hrough the gauze curtain our eyes were all riveted upon the
scene within.

The nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail and thin, with a black
moustache 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 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 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 I hate to
think of this old scandal gaining a new lease of life. Did you ever hear
of Dawson and Neligan?"

I could see from Hopkins's face that he never had; but Holmes was keenly
interested.

"You mean the West-country bankers," said he. "They failed for a
million, ruined half the county families of Cornwall, and Neligan
disappeared."

"Exactly. Neligan was my father."

A