Sherlock Holmes had listened with the utmost intentness to thestatement of the unhappy schoolmaster. His drawn brows and thedeep furrow between them showed that he needed no exhortationto concentrate all his attention upon a problem which, apartfrom the tremendous interests involved must appeal so directlyto his love of the complex and the unusual. He now drew out hisnotebook and jotted down one or two memoranda.
“You have been very remiss in not coming to me sooner,” saidhe, severely. “You start me on my investigation with a very serioushandicap. It is inconceivable, for example, that this ivy and thislawn would have yielded nothing to an expert observer.”
“I am not to blame, Mr. Holmes. His Grace was extremelydesirous to avoid all public scandal. He was afraid of his familyunhappiness being dragged before the world. He has a deep horrorof anything of the kind.”
“But there has been some official investigation?”
“Yes, sir, and it has proved most disappointing. An apparentclue was at once obtained, since a boy and a young man werereported to have been seen leaving a neighbouring station by anearly train. Only last night we had news that the couple had beenhunted down in Liverpool, and they prove to have no connectionwhatever with the matter in hand. Then it was that in my despairand disappointment, after a sleepless night, I came straight to youby the early train.”
“I suppose the local investigation was relaxed while this falseclue was being followed up?”
“It was entirely dropped.”
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“So that three days have been wasted. The affair has been mostdeplorably handled.”
“I feel it and admit it.”
“And yet the problem should be capable of ultimate solution. Ishall be very happy to look into it. Have you been able to trace anyconnection between the missing boy and this German master?”
“None at all.”
“Was he in the master’s class?”
“No, he never exchanged a word with him, so far as I know.”
“That is certainly very singular. Had the boy a bicycle?”
“No.”
“Was any other bicycle missing?”
“No.”
“Is that certain?”
“Quite.”
“Well, now, you do not mean to seriously suggest that thisGerman rode off upon a bicycle in the dead of the night, bearingthe boy in his arms?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then what is the theory in your mind?”
“The bicycle may have been a blind. It may have been hiddensomewhere, and the pair gone off on foot.”
“Quite so, but it seems rather an absurd blind, does it not? Werethere other bicycles in this shed?”
“Several.”
“Would he not have hidden a couple, had he desired to give theidea that they had gone off upon them?”
“I suppose he would.”
“Of course he would. The blind theory won’t do. But theincident is an admirable starting-point for an investigation. Afterall, a bicycle is not an easy thing to conceal or to destroy. Oneother question. Did anyone call to see the boy on the day beforehe disappeared?”
“No.”
“Did he get any letters?”
“Yes, one letter.”
“From whom?”
“From his father.”
“Do you open the boys’ letters?”
“No.”
“How do you know it was from the father?”
“The coat of arms was on the envelope, and it was addressedin the Duke’s peculiar stiff hand. Besides, the Duke remembershaving written.”
“When had he a letter before that?”
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“Not for several days.”
“Had he ever one from France?”
“No, never.
“You see the point of my questions, of course. Either the boywas carried off by force or he went of his own free will. In thelatter case, you would expect that some prompting from outsidewould be needed to make so young a lad do such a thing. If he hashad no visitors, that prompting must have come in letters; hence Itry to find out who were his correspondents.”
“I fear I cannot help you much. His only correspondent, so faras I know, was his own father.”
“Who wrote to him on the very day of his disappearance. Werethe relations between father and son very friendly?”
“His Grace is never very friendly with anyone. He is completelyimmersed in large public questions, and is rather inaccessible to allordinary emotions. But he was always kind to the boy in his ownway.”
“But the sympathies of the latter were with the mother?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say so?”
“No.”
“The Duke, then?”
“Good heaven, no!”
“Then how could you know?”
“I have had some confidential talks with Mr. James Wilder, hisGraces secretary. It was he who gave me the information aboutLord Saltire’s feelings.”
“I see. By the way, that last letter of the Dukes—was it found inthe boy’s room after he was gone?”
“No, he had taken it with him. I think, Mr. Holmes, it is timethat we were leaving for Euston.”
“I will order a four-wheeler. In a quarter of an hour, we shall be atyour service. If you are telegraphing home, Mr. Huxtable, it wouldbe well to allow the people in your neighbourhood to imagine thatthe inquiry is still going on in Liverpool, or wherever else that redherring led your pack. In the meantime I will do a little quiet workat your own doors, and perhaps the scent is not so cold but thattwo old hounds like Watson and myself may get a sniff of it.”
That evening found us in the cold, bracing atmosphere of thePeak country, in which Dr. Huxtable’s famous school is situated.
It was already dark when we reached it. A card was lying on thehall table, and the butler whispered something to his master, whoturned to us with agitation in every heavy feature.
“The Duke is here,” said he. “The Duke and Mr. Wilder are inthe study. Come, gentlemen, and I will introduce you.”
