There is a long silence. You lean your chin upon your hands and stare into the crackling fire. “I believe you,” you say at last. “There are a thousand details which I should know before we act. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If we come today, would it be possible to see these rooms without the knowledge of your stepfather?”
“As it happens, he spoke of coming into town for some important business. He will probably be away all day. We have a housekeeper now, but I could get her out of the way.”
“Excellent. You are not averse to this trip, Watson?”
“By no means,” he answers.
“Then we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself, Miss Stoner?”
“I have one or two things which I wish to do now that I am in town,” says your new client. “But I shall return by the twelve o’clock train.”
“You may expect us early in the afternoon. I also have some small business to attend to.”
“I must go,” says Miss Stoner. “My heart is lightened already since I have confided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing you again this afternoon.” She drops her thick black veil over her face and glides from the room.
“What do you think of it all, Watson?” you ask.
“It seems to be a most sinister business. Yet her sister must have been alone when she met her end.”
“What of these nightly whistles, and what of the very peculiar words of the dying woman?”
“I do not know.”
“When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, a band of gypsies, the fact that the doctor has interest in preventing his stepdaughter’s marriage, the dying reference to a band, and the fact that Miss Helen Stoner heard a metallic clang, there is good ground to think that the mystery points toward the gypsies.”
“But what, then, did the gypsies do?”
“I cannot imagine, and it is for that reason we are going to Stoke Moran this day.”
Your door is suddenly dashed open. A huge man appears from behind it. He is so tall that his hat brushes the cross bar of the doorway, and his shoulders seem to span it from side to side. A large face, seared with wrinkles and marked with an evil passion, turns from Watson to you. His deep-set eyes and his thin nose give him the resemblance of a fierce old bird of prey.
“Which of you is Holmes?” he asks.
“My name, sir,” you reply quietly.
“I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran.”
“Indeed,” you say politely. “Please take a seat.”
“I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I have traced her. What has she been saying to you?” Your new visitor takes a step forward. “I have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the meddler.”
You chuckle. “Your conversation is most entertaining. When you go out, close the door behind you.”
“I will go when I have said my say!” Dr. Roylott roars. “Don’t you dare meddle with my affairs. I am a dangerous man.” He steps swiftly forward and seizes a metal poker.
Does he mean to attack you? If so, your only hope is to attack first. He is an angry brute. If he gains the upper hand, it will be the end of you, so you should find a weapon and strike first. However, if his motive is not to attack, you will be committing a crime. It will be the end of your career as Consulting Detective. What will you choose to do?