There could be no doubt of the fact. The woodwork was cut and the
scratches showed white through the paint, as if they had been that
instant done. Holmes had been examining the window.
"Someone has tried to force this also. Whoever it was has failed to
make his way in. He must have been a very poor burglar."
"This is a most extraordinary thing," said the inspector; "I could
swear that these marks were not here yesterday evening."
"Some curious person from the village, perhaps," I suggested.
"Very unlikely. Few of them would dare to set foot in the grounds,
far less try to force their way into the cabin. What do you think of
it, Mr. Holmes?"
"I think that fortune is very kind to us."
"You mean that the person will come again?"
"It is very probable. He came expecting to find the door open. He
tried to get in with the blade of a very small penknife. He could not
manage it. What would he do?"
"Come again next night with a more useful tool."
"So I should say. It will be our fault if we are not there to receive
him. Meanwhile, let me see the inside of the cabin."
The traces of the tragedy had been removed, but the furniture within
the little room still stood as it had been on the night of the crime.
For two hours, with most intense concentration, Holmes examined every
object in turn, but his face showed that his quest was not a
successful one. Once only he paused in his patient investigation.
"Have you taken anything off this shelf, Hopkins?"
"No; I have moved nothing."
"Something has been taken. There is less dust in this corner of the
shelf than elsewhere. It may have been a book lying on its side. It
may have been a box. Well, well, I can do nothing more. Let us walk
in these beautiful woods, Watson, and give a few hours to the birds
and the flowers. We shall meet you here later, Hopkins, and see if we
can come to closer quarters with the gentleman who has paid this
visit in the night."
It was past eleven o'clock when we formed our little ambuscade.
Hopkins was for leaving the door of the hut open, but Holmes was of
the opinion that this would rouse the suspicions of the stranger. The
lock was a perfectly simple one, and only a strong blade was needed
to push it back. Holmes also suggested that we should wait, not
inside the hut, but outside it among the bushes which grew round the
farther window. In this way we should be able to watch our man if he
struck a light, and see what his object was in this stealthy
nocturnal visit.
It was a long and melancholy vigil, and yet brought with it something
of the thrill which the hunter feels when he lies beside the water
pool and waits for the coming of the thirsty beast of prey. What
savage creature was it which might steal upon us out of the darkness?
Was it a fierce tiger of crime, which could only be taken fighting
hard with flashing fang and claw, or would it prove to be some
skulking jackal, dangerous only to the weak and unguarded?
In absolute silence we crouched amongst the bushes, waiting for
whatever might come. At first the steps of a few belated villagers,
or the sound of voices from the village, lightened our vigil; but one
by one these interruptions died away and an absolute stillness fell
upon us, save for the chimes of the distant church, which told us of
the progress of the night, and for the rustle and whisper of a fine
rain falling amid the foliage which roofed us in.
Half-past two had chimed, and it was the darkest hour which precedes
the dawn, when we all started as a low but sharp click came from the
direction of the gate. Someone had entered the drive. Again there was
a long silence, and I had begun to fear that it was a false alarm,
when a stealthy step was heard upon the other side of the hut, and a
moment later a metallic scraping and clinking. The man was trying to
force the lock! This time his skill was greater or his tool was
better, for there was a sudden snap and the creak of the hinges. Then
a match was struck, and next instant the steady light from a candle
filled the interior of the hut. Through the gauze curtain our eyes
were all riveted upon the scene within.
The nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail and thin, with a black
moustache which intensified the deadly pallor of his face. He could
not have been much above twenty years of age. I have never seen any
human being who appeared to be in such a pitiable fright, for his
teeth were visibly chattering and he was shaking in every limb. He
was dressed like a gentleman, in Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers,
with a cloth cap upon his head. We watched him staring round with
frightened eyes. Then he laid the candle-end upon the table and
disappeared from our view into one of the corners. He returned with a
large book, one of the log-books which formed a line upon the
shelves. Leaning on the table he rapidly turned over the leaves of
this volume until he came to the entry which he sought. Then, with an
angry gesture of his clenched hand, he closed the book, replaced it
in the corner, and put out the light. He had hardly turned to leave
the hut when Hopkins's hand was on the fellow's collar, and I heard
his loud gasp of terror as he understood that he was taken. The
candle was re-lit, and there was our wretched captive shivering and
cowering in the grasp of the detective. He sank down upon the
sea-chest, and looked helplessly from one of us to the other.
"Now, my fine fellow," said Stanley Hopkins, "who are you, and what
do you want here?"
The man pulled himself together and faced us with an effort at
self-composure.
"You are detectives, I suppose?" said he. "You imagine I am connected
with the death of Captain Peter Carey. I assure you that I am
innocent."
"We'll see about that," said Hopkins. "First of all, what is your
name?"
"It is John Hopley Neligan."
I saw Holmes and Hopkins exchange a quick glance.
"What are you doing here?"
"Can I speak confidentially?"
"No, certainly not."
"Why should I tell you?"
"If you have no answer it may go badly with you at the trial."
The young man winced.
"Well, I will tell you," he said. "Why should I not? And yet I hate
to think of this old scandal gaining a new lease of life. Did you
ever hear of Dawson and Neligan?"
I could see from Hopkins's face that he never had; but Holmes was
keenly interested.
"You mean the West-country bankers," said he. "They failed for a
million, ruined half the county families of Cornwall, and Neligan
disappeared."
"Exactly. Neligan was my father."
At last we were getting something positive, and yet it seemed a long
gap between an absconding banker and Captain Peter Carey pinned
against the wall with one of his own harpoons. We all listened
intently to the young man's words.
"It was my father who was really concerned. Dawson had retired. I was
only ten years of age at the time, but I was old enough to feel the
shame and horror of it all. It has always been said that my father
stole all the securities and fled. It is not true. It was his belief
that if he were given time in which to realize them all would be well
and every creditor paid in full. He started in his little yacht for
Norway just before the warrant was issued for his arrest. I can
remember that last night when he bade farewell to my mother. He left
us a list of the securities he was taking, and he swore that he would
come back with his honour cleared, and that none who had trusted him
would suffer. Well, no word was ever heard from him again. Both the
yacht and he vanished utterly. We believed, my mother and I, that he
and it, with the securities that he had taken with him, were at the
bottom of the sea. We had a faithful friend, however, who is a
business man, and it was he who discovered some time ago that some of
the securities which my father had with him have reappeared on the
London market. You can imagine our amazement. I spent months in
trying to trace them, and at last, after many doublings and
difficulties, I discovered that the original seller had been Captain
Peter Carey, the owner of this hut.
"Naturally, I made some inquiries about the man. I found that he had
been in command of a whaler which was due to return from the Arctic
seas at the very time when my father was crossing to Norway. The
autumn of that year was a stormy one, and there was a long succession
of southerly gales. My father's yacht may well have been blown to the
north, and there met by Captain Peter Carey's ship. If that were so,
what had become of my father? In any case, if I could prove from
Peter Carey's evidence how these securities came on the market it
would be a proof that my father had not sold them, and that he had no
view to personal profit when he took them.
"I came down to Sussex with the intention of seeing the captain, but
it was at this moment that his terrible death occurred. I read at the
inquest a description of his cabin, in which it stated that the old
log-books of his vessel were preserved in it. It struck me that if I
could see what occurred in the month of August, 1883, on board the
Sea Unicorn, I might settle the mystery of my father's fate. I tried
last night to get at these log-books, but was unable to open the
door. To-night I tried again, and succeeded; but I find that the
pages which deal with that month have been torn from the book. It was
at that moment I found myself a prisoner in your hands."
"Is that all?" asked Hopkins.
"Yes, that is all." His eyes shifted as he said it.
"You have nothing else to tell us?"
He hesitated.
"No; there is nothing."
"You have not been here before last night?"
"No."
"Then how do you account for that?" cried Hopkins, as he held up the
damning note-book, with the initials of our prisoner on the first
leaf and the blood-stain on the cover.
The wretched man collapsed. He sank his face in his hands and
trembled all over.
"Where did you get it?" he groaned. "I did not know. I thought I had
lost it at the hotel."
"That is enough," said Hopkins, sternly. "Whatever else you have to
say you must say in court. You will walk down with me now to the
police-station. Well, Mr. Holmes, I am very much obliged to you and
to your friend for coming down to help me. As it turns out your
presence was unnecessary, and I would have brought the case to this
successful issue without you; but none the less I am very grateful.
Rooms have been reserved for you at the Brambletye Hotel, so we can
all walk down to the village together."
"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?" asked Holmes, as we
travelled back next morning.
"I can see that you are not satisfied."
"Oh, yes, my dear Watson, I am perfectly satisfied. At the same time
Stanley Hopkins's methods do not commend themselves to me. I am
disappointed in Stanley Hopkins. I had hoped for better things from
him. One should always look for a possible alternative and provide
against it. It is the first rule of criminal investigation."
"What, then, is the alternative?"
"The line of investigation which I have myself been pursuing. It may
give us nothing. I cannot tell. But at least I shall follow it to the
end."
Several letters were waiting for Holmes at Baker Street. He snatched
one of them up, opened it, and burst out into a triumphant chuckle of
laughter.
"Excellent, Watson. The alternative develops. Have you telegraph
forms? Just write a couple of messages for me: 'Sumner, Shipping
Agent, Ratcliff Highway. Send three men on, to arrive ten to-morrow
morning.--Basil.' That's my name in those parts. The other is:
'Inspector Stanley Hopkins, 46, Lord Street, Brixton. Come breakfast
to-morrow at nine-thirty. Important. Wire if unable to
come.--Sherlock Holmes.' There, Watson, this infernal case has
haunted me for ten days. I hereby banish it completely from my
presence. To-morrow I trust that we shall hear the last of it for
ever."
Sharp at the hour named Inspector Stanley Hopkins appeared, and we
sat down together to the excellent breakfast which Mrs. Hudson had
prepared. The young detective was in high spirits at his success.
"You really think that your solution must be correct?" asked Holmes.
"I could not imagine a more complete case."
"It did not seem to me conclusive."
"You astonish me, Mr. Holmes. What more could one ask for?"
"Does your explanation cover every point?"
"Undoubtedly. I find that young Neligan arrived at the Brambletye
Hotel on the very day of the crime. He came on the pretence of
playing golf. His room was on the ground-floor, and he could get out
