“There was this tobacco-pouch upon the table.”
“What part of the table?”
“It lay in the middle. It was of coarse sealskin—the straight-haired skin, with a leather thong to bind it. Inside was ‘ P. C. ’ on the flap. There was half an ounce of strong ship’s tobacco in it.”
“Excellent! What more?”
Stanley Hopkins drew from his pocket a drab-covered notebook. The outside was rough and worn, the leaves discoloured. On the first page were written the initials “ J. H. N. ” and the date “ 1883 .” Holmes laid it on the table and examined it in his minute way, while Hopkins and I gazed over each shoulder. On the second page were the printed letters “ C. P. R. ,” and then came several sheets of numbers. Another heading was “Argentine,” another “Costa Rica,” and another “San Paulo,” each with pages of signs and figures after it.
“What do you make of these?” asked Holmes.
“They appear to be lists of Stock Exchange securities. I thought that ‘ J. H. N. ’ were the initials of a broker, and that ‘ C. P. R. ’ may have been his client.”
“Try Canadian Pacific Railway,” said Holmes.
Stanley Hopkins swore between his teeth, and struck his thigh with his clenched hand.
“What a fool I have been!” he cried. “Of course, it is as you say. Then ‘ J. H. N. ’ are the only initials we have to solve. I have already examined the old Stock Exchange lists, and I can find no one in 1883 , either in the house or among the outside brokers, whose initials correspond with these. Yet I feel that the clue is the most important one that I hold. You