The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 76 Memoirs (5) ([-])
"Well, if something bad happens to Mrs. Buckley, we'll come back to you again."

"Of course, in that case I would come myself."

"If it weren't for that, there's no need to rediscover the dead man's past. You should at least be satisfied now that you know that for thirty years he has been condemned by conscience. Ah, Major Murphy went to the street. That's over there. Good-bye, Wood. I want to know if anything happened after yesterday."

We caught up with him just in time for the Major to come round the corner of the street.

"Ah, Holmes," said the major, "I take it you have heard that the matter is a complete misunderstanding?"

"what happened?"

"The autopsy just came out. The Colonel died of a stroke. You see, it's a very simple case."

"Yes, it couldn't be simpler," said Holmes, smiling. "Come on, Watson. I don't think we have any business here in Aldershot."

"And one more thing," I asked when we came to the station, "if her husband's name is James and the other is Henry, why does she mention David?"

"My dear Watson, that is evidently a word of reprimand."

"Words of rebuke?"

"Yeah, you know, David once did something wrong by accident like Sergeant James Buckley. Do you remember the little story about Uriah and Bathsheba? I'm afraid my knowledge of the Bible A little forgotten, but you can turn to Samuel 2 or Chapter [-] in the Bible and you'll know the story."

hospitalized patient

I have skimmed through a succession of incoherent memoirs to illustrate some of the intellectual features of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, but have found it difficult to pick out the examples I need.Because in the process of solving these cases, although Holmes used his ingenious analysis and reasoning techniques, the cases themselves are often ordinary, and I think it is really not worth introducing to readers.On the other hand, it often happens that although he participated in the detection of some bizarre and dramatic cases, his role in the detection process cannot satisfy my desire to write a biography of him.A case I once wrote about, entitled "A Study in Scarlet," and another later about the wreck of the "Gloria Scott" barque, are both capable of astonishing historians forever. example of.In the case I am going to record now, although my friend did not play a very important role in the detection of the case, the whole case is so strange that I feel that I cannot omit it.

On a sweltering, rainy day in July, we were in the living room with the curtains half drawn, and Holmes was curled up on the sofa, reading over and over a letter he had received that morning.My military service in India had trained me to be cold rather than hot, and even when the temperature reached ninety degrees Fahrenheit, I did not feel ill at all.However, today's newspaper is really boring.Parliament has adjourned and people have left the city.I hope to visit a clearing in a forest or a pebbly beach in the South Sea.But I postponed my vacation due to my financial constraints.Neither the countryside nor the seashore aroused Holmes' interest at all.He liked nothing more than to hang out in the center of a population of five million, and to care about every little rumor or suspicion among them about an unsolved case.He has no interest in admiring nature.And his only change is to visit his brother in the country.

I noticed that Holmes was absorbed in it, and I threw the dull newspaper aside, leaned back in my chair, and fell into thought.Suddenly, my friend interrupted my thoughts: "You have a good idea, Watson. It is really ridiculous to settle disputes in this way."

"That's ridiculous?" I said aloud, and it occurred to me, how could he be aware of my deepest thoughts?I sat up straight and stared at him suspiciously.

"What's the matter? It astonishes me, Holmes," I cried.

Holmes laughed aloud at my bewildered expression.

"Not so long ago," said he, "I read to you a story by Edgar Allan Poe in which a rigorous reasoner was able to detect the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you It was thought at the time to be a clever invention of the author. You were skeptical when I suggested, as I tend to do, the same."

"I didn't say that!"

"Maybe you didn't say it, but you could see it in your face. So when I saw you throwing down the newspaper and lost in thought, I was glad to have the opportunity to study your thoughts, and finally to interrupt them, so that Prove that I've guessed your idea right."

But I'm still not satisfied with his explanation.

"In the story you read to me, the reasoner drew his inferences from observing the actions of the man. If I remember correctly, the man stumbled over a pile of stones, looked up at the stars, and Some other movement. But what clues do my movements give you when I sit motionless in a chair?"

"People's facial features are tools to express emotions, and your facial features faithfully express your emotions."

"You mean to say that you read my thoughts in my face?"

"From your face, especially your eyes. Perhaps you yourself can't remember how you were lost in thought."

"Yes, I can't remember."

"Well, let me tell you. You dropped the newspaper, and that action caught my attention. Afterwards, you sat there in a daze for about half a minute. Then you gazed at your freshly framed picture of Ge As for the portrait of the general, I can see from the change in your facial expression that you have begun to think. But you don't think very far. Then your eyes go to the unframed Henry Ward on your bookshelf. Beecher's portrait. Then you look up at the wall, and your intentions are obvious. You're thinking that if this portrait were also framed, it would fit right into the space on this wall. hangs side by side with the portrait of Gordon."

"How closely you follow my thoughts!" I exclaimed.

"I haven't missed much so far. Next, your thoughts return to Beecher, and you gaze intently at his portrait, as if trying to study his character from his features. Later, You no longer frown, but you continue to stare, and the thoughtful look on your face shows that you're thinking about Beecher. I'm sure you can't help but think of him representing the North during the Civil War mission, because I remember you once expressing outrage at what happened to him. You felt very strongly about it. After a while, I saw you look away from the portrait, and I felt your thoughts turn to On to the Civil War. When I see your lips pursed, your eyes hale and your hands clasped, I'm sure you're thinking of the valor on both sides in this deadly battle. But your face is getting dark again. Get up, you shake your head. You are lamenting the cruelty and horror of war and the useless death and wounding of many people. You slowly move one hand to your own old scar, a smile on your lips, and I see You were thinking, what a ridiculous way to solve international problems. I agree with you on that, it's pretty ridiculous, and I'm glad to know that I'm right in all this reasoning.”

"Exactly!" said I. "Now that you have explained it, I admit I am as surprised as ever."

"It is very simple, my dear Watson. I should never have interrupted your train of thought if you had not expressed your doubts that day. But let us take a walk in the streets of London to-night with a little breeze."

I readily agreed.We walked together for three hours on Fleet Street and the Riverfront, watching the ever-changing scenes of life.I was fascinated by Holmes' unique views, keen observation and ingenious reasoning ability.It was ten o'clock in the evening when we returned to Baker Street.A carriage was waiting at the door of our lodgings.

"It's a doctor's carriage, a general doctor," said Holmes. "It's only recently opened, but he's doing well. He's come to see us, I think. What a coincidence we've come back!"

I am well acquainted with Holmes' methods of investigation and good at understanding his reasoning.Under the interior lamp hung a wicker basket containing various medical instruments, from which I knew Holmes had made his quick judgement.From the lights in our windows upstairs we could see that this night visitor had indeed come to see us.I was a little strange, what on earth caused a colleague to come to us at such a moment?I followed Holmes into our apartment.

A pale, thin-faced, yellow-whiskered man rose from a chair by the fire when he saw us enter.His age was at most 33 or [-] years old, but his appearance was haggard and his complexion was bad, indicating that life had exhausted his energy and deprived him of his youth.His demeanor was shy and shy, like a very sensitive gentleman, and the thin white hand that rested on the mantelpiece when he rose looked more like an artist than a surgeon. of.He was plainly dressed in a black frock coat, dark trousers, and a tie of a less bright color.

"Good night, doctor," said Holmes brightly. "I'm glad you've only been waiting for us a few minutes."

"Have you spoken to my coachman?"

"No, I can see it from the candles on the table next to me. Please sit down. What do you need from me?"

"I am Dr. Percy Trevelyan," said our visitor, "and live at [-] Brook Street."

"Aren't you the author of the paper on Unexplained Nerve Injury?" I asked.

His pale cheeks flushed with joy when he heard that I knew his writings.

"I have heard very little about this book, and the publisher told me it was not selling well, and I thought no one knew about it," said the visitor, "I suppose you are a doctor too? "

"I'm a retired military surgeon."

"Neurology is very interesting to me. I would very much like to specialize in it, but of course one must do what one is able to do first. But that's a digression. I know, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you My time is precious. There have been a series of curious incidents lately in my flat in Brook Street. They have come to such a head this evening, that I feel that I cannot delay any further, and must come to your aid at once."

Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe.

"It is a great honor that you ask for my help," said Holmes. "Please describe at length what disturbs you."

"It's a real shame, and there's a point or two in it that's not worth mentioning," said Trevelyan, "but it's such a baffling thing, and it's been getting more complicated lately, that I'll have to tell you all, Please go through all kinds of appearances to unravel the truth.

"Let me start with something about my university life. I graduated from the University of London and I am sure you would not think I was boasting if I told you that my professors thought I was a promising student? After graduating, I took up a minor post at the Royal University Hospital, where I continued to devote myself to research. I was fortunate that my research on the pathology of catalepsy was of such interest that I wrote an article on your The monograph on neurological injury that my friend mentioned just now finally won the Bruce Pinkerton Prize and Medal. I say without exaggeration, people thought I had a bright future at that time.

"But my biggest obstacle is the lack of funds. If a specialist wants to be famous, he must open his business on one of the twelve streets in the Cavendish Square area. This requires huge rent and equipment costs. Apart from this start-up expenses, and he must have enough savings to last him for a few years, and a decent carriage, and there is nothing I can do to meet these requirements.

"I can only count on saving money and saving for ten years before I can be listed as a doctor. However, an unexpected event suddenly brought me new hope.

"This is the visit of a gentleman named Blessington. Blessington and I were strangers, and he came into my room one morning suddenly, and explained his visit.

"'Are you the distinguished and recently awarded Mr. Percy Trevelyan?' he asked.

"I nodded.

"'Please answer my question frankly,' he continued, 'and it will do you good. You are very talented and will be a man of accomplishment. You know that?'

"Hearing such a sudden question, I couldn't help laughing.

"'I'm sure I'll do my best,' I said.

"'Do you have bad habits? Do you drink alcohol?'

"'No, sir!'

"'Excellent! But I must ask, if you are so capable, why don't you practice medicine?'

"I shrugged.

"'Yes!' he said hastily. 'It's no wonder. You have talent, but no money, don't you? What do you think if I set up your business in Brook Street?'

"I stared at him in surprise.

"'It is for my own good, not yours,' cried he. 'I am quite frank with you, and if it suits you, it will suit me even more. I have a few thousand pounds to invest, I thought I could invest in you.'

"'Why?' I asked hastily.

"'Ah, it's like investing in any other business, but it's safer.'

"'What shall I do?'

"'Of course I'll tell you. I'll rent the house for you, buy the furniture, hire the maid, and manage everything. All you have to do is sit in the consulting room and see the patients. I'll give you pocket money and everything you need. You Just give me three-quarters of what you earn, and keep the rest for yourself.'

"This is the strange proposal which was made to me by the man called Blessington, Mr. Holmes. In order not to bore you, I will not describe how we negotiated and closed the deal. The result was that I moved in at the Annunciation. The apartment, and opened it on the terms he proposed. He himself moved in with me as an inpatient. He had a weak heart, and it was evident that he required constant treatment. He lived by himself in the two closest rooms on the second floor In a good house, one serves as a living room and the other as a bedroom. He is eccentric, reclusive, and closes his doors. His life is very irregular, but in a certain way, very regular. Every night At the same time, he would come to my consulting room to check the accounts. For the consulting fees I earned, he would leave me five shillings and three pence for every guinea, and he would take all the rest and put them in the safe in his own room. .

"I can say with great confidence that he will never have to regret investing in this business. From the start, it was a success. I handled a few cases brilliantly, and with my reputation at the affiliated hospital, I was out very quickly. I've made him a rich man in the last few years.

"Mr. Holmes, this is my experience and my relationship with Mr. Blessington. I want to tell you that there is only one question left, and that is the reason why I have come here to seek advice this evening.

"Mr. Blessington came down to me a few weeks ago. I think he was very agitated. He mentioned that there had been some burglaries in the West End, and he was clearly unnecessarily agitated. He said we should have the doors and windows reinforced." He could not miss a single day. During the week, he fidgeted and looked out of the window. He even changed his habit of taking a short walk before lunch. His every action gave me the impression that he was afraid of something or someone. As hell, but when I mentioned it to him, he became very rude, so I stopped talking about it. As the days went by, his fear seemed to fade away, and he regained his But a recent incident made him in a state of uneasiness.

"The thing is this: two days ago I received a letter without address or date. I will read it to you now.

A Russian nobleman residing in England (so the letter says) was eager to see Dr. Percy Trevelyan.For some years he had suffered from catalepsy, of which Dr. Trevelyan was a well-known authority.He is going to see a doctor at around [-]:[-] tomorrow night. If Dr. Trevelyan is convenient, please wait at home.

"This letter interested me deeply. For the main difficulty in the study of catalepsy is the rarity of the disease. I was waiting in my consulting room when the footman brought in the patient at the appointed time.

"He was an ordinary old man of unusually reserved, small stature, not like the Russian nobleman we imagine. I was impressed by the appearance of his companion. It was a tall young man, dark, and strikingly handsome, But he had a fierce look, with the limbs and chest of a Hercules. He helped the old man by the arm, and helped him to the chair as they came in. He showed such delicacy that he did not fit his appearance.

"'Excuse me, Doctor, for calling on me,' he said to me in his poor English, 'this is my father, and his health is of the utmost importance to me.'

"I was touched by his filial piety. 'Maybe, during the consultation, you would like to stay in the consulting room?' I said.

"'Absolutely not,' he exclaimed. 'I cannot bear this pain. I believe I cannot bear it, to see my father in such horrific form. My own nerves are very sensitive. If you will allow me , I can wait in the waiting room while you see my father.'

"I readily assented, and the young man went away. I began to inquire about his condition, which I wrote down exhaustively. He was of average intellect, and often gave vague answers to his questions, which, I think, was due to his immaturity. Understand our language. However, as I sat writing the medical records, he suddenly stopped answering, and when I turned to him, I was surprised to see him sitting upright in the chair with expressionless face and stiff muscles, The eyes were fixed on me. His illness had struck again.

(End of this chapter)