"This DETOUR has been entirely for our benefit, then?" said Holmes."No wonder that my inquiries among those villages led to nothing.The doctor has certainly played the game for all it is worth, and one would like to know the reason for such elaborate deception.This should be the village of Trumpington to the right of us.And, by Jove! here is the brougham coming round the corner.Quick, Watson, quick, or we are done!"He sprang through a gate into a field, dragging the reluctant Pompey after him.We had hardly got under the shelter of the hedge when the carriage rattled past.I caught a glimpse of Dr.Armstrong within, his shoulders bowed, his head sunk on his hands, the very image of distress.I could tell by my companion's graver face that he also had seen.
"I fear there is some dark ending to our quest," said he.
"It cannot be long before we know it.Come, Pompey!
Ah, it is the cottage in the field!"
There could be no doubt that we had reached the end of our journey.Pompey ran about and whined eagerly outside the gate where the marks of the brougham's wheels were still to be seen.
A footpath led across to the lonely cottage.Holmes tied the dog to the hedge, and we hastened onwards.My friend knocked at the little rustic door, and knocked again without response.And yet the cottage was not deserted, for a low sound came to our ears --a kind of drone of misery and despair, which was indescribably melancholy.Holmes paused irresolute, and then he glanced back at the road which we had just traversed.A brougham was coming down it, and there could be no mistaking those grey horses.