8
Dinner that evening was served in a room overlooking the western lawns. Beyond the windows the gardens lay shrouded in darkness, the ancient trees little more than black silhouettes against the night sky, while the polished table gleamed beneath the warm glow of the lamps.
Our conversation during the first part of the meal concerned little beyond the ordinary subjects of country life. Mr. Goode spoke with genuine affection of the estate and its tenants, while Holmes appeared content to listen, contributing only an occasional observation.
It was not until the servants had withdrawn after placing coffee before us—coffee which I have always preferred to take after dinner in the comfort of the drawing room, though this was evidently not our host's custom—that Holmes at last returned to the object of our visit.
He cradled his cup for a moment before setting it quietly upon its saucer.
"Mr. Goode," he said, "I have been considering Professor Stratton's final words."
Our host looked up at once.
"So have I, Mr. Holmes."
"I think we may begin by accepting that the Professor intended exactly what he said."
Mr. Goode waited expectantly.
"'Beware the coffin.'"
Holmes folded his hands upon the table.
"The natural meaning of the word is the wooden receptacle in which the dead are buried."
Mr. Goode nodded.
"I can think of no other."
"There are one or two obsolete technical and engineering uses of the word," said Holmes, "but I do not think they are applicable here."
He spoke with quiet certainty.
"The real questions are these. Which particular coffin did Professor Stratton intend? And what, precisely, was there about it that merited so urgent a warning?"
I considered the matter for a moment.
"Well, concerning the first question..."
Holmes turned toward me.
"The discovery of Professor Stratton's body would naturally direct one's attention to the cemetery."
"Precisely."
"The warning would therefore seem to concern one of the coffins buried there."
"That," said Holmes, "is the obvious conclusion."
Mr. Goode looked from one of us to the other.
"But what am I to do?"
There was genuine distress in his voice.
"If the Professor meant one of the coffins in that cemetery, how is one ever to discover which?"
Holmes regarded him steadily.
"You are the keeper of this estate and of everything contained within it, Mr. Goode."
Our host looked distinctly uncomfortable.
He hesitated before speaking again.
"You surely cannot mean..." He glanced toward the darkened window, beyond which the old cemetery lay somewhere amongst the trees. "You cannot seriously suggest that I have the entire burial ground excavated?"
Holmes gave the slightest shrug.
"I do not directly suggest any such course."
Mr. Goode looked faintly relieved.
"Nevertheless," Holmes continued, "if Professor Stratton's warning referred to some particular coffin, I confess I know of no other means by which that coffin might ultimately be identified."
The words hung heavily in the room.
"But," Holmes added after a pause, "the Professor did not merely mention a coffin."
"No?"
"He warned us to beware of it."
Holmes's eyes remained fixed upon our host.
"Whatever may eventually be discovered, that word alone suggests that it should be approached with a measure of caution."
Mr. Goode leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh.
"I confess I have not the slightest notion what to do."
He looked despairingly into his untouched coffee.
"The entire business is so utterly bizarre."
There was such unaffected bewilderment in his manner that I found myself sincerely pitying him.
"I quite agree," I said.
He looked gratefully in my direction—something which almost compelled me to continue speaking.
"But if I may offer a suggestion, Mr. Goode, I think you would be wise, for the present at least, to proceed with your banquet exactly as you have planned it."
"The banquet?"
"Certainly."
I glanced at Holmes, who nodded, so that I continued:
"You have devoted an immense amount of time and effort to the undertaking. Your invitations have been accepted, your preparations completed, and a number of distinguished gentlemen are expecting to attend."
Mr. Goode listened attentively.
"You have told us yourself that the future of Northleigh Manor may depend upon the impression your guests carry away from that evening."
He gave a slow nod.
"Yes, yes... I am afraid it may."
"Then I would not abandon the scheme merely because this dreadful affair has cast a shadow over it."
I smiled encouragingly.
"Impress your guests with your remarkable idea. That is surely the best course, both for your own sake and for that of everyone whose livelihood depends upon this estate."
For the first time since Holmes had mentioned the cemetery, the anxious lines about Mr. Goode's face seemed to soften.
He smiled warmly across the table.
"Thank you, Dr. Watson."
There was unmistakable feeling in his voice.
"You have given me rather more encouragement than you perhaps realize."
Holmes quietly inclined his head.
"I am disposed to agree with my friend."
He lifted his coffee once more.
"For the present, Mr. Goode, there is little else to be done, save for that which Watson suggests."