Chapter V

Arriving back at Fortis Keep, Holmes had Carson show us the way to the ramparts and we ascended to the top of the tower, where archers could shoot down between the battlements.

First, he explored the snow covered surface while Lestrade and I watched. Then he examined the area directly above the arrow slit where the Judge was standing when he was killed. Finally, he called out.

“See here,” he said, pointing to some fresh marks on the wall. We joined him and saw some small strands of hemp caught in the cracks, as well as areas where the snow had been compressed or brushed away. “This is where the murderer tied off a rope and lowered himself to the window where he made the fatal shot.”

Lestrade protested, “I thought we’d established that he’s been stabbed.”

“That takes us back to the armory, gentlemen. If you please.”

We went back downstairs, and Holmes requested that Carson assemble all the staff members in the armory. While the butler went to attend to that, Holmes opened the glass case and began examining the various molds.

Picking out one at last, he held it out for the inspector and me to see.

“This is the mold used by our murderer, gentlemen. Normally filled with molten lead. Now however, you can see where it has already started to show signs of rust.”

I took it from his hands. It was old and tarnished, but he was right. There were fresh signs of rust upon it.

Lestrade accepted it from my hands and enquired, “Isn’t this is for a crossbow bolt?”

“Indeed, Inspector,” answered Holmes. “If you will just step over here.”

We both joined Holmes at the wall where several weapons were on display.

“Note the level of dust upon these items. Yet this,” he said, picking a crossbow off its pegs, “is perfectly clean and freshly strung. Here is your murder weapon.”

He handed the medieval contraption to the inspector, who began examining it. Holmes, while our attention was on the weapon, surreptitiously made his way over to stand by the armory door. Several staff members started to enter and we turned at the sound. Suddenly, one of them, seeing us with the murder weapon in hand, turned on his heels and bolted for the door. Holmes blocked his path and put him down with a sharp jab to the solar plexus. As the man lay gasping on the floor, we joined our friend who explained, “Our killer, gentlemen. Judge Mason’s gamekeeper.”

Having finally regained his breath, the man spoke out in protest as he raised himself up on his elbows.

“I didn’t kill no one!” he shouted.

“Then why did you run when you saw we had the murder weapon?”

sneered Lestrade.

“I weren’t runnin’,” he replied in his low level English. “I just remembered I left somethin’ on the stove an’ thought it best to take it off when I saw how big this meeting was goin’ t’be.”

Holmes chided him, “The game is up, my man. Your boots left tracks in the snow around the pear tree and on the roof. The snowfall hasn’t been heavy enough to obliterate them as you hoped.”

Holmes reached down and lifted the man’s right foot off the floor, causing him to fall off his elbows and lay prone again.

“This boot has a distinct wear pattern to its heel. Much like that found among prisoners who have been chained while doing hard labor. It would have been easy for an old con like you to snatch Edgar Mason’s knife and to plant blood on it from one of the birds you shot as the gamekeeper. Only you could have wandered the grounds outside the castle without arousing suspicion, as it was an element of your duties. You had access to this room to steal the weapon, and the privacy of your supply shed to create the bolts you needed.

“Once your weapon was ready, you chose a night cold enough to maintain the integrity of your ice bolts. You lowered yourself from the battlement by a hemp rope, attracted Judge Mason’s attention by some pretext to get him to come to the window where you were hiding just to the side. Once he was there you swung into place and shot him through the

heart. You tossed his son’s knife toward the ground below the window to implicate him, but your aim was off as you hung there and it landed on the frozen moat. You then climbed back up, returned the crossbow and mold to the armory, and went about your business.”

Holmes dropped the man’s foot to the floor. Being in such a vulnerable position, surrounded by accusing on-lookers and faced with such a detailed accounting of his actions, he couldn’t hope to deny his guilt. He slowly got to his feet and faced us.

“All right, you’ve got me. But I’m not sorry for it. Not one bit. The old Judge deserved what he got and more. I’ll tell you my story, and you see if I weren’t justified in what I done.”

Holmes had Carson dismiss the rest of the staff and sat the prisoner down while Lestrade handcuffed him. He then began his tale.

“My real name is Pete Silcox. Twenty-two years ago, I was an orphan on the streets of London. My father was a sailor whose ship sunk when I was just seven. My mother died of consumption when I was twelve, and I was turned over to St. Mary Magdalene’s workhouse. It was a filthy place and I run away the first chance I got.

“I lived by me wits and odd jobs here and there. Got handy at pickin’ a pocket or purse to get by from time to time. One day I got me a rich haul.

Found a gentleman’s wallet in an alley outside the rooms of a certain lady who was known for her favors. Well, it had over a hundred pounds in it, and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. But then this gent comes back and catches me with his wallet. We struggle over it for a bit when a policeman comes along and grabs me by the collar. Naturally he takes the gentleman’s side when he lies and says I picked his pocket and he chased me into that alley.

“So off to court I go. I’m only sixteen at the time, so I figure worst case, it’ll be back to the workhouse for me. But this Judge Mason won’t listen to my story about finding the wallet. Says because I stole an amount of such

‘grand proportions’ as he put it, he’s sentencing me to fifteen years!

“I was lucky to survive the beatings and the abuse, and I vowed if I ever got out of that place alive, I’d make that Judge pay as dear a price as I could.

“When I was finally released, I got me a job on a farm as a gamekeeper’s apprentice. I’d changed my name to ‘Jack Fox’ so none of my old prison mates could find me, and my criminal record wouldn’t follow me. I learned my new trade well, and also did some pokin’ about to find out where Judge Mason was. I found he’d retired and was livin’ in this place, and I eventually was able to hire on here two years ago with a good reference from my former employer.

“I waited for my chance. I learned the habits of the household, and when the Judge took to writin’ his memoirs late into the night, I began makin’

my plans. It’s true, those footprints by the pear tree were mine. I had realized it would make a fair perch for a shot at one of the windows of the Tower Room. But there were too many problems to deal with. I’d have to wait for the leaves to come back out in the spring to avoid being seen before I took the shot, and who knew if the Judge would still be writin’ up there by then? The noise, of course, would draw people out here, since nobody normally hunts at night, and I’d risk gettin’ caught. Then there was the problem of getting the Judge to come to that particular window. Besides all that, it was a difficult shot to make. Fifty yards uphill at night into a target only a foot wide? I’ve gotten to be a pretty good shot, but those odds weren’t in my favor.

“But while I was up in that tree, I saw an old owl take off from the roof of the tower. That gave me the idea of lowering myself down to the window. I got to thinkin’ maybe I could pull this job and not get caught. I’d have the satisfaction of gettin’ my revenge and still keepin’ my new life.

“At first, I thought I could kill him quietly by stabbing him with a sword, or spear. That would make for a silent killing and give me lots of time to get back to my shack. But I realized it would be awkward, and I might only wound him if he had time to jump back out of reach before I could position myself for a fatal thrust. That’s when I decided on the crossbow.”

I interrupted at this point, for there was a glaring error in this scenario.

“But we found no bolt from a crossbow in the wound. It looks more like a stabbing.”

“Ah, that was the genius of it,” he smirked. “Earlier this winter, I saw the icicles form along the roof lines and realized what a formidable weapon they could make if delivered properly. So I stole the mold and made up

some arrow bolts during the cold nights when they’d freeze up good and firm. I practiced with the crossbow until I was sure of myself, then put my plan into action.

“I lowered myself down next to the window around midnight. Then I started hootin’ like an owl to attract the Judge. I knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate and he’d come to the window to shoo an owl away. Soon as I heard him, I swung around with the crossbow and fired. He stumbled back and tripped on the rug. But I saw his face before he fell and I’ll cherish that look for the rest of my days.”

Lestrade had the next question. “But why frame the Judge’s son? He’d done nothing to you.”

Silcox slammed his manacled fists down on the table. “He had the life I should have had! He was the free son of a rich man, and about to marry a beautiful woman and live happily ever after. That should’ve been me! So I decided to take my revenge on both father and son!”

Holmes spoke up again, “I think we’ve heard enough, Lestrade. It’s time to visit Sergeant Mossgarden and conduct a prisoner exchange.”