The Sussex vampire. Holmes had read carefully a note which the last post had
brought him. Then, with the dry chuckle which was his nearest approach to
a laugh, he tossed it over to me. For a mixture of the
modern and medieval, of the practical, and of the wildly fanciful. I
think this is surely the limit, said he. What do you make of
it? Watson? I read as follows forty six old jewelry November nineteenth regarding
vampires. Sir, our client, mister Robert Ferguson of Ferguson and mirrhead Tea
Brokers of mincing Lane, has made some inquiry from us in a communication of
even date concerning vampires. As our firm specializes entirely upon the assessment of machinery,
the matter hardly comes within our purview, and we have therefore recommended mister
Ferguson to call upon you and lay the matter before you. We have not
forgotten your successful action in the case of Matilda Briggs. We are, sir,
faithfully yours Morrison, Morrison and DoD per E JC. Matilda Briggs was
not the name of a young woman, Watson, said Holmes in a reminiscent
voice. It was a ship which is associated with the giant rat of Sumatra,
a story for which the world is not yet prepared. But what do
we know about vampires? Does it come within our purview? Either anything is
better advanced degnation. But really we seem to have been switched onto a grim's
fairy tale. Make a long arm, Watson, and see what thee has
to say. I leaned down and took down the great index volume to which
he referred Holmes, balanced it on his knee, and his eyes moved slowly
and lovingly over the record of old cases mixed with the accumulated information of a
lifetime voyage of the Gloria Scott. He read, that was a bad business.
I have some recollection that you made a record of it, Watson,
though I was unable to congratulate you upon the result. Victor Lynch, the
forger, venomous lizard, Orgelia, remarkable case of that, the Torah,
the circus bell Vanderbilt, and the Yeggman vipers figure the Hammersmith wonder. Hello,
Hello, good old Index. You can't beat it. Listen to this,
Watson. Vampirism and hungry and again vampires in Transylvania. He turned over
the pages with eagerness, but after a short intent perusal, he threw down
the great book with a snarl of disappointment. Rubbish, Watson, and rubbish.
What have we to do with walking corpses who can only be held in
their grave by stakes driven through their hearts? It's pure lunacy. But surely,
said I, the vampire was not necessarily a dead man. A living
person might have the habit I have read, for example, of the old
sucking the blood of the young in order to retain their youth. You are
right, Watson, it mentions a legend in one of these references. But
are we to give serious attention to such things? This agency stands flat footed
upon the ground, and there it must remain. This world is big enough
for us. No ghosts need apply. I fear that we cannot take mister
Robert Ferguson very seriously. Possibly this note may be from him, and may
throw some light upon what is worrying him. He took up a second letter,
which had lain unnoticed upon the table whilst he had been absorbed with the
first. This he began to read, with a smile of amusement upon his
face. Which gradually faded away into an expression of intense interest and concentration.
When he had finished, he sat for some little time, lost in thought,
with the letter dangling from his fingers. Finally, with a start,
he aroused himself from his reverie. Cheeseman's Lamberley. Where is Lamberley, Watson?
It is in Sussex, south of Horsham, not very far, eh
and achievements. I know that country, Holmes. It is full of old
houses which are named after the men who built them centuries ago. You get
Oddley's and Harvey's and Carraton's. The folks are forgotten, but their names live
in their houses, precisely, said Holmes. Cold It was one of the
peculiarities of his proud, self contained nature, that, though he docketed any
fresh information very quickly and accurately in his brain, he seldom made any acknowledgment
to the giver. I rather fancy we shall know a good deal more about
Cheeseman's Lamberley before we are through. The letter is as I had hoped from
Robert Ferguson. By the way he claims acquaintance with you with me, you
had better read it. He handed the letter across. It was headed with
the address quoted, Dear mister Holmes. It said, I have been recommended
to you by my lawyers, But indeed the matter is so extraordinarily delicate that
it is most difficult to discuss. It concerns a friend for whom I am
acting. This gentleman married some five years ago a Peruvian lady, the daughter
of a Peruvian merchant, whom he had met in connection with the importation of
nitrates. The lady was very beautiful, but the fact of her foreign birth
and of her alien religion always caused a separation of interests and of failings between
husband and wife, so that after a time his love may have cooled toward
her, and he may have come to regard their union as a mistake.
He felt that there were sides of her character which he could never explore or
understand. This was the more painful, as she was as loving a wife
as a man could have, to all appearance, absolutely devoted now from the
point which I will make more plain when we meet. Indeed, this note
is merely to give you a general idea of the situation, and to ascertain
whether you would care to interest yourself in the matter. The lady began to
show carevarious traits quite alien to her ordinary sweet and gentle disposition. The gentleman
had been married twice, and he had one son by the first wife.
This boy was now fifteen, a very charming and affectionate youth, though unhappily
injured through an accident in childhood. Twice the wife was caught in the act
of assaulting this poor lad in the most unprovoked way. Once she struck him
with a stick and left a great wheel on his arm. This was a
small matter, however, compared with her conduct to her own child, a
dear boy just under one year of age. On one occasion, about a
month ago, this child had been left by its nurse for a few minutes.
A loud cry from the baby as of paying called the nurse back.
As she ran into the room, she saw her employer, the lady,
leaning over the baby and apparently sucking his neck. There was a small wound
in the neck from which a stream of blood had escaped. The nurse was
so horrified that she wished to call the husband, but the lady implored her
not to do so, and actually gave her five pounds as a price for
her silence. No explanation was ever given, and for the moment the matter
was passed over. It left, however, a terrible impression upon the nurse's
mind, and from that time she began to watch her mistress closely, and
to keep a closer guard upon the baby, whom she tenderly loved. It
seemed to her that even as she watched the mother, still the mother watched
her, and that every time she was compelled to leave the baby alone,
the mother was waiting to get at it. Day and night the nurse covered
the child, and day and night the silent, watchful mother seemed to be
lying in wait as a wolf waits for a lamb. It must read most
incredible to you, And yet I beg you to take it seriously, for
a child life and a man sandy may depend upon it. At last,
there came one dreadful day when the facts could no longer be concealed from the
husband. The nurse's nerve had given way. She could stand the strain no
longer, and she made a clean breast of it all to the man.
To him, it seemed as wild a tale as it may now seem to
you, he knew his wife to be a loving wife, and save for
an assault upon her stepson, a loving mother, Why then should she wound
her own dear little baby. He told the nurse that she was dreaming,
that her suspicions were those of a lunatic, and that such libels upon her
mistress were not to be tolerated. Whilst they were talking, a sudden cry
of pain was heard. Nurse and master rushed together to the nursery. Imagine
his feelings, mister Holmes, as he saw his wife rise from a kneeling
position beside the cot, and saw blood upon the child's exposed neck and upon
the sheet. With a cry of horror, he turned his wife's face to
the light and saw blood all round her lips. It was she, beyond
all question, who had drunk the poor baby's blood. So the matter stands.
She is now confined in her room. There has been no explanation.
The husband is half demented. He knows, and I know little of vampirism.
Beyond the name. We had thought it was some wild tale of foreign
parts. And yet here in the very heart of the English Sussex. Well,
all this can be discussed with you in the morning. Will you see
me, Will you use your great powers in aiding a distracted man. If
so kindly wired to Ferguson Cheeseman's Lamberley, and I will be at your rooms
by ten o'clock. Yours faithfully, Robert Ferguson. PS. I believe your
friend Watson played rugby for Blackheath when I was free quartered for Richmond. It
is the only personal introduction which I can give. Of course, I remember
him, said I as I laid down the letter. Big Bob Ferguson the
finest free quarter Richmond ever had. He was always a good natured chap.
It is like him to be so concerned over a friend's case. Holmes looked
at me thoughtfully and shook his head. I never get your limits, Watson
said he. There are unexplored possibilities about you. Take a wire down,
like a good fellow. We'll examine your case with pleasure. Your case.
We must not let him think that this agency is a home for the weak
minded. Of course it is his case. Send him that wire and let
the matter rest till morning. Promptly, at ten o'clock the next morning,
sins strode into our room. I had remembered him as a long slabsided man.
With loose limbs and a fine turn of speed, which had carried him
round many and opposing back. There is surely nothing in life more painful than
to meet the reck of a fine athlete whom one has known in his prime.
His great frame had fallen in, his flaxen hair was scanty, and
his shoulders were a bowed. I fear that I roused corresponding emotions in him,
Hello, Watson, said he, and his voice was still deep and
hearty. You don't look quite the man you did when I fee you over
the ropes into the crowd at the Old Deer Park. I expect I have
changed a bit also, but it's this last day or two that has aged
me. I see by your telegram, mister Holmes, that it is no
use my pretending to be anyone's deputy. It is simpler to deal direct,
said Holmes. Of course, but you can imagine how difficult it is when
you are speaking of the one woman whom you are bound to protect and help.
What can I do? How am I to go to the police with
such a story, and yet the kitties have got to be protected? Is
it madness, mister Holmes? Is it something in the blood have you any
similar case in your experience? For God's sake, give me some advice,
for I am at my wits end very naturally, mister Ferguson. Now sit
here and pull yourself together and give me a few clear answers. I can
assure you that I am very far from being at my wits end, and
that I'm confident we shall find some solution. First of all, tell me
what steps you have taken. Is your wife still near the children? We
had a dreadful scene. She is a most loving woman, mister Holmes.
If ever a woman loved a man with all her heart and soul, she
loves me. She was cut to the heart that I should have discovered this
horrible, this incredible secret. She would not even speak. She gave no
answer to my reproaches, save to gaze at me with a sort of wild,
despairing look in her eyes. Then she rushed to her room and locked
herself in. Since then she has refused to see me. She has a
maid who was with her before her marriage, Dolores by name, a friend
rather than a servant. She takes her food to her. Then the child
is in no immediate danger. Missus Mason, the nurse has sworn that she
will not leave it night or day. I can absolutely trust her. I
am more uneasy about poor little Jack, for, as I told you in
my note, he has twice been assaulted by her, but never wounded.
No, she struck him savagely. It is the more terrible as he is
a poor, little, inoffensive cripple. Ferguson's gaunt features softened as he spoke
of his boy. You would think that the dear lad's condition would soften anyone's
heart. A fall in childhood and a twisted spine, mister Holmes, but
the dearest, most loving heart within Holmes had picked up the letter of yesterday
and was reading it over. Whatever inmates are there in your house, mister
Ferguson. Two servants who have not been long with us, One stable hand
Michael, who sleeps in the house, my wife, myself, my boy
Jack, baby Dolores, and missus Mason. That is all I gather.
That you did not know your wife well at the time of your marriage.
I had only known her a few weeks. How long had this made Dolores
been with her some years? Then your wife's character would really be better known
by thes than by you. Yes, you may say so. Holmes made
a note I fancy said, he that I may be of more use at
Lamberley than here. It is evidently a case for personal investigation. If the
lady remains in a room, our presence could not annoy or inconvenience her.
Of course we would stay at the inn. Ferguson gave a gesture of relief.
It is what I hoped, mister Holmes. There is an excellent train
at two from Victoria if you could come. Of course we could come.
There is a law at present. I can give you my undivided energies.
Watson of course comes with us. But there are one or two points upon
which I wish to be very sure before I start. This unhappy lady,
as I understand, it has appeared to assault both the children, her own
baby and your little son. That is so, But the assaults take different
forms, do they not. She has beaten your son once with a stick
and once very savagely with her hands. Did she give no explanation why she
struck him, none, save that she hated him again and again? She
said, so well, that is not unknown among stepmothers. A posthumous jealousy.
We will say, is the lady jealous by nature? Yes, she
is very jealous, jealous with all the strength of her fiery, tropical love.
But the boy, he is fifteen, I understand, and probably very
developed in mind, since his body has been circumscribed in action. Did he
give you no explanation of these assaults? No, he declared there was no
reason. Were they good friends of her times? No, there was never
any love between them. Yet you say he is affectionate. Never in the
world could there be so devoted a son. My life is his life.
He is absorbed in what I say or do. Once again, Holmes made
a note. For some time he sat lost in thought. No doubt you
and the boy were great comrades before this second marriage. You were from very
close together, where you're not very much so. And the boy, having
so affectionate a nature, was devoted, no doubt to the memory of his
mother most devoted. He would certainly seem to be a most interesting lad.
There is one other point about these assaults. Were the strange attacks upon the
baby and the assaults upon your son at the same period. In the first
case, it was so it was as if some frenzy had seized her and
she invented her rage upon both. In the second case, it was only
Jack who suffered. Missus Mason had no complaint to make about the baby.
That certainly complicates matters. I don't quite follow you, mister Holmes. Possibly
not one forms provisional theories and waits for time or fuller knowledge to explode of
them. A bad habit, mister Ferguson. But human nature is weak.
I fear that your old friend here has given an exaggerated view of my scientific
methods. However, I will only say at the present stage that your problem
does not appear to me to be insoluble, and that you may expect to
find us at Victoria at two o'clock. It was evening of a dull,
foggy November day, when having left our bags at the Chaqui Lamberley, we
drove through the Sussex clay of a long winding lane and finally reached the isolated
and ancient farmhouse in which Ferguson dwelt. It was a large, straggling building,
very old in the center, very new at the wings, with towering
Tudor chimneys and a lichen spotted, high pitched roof of Horsham slabs. The
doorsteps were worn into curves, and the ancient titles which lined the porch were
marked with the rebus of a cheese and a man after the original builder.
Within, the ceilings were corrugated with heavy oaken beams, and the uneaten floors
sagged into sharp curves. An odor of age and decay pervaded the whole crumbling
building. There was one very large central room into which Ferguson led us.
Here in a huge old fashioned fireplace with an iron screen behind it, dated
sixteen seventy, There blazed and spluttered a splendid log fire. The room,
as I gazed around, was the most singular mixture of dates and of places.
The half paneled walls may well have belonged to the original Yeoman farmer of
the seventeenth century. They were ornamented, however, on the lower part by
a line of well chosen modern watercolors, while above, where yellow plaster took
the place of oak, there was hung a fine collection of South American utensils
and weapons, which had been brought no doubt by the Peruvian lady upstairs.
Holmes rose with that quick curiosity which sprang from his eager mind, and examined
them with some care. He returned with his eyes full of thought. Hello,
he cried. Hello. A spaniel had lain in a basket in the
corner. It came slowly forward toward its master, walking with difficulty. Its
hind legs moved irregularly, and its tail was on the ground. It licked
Ferguson's hand. What is wrong, mister Holmes? The dog? What's the
matter with it? That's what puzzled the vet. A sort of paralysis,
spinal meningitis, he thought. But it is passing. He'll be all right
soon, won't you, Carlo. A shiver of a scent passed through the
drooping tail. The dog's mournful eyes passed from one of us to the other.
He knew that we were discussing his case. Did it come on suddenly
in a single night? How long ago? It may have been four months
ago? Very remarkable, very suggestive. What do you see in it,
mister Holmes? A comfort information of what I had already thought? For God's
sake? What do you think, mister Holmes? It may be a mere
intellectual puzzle to you, but it is life and death to me. My
wife, A would be murderer, my child, in constant danger. Don't
play with me, mister Holmes, it is too terribly serious. The big
rugby three quarters was trembling all over. Holmes put his hand soothingly upon his
arm. I fear that there is pain for you, mister Ferguson. Whatever
the solution may be, said he. I would spare you all I can.
I cannot say more for the instant, But before I leave this house,
I hope I may have something definite. Please God, you may.
If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will go up to my wife's
room and see if there has been any change. He was away some minutes,
during which Holmes resume his examination of the curiosities upon the wall. When
our host returned, it was clear from his downcast face that he had made
no progress. He brought with him a tall, slim, brown faced girl.
The tea's ready, Dolores, said Ferguson. See that your mistress has
everything she can wish. She vera ill, cried the girl, looking with
indignant eyes at her master. She no ask for food, She vera ill.
She need doctor. I fightened to stay alone with her without doctor.
Ferguson looked at me with a question in his eyes. I should be so
glad if I could be of use. Would your mistress see doctor Watson?
I take him, I ask no leave, she needs doctor, then I'll
come with you. At once. I followed the girl, who was quivering
with strong emotion, up the staircase and down an ancient corridor. At the
end was an iron clamped and massive door. It struck me as I looked
at it that if Ferguson tried to force his way to his wife, he
would find it no easy matter. The girl drew a key from her pocket,
and the heavy oaken planks creaked upon their old hinges. I passed in,
and she swiftly followed, fastening the door behind her. On the bed,
a woman was lying who was clearly in a high fever. She was
only half conscious, but as I entered, she raised a pair of frightened
but beautiful eyes and glared at me in apprehension. Seeing a stranger, she
appeared to be relieved and sank back with a sigh upon the pillow. I
stepped up to her with a few reassuring words, and she lay still while
I took her. Pulse and temperature both were high, and yet my impression
was that the condition was rather that of mental and nervous excitement than of any
actual seizure. She lie like that one day to day. I fraid she
die, said the girl. The woman turned her flushed and handsome face toward
me. Where is my husband? He is below and would wish to see
you. I will not see him. I will not see him. Then
she seemed to wander off into delirium. A fiend, A fiend. Oh
well, what shall I do with this devil? Can I help in any
way? No, no one can help. It is finished, all is
destroyed. Do what I will. All is destroyed. The woman must have
some strange delusion. I could not see honest Bob Ferguson in the character of
fiend or devil. Madam, I said, your husband loves you dearly.
He is deeply grieving at this happening. Again, she turned on me those
glorious eyes. He loves me, yes, But do I not love him?
Do I not love him? Even to sacrifice myself rather than break his
dear heart? That is how I love him. And yet he could think
of me, he could speak of me. So he is full of grief.
But he cannot understand. No, he cannot understand, but he should
trust. Will you not see him? I suggested, No, No,
I cannot forget those terrible words, nor of the look upon his face.
I will not see him. Go now, you can do nothing for me.
Tell him only one thing. I want my child. I have a
right to my child. That is the only message I can send for him.
She turned her face to the wall and would say no more. I
returned to the room downstairs, where Ferguson and Holmes still sat by the fire.
Ferguson listened moodily to my account of the interview. How can I send
her the child? He said? How do I know what strange impulse might
come upon her? How can I ever forget how she rose from beside it
with its blood upon her lips. He shuddered at the recollection. The child
is safe with missus Mason, and there he must remain a smart maid.
The only modern thing which we had seen in the house had brought in some
tea. As she was serving it, the door opened and a youth entered
the room. He was a remarkable lad, pale faced and fair haired,
with excitable, light blue eyes which blazed into a sudden flame of emotion and
joy as they rested upon his father. He rushed forward and threw his arms
around his neck with the abandon of a loving girl. Oh, Daddy,
he cried, I did not know that you were due yet. I should
have been here to meet you. Oh, I am so glad to see
you. Ferguson gently disengaged himself from the embrace with some little show of embarrassment.
Dear old Chap said, he patting the flaxen head with a very tender
hand. I came here early because my friends mister Holmes and doctor Watson have
been persuaded to come down here and spend an evening with us. Is that
mister Holmes, the detective. Yes. The youth looked at us with a
very penetrating and as it seemed to me, unfriendly gaze. What about your
other child, mister Ferguson asked Holmes. Might we make the acquaintance of the
baby? Ask missus Mason to bring the baby down, said Ferguson. The
boy went off with a curious shambling guit, which told my sturgical eyes that
he was suffering from a weak spine. Presently he returned, and behind him
came a tall, gaunt woman bearing in her arms a very beautiful child,
dark eyed, golden haired, a wonderful mixture of the Saxon and the Latin
Ferguson. Was evidently devoted to it, for he took it into his arms
and fondled it most tenderly. Fancy anyone having the heart to hurt him,
he muttered, as he glanced down at the small, angry red pucker upon
the cherub throat. It was at this moment that I chanced to glance at
Holmes and saw a most singular intentness in his expression. His face was as
set as if it had been carved out of old ivory, and his eyes,
which had glanced for a moment at father and child, were now fixed
with eager curiosity upon something at the other side of the room. Following his
gaze, I could only guess that he was looking out through the window at
the melancholy, dripping garden. It is true that a shutter had half closed
outside and obstructed the view, but nonetheless it was certainly at the window that
Holmes was fixing his concentrated attention. Then he smiled, and his eyes came
back to the baby. On its chubby neck. There was this small puckard
mark without speaking, Holmes examined it with care. Finally, he shook one
of the dimpled fists, which waved in front of him. Goodbye, little
man, you have made a strange start in life. Nurse, I should
wish to have a word with you in private. He took her aside and
spoke earnestly for a few minutes. I only heard the last few words,
which were your anxiety will soon, I hope be set at rest. The
woman, who seemed to be a sour, silent kind of creature, withdrew
with the child. What is missus Mason like, asked Holmes. Not very
prepossessing externally as you can see, but a heart of gold and devoted to
the child. Do you like her? Jack Holmes turned suddenly upon the boy.
His expressive mobile face shadowed over, and he shook his head. Jackie
has very strong likes and dislikes, said Ferguson, patting his arm round the
boy. Luckily, I am one of his likes. The boy cooed and
nestled his head upon his father's breast. Ferguson gently disengaged him went away,
Little Jackie, said he and he watched his son with loving eyes until he
disappeared. Now, mister Holmes, he continued, when the boy was gone.
I really feel that I have brought you on a fool's errand for what
can you possibly do save give me your sympathy. It must be an exceedingly
delicate and complex affair. From your point of view. It is certainly delicate,
said my friend, with an amused smile. But I have not been
struck up to now with its complexity. It has been a case for intellectual
deduction. But when this original intellectual deduction is confirmed point by point, by
quite a number of independent incidents, then the subjective becomes objective, and we
can say confidently that we have reached our goal. I had, in fact
reached it before we left Baker Street, and the rest has merely been observation
and confirmation. Ferguson put his big hand on his furrowed forehead. For heaven's
sake, Holmes, he said, hoarsely, if you can see the truth
in this matter, do not keep me in suspense. How do I stand?
What shall I do? I care nothing as to how you have found
your facts, so long as you have really got them, Certainly I owe
you an explanation, and you shall have it, but you will permit me
to handle the matter in my own way. Is the lady capable of seeing
us, Watson? She is ill? Oh, but she is quite rational,
very good. It is only in her presence that we can clear the
matter up. Let us go up to her. She will not see me,
cried Ferguson. Oh yes she will, said Holmes. He scribbled a
few lines upon a sheet of paper. You at least have the entray,
Watson, Will you have the goodness to give the lady this note? I
ascended again and handed the note to Dolores, who cautiously opened the door.
A minute later I heard a cry from within, a cry in which joy
and surprise seemed to be blended. Dolores looked out. She will see them,
she will, Leston said she at my summons. Ferguson and Holmes came
up. As we entered the room. Ferguson took a step or two toward
his wife, who had raised herself in the bed, but she held out
her hand to a pulse him. He sank into an armchair, while Holmes
seated himself beside him. After bowing to the lady, who looked at him
with wide eyed amazement, I think we can dispense with Dolores, said Holmes.
Oh very well, madam, if you would rather she stayed, I
can see no objection now, mister Ferguson. I am a busy man with
many calls, and my methods have to be short and direct. The swiftest
surgery is the least painful. Let me first say what will ease your mind.
Your wife is a very good, very loving, and very ill used
woman. Ferguson sat up with a cry of joy. Prove that, mister
Holmes, and I am your debtor forever. I will do so, but
in doing so I must wound you deeply in another direction. I care nothing
so long as you clear my wife. Everything on earth is insignificant compared to
that. Let me tell you then, the train of reasoning which passed through
my mind in Baker Street. The idea of a vampire was to me absurd.
Such things do not happen in criminal practice in England. And yet your
observation was precise. You had seen the lady rise from beside the child's caught,
with the blood upon her lips. I did did it not occur to
you that a bleeding wound may be sucked for some other purpose than to draw
the blood from it? Was there not a queen in English history who sucked
such a wound to draw poison from it? Poison a South American household.
My instinct felt the presence of those weapons upon the wall before my eyes ever
saw them. It might have been over poisoned, but that was what occurred
to me when I saw that little empty quiver beside the small bird bough.
It was just what I expected to see. If the child were pricked with
one of those arrows dipped in or some other devilous drug, it would mean
death if the venom were not sucked out, and the dog. If one
were to use such a poison, would one not try first in order to
see that it had not lost its power? I did not foresee the dog,
but I at least understood him, and he fitted into my reconstruction.
Now do you understand your wife feared such an attack. She saw it and
saved the child's life, And yet she shrank from telling you all the truth,
for she knew how you loved the boy, and feared lest it break
your heart. Jackie. I watched him as he fondled the child. Just
now. His face was clearly reflected in the glass of the window, where
the shutter formed a background. I saw such jealousy, such cruel hatred,
as I have seldom seen in a human face. My Jackie. You have
to face it, mister Ferguson. It is the more painful because it is
a distorted love. A maniac will exaggerated love for you and possibly for his
dead mother, which has prompted his action. His very soul is consumed with
hatred for this splendid child, whose health and beauty are a contrast to his
own weakness. Good God, it is incredible. Have I spoken the truth?
Madam? The lady was sobbing, with her face buried in the pillows.
Now she turned to her husband. How could I tell you, Bob,
I felt the blow it would be to you. It was better that
I should wait, and that it should come from some other lips than mine.
When this gentleman, who seems to have powers of magic wrote that he
knew all, I was glad. I think a year at sea would be
my prescription for Master Jackie, said Holmes, rising from his chair. Only
one thing is still clouded, madam. We can quite understand your attacks upon
Master Jackie. There is a limit to a mother's patience. But how to
be dare to leave the child these last two days? I had told missus
Mason. She knew exactly so I imagined Ferguson was standing by the bed,
choking, his hands outstretched and quivering this. I fancy is the time for
our exit, Watson, said Holmes in a whisper. If you will take
one elbow of the two faithful dolores, I will take the other. There
now, he added, as he closed the door behind him, I think
we may leave them to settle the rest among themselves. I have only one
further note of this case. It is the letter which Holmes wrote in final
answer to that with which the narrative began. It ran Thus Guarding Vampires,
Baker Street, November twenty first, Sir, referring to your letter of the
nineteenth, I beg to state that I have looked into the inquiry of your
client, mister Robert Ferguson of Ferguson and Muirhead Tee Brokers of Mincing Lane,
and that the matter has been brought to a satisfactory conclusion. With thanks for
your recommendation, I am, sir, faithfully yours Sherlock Holmes, and of
the Sussex Vampire by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle