The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 161 The Last Greeting (4)
"I've had a plainclothes man at the station for a week. Wherever the High Gables went, they were under plainclothes surveillance. But the plainclothes must have been perplexed when Miss Burnett broke free. Yes. Your people found her, though, and all is well. We can't make arrests without her testimony, so let's get her testimony as soon as possible."

"She is recovering," said Holmes, glancing at the governess. "Tell me, Baynes, who is Henderson?"

"Henderson," said the sheriff, "is Don Murillo, who was once called the Tiger of San Pedro."

Tigers of San Pedro!Information about this man immediately came to my mind.Among those tyrants who ruled under the guise of civilization, he was notoriously licentious and cruel.He is strong, energetic and fearless.He was self-willed and brutally ruled a weak nation for eleven or twelve years.His name is synonymous with horror throughout Central America.In the last years of that period, popular uprisings broke out against his rule.His cunning, however, was no less cruel than his cunning, and at the first whisper he smuggled his fortune into a ship manned by his cronies.When the rebels attacked his palace the next day, nothing remained of it but an empty shell.The dictator fled with his two children, his secretary, and his belongings.Since then, he has disappeared from the world.He himself became a frequent topic of comment in European newspapers.

"Yes, sir, Don Morillo is the Tiger of San Pedro," Baynes said, "and if you look into it, the flag of San Pedro is green and white, and the He called himself Henderson, but I looked into his past, from Paris to Rome, then to Madrid, to Barcelona, ​​where his ship arrived in [-]. People have been Looking for opportunities to get revenge, but until now, people have not found him."

"They found him a year ago," said Miss Burnett, who had sat up and listened intently to their conversation. "He nearly lost his life once, but some evil spirit protected him." Now, too, the noble and righteous García has fallen, but the devil is safe. There will be others who will follow until justice is done. There is no doubt about that, just as the sun will rise tomorrow. ’ Her thin hands were clasped tightly together, and her haggard face was paler with hatred.

"But how, Miss Burnett, have you come to be involved in this case?" asked Holmes. "How can an English lady be involved in such a murder?"

"I got involved because there's no other way in this world that justice can be done. Years ago, San Pedro was bleeding rivers and this man shipped off stolen property. And the law, did it work? For you, these crimes seem to have happened on other planets. But we deeply feel the sadness. We know the truth in sorrow and suffering. For us, there will be no one like Don in hell. A devil like Murrillo. Life will not be peaceful as long as his victims are still crying out for revenge."

"Of course," said Holmes, "he is the man you describe him to be. I have heard of extreme brutality. But how did you come to be tortured and persecuted?"

"I'll tell you all. This devil is always using various pretexts to kill all opponents he thinks may be a threat to him. Yes, my real name is Mrs. Victor Durandeau, and I am St. Peter in London. Minister Dro. My husband met me in London, where we were married. He is one of the rarest and most noble men in the world. Unfortunat When I summoned him, he had a premonition of his disaster, so he didn't take me back with him. He was shot by that devil, his property was confiscated, and what was left to me was a meager income and a broken heart.

"Then the tyrant fell. As you said, he fled. But many died at his hands, and their relatives and friends would not let it go. Together they formed an organization, If the task is not completed, the organization will not be revoked. When we found out that the changed Henderson was the fallen tyrant, my task was to break into his home and report his actions to the organization. To do this At one point, I will keep my position as a female teacher in his home. He didn't expect that the husband of this woman who appeared in front of him every meal was the one he killed so eagerly. I smiled at him and educated him Boy, waiting for the moment. Tried once in Paris, failed. To get rid of our pursuers, we traveled all over Europe, dodging our pursuers, and ended up in this house he bought as soon as he arrived in England.

"However, there is also a man of justice waiting for him here. Garcia is the son of the former high priest of San Pedro. Knowing that Mauriro is going back there, Garcia took two loyal companions of low status. Waiting for him. The flames of vengeance ignited in the chests of the three. During the day, Garcia could not do it, because Merrillo was very cautious, without his entourage Lucas (this person was called Lopez in the heyday of Murrillo) ) company, he never goes out. But at night, he sleeps alone, and the avenger may have a chance to kill him. One evening, according to the previous plan, I sent my friend the last message, because Murillo was on the alert all the time, and he kept changing rooms. I would take care to keep all the doors open, and at the same time put a green or white light on the window facing the road as a signal that all was well or that the action had better be postponed.

"But everything was not going well. Lopez, Murrillo's secretary, became suspicious of me. He followed me at some point, and as soon as I finished writing the note, he sneaked up on me from behind. He and His master dragged me to my room and said that I was a guilty female traitor. If they had a way to escape the consequences of killing, they would have stabbed me to death on the spot. After some disputes, they all felt that killing I'm too dangerous. But, they decided to kill Garcia. They gagged me and Murillo twisted my arm until I gave him the address. I swear, if I knew what it meant to Garcia I'd rather they break my arm. Lopez wrote the address on my note, sealed it with a cuff button, and gave it to the servant Jose to send it out. I don't know how they killed García, All I know is that Murrillo killed him with his own hands because Lopez kept watch over me. There was a winding path in the bushes and I thought he must have been guarding in the gorse bushes, waiting for Garcia to attack him as soon as he passed by .At first, they wanted Garcia to come into the house and kill him as a found thief. But, they disagreed. If they were called by the police for interrogation, their identities would be exposed, and they would call More attacks. Once Garcia is dead, the pursuit will stop, because it will scare some others into abandoning their plans.

"If I hadn't understood what the gang was doing, they would be all right now. I don't doubt that my life was on the verge of death on several occasions. I was locked in a room and threatened with the most horrible , They used cruel torture to destroy my spirit, please look at this scar on my shoulder and the scars on my arm. Once, I shouted for help from the window, they gagged my mouth with something. I was I was held inhumanely for five days, and they only gave me a little food. I was so hungry that I could barely survive. This afternoon, they brought me a big lunch, and I didn't know until I finished eating that it was poison. I Dazed, like a dream, being pushed into a carriage and then pulled onto a train. Just as the wheels were about to turn, I suddenly realized that my freedom was in my own hands. I jumped out. They wanted Drag me back. Had it not been for the help of this good man, who put me into a carriage, I should not have escaped. Thank God, I have escaped their clutches at last."

We all listened intently to her extraordinary account.Holmes broke the silence.

"Our difficulties are not over yet," he said, shaking his head. "Although our investigative work has temporarily come to an end, our legal work has just begun."

"Yes," I said, "an eloquent lawyer could have presented Murrillo's murder as an act of self-defense. A hundred crimes could have been committed under such circumstances, but only in this case could one be convicted."

"All right," Baynes said cheerfully, "I don't think the law is that bad. Self-defense is one thing, it's quite another to lure this man with the intention of murder, no matter what you fear What dangers there will be from him. No, no, we shall be all right when we see those tenants of High Gables at the next Guildford Assize Court."

However, this is a matter of history, and it will take some time for the Tigers of San Pedro to be punished.With cunning and daring he and his accomplice slipped into an apartment on Edmonton Avenue, and went out by the back door to Curzon Square, whereupon they fled their pursuers.Since that day, they have disappeared from England.About half a year later, the Marquis of Montalfa and his secretary, M. Lulli, were both murdered in the Hotel Escurli in Madrid.Some blamed the case on anarchism, but the murderers were never brought to justice.Inspector Baynes came to visit us in Baker Street and brought a photocopied image of the secretary and his master: the secretary was dark, while his master had an old face with attractive dark eyes and bushy bushes. Eyebrow.Despite the delay, we do not doubt that justice will be served.

"My dear Watson, this is a very confused case," said Holmes, smoking in the twilight. "It cannot be so simple as one wishes. It covers two continents, and concerns two mysterious groups of people. The case was further complicated by the presence of our amiable and respectable friend Scott Eccles, whose circumstances showed that the deceased Garcia was a man of great resourcefulness and a good capacity for self-defense. Happily, we Cooperating with this venerable sheriff, I was able to grasp the point among the thousands of doubts, and finally I was able to follow the winding path. Is there anything that is unclear to you?"

"What is the purpose of that mixed-race chef coming back?"

"I think that strange thing in the kitchen can answer your question. This man is an aborigine in the virgin forest of San Pedro. That thing is his fetish. When he and his accomplices fled to the predetermined hiding place , their accomplice was already there. His accomplice had persuaded him to throw away such a vulnerable thing. But the mulatto had it in his mind. The next day he could not help returning there. When he While looking at the window, he saw Inspector Walters on duty. He had been waiting for three days. Out of piety or superstition, he tried again. The usually shrewd Sergeant Baynes had overlooked this in my presence. But at last he realized the seriousness of the case, and set a trap for the fellow to get himself into. Any other questions, Watson?"

"What about that ripped chicken, and that vat of blood, and those charred bones, and all that weird stuff in the kitchen?"

Holmes smiled and opened a page of his notebook. He said:
"I spent a morning researching this and a few other issues at the British Museum. Here's an excerpt from the book Voodoo and Black Religion by Aikman:
A devout voodoo devotee makes sacrifices to his heretical god no matter what important things he does.In extreme cases, these rituals involved murderous libations followed by cannibalism.But the usual sacrifice was a white rooster that was ripped alive, or a black goat with its throat slit and then incinerated.

"So you see our native friends are quite orthodox in their ceremonies. It is grotesque, Watson," added Holmes, closing his notebook slowly, "but there is only one step from the grotesque to the terrible." Haruka, I have a basis for saying this.”

cardboard box
I have tried to avoid the sensational, and have offered only those cases which best demonstrate his talents.The selection of these typical cases shows the extraordinary intelligence of my friend Sherlock Holmes.But the trouble is that it is impossible to completely separate those appalling things from the criminal facts.The writer has a real difficulty either in giving the case a fictional feel by sacrificing details necessary to his account, or in using chance rather than selective material.After this brief preface, I shall turn to my notebooks and see this strange and terrible sequence of events.

One day in August, the sun was very strong.Baker Street was literally a furnace.The sun shone on the yellow wall bricks opposite, very dazzling.Even in winter, it is unbelievable that these are the bricks looming in the mist.The shutters were half drawn, and Holmes curled up on the sofa, holding in his hand the letter from the morning postman, which he read over and over again.I worked in India for a while, so I was not afraid of the heat, even the ninety degrees Fahrenheit.The morning papers were dry, and the House had adjourned.A lot of people have gone out of town, and I planned to go to the New Forest or the South China Sea beach, but the money in my passbook has been used up, so I had to postpone the holiday.As for my friend, Mr. Holmes, neither the country nor the sea interested him.

He preferred to be at the center of five million people, to extend his tentacles among them, to probe keenly for every rumor and doubt that needed to be deciphered.Although he is talented, he does not know how to appreciate the beauty of nature.Only when he turned his attention from the criminals in the city to the villains in the country did he go out into the country.

Seeing that Holmes was silent and concentrated, I threw away the boring morning paper and leaned back on my chair to think.At this time, my friend suddenly interrupted my thinking.

"You are right, Watson," said he, "that appears to be a most absurd method of settling a dispute."

"Most ridiculous?!" I said, suddenly realizing that he had said what was on my mind.I straightened up from my chair and looked at him in amazement.

"What is the matter, Holmes?" I cried. "It really surprises me."

Seeing my confusion, he smiled brightly.

"Remember," said he, "the other day I read a passage from a short essay by Edgar Allan Poe. It tells of a man who deduces his companion's unspoken thoughts. You still think This is just a clever trick devised by the author. I said that I often have the same reasoning habit, and you won’t believe it.”

"No way!"

"You didn't say it that way, but your eyebrows, my dear Watson, say what you think. So when I see you throw away the paper and start thinking, I'm excited to have the opportunity to draw inferences from what you're thinking , and finally interrupted your thinking to show that I care about you."

But I'm still not convinced. "In the passage you read to me," I said, "the deducer drew his conclusions by observing the behavior of his companion. If I remember correctly, his companion stumbled over a pile of stones. Falling down, and looking up at the stars, and so on. But I've been sitting still in my chair, so what clues does that give you?"

"You're neglecting yourself. The look on your face is how people convey their feelings, and the look on your face is your faithful servant."

"You mean, you read my thoughts from the expression on my face?"

"The expression on your face, especially your eyes, reveals your heart. How you fell into thought, maybe you can't remember it yourself?"

"I can't remember."

"Let me tell you. The act of throwing away the newspaper caught my attention, and you sat impassive for half a minute before you turned your eyes to your recently framed photograph of General Gordon. So, I could see from your facial expression that you started to think. But you didn't think deeply, and your eyes shifted to the unframed picture of Henry Ward Beecher in your book After that, you look up at the wall again, and your thoughts are obvious, you are thinking, if this photo is also framed, it will just fill the blank space on that wall, and it will be symmetrical to the photo of Gordon over there."

"You're really careful in your observations." I said in amazement.

(End of this chapter)