l feet upon the muddy path. "halloa! stop
a minute! who's this in the bush?"
it was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an
ostler, with leather cords and gaiters. he lay upon his
back, his knees drawn up, a terrible cut upon his head.
he was insensible, but alive. a glance at his wound told
me that it had not penetrated the bone.
"that's peter, the groom," cried the stranger. "he drove
her. the beasts have pulled him off and clubbed him. let
him lie; we can't do him any good, but we may save her from
the worst fate that can befall a woman."
we ran frantically down the path, which wound among the
trees. we had reached the shrubbery which surrounded the
house when holmes pulled up.
"they didn't go to the house. here are their marks on the
left -- here, beside the laurel bushes! ah, i said so!"
as he spoke a woman's shrill scream -- a scream which
vibrated with a frenzy of horror -- burst from the thick
green clump of bushes in front of us. it ended suddenly on
its highest note with a choke and a gurgle.
"this way! this way! they are in the bowling alley,"
cried the stranger, darting through the bushes. "ah, the
cowardly dogs! follow me, gentlemen! too late! too late!
by the living jingo!"
we had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of greensward
surrounded by ancient trees. on the farther side of it,
under the shadow of a mighty oak, there stood a singular
group of three people. one was a woman, our client,
drooping and faint, a handkerchief round her mouth.
opposite her stood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-moustached
young man, his gaitered legs parted wide, one arm akimbo,
the other waving a riding-crop, his whole attitude
suggestive of triumphant bravado. between them an elderly,
grey-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light
tweed suit, had evidently just completed the wedding
service, for he pocketed his prayer-book as we appeared and
slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the back in jovial
congratulation.
"they're married!" i gasped.
"come on!" cried our guide; "come on!" he rushed across
the glade, holmes and i at his heels. as we approached,
the lady staggered against the trunk of the tree for
support. williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowed to us with
mock politeness, and the bully woodley advanced with a
shout of brutal and exultant laughter.
"you can take your beard off, bob," said he. "i know you
right enough. well, you and your pals have just come in
time for me to be able to introduce you to mrs. woodley."
our guide's answer was a singular one. he snatched off the
dark beard which had disguised him and threw it on the
ground, disclosing a long, sallow, clean-shaven face below
it. then he raised his revolver and covered the young
ruffian, who was advancing upon him with his dangerous
riding-crop swinging in his hand.
"yes," said our ally, "i _am_ bob carruthers, and i'll see
this woman righted if i have to swing for it. i told you
what i'd do if you molested her, and, by the lord, i'll be
as good as my word!"
"you're too late. she's my wife!"
"no, she's your widow."
his revolver cracked, and i saw the blood spurt from the
front of woodley's waistcoat. he spun round with a scream
and fell upon his back, his hideous red face turning
suddenly to a dreadful mottled pallor. the old man, still
clad in his surplice, burst into such a string of foul
oaths as i have never heard, and pulled out a revolver of
his own, but before he could raise it he was looking down
the barrel of holmes's weapon.
"enough of this," said my friend, coldly. "drop that
pistol! watson, pick it up! hold it to his head! thank
you. you, carruthers, give me that revolver. we'll have
no more violence. come, hand it over!"
"who are you, then?"
"my name is sherlock holmes."
"good lord!"
"you have heard of me, i see. i will represent the
official police until their arrival. here, you!" he
shouted to a frightened groom who had appeared at the edge
of the glade. "come here. take this note as hard as you
can ride to farnham." he scribbled a few words upon a leaf
from his note-book. "give it to the superintendent at the
police-station. until he comes i must detain you all under
my personal custody."
the strong, masterful personality of holmes dominated the
tragic scene, and all were equally puppets in his hands.
williamson and carruthers found themselves carrying the
wounded woodley into the house, and i gave my arm to the
frightened girl. the injured man was laid on his bed, and
at holmes's request i examined him. i carried my report to
where he sat in the old tapestry-hung dining-room with his
two prisoners before him.
"he will live," said i.
"what!" cried carruthers, springing out of his chair.
"i'll go upstairs and finish him first. do you tell me
that that girl, that ange