Volume IX
I was shaving at my window the following morning when I heard the rattle of
hoofs and, looking up, saw a dog-cart coming at a gallop down the road. It
pulled up at our door and the vicar, Mrs. Trerichards, sprang from it and rushed
up our garden path. Our visitor was so excited that she could hardly articulate
but at last in gasps and bursts her tragic story came out of her.
"We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes! My poor parish is devil-ridden!"
she cried. "Satan himself is loose in it! We are given over into his
hands!" She danced about in her agitation and finally shot out her terrible
news.
"Mr. Mortimer Tregennis died during the night, and with exactly the same
symptoms as Mr. Trejelly, Mr. Tremacdonald and Mrs. Trebristol."
Holmes sprang to his feet, all energy in an instant.
"Watson, we will postpone our breakfast. Mrs. Trerichards, we are
entirely at your disposal. Hurry - hurry, before things get disarranged."
We arrived before the doctor or the St. Ives police (who still hadn't turned
up yet for the first crime), so that everything was undisturbed. The atmosphere
of the lodger's room was of a horrible and depressing stuffiness. Fortunately, the servant
who had first entered the room had thrown up the window or it would have been
even more intolerable.