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I stood transfixed, until I heard Holmes's rare dry laughter.
"Well, Watson, and have you never heard such a noise?"
Miss Caston in her turn also suddenly began laughing, although she seemed quite shaken.
"A fox, Watson. It was a fox."
"But in God's name, Holmes-it seemed to go up through the air-"
"Through the wall, no doubt, and up into the roof."
I sat and poured myself another glass of brandy. Holmes, as almost always, was quite right. A fox has an unca
"Why not?" said Holmes. "White foxes sometimes occur hereabouts, so we have learnt from Mrs. Castle, and from Derwent's book. Besides, in this case, someone has made sure a white fox is present. Before we left London, I made an inquiry of Messrs Samps and Brown, the eccentric furriers in Kempton Street, who deal in such rarities. They advised me that a live albino fox had been purchased through them, a few months ago."
"By whom?" I asked.
"By a man who was clearly the agent of another, a curious gentleman, very much muffled up and, alas, so far untraceable." Holmes looked directly at Miss Caston. "I think you can never have read all the papers which your aunt left you. Or you would be aware of three secret passages which run through this house. None is very wide or high, but they were intended to conceal men at times of religious or political unrest, and are not impassable."
"Mr. Holmes, I have said, I never bothered much with the papers. Do you mean that someone is hiding-in my very walls?"
"Certainly the white fox has made its earth there. No doubt encouraged to do so by a trail of meat stolen from the larder."
"What is this persecutor's aim?" she demanded fiercely. "To frighten me away?"
"Rather more than that, I think," said Holmes, laconically.
"And there is a man involved?"
"It would seem so, Miss Caston, would you not say?"
She rose and moved slowly to the hearth. There she stood in graceful profile, gazing at the shield above the fireplace.
"Am I," she said at last, "surrounded by enemies?"
"No, Miss Caston," I replied. "We are here."
"What should I do?"
Holmes said, "Perhaps you should think very clearly, Miss Caston, delve into the library of your mind, and see what can be found there."
"Then I will." She faced him. She was not beseeching, more proud. "But you mean to save me, Mr. Holmes?"
He showed no expression. His eyes had turned black as two jets in the lamplight. "I will save whomever I can, Miss Caston, that deserves it. But never rate me too highly. I am not infallible."
She averted her head suddenly, as if at a light blow. "But you are one of the greatest men living."
So saying, and without bidding us good night, she gathered her skirts and left the room. Holmes got up, and walked to the fire, into which he cast the butt of his cigar.
"Watson, did you bring your revolver?"
"Of course I did."
"That is just as well."
"Tomorrow is Christmas Eve," I said, "according to the story, the last day of the Gall."
"Hmm." He knocked lightly on the wall, producing a hollow note. "One of the passages runs behind this wall, Watson, and up into the attics, I am sure. The other two I have not yet been able to locate, since the plans are old and hardly to be deciphered. Just like the postmark on the letter sent to Miss Caston. Did you notice, by the by, Watson, that although the envelope had been wetted and so conveniently smudged, no moisture penetrated to the letter itself?"
I too tossed my cigar butt into the flames.
"Fires have the look of Hell, do you think, Watson? Is Hell cheerful after all, for the malign ones cast down there?"
"You seem depressed. And you spoke to her as if the case might be beyond you."
"Did I, old man? Well, there must be one or two matches I lose. I am not, as I said, infallible."
Leaving me amazed, he vacated the room, and soon after I followed him. In my well-appointed bedchamber, I fell into a restless sleep, and woke with first light, uneasy and perplexed.
5
I now acknowledged that Holmes was keeping back from me several elements of the puzzle he was grappling with. This was not the first occasion when he had done so, nor would it be the last. Though I felt the exclusion sharply, I knew he would have reasons for it, which seemed wise to him, at least.
However, I checked my revolver before breakfast. Going downstairs, I found I would eat my toast and drink my coffee alone. Miss Caston, as yesterday, was above, and Holmes had gone off, Vine grudgingly told me, on his own errands.
I amused myself as I could, examining the old swords, and finding a distinct lack of newspapers, tried the books in the library. They proved too heavy for my present scope of concentration.
About noon, Holmes returned, shaking the snow off his coat and hat. A blizzard was blowing up, the white flakes whirling, hiding the lawns, trees and fields beyond the windows. We went into the dining room.
"Read this," said Holmes, thrusting a telegram into my hands. I read it. It came from the firm of Samps and Brown, Furriers to the Discerning. A white fox had been purchased through their auspices on 15th October, and delivered to the care of a Mr. Smith.
"But Holmes, this was the very information you relayed last night."
"Just so. It was the information I expected to get today. But the telegram was kept for me at Chislehurst Village."
"Then why-"
"I gambled for once on its being a fact. I dearly wanted to see how Miss Caston would take it."
"It frightened her, Holmes, I have no doubt. What else?"
"Oh, did it frighten her? She kept a cool head."
"She is brave and self-possessed."
"She is a schemer."
He shocked me. I took a moment to find words. "Why on earth do you say so?"
"Watson, I despair of you. A lady's charms can disarm you utterly. And she well knows that, I think."
"She speaks more highly of you," I angrily asserted.
"I am sure that she does, which is also a way of disarming you, my dear fellow. Sit down, and listen to me. No, not there, this chair, I suggest, away from the fire."
I obeyed him. "You believe someone listens in the secret passage behind the wall there?"
"I think it possible. But this is a peculiar business and certainly its heroine has got me into a mode of distrust."
We sat down, and Holmes began to talk: "Miss Caston came to us, Watson, well-versed in all your tales of my work, inaccurate and embellished as they are. She brought with her the legend of the Caston Gall, which legend seems to be real enough, in as much as it exists in Derwent and elsewhere. Four Caston women, widows or spinsters, have apparently died here on one of the five days before Christmas. But the causes of Miss Caston's recent alarm-the writing in the snow, the number on the wall, the warning letter, the white fox-all these things have been achieved, I now suppose, by the lady herself."
"You will tell me how."
"I will. She had easy access to the letters and documents of her aunt, and herself cut out the words, using different implements, and pasting them on a sheet of cheap paper which may be come on almost anywhere. She was impatient, it is true, and used the word 'our' where 'out' eluded her. In her impatience, too, she hired some low person of no imagination to procure the fox and bring it here-Mr. Smith, indeed. Then she herself took cold meat from the larder to lure the animal to a tenancy inside the passageway, where it has since been heard scratching and ru