The Howl Of The Wiltshire Masfiff

'How weak our mind is; how quickly it is terrified and unbalanced as soon as we are confronted with a small, incomprehensible fact. Instead of dismissing the problem with: "We do not understand because we cannot find the cause," we immediately imagine terrible mysteries and supernatural powers.'—Guy de Maupassant

I had never encountered the ceaseless bouts of superstition intertwined with the myriad fears attached to the mystery that haunted the rustic kinsfolk of the village of Castle Combe in Wiltshire—until my imperative visit. The village and civil parish were located within a shire of England, northwest of Chippenham. The village had two parts: one was the narrow valley of By Brook, whilst Upper Castle Combe lay on higher ground to the east.

In the year 1894, I arrived at Castle Combe after receiving a pressing correspondence from the Wiltshire Police. I had recently assisted in solving a riveting case on the Isle of Wight, and upon reaching the village, I was eager to know more of the case at hand, as the details provided were vague and speculative.

The trip from London was wearisome, but I was prepared to offer my services to the Wiltshire Police with due respect. There, I met and shook the hand of Officer Lionel Giddings, who was to assist me on the case titled 'The Howl of the Wiltshire Mastiff'. The person who had sent the correspondence, a Captain Woodward, had left the area to attend a personal family matter, leaving Officer Giddings in command.

‘It is a great honour to have you here assisting us in the case, Inspector Cauvain’, Officer Giddings said.

‘That is good of you to say, Officer Giddings. As always, I am ready to help the authorities solve any seemingly insoluble mysteries. That is the main reason why I have come to Wiltshire, and in particular Castle Combe’, I replied.

‘That’s good to know! Although we are limited in resources here in the shire, we remain committed to the values of our police force’,

‘Excellent. Let us proceed with the investigation. I have been perusing the few details sent in the correspondence. It is my understanding that the virulent attacks were reported within the vicinity of the shire’s villages, and that the victims were mauled to death by what appears to be—at least to me—something rather unclear. Am I to assume the victims were attacked by a wild beast or animal?’

‘According to the few witnesses, that is indeed the case’,

‘Then we are speaking of what—a wild hound, a wolf, or some other savage creature roaming untethered across the countryside?’

‘That seems accurate, but the witnesses we have spoken to mention the colossal size of the beast and its daunting appearance’,

‘Colossal, you say? What we must concentrate on is not the hyperbolic descriptions of the attacker but rather the veritable facts we must depend upon to solve this case. It is an unfortunate tendency among witnesses to embellish their accounts. This I have learnt, regrettably, through my involvement in sundry cases’.

‘Yes, indeed’.

I was escorted to the crime scene of the latest murder by Giddings, beyond the main street, near the By Brook River of Castle Combe. The body of the victim, a Mr Ridgeway, had been discovered on the embankment of the river below the bridge. His body was severely mauled, with evident bite marks from a massive canine.

The area was clammy and damp—a concealed place to find a body within the trodden mire, ample shrubbery, and thick foliage. We were not fortunate with the change in weather, as the previous day’s rain had practically erased any reasonable clue we might retrieve.

We were compelled to conduct an elaborate search of the area for any transparent soupçons that might lead to a clue, despite the sprinkling rain. I had not seen such vicious bite marks since 'The Riddle of the Skull Murders' case, where the culprit used a large mastiff in his crimes.

That apparent vraisemblance was disconcerting, but it was the most substantial clue I could surmise from any credible assumption. I shared my analysis with Giddings as we examined the soil at the river’s edge.

‘There is no doubt that we are dealing with a large canine whose attack was deadly. The only question is: where can we find this enormous creature?’ I said.

‘A large canine, inspector? Then it must be a wolf—but that can’t be, as there hasn't been a wolf sighting in this area for decades. Could it be a villager’s dog, sir? This is the countryside’.

‘No, Giddings. The foul creature responsible for this murder is no mere dog but a very potent and fierce mastiff’.

‘Bloody hell—but there are several villagers who keep mastiffs as watchdogs. Where do we begin?’

‘At the residence of the first known owner of a mastiff. You will instruct the other officers to compile a list of individuals who own mastiffs, whether at their homes or businesses. Then the officers will visit each home and question the owners. I know it may seem intrusive, but it must be done’.

‘I shall inform the officers’.

Giddings left to accomplish that urgent task, while I returned to the police station in Devizes to peruse more of the witness accounts and to contemplate the layout of the village and its countryside from one of the windows.

At the police station, I spoke to a certain Mr Whatley, the sole person to witness one of the gruesome deaths. According to Mr Whatley, the attacker was not a mastiff but a daemon creature from hell. His vivid and descriptive account was exaggerated, to say the least, but I refrained from being insensitive to his fanciful remarks.

Once the interrogation concluded and he departed, I remained behind. The rain began to fall in full force outside, and I pondered the unfolding events within the police station for the nonce. What intrigued me were the notable houses, particularly a manor on the outskirts of the village. I was uncertain who the proprietor was or the history of the manor, but I assumed the owner to be an influential resident of the shire.

When Giddings returned that evening, he brought a comparative list of landowners who kept mastiffs on their properties. Fortunately, the list was not extensive—a blessing in disguise—but that did not preclude the possibility that the mastiff had strayed from its owner. I asked Giddings whether any mastiffs had been reported missing, and he informed me that none had. Thus, the mastiff was either wild, or one of the villagers was concealing the truth. At the time, I could neither prove nor disprove either possibility, and the only viable course of action was to proceed analytically and sensibly.

That night, I instructed Giddings to have the officers patrol the area—not only to search for the mastiff but also to prevent another murder. No local curfew had been imposed yet, and Giddings was reluctant to cause hysteria amongst the residents. I did not press the issue until there was further provocation.

My principal preoccupation was the immediate capture of the mastiff, which required my undivided attention and perseverance. I knew that if we could trap the canine, we might determine whether it had an owner or had reacted savagely due to rabies.

I had not yet considered that dreadful possibility. If rabies were the cause, it would explain the motivation to kill. Perhaps the best course was to examine the post-mortem necropsy performed on the victim.

Thereafter, I examined the corpse and spoke to the pathologist who had conducted the forensic procedure. The pathologist concurred with my theory that the culprit was a large mastiff, but I was keen to learn more from his observations. I enquired about the nature of the mastiff and, in particular, its physical attributes.

Presuming the canine to be male, based on the wounds inflicted, I was curious about its typical characteristics. The pathologist disclosed that a mastiff is usually docile, but when infected with rabies, it becomes entirely unpredictable.

Within the nucleus of a family, it may allow children to play with it, but in a fit of blind ferocity, it might even wound the hand of its master. The mastiff easily distinguishes between friend and foe and, when provoked, enters the fray with confidence.

If the mastiff responsible for these murders possessed such traits, it was natural to believe it acted with dauntless ferocity. When I put this to the pathologist, he gave me a candid affirmation.

This was deeply unsettling. I could only reflect grimly on the implications. It was imperative that we focused our efforts on the cause and effects—paramount for advancing the investigation and finding a resolution.

Before I could fully assume responsibility for that arduous task, I needed to confer with Giddings regarding the facts we had gathered. Once back at the station, we discussed the issue at length. I relayed my conversation with the pathologist, noticing something troubled Giddings.

When I queried about his puzzling expression, he told me that in all his years of his profession, he had not confronted an inexplicable villain or suspect such as this one. I thought his admission was admirable, but I mentioned ‘the riddle of the skull murders’—how that case had altered my perception of a murderer. I sensed my asseveration was comprehended by him, and I attempted to convince him of the intrinsicality of the nature of a killer.

That night the sanguineous canine had killed once more, and it happened whilst I was staying at the local inn that Giddings had found for me in the village. Immediately, he arrived at the inn to inform me that a dead body had been discovered behind St Andrew’s Church, which had a clock situated in the church tower that rang every hour of the day.

When we examined the body, there were evident bite marks that were similar in pattern to the prior victims of the case, but this time, the body was completely unrecognisable. The head was severed entirely from the torso, and the victim was an elderly farmer of the area. There was no discussion of the method employed by the canine—instead, how we could prevent another senseless murder.

Verily, it was impossible to predict when the canine would murder anew, and despite our resolution, the mastiff was as persistent as he was ruthless. The canine would leave behind two important clues that would result afterwards in concrete evidence. It would allow us to conclude that the mastiff had belonged to a certain owner in the region. The question was: who was that unidentified owner?

‘Good God, it is hard to believe that a mastiff could have done this horrible act, inspector’, Giddings ejaculated.

‘Not if you believe as I believe. It is no ordinary mastiff, as I have alluded to before, Giddings—for we must not be overwhelmed by the sheer brutality of this murder perpetrated. We must be cognisant, and not unconscionable, of the fact that the canine is ubiquitous and driven by an unmerciful passion that is shared not merely by him alone’, I conveyed.

‘I am afraid I don’t understand. What do you mean by that?’

‘It is fundamental. First, observe the tracks in the soil—they are apparently those made by a canine, such as our killer. There are also footprints beside the victim’.

‘Inspector, these footprints could have been made by the victim before the attack’, Giddings interjected.

‘Not likely, since the footprints seem to lead away from the murder scene in another direction, and logically, from the clues I have reviewed, the victim could not have had enough time to react. Therefore, unequivocally, these footprints belong not to the victim, but to someone else, along with these other footprints that appear canine in composition’.

‘The footprints seem to indicate that individual could have been a witness too!’

‘Indeed, but there is one more telling fact that has led me to the most rational conclusion yet’.

‘What is that?’

‘The footprints were made by an obtrusive nobleman, not a mere peasant nor villager, as are the majority of the residents of this area’.

‘How can you be assured of that?’

‘By the mere soles of the shoes—they are not representative of the common folk of this area! You see, there is one absolute advantage of travelling as I have done in my profession: you start to distinguish the demonstrative clothing and the footwear of individuals, whom you associate with either by acquaintance or by circumstance’.

‘I am impressed by your acumen, inspector’.

‘It is an acumen I have mastered with experience, Giddings’.

I was not certain that he fully understood, but I perceived that the gist of my argument was conveyed in a manner conducive to the interpretation of his rationality. As we left the area, I found on the ground a collar that seemed to belong to our canine. There was no name written on the collar.

What I did find unusual and significant was the fine leather from which it was fabricated. I told Giddings about that unique distinction, and he indicated to me that it could have been torn from the canine in the attack by the victim, but I dismissed that possibility, since the victim was frail and elderly. In order to analyse effectively the brute force of the attacks and of the mastiff, I compared my physiognomy to the first victim reported, who was of equal stature.

Because I was 5ft 9in and weighed ten stone, as did the man who was murdered by the mastiff, I gradually began to realise that the canine was not only—as I had thought—bigger in size, but strong enough to kill a grown man without much difficulty. It appeared to be that way, and the compulsive need to attack was plainly visible.

I was starting to believe that the mastiff was not alone in these gruesome attacks, and that someone was instructing the mastiff to kill. The question that lingered in my mind was: who was the mastermind of these murders, if not the mastiff?

Even though I could not yet disprove that the canine was wild, nor prove that there was a person who was the owner, I was increasingly convinced that he did not have rabies. Of course, his irrational behaviour would suggest otherwise, and many villagers, due to the superstitious trepidation that persisted in the area, believed that it was an untamed beast killing the villagers.

As we spoke, a dreadful howling sound could be heard from afar. I quickly turned around and looked at Giddings, as we stood by the corner of the church, where neither of us could decipher the direction of the noise precisely. The visibility of the night had become dimmer by the minute, and the oil lanterns we carried were useless to search beyond the central location of the village.

There was not much to do, except to take into consideration the minacious sound of the howling. I was certain that the howling was our mastiff, though Giddings said it could have been the sound of any dog in the village. The next morning, we gathered at the market village of Devizes to speak about the tragic occurrence from the previous night, and we managed to agree that we had to impose a curfew on the villagers; although this meant that if there was a person behind the planning of the truculent murders, that person would have to change the pattern of the killings to avoid being noticed or suspected.

That seemed to be practical, but the complexity was that in imposing the curfew, we, the authorities, would be more observant; and that meant that the person perhaps would not seek to kill, or have the mastiff kill, for him. I could not help but ponder the inducement for these murders, and the thought that there was an individual instructing the mastiff to murder. For what purpose or gain?

We focused on the retrievable clues that were discovered, and the ability of the mastiff to escape without clear detection. The thought of the strange manor that I had recently seen from a distance remained as a constant visual reminder of something indefinite in my conscious awareness.

I had to know more about this unique manor that stood on the outskirts of the village, and I began to ask Giddings who the proprietor was. The manor was conceivably within the general direction of the murder, and it could have hidden a large mastiff on the estate. Giddings made the conscientious disclosure that he was not aware who the proprietor was, but he could investigate and discover that elusive identity. If we could ascertain that vital piece of information, then there could be a link to the consequential events that had been developing directly.

After I considered every detail of the case with a laden ponderance—a continuation of the quondam episodes from the mystery—I attempted to attach a measurable component of rationality to my progressing theory. This was necessary because I had always based my fundamental concept upon that inflexible foundation called ratiocination.

Until we had the actual name of the proprietor, we had to proceed with the existing course of the investigation. In the meantime, we gathered at the last crime scene, hoping to find any residual clues that perhaps were yet to be uncovered.

Because it had not rained much, I knew the soil would not be that dank. I was a man of great perspicacity and unmitigated resolve as well, and I had learnt through experience that the solution existed in the sequence of the apodictic events that had transpired. I began to survey the totality of the area, and I cogitated the conceivable direction of the mastiff’s escape.

As I was glancing at the agrestic landscape, I noticed that the most viable escape route led to the extensive forest ahead, where the tall, inspissated trees stood. I thought of the proof we had amassed during the investigation and surmised that we had directed too much of our attention to the mastiff.

Thus, we had failed to discern the indistinctive fact that the mastiff was only a calculative subterfuge. There were no facile clues in this case, and the mastiff’s consecutive actions were not a mere coincidental consequence. I had been unable to assume the ambiguous distinction between the mastiff and its certain owner, but I was now embrangled by the inauspicious succession of each murder. That was not a perspicuous reality I had envisaged introspectively.

Were all these victims connected to some intricate involvement of a secret society? Surely, I thought, these precise victims were murdered not by sudden chance, but by a common association bonded by some material profit, where vengeance was exacted with a daring impunity. I then saw a peculiar object lying on the ground—it appeared to be a gold coin of the once Emperor Hadrian of Rome. I picked it up and showed it to Giddings.

‘Good God, Giddings, if I am correct in my assumption, then this gold coin belonged to the Roman Emperor Hadrian’, I affirmed.

‘It does look like that, inspector, but what would a gold Roman coin be doing lying about in the middle of Wiltshire?’ Giddings enquired, his expression flummoxed.

‘That is simple. If my memory serves me, the Romans built several large entrenchments in this area and were present here in numbers’.

‘It does not directly prove that this coin is connected to the murder, nor that it belongs to this specific area’, Giddings rejoined.

‘True, but if these coins were found, then these entrenchments were excavated by someone’.

‘By whom?’

‘That, I am not certain of, but I can assure you that whoever excavated had good reason to conceal the finding of any worthy coins, including this gold coin we have discovered’.

‘Do you truly believe that this is related to the murders and the mastiff?’ Giddings persisted.

‘If I had to be overt in my contention, then I would extrapolate from your postulate in concurrence’, I opined.

‘What are we to do next then?’

‘Find the entrenchments’.

We were able to speak to a local archaeological expert who had lived in the area, about the ancient Roman coin and the entrenchments. The gentleman, Mr Wheeler, had heard of these famous entrenchments, though he was not aware of our discovery of the gold coin. When he examined it, his eyes lit up with passionate interest.

He then enquired about the location where we had found the coin, and I explained that it was at the crime scene of the last murder. I was fully determined to seek the origin of this fascinating mystery and the immeasurable trove waiting to be uncovered.

I could not dismiss the growing thought about the undetermined affinity that this revelation disclosed. Mr Wheeler revealed afterwards that the supposed entrenchments were likely to be found on one of the farmyards of the village. This new information stirred my active sentience, which I sensed was essential in the case.

There was an intimate detail of the murders I had not realised before: the victims, likely killed by the mastiff, had been attacked selectively because of their connection to each other. It was urgent that we unravel this impending conundrum forthwith to avert another senseless murder.

The rudimentary stage of the investigation had progressed to the secretive aspect of the murders, which was crucial as we pondered the natural occurrence of another heinous act. We headed to the farmyard nearest to the vicinity of the prior murder and spoke to Mr Hibberd, the proprietor. He was a middle-aged man, unassuming in nature.

When he enquired about our visit, we mentioned our investigation. Because I had no palpable evidence linking the coin to the murders or the mastiff, I refrained from voicing my suspicion. Instead, I focused my enquiry on the likely site of the excavation. If this site was on Mr Hibberd’s property, there would be some visual proof—assuming we would find any clue construed as pertinent to the case.

My investigative prowess was remarkable, but it required superb efficiency. Generally, within the details are the facts, and I took notice of Mr Hibberd’s words. The Arcadian fields of the countryside were vast and plentiful. I sensed a mild hesitance in Mr Hibberd’s manner as I asked my questions.

In the end, he acquiesced to our excavation, though limited to a small area of his farmyard. We began to examine the ground thoroughly for any significant clues. At first, there was nothing indicative on the surface to provide a sufficient analysis, until I descried something odd at the circumference. I saw a mound that protruded, and when I asked Mr Hibberd, he replied that he had been ploughing the earth. He then began to unearth the mound, and there was no evidence of unusual activity.

Giddings whispered in my ear, ‘Inspector, there is nothing notable to be found here!’

I whispered back, ‘For now, we are finished here. Let us return to the police station in Devizes’.

‘Aye’.

Once we had returned to the police station, I was notified by one of the officers about the identity of the proprietor of the manor that intrigued me. His name was Lord Alden Dancey.

The officer also told me that he was of the local nobility and had recently purchased the manor from a member of a prominent lineage of a quondam feudal baron, whose name remained anonymous. These tidings allowed me to pay a visit to Lord Dancey. Giddings accompanied me.

When we arrived at the manor, the aristocrat was at home. We were greeted by his butler, who escorted us to the main hall, where Lord Dancey stood gazing out of the window. My first impression was of a man of presumption, but he could easily have been regarded as a dapper chap of delectation.

He was not tall in stature but appeared magnanimous in persona; although I perceived no ignominy in his imperious mien. His hair was brown, and his eyes a sable tincture of deception. He was dressed in an elegant dark frock coat that matched his waistcoat and trousers, and at his side he carried an ornate wrought black walking stick with a luminous gold mastiff on the handle.

The striking image captivated Giddings’ attention and distracted him, until I recognised the lapse in his concentration. The mastiff we were seeking immediately came to mind and somewhat incommoded our visit. Giddings regained his focus, and I sensed he was once again concentrating on the purpose of our visit: a conversation with Lord Dancey. I was anxious to hear his voice and judge his character.

‘Inspector Cauvain, I was not expecting you so soon. But since you are here, consider yourself my guest for the day. I suppose you are here to question me about the dreadful murders occurring in the area?’ Lord Dancey said.

‘I was not aware of your consideration for me, Lord Dancey’, I responded.

‘A glass of spirits or wine for you and Officer Giddings, to soothe your anxiety and tension?’

‘That is very noble of you. Since you are offering, two glasses of wine would do for the both of us’.

Giddings was a bit loath to take the wine, as it was ethically against the code of conduct for an officer whilst on duty. I convinced him, explaining that it was merely a token drink. ‘I see no trouble at all in taking a sip of wine—it will not hurt a common fellow’.

I noticed his collection of the most famous brands of spirits, both national and international, nearby. ‘Your collection is to be admired, Lord Dancey. If I may ask, how long have you been collecting spirits?’

‘It is a family business, inspector. We have distilled the best spirits in this area and exported them abroad as well’, Lord Dancey replied.

‘What about gold Roman coins? Do you fancy them too?’ I asked intrepidly.

‘I beg your pardon? Did you say gold Roman coins?’ He questioned.

‘Yes,’ I confirmed.

‘Well, I suppose it depends on the coins’ worth and if they were authenticated, of course’.

‘What if I told you that they were of exceeding monetary worth?’

He paused for a meditative moment before saying, ‘Then that would change the complexity of the situation’.

‘How, if I may query?’ I persisted.

‘How? I am sure you, the intellectual man of ratiocination, can conclude the same thought that I would, inspector’, he stared, defying my tactic.

I returned the stare and then asked, ‘And what would that be?’

‘That if those coins truly existed, there would be a handful of gentlemen in this region with an enormous fortune to benefit’, Lord Dancey assented.

He was not a man whose confession could be extracted under any duress, and we were intellectual coevals. ‘I am no arriviste—rather, an august man from the reputable lineage of the Danceys. Though at times I can be a Bacchanalian, I always entertain my guests. Do you not find my wine to be of fine quality, inspector?’

‘It is of fine quality, and I thank you for the kind hospitality and wine’.

I had witnessed his blithe attitude towards me as he blathered, concealing it effectively with his liberal platitudes and feigned nature. I had sensed that his comportment was that of a brash sybarite, and his hidden temerity had yet to be fully revealed before me.

What I had known of him was his excessive charisma, and as I perceived his blatant lack of probity, my theory, which had previously been putative, became factual when I began to piece the clues together. Giddings noticed me musing as we departed the manor. He was interested to know my observations of Lord Dancey, and whether I was suspicious of his possible implication in the murders.

I had a growing suspicion as we left the manor that Lord Dancey's comportment resembled the profile of the duplicitous fiend, but there was not sufficient proof to substantiate that presupposition. He was a man of the local aristocracy, and he did not appear to own a mastiff, although his walking stick was a dire representation of one.

I thought I had a clear suspect in my case, but then an obstreperous sound from the distant hills was heard—it resounded with intense force. It was the howling reverberation of a canine. Lord Dancey had been standing in the hall, leading us to the front door for our departure, when the howling occurred.

I surmised another murder had taken place, and I excused myself along with Giddings for our immediate departure. However, I did not overlook the casual grin betraying Lord Dancey's incisive wit and insidious charm as we walked out of the manor. I was thoroughly absorbed by the new revelations of the investigation, and my pertinacity in resolving this case had become even more tractable. It would have been counterproductive for us to antagonise Lord Dancey into a peevish nature, particularly since he remained a prime suspect. Where and when the mastiff struck next was still unpredictable and unforeseeable.

This time, the horrid resumption of the murders occurred in the Cotswolds, in south-central England, on a saturnine occasion. The Cotswolds is a range of rolling hills that rise from the picturesque meadows of the upper Thames to a steep escarpment, known as the Cotswold Edge, above the Severn Valley and Evesham Vale.

The villatic landscape, with its stone-built villages, stately homes and gardens, offered hills, forests, and countryside—a perfect environment where the mastiff could easily escape or hide. Upon our arrival in the Cotswolds, we saw the dead body of the mastiff’s latest victim: Mr Wheeler, the archaeological expert who had been assisting us in the investigation. The attack was savage, and the bite marks on the neck demonstrated not only the cruelty of the mastiff but also that of its controlling master.

The pattern resembled that of the previous murders, but the identity of the master of the mastiff remained an intricacy—a sharp contrast of irreconcilable indiscretion. The usual clues were found, but the only unique revelation was the victim. I immediately pondered: for what reason would Mr Wheeler be killed?

The only thing I could deduce from speculation was the possible link to the treasure trove and the secret association I had struggled to decipher. Giddings, on the other hand, attributed the death merely to the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, as we could not yet prove a connection between Mr Wheeler and the other victims.

I was dissatisfied with that incertitude and remarked to Giddings that we must intensify our efforts to unmask the master, rather than merely pursue the incontinent beast. Gradually, I had begun to suspect that the beast was nothing more than a ploy to disrupt the authorities and distract from the link to the Roman treasure.

This latest murder heightened the fear and hysteria of the locals even more, and the portending augury gave rise to the notion of the mastiff being a supernatural being of true horror, terrorising in the lingering darkness. My apparent fixation on finding the elusive master of the mastiff had become an unwanted obsession. My hope of solving the mystery now depended on a significant error committed by the manipulative person behind the mastiff’s taming. The mysterious coin and the supposed master of the mastiff had to be connected if we were to lend any credence to our theories and conjectures.

I devised a bold yet effective plan that, I believed, would answer my lingering doubts and questions. I began to delve deeply into my thoughts about the case’s beginnings and how the murders had evolved.

At that precise moment, I recalled the colourful Mr Whatley, the witness I had spoken with previously at the police station. It all began with him—his unimaginative story and his description of the beast. It was pivotal to the investigation that we locate Mr Whatley at once.

When we visited his home, he was absent; apparently, he had left the shire, according to his neighbours. Thus, my urgency to speak with him would have to be delayed until further notice. The next person to visit was Mr Hibberd, and I was certain he was hiding something incriminating. I had begun to piece together the fragments, and it was becoming clear to me who the three main suspects were: Mr Hibberd, the landowner; Mr Whatley, the loquacious witness; and Lord Dancey, the pompous aristocrat.

When we reached Mr Hibberd’s property, he too was absent, and we were unaware of his whereabouts. It was exceedingly ironic that both Mr Whatley and Mr Hibberd were missing. I wondered, in the back of my mind, whether they had vanished from the face of the earth—whether by choice or by circumstance; regardless, I was determined to investigate in absentia of the truth.

We revisited Lord Dancey’s manor, as he was the remaining suspect on our list. Upon arrival at his estate, he greeted us at the front door with the unmistakable expression of lordly hauteur. What we did not know was that he was not alone. He had a guest with him in the main hall, and lo and behold, that unseen guest was Mr Hibberd. I sensed an absolute fluster in the reaction and tremulous stare of Mr Hibberd, his pallor patent.

I was surprised to find him at Lord Dancey’s home, and the instant thought of this unusual gathering stirred a penetrating interest in me. I knew that Lord Dancey was a man who relished entertaining with great panache, but this was a parlous game he was evidently willing to play, no matter the hazard exposed.

'Inspector Cauvain. It is good to see you once more, and I assume your visit is not of a convivial nature', Lord Dancey said.

'I am afraid my visit is far from being associated with conviviality, Lord Dancey. I have come to speak to you. Mr Hibberd, I was not aware that you and Lord Dancey were acquaintances', I answered.

'I expected you might say that, and my acquaintance with Mr Hibberd is strictly business. You see, he has come to sell me his property, as he will soon be leaving the area. He has inherited an estate in Wales and plans to return to his mother’s country. Nevertheless, since you and Officer Giddings are at my manor, may I ask what has brought you both to visit me today?'

'You are correct in your assumption, for my visit concerns the ongoing investigation of the murders'.

'Then please, join us for a glass of wine. Ever admirable and dedicated you are. I would loathe to be your foe, but I am certain it would be exciting. Don’t you think so, inspector?' Lord Dancey asked raffishly.

'A doubtful friend is worse than a certain enemy. Let a man be one thing or the other, and we then know how to meet him', I quoted.

'Aesop, the eternal Greek fabulist. I do love that quote, but there is another which I much fancy: "I choose my friends for their good looks, my acquaintances for their good characters, and my enemies for their good intellects'.

'Oscar Wilde, ever the man of irrefutable controversy, but wise and brilliant as a writer', I replied.

'Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much'. That is a better quote of Wilde', he rejoined.

His insouciant disregard and characteristically pithy remarks reflected the callous nature of his state of asteism. He sought, with his overweening hubris, to provoke me, but it was I who had provoked him. The indefinite disquisition of a dissension between two intellects and willing discussants was manifest and caused me to utter, 'That all depends, Lord Dancey!'

'On what?'

'On a certain criterion!'

'Although the inanity of the argument may seem tawdry or paltry, I do love epigrams. I much prefer a Wildean epigram. Do you not believe that, Mr Hibberd?' Lord Dancey remarked.

'Yes, my lord!' Mr Hibberd uttered.

Lord Dancey had prevaricated in response to my enquiry with his flagitious mannerism, and there was that imitable subterfuge seen upon his supercilious countenance at times, fitfully. He was not displeased with my enquiry, and his actions bore no compunction that would imply he was a flagrant sociopath. My capacity to amuse or intrigue his disposition had allowed me gradually to formulate the inimitable opinion that Lord Dancey was not sequacious.

He showed no evident sign of a dispiriting nature of an autochthonous gentleman; instead, he sought the salutary benefit of his magnificent spirits collection, which he adored conspicuously. Mr Hibberd did not tarry much and was soon on his merry way, but not before I was able to ask him one last question, which made him more anxious as he fretted. As was my consuetudinary method in my questions, I asked him about the soles of his shoes.

'If you don’t have any objection, Mr Hibberd, I should like to see your soles'.

'His soles, you say, inspector? May I ask why?' Lord Dancey enquired in a nonplussed fashion.

'Do not be flummoxed—for it is only a trivial question, Lord Dancey!'

He lifted up his soles, and I noticed the residual soil, and it was fresh. I was no expert like Mr Wheeler, but I did take note of his expertise and assessment. 'I did not know that you had been digging up lately at the farmyard. One would believe that a man who was on the verge of leaving the area would not be digging up the ground of his property—unless there was something of exceeding value. Do you not think so?'

'Poppycock, for it is the soil of any ground, inspector. Now, if you do not mind, I have an engagement to attend to with another guest. Before you go, if I may ask, are you a man of draughts, such as I am, or a man of chess?' Lord Dancey interposed.

'Soon you will know!' I replied.

We left Dancey Manor, and the encounter with Lord Dancey and Mr Hibberd, as I knew, would cause them to react. Finally, the course of the case would afford me sufficient resolve in solving it and apprehending the mastermind behind the murders. I had perceived that the relation between Lord Dancey and Mr Hibberd was not merely coincidental when they collogued.

By dint of sheer determination and opportunity, we would come face to face not only with the towering mastiff, but with the sinister master of the mastiff also. I told Giddings, when he asked me why I had questioned Mr Hibberd about his soles, that soon he would know the complete veracity of the consecutive events that were unfolding.

There was a refractive moonlight when we returned to the Cotswolds, as it was then past evening, and there was an eerie undertone of nature. Giddings was still clueless as to what I had been planning in its totality, but as I attempted to explain, a loud din from afar was heard, and the silence was broken.

We found Mr Whatley stone dead, as someone had disposed of his cadaver. We did not have much time to examine the body, because the howl persisted. It was the bloody mastiff that was following our steps—but the question I had was, was he alone? We stood by the edge of the rising hills with luciferous torches, looking at each other.

'Good God, what was that, inspector?' Giddings asked.

'Hush, Giddings, be still!' I muttered.

We had listened to the loud howl, and from the creepy edge of the rolling hills, there emerged—beneath the glint of the moon—the shadow of the towering mastiff with his massive body, broad skull, and head of square appearance. The mastiff stood 76 centimetres in height and weighed roughly 21 stones. He had an unmistakable head with dewlap and flews, and the black mask was visible even on his brindle. The fawn was a golden yellow colour, and the apricot had a slightly reddish hue, deepening to a striking, rich red. The brindle markings were heavy, even and clear stripes, though in places a little light or patchy.

There was an unknown stranger standing with the intimidating mastiff, but he was dressed in darkened colours and could not be recognised discernibly. I saw the ineffable expression on Giddings' face as we stared at the inimitable horror approaching us at full force.

'What are we going to do?' Giddings asked impatiently.

'Stand our ground—for if we run, the mastiff will surely catch us! Now quickly, grab your pistol and be ready. The mastiff is coming, Giddings!' I shouted.

As the mastiff drew closer, I held the pistol, waiting for the beast to come, but just then, Lord Dancey appeared behind us, furtively pointing a pistol at our backs. The mastiff stopped and did not move.

'Indeed, you are a very persistent man, inspector. I had underestimated your prowess and diligence, but it will do you no good to continue, for after this night, you will be dead along with Officer Giddings. I do not regret the death of that wastrel Mr Whatley—it was necessary. I certainly shall not be woebegone at his departure from this world. Now throw your pistols on the ground'.

After we did as he commanded, I said, 'True, it does seem to be the case, but you forgot one important thing—a detail one cannot eschew',

He laughed before asking, 'What is that, my good fellow?'

'It will do no good to cavil, for the evidence will prove your absolute guilt, Lord Dancey. You see, as an inspector I have learnt by rote the missteps of criminals, which are always habitual in the end'.

'It is very churlish of you to answer my question with an ambiguous statement. You do not insinuate that I am equal to you, when on the contrary, I am more adroit. I am a connoisseur of the arts, not a whippersnapper. Now, do not offend me by your virtue. Henceforth, I shall comport myself in the manner I desire. You equivocate with a taradiddle, so as not to accept the eventuality of your fate'.

'What fate? Perhaps you should turn around and see who is standing behind you'.

As he turned around, I knocked his pistol to the ground and grabbed his arm in the tousle. The mastiff stood still, saliva pouring from his sharp teeth. Afterwards, I managed to take possession of Lord Dancey's pistol. When that occurred, he ordered the mastiff to attack me.

As the beast lunged at me with a sudden thrust, powerful and unrestrained, Giddings shot it dead with several bullets, including one to the head. The howl of the Wiltshire mastiff abated, and so did his loyal devotion to his master. The fugacious mastiff had learnt to kill through the inculcation of the modus operandi employed, and the most damning clue that inculpated Lord Dancey was his own Machiavellian conceit and greed. His unhinged mind reflected his disturbing turpitude, as did the sanguinolency of the mastiff.

There was no inequity to the case; Lord Dancey was a man of rapacity and vengeance who merited all the draconian measures of chastisement for his despicable crimes. I suppose his Bacchanalian nature reminded him of the cult of the Bacchanalians of Rome.

He had conspired to make an enormous fortune with the Roman gold coins that he, along with Mr Hibberd, had been excavating near the geoponic farmyard of Mr Hibberd. In the end, there were indeed Roman gold coins to be discovered, and they were donated to the local museum in the shire. Mr Whatley was also involved in the fiendish plot but was killed as a matter of elimination. Mr Hibberd was soon arrested in Wales and charged with the crimes too.

The mastiff had been used, as I had begun to suspect, as a decoy and imposture to frighten the residents with a superstitious tale of a praeternatural beast, which was no more than a massive canine. Lord Dancey had trained and instructed the mastiff to kill those who were his enemies, though some were merely coincidental.

I disregarded his final effrontery towards me but reminded him of one last thing, which was very fastidious to him: I was more a chess player than a draughts player.

The flicker of the gas lamp cast long shadows upon the cracked walls of the Wiltshire constabulary’s interview room. I stepped inside with quiet deliberation, shutting the heavy door behind me. Lord Dancey sat rigidly upon the iron chair, his wrists bound by polished cuffs, his chin tilted defiantly upwards as though the notion of confinement was beneath his dignity.

‘Inspector,’ he drawled, his voice as smooth as aged port, ‘to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Have you come to admire your handiwork—or perhaps to delight in my current misfortune?’

I pulled out the opposite chair, its legs scraping across the stone floor with a shrill note that echoed in the stillness. Settling myself, I placed the case file squarely upon the table and met his gaze with unwavering resolve.

‘I have come,’ I began evenly, ‘to understand the man behind the mastiff. Men of your ilk rarely act without justification, no matter how perverse it may seem to the rest of us’.

Lord Dancey’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. ‘Understand? My dear inspector, you flatter yourself. You perceive the world in shades of black and white, while I—’ he paused, tapping his temple with a slender finger—‘I perceive nuance, the grand tapestry of fate and fortune’.

‘Is that what you call it?’ I replied, my tone sharp yet measured. ‘Nuance? The deaths of two men and the terrorisation of an entire village—little more than brushstrokes on your canvas of greed?’

He laughed softly, shaking his head. ‘You are crude in your summation. Whatley was a meddler—an unfortunate necessity. And as for Hibberd—well, loyalty is so rare a commodity, is it not? Yet, it is the gold you fixate upon, the Roman coins, the glitter of ancient wealth. Tell me, inspector, are you so different from me? Would you have turned your back upon such splendour?’

I leaned forth, resting my forearms on the table. ‘The difference between us, Lord Dancey, is not desire but conscience. And yours appears to have been absent from the start’.

His eyes gleamed with cold amusement. ‘Conscience? A quaint notion. What good has conscience ever done a man of vision? The Romans understood that fortune favours the bold. I simply honoured their legacy'.

I opened the file, withdrawing a photograph of the mastiff—its massive form captured mid-snarl. I slid it across the table. ‘And what of this legacy? A living weapon, conditioned to kill at your behest. You do realise, of course, that it was not the coins that brought you down, but your beast. The mastiff’s very loyalty was your undoing’.

For a fleeting moment, a shadow of something—regret, perhaps, or merely frustration—passed over his features. He recovered swiftly, leaning back with studied nonchalance. ‘He was magnificent, was he not? A creature of perfect symmetry and strength. I shaped him— moulded him into an instrument of my will. He obeyed without question, unlike the blundering fools around me’.

‘And therein lay your folly’, I countered. ‘No man can wield absolute control without consequence. Your arrogance blinded you to the inevitability of exposure’.

Lord Dancey’s eyes narrowed, his patrician mask beginning to crack. ‘Spare me your moralising, inspector. You sit there, so certain of your superiority, but mark my words—history remembers men like me, not the insignificant officials who dare to oppose them’.

I stood then, gathering the file with deliberate precision. ‘History will remember you, Lord Dancey,’ I said quietly, ‘but not as you hope. Not as a visionary or a man of boldness, but as a cautionary tale—a testament to the ruin that awaits those who mistake ruthlessness for greatness’.

He remained silent, his jaw tight, his eyes locked upon mine with unspoken fury. I met his stare one final time, then turned and rapped on the door. As it swung open, I glanced back over my shoulder.

‘You fancied yourself a master of the game’, I added, my voice calm, ‘but in the end, you were merely a pawn—sacrificed by your own hubris’.

And with that, I stepped out into the corridor, leaving Lord Dancey alone in the quiet gloom, the echo of my footsteps receding down the hall.

The case of the Wiltshire mastiff came to a definitive close, but its eerie echo lingered long after the gavel struck in the cold chambers of justice. Lord Dancey was sentenced to life in prison, his aristocratic bearing now a hollow shell behind stone walls. The mastiff’s body was quietly buried at the edge of the moor, and though the villagers resumed their daily lives, whispers of that dreadful night clung to the hedgerows and the folds of the hills. Giddings and I departed Wiltshire with solemn resolve, yet every so often, I find myself staring into the mist of a distant field, half expecting to see the shadow of a great hound emerge, reminding me that some horrors, though vanquished, leave an indelible pawprint upon the soul.

Before I left Wiltshire, I played a good game of chess with Giddings, and—as expected—I won. It seems that the analytical application triumphs even with an insightful game of chess.

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