“But Aunt Margaret,” cried Miss Borrow, “how can this be? We were told by Mr Hartley Lessingham that you were residing in a cottage on the estate of Mr Shepherd!”

“What! I have never been within a hundred miles of it! What a wicked thing to have told you, when all the time he was keeping me a prisoner here!”

“But I wrote to you there, and you replied!” protested the girl in a baffled tone.

“My poor dear!” returned the woman, her eyes brimming with tears. “I have received no letter from you nor from anyone, and nor have I been able to write any. If Mr Hartley Lessingham told you it was a letter from me, then he lied. No doubt he wrote the letter himself.”

“I should have known!” cried the girl in an angry tone, and burst into tears. “I should have known that you would never have told me not to write to you again.”

“I certainly should not! Whatever was said in that letter, Harriet, was nothing but wicked lies!”

“But Mr Hartley Lessingham did receive one letter from Sussex,” said the girl after a moment, “for I remember seeing the Lewes postmark on the envelope. He told me that it was from Mr Shepherd, informing him that you were residing at Tattingham. He said he had thrown it in the fire.”

“I imagine,” said Holmes, addressing the woman as she shook her head in puzzlement, “that he made up that story on the spur of the moment, when he realized that Harriet had seen the postmark. No doubt the letter really was from Mr Shepherd, but was simply enquiring after you all and sending you his news. Your husband may not have bothered replying to it at all, or, if he did, he probably told Shepherd that you had gone away and he did not know your whereabouts. One moment!” said he, then he brought the hammer down with all his strength onto the chisel which I had positioned on the hinge of the manacle. “There!” he cried in triumph as the hinge burst apart. “Now for the other one! Perhaps,” he continued, addressing Mrs Hartley Lessingham as I positioned the hinge of the second manacle on the edge of the lump of wood, “you could tell us what occurred last January. Shortly after you left, on New Year’s Eve, your husband informed Harriet that you had written to say that you were staying in an hotel in London.”

“That, at least, was true.”

“He then went off to visit you, to try to persuade you, so he said, to return to East Harrington, but as he reported, you declined the proposition.”

“That, also, is correct.”

“Yet somehow he managed to get you back here.”

“That is easily explained. When he came to my hotel in London, he said that if I would not live with him at East Harrington any longer, I had best take the children with me, as he did not wish to be troubled with them. Of course, this was what I had wished all along, so I readily agreed. I therefore accompanied him back here from London simply to collect Harriet and Edwin. We were met at the railway station by the carriage, which was driven by his unpleasant friend, Captain Legbourne Legge. This struck me as a little odd, but I thought no more about it. As we drove through the park, my thoughts were only on the children, and I could not have imagined the evil plan that my husband and his odious companion had contrived. Then, when we had almost reached the Hall, Legbourne Legge turned the carriage off the main drive at the obelisk, and instead brought it here. When I realized what they intended, I struggled to escape, but it was of no avail, and I received only bruises for my troubles. Since then I have been a prisoner here, with that evil woman you have met as my gaoler; without hope of release, and subject to constant threats and intimidation.”

“Did the woman sometimes carry messages between here and the Hall?”

“Yes. I recall once hearing my husband giving her instructions to that effect.”

“The children saw her once or twice at night, I believe, leaving a message on the sundial in the garden behind the house. Those messages were subsequently collected by Legbourne Legge.”

“He and my husband seem to have planned everything together. I do not know which of them I detest the most!”

Holmes nodded. “The threats you mentioned, were these to try to persuade you to sign money over to your husband?”

“To try to force me to assign everything I possess to him, and all my rights and responsibilities in what is due to the children, too.”

“I thought as much,” said Holmes, nodding his head. “I have seen in his study that he has been forging your signature. But while the solicitor would accept your signature through the post on relatively minor matters, on more important questions he would wish to see you in person, to discuss the business with you and witness your signature. This is why it was vital for your husband to persuade you to agree to his plans.”

“But I should never have done so. I told him I would rather die. At least,” she continued in a hesitant tone, “I had remained defiant until the last fortnight. But he has recently found a chink in my armour.” Her gaze flickered momentarily downwards.

“He threatened to harm the children if you did not do as he wished? It does not surprise me. I will tell you later all that has happened recently.” Holmes broke off as he brought his hammer down with great force upon the chisel several times. Presently he paused, and stood for a moment recovering his breath. “You have not yet signed anything for your husband?” he continued, addressing Mrs Hartley Lessingham.

“No.”

“Good! Then all the cards are still in our hands! I must ask you now if you know anything of the fate of Mr Theakston, the children’s tutor at the time you left.”

“Mr Theakston?” returned she in surprise. “Why, what has happened to him?”

“He has vanished without trace, and, to speak frankly, I fear the very worst,” said Holmes. He then described to Mrs Hartley Lessingham the quarrel between the tutor and his employer, which Miss Borrow had overheard.

“That was in the spring, you say?” said she. “Then I think I can cast some light on it. Outside that door in the wall over there is a wooden platform, from which a long staircase descends on the outside of the building, until it reaches the ground by the millrace. One evening in the early spring, just as the light was fading, someone climbed up that staircase and looked in here through the window. I was startled, and because the light was poor and the window dirty, I could not at first make out who it was. I thought it was probably some peasant from Dedstone, so I remained perfectly still, for I was very frightened. But after a few moments, as he moved about on the platform and tried to open the door, I realized that it was Mr Theakston and called out to him. I am not sure if he heard me or knew who it was that was in here, for this room must have appeared very dark to him, but after trying unsuccessfully for some time to open the door – it is bolted on the inside, as you see – he went away, and I heard his footsteps descending the stair. For several days I hoped that something might come from this incident, that perhaps he would tell someone that I was being kept here, but when nothing happened, I abandoned my hopes, concluded that he had not realized I was in here and put it from my mind.”

“Something had evidently aroused his curiosity as to what was happening here,” said Holmes, “possibly the behaviour of that woman downstairs, or perhaps some rumour he had heard. Whatever it was, it seems likely that he did in fact recognize you, for he confronted your husband over the matter, either that same night, or soon afterwards. This was, of course, a terrible mistake, and the very last thing he should have done, but honest men frequently make mistakes that villains never would. He has not been seen again since that evening, and I am afraid that we must conclude that he was done to death by these villains to prevent him from speaking of what he knew.”