SHERLOCK HOLMES and the BEAST of CORNWALL:THE INVESTIGATION BEGINS

The following day was very windy.

Watson and I left the Inn to begin the investigation.

The village of St Just turned out to be entirely different to the mighty city of London.

There were of course cabs and carriages going about, but the streets were far from packed – seeing as the population was smaller by a very long way.

Furthermore, the place was more like a community, where everyone seemed to know each other, instead of being far apart.

However, Watson and I didn’t come here to question the villagers. Visiting the local farms is where our investigation would begin.

After leaving St Just, we went to a farm owned by a man, called Henry Tonkin.

“So you’re the famous Sherlock Holmes?” Mr Tonkin said asked.

“Indeed I am and this is my friend and colleague Doctor Watson.”

Mr Tonkin was in his sixties with grey hair going white, a red face, blue eyes, a flat brown cap and all the other traditional clothing of a farmer.

He happened to be the owner of an Alsatian called Rex.

“I’m ever so glad you’re here Mr Holmes and you Doctor Watson.”

“Watson and I have been told of the goings on around here,” said I.

“One of my calves was preyed upon two nights ago. Follow me and I’ll show you where it happened.”

We followed Mr Tonkin and Rex out into the yard, through two fields, full of grazing cows and finally into an empty field.

“This is where it happened Mr Holmes.”

Mr Tonkin showed us a patch of grass right in the centre of the field.

“Rex and I heard the hideous sounds of the beast and the agonizing cries of its victim. When we came out, I saw a sight, which I shall never forget as long as I live.”

“Go on,” said I.

“I saw the skeleton of one of my calves Mr Holmes. It was all bloody, broken, covered all over with teeth marks and stripped completely bare.

Then there were the footprints – bird-like footprints, larger than a human hand, but with very short inner toes. After that it rained, so all the footprints and traces of blood disappeared.”

It was a blood-curdling account, but it got me no step forward.

“If you and Doctor are going to visit other farms, you’ll be told exactly the same story Mr Holmes.”

“Well, we’d better continue with the investigation Watson.”

We exchanged farewells with Henry Tonkin and left the farm.

“What did you make of it all Holmes?”

“It was a most ghastly account, but it got us nowhere.”

“I agree.”

“It may take some time to solve this case.”

“If we solve it.”

After leaving the farm, Watson and I visited two more farms – one owned by a Mr and Mrs Chapman and the other by a Mr and Mrs Tregennis – the latter of whom owned sheep and a German Shepherd.

Both couples gave us parallel accounts to the one given by Henry Tonkin and we were taken to the places where the catastrophic events had taken place.

After that, we went to a cattle farm owned by a Mr Jack McFadden and his eighteen-year-old daughter Hayley, both of whom hadn’t had any trouble yet.

While there, we met a stable boy called David Hunter.

Mr McFadden told us that the young man came into his employment around about the time the gipsies appeared in the area. This was most bizarre, but it led to nothing.

So Watson and I continued on from farm to farm – only to be given the same account.

I was starting to take the matter very seriously. But whether or not the supernatural was involved I knew not. I laid a finger on that for the present.

Watson and I had visited ten farms so far and were on our way up to one – situated on a hill top.

When we reached the farm, we saw two workers cleaning out stables and a third feeding over a hundred Rhode Island Red chickens.

“Good day gentlemen,” said a middle-aged man, who came out of another stable.

“Terry Reynolds, I presume?” I asked.

“I am. Who might you be?”

“My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and colleague Doctor Watson.”

“At last you’ve come Mr Holmes.”

I could tell that Mr Reynolds was afraid and there was no need to guess what of.

“I can tell that you’re troubled,” said Watson.

“You are right Doctor Watson. One of my calves was eaten by the beast last night.”

I thought something of the kind had happened.

“Will you show us where the event took place?” I asked.

“Yes Mr Holmes. If you and Doctor Watson follow me.”

Mr Reynolds led Watson and I out of the yard, down through two cow fields and finally into a field at the bottom of the hill – next to a narrow lane with sheep fields belonging to another farm on the other side.

It was then that I laid eyes on the most, ghastly sight, which I had ever seen.

Lying on the ground in the middle of the field was the bloody skeleton of a calf – stripped bare of flesh. Many bones were broken, two of the limbs were dislocated, blood, which had not yet completely dried, lay splattered all over the place and the bones were pot-marked with what appeared to be, hundreds of teeth marks.

Furthermore, there were footprints all around the skeleton – bird-like footprints, larger than a human hand, but with much shorter inner toes.

More footprints like those approached the remains, while others moved away in the opposite direction.

I could tell by the way the footprints were positioned, that whatever had been there, had moved stealthily at first, before running swiftly towards its victim – like a lioness, or a cheetah and left slowly.

Whatever it was that had eaten the calf was far from small, because of the size of the footprints and no animal known in the area could strip an entire calf to the bone.

That wasn’t all, for there were countless cow footprints heading out of the field.

Now I was beginning to see the sheer brutality of it all.

This wasn’t the work of some Hound of the Baskervilles-like creature, no, it was something far more savage, something pure evil.

“What on Earth could have done this?” Watson asked.

“It’s beyond me Watson.”

“I was going to burn the remains, but then I thought it better to leave it for you Mr Holmes and you Doctor Watson to examine.”

“You did right to do so Mr Reynolds,” I said. “This is visible evidence at least, but whether or not it will lead to anything, I don’t know.”

“You must put a stop to it Mr Holmes,” said Mr Reynolds said. “You must put a stop to this menace for all time.”

Watson and I followed Mr Reynolds back into the yard.

“What do you make of it all Mr Holmes?” one of the stable workers asked.

“Right now, I’m not sure.”

“What about you Doctor Watson?” asked the other stable worker.

“I have no idea.”

“I did try to persuade Mr Reynolds to get the police involved Mr Holmes,” said the third worker, who was now sweeping an area of the yard. “But he wouldn’t have it.”

“Why not?” Watson asked.

“Ask him yourself Doctor Watson.”

“Well Mr Reynolds, why did you not involve the police?”

“Because, it was pointless. If I had got the police involved, they would have dismissed the whole matter.”

“Why do you say that?” asked I.

“Because you can’t arrest the supernatural Mr Holmes.”

I didn’t press the matter any further, for it seemed obvious that Mr Reynolds – like many, if not all of people in the area, believed in the supernatural side of the affair. Even I wasn’t unconvinced entirely that the work of the supernatural was involved.

Watson and I exchanged farewells with Mr Reynolds and the three workers before leaving the farm.

“So what now Holmes?”

“Now we shall go back to the Inn. It’s been a long day’s work and we haven’t really got anywhere so far.”

“Very well Holmes.”

“Tomorrow, we shall visit the gipsies at the farm owned by Mr and Mrs Trembath.”

There was nothing more to be done for the day, so we went back to THE MINER’S ARMS.

“Any progress Mr Holmes?” George Tobin asked.

“Not yet I’m afraid.”

“Have you been to see the gipsies?” asked Mrs Tobin.

“Not yet,” Watson replied. “But we’ll visit them tomorrow.”

“There is something, which happened while you and Doctor were out Mr Holmes,” said Mr Tobin.

“Go on,” I said.

“Jack McFadden’s daughter came here.”

“And?” I asked.

“She gave me a letter to pass onto you.”

“How very bizarre,” said Watson.

Mr Tobin gave me the letter.

I opened the envelope and read the letter.

Dear Mr Holmes,

I know that you are said to be the one person, who can hopefully put an end to the terror in the area, but at the same moment I believe that this is a case, which you cannot solve.

You and Doctor Watson, are meddling with a force of evil beyond anyone’s comprehension and I’d advise you both to return to the safety of Baker Street.

Hayley McFadden.

I was just about to hand the letter to Watson when –

“Let me see that Mr Holmes,” came a familiar voice.

I turned round and saw David Hunter from Jack McFadden’s farm standing right behind me.

I was taken aback.

“The letter Sir,” David demanded.

I wasn’t sure what to do. After all, the young man did work on the farm where Hayley lived. Maybe there was something, which concerned the man.

“Very well,” I said.

I handed the letter to David, who quickly read it, before giving it back.

David then went over to a corner, where a very familiar figure was sitting. It was none other than the hunchback, whom I had seen in Baker Street.

I was mind-blown.

“Look over there Watson,” I said, as David sat down opposite the man.

“Great Scot. You don’t suppose –“

“Shh – not now,” I whispered.

What was the meaning of it? Were we being shadowed?

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