THE PROBLEM OF THOR BRIDGE

One morning in October, when I came down to breakfast, I found that my friend Sherlock Holm­es looked particularly bright and joyous.

"You have a case, Holmes?" I remarked.

"Yes, Watson," he answered, "I have a case. After a month of trivialities and stagnation the wheels move once more."

He took a letter out of his pocket.

"You have heard of Neil Gibson¹, the Gold King?" he said.

"You mean the American Senator?"

"Well, he was once Senator for some Western State, but is better known as the greatest gold-mining magnate in the world."

"Yes, I know of him. He has lived in England for some time. His name is very familiar."

"Yes, he bought a large estate in Hampshire² some five years ago. Possibly you have already heard of the tragic end of his wife?"

"Of course. I remember it now. That is why the name is familiar. But I really know nothing of the details."

"The fact is," said Holmes, "that the problem, though very sensational, appears to present no dif­ficulty. I fear it is a thankless business. I can dis­cover facts, Watson, but I cannot change them.

Unless some entirely new and unexpected ones come to light, I do not see what my client can hope for."

"Your client?" W

"Ah, I forgot I had not told you. You had better read this first."

The letter which he handed to me, ran as fol­lows:

Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I can't see the best woman God ever made go to her death without doing all that is possible to save her. I can't explain things - I can't even try to explain them, but I know beyond all doubt that Miss Dunbar¹ is innocent. That woman has a ten­der heart, she wouldn't kill a fly. Well, I'll come at eleven tomorrow. Maybe you can get some ray of light in the dark. Maybe I have a clue and don't know it. I will tell you all I know. If ever in your life you showed your powers, put them now into this case. Yours faithfully,

J. Neil Gibson.

"Now you know," said Sherlock Holmes, knock­ing out the ashes of his after-breakfast pipe and slowly refilling it. "That is the gentleman I am waiting for. As to the story, here it is. This man is the greatest financial power in the world, and a man, as I understand, of most violent character. He married a wife, the victim of this tragedy, of whom I know nothing. Then there is a very attrac­tive governess, who takes care of the education of two young children. These are the three people concerned, and the scene is a grand old manor-house, the centre of an English estate. Then as to the tragedy. The wife was found nearly half a mile from the house, late at night, a revolver bullet through her brain. No weapon was found near her, Watson - mark that! The governess is in prison in Winchester¹ now."

"It is all very clear," I said. "But why suspect the governess?"

"Well, in the first place there is some direct evidence. A revolver with one discharged chamber was found on the floor of her wardrobe. On - the -floor - of - her - wardrobe," he repeated in broken words. "Then the dead woman had a note making an appointment at the very place and signed by the governess. How's that? Finally, there is the motive. Senator Gibson is an attractive person. If his wife dies, who is more likely to succeed her than the young lady who had already received press­ing attentions from her employer. Love, fortune, power, all depending upon one middle-aged life. Ugly, Watson - very ugly!"

"Yes, indeed, Holmes."

"Nor could she prove an alibi. On the contrary, she had to admit that she was near Thor Bridge -that was the scene of the tragedy - about that hour. She couldn't deny it, for some passing vil­lager had seen her there. But here, if I am not mistaken, is our client. He comes before his time."

Billy, our servant boy, had opened the door, but the name which he announced was an unexpected one. Mr. Marlow Bates¹ was a stranger to both of us. He was a thin, nervous man with frightened eyes and a hesitating manner.

"You seem agitated, Mr. Bates," said Holmes. "Pray sit down. I fear I can only give you a short time, for I have an appointment at eleven."

"I know you have," said our visitor. "Mr Gibson is coming. Mr. Gibson is my employer. I am man­ager of his estate. Mr. Holmes, he is a villain - an infernal villain."

"Strong language, Mr. Bates."

"I have to be emphatic, Mr. Holmes, for the time is so limited. I don't want him to find me here. But I could't come earlier. His secretary, Mr. Fer­guson², only told me this morning of his appoint­ment with you."

"And you are his manager?"

"I have given him notice. In a couple of weeks I shall go away. A hard man, Mr. Holmes, hard to everybody about him. But his wife was his chief victim. He was brutal to her - yes, sir, brutal! How she came to her death I do not know, but I am sure that he had made her life miserable. She was a creature of the Tropics, a Brazilian by birth, as no doubt you know?"

"No, I did not know it."

"Tropical by birth and tropical by nature. A child of the sun and of passion. We all liked her and felt for her³ and hated him for the way that he treated her. That is all I have to say to you. Don't believe everything he says. Now I'll go."

With a frightened look at the clock our strange visitor literally ran to the door and disappeared.

"Well, well," said Holmes. "Now we can only wait till the man himself appears."

At eleven sharp we heard a heavy step on the stairs, and the famous millionaire was shown into the room. As I looked at him I understood the fears and dislike of his manager. If I were a sculptor and wanted to idealize the successful businessman with iron nerves, I should choose Mr. Neil Gibson as my model.

"Let me say, Mr. Holmes," he began sitting down, "that money is nothing to me in this case. This wom­an is innocent and this woman has to be cleared, and I want you to prove her innocence. Name your price."

"My professional charges are upon a fixed scale, and I do not vary them¹," said Holmes coldly.

"Well, if dollars make no difference to you, think of the reputation. If you do it, every paper in Eng­land and America will be glorifying you. You'll be the talk of two continents."

"Thank you, Mr. Gibson, it does not interest me. It may surprise you to know that I prefer to work anonymously, and that it is the problem it­self which attracts me. But we are wasting time. Let us get down to the facts."

"I think that you will find all the main facts in the newspapers. I don't think that I can add any­thing which will help you. But if there are any questions you would like to ask me - well, I am ready to answer."

"Well, there is just one thing."

"What is it?"

"What were the exact relations between you and Miss Dunbar?"

"I can assure you, sir," said the Gold King, "that our relations were entirely the relations of an em­ployer towards a young lady who worked for him. I never spoke with her, or even saw her, except when she was in the company of my children."

Holmes rose from his chair.

"I am a rather busy man, Mr. Gibson," he said, "and I have no time or taste for aimless conversa­tions. I wish you good morning."

Our visitor also rose. There was an angry look in his eyes.

"What the devil do you mean by this, Mr. Hol­mes? Do you dismiss my case?"

"Weil, Mr. Gibson, at least I dismiss you. You see, this case is difficult enough without the fur­ther difficulty of false information."

"Meaning that I lie."

"Well, I was trying to express it as delicately as I could, but if you insist upon the word, I will not contradict you."

I sprang to my feet, for the expression on the millionaire's face was dangerous. But with an ef­fort the Gold King mastered his fury. I could not help admiring¹ him for his supreme self-command. He sat down again.

"You will admit, Mr. Holmes," he said, "that most men don't like it when they are asked point-blank what their relations with a woman are. But I feel that I have been hasty. You are right in trying to get down to all the facts. What is it you want?"

"The truth."

The Gold King paused for a moment. His deep-lined face became sad and grave.

"I can give it to you in a very few words, Mr. Holmes," he said at last. "I met my wife when I was gold-hunting in Brazil. She was very beauti­ful, rare and wonderful in her beauty. It was a deep rich nature, passionate, tropical, ill-balanced, very different from the American women whom I had known. Well, to make a long story short, I loved her and I married her. Only years later I realized that we had nothing - absolutely noth­ing - in common. My love faded.

"Then came Miss Grace Dunbar. She answered our advertisement and became governess to our two children. Perhaps you have seen her portrait in the papers. The whole world has proclaimed that she also is a very beautiful woman. Now, I make no pretence to be more moral than my neighbours, and I will admit to you that, living under the same roof with such a woman and being in daily contact with her, I fell in love with her. Do you blame me for it, Mr. Holmes?"

"I do not blame you for feeling it. I should blame you if you expressed it, since the young lady was in a sense under your protection."

Well, maybe so," said the millionaire, "I am not pretending to be any better than I am. I guess all my life I've been a man that always got what he wanted, and I never wanted anything more than the love and possession of that woman. I told her so."

"Oh, you did, did you?" Holmes said sarcastical­ly.

"I said to her that if I could marry her I would,

but that was out of my power. I said that money was no object and that all I could do to make her happy and comfortable would be done."

"Very generous, I am sure," said Holmes with a sneer.

"Look here, Mr. Holmes, I came to you on a question of evidence, not on a question of morals. I am not asking for your critisism."

"It is only for the young lady's sake³ that I touch your case at all," said Holmes sternly. "You have tried to ruin a defenseless girl who was under your roof. Some of you rich men have to be taught that all the world cannot be bought with your money."

To my surprise the Gold King took the reproof calmly.

"I understand it now. I thank God that my plans did not work out as I intended. She did not agree and wanted to leave the house instantly."

"Why did she not?"

"Well, in the first place, others were dependent upon her, and she had to earn her living. When I had sworn that I should never speak to her about my love again, she agreed to remain. And then this murder happened."

"Can you throw any light upon that?"

The Gold King paused for a minute or more, his head sunk to his hands, lost in deep thought.

"It's very black against her. I can't deny that. One explanation came into my head. There is no doubt that my wife was bitterly jealous. She was crazy with hatred, and the heat of the Amazon¹ was always in her blood. She might have planned to murder Miss Dunbar - or to threaten her with a gun and so make her leave us. Then there might have been a struggle and the gun might have gone off and shot the woman who held it."

Holmes looked at his watch. "I have no doubt we can get the necessary permission this morning and reach Winchester by the evening train. When I have seen this young lady, it is very possible that I may be of more use to you in the matter."

Before going to Winchester that day, we went to Thor Place, the Hampshire estate of Mr. Neil Gibson. He did not accompany us himself, but we had the address of Sergeant Coventry of the local police, who had first examined the case. He showed himself to be a decent, honest fellow who was glad to welcome any help.

"Now, Mr. Holmes," he said as we were walking down to Thor Place, "there is one question I should like to ask you. Don't you think there might be a case against Mr. Neil Gibson himself?"

"I have been thinking about that."

"You've not seen Miss Dunbar. She is a wonder­ful fine woman. He may have wished his wife out of the way. And these Americans are readier with pistols than our people are. It was his pistol, you know. It was one of a pair that he had."

"One of a pair? Where is the other?"

"Well, the gentleman has a lot of fire-arms. We never found that particular pistol - but the box was made for two."

A walk of half a mile brought us to a side-gate opening into the grounds of the Thor Place estate. A path led us to a long, reedy pond with a stone bridge over it. Our guide stopped on this bridge and pointed to the ground.

"That was where Mrs. Gibson's body lay. I marked it by that stone."

"How did the body lie?"

"On the back, sir. No trace of struggle. No weap­on. The short note from Miss Dunbar was clutched in her left hand."

"Clutched, you say?"

'Yes, sir; we could hardly open the fingers."

"That is of great importance. It excludes the idea that anyone could have placed the note there after her death in order to provide a false clue. Dear me! The note, as I remember, was quite short. 'I will be at Thor Bridge at nine o'clock. G. Dun­bar.' Was that not so?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did Miss Dunbar admit writing it?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was her explanation?"

"She refused to say anything before the trial."

"The problem is certainly very interesting," said Holmes. "The point of the letter is very strange, is it not? If the letter is genuine and was really written, it was certainly received some time before - say one hour or two. Why, then, was this lady still clasping it in her left hand? Why did she carry it so careful­ly? I think I should like to sit quietly for a few min­utes and think it over." He sat down upon the stone parapet of the bridge, and I could see that he was thinking hard. Suddenly he sprang up again and ran across to the opposite parapet, took his lens out of his pocket, and began to examine the stonework.

"This is curious," he said.

"Yes, sir, we saw the chip on the parapet," said Sergeant Coventry.

The stonework was grey, but there was a white spot on it, not larger than a sixpence. When we examined it closely, we could see that the surface was chipped as by a sharp blow.

"It took some violence to do that," said Holmes thoughtfully. With his cane he struck the parapet several times without leaving a mark. "Yes, it was a hard knock. In a curious place, too. It was not from above but from below, for you see that it is on the lower edge of the parapet."

"But it is at least fifteen feet from the body."

"Yes, it is fifteen feet from the body. Maybe it has nothing to do with the matter, but it is a point worth noting. I do not think that we have any­thing more to learn here. So we can go. We will go up to the house first and look over these weapons of which you speak. Then we shall go to Winches­ter, for I should like to see Miss Dunbar."

Mr. Neil Gibson had not returned from town, but we saw in the house the neurotic Mr. Bates who had called upon us in the morning.

"Mr Gibson has his enemies, as anyone would expect who knew him and his methods," said he. "He sleeps with a loaded revolver beside his bed. He is a man of violence, sir, and there are times when all of us are afraid of him."

"Well, Watson," remarked Holmes, as we were going to the station, "we have learned some new facts, but still I cannot draw a conclusion. In spite of Mr. Bates' dislike for his employer, I understand from him that when the alarm came he was undoubtedly in his library. There is no evidence at all that Mr. Gibson had been out of doors since his return from town at five o'clock. On the other hand, Miss Dun­bar, as I understand it, admits that she had agreed to meet Mrs. Gibson at the bridge. We have several very important questions to ask that young lady. I must confess that the case would seem to me to be very black against her if it were not for one thing."

"And what is that, Holmes?"

"The finding of the pistol in her wardrobe."

"Dear me, Holmes!" I cried, "that seemed to me to be the most important evidence against her."

"Not so, Watson. Let me try to explain it to you. Suppose it is you who have decided to get rid of a rival. You have planned it. A note has been written. The victim has come. You have your weap­on. The crime is done. Do you want to tell me that after carrying out the crime so skilfully you would now ruin your reputation as a criminal by forget­ting to throw your weapon into those reeds in the pond which would for ever cover it, but you must carry it carefully home and put it in your own wardrobe, the very first place that would be searched? No, no, Watson, it is impossible."

"But there is so much to explain."

"Well, we shall try to explain it. When your point of view is changed, the very thing which was so damning becomes a clue to the truth. For exam­ple, this revolver. Miss Dunbar says that she knows nothing about it. On our new theory, she is speak­ing the truth when she says so. Therefore, it was placed in her wardrobe. Who placed it there? Some­one who wished to incriminate her. Was not that person the actual criminal?"

The next morning we went to the prison and, in the company of Mr. Joyce Cummings¹, the lawyer, we were allowed to see the young lady in her cell. She was a beautiful brunette, tall, with a noble figure, but her dark eyes had in them the helpless expression of the hunted creature who feels the nets around it, but can see no way out. Now, as she realized the presence and the help of my fa­mous friend, there came a touch of colour in her pale cheeks and a light of hope began to glimmer in her eyes.

"Perhaps Mr. Neil Gibson has told you some­thing of what occurred between us?" she asked in a low, agitated voice.

"Yes," Holmes answered; "you need not go into that part of the story. But tell us about your true relations with Mr. Gibson's wife."

"She hated me, Mr. Holmes. She hated me with all the passion of her tropical nature."

"Please tell us exactly what occurred that evening."

"I can tell you the truth so far as I know it, Mr. Holmes, but there are points which I cannot explain.

"I received a note from Mrs. Gibson in the morn­ing. It lay on the table of the schoolroom. It asked me to see her at Thor Bridge after dinner, said she had something important to say to me, and asked me to leave an answer on the sundial in the gar­den. I saw no reason for such secrecy, but I did as she asked. She asked me to destroy her note and I burned it in the schoolroom grate."

"Yet she kept your reply very carefully?"

"Yes. I was surprised to hear that she had it in her hand when she died."

"Well, what happened then?"

"I went down as I had promised. When I reached the bridge, she was waiting for me. Never did I realize till that moment how this poor creature hat­ed me. She was like a mad woman - indeed, I think she was a mad woman. I will not say what she said. She poured her whole wild fury out in burning and horrible words. I did not even answer - I could not. It was dreadful to see her. I put my hands to my ears and rushed away. When I left her, she was standing on the bridge."

"Now we come to a very important point. This pistol that was found in your room. Had you ever seen it before?"

"Never, I swear it."

"When was it found?"

"Next morning, when the police made their search."

"Among your clothes?"

"Yes, on the floor of my wardrobe under my dresses."

"You could not guess how long it had been there?"

"It had not been there the morning before."

"How do you know?"

"Because I tidied out the wardrobe."

"Then someone came into your room and placed the pistol there in order to incriminate you."

"It must have been so."

"And when?"

"It could only have been at meal-time, or else at the hours when I was in the schoolroom with the children."

"Thank you, Miss Dunbar. Is there any other point which could help me in the investigation?"

"I can think of none."

"There was a fresh chip on the parapet of the bridge just opposite the body. Could you think of any possible explanation of that?"

"Surely it must be a mere coincidence."

"Curious, Miss Dunbar, very curious. Why did it appear at the very time of the tragedy and why at the very place?"

Holmes was thinking hard. Suddenly he sprang from his chair.

"Come, Watson, come!" he cried.

"What is it, Mr. Holmes?"

"Never mind, my dear lady. You will hear from me. With the help of the God of justice I will solve the case. You will get news by tomorrow, Miss Dunbar. The clouds are lifting and I have every hope that the light of truth is breaking through."

"Watson," said Holmes, as we were sitting in the train carriage going from Winchester to Thor Place, "have you your revolver on you?"

I took my revolver out of my hip-pocket and gave it to him.

"Do you know, Watson," said he, "I believe your revolver is going to help us solve the mystery which we are investigating."

"My dear Holmes, you are joking."

"No, Watson, I am very serious. There is a test before us. If the test comes off, all will be clear. And the test will depend upon the conduct of this little weapon."

I had no idea of what was in his mind, but he was silent until we came to the little Hampton station. We went to the house of our friend, Ser­geant Coventry.

"A clue, Mr. Holmes? What is it?"

"It all depends on the behaviour of Dr. Watson's revolver," said my friend. "Here it is. Now, offic­er, can you give me ten yards of string?"

The village shop provided us with a string.

"I think that this is all we will need," said Hol­mes. "Now, if you please, we will go to Thor Bridge."

As we were walking, Holmes tied one end of the string to the handle of my revolver. When we reached the scene of the tragedy, he marked with great care the exact spot where the body had been found. Then he found a rather big stone, tied it to the other end of his string, and hung it over the parapet of the bridge so that it swung above the water. Then he stood on the fatal spot, with my revolver in his hand, the string between the weap­on and the heavy stone hanging over the parapet.

"Now for it!" he cried.

At the words he raised the pistol to his head, and then let it go. In a moment the revolver was pulled away by the weight of the stone, struck with a sharp crack against the parapet, and vanished over the side into the.water. Immediately Holmes rushed to the parapet, and a joyous cry showed that he had found what he expected.

"Was there ever a more exact demonstration?" he cried. "See, Watson, your revolver has solved the problem!" As he spoke, he pointed to a sec­ond chip of the exact size and shape of the first which had appeared on the lower edge of the stone parapet.

"Of course you will easily find my friend's re­volver," said Holmes to the astonished sergeant. "You will also find beside it the revolver, string and weight with which this woman attempted to disguise her own crime and to fasten a charge of murder upon an innocent person."

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