I am less calculated to make a Sherlock Holmes than any man I
know, for I lack both method and patience, yet the idea of
following up the trouble to its source fascinated me. I had no
theory to go on, except a vague idea that I had come between two
poles of a discharge, and had taken a shock meant for some one
else. This was followed by a feeling of intense irritation. I
waited cautiously on myself, expecting to be overtaken by horror
of the supernatural, but my self persisted in being humanly
indignant, exactly as though it had been the victim of a
practical joke. It was in great pains and upheavals--that I felt
in every fibre but its dominant idea, to put it coarsely, was to
get back a bit of its own. By this I knew that I might go forward
if I could find the way.
After a few days it occurred to me to go to the office of Mr.
J.M.M. Baxter--the solicitor who had sold Holmescroft to M'Leod.
I explained I had some notion of buying the place. Would he act
for me in the matter ?
Mr. Baxter, a large, greyish, throaty-voiced man, showed no
enthusiasm.
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