that it was in fact a man?’

‘So I should judge,’ replied Pringle after a moment, ‘especially in the light of subsequent events. But, I must say, it was not a man I should care to meet. There was something so horribly skulking and furtive in the way he scuttled across the lawn.’

‘Very well. Pray continue with your most interesting narrative.’

‘The next day I was feeling a little better and could not bear the thought of being cooped up in my bedroom again. I dressed, therefore, and took breakfast with my wife downstairs. I described to her the dark apparition I had seen in the night-time, but she was inclined to dismiss it as simply the product of a fevered imagination. I did not agree with her, but it is true enough that my eyes have in the past been affected both by my illness and by the medicines I have been given to alleviate it, so I did not argue the point. In any case, I had myself devised an explanation which satisfied me at the time: there is a footpath which runs along the bank of the river, at the very foot of our garden, which the locals sometimes use; no doubt the figure I saw was some fellow the worse for drink, who had strayed from the path in the darkness and ended up by trampling through our shrubbery.

‘After breakfast I took my stick with the intention of walking to the riverside.’

‘Did you not mention to your wife the conversation you had overheard the previous afternoon?’ Holmes interrupted.

‘Not at that time, no. You will gain some notion of my state of mind if I tell you that the whole incident had quite passed out of my head. When I left the house that morning I had no other thought than that it would be pleasant to sit beside the river for a little while and watch the sunlight catching the ripples on the surface of the water.

‘The path to the river runs down the right-hand side of the garden, separated from the boundary fence for the first twenty or thirty yards of its length by a succession of low sheds and storage buildings, in various stages of dilapidation. My way therefore took me past the very spot where I had seen the figure vanish the night before. Imagine my surprise, then, when I saw that upon the whitewashed wall of the shed was the print of a human hand.’

‘What sort of print?’ said Holmes sharply, sitting forward in his chair with an expression of heightened interest upon his face.

‘It had been deliberately done, for it was quite clear and un-smudged. It was of a bright purple colour and showed the whole of the hand. I thought at first that it was a drawing, but saw when I got closer that it was a true print, for all the lines and finger-joints showed up clearly. I also saw then that there was something most peculiar and horrible about it: there, at one side, as one would expect, was the print of the thumb, but directly above the palm were not four fingers, but five.’

‘The right or the left hand?’ enquired Holmes.

‘The right.’

‘How high above the ground?’

‘I cannot say exactly. About five feet, I suppose.’

‘Very good,’ said Holmes, refilling his pipe. ‘Your case, Mr Pringle, begins to assume the colours of something truly recherché ! I am most grateful that you have brought it to my attention and I will endeavour to return the favour by bringing a little light into your darkness. Pray continue!’

‘Over luncheon that day I mentioned to my wife the mark I had seen upon the wall. ‘‘There,’’ I said; ‘‘you see, there was someone in the garden last night.’’

‘“Perhaps,” said she, “although why anyone should do such a silly thing I cannot imagine.”

‘“Well, it has made a confounded mess of the wall, anyway. I shall have to have it repainted. Incidentally,” I added, as something stirred my memory, “did I hear you speaking to someone in the garden yesterday afternoon?”

‘“I do not believe so,” she answered after a moment, “unless it was the postman. But, wait: you are quite correct dear: a charming woman called, collecting for some good cause or other. She was very tired with the heat, so I offered her a glass of lemonade and we sat chatting for five or ten minutes. That must have been what you heard.”

‘“I suppose it must,” said I. I did not mention to my wife the words which I had thought had passed between them, for I was convinced now that they were entirely of my own invention. I had in the past suffered badly with nightmares when the fever was upon me and had always felt utterly foolish the next day – when my bad dream would strike me as simply absurd and trivial – so I had learnt to keep such things to myself.

‘My health picked up rapidly after a few days, thanks to the fine weather and the good clean air I was breathing, and life continued as before. Some time later – about the twenty-seventh of May, if my memory serves me correctly – I returned home, after a week of travelling in the north upon business, to find my wife in high spirits.

‘“I hope you do not mind, Mark,” said she, “but I have taken the initiative while you were away and employed a gardener.”

‘“Not at all,” I replied. “That is excellent news.” We had previously relied on the intermittent services of an old fellow from the nearby village, but he was really past coping with so large a garden as ours now; for although always pretty and full of colour, it has a tendency to run riot if left to its own devices, and for all my wife’s enthusiasm and endeavour it had been deteriorating for some time. “Is he a local man?” I asked.

‘“No,” said she. “He is from Hampshire, a man by the name of Dobson. He had placed an advertisement in the gardening journal and I thought such enterprise should be rewarded. His testimonials were first class and I am sure he will make an excellent gardener. His wife, too, seemed a splendid woman and she will be able to help Mary about the house. I thought they could have the old cottage near the river, and I have arranged for a firm of builders from Staines to come tomorrow to set it to rights for them.”