His Last Bow | Page 6

was he to witness?"
"Nothing, as things turned out, but everything had they gone another
way. That is how I read the matter."

"I see, he might have proved an alibi."
"Exactly, my dear Watson; he might have proved an alibi. We will
suppose, for argument's sake, that the household of Wisteria Lodge are
confederates in some design. The attempt, whatever it may be, is to
come off, we will say, before one o'clock. By some juggling of the
clocks it is quite possible that they may have got Scott Eccles to bed
earlier than he thought, but in any case it is likely that when Garcia
went out of his way to tell him that it was one it was really not more
than twelve. If Garcia could do whatever he had to do and be back by
the hour mentioned he had evidently a powerful reply to any accusation.
Here was this irreproachable Englishman ready to swear in any court of
law that the accused was in the house all the time. It was an insurance
against the worst."
"Yes, yes, I see that. But how about the disappearance of the others?"
"I have not all my facts yet, but I do not think there are any insuperable
difficulties. Still, it is an error to argue in front of your data. You find
yourself insensibly twisting them round to fit your theories."
"And the message?"
"How did it run? 'Our own colours, green and white.' Sounds like
racing. 'Green open, white shut.' That is clearly a signal. 'Main stair,
first corridor, seventh right, green baize.' This is an assignation. We
may find a jealous husband at the bottom of it all. It was clearly a
dangerous quest. She would not have said 'Godspeed' had it not been so.
'D'--that should be a guide."
"The man was a Spaniard. I suggest that 'D' stands for Dolores, a
common female name in Spain."
"Good, Watson, very good--but quite inadmissable. A Spaniard would
write to a Spaniard in Spanish. The writer of this note is certainly
English. Well, we can only possess our soul in patience until this
excellent inspector come back for us. Meanwhile we can thank our
lucky fate which has rescued us for a few short hours from the

insufferable fatigues of idleness."
An answer had arrived to Holmes's telegram before our Surrey officer
had returned. Holmes read it and was about to place it in his notebook
when he caught a glimpse of my expectant face. He tossed it across
with a laugh.
"We are moving in exalted circles," said he.
The telegram was a list of names and addresses:
Lord Harringby, The Dingle; Sir George Ffolliott, Oxshott Towers; Mr.
Hynes Hynes, J.P., Purdley Place; Mr. James Baker Williams, Forton
Old Hall; Mr. Henderson, High Gable; Rev. Joshua Stone, Nether
Walsling.
"This is a very obvious way of limiting our field of operations," said
Holmes. "No doubt Baynes, with his methodical mind, has already
adopted some similar plan."
"I don't quite understand."
"Well, my dear fellow, we have already arrived at the conclusion that
the massage received by Garcia at dinner was an appointment or an
assignation. Now, if the obvious reading of it is correct, and in order to
keep the tryst one has to ascend a main stair and seek the seventh door
in a corridor, it is perfectly clear that the house is a very large one. It is
equally certain that this house cannot be more than a mile or two from
Oxshott, since Garcia was walking in that direction and hoped,
according to my reading of the facts, to be back in Wisteria Lodge in
time to avail himself of an alibi, which would only be valid up to one
o'clock. As the number of large houses close to Oxshott must be limited,
I adopted the obvious method of sending to the agents mentioned by
Scott Eccles and obtaining a list of them. Here they are in this telegram,
and the other end of our tangled skein must lie among them."
It was nearly six o'clock before we found ourselves in the pretty Surrey
village of Esher, with Inspector Baynes as our companion.

Holmes and I had taken things for the night, and found comfortable
quarters at the Bull. Finally we set out in the company of the detective
on our visit to Wisteria Lodge. It was a cold, dark March evening, with
a sharp wind and a fine rain beating upon our faces, a fit setting for the
wild common over which our road passed and the tragic goal to which
it led us.

2. The Tiger of San Pedro

A cold and melancholy walk of a couple of miles brought us to a high
wooden gate, which opened into a gloomy