DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

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I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes' insight that I could not lose
hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction
of young McCarthy's innocence.

It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone, for
Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.

"The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down. "It is
of importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over
the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his very best and
keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not wish to do it when
fagged by a long journey. I have seen young McCarthy."

"And what did you learn from him?"

"Nothing."

"Could he throw no light?"

"None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew who
had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced now that
he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very quick-witted
youth, though comely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart."

"I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a fact that
he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this
Miss Turner."

"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly,
insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only
a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five
years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the
clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry office?
No one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening
it must be to him to be upbraided for not doing what he would give
his very eyes to do, but what he knows to be absolutely impossible.
It was sheer frenzy of this sort which made him throw his hands up
into the air when his father, at their last interview, was goading
him on to propose to Miss Turner. On the other hand, he had no means
of supporting himself, and his father, who was by all accounts a very
hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth.
It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in
Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that point.
It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however, for the
barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and
likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to
him to say that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so
that there is really no tie between them. I think that that bit of
news has consoled young McCarthy for all that he has suffered."

"But if he is innocent, who has done it?"

"Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two
points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone
at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for
his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. The
second is that the murdered man was heard to cry 'Cooee!' before he
knew that his son had returned. Those are the crucial points upon
which the case depends. And now let us talk about George Meredith, if
you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until to-morrow."

There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke
bright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us with the
carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe Pool.

"There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It is said
that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is despaired
of."

"An elderly man, I presume?" said Holmes.

"About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life
abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This
business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend of
McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I have
learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."

"Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.

"Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody about
here speaks of his kindness to him."

"Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this
McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been
under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his
son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate,
and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case
of a proposal and all else would follow? It is the more strange,
since we know that Turner himself was averse to the idea. The
daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce something from that?"

"We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said Lestrade,
winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes,
without flying away after theories and fancies."

"You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very hard to
tackle the facts."

"Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult
to get hold of," replied Lestrade with some warmth.

I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes' insight that I could not lose

hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction

of young McCarthy's innocence.

It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone, for

Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.

"The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down. "It is

of importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over

the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his very best and

keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not wish to do it when

fagged by a long journey. I have seen young McCarthy."

"And what did you learn from him?"

"Nothing."

"Could he throw no light?"

"None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew who

had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced now that

he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very quick-witted

youth, though comely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart."

"I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a fact that

he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this

Miss Turner."

"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly,

insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only

a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five

years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the

clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry office?

No one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening

it must be to him to be upbraided for not doing what he would give

his very eyes to do, but what he knows to be absolutely impossible.

It was sheer frenzy of this sort which made him throw his hands up

into the air when his father, at their last interview, was goading

him on to propose to Miss Turner. On the other hand, he had no means

of supporting himself, and his father, who was by all accounts a very

hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth.

It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in

Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that point.

It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however, for the

barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and

likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to

him to say that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so

that there is really no tie between them. I think that that bit of

news has consoled young McCarthy for all that he has suffered."

"But if he is innocent, who has done it?"

"Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two

points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone

at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for

his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. The

second is that the murdered man was heard to cry 'Cooee!' before he

knew that his son had returned. Those are the crucial points upon

which the case depends. And now let us talk about George Meredith, if

you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until to-morrow."

There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke

bright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us with the

carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe Pool.

"There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It is said

that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is despaired

of."

"An elderly man, I presume?" said Holmes.

"About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life

abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This

business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend of

McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I have

learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."

"Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.

"Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody about

here speaks of his kindness to him."

"Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this

McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been

under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his

son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate,

and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case

of a proposal and all else would follow? It is the more strange,

since we know that Turner himself was averse to the idea. The

daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce something from that?"

"We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said Lestrade,

winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes,

without flying away after theories and fancies."

"You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very hard to

tackle the facts."

"Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult

to get hold of," replied Lestrade with some warmth.