struck me that if I
could see what occurred in the month of August, 1883, on board the SEA
UNICORN, I might settle the mystery of my father's fate. I tried last
night to get at these log-books, but was unable to open the door.
To-night I tried again, and succeeded; but I find that the pages which
deal with that month have been torn from the book. It was at that moment
I found myself a prisoner in your hands."

"Is that all?" asked Hopkins.

"Yes, that is all." His eyes shifted as he said it.

"You have nothing else to tell us?"

He hesitated.

"No; there is nothing."

"You have not been here before last night?"

"No."

"Then how do you account for THAT?" cried Hopkins, as he held up the
damning note-book, with the initials of our prisoner on the first leaf
and the blood-stain on the cover.

The wretched man collapsed. He sank his face in his hands and trembled
all over.

"Where did you get it?" he groaned. "I did not know. I thought I had
lost it at the hotel."

"That is enough," said Hopkins, sternly. "Whatever else you have to
say you must say in court. You will walk down with me now to the
police-station. Well, Mr. Holmes, I am very much obliged to you and to
your friend for coming down to help me. As it turns out your presence
was unnecessary, and I would have brought the case to this successful
issue without you; but none the less I am very grateful. Rooms have been
reserved for you at the Brambletye Hotel, so we can all walk down to the
village together."

"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?" asked Holmes, as we travelled
back next morning.

"I can see that you are not satisfied."

"Oh, yes, my dear Watson, I am perfectly satisfied. At the same
time Stanley Hopkins's methods do not commend themselves to me. I am
disappointed in Stanley Hopkins. I had hoped for better things from him.
One should always look for a possible alternative and provide against
it. It is the first rule of criminal investigation."

"What, then, is the alternative?"

"The line of investigation which I have myself been pursuing. It may
give us nothing. I cannot tell. But at least I shall follow it to the
end."

Several letters were waiting for Holmes at Baker Street. He snatched
one of them up, opened it, and burst out into a triumphant chuckle of
laughter.

"Excellent, Watson. The alternative develops. Have you telegraph
forms? Just write a couple of messages for me: 'Sumner, Shipping
Agent, Ratcliff Highway.