3 The Scene of the Crime

Chapter 3 The Scene of the Crime We passed through the gates of the Cunningham estate. After passing the lodge where Keegan had lived, we walked up an oak-lined avenue to the old house. Holmes and Forrester led us around the house until we came to a side door guarded by a constable. A stretch of lawn lay between here and the hedge bordering the property. "This is where the fight between Keegan and the murderer took place," said Holmes. "Please open the door." The constable did so, and Holmes pointed to a staircase within. "It was on those stairs that young Alec Cunningham stood and saw the two men struggling."

Then Holmes pointed upward. "Meanwhile, old Mr. Cunningham was at that window—the second from the left—and he saw the fellow escape across the lawn." Holmes now turned and indicated a small break in the hedge. "That's where he saw him push through to the road. The ground is very hard, unfortunately, so there are no footprints to guide us." As Holmes spoke, two men came around the corner of the house. One was elderly with a deep- lined face and heavy eyes. The other was a dashing young man with a cheerful smile. They had to be the Cunninghams.

"Still working on the mystery then?" Alec said to Holmes. "I thought you Londoners were supposed to be a smart lot. You don't seem to be so very quick after all." "Ah, you must give us a little more time," said Holmes good-naturedly. "By all means," said Alec, "though I don't see that the burglar left you any clues at all." "Actually, there is one," said Forrester. "If we could only find—Good heavens, Mr. Holmes! What's the matter?" My friend had, without warning, collapsed face first on the ground. I rushed to his side.

"Holmes, what's the matter?" He uttered only a deep groan in response. Horrified by the suddenness and seriousness of the attack, we carried him into the kitchen and laid him in a large chair. Here, he sat for a few minutes until he could speak again. "Watson will tell you that I've only just recovered from a severe illness," he explained. "I'm afraid I'm still vulnerable to these sudden nervous attacks." "Would you like a ride home in my trap?" offered old Cunningham. Holmes shook his head and rose to his feet. His recovery seemed as swift as his collapse.

"While I'm here," he said, "I should like to put a new theory to you." "By all means," said Mr. Cunningham. "Do you think it's possible that the burglar had already been in the house when he had his confrontation with your coachman, William Keegan? We all seem to have assumed that, although the door was forced, the robber never got in. But how can we be sure of that?" "It's obvious to me that he didn't get inside the house," said Mr. Cunningham. "My son Alec hadn't yet gone to bed, and he would certainly have heard anyone moving about downstairs." "Where were you exactly?" Holmes asked Alec. "I was reading in my dressing room." "Which window is that?" "The last one on the left, next to my father's." "And the lamps in your dressing room and bedroom were both lit?" "Of course."

"Do you not find it extraordinary that a burglar—one with previous experience, let's not forget—would break into a house at a time when he could see from the lights that members of the family were still up and about?" "He must have been a daring fellow," said Alec. "As for your idea that he robbed the house before William tackled him, I find that absurd. Wouldn't we have found the place in a mess, with things missing?" "It depends on what the things were," said Holmes. "Remember, we are dealing with a very