Speaker 1: 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