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, gray-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.
  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 ambus-
cade. 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 logbooks 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 relit, and there was our wretched captive, shiver-
ing 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 had reap-
peared on the London market. You can imagine our amazement.
I spent months in trying to trace them, and at last, after many
doubtings 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 logbooks 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 logbooks, but
was unable to open the door. To-night I tried again and suc-
ceeded, but I find that the pages which deal with that month have
been torn from the book. lt 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.D "
  "Then how do you account for that?" cried Hopkins, as he
held up the damning notebook, 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 grateful. Rooms have been reserved for you
at the Brambletye Hotel, so we can a]l 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 them-
selves to me. I am disappointed in Stanley Hopkins. I had hoped
for better things from him. One should always look for a possi-
ble 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 trium-
phant chuckle of laughter.
  "Excellent, Watson! The alternative develops. Have you tele-
graph 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 un-
able 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 forever."
  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 when he liked. That very, night he went down to
Woodman's Lee, saw Peter Carey at the hut, quarrelled with
him, and killed him with the harpoon. Then, horrified by what
he had done, he fled out of the hut, dropping the notebook which
he had brought with him in order to question Peter Carey about
these different securities. You may have observed that some of
them were marked with ticks, and the others -- the great majority --
were not. Those which are ticked have been traced on the
London market, but the others, presumably, were still in the
possession of Carey, and young Neligan, according to his own
account, was anxious to recover them in order to do the right
thing by his father's creditors. After his flight he did not dare to
approach the hut again for some time, but at last he forced
himself to do so in order to obtain the information which he
needed. Surely that is all simple and obvious?"
  Holmes smiled and shook his head.
  "It seems to me to have only one drawback, Hopkins, and
that is that it is intrinsically impossible. Have you tried to drive a
harpoon through a body? No? Tut, tut, my dear sir, you must
really pay attention to these details. My friend Watson could tell
you that I spent a whole morning in that exercise. It is no easy
matter, and requires a strong and practised arm. But this blow
was delivered with such violence that the head of the weapon
sank deep into the wall. Do you imagine that this anaemic youth
was capable of so frightful an assault? Is he the man who
hobnobbed in rum and water with Black Peter in the dead of the
night? Was it his profile that was seen on the blind two nights
before? No, no, Hopkins, it is another and more formidable
person for whom we must seek."
  The detective's face had grown longer and longer during
Holmes's speech. His hopes and his ambitions were all crum-
bling about him. But he would not abandon his position without
a struggle.
  "You can't deny that Neligan was present that night, Mr.
Holmes. The book will prove that. I fancy that I have evidence
enough to satisfy a jury, even if you are able to pick a hole in it.
Besides, Mr. Holmes, I have laid my hand upon my man. As to
this terrible person of yours, where is he?"
  "I rather fancy that he is on the stair," said Holmes, serenely.
"I think, Watson, that you would do well to put that revolver
where you can reach it." He rose and laid a written paper upon a
side-table. "Now we are ready," said he.
  There had been some talking in gruff voices outside, and now
Mrs. Hudson opened the door to say that there were three men
inquiring for Captain Basil.
  "Show them in one by one," said Holmes.
  The first who entered was a little Ribston pippin of a man,
with ruddy cheeks and fluffy white side-whiskers. Holmes had
drawn a letter from his pocket.
  "What name?" he asked.
  "James Lancaster."
  "I am sorry, Lancaster, but the berth is full. Here is half a
sovereign for your trouble. Just step into this room and wait
there for a few minutes."
  The second man was a long, dried-up creature, with lank hair
and sallow cheeks. His name was Hugh Pattins. He also received
his dismissal, his half-sovereign, and the order to wait.
The third applicant was a man of remarkable appearance. A
fierce bull-dog face was framed in a tangle of hair and beard,
and two bold, dark eyes gleamed behind the cover of thick,
tufted, overhung eyebrows. He saluted and stood sailor-fashion,
turning his cap round in his hands.
  "Your name?" asked Holmes.
  "Patrick Cairns."
  "Harpooner?"
  "Yes, sir. Twenty-six voyages."
  "Dundee, I suppose?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "And ready to start with an exploring ship?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "What wages?"
  "Eight pounds a month."
  "Could you start at once?"
  "As soon as I get my kit."
  "Have you your papers?"
  "Yes, sir." He took a sheaf of worn and greasy forms from
his pocket. Holmes glanced over them and returned them.
  "You are just the man I want," said he. "Here's the agree-
ment on the side-table. If you sign it the whole matter will be
settled."
  The seaman lurched across the room and took up the pen.
  "Shall I sign here?'' he asked, stooping over the table.
  Holmes leaned over his shoulder and passed both hands over
his neck.
  "This will do," said he.
  I heard a click of steel and a bellow like an enraged bull. The
next instant Holmes and the seaman were rolling on the ground
together. He was a man of such gigantic strength that, even with
the handcuffs which Holmes had so deftly fastened upon his
wrists, he would have very quickly overpowered my friend had
Hopkins and I not rushed to his rescue. Only when I pressed the
cold muzzle of the revolver to his temple did he at last under-
stand that resistance was vain. We lashed his ankles with cord
and rose breathless from the struggle.
  "I must really apologize, Hopkins," said Sherlock Holmes.
"I fear that the scrambled eggs are cold. However, you will
enjoy the rest of your breakfast all the better, will you not, for
the thought that you have brought your case to a triumphant
conclusion."
  Stanley Hopkins was speechless with amazement.
  "I don't know what to say, Mr. Holmes," he blurted out at
last, with a very red face. "It seems to me that I have been
making a fool of myself from the beginning. I understand now,
what I should never have forgotten, that I am the pupil and you
are the master. Even now I see what you have done, but I don't
know how you did it or what it signifies."
  "Well, well," said Holmes, good-humouredly. "We all learn
by experience, and your lesson this time is that you should never
lose sight of the alternative. You were so absorbed in young
Neligan that you could not spare a thought to Patrick Cairns, the
true murderer of Peter Carey."
  The hoarse voice of the seaman broke in on our conversation.
  "See here, mister," said he, "I make no complaint of being
man-handled in this fashion, but I would have you call things by
their right names. You say I murdered Peter Carey, I say I killed
Peter Carey, and there's all the difference. Maybe you don't
believe what I say. Maybe you think I am just slinging you a
yarn."
  "Not at all," said Holmes. "Let us hear what you have to
say."
  "It's soon told, and, by the Lord, every word of it is truth. I
knew Black Peter, and when he pulled out his knife I whipped a
harpoon through him sharp, for I knew that it was him or me.
That's how he died. You can call it murder. Anyhow, I'd as
soon die with a rope round my neck as with Black Peter's knife
in my heart."
  "How came you there?" asked Holmes.
  "I'll tell it you from the beginning. Just sit me up a little, so
as I can speak easy. It was in '83 that it happened -- August of
that year. Peter Carey was master of the Sea Unicorn, and I was
spare harpooner. We were coming out of the ice-pack on our
way home, with head winds and a week's southerly gale, when
we picked up a little craft that had been blown north. There was
one man on her -- a landsman. The crew had thought she would
founder and had made for the Norwegian coast in the dinghy. I
guess they were all drowned. Well, we took him on board, this
man, and he and the skipper had some long talks in the cabin.
All the baggage we took off with him was one tin box. So far as
I know, the man's name was never mentioned, and on the
second night he disappeared as if he had never been. It was
given out that he had either thrown himself overboard or fallen
overboard in the heavy weather that we were having. Only one
man knew what had happened to him, and that was me, for, with
my own eyes, I saw the skipper tip up his heels and put him over
the rail in the middle watch of a dark night, two days before we
sighted the Shetland Lights.
  "Well, I kept my knowledge to myself, and waited to see
what would come of it. When we got back to Scotland it was
easily hushed up, and nobody asked any questions. A stranger
died by accident, and it was nobody's business to inquire. Shortly
after Peter Carey gave up the sea, and it was long years before I
could find where he was. I guessed that he had done the deed for
the sake of what was in that tin box, and that he could afford
now to pay me well for keeping my mouth shut.
  "I found out where he was through a sailor man that had met
him in London, and down I went to squeeze him. The first night
he was reasonable enough, and was ready to give me what would
make me free of the sea for life. We were to fix it all two nights
later. When I came, I found him three parts drunk and in a vile
temper. We sat down and we drank and we yarned about old
times, but the more he drank the less I liked the look on his face.
I spotted that harpoon upon the wall, and I thought I might need
it before I was through. Then at last he broke out at me, spitting
and cursing, with murder in his eyes and a great clasp-knife in his
hand. He had not time to get it from the sheath before I had the
harpoon through him. Heavens! what a yell he gave! and his face
gets between me and my sleep. I stood there, with his blood
splashing round me, and I waited for a bit, but all was quiet, so l
took heart once more. I looked round, and there was the tin box
on the shelf. I had as much right to it as Peter Carey, anyhow, so
I took it with me and left the hut. Like a fool I left my
baccy-pouch upon the table.
  "Now I'll tell you the queerest part of the whole story. I had
hardly got outside the hut when I heard someone coming, and I
hid among the bushes. A man came slinking along, went into the
hut, gave a cry as if he had seen a ghost, and legged it as hard as
he could run until he was out of sight. Who he was or what he
wanted is more than I can tell. For my part I walked ten miles,
got a train at Tunbridge Wells, and so reached London, and no
one the wiser.
  "Well, when I came to examine the box I found there was no
money in it, and nothing but papers that I would not dare to sell.
I had lost my hold on Black Peter and was stranded in London
without a shilling. There was only my trade left. I saw these
advertisements about harpooners, and high wages, so I went to
the shipping agents, and they sent me here. That's all I know
and I say again that if I killed Bllck Peter, the law should give
me thanks, for I saved them the price of a hempen rope."
  "A very clear statement," said Holmes, rising and lighting his
pipe. "I think, Hopkins, that you should lose no time in convey-
ing your prisoner to a place of safety. This room is not well
adapted for a cell, and Mr. Patrick Cairns occupies too large a
proportion of our carpet."
  "Mr. Holmes," said Hopkins, "I do not know how to express
my gratitude. Even now I do not understand how you attained
this result."
  "Simply by having the good fortune to get the right clue from
the beginning. It is very possible if I had known about this
notebook it might have led away my thoughts, as it did yours.
But all I heard pointed in the one direction. The amazing strength,
the skill in the use of the harpoon, the rum and water, the
sealskin tobacco-pouch with the coarse tobacco -- all these pointed
to a seaman, and one who had been a whaler. I was convinced
that the initials 'P. C.' upon the pouch were a coincidence, and
not those of Peter Carey, since he seldom smoked, and no pipe
was found in his cabin. You remember that I asked whether
whisky and brandy were in the cabin. You said they were. How
many landsmen are there who would drink rum when they could
get these other spirits? Yes, I was ccrtain it was a seaman."
  "And how did you find him?"
  "My dear sir, the problem had become a very simple one. If it
were a seaman, it could only be a seaman who had been with
him on the Sea Unicorn. So far as I could learn he had sailed in
no other ship. I spent three days in wiring to Dundee, and at the
end of that time I had ascertained the names of the crew of the
Sea Unicorn in 1883. When I found Patrick Cairns among the
harpooners, my research was nearing its end. I argued that the
man was probably in London, and that he would desire to leave
the country for a time. I therefore spent some days in the East
End, devised an Arctic expedition, put forth tempting terms for
harpooners who would serve under Captain Basil -- and behold
the result!"
  "Wonderful!" cried Hopkins. "Wonderful!"
  "You must obtain the release of young Neligan as soon as
possible," said Holmes. "I confess that I think you owe him
some apology. The tin box must be returned to him, but, of
course, the securities which Peter Carey has sold are lost forever.
There's the cab, Hopkins, and you can remove your man. If you
want me for the trial, my address and that of Watson will be
somewhere in Norway -- I'll send particulars later."