J. S. Fletcher

“ And as we followed it further the valley narrowed until it seemed that we must be presently swallowed up in some cavernous opening of the rocky and mountainous mass which loomed in front.
The train suddenly slackened its slow speed; we rounded a sharp curve and ran into a small station on the smoke-blackened railings of which appeared a board bearing the name Wolverdale. Beyond the railings and across the black river, I saw grey roofs and grey walls and amongst them tall chimneys which poured out thick clouds of dun-coloured smoke as if in tribute to the hills which looked down on them. ”

“ He ascended this until we came to the first of the terraces; then he paused and turned as if to contemplate the view in the valley beneath us. And he stretched out his hand and pointed to two objects—one, the great mass of a manufactory immediately below; the other, a house on the opposite hillside which, so far as I could see in the dusk, appeared to be the counterpart of the one we were approaching.
“You see that mill, Mr. Campenhaye,” he said suddenly. “That is the works of John and James Harthwaite, cotton spinners. And you see the house over there—that is where James Harthwaite lived. ”

“ On every side the heather-clad moors stretched away in sheer desolation—shrouded here and there in clinging mist, here and there rising sharply to some bluff or eminence. As the light grew stronger I began to make out the contour of far-off mountains to the north and south, and to see far down in the valleys where the great manufacturing towns lay beneath their canopies of smoke. ”

“ To me the police theory seemed the correct one; it was one that I myself should have adopted on the prima facie evidence.
“You do not?” I said.
“I do not!” he responded, with renewed emphasis. “My brother has wandered about these moors and hills for twenty years and had never known molestation. What is more, he was a strong man, and he always carried a stout stick with him, and if any tramp had assailed him, that tramp would have had the worst of it. No, Mr. Campenhaye, my brother was not murdered for what he had in his pockets—there was some design in his murder. Of that I’m certain.” ”

“ Then the road turned sharply, running along the side of the great overhanging hills until houses and mills were left behind and before us there was nothing but the hills to be seen. Then came another curve, and high above us, on the hillside, I saw a house, perched on a series of terraces. My companion said a word to his chauffeur; the car stopped.
“If you have no objection, Mr. Campenhaye,” said Mr. Harthwaite, “we will walk up to my house through the gardens—the car will have to go some distance round—we have little level ground in this corner of the world.” ”

“ I could picture to myself the dead man, lover of nature that he evidently was from all that I heard of him, coming up here in the early morning, full of the strange and weird charm of the lonely heights, standing for awhile to gaze round him across the vast stretch of unawakened life, and being struck down to death, unawares. ”

“ That may seem strange—but it isn’t strange—those rocks, where your poor brother was found, sir, are just off, and only just off, the beaten track, but nobody would turn aside to them. If the young man that found him hadn’t wanted to light his pipe just there, and had seen a chance of shelter from the wind, the body might have been there now, Mr. Harthwaite, undiscovered. And as you know, sir, a man could make off across the moors in a dozen different directions, and reach any one of from twelve to twenty good-sized towns, and—vanish. ”

“ I will smoke one myself—it will be the first since yesterday. Now,” he continued, when he had produced a cigar-case and we had begun to smoke. “I will try to be concise and plain. You must know, Mr. Campenhaye, that my brother James and myself were twins. We were thirty-seven a few days ago, and we never married, and had no intention of marrying. These facts may make it strange to you that we did not live together. But we had different tastes, and when we succeeded to the business on my father’s death, each built himself a house—this is mine; yonder is his. We each had our own hobbies ”

“ About four o’clock yesterday afternoon, a young man, a respectable person, who is a bank clerk in Hallaton, the big town over yonder, walked into our police-office here and said that in crossing High Gap, at the head of the range, across which he had come in returning from a holiday walking tour, he had found the dead body of a gentleman lying in a very lonely place, into which he himself had turned to light his pipe, there being, as usual, a strong wind blowing there. ”

“ Harthwaite?” I said.
“That is why I have brought you here, Mr. Campenhaye,” he replied. “I have heard of your abilities, and I have no great faith in the police, however well they are trained. And I want to know who killed my brother.”
“Naturally, you do,” I said. “I hope I shall be of some use.”
He was still staring fixedly at the house on the opposite side of the valley, and for a moment he remained silent, but suddenly he spoke again. ”

“ The two police officers, on their arrival, were quite prepared to talk. They agreed in the original theory—that Mr. James Harthwaite had been murdered by some person or persons, who had slept out all night on the moors and had taken him unawares; but so far such persons seemed to have vanished into thin air. The police and the public had been notified of the murder throughout a wide area, but nobody had so far reported anything of any suspicious character; nobody had been spoken of as having displayed money not likely to be theirs ”