The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 78 Memoirs (7) ([-])
After dinner, Holmes said: "I will be back at three o'clock in the afternoon. The sheriff and the doctor will be here to see me at three o'clock in the afternoon. I hope to use the time now to clear up some of the little things that are still unclear in this case." Check properly."

Our guests arrived at the appointed time, but my friend did not show up until a quarter to three in the afternoon.As soon as he walked in, I could tell by his expression that everything was going very well.

"Sheriff, any news?"

"We've got the page boy."

"Great, I found those two people too."

"You found them?!" the three of us shouted in unison.

"Yes, at least I have figured out their true identities. As I expected, the so-called Blessington and his enemy are on the wanted list of the police station. The names of the three are Bi Del, Hayward and Moffat."

"The gang that robbed the Worthington Bank," cried the Inspector.

"It is they," said Holmes.

"Then Blessington must be Sutton."

"Exactly," said Holmes.

"Oh, that's pretty clear," said the Inspector.

But Trevelyan and I looked at each other.

Holmes said: "You must remember the Worthington Bank robbery? There were five people in the case. In addition to these four, there was one named Cartwright. In this robbery, the bank guard Tobin Killed, the robbers fled with seven thousand pounds. The case took place in 15. All five of them were arrested, but the case could not be settled due to insufficient evidence. The worst of the robbers, Sarah Ton, aka Blessington, turned them in. As a result of his testimony, Cartwright was hanged and the other three were sentenced to [-] years each. The other day they were released years early, as you can imagine, They were determined to find their betrayer and avenge their dead accomplice. Twice they tried to find him but failed, and the third time they finally succeeded. Dr. Trevelyan, what do you not understand? Is it?"

"I think you have made everything very clear," said the doctor. "There is no doubt that he was so alarmed that day because he read in the papers that the men had been released."

"Exactly. What he said about the theft was purely a smokescreen."

"Why didn't he tell you about it?"

"Ah, my dear sir, he knows his old friends are vengeful, and keeps his identity hidden from everyone as much as possible. His secrets are dark, and he cannot reveal them himself. But, though he is mean, , and still at large. Sheriff, justice will triumph over evil."

That's what happened with the inpatient and the Brook Street doctor.From that night onwards, the police never saw the shadow of the three murderers again.Scotland Yard speculates that they escaped on the steamer Nora Kleina.The ship and its crew were killed on the coast of Portugal, dozens of miles north of Porto.As for the prosecution against the footman, it cannot be established because of insufficient evidence, and this case, which is called the Brook Street Mystery, has not been reported in detail by various newspapers.

Greek translator

Though I have known Mr. Sherlock Holmes long and intimately, I have heard little of his relations, or of his own early life.His taciturnity made me even more unreasonable, so that I sometimes regarded him as a withdrawn eccentric, a man with a head and no feelings.His distaste for approaching women and his reluctance to make new acquaintances belied his unsentimental character, but he was especially ruthless in his refusal to speak of his family.So at first I thought he was an orphan, with no living relatives.But one day, he actually talked to me about his brother.

One summer evening, when we were bored, we chatted, from golf clubs to the reasons for the change of the angle between yellow and red, and finally talked about atavism and genetic adaptability. The center of the discussion was: how much special talent does a person have? Out of heredity, and how much out of one's own early training.

"Take you for example," I said, "from what you have told me, it is obvious that your observation ability and unique reasoning ability all depend on your own systematic training."

"To a certain extent," said Holmes thoughtfully, "my ancestors were country gentry, and they lived the usual life of that class. The tendency, however, is inherent in my blood. It may have been in my grandmother." blood, for she is the sister of the French artist Gilnet. This artistic element in the blood is liable to have the most curious hereditary form."

"How do you know it's genetic?"

"Because my brother Mycroft is better at reasoning than I am."

It's still news to me.If there is another man in England who possesses such extraordinary talents, how is it that the police and the public are so ignorant of him?I said it was because of my friend's modesty that he thought his brother was better than him.Holmes laughed at my suggestion.

Holmes said: "I don't agree with some people who list modesty as a virtue. For logicians, everything should be as it is, and it is as contrary to the truth to underestimate yourself as to exaggerate your talents." .So, when I say that Mycroft is more observant than I am, you should believe it to be true."

"How old is your brother older than you?"

"Seven years older than me."

"Why is he not famous?"

"Oh, he's well known in his own circle."

"Where is it?"

"Oh, for example, at the Diogenes Club."

I had never heard of such a place, and my look must have told him so, so Sherlock Holmes looked at his watch and said: "The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mike Roft is the oddest guy. He's usually there from [-]pm to [-]pm. It's six in the evening now, and if you're in the mood for a walk on a wonderful evening, I'd love to Happy to tell you about these two 'quirks'."

Five minutes later we were in the street, heading for Regens Circus.

"You must be wondering," said my friend, "how come Mycroft, with all his talents, should not be a detective? In fact, he cannot be a detective."

"But I think you're saying..."

"I said he was better at observation and reasoning than I am. If detectives just sat in an armchair and reasoned, my brother would be the best detective in the world. But he neither wants to be a detective nor has the energy. He even It is too troublesome to prove my own conclusions, and I would rather be considered a fallacy than take the trouble to prove myself correct. I often ask him questions, and the answers I get from him are all proved to be correct. But , there is nothing he can do if he is asked to present conclusive evidence before a case is brought before a judge or jury."

"Is he not a detective?"

"Not at all. The detective business on which I live is nothing more than a hobby of his. He is very good at mathematics, and often checks accounts in various government departments. Mycroft lives in Pall Mall Street, just around the corner." Whitehall. He walks to work every day, leaves early and returns late, year after year, with no other activity, and never going anywhere except to the Diogenes Club, which is opposite his lodgings."

"I can't think of a club with that name."

"Perhaps you don't know, there are many people in London, some shy and cynical, who don't like the company of others, but they don't refuse to sit in a comfortable place and read the latest periodicals. Therefore, the first The Eugenian Club was born, which received the most solitary and unsociable people in the city. Members of the Diogenes Club were not allowed to talk to each other. Absolutely no conversation was allowed except in the drawing room. The attention of the club committee, offenders will be expelled. My brother is one of the founders of the club, and I personally think the atmosphere of this club is very pleasant."

As we walked and talked, we turned the end of James Street and found ourselves in Pall Mall.At a door not far from Carleton Hall, Holmes stopped, warned me not to speak, and led me into the hall.Through the glass on the door, I saw a large and luxurious room where many newspaper readers sat, each keeping a corner.Holmes led me into a small room overlooking Pall Mall.Then he left, and soon brought a man back.I knew it was his brother.

Mycroft Holmes was much larger and stronger than his brother.His body was corpulent, his face was broad, but in some places had the chiseled look of his younger brother.His eyes were light gray and intense, and they seemed to be constantly absorbed in thought, the kind of expression I only saw when his brother was absorbed.

"I am delighted to see you, sir," said he, holding out a broad, fat hand. "It is through your biography that Sherlock is famous all over the world. By the way, Sherlock, I I thought you'd come to me last week to discuss the manor house case. I thought you might be a little out of your wits?"

"No, I've fixed it." My friend smiled.

"Adams must have done it."

"Yes, Adams did it."

"I've been sure of it from the beginning." They sat down together by the window of the club. "This is the best place for a man to study men," said Mycroft. "Look, just take these two men who came up to us! What a model!"

"You mean the billiard marker and the man next to him?"

"Yes, what do you think of that man?"

Then the two men stopped opposite the window.One of them, I saw, had traces of chalk on his vest pocket, the mark of a pinball game.The other was a thin, dark man with a hat on the back of his forehead and several small bags under his arm.

"I think he's a veteran," said Sherlock.

"And a recent discharge," said his brother.

"He was serving in India," said Sherlock.

"A sergeant," said his brother.

"It's from the Royal Artillery," said Sherlock.

"A widower," said his brother.

"He has a child," said Sherlock.

"There is more than one child, my dear brother, there is more than one child," said his brother.

"Come on," I said with a smile, "it's a little too mysterious for me."

"I'm sure," replied Sherlock, "that he has such a formidable look, and a weather-tanned complexion. He is a soldier, and no ordinary soldier. He has recently been discharged from India." soon."

"He's just out of service and he's still wearing what they call artillery boots," Mycroft added.

"He's an artilleryman. He doesn't walk like a cavalryman, but he wears his hat on one side, as you can see from the lighter skin above one eyebrow. He doesn't have the weight to be a sapper."

"Also, the way he looks very sad shows that he has lost someone dear to him. From his own shopping, he must have lost his wife. You see, he is shopping for the children. It was a rattle, indicating that a child was very young. His wife may have died after giving birth. He had a little book under his arm, indicating that he was still thinking about another child."

Only then did I understand why Sherlock Holmes said that his brother was more observant than he was.Sherlock glanced at me, and smiled.Mycroft drew snuff from a tortoiseshell case, and brushed the dust off him with a scarlet silk scarf.

"By the way, Sherlock," said Mycroft, "I have something quite to your liking, and I am at the beginning of an analysis of a very curious problem. But I do not have the energy to work it out. , but it is a good opportunity for me to reason. If you will listen to the situation..."

"My dear Mycroft, I am very willing."

His brother tore a sheet from his notebook, scribbled a few words hastily, rang the bell, and handed the sheet to the waiter.

"I have sent for Mr. Melas to come here," said Mycroft, "he lives above me, and I know him well, and he comes to me when he is in trouble. Mr. Melas, as far as I know, is of Greek blood, fluent in many languages, and earns his living half by working as an interpreter in the courts, and half by the rich Orientals who live in the Northumberland Street Hotel. Be your guide. I think he'll tell you all about his adventures himself."

After a few minutes, a short, stocky man walked in.He was a Southerner by his olive face and jet-black hair, but he talked like an educated Englishman.He shook hands with Sherlock Holmes warmly.His dark eyes beamed with joy when he heard that the expert was willing to listen to his adventures.

"I'm afraid the police won't believe what I say," he said bitterly, "because they've never heard of such a thing. I know that if I don't know what happened to the poor man with the sticking plaster on his face Anyway, my heart will never be easy."

"I am all ears," said Sherlock Holmes.

Mr. Melas said: "This happened on Monday night, that is, two days ago. I am a translator, I can translate almost all languages, but because I was born in Greece, and the name is Greek. name, so I mainly translate Greek. Over the years I have been the leading Greek translator in London, and my name has long been known to various hotels.

"Foreigners who are in trouble, or tourists who arrive late, often come to ask me to be their interpreter. On Monday night, when a smartly dressed young man named Latimer came to my house and asked me to accompany him I was not surprised when he drove out in a carriage waiting at the door. He said that he had a Greek friend who was visiting him on business, and that he could not speak foreign languages, and that he needed an interpreter. Telling me that his family lived in Kensington some way from here, he seemed anxious, and pushed me into the carriage as soon as we were in the street.

"Sitting in the carriage, I immediately had doubts, because I found that I was not in an ordinary carriage. This carriage was quite spacious, and although the decoration was old and worn out, it was very elegant, not at all like London. Poor ordinary carriage. Mr. Latimer sat opposite me, and we passed Charing Cross, turned into Shaftesbury Street, and came to Oxford Street. I was just about to say Kensington It was a long detour to take this road, but a strange behavior of the fellow car interrupted me.

"He took out a lead-filled bludgeon from his pocket, swung it back and forth a few times, as if trying to test its weight and power, and then put it on the seat beside him without saying a word. Then, He closed the windows on both sides. I was surprised to find that the windows were covered with paper, which seemed to prevent me from seeing outside.

"'Sorry to block your view. I didn't want you to see where we were going. It might be inconvenient to me if you could find your way back,' he said.

"I was taken aback when I heard this. My fellow-carriage is a hulking young man with extraordinary strength. Even if he had no weapons, I would never be his opponent.

"'Mr. Latimer,' I stammered, 'you are doing it illegally, you know.'

"'It was a bit of a faux pas,' said he, 'but we will make it up to you. But I must warn you that, at any time tonight, if you try to warn me or do anything against me, it will be against you. It is dangerous. I want you to notice that no one knows where you are now, and that you will not be out of my grasp either in this carriage or in my house.'

"Although he spoke calmly, his voice was harsh and frightening. I sat there silently, unable to understand why he would kidnap me in such a strange way. I knew very well that no matter what, resistance was useless Yes, I had to resign myself to it.

"The carriage drove for about two hours, and I didn't know where I was being taken. Sometimes the carriage made a rattling sound, indicating that it was walking on a cobblestone road; There was nothing else to make me guess where we were. The windows were papered opaque, and the front glass was screened by blue curtains. It was seven in the evening when we left Pall Mall. It was a quarter to one, and by my watch it was ten to nine at night when we finally pulled up. My fellow-carriage opened the window and I saw a low arched door with a light on it. As soon as we got out of the carriage, the door opened. Entering the courtyard, I vaguely remember seeing a lawn lined with trees. I am not sure whether this is a private courtyard or the real country.

"There was a dimly lit kerosene lamp in the hall. The house was huge and there were many pictures hanging inside. I couldn't see anything else. Under the dim light, I found that the middle-aged man who opened the door was short in stature and wretched in appearance. , with shoulders hunched forward. When he turned to us, a flash of light showed me that he was wearing glasses.

"'Mr. Melas, Harold?' said he.

"'yes.'

"'Well done! We mean no harm, Mr. Melas, and we can't do it without you. You won't regret it if you're honest with us, but if you're going to play tricks, God bless you !' He spoke with trepidation, trembling, and giggling, but I don't know why, but he gave me a scarier impression than that young man.

"'What do you want me to do?' I asked.

"'Just to ask the Greek gentleman who visited us a few questions, and get us an answer. But say what we tell you, and don't talk too much, or...' He gave another dry chuckle,' Otherwise, you must die.'

(End of this chapter)