The Norwood Mystery by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Part 2.
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Chapter 2 | McFarlane’s story
McFarlane put his head in his hands and sat down. ‘Mr Holmes, help me, please.’
Holmes turned to Lestrade. ‘Inspector,’ he said, ‘perhaps you can give us half an hour? I’m interested to hear Mr McFarlane’s story.’
And I’m sure it will be a very good story,’ replied Lestrade. ‘But it won’t be true.’
‘Please, Inspector,’ said Watson.
Lestrade thought for a long time. All right,’ he agreed at last. ‘You’ve often helped us, Mr Holmes. But I must stay with Mr McFarlane and I will listen very carefully to everything that he says. You have half an hour,’ he went on, looking at his watch.
‘Thank you, Inspector,’ said McFarlane.
‘You can thank Mr Holmes,’ replied Lestrade, sitting down opposite the young man.
‘First,’ McFarlane began his story, ‘I know nothing about Mr Jonas Oldacre, only his name. My parents met him many years ago and they were friends for a long time. But Mr Oldacre moved to Norwood. I understand, and after that they never saw him. So I was very surprised when he walked into my office at three o’clock yesterday afternoon. I work in the City of London as a lawyer. When he told me why he wanted to see me, I was astonished.’ Here he stopped and looked first at Holmes, then at Lestrade.
‘Go on,’ said Lestrade at last.
‘He had some papers in his hand, these papers.’ McFarlane took them out of his pocket and put them on the table. ‘“This is my will,” he said. “I’ve written it myself. But you are a lawyer. Please copy it for me. I will wait.” I agreed to do this. I started to copy the will but was very surprised when I read that he wanted to leave everything to me! Mr Oldacre was a strange little man with very white hair and grey eyes. When I looked at him, I saw that he found my surprise very funny. He laughed and told me that he was unmarried and had no children. He knew my mother and father when he was a young man and wanted to help me to make my way in the world because I was their son. I didn’t know what to say, but I thanked him warmly and finished the will. Here it is.’ McFarlane showed Holmes a blue piece of paper. ‘Mr Oldacre then asked me to go to his house at Norwood yesterday evening because he had more papers there that I needed to see. I didn’t want to go, but I had to. “You must promise not to tell your mother or father about this,” he said, “It must be a wonderful surprise for them.” I promised him that I would say nothing, but I didn’t understand why it was so important to him.’
‘I took the train to Norwood and arrived there at about nine o’clock. It was difficult to find Mr Oldacre’s house on the Sydenham Road and it was nine-thirty when I at last knocked on the door of Deep Dene House.’
‘Stop,’ said Holmes. ‘Who opened the door to you?’
‘It was Mr Oldacre’s ,’ McFarlane replied. ‘A woman of about fifty-five years.’
‘And she told Mr Oldacre that you were there?’ Holmes went on.
‘That’s right,’ McFarlane agreed. ‘She then took me into the dining room, where Mr Oldacre was waiting for me. We ate a light meal of sandwiches and fruit, then Mr Oldacre took me to his bedroom. There was a safe in the corner of the room, and Mr Oldacre opened it and took out a lot of papers. We looked at them together and didn’t finish until about half past eleven. Mr Oldacre said that we mustn’t wake up the housekeeper, so I left the house by the French windows in the bedroom, which were open. I couldn’t find my walking stick, but Mr Oldacre said that he would give it back to me next time. “I hope you will come back often,” he said. When I left, Mr Oldacre was in his bedroom and the safe was open. His papers were on the table. It was too late for me to go back to my father’s house at Blackheath, so I went to a hotel called the Anerley Arms in Norwood and spent the night there. I knew nothing more about Mr Oldacre until I read the story in the newspaper this morning. And everything that I’ve told you is true.’
Lestrade looked at Holmes. ‘Any more questions?’
‘Possibly,’ said Holmes. ‘But first I must go to Blackheath.’
‘You mean Norwood,’ said Lestrade.
‘Perhaps,’ replied Holmes with a strange smile. The Inspector didn’t understand, but said nothing.
‘Mr McFarlane?’ said one of the other policemen, who was waiting at the door. ‘Come with us, please.’
McFarlane stood up and the two policemen took him down the stairs and out into Baker Street. Lestrade stayed in the room with Holmes and Watson. Holmes looked at McFarlane’s papers, which were still on the table.
‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘Mr Oldacre’s writing is very easy to read in some places, but very difficult to read in others. And here it’s impossible. Can you read this, Watson?’
Watson agreed that it was impossible to read. ‘And why is that?’ asked Holmes.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Watson replied.
‘Is this important, Mr Holmes?’ asked Lestrade.
‘Possibly,’ said Holmes. ‘Mr Oldacre wrote his will on a train. We can read everything that he wrote when the train was at a station, but it’s impossible to read what he wrote when the train was moving. Mr Oldacre spent the journey writing his will, so his train was an express, which stopped only once between Norwood and London Bridge.’
‘Very interesting, Mr Holmes,’ said Lestrade. ‘but I have a murderer to see. I must go. Goodbye, Mr Holmes. Dr Watson.’
‘Goodbye, Inspector,’ said Holmes with a smile.