The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 162 The Last Greeting (5)
"Before I could figure it out, your attention went back to Beecher. You kept staring at him, as if studying his features. Then, you lowered your eyes, but you kept looking at him." looking, with a thoughtful look on your face. You're thinking of Beecher's exploits. I know you're thinking of Beecher's mission on behalf of the North during the Civil War, because I remember, you thought our people were rough with him. , you expressed strong displeasure at this point. You reacted so strongly to this incident, so I know you think of Beecher when you think about it. After a while, I saw your eyes leave the photo, and I guess you Your thoughts have shifted to the matter of the Civil War. I noticed you pursed your lips, your eyes shone brightly, and your hands were clasped, and I decided you were remembering the heroism shown by both sides in that battle. But Then your expression darkened and you shook your head. You were thinking about the tragic, the horrible, the senseless sacrifice. You reached out to touch the old wounds on your body, and the slight smile on your quivering lips showed me that you were thinking has been taken up with this ludicrous method of settling international disputes. I agree with you on this: that is stupid. I am glad that all my inferences are correct."

"Exactly!" said I, "but now that you have explained it, I must confess that I am as confused as I was before."

"Watson, this is actually a very superficial reasoning. If you hadn't expressed your disbelief that day, I wouldn't have interrupted your thinking with this trivial matter. Having said that, I have a small problem on my hands. Let me solve it. Much more difficult than my attempts at mental explanation. You saw a report in the newspaper that Miss Cushing, who lived in Croydon Cross Street, had received a box containing a curious object. ?"

"No, I didn't see it."

"Oh, then you must have missed that piece of news when you read the paper. Throw the paper to me. Here it is, under the financial column. Please read it aloud."

I picked up the newspaper he threw at me and read the passage he said.The title is "A Terrible Package."

Miss Susan Cushing, of Croydon Cross Road, was the victim of a disgusting mischief, if it had not been a sinister affair with other motives.At two o'clock yesterday afternoon, the postman brought her a package wrapped in kraft paper. Inside the package was a cardboard box full of coarse salt. Miss Cushing opened the coarse salt and saw that there were two It was a human ear that had just been cut off, which terrified her.The parcel had been posted from the Belfast post office the morning before.The sender's name is not written.What's even more strange is that Ms. Cushing is a 50-year-old unmarried old woman who lives in seclusion. There are not many people coming and going, and there is no one to correspond with her. She rarely receives postal packages on weekdays.But a few years ago, she rented a few rooms to three medical students. Later, because these students lived irregularly and were often noisy, she had to let them move out.The police believe that the rough act of mailing the ear package is likely to be done by the three students.In order to vent their anger, they mailed the specimens from the dissecting room to Miss Cushing, trying to intimidate her.It was also suggested that one of the three pupils was from the North of Ireland, and, as far as Miss Cushing knew, from Belfast.At present, the case is under investigation, and Mr. Lestrade, an excellent detective officer, is in charge of the investigation of the case.

"So much has been said in the Daily Telegraph," said Holmes, when I had finished reading it, "and now to our old friend Lestrade. I had a letter from him this morning, saying :

I think you are very good at this case.We're trying to figure this out, but we seem to be hitting a snag.We have already inquired at the Belfast post office, but there were too many packages delivered on the day of the incident, and the post office could not identify or recall the sender’s name. The mailed box was a half-pound nectar tobacco box. This information Doesn't help us at all.In my opinion, the claim that the medical student committed the crime is still the most likely.But if you can spare a few hours, I'd be more than happy to see you here.I'm not in the house all day but at the police station.

"Well, Watson, will you come with me to Croydon in the heat of the summer, and add a page to your note-book?"

"I was looking for something to do."

"I have something to do for you. Please ring the bell and let them bring our boots, and call for a carriage. I will change my clothes first, and fill the tobacco box, and I will be here in a moment."

After we got on the train, it started to rain.Croydon is not as hot as the city.Holmes had telegraphed before departure, so Lestrade was waiting for us at the station.He was as capable as ever, with a detective air.After walking for about five minutes, we came to Cross Street, where Miss Cushing lived.

This street is very long, with two-story brick houses on both sides of the street, which are clean and tidy. The stone steps in front of many houses have been stepped on white, and women wearing aprons gather in twos and threes at the door to chat.After crossing half a street, Lestrade stopped, and he reached out to knock on the door of a family.A young maid opened the door and ushered us into the antechamber where Miss Cushing was sitting.She has a gentle face, big quiet eyes, and gray curly hair that falls to her temples.On her lap was an unfinished chair cover, and by her side was a basket containing needles and threads of various colors.

"The dreadful things are out there," said she, when Lestrade entered, "and I wish you would take them all."

"It is to be taken away, Miss Cushing. I put it here only for my friend Mr. Holmes to come and see it in your presence."

"Why in my presence, sir?"

"Maybe he can ask you something."

"I don't know anything, what's the use of asking me?"

"Indeed, ma'am," said Holmes reassuringly, "I know that you have been vexed enough by the matter."

"Yes, sir. I'm a quiet person, and I've lived a reclusive life. To see my name in the papers, and the police come to my house, is something new to me. I don't want those Here it is, Mr Lestrade. If you wish to see it, please go out into the room."

It was a little shed in the little garden behind the house.Lestrade went in and took out a yellow cardboard box, a piece of brown paper and a bundle of string.There was a stone bench at the end of the path, and when we all sat down, Holmes examined the things Lestrade had handed him.

"The rope is very special," he said, holding it up to the light, and sniffing it. "What do you think it's made of, Lestrade?"

"It's tarred."

"That's right. Tarred twine. Evidently, as you have noticed, the rope was cut by Miss Cushing with scissors. This can be seen from the fraying of the ends. It is important."

"I don't see any importance in it," said Lestrade.

"The point is that the knot is intact. Also, this knot is tied in a special way."

"Delicately played. I noticed it," said Lestrade triumphantly.

"That, then, is all about the cord," said Holmes, laughing. "Now we turn to the paper of the parcel. It is brown paper, and it smells strongly of coffee. Why, no inspection? Certainly not. The address was scribbled: 'To Miss S. Cushing, Croydon Cross Street', in a very thick pen, perhaps a J, in poor ink.'Croy The word 'den' was originally spelled with the letter 'i', which was later changed to the letter 'y'. The lettering is clearly a man's handwriting, and the parcel was sent by a man with limited education. The town is also unfamiliar. So far so good! The box is a half-pound box of Kahlua tobacco. There are no obvious marks other than a fingerprint on the lower left corner of the box. The box was used to preserve hides or other crude Coarse salt for sale. It's this strange thing that's buried in the salt."

As he spoke, he took out his ears and put them on his knees to observe carefully.Meanwhile Lestrade and I stooped either side of Holmes, looking now at the dreadful thing, now at the deep, eager face of our companion.Finally, he put them back in the box and sat there thinking for a while.

"You see," he said at last, "these two ears are not a pair."

"That's right, we noticed. If it's really a prank done by the students in the anatomy room, it's easy for them to pick two unpaired ears to match."

"Exactly. But it's not a prank."

"Are you sure?"

"According to speculation, it can never be a hoax. The corpses in the dissection room are all embalmed. These two ears are fresh and unpreserved. They were cut with a very blunt instrument. If it is That's not what a medical student would do. Also, a medical student would only use phenol or distilled alcohol for embalming, never kosher salt. Once again, it's not a prank, we're investigating a A serious crime."

Holmes' face became serious, and I shuddered at his words.This sober opening seems to have cast a strange, indescribable shadow over the case.But Lestrade shook his head, as if not entirely convinced.

"One thing is certain, the hoax story is hard to stand," he said, "but the other story is even less true. We know that this lady led a quiet, simple and respectable life in Pench, twenty years old. It has been like this for years. During this time, she has stayed at home almost every step of the way. Why should the criminal send her the evidence of the crime? The strange thing is that she is as baffled by this matter as we are, unless she She's a great actress."

"That is the difficulty we have to solve," replied Holmes. "As for my purpose, I will proceed in this way. I think my argument is correct, and it is a case of double criminality. One ear is a woman's, the shape is Small and pierced. The other is of a man, very tanned and discolored, also pierced. These two may have died or we would have heard from them long ago. Today is On Friday, the package was posted on Thursday morning. Then, the tragedy may have happened on Wednesday or Tuesday, or earlier. If these two people have been killed, then it was not the murderer who sent the message of the murder to Miss Cushing. Who? Let's assume that the person who sent the package is the one we are looking for. He has his reasons for sending the package to Miss Cushing. But what is his reason? It must be to tell her that the matter is over Or to make her sad. That way she should know who this guy is. Does she know? I doubt it. If she does, why is she calling the police? She could just bury her ears After all, no one can find out. If she wants to cover the criminal, she should do so. Conversely, if she doesn't want to cover him, she will say his name. This is the problem, and we need to investigate it." He was staring blankly at the garden fence outside, speaking in a high-pitched, hurried voice, but now he got up quickly and walked towards the house.

"I have a few questions I'd like to ask Miss Cushing," he said.

"Then I shall take my leave," said Lestrade. "I have some trivial matters to attend to. I do not think I have any further questions to ask Miss Cushing. You can find me at the police station."

"We shall drop by to see you when we get on the train," replied Holmes.After a while he and I went into the front room, where the indifferent lady was still quietly embroidering her chair covers.As we walked in, she put the seat covers on her lap and looked at us with her frank, searching blue eyes.

"I am sure, sir," said she, "that the incident was a misunderstanding, and that the parcel was not addressed to me. I have said this many times to the gentleman at Scotland Yard, but he always I laughed it off. What I know is that I have no enemies in this world, why would someone play tricks on me like this?"

"I think so too, Miss Cushing," said Holmes, sitting down in the chair beside her. "I think it's more likely..." He stopped.I looked at him strangely, only to see that he was staring at the young lady's profile.Suddenly, a look of surprise and satisfaction appeared on his anxious face.When she looked up to find the reason for his silence, he had returned to his original calm and cautious demeanor.I studied her smooth gray hair, her neat cap, her little gold earrings, and her peaceful face, but I found nothing that surprised my friend.

"I have a question or two..."

"Oh, there's another question, I've had enough!" said Miss Cushing impatiently.

"I think you have two younger sisters."

"How did you know?"

"When I entered the house, I saw a photograph of three women on the mantelpiece. There was no doubt that one of them was you, and the other two looked like you. The relationship between you was obvious. Don't doubt it."

"Yes, you are right. Those are my two sisters, Sarah and Mary."

"There is a photo next to my body, which was taken by your sister in Liverpool. The man next to me, judging from the uniform he wears, may be a crew member on a sea ship. I guess she was not married at the time."

"You observe very carefully."

"This is my job."

"Well, you're quite right. She married Mr. Bronner a few days later. He was working on the South American line when this picture was taken. But he loved her too much to be separated from her for long." , so I transferred to work on the ship on the Liverpool-London route."

"Oh, it's the Conqueror?"

"No. I heard it was on the May Day before. Jim came to see me once. That was before he broke his fast. Then he drank as soon as he got ashore, and got a little drunk. Well, he got it again. It's been a rough day after the glass. He's always quarreling with Sara, and I don't have much to do with me. We don't know what's going on with them."

It was evident that Miss Cushing had touched upon a subject with which she felt deeply.Like most people who lead a solitary life, she was reticent at first, then voluble.She told us a lot about her brother-in-law who was a waiter, and then she brought the conversation up to some of her former tenants who were students of medicine. She talked about them for a long time, and told us their names. What hospital work.Holmes listened attentively, not missing any information, and asking questions now and then.

"As for your second sister, Sarah," he said, "it's strange why you don't live together, since neither of you is married?"

"Well, if you know Sarah's temperament, you won't be surprised. I tried to live with her when I got to Croydon, and I had to separate until two months ago. Not that I mean to say Bad things about my sister, but she always likes to keep it up and she's really hard to get along with."

"You say she had trouble with your relatives in Liverpool?"

"Yes, but they were best friends before. She came to live there to be closer to them. But it didn't work out, and she was always nasty to Jim Browner. During the last six months of her stay with me, about Jim Bronner's comments were nothing but drinking and manipulative. I guess he caught her being a nosy and yelled at her, and that's how it happened."

"Thank you, Miss Cushing," said Holmes, rising and nodding his head. "You said that your sister lived in New Street, Warrington, did you not? Good-bye. I'm sorry for the troubles I've had with irrelevant matters."

As we were leaving, a carriage passed by.Holmes stopped the carriage.

"How far is it from Warrington?" asked Holmes.

"Only half a mile, sir."

"Very well. Come on, Watson. We must hurry up. Although this is a simple case, there are two very interesting details here. Please stop at the gate of the telegraph office, coachman."

After sending a brief telegram, Holmes leaned all the way on the back of the car, his hat slanted over his nose, to screen him from the oncoming sun.The coachman parked the carriage in front of a house.The house was very similar to the one we had just left.My companion told the coachman to wait, and just as he was about to knock on the knocker, the door opened.A stern-faced young gentleman in a shiny hat and dressed in black appeared on the steps.

"Is Miss Cushing at home?" asked Holmes.

"Miss Sarah Cushing is very ill," said he. "She has just yesterday suffered from a brain disease, and it is very serious. As her medical adviser, I will allow no one to disturb her rest. Please come back in ten days." ’” He put on his gloves, closed the door, and strode out into the street.

"Well, see you soon," said Holmes cheerfully.

"Maybe she has nothing to tell you."

"I don't expect her to tell me anything, I just want to see her. But I think I've got what I want. Take us to a nice restaurant, coachman, where we'll have lunch, and then to the police The Bureau calls on our friend Lestrade."

We had a pleasant lunch together, during which Holmes talked about the violin and nothing else.He told with great interest how he had bought his Stradivarius violin.That violin was worth at least five hundred guineas.He bought it for fifty-five shillings from a Jewish broker in Tottenham Court Road.He went from violin to Paganini.We were there for an hour, drinking claret and telling me all sorts of interesting things about this illustrious man.The afternoon has passed without knowing it, and the scorching sun has turned into a soft sunset at this time.When we got to the police station, Lestrade was waiting for us at the door.

"Here is your telegram, Mr. Holmes," said he.

(End of this chapter)