Chapter 3 - Mystery on the Moor
Sherlock Holmes was a master of suspense. He often revealed the solutions to
his cases with the dramatic deliberation of that of a magician. He would
present his observations and deductions like a conjurer producing coloured silks
from an empty top hat. And just as he would keep his audience in suspense while
he slowly unraveled a mystery, Holmes savored the anticipation of a criminal
investigation. Walking in on an unsolved crime posed unknown challenges and
promised a certain thrill of adventure. To what degree the mystery would
challenge his skills could never be foretold. He was the bullfighter armed with
his cloak and lens standing in the centre of the arena - ready for the bull to
be released.
Holmes and Watson secured a hansom cab from Baker Street and darted to the
Paddington station. They arrived just in time to catch the eleven-fifteen train
to Devon. From the Dartmoor station they leased a four-wheeler open carriage
and started for the address specified in the dispatch from Inspector MacDonald.
The trip was uneventful as Holmes talked about identifying different species of
mushrooms after they had been sliced and cooked. Watson was already aware that
the detective paid special attention to the mushrooms on his plate wherever he
dined. It was also not beyond Holmes to pick up his plate and storm the
kitchens at the Holborn or even the Criterion to discuss the matter with the
chef.
During the long wagon ride Holmes also talked about flight patterns of honeybees
and about the adder's ability to sense body heat. Watson was continually
reminded of his friend's tremendous capacity to remember seemingly unrelated
bits of information. Holmes' ability to entertain conversation in varied
topics, in such a manner as to enlighten the listener, was a feature of their
friendship that Watson thoroughly enjoyed. Much of Holmes' vast range in
knowledge was the direct result of his criminal investigations.
Once they passed the perimeter of town the mood changed as the two men journeyed
into the Devon swamplands. The countryside became drearier with each mile they
traveled. As the late afternoon sun dipped behind Beckham Tor, the early-Spring
air became chilled and the hart's-tongue ferns along the road undetectably bowed
their tips to the passing men. The sunny, pleasant ride developed into an
uncomfortable affair for the road turned into a ruddy path barely wide enough
for the carriage. With each turn of the road there seemed to be no end to the
bog-holes, erratic wheel tracks and jagged rocks, which made the vehicle jump
and swerve from side to side.
Holmes appeared undisturbed by the ungodly conditions. He looked out across the
moor in thought while they slowly passed an eerie scene of barren trees with
turned up branches. They had the appearance of disfigured hands reaching up to
the darkening sky. The cheery Baker Street surroundings were forgotten as the
gruesome swamplands stole their attentions.
It struck Watson that the mire seemed to be an appropriate place for a murder.
He was about to remark as such to Holmes but decided against it as they slowed
down and stopped in front of an old grey building set off in the distance.
Dr. Collins' house was a small two-story building constructed of large,
lichen-blotched stones. Chaotic vines and brown moss covered the facing wall.
It was an old structure obviously in need of repairs. The house sat upon a
small island barely large enough to keep it from falling into the dreadful
swamp. A stone footbridge led from the road to the building. The bridge was a
necessity since the road was separated from the house by at least twenty yards
of black muddy water. Watson thought it looked more like an abandoned fortress
than a residence.
When Holmes and Watson drove up, the tall red-headed Scotland Yard inspector was
sitting on the edge of the bridge smoking a cigarette. Inspector MacDonald was
looking forward to working with Sherlock Holmes again. The inspector admired
and respected the amateur detective for his unique abilities. MacDonald never
knew Holmes to be wrong about a case. Upon hearing his guests arrive, the tall
Scotsman stood up, stretched his long legs and walked over to greet them.
"Aye Mr. Sherlock Holmes and ye must be Dr. Watson whom I have heard so much
about. Ye'r medical bag gives away ye'r profession Doctor."
Holmes and Watson shook the young inspector's hand. Holmes looked around at
their surroundings.
"Well Mr. Mac you've picked a fine location this time," said he.
"This swamp is a bloody mess is it not? I'm afraid it presents an impossible
situation Mr. Holmes. I'll be a three-legged dog if I can find me a single clue
in this God-forsaken spot. If it were not fer the bloody skull I would have
passed the matter off as a natural death. He could have even died from one of
those diseases he used to study."
The inspector took off his hat and scratched his thin red hair.
"But when a man receives a half-corroded human head in the post two days before
dropping dead I just simply canna let it pass."
"You have my attention my friend. I know nothing of the matter save the article
in the Times. Pray, start at the beginning," requested Holmes as he
rubbed his hands together.
Sherlock Holmes became a human machine when first gathering facts about a case.
He always tried to set aside his preconceived theories if he had any and devoted
all of his faculties to the matter at hand. Inspector MacDonald described the
situation.
"Well Mr. Holmes it is a very dark matter indeed. Except for the housekeeper, a
very upset Miss Mary Hart, Collins lived entirely alone. All of me facts which
I wired to the Yard and which have already appeared in the Times are from
her. Although the lass was on the verge of hysterics when we talked, I did
manage to get her story. She said the doctor received a human head in the post
two days ago. He was not concerned or upset with the delivery and passed it off
as some kind of practical joke. He did not know who sent it, but he did mention
somethin about an eccentric friend and a Sussex postmark.
"Then Collins placed the decayed head back in the box in which it had arrived
in, put the entire thing in a weighted sack and tossed it into the black swamp.
He told Miss Hart that he didn't want the bloody thing around to upset her. He
went on with his life as usual and thought nothing more of it. She put it out
of her mind as well until she discovered his body in the wee hours of the
mornin. She found him layin on the floor by the window in the first floor
study."
Inspector MacDonald squinted his eyes and tensed the muscles in his long
freckled neck as he leaned closer to Holmes.
"Collins is quite a sight. It's about enough to turn me stomach. He's all
twisted up in a knot like something squeezed the life out of him." MacDonald
paused for a second and stepped back to let the horror of it all take effect.
Holmes could hardly suppress his excitement as the Scotland Yard inspector
continued.
"The housekeeper said that Collins had no appointments and received no visitors
the past few weeks. Upon discovering his body on the study floor, she went
right away to summon the local constable in Grimpen. The local police sergeant
there is me brother-in-law Mike Fisher. I was visiting with me sister when the
frantic Miss Hart rang the bell. We left our mornin eggs lay uneaten, left her
tired old horse lashed to Mike's hitchin post and had her accompany us back here
in the police wagon.
"In a case like this, Mike would normally summon the provincial constabulary for
assistance however me presence made that unnecessary. We took Miss Hart's
statement during the wagon ride back here and quickly viewed the scene. It's a
mystery after ye'r own liking if I am not much mistaken Mr. Holmes. I sent Mike
back into town to send ye a telegram and to recruit one or two of his men to
come fer the body. They should be arriving presently. As the two of ye can
clearly see fer yerselves there are only the foot imprints of Miss Hart who ran
for help, Mike's and me own on the bridge and the surrounding land. Mike and I
walked around the house once and ours are the only footmarks that can be found
there. Since it rained the night before last it would have been impossible to
walk upon the ground last night or this mornin and not leave impressions."
Holmes looked down at his feet as he walked carefully around the entrance of the
bridge. Then he knelt down and examined his prints along with those of Watson's
and MacDonald's.
"You favor your right foot this morning Mr. Mac," remarked the detective.
MacDonald smiled. "Ye don't miss much Mr. Holmes. When I first arrived, I
twisted me ankle as I stepped off the carriage."
"I see."
Holmes began his diligent search for signs. He walked as far as he could along
the waters edge on each side of the road end of the bridge with his back bent
over and his eyes scouring the ground.
MacDonald and Watson started to walk over the bridge towards the house when
Holmes stopped them.
"Please wait gentlemen until I call for you to cross."
Holmes got on his hands and knees and, with his nose to the ground, slowly crept
over the bridge. Watson thought to himself that it was quite a spectacle to see
a grown man crawling on all fours over that stone bridge. About half way across
Holmes set down his magnifying glass, emptied his pockets, and then climbed over
the side like a squirrel gathering nuts. Slowly he made his way back on the
walk way again and then quickly walked up to the front door.
Putting his belongings back into his pockets Holmes motioned to his patient
friends to cross. Watson always enjoyed watching Holmes transform himself into
the bloodhound. The detective's acute senses were at their peak when gathering
data at the scene of a crime. His eyes darted and his nostrils dilated as he
moved his head to and fro to devour every detail.
Holmes was still brushing himself off when the three men came face to face
again. Inspector MacDonald could sense that Holmes did not find any evidence
thus far.
"What did I tell ye sir - not a trace," boasted MacDonald.
"I would like to have a look at Dr. Collins' study and then have a talk with the
housekeeper if she is able," requested Holmes.
"This way gentlemen," said MacDonald as he motioned for them to follow him
through the front doorway. The interior of the house was as dreary as the
exterior. It seemed to Watson to be a little colder and much darker than out of
doors. The furniture was old and much of it was covered with bed-sheets. A
wide carpeted staircase just inside the front door led to the first floor.
Holmes seemed a little more relaxed even though he stopped at the foot of the
staircase and examined a small table, which was not covered. He and Watson
followed the inspector up the stairs. When they reached the study MacDonald
paused at the door. "Brace ye'r-selves gentlemen," warned the inspector as he
opened the door and stepped in.
It was a horrible sight. The inspector had understated the grotesque state of
Dr. Collins' body. As a doctor, Watson had seen death in many different forms.
But nothing he had seen in the past compared to the twisted, repulsive corpse
before him. Dr. Collins appeared to have been frightened to death. His hair
stood on end and his eyes bulged out of their sockets. Every inch of his skin
was stretched and distorted. His arms and legs were tied into knots and his
body was twisted so badly it was hard to tell the man's front from his back.
"I told ye he was a wee bit of a mess lads," said the inspector with a wee bit
of a snicker in his voice.
The study proved to be another arena for Holmes to perform his unorthodox
methods of observation. Watson and MacDonald waited by the door as Holmes again
got down on all fours and examined the carpet. He seemed to follow a pattern
back and forth from the chair by the fireplace to the door and then to the
window. Finally, he worked his way over to the tragic form of Dr. Collins.
As he examined the body, he put his nose down to the swollen bluish tongue,
which stuck out from the deformed open mouth. Watson watched Holmes carefully
produce a test tube from his waistcoat and sprinkle some white powder on the
hideous tongue. Holmes then stood up with his brow knit, stretched his back and
walked around the room.
He proceeded for what seemed to be a half-hour to examine every object in the
room, occasionally giving a grunt or cry, but then upon closer examination would
shake his head and turn to another object. He carefully examined a book, which
lay open-faced down on the small oak table. Then, after waving the half-empty
glass of brandy under his nose, Holmes again reached into his pocket and
produced the test tube of white powder. He gently tapped some of the powder
into the glass and swirled the brandy around. He pursed his lips as he set the
glass down. After re-corking the tube of powder, he turned his attention to the
pipe and ashtray. He rubbed some of the ashes on his palm and held it to his
nose. Finally, he invited his friends to enter while he examined the fireplace.
Watson walked over to the body of Dr. Collins and looked into the man's mouth
and examined his nose and eyes. Then he walked over to the small couch next to
the bookshelf and sat next to MacDonald.
Holmes took his time to go through the ashes in the fireplace, then after
brushing his hands together, stood up and gave a despairing sigh. Then he
plopped himself down in the chair by the fireplace across from Watson and the
inspector. MacDonald offered a cigarette but Holmes refused, as he liked to
smoke his briar when contemplating the workings of the criminal mind. Watson
accepted MacDonald's offer and was honestly glad that Holmes had finished his
examination of the room.
There was a knock at the door and two policemen entered. Inspector MacDonald
introduced the shorter officer as Sergeant Mike Fisher. Fisher was a young man
with dark black hair, bushy side-whiskers and very pale skin that seemed to
Watson to be in sickly contrast. The officer introduced the other uniformed man
as Garth Varlander. Varlander, who was apparently of Swedish decent, sported an
Olympian physique. He stood about six foot four inches tall, had thick flaxen
hair, and was obviously very muscular. The two policemen could not have been
more opposite in their appearance. MacDonald gave the two uniformed men a
couple of quick orders for removing the body. He displayed more than the
required amount of gruff in conveying the orders to demonstrate to Holmes that
he was the legal professional on the case.
Varlander paused at the doorway when he caught sight of Dr. Collins' form. The
big Swede had never seen such a horror.
"Keep to yer orders men. Never ye mind the body," chided the inspector.
The two policemen tried not to wince in disgust as they lifted the rigid,
twisted corpse and walked out of the room. As soon as they were gone the
atmosphere of the study improved considerably.
Inspector MacDonald knew how Holmes enjoyed and even required complete silence
to absorb all the facts and was prepared to sit there quietly for the rest of
the evening if necessary. Watson was also well rehearsed at being silent.
However, they did not have long to wait before the detective sprang from his
chair.
"I owe you a great debt Mr. Mac. This is a remarkable case." Holmes tapped his
bottom lip with the mouthpiece of his pipe as he paced around the room.
"Unfortunately, I cannot as yet shed any light upon the matter. I can find no
sign of intrusion on the grounds that I have searched thus far and there is
nothing amiss with the room other than a few moments ago a dead man, twisted in
a knot, was lying on the floor by the window."
"Then ye are beaten Mr. Holmes?" asked the Scotland Yard inspector with a wry
smile.
"I am not finished yet my friend." Holmes walked over to the window and stared
out into the swamp. "Was this window open when you first came up to the room?"
he asked as he leaned out and looked down twenty feet to the ground.
Inspector MacDonald thought for a second before replying.
"Yes, it was open," said he. "I have not touched anythin in the room. However,
the housekeeper may have opened it before leavin for Grimpen."
"It is highly unlikely since she would have had to step over the body to reach
the window," suggested Watson.
"We will ask her in due time," stated Holmes. "Presently, I would like to walk
around the house. If you could arrange to have Miss Hart in the sitting room in
one half-hour, I will question her then."
Holmes pulled out his magnifying glass from his coat pocket and inspected the
windowsill. He then turned to Watson.
"Let's have a look around."
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