The Reigate Puzzle - Page 2

On the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the
Colonel's gun-room after dinner, Holmes stretched upon
the sofa, while Hayter and I looked over his little
armory of Eastern weapons.

"By the way," said he suddenly, "I think I'll take one
of these pistols upstairs with me in case we have an
alarm."

"An alarm!" said I.

"Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately. Old
Acton, who is one of our county magnates, had his
house broken into last Monday. No great damage done,
but the fellows are still at large."

"No clue?" asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the
Colonel.

"None as yet. But the affair is a pretty one, one of
our little country crimes, which must seem too small
for your attention, Mr. Holmes, after this great
international affair."

Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile
showed that it had pleased him.

"Was there any feature of interest?"

"I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library and
got very little for their pains. The whole place was
turned upside down, drawers burst open, and presses
ransacked, with the result that an odd volume of
Pope's 'Homer,' two plated candlesticks, an ivory
letter-weight, a small oak barometer, and a ball of
twine are all that have vanished."

"What an extraordinary assortment!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of everything
they could get."

Holmes grunted from the sofa.

"The county police ought to make something of that,"
said he; "why, it is surely obvious that--"

But I held up a warning finger.

"You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For
Heaven's sake don't get started on a new problem when
your nerves are all in shreds."

Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic
resignation towards the Colonel, and the talk drifted
away into less dangerous channels.

It was destined, however, that all my professional
caution should be wasted, for next morning the problem
obtruded itself upon us in such a way that it was
impossible to ignore it, and our country visit took a
turn which neither of us could have anticipated. We
were at breakfast when the Colonel's butler rushed in
with all his propriety shaken out of him.

"Have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped. "At the
Cunningham's sir!"

"Burglary!" cried the Colonel, with his coffee-cup in
mid-air.

"Murder!"

The Colonel whistled. "By Jove!" said he. "Who's
killed, then? The J.P. or his son?"

"Neither, sir. It was William the coachman. Shot
through the heart, sir, and never spoke again."

"Who shot him, then?"

"The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and got
clean away.