The Hound of the Baskervilles and Other Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
time in the family, I have no wish to bring public disgrace upon you. A month, however, is too long. Take yourself away in a week, and give what reason you like for going.”
“‘Only a week, sir? he cried in a despairing voice. “A fortnight -- say at least a fortnight!”
“‘A week, I repeated, and you may consider yourself to have been very leniently dealt with.”
“‘ He crept away, his face sunk upon his breast, like a broken man, while I put out the light and returned to my room.
“‘ For two days after this Brunton was most assiduous in his attention to his duties. I made no allusion to what had passed and waited with some curiosity to see how he would cover his disgrace. On the third morning, however, he did not appear, as was his custom, after breakfast to receive my instructions for the day. As I left the dining-room I happened to meet Rachel Howells, the maid. I have told you that she had only recently recovered from an illness and was looking so wretchedly pale and wan that I remonstrated with her for being at work.
“‘You should be in bed, I said. Come back to your duties when you are stronger.”
“‘ She looked at me with so strange an expression that I began to suspect that her brain was affected.
“‘I am strong enough, Mr. Musgrave, said she.
“‘ "We will see what the doctor says, I answered. “You must stop work now, and when you go downstairs just say that I wish to see Brunton.”
“‘The butler is gone, said she.
“‘ "Gone! Gone where?
“‘He is gone. No one has seen him. He is not in his room. Oh, yes, he is gone, he is gone!” She fell back against the wall with shriek after shriek of laughter, while I, horrified at this sudden hysterical attack, rushed to the bell to summon help. The girl was taken to her room, still screaming and sobbing, while I made inquiries about Brunton. There was no doubt about it that he had disappeared. His bed had not been slept in, he had been seen by no one since he had retired to his room the night before, and yet it was difficult to see how he could have left the house, as both windows and doors were found to be fastened in the morning. His clothes, his watch, and even his money were in his room, but the black suit which he usually wore was missing. His slippers, too, were gone, but his boots were left behind. Where then could butler Brunton have gone in the night, and what could have become of him now?
“‘ Of course we searched the house from cellar to garret, but there was no trace of him. It is, as I have said, a labyrinth of an old house, especially the original wing, which is now practically uninhabited; but we ransacked every room and cellar without discovering the least sign of the missing man. It was incredible to me that he could have gone away leaving all his property behind him, and yet where could he be? I called in the local police, but without success. Rain had fallen on the night before, and we examined the lawn and the paths all round the house, but in vain. Matters were in this state, when a new development quite drew our attention away from the original mystery.
“‘ For two days Rachel Howells had been so ill, sometimes delirious, sometimes hysterical, that a nurse had been employed to sit up with her at night. On the third night after Brunton’s disappearance, the nurse, finding her patient sleeping nicely, had dropped into a nap in the armchair, when she woke in the early morning to find the bed empty, the window open, and no signs of the invalid. I was instantly aroused, and, with the two footmen, started off at once in search of the missing girl. It was not difficult to tell the direction which she had taken, for, starting from under her window, we could follow her footmarks easily across the lawn to the edge of the mere, where they vanished close to the gravel path which leads out of the grounds. The lake there is eight feet deep, and you can imagine our feelings when we saw that the trail of the poor demented girl came to an end at the edge of it.
“‘Of course, we had the drags at once and set to work to recover the remains, but no trace of the body could we find. On the other hand, we brought to the surface an object of a most unexpected kind. It was a linen bag which contained within it a mass of old rusted, and discoloured metal and several dull-coloured pieces of pebble or glass. This strange find was all that we could get from the mere, and, although we made every possible search and inquiry yesterday, we know nothing of the fate either of Rachel Howells or of Richard Brunton. The county police are at their wit’s end, and I have come up to you as a last resource.”
“You can imagine, Watson, with what eagerness I listened to this extraordinary sequence of events, and endeavoured to piece them together, and to devise some common thread upon which they might all hang.
“The butler was gone. The maid was gone. The maid had loved the butler, but had afterwards had cause to hate him. She was of Welsh blood, fiery and passionate. She had been terribly excited immediately after his disappearance. She had flung into the lake a bag containing some curious contents. These were all factors which had to be taken into consideration, and yet none of them got quite to the heart of the matter. What was the starting-point of this chain of events? There lay the end of this tangled line.
“‘I must see that paper, Musgrave,” said I, “which this butler of yours thought it worth his while to consult, even at the risk of the loss of his place.”
“‘It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of ours,” he answered. “But it has at least the saving grace of antiquity to excuse it. I have a copy of the questions and answers here if you care to run your eye over them.”
“He handed me the very paper which I have here, Watson, and this is the strange catechism to which each Musgrave had to submit when he came to man’s estate. I will read you the questions and answers as they stand.
“‘Whose was it?”
“‘His who is gone.”
“‘Who shall have it?”
“‘He who will come.”
“‘Where was the sun?”
““Over the oak.”
“‘Where was the shadow?”
““Under the elm.”
“‘How was it stepped?”
““North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south by two and by two, west by one and by one, and so under.”
“‘What shall we give for it?”
““All that is ours.”
“‘Why should we give it?”
““For the sake of the trust.”
“‘The original has no date, but is in the spelling of the middle of the seventeenth century,” remarked Musgrave. “I am afraid, however, that it can be of little help to you in solving this mystery.”
“‘At least,” said I, ‘it gives us another mystery, and one which is even more interesting than the first. It may be that the solution of the one may prove to be the solution of the other. You will excuse me, Musgrave, if I say that your butler appears to me to have been a very clever man, and to have had a clearer insight than ten generations of his masters.”
“‘I hardly follow you,” said Musgrave. “The paper seems to me to be of no practical importance.”
“‘But to me it seems immensely practical, and I fancy that Brunton took the same view. He had probably seen it before that night on which you caught him.”
“‘It is very possible. We took no pains to hide it.”
“‘He simply wished, I should imagine, to refresh his memory upon that last occasion. He had, as I understand, some sort of map or chart which he was comparing with the manuscript, and which he thrust into his pocket when you appeared.”
“‘That is true. But what could he have to do with this old family custom of ours, and what does this rigmarole mean?”
“‘I don’t think that we