I need not say that he was loathed and
avoided by every one of his neighbours, and that I have not
heard one single word of sorrow about his terrible end.
"You must have read in the account of the inquest about the
man's cabin, Mr. Holmes, but perhaps your friend here has not
heard of it. He had built himself a wooden outhouse -- he always
called it the 'cabin' -- a few hundred yards from his house, and it
was here that he slept every night. It was a little, single-roomed
hut, sixteen feet by ten. He kept the key in his pocket, made his
own bed, cleaned it himself, and allowed no other foot to cross
the threshold. There are small windows on each side, which
were covered by curtains and never opened. One of these win-
dows was turned towards the high road, and when the light
burned in it at night the folk used to point it out to each other and
wonder what Black Peter was doing in there. That's the window,
Mr. Holmes, which gave us one of the few bits of positive
evidence that came out at the inquest.
"You remember that a stonemason, named Slater, walking
from Forest Row about one o'clock in the morning -- two days
before the murder -- stopped as he passed the grounds and looked
at the square of light still shining among the trees.
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