“Does your cousin have any family of his own?” Holmes interrupted.

Boldero shook his head. “He never married,” he replied. “He has always led a completely solitary life, and for the last twenty years has lived in almost total seclusion. As far as I am aware, his last appearance in public was about fifteen years ago, when he read his monograph on ‘The Dragon Lizards of China’ to the Society for Snakes and Reptiles – or whatever the body is called. This society was formerly his chief interest in life, but about ten years ago, so I understand, there was a disagreement between Silas and the other members. He could not get his way over some matter and resigned.”

“As I understand your account, then,” said Holmes, “you and your brother are Silas’s only kin, and will inherit whatever he has to leave when he dies.”

“That is correct, but our inheritance is by no means assured. Cousin Silas is quite likely to will all his money away, if not to the Society for Snakes and Reptiles, then to some similar body. I have certainly never founded my plans on any bounty I might receive from that direction!”

“From what you have told me, you are probably wise not to do so. Pray continue with your narrative.”

“I went down to Richmond yesterday afternoon, having notified Silas that I was coming for the night. Hill House is a strange, rambling old place, near the top of Richmond Hill. It is a dark and unattractive building, and has been made more so by the various additions and extensions that have been made to it over the years. It stands in its own very large grounds, which are entirely surrounded by a massive eight-foot-high brick wall. From the stout wooden gate, a gravel path runs dead straight for thirty yards or so to the front porch of the house, and this path is entirely enclosed, both above and at the sides, by a curious glass structure, something like a narrow, elongated greenhouse. This is not, as you might suppose, to protect visitors from the weather, but rather to prevent the denizens of Silas’s garden from escaping, for his grounds are alive with all sorts of odd and unattractive creatures, which he has imported from the tropics: lizards, snakes, anteaters and other things even less appealing. I have used the word ‘garden’, but that is perhaps misleading. The grounds of Hill House are a complete wilderness, and must be the nearest thing to a jungle outside of the tropics. I shouldn’t think that they have benefited from any human attention in forty years. I was taken there once as a small boy, by my father, and I can still recall the horrified fascination with which I regarded that tangle of luxuriant weeds and brambles, and the slimy creatures that slithered and crept about in the darkness beneath them. Now the place is even more overgrown than it was in those days, and the glass veranda over the path is covered with green mould and slime, so that practically nothing can be discerned through its murky panes.

“The daylight was beginning to fade as I arrived at the gate. I pushed it open, and was surprised to see a shabbily dressed woman coming along the path under the gloomy, shadowed glass tunnel. She was short and frail-looking, her garments were frayed and dirty, and she had a black shawl pulled tightly round her shoulders. Her head was down and she did not see me until she was almost upon me. When she did, she started as if terrified, and the eyes she turned up to me had a disturbing look of fear in them. We passed in silence, but as we did so she suddenly shot out an arm from beneath her shawl and plucked the sleeve of my coat. Startled, I stopped and turned to her.

“‘Yes?’ said I.

“‘Don’t go through that door,’ said she after a moment in a low, cracked voice, nodding her head very slightly in the direction of the house.

“‘Why, whatever do you mean?’ I asked in surprise.

“For a moment she hesitated, then, mumbling something in which I caught only the word ‘regret’, she pushed past me and hurried on to the gate. It was an unpleasant and unsettling incident, but I concluded that the poor woman was half-witted, and dismissed it from my mind.

“As I approached the front door of the house, I saw that it was slightly ajar. The hall within was in deep shadow, with no sign of anyone there. I knocked and, pushing the door further open, stepped into the hall, calling out a greeting as I did so.

“The silent house returned no answer, but at that moment the front door behind me creaked slightly on its hinges. I turned to find Cousin Silas in the act of closing it. He had evidently been standing in the shadows behind the door as I entered. Aware of his eccentric ways, I made no comment. I don’t know if you are familiar with William Blake’s somewhat whimsical painting of ‘the flea’, but it has always seemed to me that anyone seeing Cousin Silas might well imagine that he had been the model for the picture. There is something shifty, stooping and watchful in his manner, which could not be described as attractive. His facial expression habitually hovers somewhere between a sneer and a calculating smile, without quite being either; for in truth it appears scarcely like a human expression at all, resembling more that unpleasant reptilian grin you see on the faces of those creatures in whose company Silas has spent so much of his time. Were he not so bent and stooping, it may be that he would be quite tall. He certainly has broad shoulders and a powerful chest, and there must have been a time, in his youth, when his appearance was not unattractive. Now, however, both his appearance and his manner border on the repulsive, and as I watched him close the front door I could well understand the effect he had had upon my fiancée. I waited, and he advanced towards me in his queer shuffling way, never quite lifting his feet fully from the ground. Then he gripped my arm and thrust his face close to my own.

“‘Well, my boy,’ said he in a thin, reedy voice, ‘I don’t have many visitors here. It’s put me out a little, if I am to speak frankly, but I think you’ll find I’m ready for you.’

“‘It is good of you to put me up at such short notice,’ I responded and made to move away, but he held me back.

“‘That person you met on the path is my charwoman,’ said he in a low voice, breathing in my face. ‘She’s quite mad, you know. It’s difficult to get servants out here.’

“‘Is it?’ I asked in surprise.

“‘Yes, it is,’ said he sharply. ‘She said something to you, I believe, as you passed. What was it, eh?’

“‘Nothing intelligible.’

“‘But you replied to her. I saw you speak.’

“‘I tell you, I couldn’t understand what she was talking about.’

“‘Not at all?’ persisted Silas in a tone of disbelief.

“‘I think she wondered if I had come to the right address.’

“‘Bah!’ said he, stamping his foot on the floor in anger. ‘Interfering nuisance! I’ll teach her to meddle in my affairs, you see if I don’t! Still, that is something for me to consider later.’

“‘I take it you received my letter,’ said I, endeavouring to change the subject.

“For a long moment he did not reply, his hooded eyes flickering from side to side, as if he were considering whether he could deny having received the letter and if he would gain anything thereby.

“‘What if I did?’ said he at length in an unpleasant, argumentative tone.

“‘I am anxious to discover Simon’s whereabouts.’

“‘What is that to me, eh?’

“‘I thought, as I mentioned in my letter, that he had perhaps written to you, or even visited you, before his disappearance.’

“‘Why should he do that?’ retorted Silas quickly in a suspicious tone.

“‘I cannot imagine. But I can find no trace of him elsewhere.’

“‘Well, he didn’t. I haven’t seen him for years! Still,’ he continued in an unpleasantly unctuous tone, evidently fearing he had spoken too sharply, ‘we can consider the matter over dinner.’

“He led me through the darkened house to the dining room, where two places were laid for dinner. A single small candle in the centre of the table provided the only illumination. Silas must have sensed the despondency with which I viewed this dismal scene, for he chuckled.