The Adventure of the Devil’s Foot(魔鬼脚历险记)

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The Adventure of the Devil's Foot

The Adventure of the

Devil's Foot

By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

The Adventure of the Devil's Foot

In recording from time to time some of the curious experiences and

interesting recollections which I associate with my long and intimate

friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continually been faced by

difficulties caused by his own aversion to publicity. To his sombre and

cynical spirit all popular applause was always abhorrent, and nothing

amused him more at the end of a successful case than to hand over the

actual exposure to some orthodox official, and to listen with a mocking

smile to the general chorus of misplaced congratulation. It was indeed

this attitude upon the part of my friend and certainly not any lack of

interesting material which has caused me of late years to lay very few of

my records before the public. My participation in some if his adventures

was always a privilege which entailed discretion and reticence upon me.

It was, then, with considerable surprise that I received a telegram from

Homes last Tuesday--he has never been known to write where a telegram

would serve--in the following terms:

Why not tell them of the Cornish horror--strangest case I have

handled.

I have no idea what backward sweep of memory had brought the

matter fresh to his mind, or what freak had caused him to desire that I

should recount it; but I hasten, before another cancelling telegram may

arrive, to hunt out the notes which give me the exact details of the case

and to lay the narrative before my readers.

It was, then, in the spring of the year 1897 that Holmes's iron

constitution showed some symptoms of giving way in the face of constant

hard work of a most exacting kind, aggravated, perhaps, by occasional

indiscretions of his own. In March of that year Dr. Moore Agar, of

Harley Street, whose dramatic introduction to Holmes I may some day

recount, gave positive injunctions that the famous private agent lay aside

all his cases and surrender himself to complete rest if he wished to avert an

absolute breakdown. The state of his health was not a matter in which he

himself took the faintest interest, for his mental detachment was absolute,

but he was induced at last, on the threat of being permanently disqualified

from work, to give himself a complete change of scene and air. Thus it

The Adventure of the Devil's Foot

was that in the early spring of that year we found ourselves together in a

small cottage near Poldhu Bay, at the further extremity of the Cornish

peninsula.

It was a singular spot, and one peculiarly well suited to the grim

humour of my patient. From the windows of our little whitewashed

house, which stood high upon a grassy headland, we looked down upon

the whole sinister semicircle of Mounts Bay, that old death trap of sailing

vessels, with its fringe of black cliffs and surge-swept reefs on which

innumerable seamen have met their end. With a northerly breeze it lies

placid and sheltered, inviting the storm-tossed craft to tack into it for rest

and protection.

Then come the sudden swirl round of the wind, the blistering gale

from the south-west, the dragging anchor, the lee shore, and the last battle

in the creaming breakers. The wise mariner stands far out from that evil

place.

On the land side our surroundings were as sombre as on the sea. It was

a country of rolling moors, lonely and dun-colored, with an occasional

church tower to mark the site of some old-world village. In every

direction upon these moors there were traces of some vanished race which

had passed utterly away, and left as it sole record strange monuments of

stone, irregular mounds which contained the burned ashes of the dead, and

curious earthworks which hinted at prehistoric strife. The glamour and

mystery of the place, with its sinister atmosphere of forgotten nations,

appealed to the imagination of my friend, and he spent much of his time in

long walks and solitary meditations upon the moor. The ancient Cornish

language had also arrested his attention, and he had, I remember,

conceived the idea that it was akin to the Chaldean, and had been largely

derived from the Phoenician traders in tin. He had received a

consignment of books upon philology and was settling down to develop

this thesis when suddenly, to my sorrow and to his unfeigned delight, we

found ourselves, even in that land of dreams, plunged into a problem at

our very doors which was more intense, more engrossing, and infinitely

more mysterious than any of those which had driven us from London.

Our simple life and peaceful, healthy routine were violently interrupted,

The Adventure of the Devil's Foot

and we were precipitated into the midst of a series of events which caused

the utmost excitement not only in Cornwall but throughout the whole west

of England. Many of my readers may retain some recollection of what was

called at the time "The Cornish Horror," though a most imperfect account

of the matter reached the London press. Now, after thirteen years, I will

give the true details of this inconceivable affair to the public.

I have said that scattered towers marked the villages which dotted this

part of Cornwall. The nearest of these was the hamlet of Tredannick

Wollas, where the cottages of a couple of hundred inhabitants clustered

round an ancient, moss-grown church. The vicar of the parish, Mr.

Roundhay, was something of an archaeologist, and as such Holmes had

made his acquaintance. He was a middle-aged man, portly and affable,

with a considerable fund of local lore. At his invitation we had taken tea

at the vicarage and had come to know, also, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis, an

independent gentleman, who increased the clergyman's scanty resources

by taking rooms in his large, straggling house. The vicar, being a

bachelor, was glad to come to such an arrangement, though he had little in

common with his lodger, who was a thin, dark, spectacled man, with a

stoop which gave the impression of actual, physical deformity. I

remember that during our short visit we found the vicar garrulous, but his

lodger strangely reticent, a sad-faced, introspective man, sitting with

averted eyes, brooding apparently upon his own affairs.

These were the two men who entered abruptly into our little sitting-

room on Tuesday, March the 16th, shortly after our breakfast hour, as we

were smoking together, preparatory to our daily excursion upon the moors.

"Mr. Holmes," said the vicar in an agitated voice, "the most

extraordinary and tragic affair has occurred during the night. It is the most

unheard-of business. We can only regard it as a special Providence that

you should chance to be here at the time, for in all England you are the

one man we need."

I glared at the intrusive vicar with no very friendly eyes; but Holmes

took his pipe from his lips and sat up in his chair like an old hound who

hears the view-halloa. He waved his hand to the sofa, and our palpitating

visitor with his agitated companion sat side by side upon it. Mr.

The Adventure of the Devil's Foot

Mortimer Tregennis was more self- contained than the clergyman, but the

twitching of his thin hands and the brightness of his dark eyes showed that

they shared a common emotion.

"Shall I speak or you?" he asked of the vicar.

"Well, as you seem to have made the discovery, whatever it may be,

and the vicar to have had it second-hand, perhaps you had better do the

speaking," said Holmes.

I glanced at the hastily clad clergyman, with the formally dressed

lodger seated beside him, and was amused at the surprise which Holmes's

simple deduction had brought to their faces.

"Perhaps I had best say a few words first," said the vicar, "and then

you can judge if you will listen to the details from Mr. Tregennis, or

whether we should not hasten at once to the scene of this mysterious affair.

I may explain, then, that our friend here spent last evening in the company

of his two brothers, Owen and George, and of his sister Brenda, at their

house of Tredannick Wartha, which is near the old stone cross upon the

moor. He left them shortly after ten o'clock, playing cards round the

dining-room table, in excellent health and spirits. This morning, being an

early riser, he walked in that direction before breakfast and was overtaken

by the carriage of Dr. Richards, who explained that he had just been sent

for on a most urgent call to Tredannick Wartha. Mr. Mortimer Tregennis

naturally went with him. When he arrived at Tredannick Wartha he

found an extraordinary state of things. His two brothers and his sister

were seated round the table exactly as he had left them, the cards still

spread in front of them and the candles burned down to their sockets.

The sister lay back stone-dead in her chair, while the two brothers sat on

each side of her laughing, shouting, and singing, the senses stricken clean

out of them. All three of them, the dead woman and the two demented men,

retained upon their faces an expression of the utmost horror--a convulsion

of terror which was dreadful to look upon. There was no sign of the

presence of anyone in the house, except Mrs. Porter, the old cook and

housekeeper, who declared that she had slept deeply and heard no sound

during the night. Nothing had been stolen or disarranged, and there is

absolutely no explanation of what the horror can be which has frightened a

The Adventure of the Devil's Foot

woman to death and two strong men out of their senses. There is the

situation, Mr. Holmes, in a nutshell, and if you can help us to clear it up

you will have done a great work."

I had hoped that in some way I could coax my companion back into

the quiet which had been the object of our journey; but one glance at his

intense face and contracted eyebrows told me how vain was now the

expectation. He sat for some little time in silence, absorbed in the

strange drama which had broken in upon our peace.

"I will look into this matter," he said at last. "On the face of it, it

would appear to be a case of a very exceptional nature. Have you been

there yourself, Mr. Roundhay?"

"No, Mr. Holmes. Mr. Tregennis brought back the account to the

vicarage, and I at once hurried over with him to consult you."

"How far is it to the house where this singular tragedy occurred?"

"About a mile inland."

"Then we shall walk over together. But before we start I must ask

you a few question, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis."

The other had been silent all this time, but I had observed that his more

controlled excitement was even greater than the obtrusive emotion of the

clergyman. He sat with a pale, drawn face, his anxious gaze fixed upon

Holmes, and his thin hands clasped convulsively together. His pale lips

quivered as he listened to the dreadful experience which had befallen his

family, and his dark eyes seemed to reflect something of the horror of the

scene.

"Ask what you like, Mr. Holmes," said he eagerly. "It is a bad thing

to speak of, but I will answer you the truth."

"Tell me about last night."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I supped there, as the vicar has said, and my elder

brother George proposed a game of whist afterwards. We sat down about

nine o'clock. It was a quarter-past ten when I moved to go. I left them

all round the table, as merry as could be."

"Who let you out?"

"Mrs. Porter had gone to bed, so I let myself out. I shut the hall door

behind me. The window of the room in which they sat was closed, but

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TheAdventureoftheDevil'sFoot1TheAdventureoftheDevil'sFootBySirArthurConanDoyleTheAdventureoftheDevil'sFoot2InrecordingfromtimetotimesomeofthecuriousexperiencesandinterestingrecollectionswhichIassociatewithmylongandintimatefriendshipwithMr.SherlockHolmes,Ihavecontinuallybeenfacedbydifficultiescausedb...

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