The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 41 Four Signatures (25)
Flipping the book on his knee, Holmes said: "Here is the record of the Ku Klux Klan. The name itself has no meaning. It is derived from the sound of a gun being drawn. This secret society was founded by ex-soldiers after the Civil War. formed, and quickly set up branches all over the United States. There are states like Tennessee, Louisiana, Georgia, and Florida. Their purpose is mainly to use terror to kill or deport people who do not agree with them. Before they kill, Leaves, watermelon seeds, orange cores and other strangely shaped but identifiable things will be sent as warnings. Those who receive the warning can publicly announce that they have given up their original views, or flee the country. If they are ignored, they will be killed bizarrely. Although the United States The government tried to stop it, but to no avail. By [-], the group had collapsed, although there have been several incidents of this kind since."

Putting down his book, Holmes said: "You should be able to see that the sudden downfall of the group happened at the same time as Openshaw's departure from the United States with the papers. There may be a causal connection between these two events. No wonder those people are after Openshaw and His heirs. You can understand that the burned diaries and papers must have involved some important person in the American South. If these papers are not found, there will be a lot of people who won't even sleep well."

"Then, the piece of paper we saw..."

"Just like I thought. If I remember correctly, it was written on the paper to send orange pits to A, B, and C, which was a warning to them. So, A and B have been removed or fled the country. Later they To visit C. I fear C will not end well either. Watson, I think we can bring a little light to that dark place, and I believe little Openshaw's only chance is to do as I say. Nothing now. It’s time to do it, please give me the violin, and let me temporarily forget about this young man’s misfortune.”

The next morning, the sky had cleared, and the sun shone softly through the clouds that hung over the city.Holmes was having breakfast when I came down.

He said: "I'm sorry I didn't wait for you. I think I'll be busy with the case of Young Openshaw all day."

I asked, "What steps are you going to take?"

"That will be decided after my preliminary inquiries. Perhaps I'll go to Horsham."

"Aren't you going to the city first?"

"Yes, I'll scout from the city first. You just have to ring the bell and the maid will bring your coffee."

While I waited for my coffee, I picked up the morning paper that was still on the table, and I saw a headline that gave me a chill.I cried, "Holmes, you are too late."

"Ah!" he said, putting down his glass, "that's what I was worried about. What's going on?" His tone was calm, but I could see that he was agitated.

My attention was on Openshaw's name and the title "The Tragedy of Waterloo Bridge."The news is reported as follows:

Last night between [-]:[-] and [-]:[-], Police Officer Cook of Area H was on duty near Waterloo Bridge when he heard the sound of someone calling for help and falling into the water.It was very dark at that time, and the storm was raging. Although there were help from passers-by, they could not be rescued.However, as soon as the alarm was issued, the police on the water immediately carried out rescue efforts and finally found a body.The deceased was a young man, John Openshaw, from letters in his pocket, who lived in Horsham.It is speculated that he may be in a hurry to catch the last train at Waterloo Station, but it was already dark, and he was in such a hurry that he didn't know his way clearly and fell into the water.There were no injuries on the body, and it was undoubtedly an accidental misfortune.

We sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes more dismayed than I have ever seen him in such shock.

"This incident, Watson, has hurt my pride," he began. "The case is now my own business. God help me, and I must destroy these villains. He has come to me. Ask for help, I should keep him out of danger..." He stood up and paced the room, looking agitated.A blush came to his cheeks, and he clenched and loosened his hands restlessly.

At last he cried out: "How cunning they are, they devils, how did they push little Openshaw down? The bank of the river is not the direct road to the station! They will lay their hands on him, but in this It is a dark night and there are not many pedestrians on the bridge. It is a good opportunity for them. Watson, let us see who can win in the end. I am going out now."

"Go to the police station?"

"No, I'm a policeman myself. When I spin the net, I can catch the prey. But now I have to spin the net."

I continued my busy day with my consultations, and by the time I returned to Baker Street it was late and Holmes had not returned.It wasn't until nearly ten o'clock that he came back pale and haggard.He went to the dining table, tore off a piece of bread, chewed it, and drank another glass of ice water.

I said, "You're hungry."

"I'm hungry, I forgot to eat, I haven't eaten since breakfast," he said.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"I didn't eat at all, I don't remember."

"So, how is the situation going?"

"Fortunately."

I asked, "Any clues?"

"They are in my power," said he. "Little Openshaw will be avenged. Let us, Watson, use their methods against them, don't you think?"

"What does it mean?"

He took an orange from the bowl, broke it into pieces, squeezed out the core and scattered it on the table.He picked five of them, put them in an envelope, and wrote on the top of the envelope: "Executed by Sherlock Holmes De Oppenshaw".Then he sealed the envelope and wrote on it: "The Lone Star, Savannah, Georgia, United States, to Captain James Calhoun."

He said with a triumphant smile: "This letter will be waiting for him when he comes into port. I'm afraid it will disturb his sleep. He must have thought his fate was going to be the same as Openshaw's."

I asked, "Who is Captain Calhoun?"

He said: "The leader of the gang. The others will also be caught, but he must be dealt with first."

"Then how do you know?"

He took out a large sheet of paper from his pocket, which was full of dates and names, and said: "I spent a day going through the Lloyd's register and the old files, and I found 36 in the steamship company. There are a total of [-] registered ships that docked at Pondicherry in January and February [-]. One of them, the Lone Star, caught my attention immediately. Although this ship came from London, it was An American ship, because 'Lone Star' is the name of an American state."

"I think it's Texas."

"I'm not sure of that, but I know it was originally an American ship."

"What happened next?"

He said: "I checked Duntee's records again, and saw the record of the 'Lone Star' arriving there in January [-], which confirmed my guess. So I went to investigate today's mooring Vessels in London harbor."

"What was the result?"

He said: "The Lone Star arrived last week. So I ran to the Albert Dock and found out that the ship had left for Savannah early this morning. I telegraphed Revsend , knowing that it has been a long time since the ship has passed, for the wind is from the east, and the ship is going very fast. I think the ship has passed Goodwins at this moment, and is not far from the Isle of Wight."

"So, what do you want to do?"

"I'm going to catch him! As far as I know, he and his two companions were the only Americans on that boat, the others were Finns and Germans. I also learned that the three of them disembarked together last night. This is I got the news from the stevedore who was loading them at that time. I expect that when they arrive in Savannah, the mail ship will have delivered this letter. At the same time, the submarine telegram has explained the case to the police in Savannah. We can catch those three villains."

Many things are beyond people's expectations. The murderer who killed John Openshaw never received the orange pits and was not arrested.We have waited a long time for news of the Lone Star, but there has been no news.I heard later that there was a shipwreck in the Atlantic, and that a broken sternpost had the word "Lone Star" on it, but there was no news of the "Lone Star" other than that.

crooked lip man
Isa Whitney is the younger brother of the late Elias Whitney, dean of St. George's University Divinity School.He smoked opium and was heavily addicted.As far as I know, his bad habit was picked up when he was studying in college.At that time, he read a book about dreams and passions by De Quincey, and he smoked opium on cigarettes, hoping to get the effect of dreams and passions.But he, like everyone who does, is prone to addiction.As a result, he was addicted to opium for many years.His friends loathed and pitied him.I still have a deep memory of his demeanor at that time: his face was yellow and thin, his eyes were dull, and his body was curled up in a chair. The demeanor of that year is long gone.

One night in June, [-], just as most people were yawning and looking at the clock for sleep, the doorbell rang.I stood up from the chair, and my wife put the needle and thread in her lap on her knees, and said with a displeased look on her face, "It may be a patient, and you are going to call again." I sighed because I had already Just got back from a tiring day.

I heard the door open and a few urgent conversations, followed by quick footsteps across the carpet, and then the door to our room was pushed open and a woman in a dark dress and black veil walked in. came in.

She said: "Please forgive me for disturbing you at this time." After she finished speaking, she suddenly walked up to my wife, put her arms around her shoulders, and cried on her shoulders, "Ah! I am so unlucky, I hope to get some help."

My wife lifted her veil and said, "Oh, it's Kate Whitney, you're scaring me. Kate, I didn't expect it to be you when you came in."

She said, "I didn't know what to do, so I came to you." Whenever she had a worry, she would come to my wife, like a bird to a lighthouse at night for solace.

My wife said, "I'm glad you're here, but first you drink some water and sit quietly before you tell us what's going on. How about I put Watson to bed first, please?"

"Oh, no, no. I need the doctor's help. It's about Isa. He hasn't been home for two days. I'm worried about him."

I am her doctor, and my wife is her old friend and classmate. This is not the first time we have heard her talk about the distress her husband brought her.We try to comfort her, but does she know where her husband is?Can we get him back?It seems possible.She had received definite information that, when he was addicted to cigarettes, he often went to the dens on the east side of the old town.Before that, he had never been outside for more than a day, and at night he would come home twitching.But this time, 48 hours had passed, and he was still lying in the smoke den, puffing up clouds and inhaling poisonous gas.She was sure she would find him there, at the "Golden Hotel" on the Upper Sandin Road.But how could she, a young woman, go to that kind of place and lead her husband out of a gang of thugs?
That's the way it is, and there's only one way to get him out.I thought I would accompany her to that place, but after thinking about it, why should she go?I'm Isa Whitney's medical advisor, and I still have influence over him.Maybe I can handle it better if I go by myself.So I promised her that if her husband was really in that place, I would send him home within two hours.So, within ten minutes, I had left my seat and the comfort of my room, and was in a carriage heading east for the city.At that time, I thought to myself, this incident is a bit bizarre, and I don't know how it will change in the future.

However, the beginning of my adventure was not very difficult.The Upper Sundan Road is a dirty lane behind the tall piers along the north bank of the river east of London Bridge.Between a cheap-clothes shop and a hotel, a steep staircase leading to a dark, cellar-like junction, I saw the smokehouse I was looking for.I ordered the carriage to wait there, and went down the steps.When I got there, there was a dim light from an oil lamp hanging on the door. I felt the latch and entered a low and narrow room.The room was filled with brown opium smoke, and wooden couches lined the walls like a sailor's cabin below deck on an immigrant ship.

Through the dim light, many people could be seen lying on the wooden couch, some with their heads down, some with their knees bent, some with their heads up, and some with their waists bent.They watched the newcomers with listless eyes.In addition to the dark shadows in the room, there are many small red halos, sometimes bright and sometimes dark.This is the scene of everyone smoking the opium-filled cigarette.Most people were lying on their backs quietly, and a few people were talking, but their voices were very low and their expressions were strange.This kind of conversation is sometimes eloquent and sometimes silent. They each talk about their own thoughts and ignore others' words.In a corner of the room, there was a small charcoal brazier and a three-legged wooden stool, on which sat a tall and thin old man, with his chin resting on his hands and his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the charcoal fire.

When I went in, a Malaysian guy came over excitedly, handed me a bong and a supply of smoke powder, and asked me to lie down on an empty couch.

I said, "Thank you, I'm not here to smoke. I'm here to see my friend Isa Whitney, and I want to talk to him."

At this time, the person on my right moved and made a sound. I looked through the dim light and saw Whitney's face was pale and very haggard, staring at me blankly.He said, "My God! It's Watson." The way he spoke was pathetic and contemptible, and he seemed nervous. "Watson, what time is it?"

I said, "It's almost eleven o'clock."

"What day is eleven o'clock?"

"Friday, June nineteenth."

"My God! I thought it was Wednesday. It's Wednesday, why are you lying to me?" He suddenly bowed his head, buried his face between his arms, and burst into tears.

I said, "I tell you, it's Friday. Your wife has been waiting for you for two days, and you should be ashamed."

"You are right, and I should be ashamed. But you are mistaken, Watson, for I was only here a few hours and smoked three, four... I do not remember. But I will Go back with you, I don't want Kate to worry, poor little Kate. Give me a hand. Did you come in a carriage?"

"Yes, I have the carriage waiting outside."

"Then, I'll go back by car. But I still owe cigarette money, I don't know how much. Watson, I've lost all energy. I can't take care of myself."

There is a narrow passage between the wooden couches with people lying on both sides. When I passed by, I held my breath, because I didn't want to smell the disgusting stench of opium.I saw the manager, and when I walked past the old man sitting in front of the charcoal brazier, I felt the hem of my clothes being ripped off, and I heard someone whisper, "Go over and look back at me." Hearing it very clearly, I looked down and thought it was the old man next to me who said it.But now he sat silently, skinny and wrinkled, looking old, with a pipe dangling between his knees, and his hands looked flabby.I took two steps forward, turned my head and looked back.I was so surprised that I almost cried out, but fortunately I tried my best to restrain myself.He also turned around, and no one could recognize his face but me.His body stretched out, his wrinkles disappeared, and his dull eyes became bright again at this moment. He sat by the charcoal fire and smiled at the surprised me.It was none other than Sherlock Holmes.He beckoned me to come over to him, then turned and glanced at the men, and immediately resumed his slumped look.

I whispered: "Holmes, what are you doing in this hell?"

He said: "Try to keep your voice down, I have good hearing. If you can get rid of that friend you have, I'd love to talk to you."

"I have a carriage waiting outside."

"Then please let him ride home. You can rest easy, for he is evidently not in the mood to make trouble. I suggest you have the coachman send a note to your wife that you are with me. If you would like to Wait for me outside, I'll be out in five minutes."

It was very difficult to refuse Holmes' request, for he made it very clear, and always made it in a mild manner.I felt that as soon as Whitney got into the carriage, my mission would be done, and as for the rest, it would be nice to be able to cooperate with my old friend.Within minutes, I wrote the note, paid Whitney's cigarette bill, helped him into the car, and watched the carriage drive away in the dark.Soon, an old man came out from the den, and he was Sherlock Holmes.I walked down the street with him and he was hunched and hobbled.After walking two streets, he took a quick look around, suddenly straightened up, and laughed heartily.

He said: "I suppose you think, Watson, that I have developed an opium habit in addition to my cocaine."

I said, "I'm surprised to see you there."

"But it's even more surprising to see you without me there."

I said, "I'm here to find a friend."

"I'm here to find an enemy."

"An enemy?"

"Yes, one of my enemies. In short, Watson, I am investigating a curious case there. As I have done before, I am trying to get a clue in the ramblings of those smokers. But I'm very dangerous there. Rusger the thug who opened this den swore revenge on me. There's a cellar door at the back of the house near the corner of Paul's Quay, and if the door could talk, it would say a lot of strange, What happened there on a dark and stormy night."

"What! Didn't you mean murder?"

"Oh, murder. We'll be rich, Watson, if a thousand pounds is paid. For many people died in that smoke den. This is the murder den near the river. I'm afraid of Neville. St. Clair cannot get out here alive. But our trap must be set here." He put two fingers between his lips and whistled sharply, and the same whistle sounded in the distance After a while, I heard the sound of rumbling wheels and clattering horseshoes.

(End of this chapter)