The Norwood Mystery by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Part 4.
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Chapter 4 | A visit to Norwood
Holmes arrived in Norwood early that afternoon. He had no problem finding Deep Dene House on the Sydenham Road. The builder’s house was large and modern, and had a big garden with a lot of very old trees. Next to the house Holmes saw the timber yard, where the police found the burnt remains after the fire. He walked into it and saw piles of wood everywhere and also some bags of hay. On the ground he saw some burnt remains and he crouched down to look at them. Were these the remains of Jonas Oldacre’s body? It was impossible to say. Holmes stood up and went back into the garden.
As he stood there looking thoughtfully at the house, a policeman came out. ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked.
‘I’m Sherlock Holmes,’ said the detective. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard my name.’
‘Mr Holmes! Of course I know your name, sir,’ replied the policeman in surprise. He was fat, perhaps fifty years old, with a round face and bright blue eyes. ‘Sergeant Judd, Scotland Yard. I’m very pleased to meet you, sir.’
‘And I’m pleased to meet you,’ said Holmes. ‘I’m helping Inspector Lestrade with his investigation. Have you found anything here?’
Judd looked very pleased. His blue eyes shone.
‘Yes, sir, we have. You know about the burnt remains in the timber yard, I suppose?’
‘I do,’ Holmes agreed. ‘I’ve seen them for myself.’
‘Well, we’ve found some buttons in the ashes – and we think they’re the buttons from Mr Oldacre’s trousers. It’s murder, Mr Holmes, we’re sure of that.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Holmes. ‘But I prefer to decide for myself. Is it all right if I look round the house and garden, Sergeant?’
‘Please do, Mr Holmes, but I think that you’ll find that we’re right. There’s been a murder and Inspector Lestrade has arrested the criminal. We can all sleep better in our beds now that McFarlane is under arrest.’
Judd went back into the house while Holmes stayed outside in the garden. There were very few flowers and the garden was very different from the McFarlanes’ garden in Blackheath. Holmes crouched down to look at the lawn. It was a warm day and the lawn was very dry. He looked carefully for more than an hour but found nothing interesting in the garden. Next he decided to search the house. The front door was open and a policeman was standing inside.
‘Good morning,’ said Holmes as he walked into the house.
At the end of the hall he found Oldacre’s bedroom. There were no police in the room and Holmes spent a long time looking at the walls. He saw the bloodstains, which were a deep red colour, and on the floor footprints made by Oldacre and McFarlane. But he found no one else’s footprints. He looked at the papers from the safe and he also found the builder’s bank books. He spent a long time looking at these and was interested to see that Oldacre wasn’t as rich as everyone thought. To Holmes’ surprise, he had very little money in the bank.
He then tried to find the deeds to the house, but they were not with the other papers. Holmes asked himself why. When he was sure that there was nothing more to see in the bedroom, he crossed the hall to the kitchen, where he found Oldacre’s housekeeper, Mrs Lexington, at the table. She was a small, dark, silent woman with grey eyes and silver hair. She didn’t look at the detective when he walked into the room and spoke to her.
‘Good morning. My name’s Sherlock Holmes and I’m helping Scotland Yard with their investigation,’ he said. ‘Mrs . . . ?’
‘Lexington,’ she replied without looking up. ‘Mrs Lexington, housekeeper to Mr Jonas Oldacre.’
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Lexington,’ Holmes went on, and sat down opposite her at the table. ‘What can you tell me about yesterday evening?’
The housekeeper gave Holmes a long look.
‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘There’s nothing that I can tell you, Mr Sherlock Holmes.’
‘Really?’ said Holmes. ‘So you didn’t answer the door to Mr McFarlane last night?’
‘I did!’ she shouted angrily. ‘The murderer!’
Ah!’ said Holmes. ‘So there is something that you can tell me?’
Mrs Lexington looked very cross.
‘I opened the front door of this house to McFarlane at 9.30. I know now that I opened the door to a murderer!’
‘And then?’ Holmes asked.
‘Then nothing,’ she said at last. ‘I was very tired and I went to bed an hour later at half past ten. My bedroom is at the other end of the house. I fell asleep immediately. I heard nothing and I saw nothing.’
‘Did you sleep all night without waking up?’ asked Holmes.
‘The smell from the fire woke me up,’ Mrs Lexington answered. ‘I got out of bed and started to look for Mr Oldacre. I looked in every room of the house but I couldn’t find him anywhere. He was dead, of course, I know that now. McFarlane killed him and burnt his body in the timber yard. And Mr Oldacre was such a good, kind man …’
‘Please,’ said Holmes, ‘don’t upset yourself. Tell me, did Mr Oldacre have any enemies?’
‘Everyone has enemies,’ replied Mrs Lexington. ‘But Mr Oldacre lived a very quiet life here at Deep Dene House. No one in Norwood wanted to kill him. That’s how I know that McFarlane is the murderer. That young man has evil eyes, Mr Holmes, he has the eyes of a murderer.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Lexington,’ said Holmes. ‘Is there anything more you can tell me? Anything that could help us with our investigation?’
‘I can tell you this,’ answered the housekeeper. ‘The police found some buttons in those remains in the timber yard this morning. Those buttons are Mr Oldacre’s. They’re the buttons from his trousers. He was wearing them last night.’
‘You’ve been very helpful,’ said Holmes. He stood up. ‘But now I must go. Thank you for your time, Mrs Lexington.’
The housekeeper got up suddenly. ‘I tried to save him, Mr Holmes, poor Mr Oldacre,’ she said. ‘I ran out into the timber yard, but the wood was so dry. It was burning so quickly. I can’t remember the last time it rained. The smell was terrible . . . when I think . . .’
‘Thank you, Mrs Lexington,’ Holmes said once more. ‘Goodbye.’
He closed the door behind him as he left the kitchen. In the hall he met Sergeant Judd, who was coming down the stairs.
‘Mr Holmes,’ said the policeman. ‘I hope that your visit has been helpful.’
‘Very helpful, Sergeant,’ Holmes replied. ‘Thank you. And I hope that your investigation is going well.’
‘We have our murderer, Mr Holmes,’ the policeman answered. ‘Inspector Lestrade is talking to him now at Scotland Yard. His name is John Hector McFarlane and he killed Mr Oldacre for his house and his money.’
‘I’m very pleased to hear that you have your man,’ said Holmes with his strange smile. ‘It’s obvious, I’m sure, that Mr McFarlane murdered Jonas Oldacre and burnt his body in the timber yard.’
‘I’m happy to hear that you agree, sir,’ replied Judd. ‘Goodbye, Mr Holmes.’
‘Goodbye, Sergeant,’ said Holmes.
He walked slowly to the front door, looking carefully at the walls in the hall, and left the builder’s house. Outside he took a last look at the garden, house, and timber yard and drew a plan in his notebook before walking through the streets of Norwood to the station. It was a fine summer day, but Holmes wasn’t happy.
In the train back to London, he asked himself a number of questions. Could John McFarlane really be a murderer? Was Jonas Oldacre really dead? Why did the builder suddenly decide to leave all his money to a young man that he didn’t know? And why did he write his will on an express train? For now, Holmes did not know the answer to his questions, but he was sure that they were good questions to ask.