"Mr. Douglas was altering the pictures yesterday," he said. "I saw himmyself, standing upon that chair and fixing the big picture above it.That accounts for the hammer."
"We'd best put it back on the rug where we found it," said thesergeant, scratching his puzzled head in his perplexity. "It will wantthe best brains in the force to get to the bottom of this thing. Itwill be a London job before it is finished." He raised the hand lampand walked slowly round the room. "Hullo!" he cried, excitedly, drawingthe window curtain to one side. "What o'clock were those curtainsdrawn?"
"When the lamps were lit," said the butler. "It would be shortly afterfour."
"Someone had been hiding here, sure enough." He held down the light,and the marks of muddy boots were very visible in the corner. "I'mbound to say this bears out your theory, Mr. Barker. It looks as if theman got into the house after four when the curtains were drawn andbefore six when the bridge was raised. He slipped into this room,because it was the first that he saw. There was no other place where hecould hide, so he popped in behind this curtain. That all seems clearenough. It is likely that his main idea was to burgle the house; butMr. Douglas chanced to come upon him, so he murdered him and escaped."
"That's how I read it," said Barker. "But, I say, aren't we wastingprecious time? Couldn't we start out and scour the country before thefellow gets away?"
The sergeant considered for a moment.
"There are no trains before six in the morning; so he can't get away byrail. If he goes by road with his legs all dripping, it's odds thatsomeone will notice him. Anyhow, I can't leave here myself until I amrelieved. But I think none of you should go until we see more clearlyhow we all stand."
The doctor had taken the lamp and was narrowly scrutinizing the body."What's this mark?" he asked. "Could this have any connection with thecrime?"
The dead man's right arm was thrust out from his dressing gown, andexposed as high as the elbow. About halfway up the forearm was acurious brown design, a triangle inside a circle, standing out in vividrelief upon the lard-coloured skin.
"It's not tattooed," said the doctor, peering through his glasses. "Inever saw anything like it. The man has been branded at some time asthey brand cattle. What is the meaning of this?"
"I don't profess to know the meaning of it," said Cecil Barker; "but Ihave seen the mark on
Douglas many times this last ten years."
"And so have I," said the butler. "Many a time when the master hasrolled up his sleeves I have noticed that very mark. I've oftenwondered what it could be."
"Then it has nothing to do with the crime, anyhow," said the sergeant."But it's a rum thing all the same. Everything about this case is rum.Well, what is it now?"
The butler had given an exclamation of astonishment and was pointing atthe dead man's outstretched hand.
"They've taken his wedding ring!" he gasped.
"What!"
"Yes, indeed. Master always wore his plain gold wedding ring on thelittle finger of his left hand. That ring with the rough nugget on itwas above it, and the twisted snake ring on the third finger. There'sthe nugget and there's the snake, but the wedding ring is gone."
"He's right," said Barker.
"Do you tell me," said the sergeant, "that the wedding ring was belowthe other?"
"Always!"
"Then the murderer, or whoever it was, first took off this ring youcall the nugget ring, then the wedding ring, and afterwards put thenugget ring back again."
"That is so!"
The worthy country policeman shook his head. "Seems to me the sooner weget London on to this case the better," said he. "White Mason is asmart man. No local job has ever been too much for White Mason. Itwon't be long now before he is here to help us. But I expect we'll haveto look to London before we are through. Anyhow, I'm not ashamed to saythat it is a deal too thick for the likes of me."
Chapter 4
Darkness
At three in the morning the chief Sussex detective, obeying the urgentcall from Sergeant Wilson of Birlstone, arrived from headquarters in alight dog-cart behind a breathless trotter. By the five-forty train inthe morning he had sent his message to Scotland Yard, and he was at theBirlstone station at twelve o'clock to welcome us. White Mason was aquiet, comfortable-looking person in a loose tweed suit, with aclean-shaved, ruddy face, a stoutish body, and powerful bandy legsadorned with gaiters, looking like a small farmer, a retiredgamekeeper, or anything upon earth except a very favourable specimen ofthe provincial criminal officer.
"A real downright snorter, Mr. MacDonald!" he kept repeating. "We'llhave the pressmen down like flies when they understand it. I'm hopingwe will get our work done before they get poking their noses into itand messing up all the trails. There has been nothing like this that Ican remember. There are some bits that will come home to you, Mr.Holmes, or I am mistaken. And you also, Dr. Watson; for the medicoswill have a word to say before we finish. Your room is at the WestvilleArms. There's no other place; but I hear that it is clean and good. Theman will carry your bags. This way, gentlemen, if you please."
He was a very bustling and genial person, this Sussex detective. In tenminutes we had all found our quarters. In ten more we were seated inthe parlour of the inn and being treated to a rapid sketch of thoseevents which have been outlined in the previous chapter. MacDonald madean occasional note, while Holmes sat absorbed, with the expression ofsurprised and reverent admiration with which the botanist surveys therare and precious bloom.
"Remarkable!" he said, when the story was unfolded, "most remarkable! Ican hardly recall any case where the features have been more peculiar."