“It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. I was merely goingon the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons who didnot want it—who merely took it for a blind, as it were—then theywould naturally be anxious to get rid of it.”
“But why should such an idea cross your mind?”
“Well, I thought it was possible. When they came out throughthe French window, there was the pond with one tempting littlehole in the ice, right in front of their noses. Could there be abetter hiding-place?”
“Ah, a hiding-place—that is better!” cried Stanley Hopkins.
“Yes, yes, I see it all now! It was early, there were folk upon theroads, they were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they sankit in the pond, intending to return for it when the coast was clear.
Excellent, Mr. Holmes—that is better than your idea of a blind.”
“Quite so, you have got an admirable theory. I have no doubtthat my own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that theyhave ended in discovering the silver.”
“Yes, sir—yes. It was all your doing. But I have had a badsetback.”
“A setback?”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were arrested in New Yorkthis morning.”
“Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against your theorythat they committed a murder in Kent last night.”
“It is fatal, Mr. Holmes—absolutely fatal. Still, there are othergangs of three besides the Randalls, or it may be some new gang ofwhich the police have never heard.”
“Quite so, it is perfectly possible. What, are you off?”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes, there is no rest for me until I have got to thebottom of the business. I suppose you have no hint to give me?”
“I have given you one.”
“Which?”
“Well, I suggested a blind.”
“But why, Mr. Holmes, why?”
“Ah, that’s the question, of course. But I commend the idea toyour mind. You might possibly find that there was something in it.
You won’t stop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us know howyou get on.”
Dinner was over, and the table cleared before Holmes alluded tothe matter again. He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet tothe cheerful blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at his watch.
“I expect developments, Watson.”
“When?”
“Now—within a few minutes. I dare say you thought I actedrather badly to Stanley Hopkins just now?”
“I trust your judgment.”
“A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look at it this way:
what I know is unofficial, what he knows is official. I have theright to private judgment, but he has none. He must disclose all,or he is a traitor to his service. In a doubtful case I would not puthim in so painful a position, and so I reserve my information untilmy own mind is clear upon the matter.”
“But when will that be?”
“The time has come. You will now be present at the last sceneof a remarkable little drama.”
There was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened toadmit as fine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through it.
He was a very tall young man, golden-moustached, blue-eyed, witha skin which had been burned by tropical suns, and a springy step,which showed that the huge frame was as active as it was strong. Heclosed the door behind him, and then he stood with clenched handsand heaving breast, choking down some overmastering emotion.
“Sit down, Captain Crocker. You got my telegram?”
Our visitor sank into an armchair and looked from one to theother of us with questioning eyes.
“I got your telegram, and I came at the hour you said. I heardthat you had been down to the office. There was no getting awayfrom you. Let’s hear the worst. What are you going to do with me?
Arrest me? Speak out, man! You can’t sit there and play with melike a cat with a mouse.”
“Give him a cigar,” said Holmes. “Bite on that, Captain Crocker,and don’t let your nerves run away with you. I should not sit heresmoking with you if I thought that you were a common criminal,you may be sure of that. Be frank with me and we may do somegood. Play tricks with me, and I’ll crush you.”
“What do you wish me to do?”
“To give me a true account of all that happened at the AbbeyGrange last night—a true account, mind you, with nothing addedand nothing taken off. I know so much already that if you go oneinch off the straight, I’ll blow this police whistle from my windowand the affair goes out of my hands forever.”
The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck his leg with hisgreat sunburned hand.
“I’ll chance it,” he cried. “I believe you are a man of your word,and a white man, and I’ll tell you the whole story. But one thing Iwill say first. So far as I am concerned, I regret nothing and I fearnothing, and I would do it all again and be proud of the job. Damnthe beast, if he had as many lives as a cat, he would owe them all tome! But it’s the lady, Mary—Mary Fraser—for never will I call herby that accursed name. When I think of getting her into trouble, Iwho would give my life just to bring one smile to her dear face, it’sthat that turns my soul into water. And yet—and yet—what lesscould I do? I’ll tell you my story, gentlemen, and then I’ll ask you,as man to man, what less could I do?
“I must go back a bit. You seem to know everything, so I expectthat you know that I met her when she was a passenger and I wasfirst officer of the ROCK OF GIBRALTAR. From the first day Imet her, she was the only woman to me. Every day of that voyageI loved her more, and many a time since have I kneeled down inthe darkness of the night watch and kissed the deck of that shipbecause I knew her dear feet had trod it. She was never engagedto me. She treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated a man. Ihave no complaint to make. It was all love on my side, and all goodcomradeship and friendship on hers. When we parted she was afree woman, but I could never again be a free man.