The Adventure of the Devils Foot | Page 8

them into their places. I take it, in the first place, that

neither of us is prepared to admit diabolical intrusions into the affairs of men. Let us
begin by ruling that entirely out of our minds. Very good. There remain three persons
who have been grievously stricken by some conscious or unconscious human agency.
That is firm ground. Now, when did this occur? Evidently, assuming his narrative to be
true, it was immediately after Mr. Mortimer Tregennis had left the room. That is a very
important point. The presumption is that it was within a few minutes afterwards. The
cards still lay upon the table. It was already past their usual hour for bed. Yet they had not
changed their position or pushed back their chairs. I repeat, then, that the occurrence was
immediately after his departure, and not later than eleven o'clock last night.
"Our next obvious step is to check, so far as we can, the movements of Mortimer
Tregennis after he left the room. In this there is no difficulty, and they seem to be above
suspicion. Knowing my methods as you do, you were, of course, conscious of the
somewhat clumsy water-pot expedient by which I obtained a clearer impress of his foot
than might otherwise have been possible. The wet, sandy path took it admirably. Last
night was also wet, you will remember, and it was not difficult--having obtained a sample
print--to pick out his track among others and to follow his movements. He appears to
have walked away swiftly in the direction of the vicarage.
"If, then, Mortimer Tregennis disappeared from the scene, and yet some outside person
affected the card-players, how can we reconstruct that person, and how was such an
impression of horror conveyed? Mrs. Porter may be eliminated. She is evidently harmless.
Is there any evidence that someone crept up to the garden window and in some manner
produced so terrific an effect that he drove those who saw it out of their senses? The only
suggestion in this direction comes from Mortimer Tregennis himself, who says that his
brother spoke about some movement in the garden. That is certainly remarkable, as the
night was rainy, cloudy, and dark. Anyone who had the design to alarm these people
would be compelled to place his very face against the glass before he could be seen.
There is a three-foot flower- border outside this window, but no indication of a footmark.
It is difficult to imagine, then, how an outsider could have made so terrible an impression
upon the company, nor have we found any possible motive for so strange and elaborate
an attempt. You perceive our difficulties, Watson?"
"They are only too clear," I answered with conviction.
"And yet, with a little more material, we may prove that they are not insurmountable,"
said Holmes. "I fancy that among your extensive archives, Watson, you may find some
which were nearly as obscure. Meanwhile, we shall put the case aside until more accurate
data are available, and devote the rest of our morning to the pursuit of neolithic man."
I may have commented upon my friend's power of mental detachment, but never have I
wondered at it more than upon that spring morning in Cornwall when for two hours he
discoursed upon celts, arrowheads, and shards, as lightly as if no sinister mystery were
waiting for his solution. It was not until we had returned in the afternoon to our cottage
that we found a visitor awaiting us, who soon brought our minds back to the matter in
hand. Neither of us needed to be told who that visitor was. The huge body, the craggy and
deeply seamed face with the fierce eyes and hawk-like nose, the grizzled hair which

nearly brushed our cottage ceiling, the beard--golden at the fringes and white near the lips,
save for the nicotine stain from his perpetual cigar--all these were as well known in
London as in Africa, and could only be associated with the tremendous personality of Dr.
Leon Sterndale, the great lion-hunter and explorer.
We had heard of his presence in the district and had once or twice caught sight of his tall
figure upon the moorland paths. He made no advances to us, however, nor would we
have dreamed of doing so to him, as it was well known that it was his love of seclusion
which caused him to spend the greater part of the intervals between his journeys in a
small bungalow buried in the lonely wood of Beauchamp Arriance. Here, amid his books
and his maps, he lived an absolutely lonely life, attending to his own simple wants and
paying little apparent heed to the affairs of his neighbours. It was a surprise to me,
therefore, to hear him asking Holmes in an