Sherlock Holmes's face showed that he was thoroughly taken aback by thisnew development.
"I must admit both your points," said he. "I confess that thisnote-book, which did not appear at the inquest, modifies any views whichI may have formed. I had come to a theory of the crime in which Ican find no place for this. Have you endeavoured to trace any of thesecurities here mentioned?"
"Inquiries are now being made at the offices, but I fear that thecomplete register of the stockholders of these South American concernsis in South America, and that some weeks must elapse before we can tracethe shares."
Holmes had been examining the cover of the note-book with his magnifyinglens.
"Surely there is some discolouration here," said he.
"Yes, sir, it is a blood-stain. I told you that I picked the book offthe 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 wascommitted."
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. I appreciated that point, and I conjectured thatit was dropped by the murderer in his hurried flight. It lay near thedoor."
"I suppose that none of these securities have been found among theproperty 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 aknife, was there not?"
"A sheath-knife, still in its sheath. It lay at the feet of the deadman. 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 alook 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 nowmy visit may not be entirely fruitless. Watson, if you can sparethe time I should be very glad of your company. If you will call afour-wheeler, Hopkins, we shall be ready to start for Forest Row in aquarter of an hour."
Alighting at the small wayside station, we drove for some miles throughthe remains of widespread woods, which
were once part of thatgreat forest which for so long held the Saxon invaders at bay--theimpenetrable "weald," for sixty years the bulwark of Britain. Vastsections of it have been cleared, for this is the seat of the firstiron-works of the country, and the trees have been felled to smelt theore. Now the richer fields of the North have absorbed the trade, andnothing save these ravaged groves and great scars in the earth showthe work of the past. Here in a clearing upon the green slope of a hillstood a long, low stone house, approached by a curving drive runningthrough the fields. Nearer the road, and surrounded on three sides bybushes, was a small outhouse, one window and the door facing in ourdirection. It was the scene of the murder!
Stanley Hopkins led us first to the house, where he introduced us to ahaggard, grey-haired woman, the widow of the murdered man, whose gauntand deep-lined face, with the furtive look of terror in the depths ofher red-rimmed eyes, told of the years of hardship and ill-usage whichshe 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 thather father was dead, and that she blessed the hand which had struck himdown. It was a terrible household that Black Peter Carey had made forhimself, and it was with a sense of relief that we found ourselves inthe sunlight again and making our way along a path which had been wornacross 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 thelock, when he paused with a look of attention and surprise upon hisface.
"Someone has been tampering with it," he said.
There could be no doubt of the fact. The woodwork was cut and thescratches showed white through the paint, as if they had been thatinstant done. Holmes had been examining the window.
"Someone has tried to force this also. Whoever it was has failed to makehis way in. He must have been a very poor burglar."
"This is a most extraordinary thing," said the inspector; "I could swearthat these marks were not here yesterday evening."