The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 170 The Last Greeting (13)
His stern attitude softened a little.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" he gasped.

Poor man, how can I be angry, lying in bed tormented?

"It is for your own good, Watson," he said hoarsely.

"for me?"

"I know what's wrong with me. I've got a drudgery disease from Sumatra. The Dutch know it better than we do, though they haven't cured it yet. One thing's for sure, it's a sickness. It's a deadly disease that's easily contagious."

He spoke weakly, as if he had a high fever, his hands twitched and shook, and told me to go away.

"You will be infected if you get close, Watson, yes, contact. You will be fine if you stand far away."

"Good heavens, Holmes! Do you think you can stop me by saying that? Not even by strangers. Do you think that you can make me give up my duty to my old friend?"

I took a few steps forward, but he stopped me, obviously angry.

"I'm telling you, either you stand still, or you leave this room."

I have great respect for the noble qualities of Holmes, and I will listen to him even if I don't understand the situation.But, now my professional instinct spurs me on.You can listen to him about other things, but in this ward, he has to listen to me.

"Holmes," I said, "you are very ill. A sick man should behave like a child. Whether you like it or not, I will see your symptoms, so that I may prescribe the right medicine."

He stared at me hard.

"If I must hire a doctor, it must be someone I can trust," he said.

"So, you still can't trust me?"

"Of course I can trust your friendship. But, Watson, the fact is that you are just an ordinary doctor with limited experience and insufficient qualifications. I didn't want to say these unpleasant words, but you forced me to do nothing."

This hurt me badly.

"It's not like you said it, Holmes. It speaks plainly of your state of mind. If you don't believe me, I'll send for Sir Jasper Meek or Penrose Fisher, or any of the best men in London." Good doctor. In any case, you must have a doctor. If you think that I can stand here and die, and not ask another doctor to save you, then you have misjudged your friend."

"I know you are well-intentioned, Watson," he said in a whimper-like moan, "but you really don't know much. Do you know about Panuli fever? Do you know about Formosa black septicemia? "

"I have never heard of these two diseases."

"Watson, in the East there is a great deal of disease and strange pathology." He paused between each sentence to muster his feeble strength. I got a lot of things. My disease was caught in the process of doing research. You can't help."

"Perhaps so. However, I know that Dr. Einstree is in London at the moment. He is one of the leading experts on tropical diseases. Don't refuse any more, Holmes. I will send for him at once." I turned resolutely. Go to the door.

I've never been so startled by a patient jumping out of bed like a tiger and stopping me.I heard the key click and turn in the lock.After a while, the patient staggered back to the bed.After this provocative and violent movement, he expended a lot of energy, and he appeared exhausted, lying on the bed panting.

"You will not take the key from me, Watson. I keep you, my friend. I won't let you go, so don't go. But I will do what you want." (These words They were all panting, and he breathed desperately after each sentence) "You are doing it for my own good, I know that very well. You can do whatever you want, but please give me time to recover my strength. But now, Watson, not now. It is four o'clock in the afternoon, and by six o'clock I will let you go."

"You are absolutely mad, Holmes."

"Just two hours, Watson. I promise you I will let you go at six. Will you wait?"

"Looks like I have no other choice."

"Absolutely not, Watson. Thank you, I don't need you to help me make my bedding. Please stay away. Watson, I have one more request. You can find someone to see me, but you can't mention it to me." the person you want, but the person I appoint."

"of course can."

"From the time you entered the room to the present, the words 'Of course' are the first reasonable words that have come out of your mouth, Watson, there are books over there. I have no strength. Enter a non-conductor, and I don't know how the battery will feel. We'll talk at six, Watson."

But we were talking before six o'clock, and I was almost as taken aback by what happened this time as when he jumped to the door.I once stood looking at the quiet figure on the hospital bed for a while.His face was almost covered by the quilt.He seemed to be asleep.Not in the mood to sit down and read, I paced the house, looking at the pictures of famous criminals plastered on the surrounding walls.I walked aimlessly to and fro, and at last came to the mantelpiece.On the stage were pipes, tobacco pouches, syringes, knives, pistol bullets, and other miscellaneous things, scattered in a mess.Among them was a small black and white ivory box with a removable lid.It was a delicate little thing, and I was reaching for it to have a closer look, when suddenly he gave a loud cry of surprise, which could be heard even in the street.This terrible cry made me feel cold and terrified.I turned my head and saw a twitching face and two terrified eyes.I stood there bewildered with the little box in my hand.

"Put it down! Put it down, Watson, I tell you to put it down at once!" His head fell back on the pillow.I put the little box back on the mantelpiece, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "I hate it, Watson, as you know. I can't stand you. You doctor, you It's almost like driving the sick to a shelter. Sit down, man, and let me rest!"

This sudden incident left a very unpleasant impression on me.First the brutishness and gratuitous agitation, and then the insolence of speaking, which was so far removed from his usual geniality.It shows how confused his mind is.No calamity is more lamentable than the destruction of a noble mind.Depressed, I sat in silence until the allotted time had passed.I had been looking at the clock, and he seemed to have been looking at the clock, too, for just after six o'clock he began talking, as animated as ever.

"Now, Watson," said he, "have you any change?"

"Have."

"What about silver coins?"

"a lot of."

"How much is half a crown?"

"Five."

"Oh, too little! Too little! How poor you are, Watson! You put it in your fob-pocket, and the rest in your left trouser pocket. Thank you. That way you can keep your balance."

What a load of gibberish.He trembled and made that coughing, whimpering sound again.

"Now, Watson, be careful when you light the gas-lamp, it is only half lit. I beg you to be careful, Watson. Thank you. That will be very good! No, you will not have to draw the shutters. Please put your letters and newspapers in the On this table, as long as I can reach it. Thank you. Bring some more of that mess from the mantelpiece. Very well, Watson! There is a tong for sugar cubes on it. Use the tongs, please. That little ivory box is clamped up and put in the newspaper here. Good! Now you may fetch Coverton Smith at 13 Sherlock Street."

To tell the truth, I have lost the slightest desire to call for a doctor, for poor Holmes is so delusional that I fear the danger of leaving him.But now he wants to invite the person he mentioned to see a doctor, and his eagerness is just like his stubbornness in not allowing me to invite a doctor just now.

"I've never heard of that name," I said.

"Perhaps you have not, my dear Watson. You may be surprised if I tell you that the specialist in this disease is not a doctor but a planter. Coverton Smith Sir is a famous person in Sumatra and is visiting London now. There was a blight on his plantation and for lack of medical assistance he was obliged to study it himself and achieved remarkable results. He is a very systematic man , I told you not to go before six o'clock, because I know you can't find him in his study. If you can invite him, his unique experience in treating this disease will definitely solve my problem. Difficult, his study of this disease has become his greatest passion, and I'm sure he'll help me."

Holmes's speech was coherent and complete, but it was interrupted by gasps from time to time, and the pain made him scratch and pinch his hands.In the few hours I spent with him, his condition seemed to be getting worse: the fever spots became more pronounced, the gaze from the deep-set black eye sockets became more menacing, and cold sweat continued to break out on his forehead.But the ease with which he spoke remained.Even on his deathbed, he remains a dominant player.

"Tell him exactly how I am," he said, "and you're going to express your impression of me--dangerous, delirious. Really, I don't see why the whole beach isn't a whole A bountiful oyster. Oh, I am confused! How strange that the brain should be controlled by the brain! Watson, what am I talking about?"

"You send me to fetch Mr. Coverton Smith."

"Oh, yes, I remember. My life depends on him. Beg him, Watson. He and I have no mutual affection. He had a nephew, Watson, who died a terrible death. I once suspected that There is some conspiracy in it, I let Smith know that. He hates me. You have to persuade him, Watson, and do everything possible to get him. He is the only one who can save me!"

"In that case, I'll just pull him into the carriage."

"That won't work. You'll persuade him to come. Then, don't come with him, you'll get back before him. Any excuse will do, remember, Watson. You won't disappoint me. You never did." Has disappointed me. There must be some kind of nemesis that limits the reproduction of living things. Watson, you and I have done our best. My God, will the world be inundated with breeding oysters? No, no, how terrible Ah! You have to express everything in your heart."

I let him babble nonstop like a child.I was so happy when he handed me the key, I took it right away, otherwise he would have locked himself in the house.In the passage Mrs. Hudson waited, weeping and shaking.As I passed the apartment, I heard Holmes' shrieking and singing voice.Downstairs, as I was calling for a carriage, a man came towards me in the mist.

"How is Holmes, sir?" he asked.

It turned out to be an old acquaintance, Inspector Morton of Scotland Yard in tweed plain clothes.

"He's very ill," I replied.

He looked at me with a very strange look.I admit it's nasty to think so, but when I saw his expression under the headlights, I did feel that he was very happy.

"I heard rumors that he was ill," he said.

The carriage moved, and I left him.

Sherbrooke Street is at the junction of Notting Hill and Kensington.The houses in this area are nice, but the boundaries are not clear.The carriage stopped in front of a house.Old-fashioned iron railings, double doors and shiny brass all exude a serious and dignified aura.A steward with a serious expression appeared, and the room behind him was lit with reddish light.Everything here is in harmony with him.

"Mr. Coverton Smith is inside. You are Dr. Watson. Very well, sir. I will give him your card."

I am a nobody, and Mr. Coverton Smith would not have noticed me.The door was ajar, and I heard a high, harsh voice.

"Who is this man? What is he going to do? Oh, Staples, haven't I told you many times that I don't want to be disturbed while I'm doing my research."

The steward explained it softly.

"Oh, I don't see him, Staples. I can't stop my work. Just tell him I'm not home. If he must see me, let him come in the morning."

I thought of Holmes lying in pain on the hospital bed, counting minutes by minutes, waiting for me to help him.Now is not the time to be polite.His life depends on me hurrying up.Before the steward had time to convey the master's words to me, I had already passed him and broke into the house.

The man rose from an arm-chair by the fire with a growl.I saw a sallow face, overgrown with cellulite; a large double chin; dark, menacing gray eyes beneath bushy tawny eyebrows; Velvet cap.His head was huge, but when I looked down I was struck by how small and frail the man was, with arched shoulders and back, as if he had suffered from rickets in childhood.

"What's the matter?" he screamed loudly. "What do you mean by breaking into my house like this? Didn't I have someone tell you to come tomorrow morning?"

"I beg your pardon," said I, "but the matter is urgent. Mr. Sherlock Holmes—"

At the mention of my friend's name, the angry expression on the little guy's face disappeared in an instant and became tense and wary.

"You come from Holmes?" he asked.

"Correct."

"How is Holmes? How is he?"

"He's sick and dying. That's what I'm here for."

He pointed to the chair beside him and motioned for me to sit down, and he also sat down on his armchair.Then I caught a glimpse of his face in a mirror on the mantelpiece.I swear, I saw a wicked, sinister smile on his face.But it occurred to me that my unexpected visit must have aroused his nerves, because after a while he turned to look at me with an expression of sincere concern.

"I'm sorry to hear the news," he said. "Mr. Holmes and I met through several transactions. I admire his talent and character. He likes to study criminology, and I like to study pathology. He catches criminals, and I kill germs. This is my prison." Said He pointed to the rows of bottles and jars on a small table, "In these cultured gums, some of the most vicious criminals in the world are serving their sentences."

"It is precisely because of your unique talents that Holmes thinks highly of you. He thinks you are the only one who can save him in London."

The little man froze for a moment, and the fashionable hat slid to the floor.

"Why?" asked he. "Why does Holmes think I can save him?"

"Because you are familiar with Eastern diseases."

"Why does he think he has an oriental disease?"

"Because he worked with Chinese sailors while conducting professional investigations on the docks."

Mr. Coverton Smith smiled, and picked up his hat.

"Oh, so it is," he said, "I don't think it's so serious as you think. How long has he been ill?"

"About three days."

"Sane?"

"Sometimes sober, sometimes not sober."

"Tut, tut! That's a serious thing to say. It would be very inhumane, Dr. Watson, not to grant his request to see him. But I would hate to have my work interrupted. But that's another matter. I I'll go with you right away."

I remembered Holmes' instructions before I left.

"I'm sorry, I have other things to do," I said.

"Yes, I will go alone. I have Mr. Holmes' address. Don't worry, I will be there in half an hour."

I went back to Holmes' bedroom with anxiety.I worry about what might happen in my absence.His face was still pale, but his mind was much clearer.His voice was weak, but clearer than usual.It seems that he is much better now, and my heart is relieved.

"Have you found him, Watson?"

"Found it, he's coming over now."

"Excellent, Watson! Excellent! You are the best messenger."

"He wanted to come with me."

"Absolutely not, Watson. Absolutely not. He asked me what was wrong?"

"I told him you got it from the Chinese in the East End."

"Yes! Well, Watson, you have done your duty as a friend, and you may go now."

"I will wait. I must have his opinion, Holmes."

"Certainly. I am quite sure, however, that his opinion would be more frank and valuable if he were allowed to think that there were only two persons left. I have a hiding-place behind the head of my bed, Watson."

"My dear Holmes!"

"I don't think there is any other way, Watson. This place is not suitable for hiding people, but it is not easy to attract suspicion. Watson, just hide there, I think it will work." He sat up suddenly, his weak face showing Serious and attentive look. "I hear the wheels, come on, Watson, come on, old man. If you're really a good friend of mine, don't move, don't move, don't move, don't you hear what happens? Don't talk! Don't move! Listen! Just go ahead." In an instant, his sudden energy faded, and his decisive voice became a faint, delirious murmur.

I hid in a hurry.I heard footsteps going upstairs, bedroom doors opening and closing.What surprised me was that no one spoke for a long time, only the patient's rapid breathing was heard.I can imagine our guest standing at the bedside observing the patient.Finally, he spoke.

"Sherlock Holmes!" he cried, "Sherlock Holmes!" in a voice that seemed eager to rouse a sleeping man. "Can you hear me, Holmes?" came a rustling voice, which seemed to shake the patient's shoulders.

"Is that Mr. Smith?" said Holmes in a weak voice. "I can't believe you're coming."

The man smiled.

"I don't think so," said he. "You see here I come. This, Holmes, is repaying good for bad!"

"You are very kind and sublime. I appreciate your special talents."

Our guest snorted.

"You're appreciative, and sadly you're the only one in London who does. Do you know what's wrong with you?"

"Same disease," said Holmes.

"Ah, do you recognize the symptoms?"

"It couldn't be more clear."

(End of this chapter)