servants. These last were continually changing, for it was never a
very cheery situation, and sometimes it became past all bearing. The
man was an intermittent drunkard, and when he had the fit on him he
was a perfect fiend. He has been known to drive his wife and his
daughter out of doors in the middle of the night, and flog them
through the park until the whole village outside the gates was
aroused by their screams.
"He was summoned once for a savage assault upon the old vicar, who
had called upon him to remonstrate with him upon his conduct. In
short, Mr. Holmes, you would go far before you found a more dangerous
man than Peter Carey, and I have heard that he bore the same
character when he commanded his ship. He was known in the trade as
Black Peter, and the name was given him, not only on account of his
swarthy features and the colour of his huge beard, but for the
humours which were the terror of all around him. I need not say that
he was loathed and avoided by every one of his neighbours, and that I
have not heard one single word of sorrow about his terrible end.
"You must have read in the account of the inquest about the man's
cabin, Mr. Holmes; but perhaps your friend here has not heard of it.
He had built himself a wooden outhouse--he always called it 'the
cabin'--a few hundred yards from his house, and it was here that he
slept every night. It was a little, single-roomed hut, sixteen feet
by ten. He kept the key in his pocket, made his own bed, cleaned it
himself, and allowed no other foot to cross the threshold. There are
small windows on each side, which were covered by curtains and never
opened. One of these windows was turned towards the high road, and
when the light burned in it at night the folk used to point it out to
each other and wonder what Black Peter was doing in there. That's the
window, Mr. Holmes, which gave us one of the few bits of positive
evidence that came out at the inquest.
"You remember that a stonemason, named Slater, walking from Forest
Row about one o'clock in the morning--two days before the
murder--stopped as he passed the grounds and looked at the square of
light still shining among the trees. He swears that the shadow of a
man's head turned sideways was clearly visible on the blind, and that
this shadow was certainly not that of Peter Carey, whom he knew well.
It was that of a bearded man, but the beard was short and bristled
forwards in a way very different from that of the captain. So he
says, but he had been two hours in the public-house, and it is some
distance from the road to the window. Besides, this refers to the
Monday, and the crime was done upon the Wednesday.
"On the Tuesday Peter Carey was in one of his blackest moods, flushed
with drink and as savage as a dangerous wild beast. He roamed about
the house, and the women ran for it when they heard him coming. Late
in the evening he went down to his own hut. About two o'clock the
following morning his daughter, who slept with her window open, heard
a most fearful yell from that direction, but it was no unusual thing
for him to bawl and shout when he was in drink, so no notice was
taken. On rising at seven one of the maids noticed that the door of
the hut was open, but so great was the terror which the man caused
that it was midday before anyone would venture down to see what had
become of him. Peeping into the open door they saw a sight which sent
them flying with white faces into the village. Within an hour I was
on the spot and had taken over the case.
"Well, I have fairly steady nerves, as you know, Mr. Holmes, but I
give you my word that I got a shake when I put my head into that
little house. It was droning like a harmonium with the flies and
bluebottles, and the floor and walls were like a slaughter-house. He
had called it a cabin, and a cabin it was sure enough, for you would
have thought that you were in a ship. There was a bunk at one end, a
sea-chest, maps and charts, a picture of the Sea Unicorn, a line of
log-books on a shelf, all exactly as one would expect to find it in a
captain's room. And there in the middle of it was the man himself,
his face twisted like a lost soul in torment, and his great brindled
beard stuck upwards in his agony. Right through his broad breast a
steel harpoon had been driven, and it had sunk deep into the wood of
the wall behind him. He was pinned like a beetle on a card. Of
course, he was quite dead, and had been so from the instant that he
had uttered that last yell of agony.
"I know your methods, sir, and I applied them. Before I permitted
anything to be moved I examined most carefully the ground outside,
and also the floor of the room. There were no footmarks."
"Meaning that you saw none?"
"I assure you, sir, that there were none."
"My good Hopkins, I have investigated many crimes, but I have never
yet seen one which was committed by a flying creature. As long as the
criminal remains upon two legs so long must there be some
indentation, some abrasion, some trifling displacement which can be
detected by the scientific searcher. It is incredible that this
blood-bespattered room contained no trace which could have aided us.
I understand, however, from the inquest that there were some objects
which you failed to overlook?"
The young inspector winced at my companion's ironical comments.
"I was a fool not to call you in at the time, Mr. Holmes. However,
that's past praying for now. Yes, there were several objects in the
room which called for special attention. One was the harpoon with
which the deed was committed. It had been snatched down from a rack
on the wall. Two others remained there, and there was a vacant place
for the third. On the stock was engraved 'S.S.. Sea Unicorn, Dundee.'
This seemed to establish that the crime had been done in a moment of
fury, and that the murderer had seized the first weapon which came in
his way. The fact that the crime was committed at two in the morning,
and yet Peter Carey was fully dressed, suggested that he had an
appointment with the murderer, which is borne out by the fact that a
bottle of rum and two dirty glasses stood upon the table."
"Yes," said Holmes; "I think that both inferences are permissible.
Was there any other spirit but rum in the room?"
"Yes; there was a tantalus containing brandy and whisky on the
sea-chest. It is of no importance to us, however, since the decanters
were full, and it had therefore not been used."
"For all that its presence has some significance," said Holmes.
"However, let us hear some more about the objects which do seem to
you to bear upon the case."
"There was this tobacco-pouch upon the table."
"What part of the table?"
"It lay in the middle. It was of coarse seal-skin--the
straight-haired skin, with a leather thong to bind it. Inside was
'P.C.' on the flap. There was half an ounce of strong ship's tobacco
in it."
"Excellent! What more?"
Stanley Hopkins drew from his pocket a drab-covered note-book. The
outside was rough and worn, the leaves discoloured. On the first page
were written the initials "J.H.N." and the date "1883." Holmes laid
it on the table and examined it in his minute way, while Hopkins and
I gazed over each shoulder. On the second page were the printed
letters "C.P.R.," and then came several sheets of numbers. Another
heading was Argentine, another Costa Rica, and another San Paulo,
each with pages of signs and figures after it.
"What do you make of these?" asked Holmes.
"They appear to be lists of Stock Exchange securities. I thought that
'J.H.N.' were the initials of a broker, and that 'C.P.R.' may have
been his client."
"Try Canadian Pacific Railway," said Holmes.
Stanley Hopkins swore between his teeth and struck his thigh with his
clenched hand.
"What a fool I have been!" he cried. "Of course, it is as you say.
Then 'J.H.N.' are the only initials we have to solve. I have already
examined the old Stock Exchange lists, and I can find no one in 1883
either in the House or among the outside brokers whose initials
correspond with these. Yet I feel that the clue is the most important
one that I hold. You will admit, Mr. Holmes, that there is a
possibility that these initials are those of the second person who
was present--in other words, of the murderer. I would also urge that
the introduction into the case of a document relating to large masses
of valuable securities gives us for the first time some indication of
a motive for the crime."
Sherlock Holmes's face showed that he was thoroughly taken aback by
this new development.
"I must admit both your points," said he. "I confess that this
note-book, which did not appear at the inquest, modifies any views
which I may have formed. I had come to a theory of the crime in which
I can find no place for this. Have you endeavoured to trace any of
the securities here mentioned?"
"Inquiries are now being made at the offices, but I fear that the
complete register of the stockholders of these South American
concerns is in South America, and that some weeks must elapse before
we can trace the shares."
Holmes had been examining the cover of the note-book with his
magnifying lens.
"Surely there is some discolouration here," said he.
"Yes, sir, it is a blood-stain. I told you that I picked the book off
the floor."
"Was the blood-stain above or below?"
"On the side next the boards."
"Which proves, of course, that the book was dropped after the crime
was committed."
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. I appreciated that point, and I conjectured
that it was dropped by the murderer in his hurried flight. It lay
near the door."
"I suppose that none of these securities have been found among the
property of the dead man?"
"No, sir."
"Have you any reason to suspect robbery?"
"No, sir. Nothing seemed to have been touched."
"Dear me, it is certainly a very interesting case. Then there was a
knife, was there not?"
"A sheath-knife, still in its sheath. It lay at the feet of the dead
man. Mrs. Carey has identified it as being her husband's property."
Holmes was lost in thought for some time.
"Well," said he, at last, "I suppose I shall have to come out and
have a look at it."
Stanley Hopkins gave a cry of joy.
"Thank you, sir. That will indeed be a weight off my mind."
Holmes shook his finger at the inspector.
"It would have been an easier task a week ago," said he. "But even
now my visit may not be entirely fruitless. Watson, if you can spare
the time I should be very glad of your company. If you will call a
four-wheeler, Hopkins, we shall be ready to start for Forest Row in a
quarter of an hour."
Alighting at the small wayside station, we drove for some miles
through the remains of widespread woods, which were once part of that
great forest which for so long held the Saxon invaders at bay--the
impenetrable "weald," for sixty years the bulwark of Britain. Vast
sections of it have been cleared, for this is the seat of the first
iron-works of the country, and the trees have been felled to smelt
the ore. Now the richer fields of the North have absorbed the trade,
and nothing save these ravaged groves and great scars in the earth
show the work of the past. Here in a clearing upon the green slope of
a hill stood a long, low stone house, approached by a curving drive
running through the fields. Nearer the road, and surrounded on three
sides by bushes, was a small outhouse, one window and the door facing
in our direction. It was the scene of the murder.
Stanley Hopkins led us first to the house, where he introduced us to
a haggard, grey-haired woman, the widow of the murdered man, whose
gaunt and deep-lined face, with the furtive look of terror in the
depths of her red-rimmed eyes, told of the years of hardship and
ill-usage which she had endured. With her was her daughter, a pale,
fair-haired girl, whose eyes blazed defiantly at us as she told us
that she was glad that her father was dead, and that she blessed the
hand which had struck him down. It was a terrible household that
Black Peter Carey had made for himself, and it was with a sense of
relief that we found ourselves in the sunlight again and making our
way along a path which had been worn across the fields by the feet of
the dead man.
The outhouse was the simplest of dwellings, wooden-walled,
shingle-roofed, one window beside the door and one on the farther
side. Stanley Hopkins drew the key from his pocket, and had stooped
to the lock, when he paused with a look of attention and surprise
upon his face.
"Someone has been tampering with it," he said.
