Speaker 1: The adventure of Black Peter. I have never known my
friend to be in better form, both mental and physical,
than in the year ninety five. His increasing fame had
brought with it an immense practice, and I should be
guilty of an indiscretion if I were even to hint
at the identity of some of the illustrious clients who
crossed our humble threshold in Baker Street. Holmes, However, like
all great artists, lived for his art's sake, and save
in the case of the Duke of Holderness, I have
seldom known him claim any large reward for his inestimable services.
So unworldly was he, or so capricious, that he frequently
refused his help to the powerful and wealthy, where the
problem made no appeal to his sympathies, while he would
devote weeks of most intense application to the affairs of
some humble client whose case presented those strange and dramatic
qualities which appealed to his imagination and challenged his ingenuity.
In this memorable year ninety five, 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 mister 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 Homes, I cried, You don't mean to say that
you've been walking about London with that thing. I drove
to the butchers and back the butchers, 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 Aladys'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's
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 recognized him at once as Stanley Hopkins,
a young police inspector for whose future homes 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. Now, thank you, sir. I breakfasted
before I came round. I spent the night in town,
for I came up yesterday to report. And what have
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,
mister Holmes, it's my first big chance, and I'm at
my wits end. For goodness sake, come down and lend
me your hand. Well, well, it just happens that I
have already read all the available evidence, including the report
of the inquest, with some care. And 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 was 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 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 sketches of the essentials. Stanley
Hopkins drew a slip of paper from his pocket. I'll
have a few dates here which will give you the
career of the Dead Man Captain Peter Carey. He was
born in forty five fifty years of age. He was
the most daring and successful seal and whale fisher. In
eighteen eighty three he commanded the steam sealer see Unicorn
of Dundee. He had then had several successful voyages in succession,
and in the following year eighteen eighty four, he retired.
After that he traveled for some years, and finally he
bought a small place called Woodman's Lee near four Forest
Row in Sussex. There he has lived for six years,
and there he died just a week ago today. 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 to fit on him he was a
perfect fiend. He has been known to drive his wife
and daughter out of doors in the middle of the
night and flogged 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, mister Olmes, he would go far
before you found a more dangerous man than Peter Carey.
And I've heard that he bore the same character when
he commanded his ship. He was known in his trade
as Black Peter, and the name was given him not
only on account of his swarthy features and the color
of his huge beard, but for the humors which were
the terror of all around him. I need not say
that he was loathed and avoided by every one of
his neighbors, 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,
mister Olmes, 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, mister 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 forward 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
come in 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 ball 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 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'm fairly steady nerves, as you know, mister Holmes, but
I'll 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 flies and blue bottles,
and the floor and the walls were like a slaughterhouse.
He had called it a cabin, and a cabin it
was sure enough, for you'd 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 upward
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 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 indian, 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, mister 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 s S. Seacorn Dundee.
This seemed to establish that the crime had been done
in a moment of fury, and that the murder had
seized the first weapon which came 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? And there was
a tantalus containing brandy and whiskey on the sea chest.
It is of now 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 course
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 drab covered notebook.
The outside was rough and worn, the leaves discolored. On
the first page were written the initials j h N
and the date eighteen eighty three. 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 Paolo, each with pages of
s and figures after it. What do you make of these,
asked Holmes. They appear to be lists of stock exchange securities.
I thought that JHN were the initials of a broker,
and that CPR 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, JH 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
eighteen eighty three, either in the house or among the
outside brokers whose initials correspond with these, Yeah, I feel
that the clue is the most important one that I hold.
You will admit, mister Holmes, that there is a possibility
that these initials are those of the second person 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, from 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 notebook, 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 even find no place for this.
Have you endeavored 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 share. Holmes
had been examining the cover of the note book with
his magnifying lends surely there is some discoloration 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, mister Holmes, my 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. Now, 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. Missus carey As 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 way 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
Wheeld for sixty years the bulwark of Britain. Vast sections
of it have been cleared. For this is at 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 those 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, gray
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. Some one 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'd been
that instant done. Holmes had been examining the window. Some
one 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 a 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, mister 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 pen knife. 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 stirred 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.
Only once he paused in his patient investigation. Have you
taken anything off this shelf, Hopkins? Now I've 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 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 shall 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. Say for the chimes of the distant church,
which told us of the progress of the night, and
for the rustle and the whisper of a fine rain
falling amid the foliage, which roofed us in Halfasto 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. Some one 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, rail and thin, with a black mustache 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 of 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 Nelligan. I saw Holmes and Hopkins exchange
a quick glance. What are you doing here? Can I
speak confidentially? Now? 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 Nelligan? I could see from Hopkins's face that
he never had. But Holmes was keenly interested. You mean
the West Country bankers, said he theyy failed for a million,
ruined half the county families of Cornwall, and Nelligan disappeared exactly.
Nelligan 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 honor 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 had reappeared on the London market.
You can imagine our amazement. I spent months in trying
to trace them, and at last, after many doubtings 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 Carry'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 eighteen eighty three
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 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, 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 didn't know. I thought
I'd lost it at the hotel. That's enough, said Hopkins sternly.
Whatever else you have to say, you must say it
in court. You will walk down with me now to
the police station. Well, mister 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
grateful romes have been reserved for you at the Bramoti Hotel,
so we can all walk down to the village together. Well, Watson,
what do you think of it? Asked Holmes as we
traveled 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 homes at Baker Street. He
snatched one of them, opened it and burst out into
a triumphant chuckle of laughter. Ha, excellent, Watson, the alternative develops.
Have you telegraph forms? Just write a couple of messages
for me, Sumner Shipping Agent, Ratcliffe Highway. Send three men
on to arrive ten tomorrow morning, Basil. That's my name
in those parts, and the other is Inspector Stanley Hopkins,
forty six Lord Street, Brixton, Come breakfast tomorrow at nine
point thirty. Important why 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 tomorrow. I trust
that we shall hear the last of it forever. Sharp
at the hour named Inspector Stanley Hopkins appeared and we
sat down together to the excellent breakfast which missus 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,
mister Holmes. What more could one ask for? Does your
explanation cover every point? Undoubtedly? I find that young Nelligan
arrived at the Bramilty Hotel on the very day of
the crime. He came on the pretense 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 the woman's lee, saw Peter Carey at the hut,
quarreled with him, and killed him with a harpoon. Then,
horrified by what he'd done, he fled out of the hut,
dropping the notebook which he had brought with him in
order to question Peter Carey about those different secures. You
may have observed that some of them were marked with ticks,
and the others the great majority were not. Those which
had ticked have been traced on the London market, but
the others presumably were still in the possession of Cary,
and young Nelligan, 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. He 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 practiced 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 anemic 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 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 Nelligan was present that night, mister Holmes. The
book will prove that. I fancy that I have evidence
enough to satisfy a jewelry, even if you are able
to pick a hole in it. Besides, mister 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 missus 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 bulldog 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, and 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 seamen
were rolling on the ground together. He was a man
of such gigantic strength that, even with the handcuffs which
Holmes had so deftly fasten 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, mister Holmes, he blurted out
at last, with a very red face. It seems to
me that I've 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 humoredly. 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
Nelligan that you could not spare a thought to Patrick Cairns,
the true murderer of Peter Carey. The hoarse voice of
the seamen 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'm 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 its truth. I
knew Black Peter, and when he pulled out his knife,
I whipped a parpoon through him sharp, for I knew
that it was him or me. That's how he died.
You can call it murder anyway. 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 you from the beginning. Just sit me up
a little so as I can speak easy. It was
in eighty three that had 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
weak 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 found her
and made for the Norwegian coast in the dinghy. I
guess they were all drowned. Well, he took him on board,
and this man and he and the skipper had some
long talks in the cabin. All the baggage we took
off with him was in 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'd 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 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 from a sailorman 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 knead 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 the 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 backy 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'd 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
hemp and 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 mister Patrick Keirns occupies too large a proportion of
our carpet. Mister Holmes, said Hopkins. I do not know
how to express my gratitude even now. I don't understand
how you attain 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 was Ski 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 eighteen eighty three,
when I found Patrick Keirns 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 harper pooners who would serve under Captain Basil,
and behold the result. Wonderful, cried Hopkins. Wonderful. You must
obtain the release of young Nellighan 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 forever. 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. End of the Adventure of Black
Peter