The Moor - Laurie R. King [13]
He did not admit defeat, but merely applied another match to his pipe and resumed the previous topic. "You must study the maps at the earliest opportunity. Watern Tor, since you do not know, is in a remote area in the northern portion of the moor. Gorton was seen there, heading west, on a Saturday evening, yet on the following Monday morning, thirty-six hours later, he was found miles away in the opposite direction, passed out in a drunken stupor in a rain-swollen leat on the southern reaches. He had a great lump on the back of his head and bog weeds in his hair, although there are no bogs in the part of the moor where he was found. He died a few hours later of his injuries and a fever, muttering all the while about his long, silent ride in Lady Howard's carriage. He also said," Holmes added in the driest of voices, "that Lady Howard had a huge black dog."
"Huh," I grunted. "And did the dog have glowing eyes?"
"Gorton neglected to say, and he was in no condition to respond to questions. There was one further and quite singular piece of testimony, however."
I eyed him warily, mistrusting the sudden jauntiness of his manner. "Oh yes?"
"Yes. The farmer who found Gorton, and the farmer's strapping son who helped carry the old miner to the house and fetched a doctor, both swear that in the soft ground beside the body, there were clear marks pressed firmly into the earth." I was hit by a cold jolt of apprehension. "The two men have become fixtures in the Saracen's Head, telling and retelling the story of how they found Gorton's body surrounded by—"
"No! Oh no, Holmes, please." I put up my hand to stop his words, unable to bear what I could hear coming, a thundering evocation of one of the most extravagant phrases Conan Doyle ever employed. "Please, please don't tell me that 'on the ground beside the body, Mr Holmes, there were the footprints of a gigantic hound.' "
He removed his pipe from his mouth and stared at me. "What on earth are you talking about, Russell? I admit that I occasionally indulge in a touch of the dramatic, but surely you can't believe me as melodramatic as that."
I drew a relieved breath and settled back in my chair. "No, I suppose not. Forgive me, Holmes. Do continue."
"No," he continued, putting the stem of his pipe back into place. "I do not believe it would be possible to distinguish a hound's spoor from that of an ordinary dog—not without a stretch of ground showing the animal's loping stride. These were simply a confusion of prints."
"Do you mean to tell me…" I began slowly.
"Yes, Russell. There on the ground beside the body of Josiah Gorton were found"—he paused to hold out his pipe and gaze in at the bowl, which seemed to me to be drawing just fine, before finishing the phrase—"the footprints of a very large dog."
I dropped my head into my hands and left it there for a long time while my husband sucked in quiet satisfaction at his pipe.
"Holmes," I said.
"Yes, Russell."
"I am going to bed."
"A capital idea," he replied.
And so we did.
THREE
Oh! these architects! how I detest them for the mischief they have done. I should like to cut off their hands.
—Further Reminiscences
It rained all that night, a quiet, steady rhythm that soothed me into a sleep so sound that, although I woke briefly in the early morning to the click and murmur of hot water pushing its way through cold radiator pipes, I went back to sleep, and did not wake fully until nearly eight o'clock. Finding to my satisfaction that the dawn noises had not been an hallucination, I bathed and dressed—in trousers, despite my host's sensibilities—and put up my hair, before making my way downstairs.
At the foot of the stairs I paused and listened. The old house was content in its restored warmth but utterly silent; I could not even hear the rain. I took the opportunity to explore the various rooms we had bypassed the night before, finding, among other things, an airy, light-blue-and-white