“This wall marks the boundary of the East Harrington estate,” remarked my companion as we walked along. “If I have read the map correctly, one of the main entrances to the estate should lie just ahead. Yes, there it is!” cried he as we rounded a bend in the road and a large imposing gateway came into view. The pillars on either side of the entrance must have been nearly twenty feet tall, and were surmounted by large carved figures, which appeared to be winged lions. The gates themselves, which were standing open, were of ornately wrought ironwork, and were, I think, the largest such gates I have ever seen.

“It appears a wealthy estate,” I remarked.

Holmes nodded. “And yet,” said he, “we know that its owner is in financial difficulties and is desperate for all the income he can garner.”

“Of course, expenditure has a habit of rising in line with income,” I remarked, “and usually manages to keep one step ahead.”

“Quite so,” returned my companion with a chuckle. “It was ever thus. The man who has no money believes that just a little would undoubtedly secure his happiness; the man who already has a little dreams of having a lot; and the man who has a lot feels confident that if he had yet more his situation might be immeasurably improved. This consideration alone should suffice to discredit the suggestion that there is any significant relation between money and happiness. But,” he continued, putting his finger to his lips, “we had best keep our reflections on the subject to ourselves while we are on the estate!”

We passed through the wide gateway and beneath the menacing stare of the winged lions. Immediately behind the right-hand gate was a small brick-built lodge. In a little vegetable plot to the side of it, a man was digging with a spade.

“A bright day to you, sir!” called Holmes as we passed by. “If anyone challenges us,” he added to me in an undertone, “just follow my lead.”

The drive before us was almost as wide as a city street. It made a long, gentle sweep to the left, to avoid a rushy mere on which hordes of ducks and moorhens were busy, and then curved to the right and resumed its original direction. Ahead of us now it lay dead straight and level, as far as the eye could see. Once past the mere, it was flanked on either side by woods, and far in the distance, a focal point for all travellers on the drive, stood a very tall obelisk. So very long and straight was the drive that after we had been walking briskly for almost ten minutes, the obelisk at the end of it appeared scarcely any closer than when we had begun. I was remarking on this fact to my companion when, far in the distance, a closed carriage came into view by the obelisk, making its way at some speed towards us.

“Now who, I wonder, is this?” murmured Holmes.

So great was the length of the drive that although the carriage was clearly travelling at a great pace, and we were walking briskly, it was several minutes before it reached us. As it came closer, a man leaned from the window on our side and called something to the driver. The latter at once reined in his horses and brought them to a slow trot, and at this rate they approached us, until the driver brought the carriage to a halt next to where we were standing.

A large, powerful-looking man leaned from the window of the carriage and surveyed us. His features were large and coarse, his brows were heavy and his chin seemed to jut forward aggressively. The look in his eye as he glanced from one to the other of us was not a friendly one.

“Who are you?” he demanded in a belligerent tone.

“The name is Hobbes,” said Holmes, stepping forward and extending his hand. “This is my companion, Mr Wilson.”

“What are you doing here?” demanded the other, ignoring Holmes’s outstretched hand. I glanced past him, at the other two occupants of the carriage. Seated opposite him was an obese, rather stupid-looking man with puffy lips, whose chin seemed sunk in rolls of fat. He was playing the fool with what appeared to be a pair of antique duelling pistols. The woman I recognized at once as Miss Rogerson. For the briefest of moments, as my glance passed over those mean features that I remembered from our previous encounters, our eyes met. I looked away quickly.

“My companion and I are enthusiastic naturalists,” Holmes was saying. “We have been informed that the flocks of migrating geese are worth seeing at this time of the year.”

“Oh, have you? Have you also been informed that this is private property?”

“Indeed,” said Holmes, pulling the map from his pocket. “But my information is that there is a public right of way along this drive, and to the river.”

“So some people claim!”

“Anyhow, I am sure that the owner of this land would have no objection to our seeking to witness such a fascinating spectacle.”

“Oh, you’re sure, are you? Well, let me inform you that the owner of this land does not give a tuppenny damn for your ‘fascinating spectacle’! For two pins he would fling you both in the river with the damned geese!”

“Oh, leave ’em, Lessingham!” called the other man in the carriage in a bored drawl. I glanced his way and saw that he was making a play of aiming one of the pistols at me and squeezing the trigger. “Bang!” said he. “That’s one of ’em gone, anyhow. Leave ’em, I say,” he repeated to his companion. “Let ’em go on their wild goose chase. Perhaps they’ll fall in the river!” He and the woman laughed loudly at this.

The large man was still leaning from the carriage window. Now he raised his fist to us. “You have the right of way marked on your map there?” he demanded.

“Certainly,” said Holmes.

“Well, then. You stray one inch from it and you’ll find yourself in court faster than you can say goose! Do you understand?”

“Absolutely.”

“Drive on!” cried the other and leaned back into his seat, as the coachman lashed his horses and they sped away at a gallop.

“That was a somewhat unlooked-for encounter,” remarked Holmes to me after a moment in a wry tone. “What a very unpleasant brute he is! If he were a dog, he would probably be put down by order of the court!”

“That other fool – Captain Legbourne Legge, I presume – pointed a pistol at me and pretended to fire it,” I cried angrily. “I can scarcely believe that an ex-Army man could ever do such a stupid thing!”

Holmes turned and looked at me. “My dear fellow!” said he in a concerned tone. “You look quite white! Those idiots have upset you!”

“I don’t mind admitting it,” I replied. “When a man has had the muzzle of a gun pointed at him in deadly earnest, in the heat of battle, it ceases for ever to be amusing.”

“I understand,” said Holmes, clapping me on the shoulder. “Let us stand here a moment and recover our composure before we proceed! I tell you this, Watson, if I had the slightest compunction before this incident of trespassing upon this man’s land and interfering in his business, I have none now. The time will come when he will regret having spoken to us in that way!”

There was a look of hardened determination upon my companion’s face such as I had rarely seen there, and I knew then that he would not rest until he had seen this business through to the bitter end.

“Are you ready to continue?” he asked me after a moment.

“There is something else troubling me.” I answered.

“Oh?”

“I fear the woman may have recognized me. I did not believe, on either occasion this week when I saw her, that she had taken any notice of me, but just now, when our eyes met, I thought I detected a flicker of recognition in them.”

“Ah! That is unfortunate,” responded my companion in a thoughtful tone. He glanced back the way we had come. “They have gone now, anyway. Let us hope her memory fails her. Meanwhile, we must make all haste to the Hall!”

We resumed our brisk pace, but it was another fifteen minutes before we reached the obelisk, where four roadways, like the points of the compass, went off at right angles to each other. Set atop the tall pillar was a gigantic stone pineapple. Holmes glanced up at it as we paused for a moment.