The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 173 The Last Greeting (16)
But for a moment, before we could look into the dusty, dilapidated room, the door opened.A tall, clean-shaven, bald man entered softly.He had a ruddy complexion, drooping cheeks, and a decent appearance.But that fierce mouth broke his decent appearance.

"There must be a misunderstanding, gentlemen," he said in a sly, self-satisfied tone, "you're in the wrong place. Maybe you should go down the street and ask--"

"Certainly, but we have no time to waste," said my companion firmly. "You are Henry Peters of Adelaide, who later claimed to be Dr. Schlesinger, pastor of Baden and South America. I have no more doubts about that than I doubt that my name is Sherlock Holmes."

Startled, the man stared at the formidable opponent in front of him. "Your name does not frighten me, Mr. Holmes," he said indifferently. "You cannot make a man angry so long as he is at peace. What do you want me to do with your visit?"

"I wonder what has become of Lady Frances Carfax, whom you brought here from Baden."

"I should be very glad if you could tell me where this lady is now," replied Peters nonchalantly. She gave me nothing. The pair of earrings, the merchant didn't even bother. She was with Mrs. Peters and me in Baden when I used a fake name, it's true, she didn't want to leave us, so followed us Arrived in London. I paid her bill and bought a ticket. But once in London she disappeared, leaving behind these outdated jewels in payment. I should be obliged, Mr. Holmes, if you would help me find her."

"I was looking for her," said Sherlock Holmes, "and so I have come to search the house."

"Do you have a search warrant?"

Holmes revealed the pistol in his pocket. "Before the actual search warrant comes, this is the search warrant."

"Why, you're still a robber."

"You may call me that," said Holmes indifferently. "My companion is also a dangerous thug. We shall search your house."

The guy opened the door.

"Call the police, Annie!" he said.There was a clatter of dresses as women ran in the passage, and the hall door opened and closed again.

"We have no time, Watson," said Holmes. "If you try to stop us, Peters, you will suffer. Where is the coffin?"

"What do you want a coffin for? It's in use. There's a body in it."

"I want to examine the body."

"Without my consent, absolutely not."

"You don't need to agree." Holmes pushed the fellow aside and walked into the hall.A half-open door appeared before our eyes.We went in and it was a dining room.The coffin rests on a table with a half-lit chandelier above it.Holmes turned on the headlight and lifted the lid of the coffin.Inside the coffin lay a thin body.The overhead light shines down, and what we see is the face of a shriveled old man.Lady Frances could not have been this face, had she been ill-treated, starved, and diseased.Holmes was surprised and delighted.

"Thank God!" he said, "it's someone else."

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, you have made a great mistake," came Peters' voice, who had followed us into the room.

"Who is this woman?"

"Well, if you really want to know, she's my wife's old nurse. Her name is Rose Spender, and we found her not long ago in the Brixton Asylum Clinic and asked her to live in Here, Dr. Hawson of No. 13 Fairbank House was invited to take care of her, to fulfill the duty of Christian friends. Mr. Holmes, did you hear his address clearly? On the third day, she died Well, the doctor's certificate says he died of old age, but that's the doctor's opinion, and you have a better opinion. We're going to Stimson & Co., Kensington Road, for the funeral. The funeral is to-morrow morning Eight o'clock. Can you find any loopholes in these, Mr. Holmes? You have made a mistake, you must admit. You opened the coffin to see Lady Frances Carfax and found a poor ninety-year-old old woman. I really want to take a picture of your stunned expression on camera."

Being ridiculed by the other party, Holmes' expression remained as indifferent as usual.But his clenched hands showed his anger.

"I'm going to search your house," he said.

"You still have to search!" Peters yelled.At this time, a woman's voice and heavy footsteps came from the aisle. "We'll prove who's right right away. Officer, this way please. These two men broke into my house. I can't get them out. Please help me get them out."

Two police officers stood at the door.Holmes produced his card.

"This is my name and address. This is my friend, Dr. Watson."

"Well, sir, it's been a long time coming," said the officer, "but you can't stay here without a warrant."

"Of course not. I know that very well."

"Arrest him!" cried Peters.

"We know what to do if need be," said the inspector gravely, "but you must get out of here, Mr. Holmes."

"Yes, Watson, we must get out of here."

After a while, we were back on the street again.Holmes looked calm, as usual, but I was very angry and suffocated.The police officer followed us out.

"I am sorry, Mr. Holmes, but it is the law."

"You're right, officer, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"I suppose there must be a reason for you to be here. If there's anything I can do to help—"

"There's a missing lady, officer. We suspect she's in the house. We're waiting for a search warrant and we'll be there shortly."

"Mr. Holmes, I am here to monitor them. I will notify you immediately if there is any movement."

It was only nine o'clock at night.We immediately set out to track down the clues with all our strength.First we went to the Brixton Almshouse.There, we learned that a charity couple had indeed visited a few days earlier.They called the demented old woman their former servant, and obtained permission to take her away.No one at the workhouse was surprised to hear that she was dead.

The next target is the doctor.He had been called in, confirmed that the woman was extremely old, and had seen her die, so he had signed the official certificate. "I assure you that everything is normal and there is no loophole in this matter," he said.There was nothing in the house to make him suspicious, except that people like them should have no servants, which is doubtful.There were only so many clues the doctor offered, and nothing else.

Finally, we went to Scotland Yard.There were difficulties in applying for a search warrant, so we had to delay.The sheriff's signature wasn't available until the next day.If Holmes could call at about nine o'clock, he and Lestrade could go and obtain a search warrant.The day passed like this.In the middle of the night, our friend the police officer came to tell us that he saw a light in the window of the dark house, but no one came in or out.We just have to wait patiently for tomorrow.

Sherlock Holmes was restless, speechless, and sleepless.I let him calm himself down.He smoked heavily, his brows were furrowed, and his slender fingers kept tapping on the arm of the chair.At this moment, his mind must be churning non-stop.All night I heard him prowling the house.I just woke up early in the morning, and he had already rushed into my room.He was in pajamas, and his pale face and deep-set eyes told me he hadn't slept all night.

"What time is the funeral? Eight o'clock, isn't it?" he asked eagerly. "Oh, it's 07:30. My God, Watson, what's the matter with my God-given brain? Come on, man, come on." !It's a matter of life and death, a near miss. I'll never forgive myself if I'm late!"

In less than 5 minutes, we had already left Baker Street in a carriage.Even so, it was seven-thirty-five when we passed Bigburn Clock Tower, and the eight o'clock had just struck when we reached Brixton Road.However, the other party, like us, was late.At ten past eight, the hearse was still parked by the door.When the frothing horses stopped, the three men lifted the coffin and walked out.Holmes rushed forward and stopped them.

"Bring it back!" he shouted, putting his hand on the chest of the first coffin bearer. "Bring it back immediately!"

"What are you doing? I'll ask you again, where is your search warrant?" Peters yelled angrily, his red face staring at the end of the coffin.

"The search warrant will be here shortly. The coffin will be carried back to the house and wait for the search warrant."

The majestic voice of Holmes overwhelmed the coffin-bearers, Peters slipped into the house suddenly, and they obeyed Holmes' new order. "Quick, Watson, quick! Here's a screwdriver!" he shouted when the coffin was put back on the table. "Brother, here's one for you! Open the coffin lid in a minute, and you'll be rewarded with a pound in gold! Don't ask." Alright, let's do it! Good! Another one! Another one! Let's work together now! Let's go! Oh, let's go!"

With the joint efforts of everyone, we opened the coffin lid.When the lid was opened, a strong, stuporous smell of chloroform gushed out of the coffin.Inside the coffin lay a man with gauze soaked in anesthetic wrapped around his head.Holmes removed the gauze, revealing the beautiful face of a middle-aged woman.He immediately lifted her up.

"Is she dead, Watson? Is she still alive? We are not too late, are we?"

Half an hour passed, and we seemed a little late.From asphyxiation, from the noxious smell of chloroform, Lady Frances appeared to be completely unconscious.Finally, through artificial respiration, ether injections, and exhaustion, she showed some signs of life, her eyelids twitched, and a faint light appeared in her eyes, which indicated that life was returning.As the carriage arrived, Holmes opened the shutter and looked out. "Here comes Lestrade with a search warrant," he said. "The man he's after has escaped." There were heavy, hasty footsteps in the passage, and he went on. "Here comes a man who will We take better care of this lady. Good morning Mr. Green, I think we have to get Lady Frances off as soon as possible. Meanwhile the funeral goes on. The poor old woman who is still in her coffin has to go to her resting place alone went."

"My dear Watson, if you take this case into your notebook," said Holmes that evening, "you can only regard it as an example of the possibility of error even in the best mind. This kind of mistake can happen to anyone, and it is rare to be able to recognize the mistake and remedy it. I also want to explain the reputation that has been saved this time. That night, I was haunted by a thought. I think, I have I found a clue somewhere, a strange remark, a suspicious phenomenon, but I let it go easily. Then, as the day was approaching, I suddenly remembered a few words, which were the funeral parlors that Green had told me What the lady boss said. She said 'should have sent it long ago. It will take longer, and it is different from the normal one'. She means the coffin. It is different from the normal one, which means that the coffin has to be made according to a special size I did. But why? Why? I figured it out: the coffin was made so deep, but it contained only a thin corpse. Why did you use such a big coffin to hold such a small corpse? To make room for it Put another body in. Bury both bodies with the same certificate. All this would be obvious if I hadn't short-circuited my train of thought. Lady Frances will be buried at eight o'clock, and our only chance is to leave in the coffin. Stop them in front of the house.

"There was a slim chance that we would find she was alive, but it turned out to be a chance. As far as I know, these people never kill outright. Even at the last minute, they avoid actual violence. They buried her so that no trace of her death could be revealed. Even if they dug her up from the ground, they would have a chance to escape. Remember the scene again, the hut upstairs, you saw, this That's where this poor lady was kept. They rushed in, put chloroform over her mouth, and put her in a coffin, and poured chloroform into the body to keep her awake, and nailed the lid on. The plan is almost perfect, Watson, for the first time in the annals of crime that I have come across. If our missionary friend escapes from Lestrade, they will have a better show in the future."

devil's foot
In recording the strange and amusing incidents which I have passed with my friend Sherlock Holmes, I have often been troubled by his reluctance to make them public.He has a dull temper, dislikes worldly decency, and resents all flattery from people.Once the case is solved, the most ridiculous thing for him is to hand over the report to the officials, put on a smiling face and listen to those fake congratulations.As far as my friend was concerned, his attitude was exactly that.There was, of course, some interesting material which prompted me to publish the very few cases that followed over the next few years.I have participated in several of his adventures. This is because of my special conditions, so I need to think carefully and keep silent.

It happened last Tuesday when I unexpectedly received a telegram from Holmes.As long as there is a place to send a telegram, he will not reply.The content of the telegram is as follows:
Why don't I tell the readers about the strangest Cornish horror I've ever had?
I don't know what kind of nostalgia it was that made him bring it up again, or what kind of weirdness made him say it.Before he might send another telegram canceling the request, I hurried to my notes.Details of the case are recorded in the notes, which are hereby disclosed to the reader as follows.

In the spring of [-], due to exhaustion, Holmes' so-called iron body gradually became a little worse, and because of his usual inattention, his condition began to deteriorate.In March of that year, Dr. Moore Aga, of Harley Street, explicitly asked our private eye to take a break from his work.He was so absorbed in his work that he never considered his own health.However, because he was worried that he would not be able to work for a long time in the future, he finally listened to the advice and decided to change the environment and change the air.So, early in the spring of that year, we went together to the end of the Cornish peninsula, and took up residence in a small cottage near Porto Bay.

This is a place especially suitable for patients to adjust their mood.The whitewashed house we live in sits on a grassy headland.Looking down from the window, you can see the dangerous semi-circular terrain of the entire Mounts Bay.Surrounded by dark cliffs and reefs, ships often wreck here, and it is unknown how many sailors died here.When the north wind blows, the bay is calm and sheltered, and ships hit by storms stop here for shelter.The wind suddenly changed direction, and a southwesterly wind blew. The dragged anchor and the leeward coast were all struggling in the rough seas.Experienced sailors will stay away from this dangerous place.

On land, the surroundings of the villa were as gloomy as at sea.The rolling swamps in this area are silent and dark. On these swamps, there are scattered the remains of a certain ethnic group.Occasionally a church tower appears, indicating that this was once an old village.The only records it has left are strange steles, messy mounds of ashes and strange earthen weapons that seem to have been used in prehistoric battles.My friend was struck by the magic and charm of this land, and the ominous atmosphere of a forgotten people.He used to take long walks in the marshes, meditating alone.The ancient Cornish language also attracted his attention.As I recall, he deduced that Cornish was closely related to Chaldean, and that they were mostly passed on by Phoenician traders in the pewter business.He has bought a number of books on linguistics and is now concentrating on the topic.However, to his great delight (as it was to my dismay), we found that even in this dreamy place we were entangled in a perplexity.The affair was more tense, more fascinating, more mysterious than any case we encountered in London.Our modest life and quiet regimen were shattered, and we were drawn into events that shocked not only Cornwall, but the West of England as well.Many readers may recall what was then known as the "Cornish Horror," although the reports sent to the London press at the time were incomplete. After 13 years, I can finally tell the truth about this incredible thing.

I have said that scattered church towers indicate scattered villages in this part of Cornwall.The closest of these is the small village of Tredanick Wallas, where an old moss-covered church is surrounded by a few hundred villager huts.Holmes made the acquaintance of Mr. Roundhay, a vicar and an archaeologist.He was over middle age, handsome, very amiable, and he was very learned and familiar with the local conditions.He invited us to tea at his parish, where we met Mr. Mortimer Tregennis, a gentleman who made a living with his own hands.He rented several rooms in the Vicar's large, scattered house, and thus supplemented the vicar's meager income.The vicar was also pleased with the arrangement, though he was quite different from the lodger.Mr. Tregennis is black and thin, wearing glasses, a little hunchback, and his body feels a little deformed.I remember, too, that during our visit the Vicar was talking all the time, while his lodger sat silent, sad-faced, with his eyes looking away and preoccupied.

Tuesday, March [-].After breakfast, Holmes and I were smoking our cigarettes, and were about to go for a walk in the moor, when these two men came into our sitting-room.

(End of this chapter)