Sherlock Holmes Complete Works 1

Chapter 59 Adventure History 18
"Last Monday, Mr. St. Clair was in town much earlier than usual. Before he left, he said he had two important things to do and that he would bring home a box of blocks for his younger son. He had just left when his wife There was a telegram that a small valuable parcel had been sent to the Aberdeen transport office for her to collect. If you know the streets of London, you will know that the office of the company is in Fresno Street. There's a branch in that street that leads to Swan Gate Lane, which is where you'll see me tonight. After lunch, Mrs. St. Clair goes into town, goes to the company office, picks up her parcels, and walks through Swan Gate Lane on her way back to the station. It's 35:[-] p.m., do you hear me clearly?"

"I heard it very clearly."

"Mrs. St. Clair walked slowly, looking here and there, hoping to hire a cab, for the streets around her made her uncomfortable. Just as she was passing Swan Gate Lane, there was a shout or wail, She saw her husband looking down at her from the window on the third floor, as if he was waving to her. The window was open, and his face was very clear. According to her, he looked terrible like that. He waved to her desperately, But it disappeared suddenly, as if something pulled him back. She suddenly noticed something strange: although he was wearing the jacket he had when he entered the city, he had no collar or tie.

"Convinced something was wrong with him, she ran down the steps--the house was the smokehouse to-night--and broke into the front room of the house, as she crossed the , at the top of the stairs she met the Indian I mentioned, who pushed her back. Then a Dane came, and together they pushed her into the street. Frightened and doubtful, she hurried along Alley rushed out. Very fortunately, on the streets of Fresno, she met some patrolmen and a constable who were going to work. The constable and two constables followed her to the smokehouse They entered the room in which Mr. St. Clair had just been found, despite the resistance of the tobacco shop owner. But there was no sign that St. Clair had been there. In the whole upstairs, except for a lame, hideous fellow who seemed to live No one was seen outside there. Both the chap and the Indian swore that no one had been in the front room on that floor that afternoon. They denied it so much that the inspector was bewildered and even thought that St. Clair The wife recognized the wrong person; at this moment, she suddenly yelled, and rushed to a small pine box on the table, opened the lid, and poured out a large pile of building blocks, which he had promised to bring to his son. Toy.

"This discovery, and the terrified look of the cripple, convinced the inspector of the seriousness of the situation. After a careful inspection of all the rooms, this room led to a small bedroom, facing the back of a section of the quay. The blood was found on the window frame while in the room, and a few drops were on the bedroom floor. In the front room, except for the coat, Mr. St. Clair's full suit was found behind a curtain, from which There was no trace of atrocities, nor was there any sign of Mr. St. Clair. He had evidently escaped from the window, and judging from the bloodstains on the frame it was unlikely that he had escaped by swimming, for the tragedy occurred At that time, the tide rose to its peak.

"As for the gangsters who seem to be involved in this case. The Indian asshole is a notorious man. But, according to Mrs. St. Clair, her husband was at the foot of the stairs only seconds after he appeared at the window." So this man is at most an accomplice to the crime. He says he knows nothing, he knows nothing about all the actions of the upstairs resident Hugh Boone. He has no idea why the missing gentleman's clothes Being in that room was also speechless.

"That's the case with the Indian boss. The cripple lives on the third floor. His name is Hugh Sheen. He must have seen Mr. St. Clair last. He is familiar to anyone who frequents Old London. He lives by begging." , he pretends to be a peddler of wax and matches, and sits in a small corner on the left not far down Needlework Street every day, with a few boxes of matches on his lap. His pitiful appearance makes money fall on him on the sidewalk I have watched this fellow many times; but it was only after learning about his begging that I was amazed at how much he gained in such a short time. His image is particularly Abnormally, everyone who passed him looked at him. He had shaggy red hair, and a terrible scar made his pale face worse. Moreover, his intelligence was superior, because no matter what rags passers-by threw at him, he would There's something to say. We know he's lodged in that den, and that's the one who finally watched us look for the gentleman.

"But what can a lame man do to a strong young man?" I said.

"As far as he walks, he is a cripple; but, from another point of view, he is vigorous and well-fed. Watson, the weakness of one limb is often compensated by the extra strength of the other limbs. .”

"Please continue."

"Mrs. St. Clair fainted at the sight of the blood on the window frame, and was driven home by a constable, as she was of no use to the detective at the scene. Inspector Patton, who was in charge of the case, went over the house but found no clues to the case. There was no time to arrest Hugh Boone immediately, making it possible for him to collude with the Indian friend. Shortly thereafter he was arrested and searched, but there was nothing to prove Condemn him. There was indeed some blood on the right sleeve of his shirt, but he said it came from the fourth finger of his left hand near where the nail had been cut; From there, too. He denied seeing Mr. St. Clair, and swore he was equally perplexed as to the clothes in his room. And told Mrs. St. Clair that she had indeed seen her husband at the window. , he said she must have been mad, or dreaming, and was taken to the police station. The inspector remained in the house, hoping to find something after the tide went out.

"On the mudflat they found St. Clair's coat. It was left on the mudflat after low tide. Guess what they found in the pocket?"

"I can't imagine that."

"Yes, I don't think you would have guessed, the pockets were full of pennies and halfpenny, 420 pennies and 270 halfpenny. Thus, the coat was not swept away by the tide, but the human body was It was different. The low tide was between the house and the pier, and the water was very strong. This heavy jacket was left behind, and the naked body was washed away."

"But, I hear, they found all the other clothes in the house. He couldn't be wearing nothing but a coat?"

"No, sir, but it's still explainable. Suppose Boone pushed St. Clair out of the window, but no one saw him, what would he do? Of course he would immediately try to eliminate those who leaked his secrets." He picked up the clothes and threw them out of the window, and just as he was throwing them, he suddenly remembered that a dress would not sink at all. At this time, he heard the lady throwing a tantrum downstairs, and he heard The Indian friends said that there was a group of policemen coming down the street. Time did not allow him to hesitate, so he stuffed coins in his pocket hard, so that the clothes would sink forever. Maybe he finished throwing this A piece of clothing, the police were downstairs, so he quickly closed the window and did nothing else."

"It sounds like it might be."

"Well, there's no more plausible hypothesis than that. Let's just take it for granted, I remember, Hugh Boone's been arrested, and he's in the police force, but there's no evidence of anything he's done in the past. Sin. He seems to have had a normal life, no criminal record, and everyone knows he is a beggar. There is a problem here, which is still unresolved. The problem is: what is St. Clair doing in the smokehouse? What happened to him there What happened? Where is he now? What does his disappearance have to do with Hugh Boone? I confess: I don't recall any case more troublesome than this one, simple as it seems."

While Holmes related this series of strange events, our carriage drove through the outskirts of the city.

"The outskirts of Lee have arrived," said Holmes. "In this short distance, we have gone through three counties. Shanyuan has arrived. Look at the anxious woman, she obviously heard the sound of our horses' hooves."

"Wouldn't it be nice to have the case in Baker Street? Why bother here?"

"There are many things to be settled here, and Mrs. St. Clair has been very kind enough to arrange two rooms for us. You can rest assured that she will welcome you. I have no news of her husband, Watson, and I am afraid to see her." .Hey, here we come."

We parked the car in front of a big villa, when a stable boy ran over and grabbed the horse's head.We jumped out of the car and walked towards a gravel road leading to the front of the building.When we approached the door of the building, the door of the building opened, and a little woman stood at the door.She held the door with one hand and half-raised the other hand, very enthusiastic.She was bent over, her head was looking forward, her eyes were full of longing, her lips were slightly parted, as if she wanted to ask us something.

"Ah! How is it?" her cry was full of hope.Holmes shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.She then groaned in pain.

"Any good news?"

"No."

"Any bad news?"

"no!"

"Great! Please come in!"

"Dr. Watson is my friend. He has been of great help to me in the past few cases. I am very lucky to have him here to help me with the scouting."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," she said, shaking my hand. "We have been struck so suddenly, and please forgive us for our lack of hospitality."

"My dear lady," said I, "you needn't be polite to me. I should be glad if I could be of any help to you or my old friend."

"Mr. Holmes," said Mrs. St. Clair, as we entered a dining-room where cold food was served, "I would like to ask you some direct questions, which I hope will be answered frankly."

"No problem, ma'am."

"You don't have to worry about my mood. I don't always faint. I'd like to know your thoughts."

"What do you want to know?"

"You be honest, do you think Neville is still alive?"

Holmes seemed to be stopped. "Tell me, tell me!" she repeated, looking straight at him.

"To be honest, ma'am, I don't think so."

"Then you mean he's dead?"

"Maybe."

"murder?"

"I don't think so, maybe..."

"When was he killed?"

"Monday."

"Then, Mr. Holmes, can you explain why I have received his letter today?" Holmes jumped up from his chair.

"What?" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes, today," she said with a smile, holding up a small note.

"Can I take a look?"

"can."

He eagerly took the note, spread it on the table, and brought the lamp over to examine it carefully.From behind his back I saw that the letter was postmarked at Gravesend, and was dated that day, or the day before yesterday, and it was past midnight anyway.

"The handwriting is not neat," said Holmes, as if to himself. "It is certainly not your husband's writing, madam."

"Yes, the letter was not written by him but the envelope was written by him."

"Actually, whoever wrote the envelope has to ask for the address."

"What do you mean?"

"Look at this person's name. It was written in black ink and dried in the shade. The rest of the characters are gray-black, obviously blotted with blotting paper after writing. If you blot it with blotting paper immediately after writing, it will not Some words are dark black. This person wrote the name first, and then wrote the address after a while. It shows that he is not very familiar with the address. Although it doesn’t matter, the small things are often the most important. Let’s look at the letter first, you see, and What about the attachments!"

"Yes, and one of his signet rings."

"Can you confirm his handwriting?"

"Yes, one of his handwriting."

"A sort of?"

"His handwriting was different than usual in the fuss, but I could fully decipher it."

Dear:

do not be afraid.A big mistake has been made, this may take some time to correct, but everything will be fine, please be patient.

Neville

"The letter was written on the title page of an octavo page, and was written in pencil, without watermarks on the paper. Well! It was posted from Gravesend today by a man with a dirty thumb. Ha! The mouth of the envelope is glued, and, if I am not mistaken, the man who sticks the letter has been chewing tobacco. Are you sure it is your husband's handwriting, ma'am?"

"I can assure you, absolutely."

"The token was posted from Gravesend today. Ah, Mrs. St. Clair, it's all right, though perhaps I shouldn't say so."

"Then he must be alive, Mr. Holmes."

"Unless it's a carefully forged handwriting, deliberately leading us to guess. To be honest, the ring doesn't explain anything, it can be taken off his hand!"

"No, this is his own handwriting!"

"That's right. However, it's perfectly possible to write it on Monday and post it today."

"It's possible."

"That said, a lot can happen during this time."

(End of this chapter)