Sherlock Holmes Complete Works 1

Chapter 58 Adventure History 17
Ias?Whitney had a brother, Esther Whitney, who was addicted to opium and was addicted to it all day long.When he was studying at university, de ?The description of dreams and passions with the head held high is to smoke the tobacco soaked in laudanum to obtain the effects of dreams and passions.Over time, this stupid whim led him to the habit of smoking opium.Only later did he realize that it is easy to become addicted but difficult to quit. Like many people, he has been addicted to drugs for many years and cannot extricate himself. His relatives and friends hate and pity him.He often maintains this kind of demeanor: his face is pale and yellow, his eyelids are drooping, his eyes are dull, and his body is curled up in a chair.

One night in June [-], the doorbell rang suddenly, and most people were going to sleep that day.As soon as the doorbell rang, I immediately stood up from my chair. My wife, who was doing needlework, stopped what she was doing, with a look of displeasure on her face.

"It must be a patient," she said. "You've got another doctor."

I have been busy all day, and I just came back from the outside exhausted, and I couldn't help sighing when I heard it.

I heard the door open and hurried voices, followed by the sound of quick steps across the carpet.Then suddenly our door flew open.A woman enters the room.She had a black veil on her head and a dark woolen dress.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late. Then, I couldn't help but walked forward, put my arms around my wife's neck, fell on her shoulder and began to sob." Oh!How unlucky I am! ’ she cried, ‘how I longed for a little help! "

"Ah!" said my wife, lifting her veil, "it's Kate Whitney. You freaked me out, Kate! I hardly thought it was you when you first came in!" I came straight to you at this late hour because I really don't know what to do." There are many things where people, when they're worried, jump at my wife like a bird at a lighthouse in the dark, Find some solace in her.

"We are very happy that you are here! But you have to drink some wine with water to calm down and tell us what happened, or I will let James go to rest first, what do you think? "

"Oh! No, no! I need the doctor's advice and help too. It's about Esther. I'm terribly worried about him, because he hasn't been home for two days!"

As a doctor for me, and an old friend and classmate for my wife, this is not the first time I have heard her tell her about the distress her husband caused her.Usually we all ask her, do you know where your husband is?Is it possible for us to get him back for you?Such or similar words to comfort her.

It doesn't seem too difficult.She had heard that lately, when he had a fit for cigarettes, he went to an opium den on the far east side of the Old Town, and that was true.So far, every night he came home twitching and exhausted, never wandering outside for more than a day.However, this time he stayed outside for 48 hours in a state of obsession.Must be laying there puffing away with the dregs of society on the docks now.Or fall asleep to recover from the effects of the opium.She would be able to find him in that opium den, and she firmly believed in that.The opium den was at the Gold Hotel in Swan Gate Lane.But what if she knew this place?How could she, a young and frail woman, break into such a place and drag her husband out of a mob of thugs who mingled together?

That was the case, and of course there was only one way to go and get him back.At first I planned to go to that place with her, but after thinking about it, why should I make her go all the way, I can bring her husband back by myself.Because, in my relationship as Arthur Whitney's medical advisor, I believe I have some influence over him.What's more, if I go alone, maybe things will be easier to solve.I promised her that if her husband was really there, as she said, I would hire a cab to take him home in two hours.So, 10 minutes later, I was in a hansom and driving eastward.Regarding this trip, I had a premonition that it was a bit weird at the time, but in any case I didn't expect it to be so weird to the later extent.

Swan Gate Lane is very dirty.It was behind the tall dock buildings on the north bank of the river in east London, between a hotel and a cheap ready-made clothes store, with a steep flight of stairs leading down to a dark opening, the smokehouse I was looking for. The museum is there.I stopped the carriage and waited, and went down the stairs.There was an oil lamp hanging on the door. By the light, I opened the door and walked into a deep and short room.The smoke of opium smoke filled the room, and rows of wooden couches were placed against the walls.

By the dim light, I saw a disoriented person lying on a wooden couch.Some bowed their heads and shrugged their shoulders, curled up with their knees;In the black shadow, there are many small red circles of light, flickering on and off.Most of the people were lying quietly, some were talking to themselves, and some were whispering and whispering. On a wooden couch in the distance, there was an old man, looking happily at the charcoal fire.

When I entered the room, a young chap came up cheerfully and asked me to take an empty couch.

"Thank you. I'll be leaving in a minute," I said. "I'm looking for a friend, Mr. Ethel Whitney."

Someone to my left moved and spoke.In the dim light I saw Whitney.He was pale and staring at me.

"My God! It's you, Watson!" said he, answering in a manner both pathetic and utterly contemptible, as if every nerve in him was in a state of tension. "Hey, Watson, what time is it?"

"It's almost eleven o'clock."

"Eleven o'clock on which day?"

"Friday, June nineteenth."

"My God! I thought it was Wednesday. It's Wednesday, why are you lying?" He bowed his head and began to cry.

"I tell you, today is Friday and your wife has been waiting for you for two days. You should be ashamed!"

"Yes! I should be ashamed, but you are mistaken, because I have only been here for a few hours, but I will go back with you. I should not let Kate worry about me. Where is your carriage?"

"Yes, the car is waiting."

"Then, I'll drive away. I think I must be in debt. Show me how much I owe, Watson, and I've lost all energy."

I walked through the narrow aisle between the two rows of wooden couches, holding my breath so as not to smell the stench that made people vomit and faint, and looked around for the shopkeeper.When I walked past the tall man by the charcoal brazier, I felt someone yank the hem of my jacket, and a low voice said: "Go over, and then look back at me!" I looked down, and the words It can only come from the mouth of the old man around me.He was skinny and wrinkled, with a bong hanging between his knees. I took two steps forward and looked back. Not only was he surprised, but he also turned around. No one could see him except me. , his body has been stretched out, the wrinkles on his face have disappeared, and his dim eyes have become bright.At this time, it was none other than Sherlock Holmes, who was sitting by the charcoal brazier and looked at me dumbfounded with a smile on his face.He hinted that I should go to his side, then turned around, and when he turned his side to the crowd, he immediately showed a trembling and nonsense expression.

"Holmes!" I whispered, "what are you doing in this den?"

"Try to keep your voice low," he said. "I'm very good at hearing. If you dismiss your smoking friend, I'd be glad to have a few words with you."

"I've hired a pony outside."

"Then, let him ride home first! You can rest easy on him. I suggest you write a note to your wife from the coachman, telling her that we are together again. You wait outside, 5 See you in a minute."

It is difficult to refuse any request from Sherlock Holmes, which is both vague and full of gentleness and subtlety.In short, as far as I was concerned, my job was done as soon as Whitney stepped into the carriage.For the rest, what could compare to going on an unusual adventure with my old friend?I wrote the note, paid Whitney's bill, took him to the car, and watched his car disappear into the night.After a while, an old man came out of the opium den, so we walked into the street together.He staggered hunched over for about two blocks.Then, he took a quick look around, stood up straight and laughed heartily.

"I suppose, Watson," said he, "that you think I've added an addiction to cocaine and other minor afflictions?"

"Of course I was surprised to see you there."

"But certainly not as much as the surprise that I saw you there."

"I'm looking for a friend."

"And I've come to find an enemy."

"enemy?"

"Yes, or call it my catch. I'm doing a special reconnaissance. I want to find a clue in the nonsense of these smokers. If anyone in that smokehouse recognizes me, I will His life would be ruined immediately. I have been there before, and the rascal who opened the smokehouse, the Indian Assam, swore revenge on me. There is a trap door behind the house on the corner near Paul's Quay. It can tell some weird stories about what happened there."

"What! Are you talking about the corpses?"

"Yes, Watson. If we could get a thousand pounds for every man killed in that smokehouse, we'd be rich. It's the worst murderous place along the river." .My worry is that Neville St. Clair will get in and not get out." He whistled, and the shrill whistle was echoed by the same signal whistle in the distance.Soon, the sound of horseshoes and wheels rolling was heard.

"And now, Watson," said Holmes.At this time, a carriage drove out from the darkness, "Would you like to go with me?"

"If I can be of any help to you."

"Oh, a reliable companion is always helpful, and I have two bunks in my room at Fir Garden."

"Cedar Garden?"

"Yes, that's the St. Clair house. I lived there when I was scouting."

"So, where is Cedar Garden?"

"In Kent, not far from Lee. We're about twenty miles away."

"But I don't know anything!"

"Of course, but you'll see soon enough. Come up! Well, John, don't trouble you, it's a half-crown. Wait for me about eleven o'clock to-morrow. Let the horse go, and good-bye."

He whipped the horse, and the carriage sped away.After that, the road widened.Finally, I flew across a bridge with guardrails on both sides, and there was silence on all sides.Only the heavy, regular footsteps of patrolmen, or the occasional chorus of revelers lingering on their way home, break the silence now and then.Holmes drove on in silence, his head on his chest, as if lost in thought.I sat next to him, wondering what it was that took him so much energy, but not daring to interrupt his train of thought.We drove for several miles and came to the edge of the suburban villa area.At this moment he straightened up, lit his pipe, and showed an air of self-satisfaction.

"You have the gift of silence," he said, "which makes you a rare friend of mine. Talking to people is very important to me. I don't know what I should say to the woman who greets me at the door tonight. What."

"I don't know anything."

"Before we get to Leetown, I can explain the case to you. It seems surprisingly simple, but I am a little confused. There are many clues, but I can't figure it out. Now, I will be brief. Let me tell you the case, Watson, and perhaps you can enlighten me."

"Then tell me."

"A few years ago—in May, 37, to be more exact—a gentleman named Neville St. Clair came to Lee. He was very rich, bought a large villa, and put the grounds in order. The land is beautiful and the place of life is very rich. In 88, he married the daughter of a local brewer and they had two children. Although he has no occupation, he has invested in several companies. He Went into town in the morning and came back by train from Cannon Street at 220:[-] in the afternoon. Mr. St. Clair is [-] years old and has no bad habits. According to my investigation, his current debts total [-] pounds ten shillings, and he There is a deposit of [-] pounds in the Capital County Bank.

(End of this chapter)