Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Greenbriar Ghost

Chapter 2

America is a railroad nation, perhaps as much as England though its scope was Olympian. We took three connecting trains and within two days we were rattling down a country lane in a wagon pulled by a pair of brown horses. The driver chewed tobacco and every few minutes would spit across to the verge with great accuracy and velocity.

“Tell me, my good man,” said Holmes, pitching his voice above the rumble of the wheels, “do you know Mrs. Heaster very well?”

He turned and looked at us for a moment, chewing silently. “You fellers are here about what happened to her daughter, aintcha?”

“Perhaps.”

“Mrs. Heaster been saying that young Zona was kilt deliberate,” said the man, “but the doctor and the sheriff said it were an accident.”

“And what do you think?” asked Holmes.

The man smiled. “I think it were all done too fast.”

“What was?” I asked.

“The burial, that inquest, all of it. It were done fast like there was something to hide.”

“Is it your belief that there was some mischief?” Holmes asked.

“Miss Zona were a country girl, you understand? ‘Round here even girls with breeding like Miss Zona grow up climbing trees and hiking them hills.” He made a face. “You can’t tell me no country girl just up and tripped down some steps and died.”

“You don’t believe that it was an accident?” Holmes prompted.

“I were born at night, sir, but it weren’t last night.” With that he spit another plug, turned around and drove the rest of the way in silence.