“But his muffler was in the bedroom,” said Boldero.

“Precisely,” said Holmes in a grave tone.

David Boldero put his head in his hands and groaned. Holmes reached out and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Have courage,” said he. “I think we must accept that your brother is dead, and that his death occurred at the hand of your cousin, Silas. It is our duty now to ensure that that unpleasant old man is brought to justice!”

“I shall wring the truth from him with my own hands!” cried Boldero in a suddenly impassioned voice, his eyes flashing with emotion.

“That may not be necessary,” responded Holmes calmly. “There is now sufficient prima facie evidence, I believe, to lay the matter before the police. A slight snag is that Miss Ingram’s somewhat eccentric manner is likely to mean that her testimony is given less credence by the authorities than it merits. Fortunately, my enquiries have brought to light one or two other points of interest.”

“I still wish to confront Silas myself,” said Boldero in a determined voice.

Holmes glanced at his watch. “Come, then,” said he. “Let us be off to Hill House. I can give you the details of my discoveries as we go.”

The breeze had freshened and the clouds were piling up ominously as we left the hotel and made our way through the little town.

“There is a newsagent’s shop on the way to Hill House,” said Holmes as we walked along, “the window of which contains several interesting advertisements. Two of them, yellowing and faded, offer positions for hardworking servants in the establishment of Mr S. Boldero, one for a maid, the other for a male servant, duties unspecified. I enquired the details of the newsagent, representing myself as a footman seeking a post, and remarked that the advertisements appeared to have been in his window for some time. He acknowledged the truth of this observation.

“‘Old Boldero’s establishment is not such as appeals overmuch to the average domestic,’ said he, sucking on his pipe. ‘His advertisements have brought few enough replies, fewer still have ever taken up a position there, and none of them has ever stayed long enough to make it worth Boldero’s while to remove the notices from my window. He’s reduced now to relying on the services of “Mad Mary”, a local woman. She goes in to the house most days, but she won’t stay there. She could tell you a thing or two about Hill House, I’d wager!’

“I took this as my cue, and enquired Mary’s address, saying I should like to learn a little about Hill House before I applied for the position offered there. Thus it was that I came to make the acquaintance of that unusual lady, with the results I mentioned earlier. Here is the newsagent’s,” he continued as we approached a row of small shops.

We stopped by the window, and Holmes pointed out to us the advertisements he had mentioned.

“There is also this,” said he, directing our attention to a large piece of card towards the bottom of the window. The announcement on it ran as follows:

MISSING: THOMAS EVANS, sometime footman to the Marquess of Glastonbury, butler to E. J. Archbould Esq. of Chelsea, and latterly butler to Mr S. Boldero of Hill House, Richmond Hill. Last seen on the morning of 14 November 1883, leaving his employment at Hill House. Will anyone having information as to the whereabouts of the said Thomas Evans please communicate with his sister, Miss Violet Evans, of Ferrier Street, Wandsworth.

“Who can say whether Mr Evans ever really left Hill House?” remarked Holmes in a thoughtful tone as I looked up from the notice. “If Cousin Silas is the source of the information, I think we are justified in being sceptical of its accuracy.”

“The more we learn of it, the worse the matter becomes!” I cried.

Sherlock Holmes nodded his head gravely. “The sooner Silas Boldero and the Old Bailey make acquaintance with each other, the better for all concerned!” said he. “Come, let us make haste to Hill House!”

“But we still cannot say,” remarked David Boldero in a puzzled voice as we walked briskly up the hill, “why Silas should wish to take Simon’s life, and attempt to take my own; nor, for that matter, why Simon went to visit him in the first place.”

“I am now able to shed a little light on those questions,” responded Holmes. “You recall the aide-memoire that your brother had written for himself, and which you showed us yesterday?”

“What of it?”

“One of the items on his list was ‘Baker – see again’, in which the word ‘Baker’ was begun with a capital letter. This might, of course, have been of no importance: the word ‘Baker’ was the first word on the list, and there might have been no more significance to its capitalization than that, but it did at least make it possible that the ‘Baker’ referred to was not the man who supplied your brother’s bread, but someone bearing the surname ‘Baker’. Who this man might be, however – if he existed at all – there was no way of telling.”

“It all sounds a little unlikely to me,” remarked Boldero in a dubious tone.

“No doubt, but you must remember that ‘the unlikely’ falls, by its very definition, within the bounds of the possible.”

“But even if your supposition were correct, it seems a very trifling matter.”

“My work is built upon the observation of trifles,” said Holmes. “Now, I had pondered last night what might have been your brother’s purpose in calling upon your cousin, an unfriendly and miserly man, whom he had no reason to regard with affection and every reason to detest. The only significant connection between the two men was their shared ancestry. Perhaps, then, I speculated, it was some family matter that brought Simon down here to Richmond. This suggested to me your father and grandfather, which in turn suggested to me your grandfather’s will, and I decided to see this document for myself. I therefore took myself down this morning to the Registry of Wills, and examined the copy of your grandfather’s will, which is deposited there.”

“I have seen it myself,” Boldero interrupted. “It is very straightforward. Save that it gives away my family’s inheritance to our odious cousin, it is of little interest.”

“That rather depends on what one is looking for,” said Holmes. “The will, I saw, had been drawn up by the firm of Valentine, Zelley and Knight, of Butler’s Court, Cheapside, and witnessed by two of their clerks there. The appointed executor of the will was a junior partner in the firm. What do you suppose his name was?”

“I really have not the remotest idea,” replied Boldero.

“Baker!” I cried.

“Very good, Watson!” said my friend, smiling. “You have the advantage, of course, of having witnessed ‘the unlikely’ occur with surprising frequency in the course of my work! Yes, the executor was a Mr R. S. Baker! You will imagine the satisfaction this discovery afforded me. But why, then, should Simon Boldero wish to see the executor of his grandfather’s will more than twenty years after that will was proved? It appeared from Simon’s aide-memoire that he had seen Baker at least once already, and intended to see him again on the Friday, having, as I believe, visited his cousin Silas on the Thursday evening. Two such surprising appointments in the space of twenty-four hours must surely be related, I argued, and there must, therefore, be some connection between Baker and Silas Boldero. Upon consulting the Law Society records, I discovered that your cousin’s own career as a solicitor, which he abandoned many years ago, as you mentioned last night, was spent entirely with this same firm, Valentine, Zelley and Knight, and that he and this man Baker had been contemporaries.”

“That is so, I believe,” remarked Boldero, “but Silas cannot have interfered with my grandfather’s will in any way, if that is the conclusion to which your argument is leading, for he had already left the firm a year or two before my grandfather died.”