"Thank you," said he, as he replaced the glass. "It is the second mostinteresting object that I have seen in the North."
"And the first?"
Holmes folded up his cheque and placed it carefully in his note-book."I am a poor man," said he, as he patted it affectionately and thrust itinto the depths of his inner pocket.
*****
THE STRAND MAGAZINE Vol. 27 MARCH, 1904 THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
VI.--The Adventure of Black Peter.
I HAVE never known my friend to be in better form, both mental andphysical, than in the year '95. His increasing fame had brought with itan immense practice, and I should be guilty of an indiscretion if Iwere even to hint at the identity of some of the illustrious clients whocrossed our humble threshold in Baker Street. Holmes, however, like allgreat artists, lived for his art's sake, and, save in the case of theDuke of Holdernesse, I have seldom known him claim any large reward forhis inestimable services. So unworldly was he--or so capricious--thathe frequently refused his help to the powerful and wealthy where theproblem made no appeal to his sympathies, while he would devote weeks ofmost intense application to the affairs of some humble client whose casepresented those strange and dramatic qualities which appealed to hisimagination and challenged his ingenuity.
In this memorable year '95 a curious and incongruous succession of caseshad engaged his attention, ranging from his famous investigation of thesudden death of Cardinal Tosca--an inquiry which was carried out by himat the express desire of His Holiness the Pope--down to his arrest ofWilson, the notorious canary-trainer, which removed a plague-spot fromthe East-End of London. Close on the heels of these two famous casescame the tragedy of Woodman's Lee, and the very obscure circumstanceswhich surrounded the death of Captain Peter Carey. No record of thedoings of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete which did not includesome account of this very unusual affair.
During the first week of July my friend had been absent so often and solong from our lodgings that I knew he had something on hand. The factthat several rough-looking men called during that time and inquired forCaptain Basil made me understand that Holmes was working somewhere underone of the numerous disguises and names with which he concealed his ownformidable identity. He had at least five small refuges in differentparts of London in which he was able to change his personality. Hesaid nothing of his business to me, and it was not my habit to force aconfidence. The first positive sign which he gave me of the directionwhich his investigation was taking was an extraordinary one. He had goneout before breakfast, and I had sat down to mine, when he strode intothe room, his hat upon his head and a huge barbed-headed spear tuckedlike an umbrella under his arm.
"Good gracious, Holmes!" I cried. "You don't mean to say that you havebeen 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 amprepared to bet that you will not guess the form that my exercise hastaken."
"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 haveseen a dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling, and a gentleman inhis shirt-sleeves furiously stabbing at it with this weapon. I was thatenergetic person, and I have satisfied myself that by no exertion of mystrength can I transfix the pig with a single blow. Perhaps you wouldcare to try?"
"Not for worlds. But why were you doing this?"
"Because it seemed to me to have an indirect bearing upon the mystery ofWoodman's Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire last night, and I have beenexpecting you. Come and join us."
Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man, thirty years of age, dressedin a quiet tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing of one who wasaccustomed to official uniform. I recognised him at once as StanleyHopkins, a young police inspector for whose future Holmes had highhopes, while he in turn professed the admiration and respect of a pupilfor the scientific methods of the famous amateur. Hopkins's brow wasclouded, and he sat down with an air of deep dejection.
"No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before I came round. I spent thenight 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 ahand."
"Well, well, it just happens that I have already read all the availableevidence, including the report of the inquest, with some care. By theway, what do you make of that tobacco-pouch found on the scene of thecrime? Is there no clue there?"
Hopkins looked surprised.
"It was the man's own pouch, sir. His initials were inside it. And itwas of seal-skin--and he an old sealer."
"But he had no pipe."