that you were the one man who could help.”
“I am still waiting for your explanation.”
“I live in Chy Trevescan, a house near Sennen Cove, at the far end of the Cornish peninsula. It is by Land’s End. The area is a gray granite place, and its village was once called the first and last on this island. It stands on an open, rocky tableland, and to the west the land ends in granite cliffs facing the sea.
“Sennen Cove is about one and a quarter miles from the village, and this is reached by a narrow road which drops down very steeply between the hills to the sea and then extends along the sea’s edge into a long sandy beach that curves along the margin of Whitesand Bay, a mile or so of sandy beach. The people in the area usually live by pilchard fishing or lifting lobsters. Whitesand Bay appears a hospitable shoreline, but the Brisons Rocks are a mile offshore, and in the distance is Cape Cornwall, where the seas can smash a great ship to matchwood if it is unlucky enough to founder there. There is another group of rocks to the south, the Tribbens, of which the largest is Cowloe.”
Sir Jelbart paused.
Holmes made no move, asked no question.
Our visitor decided to continue. “During the last two weeks, three vessels have foundered on the Tribbens.”
“Pray what is so singular about these three sinkings out of the hundred or so others you enumerate that causes you so much concern?” demanded Holmes.
Jelbart looked at him in surprise. “I have not as yet said that there was anything singular about them. How did you-?”
“Elementary,” Holmes replied wearily. “You would not come here, bear to sit in the proximity of my pipe, and refer to these three specific vessels out of the hundreds of sinkings if they were but simple additional statistics. Something must have caused you some great concern. Pray elucidate.”
Sir Jelbart leaned forward. “There were several survivors from the wrecks. They all recount a singular manifestation that was the cause of their ships foundering on the rocks.”
“Which is?”
“They claim the ships were lured ashore by a siren.”
“A siren?” Holmes smiled quickly. “I presume that you do not mean a signal device like a horn?”
“No sir, I do not!” spluttered our guest indignantly. “I mean a spirit, a seductress, an enchantress.”
I could not control my amusement, but Holmes calmly began to refill his pipe. “I think that you had better clarify your statement, Sir Jelbart.”
“These ships were heading for the Port of St. Ives. Coasters, they were. Many local captains cut across the mouth of Whitesand Bay instead of standing out to sea. They steer a course between the Cam Bras Longships, rocky islands to the west, and the inshore rocks in order to make up sea time. The wrecks have happened at night. Usually there are no problems for local skippers on this course, for there are lights at strategic points, and the captains of these vessels know the waters well. All three captains of the wrecked coasters had run this course many times.”
“How did this enchantress manifest herself?” I ventured.
“Each survivor says that she was a specter that appeared to the crew dancing on the rocks.”
So serious was the man that I could not suppress a chuckle. “But Holmes…,” I began when I saw him silencing me with a disdainful glance.
“In what form did this specter manifest itself?” he repeated my question. “Some specifics, please.”
“A woman. Gad sir, a naked woman, dancing on one of the rocks. But the figure was large and shimmered white. Indeed, many of the survivors said that they could see right through her.”
“Did anyone hear anything?”
“Not at the time of the sinking, but in the nights following, some locals report that they have heard a heavy breathing from the direction of the rocks. So loud was it that it was heard ashore when the wind was in the right direction. A sound of hissing breath like some giant was hiding behind the rocks. The locals are in fear of the Tribbens, even though it was a favorite spot to lift lobsters.”
“No music? No panpipes?” I smiled sarcastically.
Before the man could answer, Holmes had cut in. “Nothing else was seen around these rocks? Has anyone ventured to examine them?”
“No, sir. The survivors were scared out of their wits, sailors being so superstitious. The fear at the sight of the specter caused the crews to panic, the captains to lose control. It takes only a moments distraction to put a vessel on those rocks. Some seventyfive men have perished, sir, and the news is abroad about the siren of Sennen Cove luring the men to their deaths.”
“And you have come to me. Why?”
“Because, in spite of the merriment of your colleague”-he glanced dourly at me-”I do not believe in ghosts, sir. I am a Methodist. A plain man raised in a plain religion. A man who believes in rationality. I think there is some mischief afoot, but I cannot find an explanation.”
Holmes laid down his pipe for a moment, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands fingertips together, and gave Sir Jelbart a careful scrutiny. “I am sure that you have some explanation, Sir Jelbart. Some theory to propose to me?”
“I have made a study of shipwrecks along this coast, Mr. Holmes. That is why I know the statistics. I believe that wreckers are at work.”
“From what you say, this Sennen Cove is not so far removed from civilization that a gang of wreckers could work with impunity,” I intervened. “Unless it is a conspiracy of the entire local populace.”
“On the contrary, Doctor,” Sir Jelbart said, “the coastline is not the easiest place to police.”
“But three vessels, sir… if what you say is correct… that would cause a more careful watch to be kept?”
“No, indeed. That’s the confounded point of the matter. The stories of the specter have scared off local people. Imagine, sir, tales of this siren, this seductress dancing naked on a rock whose sides are so sheer that no one could land on it, let alone find a shelf on which to balance. And the size of her… they say the figure is at least twelve feet tall. No one in those parts will venture even to the shore after dark, not even Mr. Neal, our minister. He now goes around warning people to stay clear of the area unless they wish to see the enchantress and suffer the fate of Lot’s wife when she turned back to look upon Sodom and Gomorrah.”
“Does he now?” mused Holmes. “You say that your brother is in the Excise? Have you made your views known to him?”
“I have.”
“And what does he say?”
“He does not share them.”
“Why?”
“Because the ships founder and sink. Little wreckage, if any, is swept ashore. He argues that if wreckers are the cause, what happens to their spoils? They go straight to the bottom. There seems nothing to profit from. He believes, therefore, that we can rule wrecking out.”
“It is a sound, logical deduction,” agreed Holmes.
“Nevertheless, the alternative is preposterous. I must believe that the matter has a rational explanation. I refuse to believe that it is a siren luring passing ships onto the rocks. A specter? A ghost? This is why I have come to you, Mr. Holmes. You, I am sure, cannot believe in the supernatural.”
“On the contrary,” Holmes replied seriously. “What is the supernatural but nature which has not yet been explained? Tell me, Sir Jelbart, in what condition was the weather when these ships foundered?”
“The weather?”
“Yes, was it a tempestuous night, was there a sea fog, were high seas running?”
Sir Jelbart shook his head. “On the contrary. The wrecks occurred on fine nights. Good visibility and calm seas. That is why the captains of these doomed vessels took the passage so close to the Tribbens Rocks. In bad weather, a good seaman would have stood out to sea and given his ship plenty of sea room.”
“Has your brother, Captain Trevossow, made an investigation of the area?”
“He intends to do so this very night. That is why I have been encouraged to come to you, for I fear for his life. The
