12
The following morning I entered the sitting room to find it deserted.
The fire had already been lit by Mrs. Hudson against the autumn chill, and from somewhere below came the familiar sounds of crockery and quiet activity which always accompanied the beginning of the day in Baker Street.
It was immediately apparent, from the fact that the door was open, that my companion was not in his own room.
Since there appeared nothing to be done but await his return, I occupied myself with the newspaper, though I confess that my attention wandered repeatedly from its columns to the empty chair opposite.
Holmes had of late become more than usually secretive, and I had learned from experience that such secrecy generally indicated one of two things.
Either he himself had not yet reached a conclusion, or he had reached one which he considered too precarious to reveal until further evidence should support it.
It was nearly an hour later that I heard the familiar tread upon the stairs.
The door opened, and Holmes entered briskly, deftly shedding his hat, coat, and gloves as he crossed the room.
One glance was enough.
There was about him that unmistakable air which I had observed upon many previous occasions when some important piece had fallen into its proper place.
It was not triumph. Holmes rarely indulged in that emotion.
Rather, there was a new purpose in the set of his jaw and a restrained brightness in his keen gray eyes which suggested that his morning's errand had not been fruitless.
"Good morning, Watson."
"You have been out early."
"I have."
I hesitated only for a moment.
"May I ask where?"
"I have been to see Mycroft."
"Mycroft?"
"Precisely."
He drew a chair toward the fire and sat down.
"My brother possesses many admirable qualities, Watson. Amongst them, as you already well know, is the advantage of presiding over a government department capable of gathering together information from an astonishing variety of sources."
He smiled faintly.
"Until such time as some wonderful machine is devised which can take half a dozen or more entirely separate collections of facts, examine them simultaneously, and discover what, if anything, they happen to possess in common,
I fear Mycroft and his department must continue to perform that office for me."
I looked at him blankly.
"I confess I fail to follow you, Holmes."
At that moment the door opened, and Mrs. Hudson entered carrying the breakfast tray.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
She laid out our breakfast with her customary efficiency before pouring the coffee, pausing only to glance reproachfully at Holmes.
"You've not been eating properly of late, Mr. Holmes."
"That is true, Mrs. Hudson."
"Well, you'll do better now."
She gave a small, satisfied nod and withdrew.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room almost at once.
I waited until the door had closed behind her.
"Holmes," said I, as we seated ourselves at the table, "I have not the least notion what you have been talking about."
For an instant there appeared upon his face a slightly grim smile.
"No, my dear Watson, I rather believe you do not."
He poured a cup of coffee but did not immediately drink.
"The detailed explanation must surely wait a little longer—at least until I possess definitive proof concerning what I suspect is really due to take place."
"And until then?"
"In the first place," said Holmes quietly, "a telegram from Mycroft's department should arrive. The results of their investigation, as it were."
That was all.
No further enlightenment appeared to be forthcoming.
I regarded him for a moment before slowly shaking my head.
"There are times, Holmes, when conversing with you requires considerably more patience than I naturally possess."
"I have frequently admired your patience, Watson."
"So you have often told me."
With a sigh of resignation I abandoned any hope of extracting more from him and reached instead for the coffee pot.
Whatever mystery Holmes believed himself to be unraveling, it was evidently destined to remain, for the present at least, entirely his own.
*
Holmes received, upon the afternoon following his visit to Mycroft, the telegram which he had so confidently predicted.
He read it through with the closest attention, folded it carefully, and placed it in his pocket-book without offering me so much as a glimpse of its contents.
I had become resigned to such treatment, and wasted no breath in questioning him.
Thus it came about that, upon the evening appointed for Mr. Goode's medieval banquet, we once more found ourselves approaching Northleigh Manor.
The autumn night had settled cold and still over the East Sussex countryside.
A thin crescent moon hung low behind drifting cloud, lending little assistance to the traveler, while the ancient trees bordering the long drive rose like black masses against the darker sky beyond.
Our cab had set us down at the entrance gates, Holmes preferring that we complete the remaining distance upon foot.
"We have ample time," said he quietly.
The gravel crunched beneath our boots as we proceeded beneath the great oaks. Here and there the manor lights shone faintly through the branches ahead, glowing with a warm, inviting radiance which contrasted pleasantly with the chill darkness surrounding us.
We had covered perhaps half the distance when some slight movement caught my eye.
To our left, amongst the trees, a figure suddenly emerged from behind the broad trunk of an ancient oak.
The appearance was so momentary that I could not even say whether it was that of a man or a woman. Whoever it was had evidently caught sight of us at the same instant, for the figure instantly withdrew again behind the shelter of the tree.
I stopped.
"Holmes."
He glanced toward me.
"Did you observe that?"
"What, Watson?"
"There."
I pointed into the darkness.
"Someone was watching us."
Holmes cast the briefest glance in the direction I indicated.
"So it would appear."
"You saw him?"
"I saw movement."
"Should we not investigate?"
To my surprise he merely continued walking.
"I think not."
"But—"
"If anyone is sufficiently interested to observe our arrival," said he calmly, "I see no advantage in disappointing him."
There was something in his tone which discouraged further argument.
I threw one more glance toward the tree, but the mysterious watcher did not again reveal himself, and after a moment I reluctantly followed my companion.
The lights of Northleigh Manor now shone clearly before us.
I naturally supposed we should proceed directly to the principal entrance, but Holmes unexpectedly laid a hand upon my sleeve.
"This way."
Without waiting for an answer, he turned from the drive and struck quietly across the grass.
"The back of the house?" I whispered.
He merely nodded.
I confess that my curiosity was now thoroughly aroused.
Keeping close to the shadows cast by the ancient walls, we made our way around the western side of the manor. No light appeared at these windows, and only the distant murmur of voices, softened by intervening stonework, suggested that the banquet guests had already begun to assemble.
Presently Holmes came to a halt.
"There."
A carriage stood some twenty yards away.
It had been drawn up beside a rear entrance and remained harnessed to a powerful bay horse, whose dark shape was just discernible in the uncertain light. As we watched, the animal gave a quiet snort and pawed impatiently at the ground before settling once more.
"No doubt one of the guests has already arrived," I whispered. "The owner has perhaps preferred to leave his carriage here until the evening is concluded."
Holmes made no reply.
Instead, he stepped silently toward the vehicle.
The carriage door contained a small glass panel. Holmes peered through it for several seconds before motioning me forward.
"Look."
At first I could distinguish nothing beyond vague darkness.
Gradually, however, as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, several objects took shape within.
They were pieces of luggage.
A substantial leather portmanteau occupied one seat. Beside it stood a smaller traveling case, while a rug and other articles had been carefully arranged to prevent them from shifting during a journey.
I looked again.
"There is scarcely room for anyone inside."
"No."
"The passenger compartment is almost full."
"It is."
I turned toward Holmes.
"Then whoever intends to use this carriage can hardly travel within it."
"No."
"There would be room only for the driver upon the box."
Holmes's face remained almost expressionless.
"You observe accurately, Watson."
"But what does it mean?"
For a brief instant there came into his eyes that quiet, inscrutable gleam which I had learned invariably accompanied some conclusion not yet ready for disclosure.
"Perhaps," said he, "we shall know very shortly."
He gently touched my elbow.
"Come."
"To the house?"
"To the front of the house."
Without another word he led the way back into the darkness, leaving both the waiting carriage and its patient horse exactly as we had found them.
Behind us the animal again rubbed one forehoof against the ground, the faint sound following us across the lawn until it was lost beneath the distant murmur of voices from within Northleigh Manor.