He could not have been much above twenty years of age. I havenever seen any human being who appeared to be in such a pitiablefright, for his teeth were visibly chattering, and he was shakingin every limb. He was dressed like a gentleman, in Norfolk jacketand knickerbockers, with a cloth cap upon his head. We watchedhim staring round with frightened eyes. Then he laid the candleendupon the table and disappeared from our view into one of thecorners. He returned with a large book, one of the logbooks whichformed a line upon the shelves. Leaning on the table, he rapidlyturned over the leaves of this volume until he came to the entrywhich he sought. Then, with an angry gesture of his clenchedhand, he closed the book, replaced it in the corner, and put out thelight. He had hardly turned to leave the hut when Hopkin’s handwas on the fellow’s collar, and I heard his loud gasp of terror as heunderstood that he was taken. The candle was relit, and there wasour wretched captive, shivering and cowering in the grasp of thedetective. He sank down upon the sea-chest, and looked helplesslyfrom one of us to the other.
“Now, my fine fellow,” said Stanley Hopkins, “who are you, andwhat do you 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 amconnected with the death of Captain Peter Carey. I assure youthat I am innocent.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Hopkins. “First of all, what is yourname?”
“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 Ihate to think of this old scandal gaining a new lease of life. Didyou ever hear of Dawson and Neligan?”
I could see, from Hopkins’s face, that he never had, but Holmeswas keenly interested.
“You mean the West Country bankers,” said he. “They failed fora million, 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 along gap between an absconding banker and Captain Peter Careypinned against the wall with one of his own harpoons. We alllistened intently to the young man’s words.
“It was my father who was really concerned. Dawson hadretired. I was only ten years of age at the time, but I was oldenough to feel the shame and horror of it all. It has always beensaid that my father stole all the securities and fled. It is not true. Itwas 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 hislittle yacht for Norway just before the warrant was issued for hisarrest. I can remember that last night when he bade farewell tomy mother. He left us a list of the securities he was taking, and heswore that he would come back with his honour cleared, and thatnone who had trusted him would suffer. Well, no word was everheard from him again. Both the yacht and he vanished utterly. Webelieved, my mother and I, that he and it, with the securities thathe had taken with him, were at the bottom of the sea. We hada faithful friend, however, who is a business man, and it was hewho discovered some time ago that some of the securities whichmy father had with him had reappeared on the London market.
You can imagine our amazement. I spent months in trying totrace them, and at last, after many doubtings and difficulties, Idiscovered that the original seller had been Captain Peter Carey,the owner of this hut.
“Naturally, I made some inquiries about the man. I found thathe had been in command of a whaler which was due to returnfrom the Arctic seas at the very time when my father was crossingto Norway. The autumn of that year was a stormy one, and therewas a long succession of southerly gales. My father’s yacht maywell have been blown to the north, and there met by CaptainPeter Carey’s ship. If that were so, what had become of my father?
In any case, if I could prove from Peter Carey’s evidence howthese securities came on the market it would be a proof that myfather 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,but it was at this moment that his terrible death occurred. I readat the inquest a description of his cabin, in which it stated thatthe old logbooks of his vessel were preserved in it. It struck methat if I could see what occurred in the month of August, 1883,on board the SEA UNICORN, I might settle the mystery of myfather’s fate. I tried last night to get at these logbooks, but wasunable to open the door. To-night I tried again and succeeded, butI find that the pages which deal with that month have been tornfrom the book. It was at that moment I found myself a prisoner inyour 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 heldup the damning notebook, with the initials of our prisoner on thefirst leaf and the blood-stain on the cover.
The wretched man collapsed. He sank his face in his hands, andtrembled all over.
“Where did you get it?” he groaned. “I did not know. I thoughtI had lost it at the hotel.”
“That is enough,” said Hopkins, sternly. “Whatever else youhave to say, you must say in court. You will walk down with menow to the police-station. Well, Mr. Holmes, I am very muchobliged to you and to your friend for coming down to help me.
As it turns out your presence was unnecessary, and I would havebrought the case to this successful issue without you, but, nonethe less, I am grateful. Rooms have been reserved for you at theBrambletye Hotel, so we can all walk down to the village together.”