DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that there
should be a marriage between us. James and I have always loved each
other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen
very little of life yet, and--and--well, he naturally did not wish to
do anything like that yet. So there were quarrels, and this, I am
sure, was one of them."

"And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of such a union?"

"No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in favour
of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot
one of his keen, questioning glances at her.

"Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see your father if
I call to-morrow?"

"I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."

"The doctor?"

"Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for years
back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken to his
bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his nervous
system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had
known dad in the old days in Victoria."

"Ha! In Victoria! That is important."

"Yes, at the mines."

"Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner made
his money."

"Yes, certainly."

"Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to me."

"You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you will
go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell him
that I know him to be innocent."

"I will, Miss Turner."

"I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if I
leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking." She
hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard
the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.

"I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity after a few
minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound
to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel."

"I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," said Holmes.
"Have you an order to see him in prison?"

"Yes, but only for you and me."

"Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have still
time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?"

"Ample."

"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow,
but I shall only be away a couple of hours."

I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the
streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I
lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed
novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared
to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and I found my
attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that I
at last flung it across the room and gave myself up entirely to a
consideration of the events of the day. Supposing that this unhappy
young man's story were absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what
absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred
between the time when he parted from his father, and the moment when,
drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was something
terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the nature of the
injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? I rang the bell
and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim
account of the inquest. In the surgeon's deposition it was stated
that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half
of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt
weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must
have been struck from behind. That was to some extent in favour of
the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his
father. Still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might
have turned his back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth
while to call Holmes' attention to it. Then there was the peculiar
dying reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be
delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become
delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how he
met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my brains to
find some possible explanation. And then the incident of the grey
cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the murderer must
have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his overcoat, in his
flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to carry it
away at the instant when the son was kneeling with his back turned
not a dozen paces off. What a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities
the whole thing was! I did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet

disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that there

should be a marriage between us. James and I have always loved each

other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen

very little of life yet, and--and--well, he naturally did not wish to

do anything like that yet. So there were quarrels, and this, I am

sure, was one of them."

"And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of such a union?"

"No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in favour

of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot

one of his keen, questioning glances at her.

"Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see your father if

I call to-morrow?"

"I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."

"The doctor?"

"Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for years

back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken to his

bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his nervous

system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had

known dad in the old days in Victoria."

"Ha! In Victoria! That is important."

"Yes, at the mines."

"Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner made

his money."

"Yes, certainly."

"Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to me."

"You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you will

go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell him

that I know him to be innocent."

"I will, Miss Turner."

"I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if I

leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking." She

hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard

the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.

"I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity after a few

minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound

to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel."

"I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," said Holmes.

"Have you an order to see him in prison?"

"Yes, but only for you and me."

"Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have still

time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?"

"Ample."

"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow,

but I shall only be away a couple of hours."

I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the

streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I

lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed

novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared

to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and I found my

attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that I

at last flung it across the room and gave myself up entirely to a

consideration of the events of the day. Supposing that this unhappy

young man's story were absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what

absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred

between the time when he parted from his father, and the moment when,

drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was something

terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the nature of the

injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? I rang the bell

and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim

account of the inquest. In the surgeon's deposition it was stated

that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half

of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt

weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must

have been struck from behind. That was to some extent in favour of

the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his

father. Still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might

have turned his back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth

while to call Holmes' attention to it. Then there was the peculiar

dying reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be

delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become

delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how he

met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my brains to

find some possible explanation. And then the incident of the grey

cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the murderer must

have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his overcoat, in his

flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to carry it

away at the instant when the son was kneeling with his back turned

not a dozen paces off. What a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities

the whole thing was! I did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet