"
"How deep is it?"
"About two feet at each side and three in the middle."
"So we can put aside all idea of the man having been drowned in
crossing."
"No, a child could not be drowned in it."
We walked across the drawbridge, and were admitted by a quaint,
gnarled, dried-up person, who was the butler, Ames. The poor old
fellow was white and quivering from the shock. The village
sergeant, a tall, formal, melancholy man, still held his vigil in
the room of Fate. The doctor had departed.
"Anything fresh, Sergeant Wilson?" asked White Mason.
"No, sir."
"Then you can go home. You've had enough. We can send for you
if we want you. The butler had better wait outside. Tell him to
warn Mr. Cecil Barker, Mrs. Douglas, and the housekeeper that we
may want a word with them presently. Now, gentlemen, perhaps you
will allow me to give you the views I have formed first, and then
you will be able to arrive at your own."
He impressed me, this country specialist. He had a solid grip of
fact and a cool, clear, common-sense brain, which should take him
some way in his profession. Holmes listened to him intently,
with no sign of that impatience which the official exponent too
often produced.
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