“I was a fool not to call you in at the time Mr. Holmes. However,that’s past praying for now. Yes, there were several objects in theroom which called for special attention. One was the harpoonwith which the deed was committed. It had been snatched downfrom a rack on the wall. Two others remained there, and there wasa vacant place for the third. On the stock was engraved ‘SS. SEAUNICORN, Dundee.’ This seemed to establish that the crimehad been done in a moment of fury, and that the murderer hadseized the first weapon which came in his way. The fact that thecrime was committed at two in the morning, and yet Peter Careywas fully dressed, suggested that he had an appointment with themurderer, which is borne out by the fact that a bottle of rum andtwo dirty glasses stood upon the table.”
“Yes,” said Holmes; “I think that both inferences arepermissible. Was there any other spirit but rum in the room?”
“Yes, there was a tantalus containing brandy and whisky onthe sea-chest. It is of no importance to us, however, since thedecanters 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 seemto 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 coarse sealskin—the straighthairedskin, with a leather thong to bind it. Inside was ‘P.C.’ on theflap. There was half an ounce of strong ship’s tobacco in it.”
“Excellent! What more?”
Stanley Hopkins drew from his pocket a drab-covered notebook.
The outside was rough and worn, the leaves discoloured. On thefirst page were written the initials “J.H.N.” and the date “1883.”
Holmes laid it on the table and examined it in his minute way,while Hopkins and I gazed over each shoulder. On the secondpage were the printed letters “C.P.R.,” and then came severalsheets of numbers. Another heading was “Argentine,” another“Costa Rica,” and another “San Paulo,” each with pages of signsand figures after it.
“What do you make of these?” asked Holmes.
“They appear to be lists of Stock Exchange securities. I thoughtthat ‘J.H.N.’ were the initials of a broker, and that ‘C.P.R.’ mayhave been his client.”
“Try Canadian Pacific Railway,” said Holmes.
Stanley Hopkins swore between his teeth, and struck his thighwith his clenched hand.
“What a fool I have been!” he cried. “Of course, it is as you say.
Then ‘J.H.N.’ are the only initials we have to solve. I have alreadyexamined the old Stock Exchange lists, and I can find no one in1883, either in the house or among the outside brokers, whoseinitials correspond with these. Yet I feel that the clue is the mostimportant one that I hold. You will admit, Mr. Holmes, that thereis a possibility that these initials are those of the second personwho was present—in other words, of the murderer. I would alsourge that the introduction into the case of a document relating tolarge masses of valuable securities gives us for the first time someindication of a motive for the crime.”
Sherlock Holmes’s face showed that he was thoroughly takenaback by this new development.
“I must admit both your points,” said he. “I confess that thisnotebook, which did not appear at the inquest, modifies any viewswhich I may have formed. I had come to a theory of the crime inwhich I can find no place for this. Have you endeavoured to traceany of the securities here mentioned?”
“Inquiries are now being made at the offices, but I fear that thecomplete register of the stockholders of these South Americanconcerns is in South America, and that some weeks must elapsebefore we can trace the shares.”
Holmes had been examining the cover of the notebook with hismagnifying lens.
“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 thecrime was committed.”
“Exactly, Mr. Holmes. I appreciated that point, and Iconjectured that it was dropped by the murderer in his hurriedflight. It lay near the door.”
“I suppose that none of these securities have been found amongthe property 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 wasa knife, 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 andhave a look 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. “Buteven now my visit may not be entirely fruitless. Watson, if you canspare the time, I should be very glad of your company. If you willcall a four-wheeler, Hopkins, we shall be ready to start for ForestRow in a quarter of an hour.”
Alighting at the small wayside station, we drove for some milesthrough the remains of widespread woods, which were once partof that great forest which for so long held the Saxon invaders atbay—the impenetrable “weald,” for sixty years the bulwark ofBritain. Vast sections of it have been cleared, for this is the seat ofthe first iron-works of the country, and the trees have been felledto smelt the ore. Now the richer fields of the North have absorbedthe trade, and nothing save these ravaged groves and great scars inthe earth show the work of the past. Here, in a clearing upon thegreen slope of a hill, stood a long, low, stone house, approached bya curving drive running through the fields. Nearer the road, andsurrounded on three sides by bushes, was a small outhouse, onewindow and the door facing in our direction. It was the scene ofthe murder.
