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 forwards 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 coming. 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
bawl 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 midday 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 have fairly steady nerves, as you know, Mr. Holmes, but I
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 the flies and bluebottles,
and the floor and walls were like a slaughter-house. He had called it a
cabin, and a cabin it was sure enough, for you would 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 upwards 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 behin