The admiral appeared unmoved by my friend’s plea for forgiveness on behalf of his errant gardener, but then his daughter spoke out.

“Oh Father,” said she, “have a little charity! It is I who am insulted by the carving on the bench, and I certainly don’t care about it! You fear that you have been led to make a fool of yourself in sending that bill to Colonel Reid, but you should not punish Dickens simply because you feel foolish. None of these things would have occurred if only you and Anthony had had a little more confidence in Captain Reid, and had not been so hasty to think the worst of him.”

Admiral Blythe-Headley appeared angry at this lecture from his daughter. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again without saying anything, as Captain Reid re-entered the room.

“How is your father?” asked Mary Blythe-Headley in a voice of concern.

“He is sleeping peacefully now,” returned Reid. “He appears comfortable enough, and we must hope that, with rest, he will recover. But, pray tell me what has happened while I have been absent.”

In a few words, Holmes apprised his client of all that had occurred.

“This is a simply astounding business,” said Reid with a shake of the head, as Holmes finished speaking. “What on earth led you to the conclusion that Northcote lay behind it all? And how did you know that Noah Blogg knew more of the matter than anyone had ever supposed?”

“As it happens, those two aspects of the matter came together in one moment of enlightenment, from my point of view,” Holmes replied. “Dr Watson and I had an appointment yesterday afternoon to meet Mr Yarrow by the Willow Pool in Jenkin’s Clump. We were standing near the pool when he arrived, and as I saw him at the top of the hill, it passed briefly through my mind that we were probably very close to the spot upon which Noah Blogg had been standing when you encountered him last week, and that the vicar, who was on the path from here to the pool, was at the same place as you had been when Blogg first saw you. It was also, I might add, at almost exactly the same time of day, a little after two o’clock in the afternoon. This coincidence might have passed from my mind as swiftly as it had entered it, but for one singular fact: as I looked up the steep pathway, waiting to greet the vicar, I realized all at once that I could not see him.”

“What on earth do you mean?” asked Reid in a tone of puzzlement.

“It was, as I say, shortly after two o’clock on a very sunny day, and the path from here to Jenkin’s Clump runs as you are aware, from south to north. As I looked up the hill, the sun lay almost directly behind Mr Yarrow, and all I could see of him was a black silhouette. It really would have been impossible for me to swear whether the man I saw were he or not. It must have been precisely the same for Blogg when he saw you there last week, on what, as you described it to us, was also a very sunny day. You could see clearly that it was he, but he could not possibly have known that the dark figure he saw at the top of the path was you. Considering that you had been back in the parish for scarcely twenty-four hours, and that Blogg was probably unaware at that time of your return, it becomes even less likely that he recognized you. Yet, as you recounted to us the other day, he looked up at you for only the briefest of moments before letting out a howl of fear and fleeing, as if for his life, through the woods. Clearly, he was in mortal terror of someone, but the more I considered the matter, the more convinced I became that that someone was not you.

“But if not you, then who could it be? What other young man of a roughly similar height and stature might be walking on the path from Oakbrook Hall? Clearly, the most likely candidate was your father’s secretary, Northcote. But this raised further questions: why should Blogg be in such fear of anyone, and why, in particular, should he be in such fear of Northcote? Dr Watson and I had met Blogg earlier in the day, and had found him an amiable and friendly young man. It was clear, however, that despite his fine physique, his simple cast of mind gave him a certain timidity of manner. Such a young man, I judged, might well be cowed into fearfulness by threats from someone with a more powerful character than his own. But why should North-cote, or anyone else, have threatened him? Then I recalled that during his interview with us, by the Willow Pool, in which the subject of Sarah Dickens had been raised, his gaze had continually wandered, involuntarily as it appeared, to a particular spot in the water, close by where we were standing.

“Now, as I was later to learn from Mr Yarrow, this was not the place where the dead girl’s body had been found, and yet it seemed to hold a fascination for Noah Blogg. Could it be, I conjectured, that he had witnessed something there involving Northcote, and that the latter had threatened him in some way, in order to secure his silence? This conjecture, I need hardly add, was strengthened considerably when, by the process of argument I described to you earlier, I concluded that the spot which held such a morbid fascination for Blogg was indeed the very spot on which Sarah Dickens had been murdered. The more I reflected on the matter, the more I became convinced that it was Northcote who had murdered Sarah Dickens, for the hypothesis accorded with every other fact of which I was aware.

“Clearly, it was imperative that I find a way to overcome the fear that had been planted in Blogg’s breast, and persuade him to tell what he knew. I could, I judged, present a reasonably compelling case without Blogg’s testimony, but to have it would undoubtedly strengthen my position considerably. I realized that to gain his trust on such an important matter would be no mean achievement, but I am glad to say I eventually succeeded this morning, with considerable assistance, I must record, from Blogg’s father, whom I had earlier managed to persuade of the truth of the matter.”

“Thank the Lord you did succeed!” cried Reid.

“You have performed a very great service to all of us, Mr Holmes,” said Mary Blythe-Headley. Holmes bowed his head in acceptance of the compliment as she continued, “Those who doubted John’s honesty and integrity, and who doubted, also, your abilities and motives, owe you both a sincere and profound apology.”

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room for a moment, then Admiral Blythe-Headley stepped forward and extended his hand.

“I regret greatly,” said he in a gruff voice, “the manner in which I addressed you last night, Mr Holmes. I was guilty of gross rudeness. Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

Holmes nodded as he took the hand that was offered to him. “You were guilty, perhaps, as I observed earlier, of being a trifle hasty in your judgements.”

“I have often felt, during the last three years,” said Anthony Blythe-Headley abruptly, “that my father’s great animosity towards Reid was borne at least partly from an unstated, and perhaps unacknowledged, fear that I had been involved in some way with the dead girl. No, Father, do not protest! I know it to be true; I have read it often in your eyes. I need hardly say that such a fear was quite groundless, but I resented my father thinking such a thing of me, and in my stupidity I blamed Reid for causing him to have such thoughts.” He paused and shook his head. “I used to think that I was such a clever fellow, but my pretensions to intellect have been shamed by this gentleman,” he continued, indicating Holmes. “He alone has used his brain in an honourable and worthy manner!” He paused again. “It is clear to me now that I am the most stupid dolt in the parish! And to think that all along it was Northcote that had been involved with the girl!”

“I doubt it was as simple as that,” said Holmes with a shake of the head.

“I do not follow you,” said Anthony Blythe-Headley.