"You mean the West-country bankers," said he. "They failed for amillion, ruined half the county families of Cornwall, and Neligandisappeared."
"Exactly. Neligan was my father."
At last we were getting something positive, and yet it seemed a long gapbe
tween an absconding banker and Captain Peter Carey pinned against thewall with one of his own harpoons. We all listened intently to the youngman's words.
"It was my father who was really concerned. Dawson had retired. I wasonly ten years of age at the time, but I was old enough to feel theshame and horror of it all. It has always been said that my father stoleall the securities and fled. It is not true. It was his belief that ifhe were given time in which to realize them all would be well and everycreditor paid in full. He started in his little yacht for Norway justbefore the warrant was issued for his arrest. I can remember that lastnight when he bade farewell to my mother. He left us a list of thesecurities he was taking, and he swore that he would come back with hishonour cleared, and that none who had trusted him would suffer. Well,no word was ever heard from him again. Both the yacht and he vanishedutterly. We believed, my mother and I, that he and it, with thesecurities that he had taken with him, were at the bottom of the sea. Wehad a faithful friend, however, who is a business man, and it was he whodiscovered some time ago that some of the securities which my fatherhad with him have reappeared on the London market. You can imagine ouramazement. I spent months in trying to trace them, and at last, aftermany doublings and difficulties, I discovered that the original sellerhad been Captain Peter Carey, the owner of this hut.
"Naturally, I made some inquiries about the man. I found that he hadbeen in command of a whaler which was due to return from the Arctic seasat the very time when my father was crossing to Norway. The autumn ofthat year was a stormy one, and there was a long succession of southerlygales. My father's yacht may well have been blown to the north, andthere met by Captain Peter Carey's ship. If that were so, what hadbecome of my father? In any case, if I could prove from Peter Carey'sevidence how these securities came on the market it would be a proofthat my father had not sold them, and that he had no view to personalprofit when he took them.
"I came down to Sussex with the intention of seeing the captain, butit was at this moment that his terrible death occurred. I read at theinquest a description of his cabin, in which it stated that the oldlog-books of his vessel were preserved in it. It struck me that if Icould see what occurred in the month of August, 1883, on board the SEAUNICORN, I might settle the mystery of my father's fate. I tried lastnight 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 whichdeal with that month have been torn from the book. It was at that momentI 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 thedamning note-book, with the initials of our prisoner on the first leafand the blood-stain on the cover.
The wretched man collapsed. He sank his face in his hands and trembledall over.
"Where did you get it?" he groaned. "I did not know. I thought I hadlost it at the hotel."
"That is enough," said Hopkins, sternly. "Whatever else you have tosay you must say in court. You will walk down with me now to thepolice-station. Well, Mr. Holmes, I am very much obliged to you and toyour friend for coming down to help me. As it turns out your presencewas unnecessary, and I would have brought the case to this successfulissue without you; but none the less I am very grateful. Rooms have beenreserved for you at the Brambletye Hotel, so we can all walk down to thevillage together."
"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?" asked Holmes, as we travelledback next morning.
"I can see that you are not satisfied."
"Oh, yes, my dear Watson, I am perfectly satisfied. At the sametime Stanley Hopkins's methods do not commend themselves to me. I amdisappointed in Stanley Hopkins. I had hoped for better things from him.One should always look for a possible alternative and provide againstit. It is the first rule of criminal investigation."
"What, then, is the alternative?"
"The line of investigation which I have myself been pursuing. It maygive us nothing. I cannot tell. But at least I shall follow it to theend."
Several letters were waiting for Holmes at Baker Street. He snatchedone of them up, opened it, and burst out into a triumphant chuckle oflaughter.
"Excellent, Watson. The alternative develops. Have you telegraphforms? Just write a couple of messages for me: 'Sumner, ShippingAgent, Ratcliff Highway. Send three men on, to arrive ten to-morrowmorning.--Basil.' That's my name in those parts. The other is:'Inspector Stanley Hopkins, 46, Lord Street, Brixton. Come breakfastto-morrow at nine-thirty. Important. Wire if unable to come.--SherlockHolmes.' There, Watson, this infernal case has haunted me for ten days.I hereby banish it completely from my presence. To-morrow I trust thatwe shall hear the last of it for ever."
Sharp at the hour named Inspector Stanley Hopkins appeared, and we satdown 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?"