I trust that this proposal meets with your approval, and hope that if I do not see you before I leave, we may meet again in more propitious circumstances.

Yours sincerely,

W. N. Northcote

“I suppose it is well intentioned,” I remarked as I finished reading, “but the estrangement between father and son appears so complete at present that I doubt Northcote’s presence or absence will make much difference.”

My friend nodded his head. “In any case,” said he, “if things work out tomorrow as I hope, then such a gesture will not be necessary.”

“You have spoken of your plans for tomorrow to both Miss Blythe-Headley and Colonel Reid,” I remarked. “You appear confident but, to be frank, I cannot imagine what you intend to do.”

“I may need a dash of good fortune in the case of certain details – there are one or two matters I am hoping to finalize in the morning – but in the main I am confident that my analysis of the case is correct.”

“I should be pleased to hear it,” said I. “I confess that I am still very much in the dark. I seem to remember,” I added with a chuckle, “although it seems a very long time ago now, before the deluge of visitors, that you were about to give me your opinion as to the precise details of the death of Sarah Dickens. The inquest, as we know, reached a verdict of ‘accidental death’, but some think otherwise, and believe that the girl deliberately took her own life. What is you opinion, Holmes?”

“My opinion is that the inquest was very seriously at fault. The girl’s death was not an accident.”

“You agree, then, with those who believe the girl took her own life?”

“No.”

“What!”

“I agree with no one, Watson. They are all wrong. Sarah Dickens was murdered.”

“What!” I cried again. I confess that I was almost dumbfounded by my companion’s calm pronouncement. He stated as a fact a possibility that I had never, even in my wildest speculations, considered. “How can you know?” I cried after a moment.

“How can I know?” returned he. “How could I not know? Why, the matter is as plain as a pikestaff. The evidence admits of only one conclusion. No other is possible.”

“But the coroner’s court—”

“The problem at the coroner’s court, I take it, was that even before the inquest began each man there had determined in his own heart that Sarah Dickens had in fact taken her own life, but was equally determined that, for the sake of the girl’s memory and for the feelings of her family, that should not be recorded as the verdict of the court. This issue therefore dominated the thoughts of everyone there, including, from the reports I read, those of the coroner himself. Certain questions that were crying out to be asked were not even considered. No one wished to question the circumstances of the girl’s death too closely – so, at least, it seems to me – just in case the answers to the questions made a verdict of suicide unavoidable. In its well-intentioned desire to spare the feelings of the girl’s family, the court thus failed in its one bounden duty, that is, to uncover the truth. In this case, attempted kindness has led the court to inadvertently collude in the concealment of a most monstrous crime.”

“You are convinced of this?”

“I am. This case exemplifies very clearly why truth and justice must always precede mercy. The time for mercy is when the truth is established beyond all reasonable doubt, and justice has apportioned each man’s responsibility. To give premature consideration to mercy before truth and justice are satisfied will almost inevitably lead to the truth never being known, and justice never being satisfied. In this case the girl lies dead in the churchyard at the top of the road and her murderer walks free to this day. Every ounce of duty in my body compels me, Watson, to apply all my powers in this case; to bring justice, not only to John Reid, whose predicament, as you put it, is what has brought us into this case, but also to Sarah Dickens, whose foul murder cries out for justice!”

My companion thumped his fist into his hand as he spoke, and it was evident that he was very angry at what he saw as a serious miscarriage of justice. To one who had previously seen him only as the cool reasoner of Baker Street, and who had come to think of him as an isolated phenomenon of intellect, a brain without a heart, such a display of anger came as a surprise. I confess I found it difficult to believe that he alone could be right, and all others who had considered the matter wrong, but I kept my doubts to myself. In later years I was to learn, as I came to know my friend better and studied his methods more closely, that such a state of affairs, in which he was right and everyone else wrong, was almost commonplace.

“What will you do?” I asked.

“First,” said he, “I shall call a fresh inquest.”

“I am no expert on such matters,” said I, “but I do not believe that is possible.”

“In this room, old fellow,” said Holmes, shaking his head, “for I perceive that you harbour some doubts as to the truth of my conclusions. I shall be the coroner, and you, if you are agreeable, shall be the people of the parish, and act as both witness and jury.”

“Certainly.”

“Are you prepared to consider all the evidence fairly and impartially?”

“I am.”

“Very well. Then let the inquest begin into the death of Sarah Dickens, who was found drowned upon 10 September 1878. Where was her body discovered?”

“At the Willow Pool, in Jenkin’s Clump.”

“Why had she gone there?”

“To pick blackberries.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she herself gave that as her intention to her family that morning. Also, she took with her a basket in which to collect the blackberries.”

“Were there in fact any blackberries in the basket when it was found?”

“No.”

“Did you observe any brambles on or near the road between Topley Cross and Jenkin’s Clump?”

“I did. There are a great many.”

“How would you describe the berries they bore, making allowance for the fact that it is now October and the fruit is past its best?”

“They were luxuriant. Even now, although I understand the fruit is not worth picking after the end of September, the bushes are laden with berries.”

“And did you observe the brambles by the Willow Pool in Jenkin’s Clump?”

“I did.”

“How would you describe them in comparison to the others of which you have spoken?”

“They were relatively spindly and stunted. The fruit upon them was sparse, small and ill-formed.”

“Can you suggest any reason for this?”

“Possibly the lack of sunlight in the wood. Brambles grow best in open country, when they are not overhung by trees.”

“Do you think, Watson, that if you were a resident of Topley Cross you would choose to pick blackberries by the Willow Pool?”

“No.”

“Can you believe that Sarah Dickens herself chose to pick them there?”

“No.”

“In the light of that answer, would you like to reconsider your answer to the earlier question as to why Sarah Dickens went up to the Willow Pool on 10 September 1878? In particular, do you still believe that her chief or only purpose in going there was to pick blackberries?”

“No. She must have gone there for some other reason.”

“Thank you. The point about the fruit is a perfectly straightforward one, you see. It must have been obvious to many people, including, no doubt, the girl’s own mother, who had probably picked blackberries with her daughter in years gone by, but no one raised the matter. The reason they did not raise it, Watson, is that they feared to give support to the theory that the girl had deliberately taken her own life. The people of this parish, I am sure, are on the whole good and charitable people, but on this occasion their inclination to charity has led them astray. Now, if the girl did not go to Jenkin’s Clump to pick blackberries there, then she went for some other reason. Can we say what that other reason might have been?”