"Some curious person from the village, perhaps," I suggested.
"Very unlikely. Few of them would dare to set foot in the grounds, farless 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 triedto get in with the blade of a very small penknife. He could not manageit. 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 receivehim. Meanwhile, let me see the inside of the cabin."
The traces of the tragedy had been removed, but the furniture within thelittle room still stood as it had been on the night of the crime. Fortwo hours, with most intense concentration, Holmes examined every objectin 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 theshelf than elsewhere. It may have been a book lying on its side. It mayhave been a box. Well, well, I can do nothing more. Let us walk inthese beautiful woods, Watson, and give a few hours to the birds and theflowers. We shall meet you here later, Hopkins, and see if we can cometo closer quarters with the gentleman who has paid this visit in thenight."
It was past eleven o'clock when we formed our little ambuscade. Hopkinswas for leaving the door of the hut open, but Holmes was of the opinionthat this would rouse the suspicions of the stranger. The lock was aperfectly simple one, and only a strong blade was needed to push itback. Holmes also suggested that we should wait, not inside the hut, butoutside it among the bushes which grew round the farther window. In thisway we should be able to watch our man if he struck a light, and seewhat his object was in this stealthy nocturnal visit.
It was a long and melancholy vigil, and yet brought with it something ofthe thrill which the hunter feels when he lies beside the water pool andwaits for the coming of the thirsty beast of prey. What savage creaturewas it which might steal upon us out of the darkness? Was it a fiercetiger of crime, which could only be taken fighting hard with flashingfang and claw, or would it prove to be some skulking jackal, dangerousonly to the weak and unguarded?
In absolute silence we crouched amongst the bushes, waiting for whatevermight come. At first the steps of a few belated villagers, or the soundof voices from the village, lightened our vigil; but one by one theseinterruptions died away and an absolute stillness fell upon us, save forthe chimes of the distant church, which told us of the progress of thenight, and for the rustle and whisper of a fine rain falling amid thefoliage which roofed us in.
Half-past two had chimed, and it was the darkest hour which precedesthe dawn, when we all started as a low but sharp click came from thedirection of the gate. Someone had entered the drive. Again there was along silence, and I had begun to fear that it was a false alarm, whena stealthy step was heard upon the other side of the hut, and a momentlater a metallic scraping and clinking. The man was trying to force thelock! This time his skill was greater or his tool was better, for therewas 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 ofthe hut. Through the gauze curtain our eyes were all riveted upon thescene within.
The nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail and thin, with a blackmoustache which intensified the deadly pallor of his face. He could nothave been much above twenty years of age. I have never seen any humanbeing who appeared to be in such a pitiable fright, for his teeth werevisibly chattering and he was shaking in every limb. He was dressed likea gentleman, in Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, with a cloth cap uponhis head. We watched him staring round with frightened eyes. Then helaid the candle-end upon the table and disappeared from our view intoone of the corners. He returned with a large book, one of the log-bookswhich formed a line upon the shelves. Leaning on the table he rapidlyturned over the leaves of this volume until he came to the entry whichhe sought. Then, with an angry gesture of his clenched hand, he closedthe book, replaced it in the corner, and put out the light. He hadhardly turned to leave the hut when Hopkins's hand was on the fellow'scollar, and I heard his loud gasp of terror as he understood that hewas taken. The candle was re-lit, and there was our wretched captiveshivering and cowering in the grasp of the detective. He sank down uponthe sea-chest, and looked helplessly from one of us to the other.
"Now, my fine fellow," said Stanley Hopkins, "who are you, and what doyou want here?"
The man pulled himself together and faced us with an effort atself-composure.
"You are detectives, I suppose?" said he. "You imagine I am connectedwith 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 tothink of this old scandal gaining a new lease of life. Did you ever hearof Dawson and Neligan?"
I could see from Hopkins's face that he never had; but Holmes was keenlyinterested.