The hotelkeeper at the Red Lion in the neighbouring village of Manse was more than a little surprised to find two soaking wet gentlemen presenting at his door, but two guineas soon had him cheerfully unlocking the door to a vast beamed bedchamber with its own tin bath. To this I quickly retired, soaking myself in quantities of hot water brought up by a sweating groom in buckets from the copper, while Holmes, wrapping himself in a blanket, lay prone upon the ancient iron bedstead, reading the file of documents we had so audaciously acquired and laughing to himself.

“You find the papers agreeable, Holmes?”

“Admirable, my dear chap, and well worth every rheumatic pain we will doubtless suffer as a consequence of that little drenching. When the admirable lady downstairs has finished drying our clothes, I think a trip to the local telegraph office will complete our business in this neck of the woods, and we can return to Baker Street. Tomorrow, all being well, we will have a little luncheon party at Hagswell and draw the line under the business forever.

---

Constable Harkness met us at the station the following morning once more, and I was amused to see that his manner toward my friend was now of such a high degree of deference that he could barely bring himself to open his mouth. Whatever Holmes had arranged with his battery of telegrams of the previous day, the results had clearly impressed this simple countryman.

White cotton blinds covered all the windows at Hagswell, shutting out the misty autumn light that had superseded yesterday’s storm, and the groom that held our horses wore the armband of mourning. Straw had been laid in the courtyard. John, clad in rusty black, greeted us soberly and led us through a dead-quiet house to the drawing room, where it was refreshing to be robustly greeted by Gregson, incongruous in suiting of a particularly loud houndstooth check and looking every inch the Londoner he was.

“Mr Holmes, Doctor. This is a pretty business, to be sure. I have never known so many clues, suggestions, and false turnings in a case before. It looks to me for all the world like a crime designed by a Commons Committee rather than something which happened in the real world”.

Holmes laughed.

“Let us get to it, Inspector. I have my little file of papers: are the family here?”

“In the other room. I will just ask them to step in”

Gregson returned with a small retinue: India and Iona magnificent in black gowns; Hyl and Ranstad with black armbands. Holmes welcomed them with a few words, seated them in the sofas, and addressed himself to Gregson again.

You have my first guest, I take it?””

“Yes, we have him in the still room. He was on the train to Dover, just as you said, Mr Holmes, and mighty unwilling to come back with us too. Still, that is something the Yard is good at”.

Gregson paused and directed his piercing voice through the drawing room door into the hall.

“Harkness! Go downstairs and ask the boys to bring up the other doctor”.

A moment later, the sound of scuffling and a steady vituperative complaint preceded the form of Dr Sallet into the room, his arms gripped firmly from behind by two stout constables.

“Holmes! Holmes the meddling interfering bungler! Inspector” – Sallet addressed himself to Gregson – “arrest this man. He has stolen private papers – he has them there in his hand, the black-handed thief”.

Gregson smiled amiably.

“There was no intention to deprive you permanently of those papers, I’m sure. In any case” – Gregson’s tone hardened and his smile vanished – “those same papers indicate a rather more serious crime than that of petty theft and I have taken them into evidence, evidence against you, Dr Sallet”.

Sallet fell silent, glaring first at Gregson then transferring his wild stare to Holmes.

Holmes took up the narrative:

“Dr Sallet, you are coroner of this district, and a practicing GP, are you not?”

On receiving no reply, Holmes smiled and continued:

“Among your patients was none other than Peter Fenwick, was it not? And did you not also frequently visit Hagswell as his guest and, indeed, Dr Sallet, were you not the sixth dinner guest on the night of his death?”

At this Ransted shot up from his chair with a worried face.

“I say, Inspector”, he said, “we were all there you know, we cannot confirm this suggestion… that is to say Dr Sallet was not at the dinner, although he did come – a few times no more – to the house…”

A cry of agreement went up from the ladies, although Hyl sat stony-faced.

As if none had spoken, Holmes continued:

“You have been treating Peter Fenwick for some time, have you not, Dr Sallet? Do not trouble to deny it: I have here your own medical record for Mr Fenwick, in your own hand, which I obtained from you yesterday before you had a chance to destroy it. I knew that there would be a record, but I did not know where, but I knew also that you would seek to destroy it as soon as you suspected that the police were interested in you. So I arranged for Gregson here to send you that note - which I dare say is still in your breast pocket - saying that he wanted to view the record; and I laid my trap”.

Sallet struggled impotently between the two constables.

Holmes continued:

“Here is a note from the file”.

He turned to me.

“Doctor, will you read it and tell us for which ailment it is a treatment?”

I opened the note.

“This treatment is one commonly prescribed for syphilis, Holmes”

There was a gasp from the ladies and Ransted plunged his head into his hands.

“Precisely. A disease contracted through an unfortunate encounter – a single encounter, mark you – with a young woman from the school to which Peter Fenwick was so devoted. With this one lapse from the high morals by which he lived, this unfortunate man placed himself into the hands of one whom he trusted – you, Dr Sallet”.

In the doorway, I saw the figure of John, the butler, nodding vigorously.

“Yes, John was able to let me know that part of the story”, Holmes said. “He wished only to protect the family whom his family have faithfully served for so long”.

Ransted rose again.

“I knew of this too, and of that vile man’s machinations. It was only my love and regard for Iona that kept a stopper on my mouth. She was so very afraid for her father”.

Holmes turned a stern eye on Sallet:

“You, Dr Sallet, exerted an iron grip over the whole family. By your threats of exposure and public ruin, you extracted huge sums from the estate accounts; and you drove the ailing Mr Fenwick half-mad with terror. You had a good teacher, did you not, Sallet? The man in Hampstead?”

At this reference, Sallet’s eyes glazed over: he shut his mouth firmly and shook his head.

“I see the fear-monger lives in fear”, Holmes remarked. He looked at the family.

“Rest assured, Mrs Fenwick, Miss Fenwick, that the matter need not come out in court – that is right, is it not, Inspector?”.

Gregson nodded, and Holmes swung back to Sallet:

“But the money and power you had during his life was not enough, was it, Sallet? When Peter Fenwick died one evening after dinner, you saw an opportunity to carry on your game long after his death, by creating an even more scandalous story, not about the man himself, but his and his family’s life’s work, the Garland School.

“You were with him when he died, in bed. Assisted no doubt by that creature who drives your trap, you got the body down from the bedroom through the passage into the library, then went on to the washroom and concocted the whole fraudulent scenario of torture and notes written in blood. Inserting the note into the frozen hand was no problem for a man of your experience”.

“Faced with such a scenario, you knew, the local police would call in the Yard. The ensuing investigation would lead only one way: toward the very scenario you wanted: that the dead man was vilely exploiting the women in the care of his school – a conclusion that by your evidence you could prove one way or the other”.

Holmes turned to Mrs Fenwick.

“What did he ask for?”

She spoke up bravely, and as I saw the dignity with which she comported herself, my heart went out to the poor woman, who had suffered so long and so cruelly.

“He wanted control over the business, Mr Holmes. The only way he could get around the will was to destroy the school’s reputation and force the disbanding of the trust. That was why that monster - I cannot call him a man - concocted this story, which as you say could lead the police to only one conclusion”.

Holmes addressed Sallet, now slumped between his burly captors:

Then, your final touch, your machination too far. You calculated, or you learnt from your tutor in London, that faced with such a case, the Yard would probably call on me. You then thought to advance your sordid work by involving me, Sherlock Holmes”.

“You – or more likely your mentor - arranged for a mystery woman to burst into my lodgings with a cryptic, yet condemnatory message; a woman who then conveniently vanished. Yet it is my metier to find that which others have hidden. Inspector, bring her in, if you please”.

Gregson motioned to Constable Harkness and he vanished into the dimness of the hall, returning a moment later with a richly dressed and elegant young woman of poised and fragile beauty, to all appearances one of the flowers of Mayfair.

“But surely, Holmes”, I expostulated, “this is not the woman whom we saw at Baker Street…”

Holmes cut me off with an impatient wave.

“Look closely, Watson. You see but you do not observe. The shape of the eyes, the chin, the lobes of the ears – these all betray her as the one and same person. There are 49 elements of the face and head by which a person may be truly identified, and while I confess I had time to note only 31 of them on the previous occasion on which I saw her, I am confident that this is indeed the so-called ‘Molly from the piers’ In any case, she is willing to confirm it from her own lips”.

The woman spoke up clearly and with a precise educated tone that could not be further from the vulgar rasping voice she had used before.

“Yes, Mr Holmes, I am indeed the person who visited you at Baker Street under that name. My name is Violet Huy, and I am the third daughter of Lord Huy, the Treasury Minister. My interest has always been in amateur theatricals, and when a mutual friend asked me to play the role of Molly, as it were, I was delighted to embrace the opportunity. I had no idea, naturally, that it could be associated in any way with any sort of crime”.

I observed her closely. Although her manner was outwardly composed and her tone cool, her lip was trembling and there was a corresponding tremor in her neatly gloved hands.

“Thank you, Miss Huy”, said Holmes gently. I appreciate your candour and courage in coming forward, and I am sorry that the attentions of my little street arabs caused you some discomfort. They are the devils when the game is afoot, I’m afraid. You will appreciate, I’m sure, that in a matter of this sort that truth must be served, and I know Gregson here will do his utmost to keep your name, and that of your father, out of the public eye”.

“Thank you, Mr Holmes”, said the girl, a little colour returning to her face. “If I may, I will sit down; I feel a little overcome”.

I hastened to offer her my arm, bore her through the hall to a chaise longue in the library, and pressed her to a little brandy fetched by John, only considering a little too late the fate of the last person to partake from that decanter. However, she seemed to take no ill-effect and, leaving a maid to sit with her, I returned to my station beside Holmes.

“So, Sallet, you see I have exposed all your plot”, said Holmes sternly. “Your elaborate scheme has crumbled to dust: the Garland School is safe; the reputation of a great benefactor is saved and I dare say the burden of even the most unfortunate Miss Huy will benefit from a debt repaid. Take him away, Inspector”.

“With pleasure”, grunted Gregson, stepping forward. “Lads, take him out to the van, and if he struggles, well so much the worse for him”

As Sallet was dragged away, his imprecations fading as the front door slammed behind him, calm settled over the house once more. There seemed a palpable sense of something unsaid, and on the part of the family and friends, a reluctance to broach the issue.

Holmes rubbed his hands, seemingly oblivious to the atmosphere.

“Capital, capital. A poison on the state and the medical profession is withdrawn. And, of course, speaking of poison, that brings me to the matter of the cause of Mr Fenwick’s death”.

At these words, the ladies set up another twitter of dismay, and Hyl’s shoulders slumped in dismay, woe written on his face. Holmes crossed quickly to him and placed his hand upon his shoulder.

“Courage, Mr Hyl. I have been to Rotherhithe, and I know what it was that you sought”

Hyl raised a wan face to Holmes.

“You are a wizard, Mr Holmes, to know so much. And yet, even if you know that I bore poor Peter no ill-will - quite the reverse, for he was a dear friend – I still bear the burden of causing his death”.

As I remarked to Holmes afterward, I though his response a little tasteless:

“Watson here will tell you that the medical profession has the deaths of uncounted thousands on its conscience, and yet Harley Street still bulges with doctors and surgeons”.

“I have here a second autopsy report, by the police surgeon in Westminster. You doctored your friend a little too well, Mr Hyl: the interaction of the remedies given to you by Culverton-Smith was the proximate cause of his death, not the remedies themselves. But if it is any comfort to you, none of the remedies in the world would have given him longer than a few months of life: his heart and liver were failing fast”.

Holmes paused to allow Hyl to pull out a large handkerchief.

“I have spoken to the police about this, and they agree that no public benefit would be served by prosecuting you, Mr Hyl, especially as you have even returned the brandy decanter and glass which you hid in your terror. The world will know no more than that Mr Peter Fenwick, the great benefactor and philanthropist, died of heart failure”.

Mrs Fenwick rose and clasped Holmes’ hands. Her bosom heaved with emotion, and she was clearly on the verge of a speech of thanks. Holmes coughed and abruptly disengaged himself.

“And now, if I may, I shall take my leave, as Watson and I have a train to catch if we are to meet a most illustrious client at Baker Street at three. I leave Miss Huy in your hands, Mrs Fenwick, and I know that you will treat her as well as those from less exalted circles. Goodbye”.

---

Holmes did not speak until we had settled into our compartment. Then he passed to me the file of papers.

“Something for your archive, Watson, although this will be a tale that cannot be told for some time yet, I think, even with the addition of that misdirection of which you are a master. And there are threads which still hang loose…”

“The man in Hampstead, Holmes?” I asked.

“Precisely, Watson. A snake, a cold-blooded worm of a man: the worst man in London, in some ways. His hold over that poor girl, Violet Huy, was obviously so strong as to induce her to play a role in the devil’s scheme he brewed with Sallet. And yet I cannot touch him, at least not yet”.

“And this business of the remedies, Holmes. That intrigues me as a medical man”

“There are some details in the file, Doctor. But the case is clear: Culverton-Smith gave Hyl some of his exotic tricks, all labelled up as health cures. Hyl, who may be a cool head in business but lacks something, I fancy, in common sense, took them up to Fenwick in his bedroom on that fateful night, and persuaded him to take them – the strychnine crystals in solution; the attenuated snake venom by subcutaneous injection, and finally the tetanus toxin, also by injection. And no sooner had Hyl withdrawn the needle from the palm of poor Fenwick’s hand, than the reaction of one against the other started, and he died a death which was I fear both painful and long.

“Hyl was not aware of the blackmail plot and his first instinct, of course, was to call back Dr Sallet, who had barely left the house. That monster then took charge and, with his complete hold over the family, saw the way to turn this episode to his own advantage. I fancy, Watson, that when you look through that file, however, you will find suggestions that Sallet was plotting some murderous cure of his own”.

“The matter is now clear, Holmes”, I said. “And I must disagree with you about the difficulties of giving an account of this matter in my published works. I can see how it could be fashioned into a tale worthy of The Strand, not least because, of all your cases, this Adventure of the Croxley Horror has singular features worthy of exposure. Do you not think so, Holmes? Holmes?”

I spoke in vain. The Great Detective was asleep.

The End