His Last Bow | Page 8

some resemblance to a dwarfish,
human figure. At first, as I examined it, I thought that it was a
mummified negro baby, and then it seemed a very twisted and ancient
monkey. Finally I was left in doubt as to whether it was animal or
human. A double band of white shells were strung round the centre of
it.
"Very interesting--very interesting, indeed!" said Holmes, peering at
this sinister relic. "Anything more?"

In silence Baynes led the way to the sink and held forward his candle.
The limbs and body of some large, white bird, torn savagely to pieces
with the feathers still on, were littered all over it. Holmes pointed to the
wattles on the severed head.
"A white cock," said he. "Most interesting! It is really a very curious
case."
But Mr. Baynes had kept his most sinister exhibit to the last. >From
under the sink he drew a zinc pail which contained a quantity of blood.
Then from the table he took a platter heaped with small pieces of
charred bone.
"Something has been killed and something has been burned. We raked
all these out of the fire. We had a doctor in this morning. He says that
they are not human."
Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands.
"I must congratulate you, Inspector, on handling so distinctive and
instructive a case. Your powers, if I may say so without offence, seem
superior to your opportunities."
Inspector Baynes's small eyes twinkled with pleasure.
"You're right, Mr. Holmes. We stagnate in the provinces. A case of this
sort gives a man a chance, and I hope that I shall take it. What do you
make of these bones?"
"A lamb, I should say, or a kid."
"And the white cock?"
"Curious, Mr. Baynes, very curious. I should say almost unique."
"Yes, sir, there must have been some very strange people with some
very strange ways in this house. One of them is dead. Did his
companions follow him and kill him? If they did we should have them,
for every port is watched. But my own views are different. Yes, sir, my

own views are very different."
"You have a theory then?"
"And I'll work it myself, Mr. Holmes. It's only due to my own credit to
do so. Your name is made, but I have still to make mine. I should be
glad to be able to say afterwards that I had solved it without your help."
Holmes laughed good-humoredly.
"Well, well, Inspector," said he. "Do you follow your path and I will
follow mine. My results are always very much at your service if you
care to apply to me for them. I think that I have seen all that I wish in
this house, and that my time may be more profitably employed
elsewhere. Au revoir and good luck!"
I could tell by numerous subtle signs, which might have been lost upon
anyone but myself, that Holmes was on a hot scent. As impassive as
ever to the casual observer, there were none the less a subdued
eagerness and suggestion of tension in his brightened eyes and brisker
manner which assured me that the game was afoot. After his habit he
said nothing, and after mine I asked no questions. Sufficient for me to
share the sport and lend my humble help to the capture without
distracting that intent brain with needless interruption. All would come
round to me in due time.
I waited, therefore--but to my ever-deepening disappointment I waited
in vain. Day succeeded day, and my friend took no step forward. One
morning he spent in town, and I learned from a casual reference that he
had visited the British Museum. Save for this one excursion, he spent
his days in long and often solitary walks, or in chatting with a number
of village gossips whose acquaintance he had cultivated.
"I'm sure, Watson, a week in the country will be invaluable to you," he
remarked. "It is very pleasant to see the first green shoots upon the
hedges and the catkins on the hazels once again. With a spud, a tin box,
and an elementary book on botany, there are instructive days to be
spent." He prowled about with this equipment himself, but it was a poor

show of plants which he would bring back of an evening.
Occasionally in our rambles we came across Inspector Baynes. His fat,
red face wreathed itself in smiles and his small eyes glittered as he
greeted my companion. He said little about the case, but from that little
we gathered that he also was not dissatisfied at the course of events. I
must admit, however, that I was somewhat surprised when, some five
days after the crime, I opened my morning paper to find in large letters:
THE OXSHOTT MYSTERY