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黑彼得 The Adventure of Black Peter
我从来没有看见过我的朋友福尔摩斯象在一五年那样精神振奋，身体健壮。他与日俱增的声望使他有无数的案件要办理，到我们贝克街的简陋住宅来的有不少著名人物。哪怕只暗示一下他们中的一两个人是谁，我也会受到责备，被人认为不够慎重。正象所有的伟大艺术家都是为艺术而生活一样，福尔摩斯一向不因他的无法估量的功绩而索取优厚的报酬，只有霍尔得芮斯公爵一案是个例外。他是那样清高，也可以说是那样任性，要是当事人得不到他的同情，那么，即使他有钱有势，福尔摩斯也会拒绝他的。可是有时为了一个普普通通的当事人，他却可以一连用上几个星期的时间，专心致志地研究案情，只要案件离奇动人，能够发挥他的想象力和智谋。
在一五年这难忘的一年中，有一系列奇怪的、矛盾百出的案件占去了他的全部精力，其中有按照神圣教皇的特别指示进行的、对红衣主教托斯卡突然死亡的绝妙侦查，还有劣迹昭彰的养金丝雀的威尔逊的被捕，这为伦敦东区除掉一个祸根。接着以上两桩奇异案件的有屋得曼李庄园的惨案，这是关于彼得·加里船长之死的离奇案件。要是不记述一下这件离奇的案子，歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生的破案记录就会不够完美。
七月份的第一周，我的朋友常常不在我们的住处，并且出去的时间较长，所以我知道他有个案件要办理。在此期间有几个粗俗的人来访，并且询问巴斯尔上尉，这使我了解到他正用假名在某处工作。他有许多假名，以便隐瞒他的使人生畏的身分。他在伦敦各处至少有五个临时住所，在每个住所各使用不同的姓名和职业。至于他正在调查什么事情，他没有对我说，我也不习惯于追问他。可是看起来，他这回调查的案子是非常特殊的。吃早饭以前他就出去了，我坐下来吃饭的时候，他迈着大步回到屋内，戴着帽子，腋下丧着一根有倒刺的象伞似的短矛。
我喊道：“天啊！福尔摩斯，你没有带着这个东西在伦敦到处走吧？”
“我跑到一家肉店又回来了。”
“肉店？”
“现在我胃口好极了。亲爱的华生，早饭前锻炼身体的意义是不容置疑的。可是你猜不出我进行了什么运动，我敢打赌你猜不出来。”
“我并不想猜。”
他一面倒咖啡一面低声地笑着。
“要是你刚才到阿拉尔代斯肉店的后面，你会看到一头死猪挂在天花板下摆来摆去，还有一位绅士穿着衬衣用这件武器奋力地戳它。这个很有力气的人就是我，我很高兴我没有用多大力气一下子就把猪刺穿了。也许你想试试？”
“绝对不想试。你为什么要做这种事呢？”
“因为这可能和屋得曼李庄园的神秘案件多少有关。啊，霍普金，我昨天晚上收到你的电报，我一直盼望见到你。请来一起吃早饭吧。”
我们的客人是位非常机智的人，大约三十岁，穿着素雅的花呢衣服，但是还带有惯于穿官方的那种笔挺的风度。我立刻认出他就是年轻的警长斯坦莱·霍普金。福尔摩斯认为他是一个大有前途的青年，而这位青年由于福尔摩斯运用科学方法进行侦破，对于这位著名侦探家怀着学生般的仰慕和尊重。霍普金的眉梢露出愁容，带着十分沮丧的样子坐下来。
“先生，谢谢您。我来之前已经吃过早饭，我在市内过的夜。我昨天来汇报。”
“你汇报什么呢？”
“失败，先生，彻底的失败。”
“一点没有进展吗？”
“没有。”
“哎呀，我倒要来侦查一下这个案件。”
“福尔摩斯先生，我巴不得您这样做。这是我所遇到的第一个重大案件，可是我却毫无办法。看在上帝的面上，请您去帮助一下吧。”
“好，好，我刚好仔细读过目前所有的材料，包括那份侦查报告。顺便问一下，你怎样看待那个在犯罪现场发现的烟丝袋？那上面有没有线索呢？”
霍普金好象吃了一惊。
“先生，那是那个人自己的烟丝袋。袋子的里面有他姓名的第一个字母。是用海豹皮做的，因为他是一个捕海豹的老手。”
“可是他没有烟斗吧？”
“没有，先生，我们没有找到烟斗。他确实很少抽烟，他或许会为他的朋友准备一点烟。”
“有这种可能性的。我之所以提到烟丝袋，是因为如果我来处理这个案件，我倾向于把这个袋子做为侦查的开始。我的朋友华生大夫对于此案一无所知，至于我，再听一次事件的经过并无坏处，所以请你给我们简短地叙述一下主要情况。”
斯坦莱·霍普金从口袋中拿出一张纸条。
“我这里有份年谱说明彼得·加里船长一生做了什么事。他生于一八四五年，现年五十岁。他善于捕海豹和鲸鱼。一八八三年他当了丹迪港的捕海豹船'海上独角兽'号的船①长。他连续出航了数次，全很有成绩。在第二年，一八八四年，他退休了。他旅行了几年，最后他在苏塞克斯郡，靠近弗里斯特住宅区，买了一小块地方，叫屋得曼李。在这里他住了六年，在上周被害死。
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①苏格兰东部的一个海港。——译者注
“这个人有一些很特殊的地方。在日常生活中他过的是严格的清教徒式的生活，他是一个沉默、阴郁的人。他家中有妻子，一个二十多岁的女儿，还有两个女佣人。佣人常常更换，因为环境使人感到不愉快，有时使人不能忍受。这个人时常喝醉，一喝醉就成了一个地地道道的恶魔。人们都知道他有时半夜把妻子和女儿赶出屋门，打得她们满园子跑，直到全村的人被尖叫声惊醒。
“有一次教区牧师到他家中指责他行为不良，他大骂这位老牧师，因而被传讯。简而言之，福尔摩斯先生，你要想找一个比彼得·加里更蛮横的人是不容易的，我听说他当船长的时候性格也是这样的。海员们都叫他黑彼得。给他起这个名字，不仅因为他的面孔以及大胡子是黑色的，而且因为他周围的人都怕他的坏脾气。不用说，每个邻居都憎恶他，避开他，他悲惨地死了以后，我没有听到过有谁说过一句表示惋惜的话。
“福尔摩斯先生，您一定在那份调查报告中读到过，这个人有一间小木屋；或许您的这位朋友还没有听说过这点。他在他家的外面造了一间木头小屋，他总叫它'小船舱'，离开他家有几百码远，他每天晚上在这儿睡觉。这是一个单间小房，长十六英尺宽十英尺。钥匙放在自己的口袋里，被褥自己收拾自己洗，从来不准许任何人迈进他的门槛。屋子每面都有小窗户，上面挂着窗帘，窗户从来不打开。有一个窗户对着大路，每当夜晚小屋里点上灯的时候，人们常望着这间小房，并且猜想他在做什么。福尔摩斯先生，调查所能得到的，不过是这间小房的窗户所提供的几点情况。
“您还会记得，在出事前两天，清晨一点钟的时候，有个叫斯雷特的石匠，从弗里斯特住宅区走来，路过这个小房，他停下来看了一下，窗户内的灯光照在外面的几棵树上。石匠发誓说：
'从窗帘上清楚地看见有一个人的头左右摆动，并且这个影子一定不是彼得·加里的，因为他很熟悉彼得。这是一个长满胡须的人头，但是和这位船长的胡须大不一样，这人的胡须是短的，并且向前翘着。'石匠是这样说的，他在小酒店待了两个小时，酒店设在大路上，离开木屋的窗户有一段距离。这是星期一的事，谋杀是在星期三发生的。
“星期二彼得·加里又大闹起来，喝得醉醺醺的，凶暴得象一头吃人的野兽，他在他家的周围徘徊，他的妻女听到他来了便急忙跑了。晚上很晚的时候，他回到他的小屋。第二天清晨约在两点钟的时候，他的女儿听到小屋的方向传来吓人的惨叫，因为他女儿总是开着窗户睡觉。他喝醉的时候常常大喊大叫，所以没有人注意。一个女佣人在七点起来的时候，看到小屋的门开着，但是黑彼得让人害怕得太厉害了，所以直到中午才有人敢去看看他怎样了。人们站在开着的门那儿向里看，那个景象吓得他们面色苍白，急忙跑回村去。不到一小时我到了现场接过这个案件。
“福尔摩斯先生，您知道我的神经是相当坚强的，但是我跟您说，当我把头探进这个小屋的时候，我也吓了一跳。成群的苍蝇、绿豆蝇嗡嗡叫个不停，地上和墙上看上去简直象个屠宰场。他叫这间房屋小船舱，那确是象一间小船舱，因为在这里你会感到自己象是在船上。屋子的一头儿有一个床铺，一个贮物箱，地图和图表，一张'海上独角兽'号的油画，在一个架子上还有一排航海日志，完全象是我们在船长的舱中所看到的那样。他本人就在屋子里墙的正中间，他的面孔带着人在痛苦中死去的那种扭歪的样子，他的斑白的大胡子由于痛苦往上翘着。一支捕鱼钢叉一直穿过他宽阔的胸膛，深深地叉入他背后的木墙上。他象是在硬纸板上钉着的一个甲虫。显然他发出了那声痛苦的吼叫便死去了。
“先生，我知道您的方法，也用了这些方法。我仔细地检查过屋外的地面以及屋内的地板以后，才允许移动东西。没有足迹。”
“你的意思是没有看见足迹？”
“先生，肯定根本没有足迹。”
“我的好霍普金，我侦破过许多案件，可是我从来没有看见过飞行的动物作案。只要罪犯生有两条腿，就一定有踩下的痕迹、蹭过的痕迹以及不明显的移动痕迹，一个运用科学方法的侦探全可以看得出来。使人难以相信的是一个溅满血迹的屋子竟会找不到帮助我们破案的痕迹。从你的调查我可以看出，有些东西你没有仔细检查过。”
这位年轻的警长听到我朋友的这番讽刺的话以后有些发窘。
“福尔摩斯先生，我那时没有请您去是太傻了，可是这无法挽回了。屋子里还有一些物品值得特别注意。一件是那把谋杀用的鱼叉。当时凶手是从墙上的工具架上抓到的。还有两把仍然在那儿，有一个位置是空的。这把鱼叉的木柄上刻有'ＳＳ，海上独角兽号，丹迪。'可以断定凶杀是在愤怒之下发生的，杀人犯是顺手抓到了这个武器。凶杀是在早晨两点钟发生的，而且彼得·加里是穿好衣服的，这说明他和杀人犯有约会，桌子上还有一瓶罗姆酒和两个用过的杯子也可以证明这一点。”
福尔摩斯说：“我想这两个推论都是合情理的。屋子里除去罗姆酒外还有别的酒吗？”
“有的，在贮物箱上有个小酒柜，摆着白兰地和威士忌。可是这对于我们说来并不重要，因为细颈其中盛满了酒，柜子中的酒没有动过。”
福尔摩斯说：“尽管这样，柜子中的酒还是有意义的。不过先请你讲讲你认为和案件有关的其他物品的情况。”
“桌子上有那个烟丝袋。”
“桌子上的哪一部分？”
“在桌子的中间。烟丝袋是用海豹皮，未加工的带毛的海豹皮做的，有个皮绳可以捆住。烟丝袋盖儿的里边有'Ｐ．Ｃ．'字样。袋里有半盎斯强烈的海员用的烟丝。”
“很好！还有什么吗？”
斯坦莱·霍普金从他的口袋里拿出一本有黄褐色外皮的笔记本，外表很粗很旧，边缘有点脏。第一页写有字首"Ｊ．Ｈ．Ｎ．"及日期"一八八三"。福尔摩斯把笔记本放在桌子上，进行仔细检查，霍普金和我站在他身后从两边看着。在第二页上有印刷体字母”Ｃ．Ｐ．Ｒ．"，以后的几页全是数字。接着有
“阿根廷"，"哥斯达黎加"，"圣保罗"等标题，每项之后均有几页符号和数字。
福尔摩斯问道：“这些说明什么问题吗？”
“这些象是交易所证券的表报。我想'Ｊ．Ｈ．Ｎ．'是经纪人的名字的字首，'Ｃ．Ｐ．Ｒ．'可能是他的顾客。”
福尔摩斯说：“你看'Ｃ．Ｐ．Ｒ．'是不是加拿大太平洋铁路？”
斯坦莱·霍普金一面用拳头敲着大腿，一面低声责骂自己。
霍普金接着喊道：“我太笨了！你说的当然是对的。那么只有'Ｊ．Ｈ．Ｎ．'这几个字首是我们要解决的了。我检查过这些证券交易所的旧表报，在一八八三年我找不到所内或所外任何经纪人名字的字首和它一样。可是我觉得这是我全部线索中最重要的。福尔摩斯先生，您也许承认有这样的可能性，这几个字首是现场的第二个人名字的缩写，换句话说是杀人犯的。我还认为，记载着大笔值钱证券的笔记本的发现，正好给我们指出了谋杀的动机。”
歇洛克·福尔摩斯的面部表情说明案件的这一新发展完全出乎他的意料。
他说：“我完全同意你的两个论点。我承认这本在最初调查中没有提到的笔记改变了我原来的看法。我对于这一案件的推论没有考虑到这本笔记的内容。你有没有设法调查笔记本中提到的证券？”
“正在交易所调查，但是我想这些南美康采恩的股票持有者的全部名单多半在南美。必须过几周后我们才能查清这些股份。”
福尔摩斯用放大镜检查笔记本的外皮。
他说：“这儿有点弄脏了。”
“是的，先生，那是血迹。我告诉过您我是从地上捡起来的。”
“血点是在本子的上面呢？还是下面？”
“是在挨着地板的那一面。”
“这当然证明笔记本是在谋杀以后掉的。”
“福尔摩斯先生，正是这样，我理解这一点。我猜想是杀人犯在匆忙逃跑时掉的，就掉在门的旁边。”
“我想这些证券里没有一份是死者的财产，对吗？”
“没有，先生。”
“你有没有依据可以认为这是抢劫杀人案呢？”
“没有，先生。象是没有动过什么东西。”
“啊，这是件很有意思的案子，那儿有一把刀，是吗？”
“有一把带鞘的刀，刀还在刀鞘里，摆在死者的脚旁。加里太太证明那是她丈夫的东西。”
福尔摩斯沉思了一会儿。
他终于开口说：“我想我必须亲自去检查一下。”
斯坦莱·霍普金高兴地喊出声来。
“谢谢您，先生。这的确会减轻我心中的负担。”
福尔摩斯对着这位警长摆摆手。
他说：“一周以前这本来是件容易的工作。现在去，可能还不会完全无补于事。华生，如果你能腾出时间，我很高兴你同我一起去。霍普金，请你叫一辆四轮马车，我们过一刻钟就出发到弗里斯特住宅区。”
在路旁的一个小驿站我们下了马车，匆忙穿过一片广阔森林的遗址。这片森林有几英里长，是阻挡了萨克逊侵略者有六十年之久的大森林——不可入侵的"森林地带"，英国的堡垒——的一部分。森林的大部分已经砍伐，因为这里是英国第一个钢铁厂的厂址，伐树去炼铁。现在钢铁厂已经移到北部的矿产丰富的地区，只有这些荒凉的小树林和坑洼不平的地面还能表明这里有过钢铁厂。在一座小山绿色斜坡上的空旷处，有一所长而低的石头房屋，从那里延伸出一条小道弯弯曲曲地穿过田野。靠近大路有一间小屋，三面被矮树丛围着，屋门和一扇窗户对着我们。这就是谋杀的现场。
斯坦莱·霍普金领着我们走进这所房子，把我们介绍给一位面容憔悴、灰色头发的妇女——被害人的孀妇。她的面孔削瘦，皱纹很深，眼圈发红，眼睛的深处仍然潜藏着恐惧的目光，这说明她长年经受苦难和。陪着她的是她的女儿，一个面色苍白、头发金黄的姑娘。谈到她父亲的死，她很高兴，当她说到要祝福那个把她父亲戳死的人的时候，她的眼睛闪耀着反抗的光芒。黑彼得把他的家弄得很不象样子，我们走出他家来到日光下时，有重新获释之感。然后我们沿着一条穿过田野的小路向前走，这条小路是死者用脚踩出来的。
这小房是间最简单的住房，四周是木板墙，房顶也是木头的，靠门有个窗户，另一个窗户在尽头的地方。斯坦莱·霍普金从口袋里拿出钥匙，弯身对准锁孔，忽然他停顿了一下，脸上显出又惊异又全神贯注的样子。
他说：“有人撬过锁。”
这个事实是不容怀疑的。木活部分有刀痕，上面的油漆被刮得发白了，好象刚刚撬过门。福尔摩斯一直在检查窗户。
“有人还想要从窗子进去。不管他是谁，反正他失败了，没有进到里面。这个人一定是个很笨的强盗。”
这位警长说：“这是件很不寻常的事情。我可以发誓，昨天晚上这里没有这些痕迹。”
我提醒说：“或许村子里有些好奇的人来过。”
“多半不可能，他们没有人敢走到这儿，更不必说闯进小屋。福尔摩斯先生，您怎样看这件事？”
“我认为我们很幸运。”
“您的意思是说这个人还会来？”
“很有可能。他那次来的时候是没有料到门关着。所以，他要用小折刀弄开门进来。他没有进到屋里。他会怎么办呢？”
“带着更适用的工具第二天夜里再来。”
“我也这样说。我们要是不在这儿等着他，那就是我们的错误。让我看看小屋的里面的情形。”
谋杀的痕迹已经清理掉了，可是屋内的家具仍然象在那天夜里那样摆着。福尔摩斯非常专心地一件一件地检查了两个小时，但是他的面容表明检查不出什么结果来。在他耐心检查的时候，有一次他停了一会儿。
“霍普金，你从这个架子上拿走了什么东西没有？”
“我什么也没动。”
“一定有东西被拿走了。架子的这个角落里比别处尘土少。可能是平放着的一本书，也可能是一个小箱子。好，没有事可做了。华生，我们在美丽的小树林里走走吧，享受几小时的鸟语花香。霍普金，我们今天晚上在这儿见面，看看能否和这位昨夜来过的绅士短兵相接。”
我们布置好小小的埋伏的时候，已经过了十一点。霍普金主张把小屋的门打开，福尔摩斯认为这会引起这位陌生人的怀疑。锁是个很简单的锁，只要一块结实的小铁皮就能弄开。福尔摩斯还建议，我们不要在屋内而是在屋外等候，在屋角附近的矮树丛里。要是这个人点灯，我们便能看见他，看出他在夜间偷偷来的目的是什么。
守候的时间又长又乏味，但是有一种历险的感觉，好象猎人在水池旁等候捕捉来饮水的动物一样。在黑暗中偷偷摸摸地来到我们这儿的是什么样的野兽呢？那是一只伤人的猛虎，只有和它尖锐的牙齿以及锋利的爪子进行艰苦的搏斗以后才能捕到呢，还是一只躲躲闪闪的豺狼，仅对于怯懦的人和没有防备的人才是可怕的？
我们蹲伏在矮树丛里，一声不响地等候着一切可能发生的事。起初有回村很晚的人的脚步声和村中传来的讲话声，引起我们的警觉，但是这些不相干的声音，——相继消失，我们的四周一片寂静，只是偶尔传来远方教堂的钟声报告给我们夜晚的进程，还有细雨落在我们头顶树叶上的簌簌声。
钟声已经敲过两点半，这是黎明前最暗的时刻，突然从大门那里传来一声低沉而尖锐的滴答声，我们全都吃了一惊。有人进来走在小道上。然后又有较长时间的寂静，我正猜想那个声音是场虚惊，这时从小屋的另一边传来悄悄的脚步声，过一会儿有了金属物品的摩擦声和碰撞声。这个人正在用力开锁。这次他的技术好些或是工具好些，因为忽然听到啪嗒一声和门枢的嘎吱声。然后一支火柴划亮了，紧接着蜡烛的稳定灯光照亮小屋的内部。透过薄纱窗帘，我们的眼睛盯视着屋内的情景。
这位夜间来客是个身体瘦弱的年轻人，下巴的黑胡须使得他象死人一样苍白的面孔更加苍白。他象个刚过二十岁的人。我从来没有见过有人象他这样又惊又怕，他的牙齿显然在打冷战，他的四肢全在颤抖。他的衣着象个绅士，穿着诺福克式的上衣和灯笼裤，头戴便帽。我们看他惊恐地凝视着四周，然后他把蜡烛头放在桌子上，走到一个角落里，我们便看不到他了。他拿着一个大本子又走回来，这是在架子上排成一排的航海日志里的一本。他倚着桌子，一页一页地迅速翻阅，直到翻出他要找的项目。他紧握着拳作了一个愤怒的手势，然后合上本子，放回原处，并且吹熄了蜡烛。他还没有来得及转身走出这间小屋，霍普金的手已经抓住了这个人的领子。当他明白他是被捕了的时候，我听到他大声叹了一口气。蜡烛又点上了。在侦探的看管下他浑身打颤，蜷缩起来。他坐在贮物箱上，不知所措地看看这个人又看看那个人。
斯坦莱·霍普金说：“我的好人，你是谁？来这儿干什么？”
这个人振作一下精神，尽力保持冷静，然后看着我们。
他说：“我想你们是侦探吧？你们以为我和加里船长的死有关。我向你们保证，我是无辜的。”
霍普金说：“我们会弄清楚的。先说你的名字是什么？”
“约翰·霍普莱·乃尔根。”
我看见福尔摩斯和霍普金迅速交换了一下眼色。
“你在这儿干什么？”
“我有机密的事情，能够信托你们吗？”
“不，不必。”
“那么我为什么要告诉你们呢？”
“如果你不回答，在审问你的时候可能对你不利。”
这个年轻人有些发窘。
他说：“好吧！我告诉你们。没有隐瞒的必要。可是我很不愿意让旧的流言蜚语又重新传开。你听说过道生和乃尔根公司吗？”
从霍普金的面孔我看出他从未听说过，但是福尔摩斯却显得很感兴趣。
他说：“你是说西部银行家们吗？他们亏损了一百万镑，康沃尔郡的一半的家庭全破了产，乃尔根也失了踪。”
“是的，乃尔根是我父亲。”
我们终于得到了一点肯定的东西，可是一个避债潜逃的银行家和一个被自己的鱼叉钉在墙上的彼得·加里船长之间，有很大的距离。我们全都专心地听这个年轻人讲话。
“事情主要涉及到我父亲。道生已经退休了。那时我刚刚十岁，不过我已经能够感受到这件事带来的耻辱和恐惧。人们一直说我父亲偷去全部证券逃跑了。这不符合事实。我父亲深信要是给他一些时间，把证券变成现款，一切全可以好起来，并能偿清全部债务。在传票刚发出要逮捕我父亲之前，他乘他的小游艇动身去了挪威。我还记得他在临走前的晚上，向我母亲告别的情景。他给我们留下一张他带走的证券的清单，并且发誓说他会回来澄清他的名声，信任他的人是不会受累的。可是从此以后再也没有得到他的消息。他本人和游艇全无音信。我母亲和我认为他和游艇以及他所带的全部证券全沉到海底了。我们有一位可靠的朋友，他也是一个商人。是他不久以前发现伦敦市场上出现了我父亲带走的证券。我们是多么惊讶，你是不难想象出来的。我用了几个月的时间去追查这些证券的来源，经过许多波折和困难，我发现最早卖出证券的人便是彼得·加里船长，这间小屋的主人。
“当然喽，我对这个人做了一些调查。我查明他掌管过一艘捕鲸船，这只船就在我父亲渡海去挪威的时候，正好从北冰洋返航。那年秋季风暴很多，南方的大风不断吹来。我父亲的游艇很可能被吹到北方，遇到加里船长的船。如果这是事实的话，我父亲会怎样了呢？不管怎样，要是我可以从彼得·加里的谈话中弄清证券是怎样出现在市场上的，这便会证明我父亲没有出售这些证券以及他拿走的时候，不是想要自己发财。
“我来苏塞克斯打算见这位船长，就在这个时候发生了这件谋杀案。我从验尸报告中得知这间小屋的情况。报告说这只船的航海日志仍然保存在小屋里。我一下想到，要是我能够看到一八八三年八月在'海上独角兽'号上发生的事，我便可能解开我父亲失踪之谜。我昨天晚上想要弄到这些航海日志，但是没能打开门。今天晚上又来开门，找到了航海日志，可是发现八月份的那些页全被撕掉了。就在这时我被你们抓住了。”
霍普金问：“这是全部事实吗？”
“是的，这是全部事实。"他说的时候，眼光躲闪开了。
“你没有别的事情要说吗？”
他迟疑了一下。
“没有。”
“昨天晚上以前，你没有来过吗？”
“没有。”
霍普金举着那本作为证物的笔记本，本子的外皮有血迹，第一页有这个人名字的字首，喊道：“那么你怎样解释这个呢？”
这位可怜的人十分沮丧。他用双手遮住脸，全身颤抖。
他痛苦地说：“你是从哪儿弄到这本子的？我不知道。我想我是在旅馆里丢掉的。”
霍普金严厉地说：“够了。你还有什么要说的，到法庭上说去吧。你现在和我一同去局。福尔摩斯先生，我非常感谢你和你的朋友，到这儿来帮助我。事实说明，你来是不必要的，没有你我也会使案件取得的结果，但是尽管这样我还是感谢你的。在勃兰布莱特旅店给你们保留了房间，现在我们可以一起到村子里去了。”
第二天早晨我们乘马车回伦敦的时候，福尔摩斯问：“华生，你觉得这事怎么样？”
“我看你是不满意的。”
“喔，亲爱的华生，我是很满意的。可是斯坦莱·霍普金的方法我不能赞同。我对霍普金感到失望。我本来希望他会处理得好一些。一个侦探总是应该探索是否有第二种可能性，并且防备确有这种可能性。这是侦查罪案的首要原则。”
“那么什么是此案的第二种可能性呢？”
“就是我自己一直在调查的线索。可能得不出结果。我很难说。但是至少我要把它进行到底。”
在贝克街有几封信正在等待着福尔摩斯。他抓起一封拆开，马上发出一阵轻轻的胜利笑声。
“华生，好极了！第二种可能性在发展着。你有电报纸吗？请替我写两封：'瑞特克利夫大街，海运公司，色姆那。派三个人来，明早十点到。——巴斯尔。'这就是我扮演角色时用的名字。另外一封是：'布芮斯顿区，洛得街４６号，警长斯坦莱·霍普金。明日九点半来吃早饭。紧要。如不能来，回电。——歇洛克·福尔摩斯。'华生，这件讨厌的案子使我十天以来一直不得安宁。从此我要把它从我心中完全除掉。我相信明天我将会听到最后的结果。”
那位警长准确地在规定的时刻来到了，我们一起坐下吃赫德森太太准备的丰盛早餐。这位年轻的警长由于办案成功而兴高采烈。
福尔摩斯问：“你真地认为你的解决办法是对的吗？”
“我想不会有更完满的解决办法了。”
“在我看来，案子没有得到最后的解决。”
“福尔摩斯先生，您的意见出我意料。还有什么可以进一步查询的呢？”
“你的解释能够说清事情的各个方面吗？”
“毫无疑问。我查明这个乃尔根就在出事的那一天到了勃兰布莱特旅店，他装作来玩高尔夫球。他的房间在第一层，所以他什么时候愿意出去就可以出去。那天晚上他去屋得曼李和彼得·加里在小屋中见面，他们争吵起来，他就用鱼叉戳死了他。他对于自己的行动感到惊恐，往屋外跑的时候掉了笔记本，他带笔记本是为了追问彼得·加里关于各种证券的事。您或许注意到了有些证券是用记号标出来的，而大部分是没有记号的。标出来的是在伦敦市场上发现而追查出来的。其它的可能还在加里手中。按照本人的叙述，年轻的乃尔根急于要使这些证券仍归他父亲所有，以便归还债主。他跑掉以后，有个时候他不敢走进小屋，但是为了获得他所需要的情况，他最后不得不再去小屋。事情不是十分明显和清楚的吗？”
福尔摩斯笑了，并且摇了摇头。
“我看只有一个漏洞，那就是他根本不可能去杀人。你用鱼叉叉过动物的身体吗？没有？哼，亲爱的先生，你要对这些细小的事十分注意。我的朋友华生可以告诉你，我用了整整一早上做这个练习。那不是一件容易的事，需要手臂很有力，投掷很准。钢叉戳出去得很猛，所以钢叉头陷进了墙壁。你想想这个贫血的青年能够掷出这样凶猛的一击吗？是他和黑彼得在半夜共饮罗姆酒吗？两天以前在窗帘上看到的是他的侧影吗？不，不，霍普金，一定是一个强壮有力的人，我们必须要找这个人。”
这位警长的面孔在福尔摩斯讲话的时候拉得愈来愈长。他的希望和雄心全粉碎了。但是不经过斗争他不会放其他的阵地。
“福尔摩斯先生，您不能否认那天晚上乃尔根在场。笔记本是证据。即使您挑毛病，我的证明仍然能使陪审团满意。此外您的那位可怕的罪犯，他在哪儿呢？”
福尔摩斯安详地说：“我想他就在楼梯那儿。华生，我看你最好把那把枪放到容易拿到的地方。"他站起来把一张有字的纸放到一张靠墙的桌子上。他说：“我们准备好了。”
刚一听到外面有粗野的谈话声，赫德森太太便开了门，说是有三个人要见巴斯尔船长。
福尔摩斯说：“让他们一个一个地进来。”
第一个进来的是一个个子矮小、样子引人发笑的人，面颊红红的，长着斑白、蓬松的连鬓胡子。
福尔摩斯从口袋中拿出一封信，问：“名字是什么？”
“詹姆士·兰开斯特。”
“对不起，兰开斯特，铺位已经满了。给你半个金镑，麻烦你了。到那间屋子去等几分钟。”
第二个人是个细长、干瘦的人，头发平直，两颊内陷。他的名字是休·帕廷斯。他也没有被雇用，同样得到半个金镑，并让他等候。
第三个申请人的外表是很奇怪的。一副哈叭狗似的凶恶面孔镶在一团蓬乱的头发和胡须中，浓重的、成簇的眉毛向下垂悬着，遮住两只黑黑的蛮横的眼睛。他敬了一个礼，象水手似地站在一边，两手转动着他的帽子。
福尔摩斯说：“你的名字？”
“帕特里克·凯恩兹。”
“叉鱼手？”
“是的，先生。出过二十六次海。”
“我想是在丹迪港？”
“是的，先生。”
“挣多少钱？”
“每月八镑。”
“你能马上同探险队出海吗？”
“只要我把用的东西准备好。”
“你有证明吗？”
“有，先生。"他从口袋中拿出一卷已经揉搓了的带着油迹的单子。福尔摩斯看了一下又还给了他。
他说：“你正是我要找的人。合同在靠墙的桌子上。你签个字，事情就算定了。”
福尔摩斯靠住他的肩膀，并把两只手伸过他的脖子。
他说：“这就行了。”
我听到金属相撞声和一声吼叫，象被激怒的公牛的吼叫声。紧接着这个海员和福尔摩斯在地上滚打起来。虽然福尔摩斯已经敏捷地给他戴上了手铐，可是他的力气很大，要不是霍普金和我赶忙帮助，福尔摩斯会很快被这个海员。当我把手枪的无情枪口对准他太阳穴的时候，他才明白抵抗是无用的。我们用绳子绑住他的踝骨，然后气喘吁吁地站起来。
歇洛克·福尔摩斯说：“霍普金，我很抱歉，炒鸡蛋怕是已经凉了。不过当你想到案子已经胜利地结束了的时候，你继续吃早餐就会吃得更香。”
斯坦莱·霍普金惊讶得说不出话来。
他红着脸，还未想好就说：“福尔摩斯先生，我不知道说什么。好象从一开头我就愚弄了自己。现在我懂得了我永远不该忘记我是学生您是老师。虽然我刚才亲眼看见了你所做的一切，可是我还不明白你是怎样办理的以及它的意义。”
福尔摩斯高兴地说：“好。经一事长一智。这次你的教训是破案的方法不能死守一种。你的注意力全部贯注在年轻的乃尔根身上，分不出一点儿给帕特里克·凯恩兹这个真正谋杀彼得·加里的人。”
这个海员嘶哑的声音打断了我们的谈话。
他说：“先生，您听，这样对待我，我并不抱怨，但是我希望你们说话要确切。你们说我谋杀了彼得·加里，我说我杀了彼得·加里，这个区别很大。也许你们不相信我说的话。也许你们想我在给你们编故事。”
福尔摩斯说：“不是这样的。让我们听听你要说什么。”
“很快就会说完，而且每句话全是真的，我敢向上帝发誓。我很了解黑彼得，当他抽出刀子的时候，我知道不是我死就是他死，所以我抄起鱼叉对准他戳去。他就是这样死的。你们说是谋杀。不管怎么说，黑彼得的刀插在我的心脏上，或是绞索套在我的脖子上，我全是一样要死的。”
福尔摩斯问：“你怎么到这儿来的？”
“我对你从头说起。让我坐坐，这样讲话方便些。事情发生在一八八三年——那年的八月。彼得·加里是'海上独角兽'号的船长，我是后备叉鱼手。我们正离开北冰洋的大块碎冰往回行驶，是顶风航行。我们从海上救起一只被吹到北方来的小船，因为刮了一星期的猛烈的南风。船上只有一个人，是一个新水手。我们船上的水手们以为大船已经沉没在海底，这个人乘这只小船去挪威海岸。我猜船上其他海员全死了。一句话，我们把这个人救到我们船上，他和我们的头儿在舱里谈了很长时间。随着这个人打捞上来的行李只有一只铁箱子。这个人的名字从来没有人提到过，至少我是不知道，而且第二天夜晚他就不见了，好象他没有来过船上一样。传出话来说，这个人不是自己跳海便是当时的坏天气把他卷到海里去了。只有一个人知道他出了什么事，就是我，因为我亲眼看见，在深夜第二班的时候，船长把他的两只脚捆①住，扔到船栏杆外边。又走了两天我们便看见瑟特兰灯塔了。"这件事我对谁也没说，等着瞧会有什么结果。我们到了苏格兰的时候，事情已经压了下来，也没有人再问。一个生人出了事故死了，谁都没有必要去问。过了不久加里不再出海，好几年以后我才知道他在哪儿。我猜到他害那人是为了铁箱子里面的东西。我想他现在应该给一大笔钱让我闭住嘴。
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①水手在船上值班，分三班，第二班是从十二点到凌晨四点。—译者注
“有一个水手在伦敦遇见了他，我通过这个水手知道他住在哪儿，我马上来找他要钱。头一个晚上他很通情理，准备给我一笔钱，让我一生不再出海。我们说好，过两个晚上就把事情办完。我再去的时候，见他已半醉，并且脾气很坏。我们坐下来喝酒，聊着过去的事。他喝得越多，我越觉得他的脸色不对。我一眼看见挂在墙上的鱼叉，我想在我完蛋以前也许用得着它。后来，他对我发起火来，又啐又骂，眼睛露出要杀人的凶光，手里拿着一把大折刀。他还没有来得及把大折刀从鞘里拔出来，我的鱼叉已经刺穿了他。天啊！他那一声尖叫！他的面孔在我眼前模糊起来，我站在那儿，浑身溅满了他的血。等了一会儿，四周很安静，于是我又鼓起了勇气。我看看屋子四周，见到那只铁箱子就在架子上。可以说我和彼得·加里都有权要这只箱子，于是我拿着它离开了屋子。我真傻把我的烟丝袋忘在桌子上了。
“现在我告诉你一件最怪的事。我刚走出屋，就听到有个人走来，我立刻躲在矮树丛里。有一个人鬼鬼祟祟地走来，走进屋子，喊了一声，好似见了鬼一样，撒腿就拚命跑，一会儿就没影了。他是谁，要干什么，我没法说。我呢，就走了十英里，在顿布芝威尔兹上火车，到了伦敦。
“我一检查这只箱子，发现里面没有钱，只有一些证券，可是我不敢卖。我没有把黑彼得抓在手心，现在困在伦敦，一个先令也没有。我有的只是我的手艺。我看到雇叉鱼人的广告，给钱很多，所以我去了海运公司，他们把我派到这儿来。这是全部事实，我再说一遍，我杀了黑彼得，法律应当感谢我，因为我给他们省了一条麻绳钱。”
福尔摩斯站起身来点上烟斗说：“说得很清楚。霍普金，我看你应该赶快把这个犯人送到安全的地方。这个房间是不适合作监房的，而且帕特里克·凯恩兹先生身体魁梧，在屋内要占很大的地方。”
霍普金说：“福尔摩斯先生，我不知道怎样感谢您才好。甚至到现在我仍然不明白您是怎样使犯人自投罗网的。”
“不过是因为从一开始我就幸运地抓住准确的线索。要是我知道了有那本笔记本，我的思想便有可能被引到别处，象你原来的想法一样。可是我所听到的全集中于一点：惊人的力气、使用鱼叉的技巧、罗姆酒、装着粗制烟丝的海豹皮烟口袋，这些全使人想到有一个海员，而且是个捕过鲸鱼的人。我确信烟丝袋上的字首'Ｐ．Ｃ．'不过是巧合，而不是彼得·加里，因为他很少抽烟，而且在屋里也没有找到烟斗。你记得我曾问过，屋内是否有威士忌和白兰地，你说有。有多少不出海的人在能弄到这些酒的时候，要喝罗姆酒呢？所以我确定杀人者是一个海员。”
“您怎样找到他的呢？”
“亲爱的先生，这个问题就很简单了。如果是个海员，一定是'海上独角兽'号上的海员。就我所知，彼得·加里没有登过别的船。我往丹迪打了电报，三天以后我弄清一八八三年'海上独角兽'号上全部水手的姓名。我看到叉鱼手中有帕特里克·凯恩兹的名字的时候，我的侦查便即将完成，我推想他可能在伦敦，并且想要离开英国一个时期。所以我到伦敦东区住了几天，设置了一个北冰洋探险队，提出优厚的条件找叉鱼手，在船长巴斯尔手下工作——你看，有了结果！”
霍普金喊道：“妙极了！妙极了！”
福尔摩斯说：“你要尽快地释放乃尔根。我想说你应该向他道歉。铁箱子一定还给他，当然彼得·加里卖掉的证券弄不回来了。霍普金，外面有出租马车，你把这个人带走。如果你要我参加审判，我和华生的地址是在挪威的某个地方——以后我写给你详细地址。”
In this memorable year '95 a curious and incongruous succession of cases had engaged his attention, ranging from his famous investigation of the sudden death of Cardinal Tosca -- an inquiry which was carried out by him at the express desire of His Holiness the Pope -- down to his arrest of Wilson, the notorious canary-trainer, which removed a plague-spot from the East-End of London. Close on the heels of these two famous cases came the tragedy of Woodman's Lee, and the very obscure circumstances which surrounded the death of Captain Peter Carey. No record of the doings of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete which did not include some account of this very unusual affair.
During the first week of July my friend had been absent so often and so long from our lodgings that I knew he had something on hand. The fact that several rough-looking men called during that time and inquired for Captain Basil made me understand that Holmes was working somewhere under one of the numerous disguises and names with which he concealed his own formidable identity. He had at least five small refuges in different parts of London in which he was able to change his personality. He said nothing of his business to me, and it was not my habit to force a confidence. The first positive sign which he gave me of the direction which his investigation was taking was an extraordinary one. He had gone out before breakfast, and I had sat down to mine, when he strode into the room, his hat upon his head and a huge barbed-headed spear tucked like an umbrella under his arm.
"Good gracious, Holmes!" I cried. "You don't mean to say that you have been walking about London with that thing?"
"I drove to the butcher's and back."
"The butcher's?"
"And I return with an excellent appetite. There can be no question, my dear Watson, of the value of exercise before breakfast. But I am prepared to bet that you will not guess the form that my exercise has taken."
"I will not attempt it."
He chuckled as he poured out the coffee.
"If you could have looked into Allardyce's back shop you would have seen a dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling, and a gentleman in his shirt-sleeves furiously stabbing at it with this weapon. I was that energetic person, and I have satisfied myself that by no exertion of my strength can I transfix the pig with a single blow. Perhaps you would care to try?"
"Not for worlds. But why were you doing this?"
"Because it seemed to me to have an indirect bearing upon the mystery of Woodman's Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire last night, and I have been expecting you. Come and join us."
Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man, thirty years of age, dressed in a quiet tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing of one who was accustomed to official uniform. I recognised him at once as Stanley Hopkins, a young police inspector for whose future Holmes had high hopes, while he in turn professed the admiration and respect of a pupil for the scientific methods of the famous amateur. Hopkins's brow was clouded, and he sat down with an air of deep dejection.
"No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before I came round. I spent the night in town, for I came up yesterday to report."
"And what had you to report?"
"Failure, sir; absolute failure."
"You have made no progress?"
"None."
"Dear me! I must have a look at the matter."
"I wish to heavens that you would, Mr. Holmes. It's my first big chance, and I am at my wit's end. For goodness' sake come down and lend me a hand."
"Well, well, it just happens that I have already read all the available evidence, including the report of the inquest, with some care. By the way, what do you make of that tobacco-pouch found on the scene of the crime? Is there no clue there?"
Hopkins looked surprised.
"It was the man's own pouch, sir. His initials were inside it. And it was of seal-skin -- and he an old sealer."
"But he had no pipe."
"No, sir, we could find no pipe; indeed, he smoked very little. And yet he might have kept some tobacco for his friends."
"No doubt. I only mention it because if I had been handling the case I should have been inclined to make that the starting-point of my investigation. However, my friend Dr. Watson knows nothing of this matter, and I should be none the worse for hearing the sequence of events once more. Just give us some short sketch of the essentials."
Stanley Hopkins drew a slip of paper from his pocket.
"I have a few dates here which will give you the career of the dead man, Captain Peter Carey. He was born in '45 -- fifty years of age. He was a most daring and successful seal and whale fisher. In 1883 he commanded the steam sealer SEA UNICORN, of Dundee. He had then had several successful voyages in succession, and in the following year, 1884, he retired. After that he travelled for some years, and finally he bought a small place called Woodman's Lee, near Forest Row, in Sussex. There he has lived for six years, and there he died just a week ago to-day.
"There were some most singular points about the man. In ordinary life he was a strict Puritan -- a silent, gloomy fellow. His household consisted of his wife, his daughter, aged twenty, and two female 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 `Ss. 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.
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 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 note-book 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 a 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 crumbling 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 agreement 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 understand 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 an 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 I took heart once more. I looked round, and there was the tin box on a 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 Black 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 conveying 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 note-book 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 seal-skin 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 certain 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 for ever. 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."
在一五年这难忘的一年中，有一系列奇怪的、矛盾百出的案件占去了他的全部精力，其中有按照神圣教皇的特别指示进行的、对红衣主教托斯卡突然死亡的绝妙侦查，还有劣迹昭彰的养金丝雀的威尔逊的被捕，这为伦敦东区除掉一个祸根。接着以上两桩奇异案件的有屋得曼李庄园的惨案，这是关于彼得·加里船长之死的离奇案件。要是不记述一下这件离奇的案子，歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生的破案记录就会不够完美。
七月份的第一周，我的朋友常常不在我们的住处，并且出去的时间较长，所以我知道他有个案件要办理。在此期间有几个粗俗的人来访，并且询问巴斯尔上尉，这使我了解到他正用假名在某处工作。他有许多假名，以便隐瞒他的使人生畏的身分。他在伦敦各处至少有五个临时住所，在每个住所各使用不同的姓名和职业。至于他正在调查什么事情，他没有对我说，我也不习惯于追问他。可是看起来，他这回调查的案子是非常特殊的。吃早饭以前他就出去了，我坐下来吃饭的时候，他迈着大步回到屋内，戴着帽子，腋下丧着一根有倒刺的象伞似的短矛。
我喊道：“天啊！福尔摩斯，你没有带着这个东西在伦敦到处走吧？”
“我跑到一家肉店又回来了。”
“肉店？”
“现在我胃口好极了。亲爱的华生，早饭前锻炼身体的意义是不容置疑的。可是你猜不出我进行了什么运动，我敢打赌你猜不出来。”
“我并不想猜。”
他一面倒咖啡一面低声地笑着。
“要是你刚才到阿拉尔代斯肉店的后面，你会看到一头死猪挂在天花板下摆来摆去，还有一位绅士穿着衬衣用这件武器奋力地戳它。这个很有力气的人就是我，我很高兴我没有用多大力气一下子就把猪刺穿了。也许你想试试？”
“绝对不想试。你为什么要做这种事呢？”
“因为这可能和屋得曼李庄园的神秘案件多少有关。啊，霍普金，我昨天晚上收到你的电报，我一直盼望见到你。请来一起吃早饭吧。”
我们的客人是位非常机智的人，大约三十岁，穿着素雅的花呢衣服，但是还带有惯于穿官方的那种笔挺的风度。我立刻认出他就是年轻的警长斯坦莱·霍普金。福尔摩斯认为他是一个大有前途的青年，而这位青年由于福尔摩斯运用科学方法进行侦破，对于这位著名侦探家怀着学生般的仰慕和尊重。霍普金的眉梢露出愁容，带着十分沮丧的样子坐下来。
“先生，谢谢您。我来之前已经吃过早饭，我在市内过的夜。我昨天来汇报。”
“你汇报什么呢？”
“失败，先生，彻底的失败。”
“一点没有进展吗？”
“没有。”
“哎呀，我倒要来侦查一下这个案件。”
“福尔摩斯先生，我巴不得您这样做。这是我所遇到的第一个重大案件，可是我却毫无办法。看在上帝的面上，请您去帮助一下吧。”
“好，好，我刚好仔细读过目前所有的材料，包括那份侦查报告。顺便问一下，你怎样看待那个在犯罪现场发现的烟丝袋？那上面有没有线索呢？”
霍普金好象吃了一惊。
“先生，那是那个人自己的烟丝袋。袋子的里面有他姓名的第一个字母。是用海豹皮做的，因为他是一个捕海豹的老手。”
“可是他没有烟斗吧？”
“没有，先生，我们没有找到烟斗。他确实很少抽烟，他或许会为他的朋友准备一点烟。”
“有这种可能性的。我之所以提到烟丝袋，是因为如果我来处理这个案件，我倾向于把这个袋子做为侦查的开始。我的朋友华生大夫对于此案一无所知，至于我，再听一次事件的经过并无坏处，所以请你给我们简短地叙述一下主要情况。”
斯坦莱·霍普金从口袋中拿出一张纸条。
“我这里有份年谱说明彼得·加里船长一生做了什么事。他生于一八四五年，现年五十岁。他善于捕海豹和鲸鱼。一八八三年他当了丹迪港的捕海豹船'海上独角兽'号的船①长。他连续出航了数次，全很有成绩。在第二年，一八八四年，他退休了。他旅行了几年，最后他在苏塞克斯郡，靠近弗里斯特住宅区，买了一小块地方，叫屋得曼李。在这里他住了六年，在上周被害死。
-------------------------------------
①苏格兰东部的一个海港。——译者注
“这个人有一些很特殊的地方。在日常生活中他过的是严格的清教徒式的生活，他是一个沉默、阴郁的人。他家中有妻子，一个二十多岁的女儿，还有两个女佣人。佣人常常更换，因为环境使人感到不愉快，有时使人不能忍受。这个人时常喝醉，一喝醉就成了一个地地道道的恶魔。人们都知道他有时半夜把妻子和女儿赶出屋门，打得她们满园子跑，直到全村的人被尖叫声惊醒。
“有一次教区牧师到他家中指责他行为不良，他大骂这位老牧师，因而被传讯。简而言之，福尔摩斯先生，你要想找一个比彼得·加里更蛮横的人是不容易的，我听说他当船长的时候性格也是这样的。海员们都叫他黑彼得。给他起这个名字，不仅因为他的面孔以及大胡子是黑色的，而且因为他周围的人都怕他的坏脾气。不用说，每个邻居都憎恶他，避开他，他悲惨地死了以后，我没有听到过有谁说过一句表示惋惜的话。
“福尔摩斯先生，您一定在那份调查报告中读到过，这个人有一间小木屋；或许您的这位朋友还没有听说过这点。他在他家的外面造了一间木头小屋，他总叫它'小船舱'，离开他家有几百码远，他每天晚上在这儿睡觉。这是一个单间小房，长十六英尺宽十英尺。钥匙放在自己的口袋里，被褥自己收拾自己洗，从来不准许任何人迈进他的门槛。屋子每面都有小窗户，上面挂着窗帘，窗户从来不打开。有一个窗户对着大路，每当夜晚小屋里点上灯的时候，人们常望着这间小房，并且猜想他在做什么。福尔摩斯先生，调查所能得到的，不过是这间小房的窗户所提供的几点情况。
“您还会记得，在出事前两天，清晨一点钟的时候，有个叫斯雷特的石匠，从弗里斯特住宅区走来，路过这个小房，他停下来看了一下，窗户内的灯光照在外面的几棵树上。石匠发誓说：
'从窗帘上清楚地看见有一个人的头左右摆动，并且这个影子一定不是彼得·加里的，因为他很熟悉彼得。这是一个长满胡须的人头，但是和这位船长的胡须大不一样，这人的胡须是短的，并且向前翘着。'石匠是这样说的，他在小酒店待了两个小时，酒店设在大路上，离开木屋的窗户有一段距离。这是星期一的事，谋杀是在星期三发生的。
“星期二彼得·加里又大闹起来，喝得醉醺醺的，凶暴得象一头吃人的野兽，他在他家的周围徘徊，他的妻女听到他来了便急忙跑了。晚上很晚的时候，他回到他的小屋。第二天清晨约在两点钟的时候，他的女儿听到小屋的方向传来吓人的惨叫，因为他女儿总是开着窗户睡觉。他喝醉的时候常常大喊大叫，所以没有人注意。一个女佣人在七点起来的时候，看到小屋的门开着，但是黑彼得让人害怕得太厉害了，所以直到中午才有人敢去看看他怎样了。人们站在开着的门那儿向里看，那个景象吓得他们面色苍白，急忙跑回村去。不到一小时我到了现场接过这个案件。
“福尔摩斯先生，您知道我的神经是相当坚强的，但是我跟您说，当我把头探进这个小屋的时候，我也吓了一跳。成群的苍蝇、绿豆蝇嗡嗡叫个不停，地上和墙上看上去简直象个屠宰场。他叫这间房屋小船舱，那确是象一间小船舱，因为在这里你会感到自己象是在船上。屋子的一头儿有一个床铺，一个贮物箱，地图和图表，一张'海上独角兽'号的油画，在一个架子上还有一排航海日志，完全象是我们在船长的舱中所看到的那样。他本人就在屋子里墙的正中间，他的面孔带着人在痛苦中死去的那种扭歪的样子，他的斑白的大胡子由于痛苦往上翘着。一支捕鱼钢叉一直穿过他宽阔的胸膛，深深地叉入他背后的木墙上。他象是在硬纸板上钉着的一个甲虫。显然他发出了那声痛苦的吼叫便死去了。
“先生，我知道您的方法，也用了这些方法。我仔细地检查过屋外的地面以及屋内的地板以后，才允许移动东西。没有足迹。”
“你的意思是没有看见足迹？”
“先生，肯定根本没有足迹。”
“我的好霍普金，我侦破过许多案件，可是我从来没有看见过飞行的动物作案。只要罪犯生有两条腿，就一定有踩下的痕迹、蹭过的痕迹以及不明显的移动痕迹，一个运用科学方法的侦探全可以看得出来。使人难以相信的是一个溅满血迹的屋子竟会找不到帮助我们破案的痕迹。从你的调查我可以看出，有些东西你没有仔细检查过。”
这位年轻的警长听到我朋友的这番讽刺的话以后有些发窘。
“福尔摩斯先生，我那时没有请您去是太傻了，可是这无法挽回了。屋子里还有一些物品值得特别注意。一件是那把谋杀用的鱼叉。当时凶手是从墙上的工具架上抓到的。还有两把仍然在那儿，有一个位置是空的。这把鱼叉的木柄上刻有'ＳＳ，海上独角兽号，丹迪。'可以断定凶杀是在愤怒之下发生的，杀人犯是顺手抓到了这个武器。凶杀是在早晨两点钟发生的，而且彼得·加里是穿好衣服的，这说明他和杀人犯有约会，桌子上还有一瓶罗姆酒和两个用过的杯子也可以证明这一点。”
福尔摩斯说：“我想这两个推论都是合情理的。屋子里除去罗姆酒外还有别的酒吗？”
“有的，在贮物箱上有个小酒柜，摆着白兰地和威士忌。可是这对于我们说来并不重要，因为细颈其中盛满了酒，柜子中的酒没有动过。”
福尔摩斯说：“尽管这样，柜子中的酒还是有意义的。不过先请你讲讲你认为和案件有关的其他物品的情况。”
“桌子上有那个烟丝袋。”
“桌子上的哪一部分？”
“在桌子的中间。烟丝袋是用海豹皮，未加工的带毛的海豹皮做的，有个皮绳可以捆住。烟丝袋盖儿的里边有'Ｐ．Ｃ．'字样。袋里有半盎斯强烈的海员用的烟丝。”
“很好！还有什么吗？”
斯坦莱·霍普金从他的口袋里拿出一本有黄褐色外皮的笔记本，外表很粗很旧，边缘有点脏。第一页写有字首"Ｊ．Ｈ．Ｎ．"及日期"一八八三"。福尔摩斯把笔记本放在桌子上，进行仔细检查，霍普金和我站在他身后从两边看着。在第二页上有印刷体字母”Ｃ．Ｐ．Ｒ．"，以后的几页全是数字。接着有
“阿根廷"，"哥斯达黎加"，"圣保罗"等标题，每项之后均有几页符号和数字。
福尔摩斯问道：“这些说明什么问题吗？”
“这些象是交易所证券的表报。我想'Ｊ．Ｈ．Ｎ．'是经纪人的名字的字首，'Ｃ．Ｐ．Ｒ．'可能是他的顾客。”
福尔摩斯说：“你看'Ｃ．Ｐ．Ｒ．'是不是加拿大太平洋铁路？”
斯坦莱·霍普金一面用拳头敲着大腿，一面低声责骂自己。
霍普金接着喊道：“我太笨了！你说的当然是对的。那么只有'Ｊ．Ｈ．Ｎ．'这几个字首是我们要解决的了。我检查过这些证券交易所的旧表报，在一八八三年我找不到所内或所外任何经纪人名字的字首和它一样。可是我觉得这是我全部线索中最重要的。福尔摩斯先生，您也许承认有这样的可能性，这几个字首是现场的第二个人名字的缩写，换句话说是杀人犯的。我还认为，记载着大笔值钱证券的笔记本的发现，正好给我们指出了谋杀的动机。”
歇洛克·福尔摩斯的面部表情说明案件的这一新发展完全出乎他的意料。
他说：“我完全同意你的两个论点。我承认这本在最初调查中没有提到的笔记改变了我原来的看法。我对于这一案件的推论没有考虑到这本笔记的内容。你有没有设法调查笔记本中提到的证券？”
“正在交易所调查，但是我想这些南美康采恩的股票持有者的全部名单多半在南美。必须过几周后我们才能查清这些股份。”
福尔摩斯用放大镜检查笔记本的外皮。
他说：“这儿有点弄脏了。”
“是的，先生，那是血迹。我告诉过您我是从地上捡起来的。”
“血点是在本子的上面呢？还是下面？”
“是在挨着地板的那一面。”
“这当然证明笔记本是在谋杀以后掉的。”
“福尔摩斯先生，正是这样，我理解这一点。我猜想是杀人犯在匆忙逃跑时掉的，就掉在门的旁边。”
“我想这些证券里没有一份是死者的财产，对吗？”
“没有，先生。”
“你有没有依据可以认为这是抢劫杀人案呢？”
“没有，先生。象是没有动过什么东西。”
“啊，这是件很有意思的案子，那儿有一把刀，是吗？”
“有一把带鞘的刀，刀还在刀鞘里，摆在死者的脚旁。加里太太证明那是她丈夫的东西。”
福尔摩斯沉思了一会儿。
他终于开口说：“我想我必须亲自去检查一下。”
斯坦莱·霍普金高兴地喊出声来。
“谢谢您，先生。这的确会减轻我心中的负担。”
福尔摩斯对着这位警长摆摆手。
他说：“一周以前这本来是件容易的工作。现在去，可能还不会完全无补于事。华生，如果你能腾出时间，我很高兴你同我一起去。霍普金，请你叫一辆四轮马车，我们过一刻钟就出发到弗里斯特住宅区。”
在路旁的一个小驿站我们下了马车，匆忙穿过一片广阔森林的遗址。这片森林有几英里长，是阻挡了萨克逊侵略者有六十年之久的大森林——不可入侵的"森林地带"，英国的堡垒——的一部分。森林的大部分已经砍伐，因为这里是英国第一个钢铁厂的厂址，伐树去炼铁。现在钢铁厂已经移到北部的矿产丰富的地区，只有这些荒凉的小树林和坑洼不平的地面还能表明这里有过钢铁厂。在一座小山绿色斜坡上的空旷处，有一所长而低的石头房屋，从那里延伸出一条小道弯弯曲曲地穿过田野。靠近大路有一间小屋，三面被矮树丛围着，屋门和一扇窗户对着我们。这就是谋杀的现场。
斯坦莱·霍普金领着我们走进这所房子，把我们介绍给一位面容憔悴、灰色头发的妇女——被害人的孀妇。她的面孔削瘦，皱纹很深，眼圈发红，眼睛的深处仍然潜藏着恐惧的目光，这说明她长年经受苦难和。陪着她的是她的女儿，一个面色苍白、头发金黄的姑娘。谈到她父亲的死，她很高兴，当她说到要祝福那个把她父亲戳死的人的时候，她的眼睛闪耀着反抗的光芒。黑彼得把他的家弄得很不象样子，我们走出他家来到日光下时，有重新获释之感。然后我们沿着一条穿过田野的小路向前走，这条小路是死者用脚踩出来的。
这小房是间最简单的住房，四周是木板墙，房顶也是木头的，靠门有个窗户，另一个窗户在尽头的地方。斯坦莱·霍普金从口袋里拿出钥匙，弯身对准锁孔，忽然他停顿了一下，脸上显出又惊异又全神贯注的样子。
他说：“有人撬过锁。”
这个事实是不容怀疑的。木活部分有刀痕，上面的油漆被刮得发白了，好象刚刚撬过门。福尔摩斯一直在检查窗户。
“有人还想要从窗子进去。不管他是谁，反正他失败了，没有进到里面。这个人一定是个很笨的强盗。”
这位警长说：“这是件很不寻常的事情。我可以发誓，昨天晚上这里没有这些痕迹。”
我提醒说：“或许村子里有些好奇的人来过。”
“多半不可能，他们没有人敢走到这儿，更不必说闯进小屋。福尔摩斯先生，您怎样看这件事？”
“我认为我们很幸运。”
“您的意思是说这个人还会来？”
“很有可能。他那次来的时候是没有料到门关着。所以，他要用小折刀弄开门进来。他没有进到屋里。他会怎么办呢？”
“带着更适用的工具第二天夜里再来。”
“我也这样说。我们要是不在这儿等着他，那就是我们的错误。让我看看小屋的里面的情形。”
谋杀的痕迹已经清理掉了，可是屋内的家具仍然象在那天夜里那样摆着。福尔摩斯非常专心地一件一件地检查了两个小时，但是他的面容表明检查不出什么结果来。在他耐心检查的时候，有一次他停了一会儿。
“霍普金，你从这个架子上拿走了什么东西没有？”
“我什么也没动。”
“一定有东西被拿走了。架子的这个角落里比别处尘土少。可能是平放着的一本书，也可能是一个小箱子。好，没有事可做了。华生，我们在美丽的小树林里走走吧，享受几小时的鸟语花香。霍普金，我们今天晚上在这儿见面，看看能否和这位昨夜来过的绅士短兵相接。”
我们布置好小小的埋伏的时候，已经过了十一点。霍普金主张把小屋的门打开，福尔摩斯认为这会引起这位陌生人的怀疑。锁是个很简单的锁，只要一块结实的小铁皮就能弄开。福尔摩斯还建议，我们不要在屋内而是在屋外等候，在屋角附近的矮树丛里。要是这个人点灯，我们便能看见他，看出他在夜间偷偷来的目的是什么。
守候的时间又长又乏味，但是有一种历险的感觉，好象猎人在水池旁等候捕捉来饮水的动物一样。在黑暗中偷偷摸摸地来到我们这儿的是什么样的野兽呢？那是一只伤人的猛虎，只有和它尖锐的牙齿以及锋利的爪子进行艰苦的搏斗以后才能捕到呢，还是一只躲躲闪闪的豺狼，仅对于怯懦的人和没有防备的人才是可怕的？
我们蹲伏在矮树丛里，一声不响地等候着一切可能发生的事。起初有回村很晚的人的脚步声和村中传来的讲话声，引起我们的警觉，但是这些不相干的声音，——相继消失，我们的四周一片寂静，只是偶尔传来远方教堂的钟声报告给我们夜晚的进程，还有细雨落在我们头顶树叶上的簌簌声。
钟声已经敲过两点半，这是黎明前最暗的时刻，突然从大门那里传来一声低沉而尖锐的滴答声，我们全都吃了一惊。有人进来走在小道上。然后又有较长时间的寂静，我正猜想那个声音是场虚惊，这时从小屋的另一边传来悄悄的脚步声，过一会儿有了金属物品的摩擦声和碰撞声。这个人正在用力开锁。这次他的技术好些或是工具好些，因为忽然听到啪嗒一声和门枢的嘎吱声。然后一支火柴划亮了，紧接着蜡烛的稳定灯光照亮小屋的内部。透过薄纱窗帘，我们的眼睛盯视着屋内的情景。
这位夜间来客是个身体瘦弱的年轻人，下巴的黑胡须使得他象死人一样苍白的面孔更加苍白。他象个刚过二十岁的人。我从来没有见过有人象他这样又惊又怕，他的牙齿显然在打冷战，他的四肢全在颤抖。他的衣着象个绅士，穿着诺福克式的上衣和灯笼裤，头戴便帽。我们看他惊恐地凝视着四周，然后他把蜡烛头放在桌子上，走到一个角落里，我们便看不到他了。他拿着一个大本子又走回来，这是在架子上排成一排的航海日志里的一本。他倚着桌子，一页一页地迅速翻阅，直到翻出他要找的项目。他紧握着拳作了一个愤怒的手势，然后合上本子，放回原处，并且吹熄了蜡烛。他还没有来得及转身走出这间小屋，霍普金的手已经抓住了这个人的领子。当他明白他是被捕了的时候，我听到他大声叹了一口气。蜡烛又点上了。在侦探的看管下他浑身打颤，蜷缩起来。他坐在贮物箱上，不知所措地看看这个人又看看那个人。
斯坦莱·霍普金说：“我的好人，你是谁？来这儿干什么？”
这个人振作一下精神，尽力保持冷静，然后看着我们。
他说：“我想你们是侦探吧？你们以为我和加里船长的死有关。我向你们保证，我是无辜的。”
霍普金说：“我们会弄清楚的。先说你的名字是什么？”
“约翰·霍普莱·乃尔根。”
我看见福尔摩斯和霍普金迅速交换了一下眼色。
“你在这儿干什么？”
“我有机密的事情，能够信托你们吗？”
“不，不必。”
“那么我为什么要告诉你们呢？”
“如果你不回答，在审问你的时候可能对你不利。”
这个年轻人有些发窘。
他说：“好吧！我告诉你们。没有隐瞒的必要。可是我很不愿意让旧的流言蜚语又重新传开。你听说过道生和乃尔根公司吗？”
从霍普金的面孔我看出他从未听说过，但是福尔摩斯却显得很感兴趣。
他说：“你是说西部银行家们吗？他们亏损了一百万镑，康沃尔郡的一半的家庭全破了产，乃尔根也失了踪。”
“是的，乃尔根是我父亲。”
我们终于得到了一点肯定的东西，可是一个避债潜逃的银行家和一个被自己的鱼叉钉在墙上的彼得·加里船长之间，有很大的距离。我们全都专心地听这个年轻人讲话。
“事情主要涉及到我父亲。道生已经退休了。那时我刚刚十岁，不过我已经能够感受到这件事带来的耻辱和恐惧。人们一直说我父亲偷去全部证券逃跑了。这不符合事实。我父亲深信要是给他一些时间，把证券变成现款，一切全可以好起来，并能偿清全部债务。在传票刚发出要逮捕我父亲之前，他乘他的小游艇动身去了挪威。我还记得他在临走前的晚上，向我母亲告别的情景。他给我们留下一张他带走的证券的清单，并且发誓说他会回来澄清他的名声，信任他的人是不会受累的。可是从此以后再也没有得到他的消息。他本人和游艇全无音信。我母亲和我认为他和游艇以及他所带的全部证券全沉到海底了。我们有一位可靠的朋友，他也是一个商人。是他不久以前发现伦敦市场上出现了我父亲带走的证券。我们是多么惊讶，你是不难想象出来的。我用了几个月的时间去追查这些证券的来源，经过许多波折和困难，我发现最早卖出证券的人便是彼得·加里船长，这间小屋的主人。
“当然喽，我对这个人做了一些调查。我查明他掌管过一艘捕鲸船，这只船就在我父亲渡海去挪威的时候，正好从北冰洋返航。那年秋季风暴很多，南方的大风不断吹来。我父亲的游艇很可能被吹到北方，遇到加里船长的船。如果这是事实的话，我父亲会怎样了呢？不管怎样，要是我可以从彼得·加里的谈话中弄清证券是怎样出现在市场上的，这便会证明我父亲没有出售这些证券以及他拿走的时候，不是想要自己发财。
“我来苏塞克斯打算见这位船长，就在这个时候发生了这件谋杀案。我从验尸报告中得知这间小屋的情况。报告说这只船的航海日志仍然保存在小屋里。我一下想到，要是我能够看到一八八三年八月在'海上独角兽'号上发生的事，我便可能解开我父亲失踪之谜。我昨天晚上想要弄到这些航海日志，但是没能打开门。今天晚上又来开门，找到了航海日志，可是发现八月份的那些页全被撕掉了。就在这时我被你们抓住了。”
霍普金问：“这是全部事实吗？”
“是的，这是全部事实。"他说的时候，眼光躲闪开了。
“你没有别的事情要说吗？”
他迟疑了一下。
“没有。”
“昨天晚上以前，你没有来过吗？”
“没有。”
霍普金举着那本作为证物的笔记本，本子的外皮有血迹，第一页有这个人名字的字首，喊道：“那么你怎样解释这个呢？”
这位可怜的人十分沮丧。他用双手遮住脸，全身颤抖。
他痛苦地说：“你是从哪儿弄到这本子的？我不知道。我想我是在旅馆里丢掉的。”
霍普金严厉地说：“够了。你还有什么要说的，到法庭上说去吧。你现在和我一同去局。福尔摩斯先生，我非常感谢你和你的朋友，到这儿来帮助我。事实说明，你来是不必要的，没有你我也会使案件取得的结果，但是尽管这样我还是感谢你的。在勃兰布莱特旅店给你们保留了房间，现在我们可以一起到村子里去了。”
第二天早晨我们乘马车回伦敦的时候，福尔摩斯问：“华生，你觉得这事怎么样？”
“我看你是不满意的。”
“喔，亲爱的华生，我是很满意的。可是斯坦莱·霍普金的方法我不能赞同。我对霍普金感到失望。我本来希望他会处理得好一些。一个侦探总是应该探索是否有第二种可能性，并且防备确有这种可能性。这是侦查罪案的首要原则。”
“那么什么是此案的第二种可能性呢？”
“就是我自己一直在调查的线索。可能得不出结果。我很难说。但是至少我要把它进行到底。”
在贝克街有几封信正在等待着福尔摩斯。他抓起一封拆开，马上发出一阵轻轻的胜利笑声。
“华生，好极了！第二种可能性在发展着。你有电报纸吗？请替我写两封：'瑞特克利夫大街，海运公司，色姆那。派三个人来，明早十点到。——巴斯尔。'这就是我扮演角色时用的名字。另外一封是：'布芮斯顿区，洛得街４６号，警长斯坦莱·霍普金。明日九点半来吃早饭。紧要。如不能来，回电。——歇洛克·福尔摩斯。'华生，这件讨厌的案子使我十天以来一直不得安宁。从此我要把它从我心中完全除掉。我相信明天我将会听到最后的结果。”
那位警长准确地在规定的时刻来到了，我们一起坐下吃赫德森太太准备的丰盛早餐。这位年轻的警长由于办案成功而兴高采烈。
福尔摩斯问：“你真地认为你的解决办法是对的吗？”
“我想不会有更完满的解决办法了。”
“在我看来，案子没有得到最后的解决。”
“福尔摩斯先生，您的意见出我意料。还有什么可以进一步查询的呢？”
“你的解释能够说清事情的各个方面吗？”
“毫无疑问。我查明这个乃尔根就在出事的那一天到了勃兰布莱特旅店，他装作来玩高尔夫球。他的房间在第一层，所以他什么时候愿意出去就可以出去。那天晚上他去屋得曼李和彼得·加里在小屋中见面，他们争吵起来，他就用鱼叉戳死了他。他对于自己的行动感到惊恐，往屋外跑的时候掉了笔记本，他带笔记本是为了追问彼得·加里关于各种证券的事。您或许注意到了有些证券是用记号标出来的，而大部分是没有记号的。标出来的是在伦敦市场上发现而追查出来的。其它的可能还在加里手中。按照本人的叙述，年轻的乃尔根急于要使这些证券仍归他父亲所有，以便归还债主。他跑掉以后，有个时候他不敢走进小屋，但是为了获得他所需要的情况，他最后不得不再去小屋。事情不是十分明显和清楚的吗？”
福尔摩斯笑了，并且摇了摇头。
“我看只有一个漏洞，那就是他根本不可能去杀人。你用鱼叉叉过动物的身体吗？没有？哼，亲爱的先生，你要对这些细小的事十分注意。我的朋友华生可以告诉你，我用了整整一早上做这个练习。那不是一件容易的事，需要手臂很有力，投掷很准。钢叉戳出去得很猛，所以钢叉头陷进了墙壁。你想想这个贫血的青年能够掷出这样凶猛的一击吗？是他和黑彼得在半夜共饮罗姆酒吗？两天以前在窗帘上看到的是他的侧影吗？不，不，霍普金，一定是一个强壮有力的人，我们必须要找这个人。”
这位警长的面孔在福尔摩斯讲话的时候拉得愈来愈长。他的希望和雄心全粉碎了。但是不经过斗争他不会放其他的阵地。
“福尔摩斯先生，您不能否认那天晚上乃尔根在场。笔记本是证据。即使您挑毛病，我的证明仍然能使陪审团满意。此外您的那位可怕的罪犯，他在哪儿呢？”
福尔摩斯安详地说：“我想他就在楼梯那儿。华生，我看你最好把那把枪放到容易拿到的地方。"他站起来把一张有字的纸放到一张靠墙的桌子上。他说：“我们准备好了。”
刚一听到外面有粗野的谈话声，赫德森太太便开了门，说是有三个人要见巴斯尔船长。
福尔摩斯说：“让他们一个一个地进来。”
第一个进来的是一个个子矮小、样子引人发笑的人，面颊红红的，长着斑白、蓬松的连鬓胡子。
福尔摩斯从口袋中拿出一封信，问：“名字是什么？”
“詹姆士·兰开斯特。”
“对不起，兰开斯特，铺位已经满了。给你半个金镑，麻烦你了。到那间屋子去等几分钟。”
第二个人是个细长、干瘦的人，头发平直，两颊内陷。他的名字是休·帕廷斯。他也没有被雇用，同样得到半个金镑，并让他等候。
第三个申请人的外表是很奇怪的。一副哈叭狗似的凶恶面孔镶在一团蓬乱的头发和胡须中，浓重的、成簇的眉毛向下垂悬着，遮住两只黑黑的蛮横的眼睛。他敬了一个礼，象水手似地站在一边，两手转动着他的帽子。
福尔摩斯说：“你的名字？”
“帕特里克·凯恩兹。”
“叉鱼手？”
“是的，先生。出过二十六次海。”
“我想是在丹迪港？”
“是的，先生。”
“挣多少钱？”
“每月八镑。”
“你能马上同探险队出海吗？”
“只要我把用的东西准备好。”
“你有证明吗？”
“有，先生。"他从口袋中拿出一卷已经揉搓了的带着油迹的单子。福尔摩斯看了一下又还给了他。
他说：“你正是我要找的人。合同在靠墙的桌子上。你签个字，事情就算定了。”
福尔摩斯靠住他的肩膀，并把两只手伸过他的脖子。
他说：“这就行了。”
我听到金属相撞声和一声吼叫，象被激怒的公牛的吼叫声。紧接着这个海员和福尔摩斯在地上滚打起来。虽然福尔摩斯已经敏捷地给他戴上了手铐，可是他的力气很大，要不是霍普金和我赶忙帮助，福尔摩斯会很快被这个海员。当我把手枪的无情枪口对准他太阳穴的时候，他才明白抵抗是无用的。我们用绳子绑住他的踝骨，然后气喘吁吁地站起来。
歇洛克·福尔摩斯说：“霍普金，我很抱歉，炒鸡蛋怕是已经凉了。不过当你想到案子已经胜利地结束了的时候，你继续吃早餐就会吃得更香。”
斯坦莱·霍普金惊讶得说不出话来。
他红着脸，还未想好就说：“福尔摩斯先生，我不知道说什么。好象从一开头我就愚弄了自己。现在我懂得了我永远不该忘记我是学生您是老师。虽然我刚才亲眼看见了你所做的一切，可是我还不明白你是怎样办理的以及它的意义。”
福尔摩斯高兴地说：“好。经一事长一智。这次你的教训是破案的方法不能死守一种。你的注意力全部贯注在年轻的乃尔根身上，分不出一点儿给帕特里克·凯恩兹这个真正谋杀彼得·加里的人。”
这个海员嘶哑的声音打断了我们的谈话。
他说：“先生，您听，这样对待我，我并不抱怨，但是我希望你们说话要确切。你们说我谋杀了彼得·加里，我说我杀了彼得·加里，这个区别很大。也许你们不相信我说的话。也许你们想我在给你们编故事。”
福尔摩斯说：“不是这样的。让我们听听你要说什么。”
“很快就会说完，而且每句话全是真的，我敢向上帝发誓。我很了解黑彼得，当他抽出刀子的时候，我知道不是我死就是他死，所以我抄起鱼叉对准他戳去。他就是这样死的。你们说是谋杀。不管怎么说，黑彼得的刀插在我的心脏上，或是绞索套在我的脖子上，我全是一样要死的。”
福尔摩斯问：“你怎么到这儿来的？”
“我对你从头说起。让我坐坐，这样讲话方便些。事情发生在一八八三年——那年的八月。彼得·加里是'海上独角兽'号的船长，我是后备叉鱼手。我们正离开北冰洋的大块碎冰往回行驶，是顶风航行。我们从海上救起一只被吹到北方来的小船，因为刮了一星期的猛烈的南风。船上只有一个人，是一个新水手。我们船上的水手们以为大船已经沉没在海底，这个人乘这只小船去挪威海岸。我猜船上其他海员全死了。一句话，我们把这个人救到我们船上，他和我们的头儿在舱里谈了很长时间。随着这个人打捞上来的行李只有一只铁箱子。这个人的名字从来没有人提到过，至少我是不知道，而且第二天夜晚他就不见了，好象他没有来过船上一样。传出话来说，这个人不是自己跳海便是当时的坏天气把他卷到海里去了。只有一个人知道他出了什么事，就是我，因为我亲眼看见，在深夜第二班的时候，船长把他的两只脚捆①住，扔到船栏杆外边。又走了两天我们便看见瑟特兰灯塔了。"这件事我对谁也没说，等着瞧会有什么结果。我们到了苏格兰的时候，事情已经压了下来，也没有人再问。一个生人出了事故死了，谁都没有必要去问。过了不久加里不再出海，好几年以后我才知道他在哪儿。我猜到他害那人是为了铁箱子里面的东西。我想他现在应该给一大笔钱让我闭住嘴。
------------------------------------------------
①水手在船上值班，分三班，第二班是从十二点到凌晨四点。—译者注
“有一个水手在伦敦遇见了他，我通过这个水手知道他住在哪儿，我马上来找他要钱。头一个晚上他很通情理，准备给我一笔钱，让我一生不再出海。我们说好，过两个晚上就把事情办完。我再去的时候，见他已半醉，并且脾气很坏。我们坐下来喝酒，聊着过去的事。他喝得越多，我越觉得他的脸色不对。我一眼看见挂在墙上的鱼叉，我想在我完蛋以前也许用得着它。后来，他对我发起火来，又啐又骂，眼睛露出要杀人的凶光，手里拿着一把大折刀。他还没有来得及把大折刀从鞘里拔出来，我的鱼叉已经刺穿了他。天啊！他那一声尖叫！他的面孔在我眼前模糊起来，我站在那儿，浑身溅满了他的血。等了一会儿，四周很安静，于是我又鼓起了勇气。我看看屋子四周，见到那只铁箱子就在架子上。可以说我和彼得·加里都有权要这只箱子，于是我拿着它离开了屋子。我真傻把我的烟丝袋忘在桌子上了。
“现在我告诉你一件最怪的事。我刚走出屋，就听到有个人走来，我立刻躲在矮树丛里。有一个人鬼鬼祟祟地走来，走进屋子，喊了一声，好似见了鬼一样，撒腿就拚命跑，一会儿就没影了。他是谁，要干什么，我没法说。我呢，就走了十英里，在顿布芝威尔兹上火车，到了伦敦。
“我一检查这只箱子，发现里面没有钱，只有一些证券，可是我不敢卖。我没有把黑彼得抓在手心，现在困在伦敦，一个先令也没有。我有的只是我的手艺。我看到雇叉鱼人的广告，给钱很多，所以我去了海运公司，他们把我派到这儿来。这是全部事实，我再说一遍，我杀了黑彼得，法律应当感谢我，因为我给他们省了一条麻绳钱。”
福尔摩斯站起身来点上烟斗说：“说得很清楚。霍普金，我看你应该赶快把这个犯人送到安全的地方。这个房间是不适合作监房的，而且帕特里克·凯恩兹先生身体魁梧，在屋内要占很大的地方。”
霍普金说：“福尔摩斯先生，我不知道怎样感谢您才好。甚至到现在我仍然不明白您是怎样使犯人自投罗网的。”
“不过是因为从一开始我就幸运地抓住准确的线索。要是我知道了有那本笔记本，我的思想便有可能被引到别处，象你原来的想法一样。可是我所听到的全集中于一点：惊人的力气、使用鱼叉的技巧、罗姆酒、装着粗制烟丝的海豹皮烟口袋，这些全使人想到有一个海员，而且是个捕过鲸鱼的人。我确信烟丝袋上的字首'Ｐ．Ｃ．'不过是巧合，而不是彼得·加里，因为他很少抽烟，而且在屋里也没有找到烟斗。你记得我曾问过，屋内是否有威士忌和白兰地，你说有。有多少不出海的人在能弄到这些酒的时候，要喝罗姆酒呢？所以我确定杀人者是一个海员。”
“您怎样找到他的呢？”
“亲爱的先生，这个问题就很简单了。如果是个海员，一定是'海上独角兽'号上的海员。就我所知，彼得·加里没有登过别的船。我往丹迪打了电报，三天以后我弄清一八八三年'海上独角兽'号上全部水手的姓名。我看到叉鱼手中有帕特里克·凯恩兹的名字的时候，我的侦查便即将完成，我推想他可能在伦敦，并且想要离开英国一个时期。所以我到伦敦东区住了几天，设置了一个北冰洋探险队，提出优厚的条件找叉鱼手，在船长巴斯尔手下工作——你看，有了结果！”
霍普金喊道：“妙极了！妙极了！”
福尔摩斯说：“你要尽快地释放乃尔根。我想说你应该向他道歉。铁箱子一定还给他，当然彼得·加里卖掉的证券弄不回来了。霍普金，外面有出租马车，你把这个人带走。如果你要我参加审判，我和华生的地址是在挪威的某个地方——以后我写给你详细地址。”
In this memorable year '95 a curious and incongruous succession of cases had engaged his attention, ranging from his famous investigation of the sudden death of Cardinal Tosca -- an inquiry which was carried out by him at the express desire of His Holiness the Pope -- down to his arrest of Wilson, the notorious canary-trainer, which removed a plague-spot from the East-End of London. Close on the heels of these two famous cases came the tragedy of Woodman's Lee, and the very obscure circumstances which surrounded the death of Captain Peter Carey. No record of the doings of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete which did not include some account of this very unusual affair.
During the first week of July my friend had been absent so often and so long from our lodgings that I knew he had something on hand. The fact that several rough-looking men called during that time and inquired for Captain Basil made me understand that Holmes was working somewhere under one of the numerous disguises and names with which he concealed his own formidable identity. He had at least five small refuges in different parts of London in which he was able to change his personality. He said nothing of his business to me, and it was not my habit to force a confidence. The first positive sign which he gave me of the direction which his investigation was taking was an extraordinary one. He had gone out before breakfast, and I had sat down to mine, when he strode into the room, his hat upon his head and a huge barbed-headed spear tucked like an umbrella under his arm.
"Good gracious, Holmes!" I cried. "You don't mean to say that you have been walking about London with that thing?"
"I drove to the butcher's and back."
"The butcher's?"
"And I return with an excellent appetite. There can be no question, my dear Watson, of the value of exercise before breakfast. But I am prepared to bet that you will not guess the form that my exercise has taken."
"I will not attempt it."
He chuckled as he poured out the coffee.
"If you could have looked into Allardyce's back shop you would have seen a dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling, and a gentleman in his shirt-sleeves furiously stabbing at it with this weapon. I was that energetic person, and I have satisfied myself that by no exertion of my strength can I transfix the pig with a single blow. Perhaps you would care to try?"
"Not for worlds. But why were you doing this?"
"Because it seemed to me to have an indirect bearing upon the mystery of Woodman's Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire last night, and I have been expecting you. Come and join us."
Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man, thirty years of age, dressed in a quiet tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing of one who was accustomed to official uniform. I recognised him at once as Stanley Hopkins, a young police inspector for whose future Holmes had high hopes, while he in turn professed the admiration and respect of a pupil for the scientific methods of the famous amateur. Hopkins's brow was clouded, and he sat down with an air of deep dejection.
"No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before I came round. I spent the night in town, for I came up yesterday to report."
"And what had you to report?"
"Failure, sir; absolute failure."
"You have made no progress?"
"None."
"Dear me! I must have a look at the matter."
"I wish to heavens that you would, Mr. Holmes. It's my first big chance, and I am at my wit's end. For goodness' sake come down and lend me a hand."
"Well, well, it just happens that I have already read all the available evidence, including the report of the inquest, with some care. By the way, what do you make of that tobacco-pouch found on the scene of the crime? Is there no clue there?"
Hopkins looked surprised.
"It was the man's own pouch, sir. His initials were inside it. And it was of seal-skin -- and he an old sealer."
"But he had no pipe."
"No, sir, we could find no pipe; indeed, he smoked very little. And yet he might have kept some tobacco for his friends."
"No doubt. I only mention it because if I had been handling the case I should have been inclined to make that the starting-point of my investigation. However, my friend Dr. Watson knows nothing of this matter, and I should be none the worse for hearing the sequence of events once more. Just give us some short sketch of the essentials."
Stanley Hopkins drew a slip of paper from his pocket.
"I have a few dates here which will give you the career of the dead man, Captain Peter Carey. He was born in '45 -- fifty years of age. He was a most daring and successful seal and whale fisher. In 1883 he commanded the steam sealer SEA UNICORN, of Dundee. He had then had several successful voyages in succession, and in the following year, 1884, he retired. After that he travelled for some years, and finally he bought a small place called Woodman's Lee, near Forest Row, in Sussex. There he has lived for six years, and there he died just a week ago to-day.
"There were some most singular points about the man. In ordinary life he was a strict Puritan -- a silent, gloomy fellow. His household consisted of his wife, his daughter, aged twenty, and two female 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 `Ss. 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.
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 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 note-book 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 a 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 crumbling 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 agreement 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 understand 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 an 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 I took heart once more. I looked round, and there was the tin box on a 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 Black 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 conveying 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 note-book 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 seal-skin 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 certain 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 for ever. 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."
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