4 A Tour of the House

Chapter 4 A Tour of the House "My dear fellow," Mr. Cunningham protested, "I really can't see how this is necessary." "Please indulge me," said Holmes with his most charming smile. And so, with some reluctance, Mr. Cunningham led us back into the stone-flagged passageway and up a wooden staircase to the first floor. We emerged on a landing opposite a more ornamental stairway that came up from the front hall. Off this landing were the drawing room and several bedrooms, including those of Mr. Cunningham and his son. Holmes walked slowly, noting every little detail. I could tell from his expression that he'd got wind of something, but I didn't have a clue what it might be or where it was leading him.

"That's my room at the top of the stairs, and my son's is the one beyond it. But you can hardly think it possible for the thief to have come up here without us hearing it." "Unless you think we were burgled by a ghost," said his son, with a rather spiteful smile. "I beg your patience for just a little longer," said Holmes. "Would it be possible to check the views from your bedroom windows?" Without waiting for permission, Holmes pushed open the door of Alec's bedroom and strode in. He pointed to another door. "That, I presume, is your dressing room?" He opened the second door and glanced inside.

"I hope you're satisfied now," said Alec through gritted teeth. "Quite satisfied, thank you," said Holmes. "I've seen all I need to here." "Then shall we go into my room?" suggested Mr. Cunningham. "If it's not too much trouble." The old man led the way into his own chamber and on to the window. Holmes fell back until he and I were at the back of the group. Near the foot of the bed stood a bowl of oranges and a jug of water. As we passed it, Holmes, to my utter astonishment, leaned in front of me and deliberately knocked the whole thing over.

The glass jug shattered into a thousand pieces, water soaked the rug, and the fruit bounced and rolled to every corner of the room. "You've done it now, Watson," he said coolly. "Look at the mess you've made." Confused, I stooped and began picking up the fallen oranges. I understood in some vague way that my companion wished me to take the blame for the accident, though I had no idea why. The others helped me, and we soon had the room restored to reasonable order.

"I say, where's Holmes got to?" Colonel Hayter suddenly cried. We looked around. Holmes had disappeared. "That fellow is off his head if you ask me," said Alec Cunningham. "Wait here a moment. Father and I will find him." They rushed from the room, leaving the inspector, the colonel, and me staring at each other. "I must say, I'm inclined to agree with young Master Cunningham," said Forrester. "It may be the effect of his illness, but it seems to me that—"

His words were cut short by a sudden scream of "Help! Help! Murder!" With a chill, I recognized the voice as that of my friend. I dashed out onto the landing. The cries, which had sunk to a hoarse, wordless groaning, were coming from Alec's bedroom. I hurried in and on into the dressing room beyond. I found the two Cunninghams bending over Holmes, who was lying on the floor. Alec was clutching his throat with both hands, while his father was twisting one of his wrists.