The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 43 Four Signatures (27)
Holmes said: "I have seen a lot, and I know that the feelings of women are more valuable than the conclusions of reasoners. In this letter, you have strong evidence to support your idea. However, if your husband is still alive and can Why didn't he come back if he wrote a letter?"

"I don't know what's going on here."

"When he left you on Monday, did he say anything?"

"No."

"Were you surprised to see him on the Upper Sandin Road?"

"Very surprised."

"Is the window open?"

"Yes."

"So, he called you then?"

"I think so."

"As far as I know, he just let out an indistinct shout."

"Yes."

"Do you think he is asking you for help?"

"Yes, and he waved his hand."

"However, that may have been a cry of surprise. Your appearance was beyond his expectation, so he waved his hands in surprise."

"this is possible."

"Do you think he was dragged back?"

"He disappeared all of a sudden at the window."

"Or maybe he jumped right back. Didn't you see anyone else in that room?"

"No. But that dreadful Hugh Boone admits he was there, and Lusger is under the banister."

"Yes. From what you have seen, is your husband wearing his own clothes?"

"But no collar and tie. I can clearly see his neck bared."

"Did he ever mention the Upper Sandin Road?"

"there has never been."

"Has he smoked opium before?"

"there has never been."

"Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair. These are the points I want to get right. Let's have something to eat and then go to bed. Because we have a busy day to-morrow."

Where we live is a spacious and comfortable double bedroom.Exhausted from the night's running, I quickly lay down.But Holmes, when he had insoluble problems in his mind, often did not rest for days or even weeks.He was always going back and forth on the case, reasoning about the problem from all angles, and did not take a break until he had discovered a new clue and was convinced that his own reasoning was sound.Now I know he's going to sit through the night.He took off his jacket and vest, put on a loose blue pajamas, gathered the pillows on the bed, the cushions of the sofa and the armchair, and folded them into the shape of an oriental sofa.He sat cross-legged on it, with an ounce of tobacco and a box of matches in front of him.In the dim light I saw him sitting upright, with a pipe in his mouth, and his eyes fixed on a corner of the ceiling.Blue smoke came out of the pipe and curled up.The light shone on his face, which looked solemn and firm, inviolable.He just sat there quietly, but I gradually fell asleep.Soon, I was awakened by a sudden call. I opened my eyes and saw that the summer sun had already illuminated the whole room.Holmes was still sitting like that, the pipe was still in his mouth, and the blue smoke was still curling up.The room was filled with a strong smell of cigarettes. It turned out that he had exhausted all the cigarettes he had prepared the night before.

"Are you awake, Watson?" he asked.

I said: "Wake up."

"Let's go out in the car in the morning."

"Ok."

"Then, get dressed. Nobody's awake yet, but I know where the coachman sleeps, and we can get the carriage out." He giggled as he spoke, his eyes sparkling, the same as the one from last night. Thinking hard, he was a different person.

I checked my watch while I was getting dressed, it was only 25:[-], no wonder no one got up.I had hardly dressed when Holmes came in to say that the coachman had put the saddle on.

He said as he put on his boots: "I want to test my own little theory. Watson, you are standing before the stupidest fool in all Europe. I should be kicked to Charlene Cross. But I think I have now found the key to the whole case."

I smiled and said, "Where is it?"

"In the bathroom."

He saw my suspicious expression, and continued: "Oh, I'm not joking. I just went to the bathroom, and I've already taken it out and put it in this bag. Let's go, friend, let's see the key, right? .”

We walked lightly down the stairs, out into the bright sunshine.The carriage had already stopped by the side of the road, and the coachman was waiting beside him.We jumped in the car and headed to London.There are occasionally a few carts carrying vegetables on the road, but the villages on both sides are still silent, like cities in a dream.

"There are a few things," said Holmes, urging his horse onwards, waving his whip. "There are a few things which make this case look like a strange case. I was as blind as a mole, but luckily I see now, and it is better than never to see." Be nice."

As we passed the streets around Surrey, we saw sleepy-eyed people standing at their windows looking out at the dawn.The carriage drove over Waterloo Bridge, passed Wellington Street quickly, and turned right into Brae Street.The people in the police station knew Holmes, and the two policemen at the door saluted him. One came to hold the horse by the head, and the other led us in.

"Who is on duty today?" asked Holmes.

"Sir, Inspector Bradstreet is on duty."

Holmes said: "Ah, Bradstreet, hello!" I saw a burly inspector wearing a cap coming here.Holmes continued: "Bradstreet, I would like to speak to you in private."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, come to my office."

It was a small office, with a large, thick register on the desk, and a telephone on the wall.The inspector sat down at the table and asked, "Mr. Holmes, how can I help you?"

"I want to see Hugh Boone, the beggar, who is charged with the disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair of Lee."

"Yes, he's been brought here for retrial."

"I already know that. Is he here now?"

"In a cell."

"Is he quiet?"

"Ah, it's not noisy, but he's too dirty."

"Is it dirty?"

"Yes. We can only wash his hands. His face is as black as the bottom of a pot. After he is convicted, he is required to take a bath according to prison regulations. I think you will agree if you see him." The idea of ​​letting him take a bath."

"I really want to see him."

"Do you want to see him? It's easy. Come with me, please, and put the bag in your hand here."

"I guess I'll take it."

"Okay, come with me." He led us down a passage, opened the barred door, and descended a spiral staircase into a whitewashed hallway lined with cells.

"The third on the right is his cell," said the inspector. He pushed open the hatch on the door, looked in, and said, "He is sleeping, and you can see him very clearly."

We both looked in and saw the prisoner, with his face turned toward us, sleeping soundly, breathing loudly.He was of medium height, and his clothes were torn, and he wore a dyed shirt underneath. He was indeed as filthy as the inspector said.But the dirt on his face could not hide his ugly face. There was a large scar from his forehead to his chin, and his upper lip was turned up due to the scar, exposing three teeth.The hair is a little red, covering the forehead, because it has become a caramel color due to too much dirt.

The inspector said, "He's not very handsome, is he?"

"He really needs a wash," said Holmes. "I've brought the fellow who bathed him." As he spoke he opened the bag in his hand and took out something which, to my surprise, was a piece of Great bath sponge.

The inspector smiled and said, "Haha! You are such a joker."

"If you can open the door, we'll put him in a decent look right away."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that," said the inspector. His looks don't do credit to the prison, do they? And he put the key in the lock, and opened the door.We tiptoe in.The sleeping prisoner turned over and snored again.Holmes stooped to moisten the sponge with water from the water bottle, and wiped it vigorously over the prisoner's face twice, from top to bottom.

Suddenly he called out: "Let me introduce you. This is Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee, Kent."

I've never seen anything like it in my life.The man's face was rubbed with a sponge, as if a layer of bark had been peeled from a tree.The sauce is gone!The dreaded big scar is gone!The crooked lips are gone!Sherlock Holmes tore all the messy red hair off.At this time, a pale and sad man sat up on the bed.His hair was black and his skin was shiny, completely different from before.He rubbed his eyes and looked at us sleepily.Suddenly, he realized that his affairs had been exposed, screamed and threw himself on the bed, burying his face in the pillow.

The inspector exclaimed: "My God! It is indeed the missing man, I have seen his picture."

The prisoner turned, with a resigned expression, and said, "Yes. And what crime can you charge me with?"

The inspector laughed and said: "Accusing you of killing Neville... oh, unless they are going to sentence you for attempted suicide, you are not guilty. Alas! I have been a policeman for 27 years, and this is the first time I have seen this kind of thing."

"If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then you are illegally detaining me."

Holmes said: "You did not commit a crime, but you made a great mistake. You should trust your wife, and you will do better."

The prisoner groaned, "It's not about my wife, it's about my children. I don't want them to be disgraced because of their father, God forbid. My God! It's been revealed, what shall I do?"

Holmes sat down beside him, patted him on the shoulder, and said: "If this case is brought to the courts, it will inevitably be publicized. But if you can make the police authorities feel that this The matter would not have been made public without it being serious enough to charge you. I am sure Inspector Bradstreet will take your words down and submit them to the appropriate authorities. This case will not have to be brought to court."

The prisoner said sincerely: "God bless you! I would rather be imprisoned, or even executed, than leave my shameful secret as a stain on my family to my children. This is the first time I have said to others that I My father was the headmaster of the primary school in Chesterfield, where I was well educated. In my youth I loved to travel, was an actor, and later a reporter for an evening paper in London. One day the editor-in-chief hopes to have Some reports reflected the life of beggars in the city, and I recommended myself for this job. So, my adventure began. Only by pretending to be a beggar can I understand the real life of beggars. Little celebrity. So I took advantage of my talent and I put paint on my face. To look pathetic, I glued a really realistic fake scar on my face and turned my lips up on one side , put on a red wig on my head, put on suitable clothes, and found a lively place in the city as my begging place. On the surface, I was a match seller, but in fact I was a beggar. I did this for seven hours, at night When I got home, I found out that I had received twenty-six shillings and four pence. I was surprised. I finished a report and didn't think about it again. Until one day, I My friend was in debt, and I was the guarantor, and the creditor wanted me to pay 26 pounds. I didn’t have that much money, and I was so anxious that I came up with this solution. I asked the creditor for a half-month reprieve, and asked the editor-in-chief for leave, so I I disguised myself as a beggar and begged in the city. After ten days, I paid off my debts and made some money. As you can imagine, I work hard every day and only get two pounds a week. Now I put some on my face. Stuff, put the hat on the ground, and get several times more than before. Self-esteem and money have been fighting in my mind for a long time, and finally money prevailed. So I gave up the life of a reporter and sat every day in the office of my choice. That corner begged for mercy, and filled my hat with copper coins. Only one person knew my secret, and he was the owner of the smokehouse on the Upper Sandin Road. I came out there every morning disguised as a beggar, and at night I returned to my original state and changed Good clothes out of town. I paid Rusger a good rent so he wouldn't let my secret out. Before long I had amassed a fortune. I don't mean that every beggar in London can live in a year I earn seven hundred pounds--that's less than my average income--but I have a special knack for putting on makeup and dealing with things. When anyone speaks to me, I always answer, and everyone in the town knows me. Good conduct. Every day a great deal of pennies trickle into my hat, and if I get only two pounds, I think I am so unlucky on that day. With money, my desires are great. I am in Bought a house in the country, got married and started a family. No one knew my real occupation. My dear wife only knew that I was doing business in the city, but not what I actually did. Last Monday, I just finished I was begging for a day, and I was changing clothes upstairs in the den, when I looked out the window and saw my wife standing on the street staring at me blankly, which made me very frightened. coverHold your face.Then immediately run to Rusger and tell him to prevent anyone from coming up.I heard my wife's voice downstairs and knew she wouldn't be able to come up for a while.So I immediately took off the clothes on my body, put on a beggar's costume, painted it again, and put on a wig.My wife's eyes are sharp, but she doesn't see my disguise either.I figured the room would be searched and my clothes would show holes, so I opened the window, and the wounds from the knife wound in the morning had re-opened from the force.The money I usually asked for was in a bag, and now I took the coppers out of it, stuffed it in my pocket, and threw it out the window, where it sank in the Thames.I also wanted to throw other clothes into the river, but suddenly a few policemen rushed upstairs.I confess, to my relief, they did not recognize me as Neville St. Clair, but took me as a suspect in Neville St. Clair's murder.They arrested me a few minutes later.I don't know what else needs to be explained.I knew my wife must be worried, so I took off the ring, and while the police were away, I scribbled a letter and entrusted Rusger to send it to my wife, telling her not to panic. "

"She received that letter only yesterday," said Holmes.

"My God! This week has been enough for her."

Inspector Bradstreet said: "The police caught Rusger, and he had trouble posting the letter, presumably he passed it on to some sailor customer who forgot to post it for a few days. "

Holmes nodded. "I think so too. But have you never been interfered with your begging?"

"It's been a few times, but it's just a small fine. How does it affect me?"

Bradstreet said: "But it should stop now, and there must be no more trace of Hugh Boone."

"I solemnly swear that I will never do it again."

"I don't think the matter should be pursued any further. But if you do it again, we will tell the truth. We are very grateful to you, Mr. Holmes, for helping us to uncover this case. I should like to know how you came to this answer." where?"

"That answer," said Holmes, "was obtained by sitting for five hours smoking an ounce of pipe. I think, Watson, that if we were driving back to Baker Street now, we would be in time for breakfast."

Sapphire case
The morning after Christmas, I went to the house of my friend Holmes to celebrate the festive season.He was wearing a purple pajamas and reclined on the sofa. There was a pipe holder on his right, and there were several crumpled morning newspapers in front of him, as if he had just read them.There was a wooden chair beside the sofa, and on the back of the chair hung a worn-out felt hat with a few cracks so that it could hardly be worn anymore.There was a magnifying glass and tweezers on the upholstery, so it looked like he had just been examining the battered hat.

I said: "You are busy, I have come to disturb you."

He said: "No, I'm glad a friend came to discuss with me, this thing is worthless." He said, pointing to the hat with his thumb, "But there are a few places that are not It's boring, even funny."

I sat down in a chair, and stretched my hands over to the fire to warm myself, for it was so cold that the moisture had frozen on the panes of the windows.I said: "Although this hat is very old, it may be related to some murder case. It will guide you to solve the mystery and let the prisoner have nowhere to escape."

Holmes smiled and said: "No, no, it has nothing to do with crime. It's just a bizarre incident. With a population of 400 million gathered in this place, it is extremely crowded. In the scramble for intrigues, bizarre things will inevitably happen, but It's not a crime. We've had experience with this sort of thing before."

I said, "Yes, of the six cases I've recently documented about you, three were not criminal."

He said: "Are you referring to the Irene Adler photograph incident, the Miss Mary Sutherland incident, and the man with the crooked lip? I don't think this little incident has anything to do with the crime." Yes. Do you know Agent Peterson?"

"knew."

"He brought this thing."

"Is this his hat?"

"No, he picked it up. The owner of the hat doesn't know who it is, but please don't take it as a broken felt hat. It can inspire people's wisdom. Let me tell you the origin of this hat first .It arrived on Christmas morning with a big fat goose, but I think by this time the fat goose was roasting in front of Peterson's oven.At about four o'clock on Christmas morning,Petersen was after attending a Returning from a small party, he was passing Tottenham Street, and by the gaslight he saw in front of him a tall man with a white goose on his shoulders. As he approached the corner of Goodge Street, suddenly Some hooligans came running up, and one knocked his hat off, so he raised his cane to defend himself, and slapped all around, smashing the shop windows behind him. Peterson was just going to help the People dealt with those hooligans, who knew that the man panicked because the glass was broken, and at the same time saw a man in uniform running towards him, who seemed to be a policeman, so he dropped the goose and ran away. They ran away when they saw anyone coming, leaving Peterson alone with two trophies: a battered felt hat and a big fat Christmas goose."

(End of this chapter)