"I am unhurt, I assure you!" Holmes shouted at the stunned doctor.
He was rewarded to hear running footsteps as Watson ran after his unknown attacker. Holmes struggled to free himself from the skeleton, and paused to examine it. He could now see, in the dress, small hooks and trailing wires; the dress and skull had been painted in phosphorous, as he had guessed, and the wildly flowing hair was a wig glued to the skull, which for all appearances was real.
Holmes scrambled to his feet, wincing at a dull ache in the back of he head; he had hit the floor a little too hard, but he was not concussed – it would merely be an irritating bruise. He ran through the loft and down the stairs, almost colliding with Sir Henry.
"Holmes!" Sir Henry gasped, "What's going on? We heard shouting!"
"We discovered your assailant hiding in the lofts," Holmes replied, "stay here, with your staff – Watson has gone after him!"
Without further pause, Holmes leapt through the wide-open front door. There were tracks in the snow, two pairs, easy to track. The snow was falling, thick and fast, driven by a freezing wind. Holmes ignored the icy conditions, following the marks in the snow. He found his way to the stable, where the door stood ajar and the horses in the stalls where snorting in fright, rolling the whites of their eyes.
It did not take Holmes's genius to work out that their attacker had taken a horse to escape and that Watson had foolishly followed. Horse shoe prints led straight towards the yew hedge surrounding the grounds; Holmes ran to the front gates and around the hedge until he found the trail on the other side. Watson was an excellent rider, despite his war-time injuries, but on a night like this… Holmes could not ride, and for that he now cursed himself. He stood there, in the dark, freezing snow-storm, and shouted his frustration into the wind as the snow filled the tracks and obscured him from tracking them.
"Watson!"
Holmes stayed there, staring out into the whirling storm, until there was a crunch of footsteps in the snow, and a heavy overcoat was draped around his shoulders.
"Mr Holmes!"
It was Sir Henry, his expression pinched and worried.
"Mr Holmes," he said, pleadingly, "please come inside – it's freezing out here…"
"Watson…"
"Come back inside, Mr Holmes…"
There was no other recourse. Holmes allowed himself to be led back inside. Outside, the snow-storm raged on.
~*~