scream and threw himself down with his face to the pillow.
Great heavens! cried the inspector, it is, indeed, the missing man.
I know him from the photograph.
The prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons himself
to his destiny. Be it so, said he. And pray what am I charged with?
With making away with Mr. Neville St. Oh, come, you can t be charged
with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of it, said the
inspector with a grin. Well, I have been twenty-seven years in the
force, but this really takes the cake.
If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then it is obvious that no crime has
been committed, and that, therefore, I am illegally detained.
No crime, but a very great error has been committed, said Holmes.
You would have done better to have trusted your wife.
It was not the wife; it was the children, groaned the prisoner. God
help me, I would not have them ashamed of their father. My God! What an
exposure! What can I do?
Sherlock Holmes sat down beside him on the couch and patted him kindly
on the shoulder.
If you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up, said he,
of course you can hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand, if you
convince the police authorities that there is no possible case against
you, I do not know that there is any reason that the details should
find their way into the papers. Inspector Bradstreet would, I am sure,
make notes upon anything which you might tell us and submit it to the
proper authorities. The case would then never go into court at all.
God bless you! cried the prisoner passionately. I would have endured
imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left my miserable
secret as a family blot to my children.
You are the first who have ever heard my story. My father was a
schoolmaster in Chesterfield, where I received an excellent education.
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