lings, wooden-walled,

shingle-roofed, one window beside the door and one on the

farther side. stanley hopkins drew the key from his pocket,

and had stooped to the lock, when he paused with a look of

attention and surprise upon his face.

"someone has been tampering with it," he said.

there could be no doubt of the fact. the woodwork was cut

and the scratches showed white through the paint, as if

they had been that instant done. holmes had been examining

the window.

"someone has tried to force this also. whoever it was has

failed to make his way in. he must have been a very poor

burglar."

"this is a most extraordinary thing," said the inspector;

"i could swear that these marks were not here yesterday

evening."

"some curious person from the village, perhaps," i suggested.

"very unlikely. few of them would dare to set foot in the

grounds, far less try to force their way into the cabin.

what do you think of it, mr. holmes?"

"i think that fortune is very kind to us."

"you mean that the person will come again?"

"it is very probable. he came expecting to find the door open.

he tried to get in with the blade of a very small penknife.

he could not manage it. what would he do?"

"come again next night with a more useful tool."

"so i should say. it will be our fault if we are not there to

receive him. meanwhile, let me see the inside of the cabin."

the traces of the tragedy had been removed, but the

furniture within the little room still stood as it had

been on the night of the crime. for two hours, with most

intense concentration, holmes examined every object in

turn, but his face showed that his quest was not a

successful one. once only he paused in his patient

investigation.

"have you taken anything off this shelf, hopkins?"

"no; i have moved nothing."

"something has been taken. there is less dust in this

corner of the shelf than elsewhere. it may have been a

book lying on its side. it may have been a box. well,

well, i can do nothing more. let us walk in these

beautiful woods, watson, and give a few hours to the birds

and the flowers. we shall meet you here later, hopkins,

and see if we can come to closer quarters with the

gentleman who has paid this visit in the night."

it was past eleven o'clock when we formed our little

ambuscade. hopkins was for leaving the door of the hut

open, but holmes was of the opinion that this would rouse

the suspicions of the stranger. the lock was a perfectly

simple one, and only a strong blade was needed to push it

back. holmes also suggested that we should wait, not

inside the hut, but outside it among the bushes which grew

round the farther window. in this way we should be able to

watch our man if he struck a light, and see what his object

was in this stealthy nocturnal visit.

it was a long and melancholy vigil, and yet brought with it

something of the thrill which the hunter feels when he lies

beside the water pool and waits for the coming of the

thirsty beast of prey. what savage creature was it which

might steal upon us out of the darkness? was it a fierce

tiger of crime, which could only be taken fighting hard

with flashing fang and claw, or would it prove to be some

skulking jackal, dangerous only to the weak and unguarded?

in absolute silence we crouched amongst the bushes, waiting

for whatever might come. at first the steps of a few

belated villagers, or the sound of voices from the village,

lightened our vigil; but one by one these interruptions

died away and an absolute stillness fell upon us, save for

the chimes of the distant church, which told us of the

progress of the night, and for the rustle and whisper of a

fine rain falling amid the foliage which roofed us in.

half-past two had chimed, and it was the darkest hour which

precedes the dawn, when we all started as a low but sharp

click came from the direction of the gate. someone had

entered the drive. again there was a long silence,

and i had begun to fear that it was a false alarm, when a

stealthy step was heard upon the other side of the hut, and

a moment later a metallic scraping and clinking. the man

was trying to force the lock! this time his skill was

greater or his tool was better, for there was a sudden snap

and the creak of the hinges. then a match was struck, and

next instant the steady light from a candle filled the

interior of the hut. through 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