“You will leave in the morning. I own this inn, young man, and I do not care to have its name sullied by connection with Reid or any of his verminous associates. Anthony!” he continued, rising to his feet. “Let us be gone!”

“Well!” said Holmes, when our visitors had left. “Admiral Blythe-Headley is certainly a man of fierce disposition!”

“I should certainly not have cared to be under his command in the Navy,” I concurred.

Holmes flung himself back into his chair and burst out laughing. For several minutes he was so convulsed with laughter that I thought he would choke.

“So,” said he at length, “he fears that our presence will sully the name of his inn! Perhaps he fears we shall use our London cleverness to prove that the White Hart is really the Black Hart! Vermin, indeed! Why, there are enough mice in this inn to pull Cinderella’s carriage ten times over!”

“He does seem mightily aroused by the business,” I remarked.

“Indeed. When one considers how many soldiers have toyed with the affections of how many country maids over the last five hundred years, his uncontrollable wrath at Reid’s supposed conduct appears almost excessive, especially as, on the face of it at least, the matter does not concern him. But no doubt his daughter plays a part in the calculation somewhere. It was ever thus, Watson: no prospective son-in-law is ever quite good enough for the girl’s father! My advice to you, my boy, should you ever contemplate matrimony, is to ensure that the young lady that captures your heart is an orphan. It will save you an uncommon lot of trouble!”

“I shall remember the advice,” I returned with a chuckle. “But what will you do now, Holmes? Does the admiral’s intervention affect your plans?”

My friend shook his head. “I shall bring the case to a conclusion tomorrow, just as I intended. Whether I shall accept the apology that Admiral Blythe-Headley will then offer me, I have not yet decided. Halloa! More visitors?”

He sprang from his chair and pulled open the door, whence had come a gentle, almost timid knock. There, framed in the doorway, was a young lady, wrapped in a dark cloak. My first impression was one of almost radiant loveliness. Her hair was of a rich dark brown, and thickly waved, her complexion milky-white, with a roseate blush upon her bonny cheeks.

“Pray, come in!” said Holmes, smiling at this vision of loveliness as she held back in the doorway. “Come in and take a seat!”

“My name is Mary Blythe-Headley,” the young lady began in a hesitant tone as she seated herself on the edge of the sofa.

“Your father and brother have left only a few minutes ago,” said Holmes.

“I know,” said she. “I have been waiting for them to leave, in the alley beside the inn. My father has forbidden me to leave the house, and the first opportunity I have had was when he himself left to come here. You are, I understand, acting on behalf of John Reid?”

“That is correct, Miss Blythe-Headley.”

“He has been shunned by the whole district, and my father forbade me to see him when he paid us a visit last week.”

“So I understand. Did he also forbid you to write to Captain Reid when he was abroad?”

She nodded her head sorrowfully. “At first I needed no forbidding, for I was angry at what they said John had done. But later I thought I could perhaps forgive him if he were truly remorseful. I wished to write to him on the point, but my father forbade it. The last three years have been very miserable ones for me, as they have for many in the parish. But during the last year I have begun to wonder if John is really guilty of using that girl in the way everyone says. It seems so unlike all else that I know of his character.”

“Miss Blythe-Headley,” interrupted Holmes, “be reassured of one thing at least: Captain Reid is utterly innocent of what is alleged against him. The truth is that he scarcely knew this girl. He had once or twice performed little kindnesses for her, had carried her basket and so forth, purely out of gentlemanly courtesy, and these actions, following her death, were grossly misinterpreted.”

“I knew it,” cried our visitor, her eyes shining with tears. “I knew the stories could not be true!” She clutched her hands together. “It was some other man that treated the girl so badly, and drove her to her sorrowful death.”

“You may find the matter a little more complex than you suppose,” said Holmes. “However, I shall present my findings later. First, I should like to take the opportunity of your presence here to satisfy myself on a point on which I am in ignorance.”

“Certainly,” said the young lady in surprise. “What is it you wish to know?”

“I understand that on the day that Captain Reid visited Topley Grange last week, a bench in the summer house was found to be damaged. Could you describe to me the nature of that damage?”

Mary Blythe-Headley blushed to the roots of her hair.

“Was something written upon the bench?” asked Holmes, eyeing her closely.

She nodded her head. “It was silly, really,” she answered at length. “My father described it as vulgarity, but I thought it simply stupid. Someone had carved a few letters into the wood with a knife.”

“Which said?”

“My own initials, ‘M. B. H.’, followed by the word ‘PIG’.” Sherlock Holmes fell back into his chair and shook with silent laughter, and I confess that I, too, could scarcely suppress a chuckle. Mary Blythe-Headley bit her lip as a smile spread across her face.

“Yes,” said she, “it is ridiculous, is it not?”

“It is somewhat puerile,” said Holmes, endeavouring to stifle his laughter.

“I do not mind your laughing,” said she. “I would have laughed at it myself, in other circumstances. But my father took it so seriously. He had no doubt that John was responsible, but I was convinced that could not be – unless John had become quite mentally deranged while in India. I became determined to find a way to speak to him, but before I could do so he had left the district again. Then, when I heard of your presence here, and learnt that my father intended to see you this evening, I made a plan to follow him as soon as he had left the house.”

“I am very glad that you have come,” said Holmes warmly. “This meeting has been of benefit to us both. Have no fear, Miss Blythe-Headley. By tomorrow afternoon, if all goes well, I intend that the truth of this matter should be known once and for all. The shadow that has lain so unfairly across Captain Reid’s character will be removed.”

“Oh, can it be?” cried she, clasping her hands together once more.

Holmes nodded his head. “I must now ask something of you,” said he. “Tomorrow I shall send your father and brother a summons to come to Oakbrook Hall. When it arrives, pray do all in your power to ensure that they attend as I request.”

“I will,” said she.

“Until that time, you must not under any circumstances speak of this meeting, nor of anything which has passed between us this evening. Do you understand?”

“I do,” said she. “You can depend upon me.”

At that moment, there came the sound of a carriage in the street outside the inn.

“Oh, Heavens! It is my father returned!” cried Miss Blythe-Headley, clutching her throat in alarm. “What am I to do?”

Holmes stepped swiftly to the window and pulled back the curtain. “I cannot see who it is,” said he, “but they have entered the inn and may be coming up here. Quickly! This way!”

He flung back the door and ushered the young lady into the corridor outside.

“There is an alcove along here,” said he. “You can hide in there and slip away when they have passed.”

A moment later he was back in the room and seated in his armchair.

“I really cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are here, Watson,” said he in a tone of great amusement, as he filled his pipe and put a match to it. “These little excursions and adventures would not be half so enjoyable were I alone.”