The Adventure of the Unique Hamlet by Vincent Starrett

 

(continued from page 4)

 

I looked closely at the earth, but could see no sign of struggle.

 

"You recall it was midway between the two houses that it happened," he continued. "No, there are few signs; there was no violent tussle. Fortunately, however, we had our proverbial fall of rain last evening and the earth has retained impressions nicely." He indicated the faint imprint of a foot, then another, and another. Kneeling down, I was able to see that, indeed, many feet had passed along the road.

 

Holmes flung himself at full length in the dirt and wriggled swiftly about, his nose to the earth, muttering rapidly in French. Then he whipped out a glass, the better to examine a mark that had caught his eye; but in a moment he shook his head in disappointment and continued with his examination. I was irresistibly reminded of a noble hound, at fault, sniffing in circles in an effort to reestablish the lost scent. In a moment, however, he had it, for with a little cry of pleasure he rose to his feet, zig-zagged curiously across the road and paused before a hedge, a lean finger pointing accusingly at a break in the thicket.

 

"No wonder they disappeared," he smiled as I came up. "Edwards thought they continued up the road, but here is where they broke through." Then stepping back a little distance, he ran forward lightly and cleared the hedge at a bound, alighting on his hands on the other side.

 

"Follow me carefully," he warned, "for we must not allow our own footprints to confuse us." I fell more heavily than my companion, but in a moment he had me by the heels and had helped me to steady myself. "See," he cried, lowering his face to the earth; and deep in the mud and grass I saw the prints of two pairs of feet.

 

"The small man broke through," said Holmes, exultantly, "but the larger rascal leaped over the hedge. See how deeply his prints are marked; he landed heavily here in the soft ooze. It is very significant, Watson, that they came this way. Does it suggest nothing to you?"

 

"That they were men who knew Edwards' grounds as well as the Brooke-Bannerman estate," I answered, and thrilled with pleasure at my friend's nod of approbation.

 

He lowered himself to his stomach, without further conversation, and for some moments we crawled painfully across the grass. Then a shocking thought came to me.

 

"Holmes," I whispered in horror, "do you see where these footprints tend? They are directed toward the home of our client, Mr. Harrington Edwards!"

 

He nodded his head slowly, and his lips were set tight and thin. The double line of impressions ended abruptly at the back door of Poke Stogis Manor!

 

Sherlock Holmes rose to his feet and looked at his watch.

 

"We are just in time for luncheon," he announced, and hastily brushed his garments. Then, deliberately, he knocked on the door. In a few moments we were in the presence of our client.

 

"We have been roaming about the neighborhood," apologized Holmes, "and took the liberty of coming to your rear entrance."

 

"You have a clew?" asked Mr. Harrington Edwards, eagerly.

 

A queer smile of triumph sat upon Sherlock Holmes' lips.

 

"Indeed," he said, quietly, "I believe I have solved your little problem, Mr. Harrington Edwards!"

 

"My dear Holmes!" I cried, and "My dear Sir!" cried our client.

 

"I have yet to establish a motive," confessed my friend, "but as to the main facts there can be no question."

 

Mr. Harrington Edwards fell into a chair, white and shaking.

 

"The book," he croaked. "Tell me!"

 

"Patience, my good sir," counseled Holmes, kindly. "We have had nothing to eat since sunup, and are famished. All in good time. Let us first dine and then all shall be made clear. Meanwhile, I should like to telephone to Sir Nathaniel Brooke-Bannerman, for I wish him to hear what I have to say."

 

Our client's pleas were in vain. Holmes would have his little joke and his luncheon. In the end, Mr. Harrington Edwards staggered away to the kitchen to order a repast, and Sherlock Holmes talked rapidly and unintelligibly into the telephone for a moment and came back with a smile on his face, which, to me, boded ill for someone. But I asked no questions; in good time this amazing man would tell his story in his own way. I had heard all he had heard, and had seen all he had seen; yet I was completely at sea. Still, our host's ghastly smile hung in my mind, and come what would I felt sorry for him. In a little time we were seated at table. Our client, haggard and nervous, ate slowly and with apparent discomfort; his eyes were never long absent from Holmes' inscrutable face. I was little better off, but Holmes ate with gusto, relating meanwhile a number of his earlier adventures, which I may some day give to the world, if I am able to read my illegible notes made on the occasion.

 

When the sorry meal had been concluded, we went into the library, where Sherlock Holmes took possession of the big easy chair, with an air of proprietorship which would have been amusing in other circumstances. He screwed together his long pipe and lighted it with a malicious lack of haste, while Mr. Harrington Edwards perspired against the mantel in an agony of apprehension.

 

"Why must you keep us waiting, Mr. Holmes?" he whispered. "Tell us, at once, please, who—who—" His voice trailed off into a moan.

 

(continued)

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Page 1 of the story

 

Details on the First Edition of The Unique Hamlet

 

 

 

Vers. 2.0ax-RN Original work
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