June 9, 2025 • 45 mins
Dive into the riveting world of the legendary detective, Sherlock Holmes, in this second compilation of short stories penned by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Explore 12 enthralling adventures, serialized in The Strand from December 1892 to December 1893, each masterfully illustrated by Sidney Paget. Join Holmes and his faithful companion, Dr. Watson, as they unravel the mysteries that baffle Londons finest. - Summary by David Clarke
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Adventure five in the Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes by Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.
Adventure five the Musgrave Ritual. An anomaly which often struck
me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was
that although in his methods of thought he was the
neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he
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affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was nonetheless,
in his personal habits one of the most untidy men
that ever drove a fellow lodger to distraction. Not that
I am in the least conventional in that respect myself.
The rough and tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the
top of a natural bohemianism of disposition, has made rather
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more lax than befits a medical man. But with me
there is a limit. And when I find a man
who keeps his cigars in the coal, scuttle his tobacco
in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his
unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jackknife into the very center
of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself
virtuous airs. I have always held too that pistol practice
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should be distinctly an open air pastime, And when homes
in one of his queer humors, would sit in an
arm chair with his hair trigger and a hundred boxer cartridges,
and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic
v R done in bullet pocks. I felt strongly that
neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was
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improved by it. Our chambers were always full of chemicals
and of criminal relics, which had a way of wandering
into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter
dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers
were my great crucks. He had a horror of destroying documents,
especially those which were connected with his past cases. And
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yet it was only once in every year or two
that he would muster energy to dock it and arrange them. Or,
as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the
outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats
with which his name is associated were followed by reactions
of lethargy, during which he would lie about with his
violin and his books hardly moving save from the sofa
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to the table. Thus, month after month his papers accumulated,
until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles
of manuscript which were on no account to be burned,
and which could not be put away save by their owner.
One winter's night, as we sat together by the fire,
I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had
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finished pasting extracts into his commonplace book, he might employ
the next two hours in making our room a little
more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request,
so with a rather rueful face, he went off to
his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large
tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle
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of the floor, and, squatting down upon a stool in
front of it, he threw back the lid. I could
see that it was already a third full of bundles
of paper, tied up with red tape into separate packages.
There are cases enough here, Watson said, he looking at
me with mischievous eyes. I think that if you knew
all that I had in this box, you would ask
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me to pull some out instead of putting others in.
These are the records of your early work, then, I asked,
I often wished that I had notes of those cases. Yes,
my boy, these were all done prematurely, before my biographer
had come to glorify me. He lifted bundle after bundle
in a tender, caressing sort of way. They are not
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all successes, Watson said, he, but there are some pretty
little problems among them. Here is the record of the
Tarletan murders, and the case of Vanbury, the wine merchant,
and the adventurer of the old Russian woman, and the
singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a
full account of Ricoletti, of the club Foot and his
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abominable wife. And here, ah, now this really is something
a little rich are shat. He dived his arm down
to the bottom of the chest and brought up a
small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children's
toys are kept in. From within, he produced a crumpled
piece of paper, an old fashioned brass quay, a peg
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of wood with a ball of string attached to it,
and three rusty old disks of metal. Well, my boy,
what do you make of this lot, he asked, smiling
at my expression. It is a curious collection. Very curious,
and the story that hangs round it will strike you
as being more curious. Still. These relics have a history, then,
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so much so that they are history. What do you
mean by that? Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by
one and laid them along the edge of the table.
He reseated himself in his chair and looked them over
with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. These said,
he are all that I have left to remind me
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of the adventure of the Musgrave ritual. I'd heard him
mention the case more than once, though I'd never been
able to gather the details. I should be so glad,
said I, if you'd give me an account of it,
and leave the litter as it is, He cried mischievously.
Your tidiness won't bear much strain, after all, Watson. But
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I should be glad that you should add this case
to your annals, for there are points in it which
make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or,
I believe, of any other country. A collection of my
trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account
of this very singular business. You may remember how the
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affair of the glorious Scott, and my conversation with the
unhappy man whose fate I told you of first turned
my attention in the direction of the profession which had
become my life's work. You see me now, when my
name has become known far and wide, and when I
am generally recognized both by the public and by the
official force as being a final court of appeal in
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doubtful cases. Even when you knew me first at the
time of the affair which you have commemorated in a
study in Scarlet, I had already established a considerable, though
not a very lucrative connection. You can hardly realize then,
how difficult I found it at first, and how long
I had to wait before I succeeded in making any headway.
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When I first came up to London, I had rooms
in Montague Street, just round the corner from the British Museum,
and there I waited, filling in my too abundant leisure
time by studying all those branches of science which might
make me more efficient. Now and again, cases came in
my way, principally through the introduction of old fellow students.
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For during my last years at the university, there was
a good deal of talk there about myself and my methods.
The third of these cases was that of the Musgrave Ritual.
And it is to the interest which was aroused by
that singular chain of events, and the large issues which
proved to be at stake, that I trace my first
stride towards the position which I now hold. Reginald Musgrave
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had been in the same college as myself, and I
had some slight acquaintance with him. He was not generally
popular among the undergraduates, though it always seemed to me
that what was set down as pride was really an
attempt to cover extreme natural diffidence. In appearance, he was
a man of exceedingly aristocratic type, thin, high nosed and
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large eyed, with languid and yet courtly manners. He was
indeed a scion of one of the very oldest families
in the Kingdom, though his branch was a cadet one
which had separated from the northern Musgraves some time in
the sixteenth century and had established itself in western Sussex,
where the manor house of Hurlstone is perhaps the oldest
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inhabited building in the county. Something of his birthplace seemed
to cling to the man, and I never looked at
his pale, keen face or the poise of his head
without associating him with gray archways and mullioned windows and
all the venerable wreckage of a feudal keep. Once or
twice we drifted into talk, and I can remember that
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more than once he expressed a keen interest in my
methods of observation and inference. For four years I had
seen nothing of him, until one morning he walked into
my room in Montague Street. He had changed little, was
dressed like a young man of fashion. He was always
a bit of a dandy, and preserved the same quiet,
suave manner which had formerly distinguished him. How has all
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gone with you, Musgrave, I asked, after we had ordially
shaken hands. You probably heard of my poor father's death,
said he. He was carried off about two years ago.
Since then, I have, of course had the Hurlstone Estates
to manage, and as I am member for my district
as well, my life has been a busy one. But
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I understand, Holmes, that you are turning to practical ends
those powers with which you used to amaze us. Yes,
said I I have taken to living by my wits.
I am delighted to hear it, for your advice at
present would be exceedingly valuable to me. We have had
some very strange doings at Hurlstone, and the police have
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been able to throw no light upon the matter. It
is really the most extraordinary and inexplicable business. You can
imagine with what eagerness I listened to him Watson, for
the very chance for which I had been panting during
all those months of inaction seemed to have come within
my reach. In my inmost heart, I believe that I
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could succeed where others failed, and now I have the
opportunity to test myself. Pray, let me have the details,
I cried. Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me and
lit the cigarette which I had pushed towards him. You
must know, said he that though I am a bachelor,
I have to keep up a considerable staff of servants
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at Hurlstone, for it is a rambling old place and
takes a good deal of looking after. I preserve too,
and in the pheasant months I usually have a house party,
so that it would not do to be shorthanded. Altogether,
there are eight maids, the cook the butler, two footmen
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and a boy. The garden and the stables, of course,
have a separate staff. Of those servants, the one who
had been longest in our service was Brunton the butler.
He was a young schoolmaster out of place when he
first taken up by my father, but he was a
man of great energy and character, and he soon became
quite invaluable in the household. He was a well grown,
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handsome man with a splendid forehead. And though he has
been with us for twenty years, he cannot be more
than forty now. With his personal advantages and his extraordinary gifts,
for he can speak several languages and play nearly every
musical instrument. It is wonderful that he should have been
satisfied so long in such a position. But I suppose
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that he was comfortable and lacked energy to make any change.
The butler of Hurlstone is always a thing that is
remembered by all who visit us. But this paragon has
one fault. He is a bit of a Don Juan,
and you can imagine that for a man like him,
it is not a very difficult part to play in
a quiet country district. When he was married it was
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all right, but since he has been a widower we
have had no end of trouble with him. A few
months ago we were in hopes that he was about
to settle down again, for we became engaged to Rachel Howell's,
our second housemaid. But he has thrown her over since
then and taken up with Janet Drugellis, the daughter of
the head gamekeeper. Rachel, who is a very good girl
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but of an excitable Welsh temperament, had a sharp touch
of brain fever and goes about the house now, or
did until yesterday, like a black eyed shadow of her
former self. That was our first drama at Hurlstone, but
a second one came to drive it from our minds,
and it was prefaced by the disgrace and dismissal of
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Butler Brunton. This is how it came about. I have
said that the man was intelligent, and this very intelligence
has caused his ruin, for it seems to have led
to an insatiable curiosity about things which did not in
the least concern him. I had no idea of the
lengths to which this would carry him until the merest
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accident opened my eyes to it. I have said that
the house is a rambling one. One day last week,
on Thursday night, to be more exact, I found that
I could not sleep, having foolishly taken a cup of
strong cafe noir after my dinner. After struggling against it
until two in the morning, I felt that it was
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quite hopeless, so I rose and lit the candle with
the intention of continuing a novel which I was reading.
The book, however, had been left in the billiard room,
so I pulled on my dressing gown and started off
to get it. In order to reach the billiard room,
I had to descend a flight of stairs and then
to cross the head of a passage which led to
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the library in the gun room. You can imagine my
surprise when as I looked down this corridor I saw
a glimmer of light coming from the open door of
the library. I had myself extinguished the lamp and closed
the door before coming to bed. Naturally, my first thought
was of burglars. The corridors at Hurlstone of their walls
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largely decorated with trophies of old weapons. From one of these,
I picked a battle axe, and then, leaving my candle
behind me, I crept on tiptoe down the passage and
peeped in at the open door. Brunton, the Butler was
in the library. He was sitting fully dressed in an
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easy chair, with a slip of paper which looked like
a map, upon his knee, and his forehead sunk forward
upon his hand in deep thought. I stood dumb with astonishment,
watching him from the darkness. A small taper on the
edge of the table shed of feeble light, which sufficed
to show me that he was fully dressed. Suddenly, as
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I looked, he rose from his chair, and, walking over
to a bureau at the side, he unlocked it and
drew out one of the drawers. From this he took
a paper, and, returning to his seat, he flattened it
out beside the taper on the edge of the table,
and began to study it with minute attention. My indignation
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at this calm examination of our family documents overcame me
so far that I took a step forward, and Brunton,
looking up, saw me standing in the doorway. He sprang
to his feet, his face turned livid with fear, and
he thrust into his breast the chart like paper which
he had been originally studying. So said I, this is
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how you repay the trust which we have reposed in you.
You will leave my service to morrow. He bowed with
the look of a man who is utterly crushed, and
slunk past me without a word. The taper was still
on the table, and by its light I glanced to
see what the paper was which Brunton had taken from
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the bureau. To my surprise, it was nothing of any
importance at all, but simply a copy of the questions
and answers in the singular old Observants called the Musgrave Ritual.
It is a sort of ceremony peculiar to our family,
which each musgrave for centuries past has gone through on
his coming of age, a thing of private interest, and
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perhaps of some little importance to the archaeologist, like our
own blazonings and charges, but of no practical use whatever.
We had better come back to the paper afterwards, said I,
if you think it really necessary, he answered, with some hesitation,
to continue my statement. However, I relocked a bureau using
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the key which Brunton had left, and I had turned
to go when I was surprised to find that the
butler had returned and was standing before me, mister Musgrave, sir,
he cried in a voice which was hoarse with emotion.
I cannot bear disgray, sir, who have always been proud
above my station in life, and disgrace would kill me.
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My blood will be on your head, sir, it will, indeed,
if you drive me to despair. If you cannot keep
me after what has passed, then for God's sake, let
me give you notice and leave in a month, as
if of my own free will. I could stand that,
mister Musgrave, but not to be cast out before all
the folk that I know so well. You don't deserve
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much consideration, Brunton, I answered, Your conduct has been most infamous. However,
as you have been a long time in the family,
I have no wish to bring public disgrace upon you.
A month, however, is too long. Take yourself away in
a week, and give what reason you like for going
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only a week, sir, he cried in a despairing voice.
A fortnight, say at least a fortnight a week, I repeated,
and you may consider yourself to be very leniently dealt with.
He crept away, his face sunk on his breast like
a broken man. While I put out the light and
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returned to my room. For two days after this, Brunton
was most assiduous in his attention to his duties. I
made no allusion to what had passed, and waited with
some curiosity to see how he would cover his disgrace.
On the third morning, however, he did not appear, as
was his custom after breakfast to receive my instructions for
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the day. As I left the dining room, I happened
to meet Rachel Howells, the maid. I have told you
that she had only recently recovered from an illness, and
was looking so wretchedly pale and one that I remonstrated
with her for being at work. You should be in bed,
I said, come back to your duties when you are stronger.
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She looked at me with so strange an expression that
I began to suspect that her brain was affected. I
am strong enough, mister Musgrave, said she. We will see
what the doctor says. I answered, you must stop work now,
and when you go downstairs, just say that I wished
to see Brunton. The butler is gone, said she gone gone?
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Where he is gone? Now one has seen him. He's
not in his room. Oh yes, he's gone, He's gone.
She fell back against the wall with shriek after shriek
of laughter. While I, horrified at this sudden hysterical attack,
rushed to the bell to summon help. The girl was
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taken to her room, still screaming and sobbing, while I
made inquiries about Brunton. There was no doubt about it
that he had disappeared. His bed had not been slept in,
he had been seen by no one since he had
retired to his room the night before. And yet it
was difficult to see how he could have left the house,
as both windows and doors were found to be fastened
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in the morning, his clothes, his watch, and even his
money when his room whom but the black suit which
he usually wore was missing. His slippers too were gone,
but his boots were left behind. Where then could Butler
Brunton have gone in the night, and what could have
become of him? Now? Of course, we searched the house
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from cellar to garret, but there was no trace of him.
It is, as I have said, a labyrinth of an
old house, especially the original wing, which is now practically uninhabited.
But we ransacked every room and cellar without discovering the
least sign of the missing man. It was incredible to
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me that he could have gone away, leaving all his
property behind him, and yet where could he be. I
called in the local police, but without success. Rain had
fallen on the night before, and we examined the lawn
and the paths all round the house, but in vain.
Matters were in this state when a new development quite
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drew our attack away from the original mystery. For two days,
Rachel Howells had been so ill, sometimes delirious, sometimes hysterical,
that a nurse had been employed to sit up with
her at night. On the third night after Brunton's disappearance,
the nurse, finding her patients sleeping nicely, had dropped into
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a nap in the arm chair. When she woke in
the early morning to find the bed empty, the window open,
and no signs of the invalid I was instantly aroused,
and with the two footmen, started off at once in
search of the missing girl. It was not difficult to
tell the direction which she had taken, for starting from
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under her window, we could follow her footmarks easily across
the lawn to the edge of the mere, where they
vanished close to the gravel path which leads out of
the grounds. The lake there is eight feet deep, and
you can imagine our feelings when we saw that the
trail of the poor demented girl came to an end
at the edge of it. Of course, we had the
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drags at once and set to work to recover the remains,
but no trace of the body could we find. On
the other hand, we brought to the surface an object
of a most unexpected kind. It was a linen bag
which contained within it a mass of old, rusted and
discolored metal, and several dull colored pieces of pebble or glass.
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This strange find was all that we could get from
the mere, And although we made every possible search and
inquiry yesterday we know nothing of the fate either of
Rachel Howells or of Richard Brunton. The county police are
at their wits end, and I have come up to
you as a last resource. You can imagine, Watson, with
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what eagerness I listened to this extraordinary sequence of events
and endeavored to piece them together and to devise some
common thread upon which they might all hang. The butler
was gone, the maid was gone. The maid had loved
the butler but afterwards had cause to hate him. She
was of Welsh blood, fiery and passionate. She had been
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terribly excited. Immediately after his disappearance. She had flung into
the lake a bag containing some curious contents. These were
all factors which had to be taken into consideration, and
yet none of them got quite to the heart of
the matter. What was the starting point of this chain
of events? There lay the end of this tangled line.
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I must see that paper, Musgrave, said, I which this
butler of yours thought it was worth his while to consult,
even at the risk of the loss of his place.
It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of ours,
he answered, But it has at least the saving grace
of antiquity to excuse it. I have a copy of
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the questions and answers here, if you care to your
eye over them. He handed me the very paper which
I have here, Watson. And this is a strange catechism
to which each Musgrave had to submit when he came
to man's estate. I will read you the questions and
answers as they stand. Whose was it his? Who is gone?
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Who shall have it? He? Who will come? Where was
the sun over the oak. Where was the shadow under
the elm? How was it stepped north by ten and
by ten, east by five and by five, south by
two and by two, west by one and by one,
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and so under? What shall we give for it? All
that is ours? Why should we give it for the
sake of the trust? The original has no date, but
is in the spelling of the middle of the seventeenth century,
remarked Musgrave. I am afraid, however, that it can be
of little help to you in solving this mystery. At least,
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said I. It gives us another mystery, and one which
is even more interesting than the first. It may be
that the solution of the one may prove to be
the solution of the other. You will excuse me, Musgrave,
if I say that your butler appears to meet have
been a very clever man, and to have had a
clearer insight than ten generations of his masters. I hardly
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follow you, said Musgrave. The paper seems to me to
be of no practical importance. But to me it seems
immensely practical. And I fancy that Brunton took the same view.
He had probably seen it before that night on which
you caught him it is very possible. We took no
pains to hide it. He simply wished I should imagine
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to refresh his memory upon that last occasion he had,
as I understand, some sort of map or chart which
he was comparing with the manuscript, and which he thrust
into his pocket when you appeared. That is true, But
what could he have to do with this old family
custom of ours? And what does this rigmarole mean? I
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don't think that we should have much difficulty in determining that,
said I, with your permission, we will take the first
train down to Sussex and go a little more deeply
into the matter. Upon the spot. The same afternoon saw
us both at Hurlstone. Possibly have seen pictures and read
descriptions of the famous old building. So I will confine
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my account of it to saying that it is built
in the shape of an el, the long arm being
the more modern portion, and the shorter the ancient nucleus
from which the other had developed over. The low, heavily
linteled door in the center of this old part is
chiseled a date sixteen o seven, But experts are agreed
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that the beams and stone work are really much older
than this. The enormously thick walls and tiny windows of
this part had in the last century driven the family
into building the new wing, and the old one was
used now as a store house and a cellar. When
it was used at all, a splendid park with fine
old timber surrounds the house, and the lake to which
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my client had referred lay close to the avenue, about
two hundred yards from the building. I was already firmly
convinced Watson that there were not three separate mistress here,
but only one, and that if I could read the
Musgrave Ritual aright, I should hold in my hand the
clue which would lead me to the truth concerning both
the butler Brunton and the maid Howls. To that then
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I turned all my energies. Why should this servant be
so anxious to master this old formula? Evidently because he
saw something in it which had escaped all those generations
of country squires, and from which he expected some personal advantage.
What was it, then, and how had it affect did
his fate? It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading
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the ritual that the measurements must refer to some spot
to which the rest of the document eluded, and that
if we could find that spot, we should be in
a fair way towards finding what the secret was which
the old Musgraves had thought it necessary to embalm in
so curious a fashion. There were two guides given us
to start with an oak and an elm. As to
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the oak, there could be no question at all. Right
in front of the house, upon the left hand side
of the drive, there stood a patriarch among oaks, one
of the most magnificent trees that I have ever seen.
That was there when your ritual was drawn up, said I,
as we drove past it. It was there at the
Norman conquest. In all probability, he answered. It has a
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girth of twenty three feet. Have you any old elms,
I asked. There used to be a very old one
over yonder, but it was struck by lightning ten years ago,
and we cut down the stump. You can see where
it used to be. Oh, yes, there are no other elms,
no old ones, but plenty of beeches. I should like
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to see where it grew. We had driven up in
a dog cart, and my client led me away at
once without our entering the house. To the scar on
the lawn where the elm had stood. It was nearly
midway between the oak and the house. My investigation seemed
to be progressing. I suppose it is impossible to find
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out how high the elm was, I asked, I can
give you it at once. It was sixty four feet.
How do you come to know it, I asked, in surprise.
When my old tutor used to give me an exercise
in trigonometry, it always took the shape of measuring heights.
When I was a lad, I worked out every tree
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and building in the estate. This was an unexpected piece
of luck. My data were coming more quickly than I
could have reasonably hoped. Tell me, I asked, Did your
butler ever ask you such a question? Reginald Musgrave looked
at me in astonishment. Now that you call it my mind,
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he answered, Branton did ask me about the height of
the tree some months ago, in connection with some little
argument with the groom. This was excellent news, Watson, for
it showed me that I was on the right road.
I looked up at the sun. It was low in
the heavens, and I calculated that in less than an
hour it would lie just above the topmost branches of
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the old oak. One condition mentioned in the ritual would
then be fulfilled, and the shadow of the elm must
mean the farther end of the shadow, Otherwise the trunk
would have been chosen as the guide. I had then
to find out where the far end of the shadow
would fall when the sun was just clear of the oak.
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That must have been difficult homes when the elm was
no longer there. Well, at least I knew that if
Brunton could do it, I could also. Besides, there was
no real difficulty. I went with Muskrave to his study
and whittled myself this peg, to which I tied this
long string with a knot at each yard. Then I
took two lengths of a fishing rod, which came to
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just six feet, and I went back with my client
to where the elm had been. The sun was just
grazing the top of the oak. I fastened the rod
on end, marked out the direction of the shadow, and
measured it. It was nine feet in length. Of course,
the calculation now was a simple one. If a rod
(31:41):
of six feet through a shadow of nine a tree
of sixty four feet would throw one of ninety six,
and the line of the one would of course be
the line of the other. I measured out the distance
which brought me almost to the wall of the house,
and I thrust a peg into the spot. You can
measure my exultation, Watson. When within two inches of my
(32:03):
peg I saw a conical depression in the ground, I
knew that it was the mark made by Brunton in
his measurements, and that I was still upon his trail.
From this starting point, I proceeded to step, having first
taken the cardinal points of my pocket compass. Ten steps
with each foot took me along parallel with the wall
of the house, and again I marked my spot with
(32:25):
a peg. Then I carefully paced off five to the
east and two to the south. It brought me to
the very threshold of the old door. Two steps to
the west meant now that I was to go two
paces down the stone flagged passage, and this was the
place indicated by the ritual. Never have I felt such
(32:46):
a cold chill of disappointment, Watson. For a moment it
seemed to me that there must be some radical mistake
in my calculations. The setting sun shone full upon the
passage floor, and I could see that the old foot wall.
Gray stones with which it was paved were firmly cemented together,
and had certainly not been moved for many a long year.
(33:08):
Brunton had not been at work here. I tapped upon
the floor, but it sounded the same all over, and
there was no sign of any crack or crevice. But
fortunately Musgrave, who had begun to appreciate the meaning of
my proceedings, and who was now as excited as myself,
took out his manuscript to check my calculation, and under
(33:30):
he cried, you have omitted the And under I had
thought that it meant that we were to dig. But now,
of course I saw at once that I was wrong.
There is a cellar under this. Then I cried, yes,
and as old as the house down here through this
door we went down a winding stone stair, and my companion,
(33:53):
striking a match, lit a large lantern which stood on
a barrel in the corner. In an instant it was
obvious that we had at last come upon the true place,
and that we had not been the only people to
visit the spot. Recently. It had been used for the
storage of wood, but the billets, which had evidently been
littered over the floor were now piled at the sides
(34:15):
so as to leave a clear space in the middle.
In this space lay a large and heavy flagstone with
a rusted iron ring in the center, to which a
thick shepherd's check muffler was attached by Jove, cried my client,
that's Brunton's muffler. I've seen it on him and could
swear to it. What has the villain been doing here?
(34:38):
At my suggestion, a couple of the county police were
summoned to be present, and I then endeavored to raise
the stone by pulling on the cravat. I could only
move it slightly, and it was with the aid of
one of the constables that I succeeded at last in
carrying it to one side. A black hole yawned beneath
into which we all peered, while Musgrave, kneel at the
(35:00):
side pushed down the lantern. A small chamber about seven
feet deep and four feet square lay open to us.
At one side of this was a squat brass bound
wooden box, the lid of which was hinged upwards, with
this curious old fashioned key projecting from the lock. It
was furred outside by a thick layer of dust and
(35:22):
dampened worms had eaten through the wood, so that a
crop of livid fungi was growing on the inside of it.
Several disks of metal, old coins, apparently such as I
hold here, were scattered over the bottom of the box,
but it contained nothing else. At the moment, however, we
had no thought for the old chest, for our eyes
(35:43):
were riveted upon that which crouched beside it. It was
the figure of a man clad in a suit of black,
who squatted down upon his hands, with his forehead sunk
upon the edge of the box, and his two arms
thrown out on each side of it. The attitude had
drawn all the stagnant blood to the face, and no
man could have recognized that distorted, liver colored countenance. But
(36:08):
his height, his dress, and his hair were all sufficient
to show my client, when we had drawn the body up,
that it was indeed his missing butler. He had been
dead some days, but there was no wound or bruise
upon his person to show how he had met his
dreadful end. When his body had been carried from the cellar,
(36:29):
we found ourselves still confronted with a problem which was
almost as formidable as that which we had started. I
confess that so far, Watson, I had been disappointed in
my investigation. I had reckoned upon solving the matter when
once I had found the place referred to in the ritual.
But now I was there, and was apparently as far
(36:50):
as ever from knowing what it was which the family
had concealed with such elaborate precautions. It is true that
I had thrown a light upon the fate of Brunton,
but now I had to ascertain how that fate had
come upon him, and what part had been played in
the matter by the woman who had disappeared. I sat
down upon a keg in the corner and thought the
(37:13):
whole matter carefully over. You know my methods in such cases, Watson.
I put myself in the man's place, and, having first
gaged his intelligence, I tried to imagine how I should
myself have proceeded under the same circumstances. In this case,
the matter was simplified by Brunton's intelligence being quite first rate,
(37:34):
so that it was unnecessary to make any allowance for
the personal equation, as the astronomers have dubbed it. He
knew that something valuable was concealed. He had spotted the
place he found that the stone which covered it was
just too heavy for a man to move unaided. What
would he do next? He could not get help from outside,
(37:55):
even if he had some one whom he could trust,
without the unbarring of doors and considerable risk of detection.
It was better if he could to have his helpmate
inside the house. But whom could he ask? This girl
had been devoted to him. A man always finds it
hard to realize that he may have finally lost a
woman's love, however badly he may have treated her. He
(38:19):
would try, by a few attentions, to make his peace
with the girl, howels, and then would engage her as
his accomplice. Together they would come at night to the cellar,
and their united force would suffice to raise the stone.
So far I could follow their actions as if I
had actually seen them. But for two of them and
(38:39):
one a woman, it must have been heavy work the
raising of that stone A burly Sussex policeman, and I
had found it no light job. What would they do
to assist them? Probably what I should have done myself.
I rose and examined carefully the different billets of wood
which were scattered round the floor, almost at once I
(39:00):
came upon what I expected. One piece about three feet
in length, had a very marked indentation at one end,
while several were flattened at the sides, as if they
had been compressed by some considerable weight. Evidently, as they
had dragged the stone up, they had thrust the chunks
of wood into the chink, until at last, when the
(39:20):
opening was large enough to crawl through, they would hold
it open by a billet placed lengthwise, which might very
well become indented at the lower end, since the whole
weight of the stone would press it down to the
edge of this other slab. So far I was still
on safe ground. And now how was I to proceed
to reconstruct this midnight drama? Clearly only one could fit
(39:44):
into the hole, and that one was Brunton. The girl
must have waited above. Brunton then unlocked the box, handed
up the contents, presumably since they were not to be found.
And then, and then what happened? What smoldering fire of
vengeance had suddenly sprung into flame in this passionate Celtic
(40:08):
woman's soul when she saw the man who had wronged
her wronged her, perhaps far more than we suspected. In
her power. Was it a chance that the wood had slipped,
and that the stone had shut Brunton into what had
become his sepulcher. Had she only been guilty of silence
as to his fate, or had some sudden blow from
her hand dashed the support away and sent the slab
(40:31):
crashing down into its place. Be that as it might,
I seemed to see that woman's figure still clutching at
her treasure trove, and flying wildly up the winding stair,
with her ears ringing, perhaps with the muffled screams from
behind her, and with the drumming of frenzied hands against
the slab of stone which was choking her faithless lover's life.
(40:54):
Out Here was the secret of her blanched face, her
shaken nerves, her peals of hysterical laughter. On the next morning,
But what had been in the box? What had she
done with that? Of course, it must have been the
old metal and pebbles which my client had dragged from
the mere. She had thrown them in there at the
(41:16):
first opportunity to remove the last trace of her crime.
For twenty minutes I had sat motionless, thinking the matter out.
Musgrave still stood with a very pale face, swinging his
lantern and peering down into the hole. These are the
coins of Charles, the First, said, he holding out the
(41:37):
few which had been in the box. You see, we
were right in fixing our date for the ritual. We
may find something else of Charles the first, I cried,
as the probable meaning of the first two questions of
the ritual broke suddenly upon me. Let me see the
contents of the bag which you fished from the mere.
We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris
(41:59):
before me. I could understand his regarding it as of
small importance when I looked at it, for the metal
was almost black, and the stones lustreless and dull. I
rubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it
glowed afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of
my hand. The metal work was in the form of
(42:19):
a double ring, but it had been bent and twisted
out of its original shape. You must bear in mind,
said I, that the Royal party made head in England
even after the death of the king, and that when
they at last fled, they probably left many of their
most precious possessions buried behind them. With the intention of
(42:39):
returning for them in more peaceful times. My ancestor, Sir
Ralph Musgrave, was a prominent cavalier and the right hand
man of Charles the Second. In his wanderings, said my
friend Ah, Indeed, I answered, well, now, I think that
really should give us the last link that we wanted.
(43:01):
I must congratulate you on coming into the possession, though
in rather a tragic manner, of a relic which is
of great intrinsic value, but of even greater importance as
an historical curiosity. What is it, then, he gasped in astonishment.
It is nothing less than the ancient crown of the
kings of England, the crown precisely. Consider what the ritual says,
(43:28):
How does it run? Whose was it? His? Who is gone?
That was after the excution of Charles? Then who shall
have it? He who will come? That was Charles the Second,
whose advent was already foreseen. There can, I think, be
no doubt that this batter than shapeless diadem once encircled
(43:51):
the brows of the royal Stuarts. And how came it
in the pond? Ah, That is a question that will
take some time to answer. And with that I sketched
out to him the whole long chain of surmise and
of proof which I had constructed. The twilight had closed
in and the moon was shining brightly in the sky
(44:12):
before my narrative was finished. And how was it then
that Charles did not get his crown when he returned,
asked Musgrave, pushing back the relic into its linen bag. Ah,
there you lay your finger upon the one point which
we shall probably never be able to clear up. It
is likely that the Musgrave who held the secret died
(44:35):
in the interval, and by some oversight, left this guide
to his descendant without explaining the meaning of it. From
that day to this it has been handed down from
father to son, until at last it came within reach
of a man who tore its secret out of it
and lost his life in the venture. And that's the
story of the Musgrave ritual, Watson. They have the crown
(44:58):
down at Hurlstone. They had some legal bother and a
considerable sum to pay before they were allowed to retain it.
I am sure that if you mentioned my name, they
would be happy to show it to you. Of the woman,
nothing was ever heard, and the probability is that she
got away out of England, and carried herself from the
memory of her crime, to some land beyond the seas
(45:23):
end of the musgrave ritual
Adventure five in the Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes by Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.
Adventure five the Musgrave Ritual. An anomaly which often struck
me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was
that although in his methods of thought he was the
neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he
(00:24):
affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was nonetheless,
in his personal habits one of the most untidy men
that ever drove a fellow lodger to distraction. Not that
I am in the least conventional in that respect myself.
The rough and tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the
top of a natural bohemianism of disposition, has made rather
(00:45):
more lax than befits a medical man. But with me
there is a limit. And when I find a man
who keeps his cigars in the coal, scuttle his tobacco
in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his
unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jackknife into the very center
of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself
virtuous airs. I have always held too that pistol practice
(01:09):
should be distinctly an open air pastime, And when homes
in one of his queer humors, would sit in an
arm chair with his hair trigger and a hundred boxer cartridges,
and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic
v R done in bullet pocks. I felt strongly that
neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was
(01:31):
improved by it. Our chambers were always full of chemicals
and of criminal relics, which had a way of wandering
into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter
dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers
were my great crucks. He had a horror of destroying documents,
especially those which were connected with his past cases. And
(01:54):
yet it was only once in every year or two
that he would muster energy to dock it and arrange them. Or,
as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the
outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats
with which his name is associated were followed by reactions
of lethargy, during which he would lie about with his
violin and his books hardly moving save from the sofa
(02:18):
to the table. Thus, month after month his papers accumulated,
until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles
of manuscript which were on no account to be burned,
and which could not be put away save by their owner.
One winter's night, as we sat together by the fire,
I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had
(02:38):
finished pasting extracts into his commonplace book, he might employ
the next two hours in making our room a little
more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request,
so with a rather rueful face, he went off to
his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large
tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle
(03:00):
of the floor, and, squatting down upon a stool in
front of it, he threw back the lid. I could
see that it was already a third full of bundles
of paper, tied up with red tape into separate packages.
There are cases enough here, Watson said, he looking at
me with mischievous eyes. I think that if you knew
all that I had in this box, you would ask
(03:22):
me to pull some out instead of putting others in.
These are the records of your early work, then, I asked,
I often wished that I had notes of those cases. Yes,
my boy, these were all done prematurely, before my biographer
had come to glorify me. He lifted bundle after bundle
in a tender, caressing sort of way. They are not
(03:45):
all successes, Watson said, he, but there are some pretty
little problems among them. Here is the record of the
Tarletan murders, and the case of Vanbury, the wine merchant,
and the adventurer of the old Russian woman, and the
singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a
full account of Ricoletti, of the club Foot and his
(04:06):
abominable wife. And here, ah, now this really is something
a little rich are shat. He dived his arm down
to the bottom of the chest and brought up a
small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children's
toys are kept in. From within, he produced a crumpled
piece of paper, an old fashioned brass quay, a peg
(04:27):
of wood with a ball of string attached to it,
and three rusty old disks of metal. Well, my boy,
what do you make of this lot, he asked, smiling
at my expression. It is a curious collection. Very curious,
and the story that hangs round it will strike you
as being more curious. Still. These relics have a history, then,
(04:49):
so much so that they are history. What do you
mean by that? Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by
one and laid them along the edge of the table.
He reseated himself in his chair and looked them over
with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. These said,
he are all that I have left to remind me
(05:10):
of the adventure of the Musgrave ritual. I'd heard him
mention the case more than once, though I'd never been
able to gather the details. I should be so glad,
said I, if you'd give me an account of it,
and leave the litter as it is, He cried mischievously.
Your tidiness won't bear much strain, after all, Watson. But
(05:33):
I should be glad that you should add this case
to your annals, for there are points in it which
make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or,
I believe, of any other country. A collection of my
trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account
of this very singular business. You may remember how the
(05:54):
affair of the glorious Scott, and my conversation with the
unhappy man whose fate I told you of first turned
my attention in the direction of the profession which had
become my life's work. You see me now, when my
name has become known far and wide, and when I
am generally recognized both by the public and by the
official force as being a final court of appeal in
(06:17):
doubtful cases. Even when you knew me first at the
time of the affair which you have commemorated in a
study in Scarlet, I had already established a considerable, though
not a very lucrative connection. You can hardly realize then,
how difficult I found it at first, and how long
I had to wait before I succeeded in making any headway.
(06:40):
When I first came up to London, I had rooms
in Montague Street, just round the corner from the British Museum,
and there I waited, filling in my too abundant leisure
time by studying all those branches of science which might
make me more efficient. Now and again, cases came in
my way, principally through the introduction of old fellow students.
(07:01):
For during my last years at the university, there was
a good deal of talk there about myself and my methods.
The third of these cases was that of the Musgrave Ritual.
And it is to the interest which was aroused by
that singular chain of events, and the large issues which
proved to be at stake, that I trace my first
stride towards the position which I now hold. Reginald Musgrave
(07:26):
had been in the same college as myself, and I
had some slight acquaintance with him. He was not generally
popular among the undergraduates, though it always seemed to me
that what was set down as pride was really an
attempt to cover extreme natural diffidence. In appearance, he was
a man of exceedingly aristocratic type, thin, high nosed and
(07:47):
large eyed, with languid and yet courtly manners. He was
indeed a scion of one of the very oldest families
in the Kingdom, though his branch was a cadet one
which had separated from the northern Musgraves some time in
the sixteenth century and had established itself in western Sussex,
where the manor house of Hurlstone is perhaps the oldest
(08:09):
inhabited building in the county. Something of his birthplace seemed
to cling to the man, and I never looked at
his pale, keen face or the poise of his head
without associating him with gray archways and mullioned windows and
all the venerable wreckage of a feudal keep. Once or
twice we drifted into talk, and I can remember that
(08:32):
more than once he expressed a keen interest in my
methods of observation and inference. For four years I had
seen nothing of him, until one morning he walked into
my room in Montague Street. He had changed little, was
dressed like a young man of fashion. He was always
a bit of a dandy, and preserved the same quiet,
suave manner which had formerly distinguished him. How has all
(08:57):
gone with you, Musgrave, I asked, after we had ordially
shaken hands. You probably heard of my poor father's death,
said he. He was carried off about two years ago.
Since then, I have, of course had the Hurlstone Estates
to manage, and as I am member for my district
as well, my life has been a busy one. But
(09:18):
I understand, Holmes, that you are turning to practical ends
those powers with which you used to amaze us. Yes,
said I I have taken to living by my wits.
I am delighted to hear it, for your advice at
present would be exceedingly valuable to me. We have had
some very strange doings at Hurlstone, and the police have
(09:39):
been able to throw no light upon the matter. It
is really the most extraordinary and inexplicable business. You can
imagine with what eagerness I listened to him Watson, for
the very chance for which I had been panting during
all those months of inaction seemed to have come within
my reach. In my inmost heart, I believe that I
(10:00):
could succeed where others failed, and now I have the
opportunity to test myself. Pray, let me have the details,
I cried. Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me and
lit the cigarette which I had pushed towards him. You
must know, said he that though I am a bachelor,
I have to keep up a considerable staff of servants
(10:23):
at Hurlstone, for it is a rambling old place and
takes a good deal of looking after. I preserve too,
and in the pheasant months I usually have a house party,
so that it would not do to be shorthanded. Altogether,
there are eight maids, the cook the butler, two footmen
(10:43):
and a boy. The garden and the stables, of course,
have a separate staff. Of those servants, the one who
had been longest in our service was Brunton the butler.
He was a young schoolmaster out of place when he
first taken up by my father, but he was a
man of great energy and character, and he soon became
quite invaluable in the household. He was a well grown,
(11:07):
handsome man with a splendid forehead. And though he has
been with us for twenty years, he cannot be more
than forty now. With his personal advantages and his extraordinary gifts,
for he can speak several languages and play nearly every
musical instrument. It is wonderful that he should have been
satisfied so long in such a position. But I suppose
(11:29):
that he was comfortable and lacked energy to make any change.
The butler of Hurlstone is always a thing that is
remembered by all who visit us. But this paragon has
one fault. He is a bit of a Don Juan,
and you can imagine that for a man like him,
it is not a very difficult part to play in
a quiet country district. When he was married it was
(11:51):
all right, but since he has been a widower we
have had no end of trouble with him. A few
months ago we were in hopes that he was about
to settle down again, for we became engaged to Rachel Howell's,
our second housemaid. But he has thrown her over since
then and taken up with Janet Drugellis, the daughter of
the head gamekeeper. Rachel, who is a very good girl
(12:15):
but of an excitable Welsh temperament, had a sharp touch
of brain fever and goes about the house now, or
did until yesterday, like a black eyed shadow of her
former self. That was our first drama at Hurlstone, but
a second one came to drive it from our minds,
and it was prefaced by the disgrace and dismissal of
(12:35):
Butler Brunton. This is how it came about. I have
said that the man was intelligent, and this very intelligence
has caused his ruin, for it seems to have led
to an insatiable curiosity about things which did not in
the least concern him. I had no idea of the
lengths to which this would carry him until the merest
(12:56):
accident opened my eyes to it. I have said that
the house is a rambling one. One day last week,
on Thursday night, to be more exact, I found that
I could not sleep, having foolishly taken a cup of
strong cafe noir after my dinner. After struggling against it
until two in the morning, I felt that it was
(13:18):
quite hopeless, so I rose and lit the candle with
the intention of continuing a novel which I was reading.
The book, however, had been left in the billiard room,
so I pulled on my dressing gown and started off
to get it. In order to reach the billiard room,
I had to descend a flight of stairs and then
to cross the head of a passage which led to
(13:39):
the library in the gun room. You can imagine my
surprise when as I looked down this corridor I saw
a glimmer of light coming from the open door of
the library. I had myself extinguished the lamp and closed
the door before coming to bed. Naturally, my first thought
was of burglars. The corridors at Hurlstone of their walls
(14:02):
largely decorated with trophies of old weapons. From one of these,
I picked a battle axe, and then, leaving my candle
behind me, I crept on tiptoe down the passage and
peeped in at the open door. Brunton, the Butler was
in the library. He was sitting fully dressed in an
(14:22):
easy chair, with a slip of paper which looked like
a map, upon his knee, and his forehead sunk forward
upon his hand in deep thought. I stood dumb with astonishment,
watching him from the darkness. A small taper on the
edge of the table shed of feeble light, which sufficed
to show me that he was fully dressed. Suddenly, as
(14:45):
I looked, he rose from his chair, and, walking over
to a bureau at the side, he unlocked it and
drew out one of the drawers. From this he took
a paper, and, returning to his seat, he flattened it
out beside the taper on the edge of the table,
and began to study it with minute attention. My indignation
(15:07):
at this calm examination of our family documents overcame me
so far that I took a step forward, and Brunton,
looking up, saw me standing in the doorway. He sprang
to his feet, his face turned livid with fear, and
he thrust into his breast the chart like paper which
he had been originally studying. So said I, this is
(15:31):
how you repay the trust which we have reposed in you.
You will leave my service to morrow. He bowed with
the look of a man who is utterly crushed, and
slunk past me without a word. The taper was still
on the table, and by its light I glanced to
see what the paper was which Brunton had taken from
(15:51):
the bureau. To my surprise, it was nothing of any
importance at all, but simply a copy of the questions
and answers in the singular old Observants called the Musgrave Ritual.
It is a sort of ceremony peculiar to our family,
which each musgrave for centuries past has gone through on
his coming of age, a thing of private interest, and
(16:14):
perhaps of some little importance to the archaeologist, like our
own blazonings and charges, but of no practical use whatever.
We had better come back to the paper afterwards, said I,
if you think it really necessary, he answered, with some hesitation,
to continue my statement. However, I relocked a bureau using
(16:38):
the key which Brunton had left, and I had turned
to go when I was surprised to find that the
butler had returned and was standing before me, mister Musgrave, sir,
he cried in a voice which was hoarse with emotion.
I cannot bear disgray, sir, who have always been proud
above my station in life, and disgrace would kill me.
(17:00):
My blood will be on your head, sir, it will, indeed,
if you drive me to despair. If you cannot keep
me after what has passed, then for God's sake, let
me give you notice and leave in a month, as
if of my own free will. I could stand that,
mister Musgrave, but not to be cast out before all
the folk that I know so well. You don't deserve
(17:22):
much consideration, Brunton, I answered, Your conduct has been most infamous. However,
as you have been a long time in the family,
I have no wish to bring public disgrace upon you.
A month, however, is too long. Take yourself away in
a week, and give what reason you like for going
(17:43):
only a week, sir, he cried in a despairing voice.
A fortnight, say at least a fortnight a week, I repeated,
and you may consider yourself to be very leniently dealt with.
He crept away, his face sunk on his breast like
a broken man. While I put out the light and
(18:03):
returned to my room. For two days after this, Brunton
was most assiduous in his attention to his duties. I
made no allusion to what had passed, and waited with
some curiosity to see how he would cover his disgrace.
On the third morning, however, he did not appear, as
was his custom after breakfast to receive my instructions for
(18:25):
the day. As I left the dining room, I happened
to meet Rachel Howells, the maid. I have told you
that she had only recently recovered from an illness, and
was looking so wretchedly pale and one that I remonstrated
with her for being at work. You should be in bed,
I said, come back to your duties when you are stronger.
(18:48):
She looked at me with so strange an expression that
I began to suspect that her brain was affected. I
am strong enough, mister Musgrave, said she. We will see
what the doctor says. I answered, you must stop work now,
and when you go downstairs, just say that I wished
to see Brunton. The butler is gone, said she gone gone?
(19:12):
Where he is gone? Now one has seen him. He's
not in his room. Oh yes, he's gone, He's gone.
She fell back against the wall with shriek after shriek
of laughter. While I, horrified at this sudden hysterical attack,
rushed to the bell to summon help. The girl was
(19:33):
taken to her room, still screaming and sobbing, while I
made inquiries about Brunton. There was no doubt about it
that he had disappeared. His bed had not been slept in,
he had been seen by no one since he had
retired to his room the night before. And yet it
was difficult to see how he could have left the house,
as both windows and doors were found to be fastened
(19:55):
in the morning, his clothes, his watch, and even his
money when his room whom but the black suit which
he usually wore was missing. His slippers too were gone,
but his boots were left behind. Where then could Butler
Brunton have gone in the night, and what could have
become of him? Now? Of course, we searched the house
(20:17):
from cellar to garret, but there was no trace of him.
It is, as I have said, a labyrinth of an
old house, especially the original wing, which is now practically uninhabited.
But we ransacked every room and cellar without discovering the
least sign of the missing man. It was incredible to
(20:37):
me that he could have gone away, leaving all his
property behind him, and yet where could he be. I
called in the local police, but without success. Rain had
fallen on the night before, and we examined the lawn
and the paths all round the house, but in vain.
Matters were in this state when a new development quite
(20:59):
drew our attack away from the original mystery. For two days,
Rachel Howells had been so ill, sometimes delirious, sometimes hysterical,
that a nurse had been employed to sit up with
her at night. On the third night after Brunton's disappearance,
the nurse, finding her patients sleeping nicely, had dropped into
(21:21):
a nap in the arm chair. When she woke in
the early morning to find the bed empty, the window open,
and no signs of the invalid I was instantly aroused,
and with the two footmen, started off at once in
search of the missing girl. It was not difficult to
tell the direction which she had taken, for starting from
(21:43):
under her window, we could follow her footmarks easily across
the lawn to the edge of the mere, where they
vanished close to the gravel path which leads out of
the grounds. The lake there is eight feet deep, and
you can imagine our feelings when we saw that the
trail of the poor demented girl came to an end
at the edge of it. Of course, we had the
(22:04):
drags at once and set to work to recover the remains,
but no trace of the body could we find. On
the other hand, we brought to the surface an object
of a most unexpected kind. It was a linen bag
which contained within it a mass of old, rusted and
discolored metal, and several dull colored pieces of pebble or glass.
(22:29):
This strange find was all that we could get from
the mere, And although we made every possible search and
inquiry yesterday we know nothing of the fate either of
Rachel Howells or of Richard Brunton. The county police are
at their wits end, and I have come up to
you as a last resource. You can imagine, Watson, with
(22:51):
what eagerness I listened to this extraordinary sequence of events
and endeavored to piece them together and to devise some
common thread upon which they might all hang. The butler
was gone, the maid was gone. The maid had loved
the butler but afterwards had cause to hate him. She
was of Welsh blood, fiery and passionate. She had been
(23:13):
terribly excited. Immediately after his disappearance. She had flung into
the lake a bag containing some curious contents. These were
all factors which had to be taken into consideration, and
yet none of them got quite to the heart of
the matter. What was the starting point of this chain
of events? There lay the end of this tangled line.
(23:37):
I must see that paper, Musgrave, said, I which this
butler of yours thought it was worth his while to consult,
even at the risk of the loss of his place.
It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of ours,
he answered, But it has at least the saving grace
of antiquity to excuse it. I have a copy of
(23:57):
the questions and answers here, if you care to your
eye over them. He handed me the very paper which
I have here, Watson. And this is a strange catechism
to which each Musgrave had to submit when he came
to man's estate. I will read you the questions and
answers as they stand. Whose was it his? Who is gone?
(24:21):
Who shall have it? He? Who will come? Where was
the sun over the oak. Where was the shadow under
the elm? How was it stepped north by ten and
by ten, east by five and by five, south by
two and by two, west by one and by one,
(24:43):
and so under? What shall we give for it? All
that is ours? Why should we give it for the
sake of the trust? The original has no date, but
is in the spelling of the middle of the seventeenth century,
remarked Musgrave. I am afraid, however, that it can be
of little help to you in solving this mystery. At least,
(25:06):
said I. It gives us another mystery, and one which
is even more interesting than the first. It may be
that the solution of the one may prove to be
the solution of the other. You will excuse me, Musgrave,
if I say that your butler appears to meet have
been a very clever man, and to have had a
clearer insight than ten generations of his masters. I hardly
(25:28):
follow you, said Musgrave. The paper seems to me to
be of no practical importance. But to me it seems
immensely practical. And I fancy that Brunton took the same view.
He had probably seen it before that night on which
you caught him it is very possible. We took no
pains to hide it. He simply wished I should imagine
(25:52):
to refresh his memory upon that last occasion he had,
as I understand, some sort of map or chart which
he was comparing with the manuscript, and which he thrust
into his pocket when you appeared. That is true, But
what could he have to do with this old family
custom of ours? And what does this rigmarole mean? I
(26:14):
don't think that we should have much difficulty in determining that,
said I, with your permission, we will take the first
train down to Sussex and go a little more deeply
into the matter. Upon the spot. The same afternoon saw
us both at Hurlstone. Possibly have seen pictures and read
descriptions of the famous old building. So I will confine
(26:34):
my account of it to saying that it is built
in the shape of an el, the long arm being
the more modern portion, and the shorter the ancient nucleus
from which the other had developed over. The low, heavily
linteled door in the center of this old part is
chiseled a date sixteen o seven, But experts are agreed
(26:54):
that the beams and stone work are really much older
than this. The enormously thick walls and tiny windows of
this part had in the last century driven the family
into building the new wing, and the old one was
used now as a store house and a cellar. When
it was used at all, a splendid park with fine
old timber surrounds the house, and the lake to which
(27:16):
my client had referred lay close to the avenue, about
two hundred yards from the building. I was already firmly
convinced Watson that there were not three separate mistress here,
but only one, and that if I could read the
Musgrave Ritual aright, I should hold in my hand the
clue which would lead me to the truth concerning both
the butler Brunton and the maid Howls. To that then
(27:40):
I turned all my energies. Why should this servant be
so anxious to master this old formula? Evidently because he
saw something in it which had escaped all those generations
of country squires, and from which he expected some personal advantage.
What was it, then, and how had it affect did
his fate? It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading
(28:04):
the ritual that the measurements must refer to some spot
to which the rest of the document eluded, and that
if we could find that spot, we should be in
a fair way towards finding what the secret was which
the old Musgraves had thought it necessary to embalm in
so curious a fashion. There were two guides given us
to start with an oak and an elm. As to
(28:27):
the oak, there could be no question at all. Right
in front of the house, upon the left hand side
of the drive, there stood a patriarch among oaks, one
of the most magnificent trees that I have ever seen.
That was there when your ritual was drawn up, said I,
as we drove past it. It was there at the
Norman conquest. In all probability, he answered. It has a
(28:51):
girth of twenty three feet. Have you any old elms,
I asked. There used to be a very old one
over yonder, but it was struck by lightning ten years ago,
and we cut down the stump. You can see where
it used to be. Oh, yes, there are no other elms,
no old ones, but plenty of beeches. I should like
(29:15):
to see where it grew. We had driven up in
a dog cart, and my client led me away at
once without our entering the house. To the scar on
the lawn where the elm had stood. It was nearly
midway between the oak and the house. My investigation seemed
to be progressing. I suppose it is impossible to find
(29:35):
out how high the elm was, I asked, I can
give you it at once. It was sixty four feet.
How do you come to know it, I asked, in surprise.
When my old tutor used to give me an exercise
in trigonometry, it always took the shape of measuring heights.
When I was a lad, I worked out every tree
(29:57):
and building in the estate. This was an unexpected piece
of luck. My data were coming more quickly than I
could have reasonably hoped. Tell me, I asked, Did your
butler ever ask you such a question? Reginald Musgrave looked
at me in astonishment. Now that you call it my mind,
(30:17):
he answered, Branton did ask me about the height of
the tree some months ago, in connection with some little
argument with the groom. This was excellent news, Watson, for
it showed me that I was on the right road.
I looked up at the sun. It was low in
the heavens, and I calculated that in less than an
hour it would lie just above the topmost branches of
(30:39):
the old oak. One condition mentioned in the ritual would
then be fulfilled, and the shadow of the elm must
mean the farther end of the shadow, Otherwise the trunk
would have been chosen as the guide. I had then
to find out where the far end of the shadow
would fall when the sun was just clear of the oak.
(31:00):
That must have been difficult homes when the elm was
no longer there. Well, at least I knew that if
Brunton could do it, I could also. Besides, there was
no real difficulty. I went with Muskrave to his study
and whittled myself this peg, to which I tied this
long string with a knot at each yard. Then I
took two lengths of a fishing rod, which came to
(31:21):
just six feet, and I went back with my client
to where the elm had been. The sun was just
grazing the top of the oak. I fastened the rod
on end, marked out the direction of the shadow, and
measured it. It was nine feet in length. Of course,
the calculation now was a simple one. If a rod
(31:41):
of six feet through a shadow of nine a tree
of sixty four feet would throw one of ninety six,
and the line of the one would of course be
the line of the other. I measured out the distance
which brought me almost to the wall of the house,
and I thrust a peg into the spot. You can
measure my exultation, Watson. When within two inches of my
(32:03):
peg I saw a conical depression in the ground, I
knew that it was the mark made by Brunton in
his measurements, and that I was still upon his trail.
From this starting point, I proceeded to step, having first
taken the cardinal points of my pocket compass. Ten steps
with each foot took me along parallel with the wall
of the house, and again I marked my spot with
(32:25):
a peg. Then I carefully paced off five to the
east and two to the south. It brought me to
the very threshold of the old door. Two steps to
the west meant now that I was to go two
paces down the stone flagged passage, and this was the
place indicated by the ritual. Never have I felt such
(32:46):
a cold chill of disappointment, Watson. For a moment it
seemed to me that there must be some radical mistake
in my calculations. The setting sun shone full upon the
passage floor, and I could see that the old foot wall.
Gray stones with which it was paved were firmly cemented together,
and had certainly not been moved for many a long year.
(33:08):
Brunton had not been at work here. I tapped upon
the floor, but it sounded the same all over, and
there was no sign of any crack or crevice. But
fortunately Musgrave, who had begun to appreciate the meaning of
my proceedings, and who was now as excited as myself,
took out his manuscript to check my calculation, and under
(33:30):
he cried, you have omitted the And under I had
thought that it meant that we were to dig. But now,
of course I saw at once that I was wrong.
There is a cellar under this. Then I cried, yes,
and as old as the house down here through this
door we went down a winding stone stair, and my companion,
(33:53):
striking a match, lit a large lantern which stood on
a barrel in the corner. In an instant it was
obvious that we had at last come upon the true place,
and that we had not been the only people to
visit the spot. Recently. It had been used for the
storage of wood, but the billets, which had evidently been
littered over the floor were now piled at the sides
(34:15):
so as to leave a clear space in the middle.
In this space lay a large and heavy flagstone with
a rusted iron ring in the center, to which a
thick shepherd's check muffler was attached by Jove, cried my client,
that's Brunton's muffler. I've seen it on him and could
swear to it. What has the villain been doing here?
(34:38):
At my suggestion, a couple of the county police were
summoned to be present, and I then endeavored to raise
the stone by pulling on the cravat. I could only
move it slightly, and it was with the aid of
one of the constables that I succeeded at last in
carrying it to one side. A black hole yawned beneath
into which we all peered, while Musgrave, kneel at the
(35:00):
side pushed down the lantern. A small chamber about seven
feet deep and four feet square lay open to us.
At one side of this was a squat brass bound
wooden box, the lid of which was hinged upwards, with
this curious old fashioned key projecting from the lock. It
was furred outside by a thick layer of dust and
(35:22):
dampened worms had eaten through the wood, so that a
crop of livid fungi was growing on the inside of it.
Several disks of metal, old coins, apparently such as I
hold here, were scattered over the bottom of the box,
but it contained nothing else. At the moment, however, we
had no thought for the old chest, for our eyes
(35:43):
were riveted upon that which crouched beside it. It was
the figure of a man clad in a suit of black,
who squatted down upon his hands, with his forehead sunk
upon the edge of the box, and his two arms
thrown out on each side of it. The attitude had
drawn all the stagnant blood to the face, and no
man could have recognized that distorted, liver colored countenance. But
(36:08):
his height, his dress, and his hair were all sufficient
to show my client, when we had drawn the body up,
that it was indeed his missing butler. He had been
dead some days, but there was no wound or bruise
upon his person to show how he had met his
dreadful end. When his body had been carried from the cellar,
(36:29):
we found ourselves still confronted with a problem which was
almost as formidable as that which we had started. I
confess that so far, Watson, I had been disappointed in
my investigation. I had reckoned upon solving the matter when
once I had found the place referred to in the ritual.
But now I was there, and was apparently as far
(36:50):
as ever from knowing what it was which the family
had concealed with such elaborate precautions. It is true that
I had thrown a light upon the fate of Brunton,
but now I had to ascertain how that fate had
come upon him, and what part had been played in
the matter by the woman who had disappeared. I sat
down upon a keg in the corner and thought the
(37:13):
whole matter carefully over. You know my methods in such cases, Watson.
I put myself in the man's place, and, having first
gaged his intelligence, I tried to imagine how I should
myself have proceeded under the same circumstances. In this case,
the matter was simplified by Brunton's intelligence being quite first rate,
(37:34):
so that it was unnecessary to make any allowance for
the personal equation, as the astronomers have dubbed it. He
knew that something valuable was concealed. He had spotted the
place he found that the stone which covered it was
just too heavy for a man to move unaided. What
would he do next? He could not get help from outside,
(37:55):
even if he had some one whom he could trust,
without the unbarring of doors and considerable risk of detection.
It was better if he could to have his helpmate
inside the house. But whom could he ask? This girl
had been devoted to him. A man always finds it
hard to realize that he may have finally lost a
woman's love, however badly he may have treated her. He
(38:19):
would try, by a few attentions, to make his peace
with the girl, howels, and then would engage her as
his accomplice. Together they would come at night to the cellar,
and their united force would suffice to raise the stone.
So far I could follow their actions as if I
had actually seen them. But for two of them and
(38:39):
one a woman, it must have been heavy work the
raising of that stone A burly Sussex policeman, and I
had found it no light job. What would they do
to assist them? Probably what I should have done myself.
I rose and examined carefully the different billets of wood
which were scattered round the floor, almost at once I
(39:00):
came upon what I expected. One piece about three feet
in length, had a very marked indentation at one end,
while several were flattened at the sides, as if they
had been compressed by some considerable weight. Evidently, as they
had dragged the stone up, they had thrust the chunks
of wood into the chink, until at last, when the
(39:20):
opening was large enough to crawl through, they would hold
it open by a billet placed lengthwise, which might very
well become indented at the lower end, since the whole
weight of the stone would press it down to the
edge of this other slab. So far I was still
on safe ground. And now how was I to proceed
to reconstruct this midnight drama? Clearly only one could fit
(39:44):
into the hole, and that one was Brunton. The girl
must have waited above. Brunton then unlocked the box, handed
up the contents, presumably since they were not to be found.
And then, and then what happened? What smoldering fire of
vengeance had suddenly sprung into flame in this passionate Celtic
(40:08):
woman's soul when she saw the man who had wronged
her wronged her, perhaps far more than we suspected. In
her power. Was it a chance that the wood had slipped,
and that the stone had shut Brunton into what had
become his sepulcher. Had she only been guilty of silence
as to his fate, or had some sudden blow from
her hand dashed the support away and sent the slab
(40:31):
crashing down into its place. Be that as it might,
I seemed to see that woman's figure still clutching at
her treasure trove, and flying wildly up the winding stair,
with her ears ringing, perhaps with the muffled screams from
behind her, and with the drumming of frenzied hands against
the slab of stone which was choking her faithless lover's life.
(40:54):
Out Here was the secret of her blanched face, her
shaken nerves, her peals of hysterical laughter. On the next morning,
But what had been in the box? What had she
done with that? Of course, it must have been the
old metal and pebbles which my client had dragged from
the mere. She had thrown them in there at the
(41:16):
first opportunity to remove the last trace of her crime.
For twenty minutes I had sat motionless, thinking the matter out.
Musgrave still stood with a very pale face, swinging his
lantern and peering down into the hole. These are the
coins of Charles, the First, said, he holding out the
(41:37):
few which had been in the box. You see, we
were right in fixing our date for the ritual. We
may find something else of Charles the first, I cried,
as the probable meaning of the first two questions of
the ritual broke suddenly upon me. Let me see the
contents of the bag which you fished from the mere.
We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris
(41:59):
before me. I could understand his regarding it as of
small importance when I looked at it, for the metal
was almost black, and the stones lustreless and dull. I
rubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it
glowed afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of
my hand. The metal work was in the form of
(42:19):
a double ring, but it had been bent and twisted
out of its original shape. You must bear in mind,
said I, that the Royal party made head in England
even after the death of the king, and that when
they at last fled, they probably left many of their
most precious possessions buried behind them. With the intention of
(42:39):
returning for them in more peaceful times. My ancestor, Sir
Ralph Musgrave, was a prominent cavalier and the right hand
man of Charles the Second. In his wanderings, said my
friend Ah, Indeed, I answered, well, now, I think that
really should give us the last link that we wanted.
(43:01):
I must congratulate you on coming into the possession, though
in rather a tragic manner, of a relic which is
of great intrinsic value, but of even greater importance as
an historical curiosity. What is it, then, he gasped in astonishment.
It is nothing less than the ancient crown of the
kings of England, the crown precisely. Consider what the ritual says,
(43:28):
How does it run? Whose was it? His? Who is gone?
That was after the excution of Charles? Then who shall
have it? He who will come? That was Charles the Second,
whose advent was already foreseen. There can, I think, be
no doubt that this batter than shapeless diadem once encircled
(43:51):
the brows of the royal Stuarts. And how came it
in the pond? Ah, That is a question that will
take some time to answer. And with that I sketched
out to him the whole long chain of surmise and
of proof which I had constructed. The twilight had closed
in and the moon was shining brightly in the sky
(44:12):
before my narrative was finished. And how was it then
that Charles did not get his crown when he returned,
asked Musgrave, pushing back the relic into its linen bag. Ah,
there you lay your finger upon the one point which
we shall probably never be able to clear up. It
is likely that the Musgrave who held the secret died
(44:35):
in the interval, and by some oversight, left this guide
to his descendant without explaining the meaning of it. From
that day to this it has been handed down from
father to son, until at last it came within reach
of a man who tore its secret out of it
and lost his life in the venture. And that's the
story of the Musgrave ritual, Watson. They have the crown
(44:58):
down at Hurlstone. They had some legal bother and a
considerable sum to pay before they were allowed to retain it.
I am sure that if you mentioned my name, they
would be happy to show it to you. Of the woman,
nothing was ever heard, and the probability is that she
got away out of England, and carried herself from the
memory of her crime, to some land beyond the seas
(45:23):
end of the musgrave ritual
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