Chapter 5 – The Darkest Light
It was a late hour that greeted Holmes and Watson upon returning to their Baker
Street rooms. Holmes wasted no time in setting up the lab table for a series of
chemical tests to analyze the sliver of wood found under the study window. As
Watson retired to his bedroom, hopeful for sleep, his mind was filled with
visions of deadly swamp creatures screaming into the night and the tragic memory
of the twisted form of Dr. Collins.
The next morning Watson awoke to a foul odor permeating the entire flat. A
pungent mixture of chemical fumes and tobacco smoke created an unbearable
atmosphere. Watson opened the two windows facing the street to clear the air.
Holmes was no-where about. It was also evident that the detective had kept
himself busy during the night. Various maps and papers of all kinds were left
scattered around the sitting room. Several volumes of books on subjects ranging
from aborigine social customs to human anatomy were thrown about in a very
unorthodox fashion. His toxicology collection covered the dining table. A
scalpel crudely secured a note to the cover of Christison's Treatise on
Poisons. The note ran as follows:
Taking morning train
to Dartmoor.
Will return with the
solution.
S.H.
The day was a busy one for Watson as he had several medical calls to attend to.
It was early evening when he returned to the cluttered Baker Street rooms from
his rounds. There was no sign that Holmes had yet returned. It was not unusual
for the detective to disappear for days on end. Watson knew that Holmes would
include him in the case when the time was right. The doctor spent the rest of
the evening straightening up the mess left behind by his roommate.
The next morning found Watson to be a lone tenant once again. After breakfast he
read the morning papers. There were no new articles about the case,
never-the-less his thoughts returned to the affair in Dartmoor. The horrible
state of Dr. Collins had left a haunting impression in his mind. Watson tried
to sort out the details of the case in his head. His thoughts became so
confused that, after tossing his newspaper into his chair, he sat down at his
desk and tried to formulate a list of the facts on foolscap.
According to Miss Hart:
Collins had no known
enemies
He entertained no
visitors recently
Received a human
head in the post
He was not working
on any experiments
He was in good
health
Was alive at eleven
o'clock at night
The window was open
all night
The door was
unlocked
Shrieking cries were
heard
Facts:
Collins died of
poisoning
No apparent sign of
inducement
Only access to house
is by the road
No signs on the
surrounding grounds
No signs of foul
play in study
Clues:
Sliver of wood under
the window
"The list of clues is short," thought Watson. "There is only one plausible
explanation. Miss Hart must have poisoned the late Dr. Collins with the sliver
of wood, for lack of a needle, and then threw it out of the window. Yes, this
is excellent!"
Content with his solution he lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair. It was
hard for him to imagine that dear sweet old lady was actually a cold-blooded
killer. However, Watson reminded himself of Holmes' adage that when all that is
probable has been eliminated, what remains, no matter how improbable, must be
the solution. He was trying to imagine her behind bars when his thoughts were
interrupted.
"She didn't do it," remarked the familiar steady voice of Sherlock Holmes.
Watson turned to the door but found it still closed.
"It was the only solution available to you my dear fellow," sounded the voice
again.
Watson turned to the open windows overlooking the street. He could hardly
believe his eyes. His friend's profile was bobbing past the broad windows of
the sitting room. Watson leaped across the room and stuck his head outside.
Holmes was parading down Baker Street twelve feet above the ground on stilts!
A small crowd of spectators had gathered to watch London's first private
consulting detective, covered with mud, strutting up and down Baker Street on
stilts, dusting off street lamps, peering into first and second story windows
and tipping his hat to those who had the misfortune of being home. By the time
Watson made his way outside to the street, Holmes had his feet back on the
ground and the walking sticks stowed across his shoulders. Contrary to his
prankish appearance, Holmes addressed Watson in a serious tone of voice.
"Watson. I need your assistance in another Grimpen adventure. Are you able?"
"Of course Holmes, but what on earth..."
"I'll explain everything on the way back to Dartmoor. Would you be so kind as
to run up-stairs and grab a lantern, your pistol, a flask of brandy, a box of
dry matches and an ounce of tobacco? I will acquire a hansom and tie these
sticks to the roof."
After they switched from the cab to the eleven-fifteen express and were speeding
on their way back to the dreary Devon moors, Holmes discussed his performance
with the stilts and their strange link with the death of Dr. Collins.
"The peasants in some parts of South Western France have used walking sticks to
travel through the marsh lands for hundreds of years," explained Holmes as he
looked over to his eager friend. "Such a fact is trivial in itself but quite
enlightening when applied to this case. I covered a variety of topics in my
research night before last as you probably deduced from the state of the rooms."
"Are you saying Dr. Collins was killed by someone traveling through the moor on
a pair of stilts like the ones we are bringing with us?" asked Watson.
"Actually these stilts are the very ones used by the man who killed Collins. I
retrieved them from the Devon bogs late yesterday afternoon. Now that I have
practiced their use to some extent I am ready to retrace the killer's steps in
search of more clues."
"But how on earth did you know that Miss Hart did not commit the murder?"
Holmes reached into his inside coat pocket and produced a damp, poorly folded,
muddy handkerchief. He paused to let the train sway and bounce as they
encountered a bad area of track. Then he unfolded the cloth on his knee to
expose a sliver of wood that was about an inch-and-a-half long. It was the one
found two days ago under the study window.
"This piece of wood, Watson, is actually a well crafted dart. It has an
ingenious and unique design. Instead of feathers for ballast, it sports tiny
carved fins on one end." Holmes held the projectile up to the window in their
cabin. He turned it back and forth slightly to catch the sunlight as if it were
a rare gemstone.
"The marks here on the sides of the dart show evidence of travel through a
tube. The bamboo traces on the tiny fins confirm the use of a blowgun."
"But how could it carry enough poison to cause the hideous state in which we
found Dr. Collins?"
"A very good question Watson. The dart has been hollowed out to carry a lethal
dose of poison. The impact of the dart thrusts the deadly cargo forward through
this small opening in the tip," explained the detective as he stuck a small pin
into the end of the dart to demonstrate. "I suspect a similar dart found the
neck of Sir Walter. It was either never discovered by the police or it was
found but its importance was never realized."
"Then why was Sir Walter not killed?" asked Watson.
"The dart used on Sir Walter either malfunctioned or perhaps it did not make
good contact. Consequently it did not deliver a lethal dose of poison and only
drove the poor man insane."
Watson sat back in his seat and sighed as he realized the horrifying aptitude of
the man they were up against. Holmes carefully placed the handcrafted dart back
in the centre of his soggy handkerchief and re-folded it. Then he put the
bundle back in his coat pocket.
"The poison, as I suspected, is actually a chemical solution comprised of snake
venom and a blood-thinning agent which acts like a catalyst. I believe the
venom is that of the Australian Death Adder. It is one of the most toxic
substances known to man. And when combined with the catalytic agent and perhaps
another toxin, it becomes an extremely deadly solution. To answer your
question, a small drop could easily kill three men. But it doesn't just kill.
It attacks the central nervous system of the victim producing intense pain and
extreme muscle spasms. The spasms are so violent they produce hideous
distortions of face and body."
"That is remarkable Holmes. You are apparently well versed on the subject of
poisons."
"Well versed? Yes, but there is no substitute for experience Watson. During my
college days I rid the city of over two hundred stray cats while experimenting
with various strains of venomous poisons."
Watson gave his friend a cold eye.
"It was merely a public duty," added Holmes.
"You could have used rats for your tests," argued Watson. "They are dirty,
loathsome creatures whereas cats are animals of beauty and elegance."
"I realize that cats are more socially acceptable however they are also more
sensitive biologically to delicate experiments involving poisons of similar
strains," replied Holmes as he hunted for his pipe. "Let us put aside the
barbaric ways of a college student and continue with the matter at hand,"
suggested the detective as he retrieved his oldest briar pipe from his coat.
Watson handed his friend the ounce bag of rough-cut shag.
"I am still having trouble fitting the pieces of the puzzle together Holmes.
How did you know to look for the dart outside Collins's window?"
"I told Mr. Mac that there were no clues to be found in Collins's study. That
is not entirely correct. The fine loomed but rarely cleaned rug in the study
told the story for me Watson. I am always emphasizing the importance of reading
footmarks," remarked Holmes as he finished packing his briar.
"I could see no footprints," insisted Watson handing him a match.
"They weren't very apparent. The slightest impression of a heel or a toe,
sometimes a complete print and a few times merely scuff marks were all that were
detectable even with my nose to the carpet. I was however able to reconstruct
Dr. Collins's movements in my mind. He had been in and out of the room several
times during the evening. The last time he was out of the study he stepped in
some potting soil that had spilled from a planter in the hall."
"I don't recall a planter," remarked Watson.
"Tut, Tut, Watson. You must become more observant. The spilled planter was an
extraordinary bit of fortune. The footmarks with the soil were quite
distinctive."
Holmes paused to light his pipe. After a long draw on his briar, Holmes shook
the match to extinguish it, leaned forward and tossed it into the side stand.
It had been a while since Holmes held a dry match to a full pipe. The detective
took another long draw on his briar before he spoke.
"Collins had been sitting in his chair reading when he heard a terrible cry. He
got up and walked over to the open window, which faces South. Upon seeing
something out in the moor he leaned out of the window to get a better look. It
is human nature Watson to stand on your toes to get a closer look at the moon."
Holmes paused to take another draw on his pipe.
"Then it was just a matter of finding the target with blowgun. As you know my
good fellow I can testify to the accuracy of such a weapon. The dart even if it
had fallen inside the study would have gone unnoticed during most
investigations. The puncture wound would not be noticeable after the violent
muscle spasms which ensued as with the case before us," explained Holmes as he
sat back against the red leather seat.
Watson lit a cigarette to give himself enough time to let the facts settle. The
whole thing seemed extraordinary.
"How did you know where to look for the stilts?" asked Watson.
"It was merely a matter of geography Watson. Using the maps from our atlas at
Baker Street I plotted the three most likely points of dry land that were both
close to the only road in the area and within a hundred yards of the house.
Traveling through the dense swamp on walking sticks would not be an easy task.
"My first choice was Canton Marsh. It is about seventy yards due South of the
house. It proved to be quite informative. Footmarks of our murderous friends
were all over the ground and the stilts were lodged in the muddy bottom of a
nearby pool of water."
"You mean there is more than one person involved in this?" asked Watson.
"A man and woman. The man is no taller than 5'9" and weighs approximately 160
pounds. The woman is about 5'3" tall and weighs around 110 pounds. They both
have a lazy right foot which indicates they may be related to each other."
"That's amazing Holmes. You deduced all this from their foot imprints?"
"Exactly. The stilts were fitted for someone shorter than myself, which
confirms the man's height. As for some of the other deductions, the impressions
made in the muddy ground by the dark lantern show it was a Northern Woods
wide-wick lamp. It's the company's heaviest and most expensive model. From the
stitching quality of their boot soles I deduced that they were quite wealthy at
one time. The degree of wear on the soles of their boots indicates they may
have fallen into rough times. I also found a few strands of hair which where
quite revealing."
Watson thought for a minute while Holmes re-lit his pipe.
"How did the man find his way through the moor? It was a cloudy night as I
recall. One could not easily carry a lantern and work a compass while on the
stilts," pondered Watson. "Also the lantern, even a dark lantern, would give
him away."
"You have just found the sweet centre of the pickle Watson. Our murderous
friend did not use the lantern on his journey to the house. He took but one
compass reading from his station in Canton Marsh and then traveled due north as
straight as possible. He continued until he saw the light from the study
window. The light that enabled Dr. Collins to read was also the beacon to his
death.
"After he reached the house and loaded the blowgun, the murderer let out a cry
to draw Collins to the window. It also let his accomplice know that he would be
starting back soon. She waited for a while to give him time to act and then she
let out a cry every ten minutes to guide him back. If you recall, the
housekeeper heard a loud cry first then several more cries higher pitched and
farther away," explained Holmes.
"That is fantastic Holmes," remarked Watson.
"I may be able to tell you more once I have retraced the man's trip through the
moor."
"The solution to the problem is simple once you explain it. Yet until now I was
at a complete loss."
"I am afraid Watson I suffer the same self-defeating dilemma as that of the
conjurer. The explanation of my deductive process is much the same as a
magician exposing the method of one of his illusions. Once it is explained, the
solution becomes anti-climatic. The very instant the secret or reasoning is
known, the illusion or deduction seems obvious and simple."
Holmes and Watson rented a four-wheeler in Dartmoor and secured the stilts. The
ride up through the jagged hills of the Grimpen mire was as dreary as it was the
day before, however neither man noticed for they were excited with the hunt.
After an hour of maneuvering the wagon through the rough road they reached a
small clearing. From there it was a tedious walk carrying the stilts through
the miserable expanse of bracken and bogs until they reached a small point of
land with more water than ground in front of them. It seemed to Watson to be a
dead end.
"Canton Marsh Watson. The starting point of our investigation," informed Holmes
as he set down the walking sticks and rubbed his hands together.
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Chapter 6
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