Страница 7 из 162
"Yes," Holmes said. "Leverage. A good word." He leaned out into the rain. "Stop short, driver!" he cried. "We've not quite done!"
"As you say, guv'nor," the driver returned, "but it's devilish wet out here."
"And you'll go with enough in your pocket to make your i
"Absolutely not. It was on his desk, near his body."
"Four excellent suspects! Servants need not apply… or so it seems now. Finish quickly, Lestrade-the final circumstances, and the locked room."
Lestrade complied, consulting his notes from time to time. A month previous, Lord Hull had observed a small black spot on his right leg, directly behind the knee. The family doctor was called. His diagnosis was gangrene, an unusual but far from rare result of gout and poor circulation. The doctor told him the leg would have to come off, and well above the site of the infection.
Lord Hull laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks. The doctor, who had expected any reaction but this, was struck speechless. "When they stick me in my coffin, sawbones," Hull said, "it will be with both legs still attached, thank you very much."
The doctor told him that he sympathized with Lord Hull's wish to keep his leg, but that without amputation he would be dead in six months, and he would spend the last two in exquisite pain. Lord Hull asked the doctor what his chances of survival should be if he were to undergo the operation. He was still laughing, Lestrade said, as though it were the best joke he had ever heard. After some hemming and hawing, the doctor said the odds were even.
"Bunk," said I.
"Exactly what Lord Hull said," Lestrade replied, "except he used a term more often used in dosses than in drawing-rooms."
Hull told the doctor that he himself reckoned his chances at no better than one in five. "As to the pain, I don't think it will come to that," he went on, "as long as there's laudanum and a spoon to stir it with in stumping distance."
The next day, Hull finally sprang his nasty surprise-that he was thinking of changing his will. Just how he did not immediately say.
"Oh?" Holmes said, looking at Lestrade from those cool gray eyes that saw so much. "And who, pray, was surprised?"
"None of them, I should think. But you know human nature, Holmes; how people hope against hope."
"And how some plan against disaster," Holmes said dreamily.
This very morning Lord Hull had called his family into the parlour, and when all were settled, he performed an act few testators are granted, one which is usually performed by the wagging tongues of their solicitors after their own have been forever silenced. In short, he read them his new will, leaving the balance of his estate to Mrs. Hemphill's wayward pussies. In the silence which followed he rose, not without difficulty, and favoured them all with a death's-head grin. And leaning over his cane, he made the following declaration, which I find as astoundingly vile now as I did when Lestrade recounted it to us in that hackney cab: "So! All is fine, is it not? Yes, very fine! You have served me quite faithfully, woman and boys, for some forty years. Now I intend, with the clearest and most serene conscience imaginable, to cast you hence. But take heart! Things could be worse! If there was time, the pharaohs had their favourite pets-cats, for the most part-killed before they died, so the pets might be there to welcome them into the afterlife, to be kicked or petted there, at their masters' whims, forever… and forever… and forever." Then he laughed at them. He leaned over his cane and laughed from his doughy, dying face, the new will-properly signed and properly witnessed, as all of them had seen-clutched in one claw of a hand.
William rose and said, "Sir, you may be my father and the author of my existence, but you are also the lowest creature to crawl upon the face of the earth since the serpent tempted Eve in the Garden."
"Not at all!" the old monster returned, still laughing. "I know four lower. Now, if you will pardon me, I have some important papers to put away in my safe… and some worthless ones to burn in the stove."
"He still had the old will when he confronted them?" Holmes asked. He seemed more interested than startled.
"Yes."
"He could have burned it as soon as the new one was signed and witnessed," Holmes mused. "He had all the previous afternoon and evening to do so. But he didn't, did he? Why not? How say you on that question, Lestrade?"
"He hadn't had enough of teasing them even then, I suppose. He was offering them a chance-a temptation-he believed all would refuse."
"Perhaps he believed one of them would not refuse," Holmes said. "Hasn't that idea at least crossed your mind?" He turned his head and searched my face with the momentary beam of his brilliant-and somehow chilling-regard. "Either of your minds? Isn't it possible that such a black creature might hold out such a temptation, knowing that if one of his family were to succumb to it and put him out of his misery-Stephen seems most likely from what you say-that one might be caught… and swing for the crime of patricide?"
I stared at Holmes in silent horror.
"Never mind," Holmes said. "Go on, Inspector-it's time for the locked room to make its appearance, I believe."
The four of them had sat in paralyzed silence as the old man made his long, slow way up the corridor to his study. There were no sounds but the thud of his cane, the laboured rattle of his breathing, the plaintive miaow of a cat in the kitchen, and the steady beat of the pendulum in the parlour clock. Then they heard the squeal of hinges as Hull opened his study door and stepped inside.
"Wait!" Holmes said sharply, sitting forward. "No one actually saw him go in, did they?"
"I'm afraid that's not so, old chap," Lestrade returned. "Mr. Oliver Stanley, Lord Hull's valet, had heard Lord Hull's progress down the hall. He came from Hull 's dressing chamber, went to the gallery railing, and called down to ask if all was well. Hull looked up- Stanley saw him as plainly as I see you right now, old fellow-and said all was absolutely tip-top. Then he rubbed the back of his head, went in, and locked the study door behind him.
"By the time his father had reached the door (the corridor is quite long and it may have taken him as much as two minutes to make his way up it unaided) Stephen had shaken off his stupor and had gone to the parlour door. He saw the exchange between his father and his father's man. Of course Lord Hull was back-to, but Stephen heard his father's voice and described the same characteristic gesture: Hull rubbing the back of his head."
"Could Stephen Hull and this Stanley fellow have spoken before the police arrived?" I asked-shrewdly, I thought.
"Of course they could," Lestrade said wearily. "They probably did. But there was no collusion."
"You feel sure of that?" Holmes asked, but he sounded uninterested.
"Yes. Stephen Hull would lie very well, I think, but Stanley would do it very badly. Accept my professional opinion or not, just as you like, Holmes."
"I accept it."
So Lord Hull passed into his study, the famous locked room, and all heard the click of the lock as he turned the key-the only key there was to that sanctum sanctorum. This was followed by a more unusual sound: the bolt being drawn across.
Then, silence.
The four of them-Lady Hull and her sons, so shortly to be blue-blooded paupers-looked at one another in similar silence. The cat miaowed again from the kitchen and Lady Hull said in a distracted voice that if the housekeeper wouldn't give that cat a bowl of milk, she supposed she must. She said the sound of it would drive her mad if she had to listen to it much longer. She left the parlour. Moments later, without a word among them, the three sons also left. William went to his room upstairs, Stephen wandered into the music room, and Jory went to sit upon a bench beneath the stairs where, he had told Lestrade, he had gone since earliest childhood when he was sad or had matters of deep difficulty to think over.