Douglas Preston - White Fire

“Wolf tracks,” he said. “Without doubt. They lead from the forest, to a spot near that farmhouse, and thence to the site where the attack took place. No doubt it emerged from the woods, stalked its victim, and killed him on open ground.” He applied his glass once more to the swamp grass along the verge of the marsh. “The tracks go directly into the bog, here.”

Now Holmes undertook a circuit of the bog: a laborious activity, involving several halts, backtracks, and exceedingly close inspections of various points of interest. I stayed by the body, touching nothing as Holmes had instructed, watching him from a distance. The process took over an hour, by which time I was drenched to the skin and shivering uncontrollably. A small group of curious onlookers were by now standing back along the roadside, and the local doctor and the magistrate had come up — the latter being the titular authority, with the demise of Constable Frazier — just as Holmes completed his investigation. He said not a word of his discoveries, but simply stood there amongst the marsh grass, deep in thought, as the doctor, the magistrate, and myself wrapped up the body and carried it to the wagonette. As the vehicle rolled off in the direction of town, I made my way back out to where Holmes remained standing, quite still, apparently oblivious to his soaked trousers and waterlogged boots.

“Did you remark anything of further interest?” I asked him.

After a moment, he glanced at me. Instead of answering, he pulled a briar pipe from his pocket, lit it, and replied with a question of his own. “Don’t you find it rather curious, Watson?”

“The entire affair is mysterious,” I replied, “at least insofar as that blasted elusive wolf is concerned.”

“I am not referring to the wolf. I am referring to the affectionate relationship between Sir Percival and his son.”

This non sequitur stopped me in my tracks. “I’m afraid I don’t see what you’re driving at, Holmes. From my perspective, the relationship seems anything but affectionate — at least, with regard to the father’s callous unconcern for his son’s life and safety.”

Holmes puffed at his pipe. “Yes,” he replied enigmatically. “And that is the mystery.”

Being now rather closer to Aspern Hall than to Hexham, and having had our transportation commandeered by the magistrate, we made our way down the road to the Hall, arriving there in just under an hour. We were met by Sir Percival and his son, who had just finished breakfasting. The news of the latest attack had not yet reached them, and almost immediately the estate was thrown into an uproar. Young Edwin stated his intention of setting out directly to track the beast, but Holmes counselled him against it: in the wake of this latest attack, the animal had no doubt retreated to his lair.

Next, Holmes asked Sir Percival if he could have the use of his brougham; it was his intention to ride into Hexham without delay and catch the first train to London.

Sir Percival expressed astonishment but gave his consent. Whilst the coach was being called for, Holmes glanced in my direction and suggested we take a stroll round the garden.

“I think you should ride into Hexham with me, Watson,” he said. “Gather up your things from The Plough and then return here to Aspern Hall for the night.”

“What on earth for?” I ejaculated.

“Unless I am much mistaken, I will be returning from London perhaps as soon as tomorrow,” he said. “And when I do, I shall bring with me the confirmation I seek as to the riddle of this vicious beast.”

“Why, Holmes!”

“But until then, Watson, your life remains at grave risk. You must promise me that you will not leave the Hall until I return — not even for a turn about the grounds.”

“I say, Holmes—”

“I insist upon it. In this matter I shall not give way. Do not leave the main house — especially after dark.”

Although this request seemed eccentric in the last degree — especially given the fact that Holmes believed the much more aggressive Edwin Aspern to be in no danger — I relented. “I must say, old man, that I don’t see how you can be so certain of solving the case,” I told him. “The wolf is here in Hexham — not in London. Unless you are planning to return with a brace of heavy-calibre rifles, I confess that in this matter I see nothing.”

“Quite the contrary — you see everything,” Holmes retorted. “You must be bolder in drawing your inferences, Watson.” But just at that moment there was a clatter of horseshoes on the gravel drive and the brougham drew up.

I spent a dreary day at Aspern Hall. A wind came up, followed by rain: light at first, then rather heavier. There was little to do, so I occupied the hours with reading a day-old copy of The Times , jotting in my diary, and glancing through the books in Sir Percival’s extensive library. I saw nobody but servants until dinner. During that meal, Edwin declared his intent of going out again that very evening in search of the wolf. Miss Selkirk, who was by now naturally even more concerned for her fiancé’s well-being, protested violently. There was an ugly scene. Edwin, though not unmoved by Miss Selkirk’s objections, remained determined. Sir Percival, for his part, was clearly proud of his son’s courage and — when confronted by his daughter-in-law-to-be — defended himself with talk of the family honour and the high approval of the countryside. After Edwin had left, I took it upon myself to stay with Miss Selkirk and try to draw her into conversation. It was a difficult business, given her state of mind, and I was heartily glad when — at around half past eleven — I heard Edwin’s footsteps echoing in the Hall. He had again been unsuccessful in the hunt, but at least he was safely returned.

It was very late the following afternoon when Sherlock Holmes reappeared. He had wired ahead to have Sir Percival’s brougham meet him at the Hexham station, and he arrived at the Hall in high spirits. Holmes had brought the magistrate and the town doctor with him, and he wasted no time in assembling the family and servants of the Hall.

When all were settled, Holmes announced that he had solved the case. This caused no end of consternation and questioning, and Edwin demanded to know what he meant by “solving” the case when everyone knew the culprit was a wolf. Holmes refused to be sounded further on the matter. Despite the late hour, he explained, he would return to his rooms at The Plough, where he had certain critical notes on the case, in order to put his conclusions into order. He had made use of the carriage ride to confer with the magistrate and the doctor, and had only come out to the Hall in order to bring me back to town with him to assist with the final details. Tomorrow, he declared, he would make his conclusions public.

Towards the end of this little speech, a coachman came in to make known that the rear axle of Sir Percival’s carriage had broken and could not be repaired until morning. There was no way that Holmes — or the magistrate or town doctor, for that matter — could return to Hexham until the following day. There was nothing for it; they would all have to spend the night at Aspern Hall.

Holmes was dreadfully put out by this development. During almost the entire dinner that followed he said not a word, a peevish expression on his face, morosely pushing the food on his plate idly about with his fork, one elbow lodged on the damask tablecloth in support of his narrow chin. Just as dessert was served, he announced his intention of walking back to Hexham.

“But that’s out of the question,” said Sir Percival in astonishment. “It’s over ten miles.”

“I shan’t be taking the road,” Holmes replied. “It’s far too indirect. I shall make my way from Aspern Hall to Hexham in a direct line, as the crow flies.”