stabbing at it with this weapon. I was that
energetic person, and I have satisfied myself that by no exertion of my
strength can I transfix the pig with a single blow. Perhaps you would
care to try?"

"Not for worlds. But why were you doing this?"

"Because it seemed to me to have an indirect bearing upon the mystery of
Woodman's Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire last night, and I have been
expecting you. Come and join us."

Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man, thirty years of age, dressed
in a quiet tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing of one who was
accustomed to official uniform. I recognised him at once as Stanley
Hopkins, a young police inspector for whose future Holmes had high
hopes, while he in turn professed the admiration and respect of a pupil
for the scientific methods of the famous amateur. Hopkins's brow was
clouded, and he sat down with an air of deep dejection.

"No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before I came round. I spent the
night in town, for I came up yesterday to report."

"And what had you to report?"

"Failure, sir; absolute failure."

"You have made no progress?"

"None."

"Dear me! I must have a look at the matter."

"I wish to heavens that you would, Mr. Holmes. It's my first big chance,
and I am at my wit's end. For goodness' sake come down and lend me a
hand."

"Well, well, it just happens that I have already read all the available
evidence, including the report of the inquest, with some care. By the
way, what do you make of that tobacco-pouch found on the scene of the
crime? Is there no clue there?"

Hopkins looked surprised.

"It was the man's own pouch, sir. His initials were inside it. And it
was of seal-skin--and he an old sealer."

"But he had no pipe."

"No, sir, we could find no pipe; indeed, he smoked very little. And yet
he might have kept some tobacco for his friends."

"No doubt. I only mention it because if I had been handling the case
I should have been inclined to make that the starting-point of my
investigation. However, my friend Dr. Watson knows nothing of this
matter, and I should be none the worse for hearing the sequence of
events once more. Just give us some short sketch of the essentials."

Stanley Hopkins drew a slip of paper from his pocket.

"I have a few dates here which will give you the career of the dead man,
Captain Peter Carey. He was born in '45--fifty years of age. He was a
most daring and successful seal and whale fishe