Detective and mystery stories; Holmes, Sherlock (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Private investigators -- England -- Fiction
"You are aware," said he, "that the dead man's wedding ring has been
taken from his finger?"
"So it appears," said Barker.
"What do you mean by 'appears'? You know it as a fact."
The man seemed confused and undecided. "When I said 'appears' I meant
that it was conceivable that he had himself taken off the ring."
"The mere fact that the ring should be absent, whoever may have removed
it, would suggest to anyone's mind, would it not, that the marriage and
the tragedy were connected?"
Barker shrugged his broad shoulders. "I can't profess to say what it
means." he answered. "But if you mean to hint that it could reflect in
any way upon this lady's honour"--his eyes blazed for an instant, and
then with an evident effort he got a grip upon his own emotions--"well,
you are on the wrong track, that's all."
"I don't know that I've anything else to ask you at present," said
MacDonald, coldly.
"There was one small point," remarked Sherlock Holmes. "When you
entered the room there was only a candle lighted on the table, was
there not?"
"Yes, that was so."
"By its light you saw that some terrible incident had occurred?"
"Exactly."
"You at once rang for help?"
"Yes."
"And it arrived very speedily?"
"Within a minute or so."
"And yet when they arrived they found that the candle was out and that
the lamp had been lighted. That seems very remarkable."
Again Barker showed some signs of indecision. "I don't see that it was
remarkable, Mr. Holmes," he answered after a pause. "The candle threw a
very bad light. My first thought was to get a better one. The lamp was
on the table; so I lit it."
"And blew out the candle?"
"Exactly."
Holmes asked no further question, and Barker, with a deliberate look
from one to the other of us, which had, as it seemed to me, something
of defiance in it, turned and left the room.
Inspector MacDonald had sent up a note to the effect that he would wait
upon Mrs. Douglas in her room; but she had replied that she would meet
us in the dining room. She entered now, a tall and beautiful woman of
thirty, reserved and self-possessed to a remarkable degree, very
different from the tragic and distracted figure I had pictured. It is
true that her face was pale and drawn, like that of one who has endured
a great shock; but her manner was composed, and the finely moulded hand
which she rested upon the edge of the table was as steady as my own.
Her sad, appealing eyes travelled from one to the other of us with a
curiously inquisitive expression. That questioning gaze transformed
itself suddenly into abrupt speech.
"Have you found anything out yet?" she asked.
Was it my imagination that there was an undertone of fear rather than
of hope in the question?
"We have taken every possible step, Mrs. Douglas," said the inspector.
"You may rest assured that nothing will be neglected."
"Spare no money," she said in a dead, even tone. "It is my desire that
every possible effort should be made."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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