The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 87 The Return (2)
"At that time I had only one person I could trust--my brother Mycroft. I apologize to you again and again, my dear Watson. The most important thing at that time was to make everyone think I was dead. If you don't believe that I have dead, you will never be able to write a completely convincing story about my unfortunate end. I have tried to write to you several times in three years, but always worry because of your deep concern for me, And you will be careless and leak the secret. That's why, when you touched my book this evening, I could only avoid you, because I was in a very dangerous situation. At that time, as long as you showed a little surprise and excitement, it might attract people. Watch out for who I am, with woeful and irreparable consequences. As for Mycroft, I was out to get the money I needed, and I had to tell him the secret. In London, things didn't go as smoothly as I thought , because in the trial of the Moriarty gang, two of the most dangerous members were missed, and these two sworn enemies of mine were allowed to go unpunished. I have two years to travel to Tibet, often to Lhasa and The great lama spends a few days together and enjoys it. A Norwegian called Sigsen has written an excellent report on the expedition. You may have read it, but I believe you will never think that it is the news of your friend. Then, I Passed through Persia, visited the holy city of Mecca, and made a short but interesting visit to the Caliph in Khartoum, the results of which were reported to the Foreign Office. After returning to France, I spent several months studying coal Derivatives of tar, this was carried out in a laboratory in Montpellier in the south of France. I am very satisfied with the research. After I heard that my enemy is now only one in London, I am ready to return The Park Road mystery happened at this time, and the news accelerated my action, not only because the mystery of the case attracted me, but because it was the most rare opportunity for me personally. I immediately returned to Baker Street, London. Mrs. Hudson went into a fit of hysterics. Mycroft kept my room and my records as they were. So, my dear Watson, I sat in my room at two o'clock this afternoon. An old chair, and hopeful to see my old friend Watson sitting opposite him in the same chair he used to sit in."

Such was the strange story I heard that night in April.This story would be absurd if it were not confirmed by the tall, lanky figure and earnest countenance which I thought I would never see again.I don't know how he got the news of my bereavement, but he expressed his condolences to me with actions instead of words. "Work is the greatest antidote to grief," he said. "Tonight, I have a job for the two of us. If we succeed in completing it, we will be worth our time in the world." I begged him Go into more detail, but he keeps it a secret. "Enough to hear with your ears and see with your eyes before dawn," he replied, "We've had so much to talk about in the past three years, but we can only talk until 09:30 because we're starting this special house adventure."

As usual, after 09:30, I sat next to him in a two-seater, pistol in my pocket, excited about the adventure to come.Holmes remained calm and silent.The street lamps flickered on his stern face, his brows were furrowed, his lips were tightly shut, and he was lost in thought.I do not know what kind of beasts we shall be searching for in this dark, criminally infested jungle, the City of London, but the manner of this skilled hunter convinces me that this is a very risky venture.Several times a sardonic smile hung across his ascetic sullen face, a foreboding of bad luck for our quarry.

At first I thought we were going to Baker Street, but Holmes stopped the carriage at the corner of Cavendish Square.He looked left and right as he got out of the car, and checked every street corner he passed with the utmost care to see if he was being followed.The route we have taken is certainly unique.Holmes is very familiar with the streets and alleys of London.This time he moved swiftly and confidently through a series of alleys and stables that I had never traveled before.We ended up on a small road lined with old, gray houses.Following this path we came to Manchester Street, and then to Branford Street, where he immediately turned into a narrow lane, passed through a wooden gate, and entered an unoccupied yard.He opened the back door of a house with a key, and when we went in together, he closed the door.

The house was dark, but it was clearly an empty house.There was no carpet on the floor and it creaked when you walked on it.I reached out and touched a wall, and the pasted paper had split into strips and hung down.Holmes' icy fingers seized my wrist, and led me down a long passage, till I caught sight of the dim fan-window above the door.At this moment Holmes turned suddenly to the right, and we entered a large square empty room, the corners of which were very dark, except for a part in the middle which was lighted a little by a distant street lamp.There are no street lights around, and a thick layer of dust has accumulated on the windows. Although we are very close inside, we can only see each other's outlines clearly.He put his hand on my shoulder and put his mouth close to my ear.

"Do you know where we are?" he asked softly.

"It should be Baker Street over there." I opened my eyes and looked out through the hazy glass.

"That's right. This is the Camden House across from our apartment."

"What are we doing here?"

"Because you can clearly see the tall building opposite from here. Dear Watson, please come closer to the window, be careful not to expose yourself, and look at our old apartment-don't all your fairy tales come from there Started? Let's see if I've completely lost my ability to surprise you in the three years I've been away."

I moved forward gently and looked towards the familiar window opposite me.I cried out in surprise as my eyes fell on the window.The curtains had been lowered, and the room was lit, and the bright curtains clearly reflected a person sitting in the room: the posture of the head, the broad shoulders, and the chiseled face were unmistakable.The half-turned face, like the silhouette of a photograph our grandparents loved to frame, was exactly like Sherlock Holmes.I stretched out my hand in amazement, trying to find out if he was still with me in person.He laughed so hard that he couldn't hold back his voice.

"See?" he said.

"My God!" I exclaimed, "this is wonderful!"

"I believe that my varied approach has not yet become uninspired by the passage of time, or outdated by common use," he said.From his words, I heard that the artist is very happy and proud of his creation. "It's kind of like me, isn't it?"

"I could swear it was you."

"The credit goes to M. Oskar Meunier of Grenoble, who spent several days working on the model. It is a wax figure. I set it up myself this afternoon in Baker Street."

"You think someone is watching your apartment?"

"I know someone is watching."

"who is it?"

"My old enemy--that group of lovely people, whose leader lies forever under the Reichenbach Falls. Don't forget, they also know that I am still alive, and only they know. They believe that I will return sooner or later. apartment, so constant surveillance. They saw me arrive in London this morning."

"How did you know?"

"Because when I looked out of the window, I recognized the man they sent sentry. This guy is not enough to kill me. His name is Buckle, he kills and robbers for a living, and he is a good Jewish harmonica player. I don't care. He, but I am very worried about the more difficult man behind him. This man is Moriarty's confidant, the most cunning and dangerous criminal in London, and the man who threw stones on the cliff. Watson , it is he who is chasing me tonight, but he has no idea that we are chasing him too."

My friend's plans gradually surfaced: from this adjacent hideout, the Watcher was being counter-watched, the Tracker was being tracked back.The thin shadows on the apartment windows are the bait, we are the hunters.We stood in the dark room, watching silently the figures who came and went in front of us.Holmes did not move, but I could see that he was on the alert and tense, staring intently at the passers-by.It was a cold and noisy night, and the wind howled through the long avenue in fits and turns.The streets are full of people coming and going, most of them tightly wrapped in coats and scarves.Once or twice, I seemed to see the same figure as I had just seen, and I noticed in particular two people who seemed to be taking shelter under the eaves of a nearby house.I called Holmes' attention to the two men, but he responded with a cry of impatience, and continued to stare intently into the street.Sometimes he moved awkwardly and tapped the wall with his fingers.Apparently, he's starting to worry that his plans aren't going exactly as he'd hoped.Finally, near midnight, when the streets were thinning, he could not control his restlessness and walked up and down the house.I was about to say something to him when I looked up at the lighted window opposite, and I was as surprised as before.I took Holmes by the arm and pointed ahead.

"The shadow is moving!" I called out.

The shadow on the curtain is no longer sideways, but facing away from us.

Three years had done nothing to change his violent temper, or his usual impatience towards those of his intellectual inferiors.

"Of course it moved," said he. "Am I such a ridiculous fool, Watson, to set up a statue that is immediately recognizable as a dummy, in the hope of deceiving some of the most cunning men in Europe?" We have been in this room for two hours, and Mrs. Hudson has changed the position of the wax figure eight times, once every quarter of an hour. She turns it from the front, so that her own shadow will never be seen. .Ah!" He gasped.In the dim light, I saw him leaning his head forward, his whole body tensed up due to his high concentration.The street outside was deserted.Those two people may still be huddled under the eaves, but I can't see them anymore.There was complete silence, and nothing could be seen except the bright yellow curtain against which a figure appeared in the center.In the dead silence, the small hissing sound that can only be made when suppressing extreme excitement rang in my ears again.After a while, he pulled me back to the darkest corner of the room, covering my mouth with one hand.His fingers were shaking, I had never seen him so excited.The dark street was still deserted and silent.

But suddenly I perceived what his superhuman senses had already perceived.I heard a soft creep, not from the direction of Baker Street, but from behind the house in which we were hiding.A door opens and closes.After a while, there were footsteps moving in the corridor.The sound of footsteps that I wanted to try my best to control caused harsh echoes in the empty room.Holmes crouched against the wall, and I crouched after me, clutching the butt of my revolver.In the haze, I saw a vague figure, slightly darker than the darkness outside the open door.He stood for a moment, then stooped and slipped menacingly into the room.The menacing figure was within three yards of us.I was ready for him to pounce on me before I realized he didn't even know we were here.He walked past us, approached the window slowly, and gently and noiselessly pushed it up about half a foot.When he knelt by the window, the light from the street, no longer obscured by the dusty glass, illuminated his face clearly.The man seemed to be overwhelmed with excitement, his eyes were shining, and his facial muscles were twitching constantly.He was a man of not young age, with a thin, protruding nose, a high, bald forehead, and a large gray beard.The back of his head was covered with a foldable top hat, and the white front of his evening dress was exposed from his unbuttoned jacket.His face was thin and dark, with fierce lines.In his hand he held what appeared to be a walking stick, but as he lowered it on the floor it made a metallic clang.Then he took a large piece out of his coat pocket, fiddled with it a while, and finally clicked, as though a spring or peg had been snapped off.He was still on his knees on the floor, bent over some lever with all his strength, and there was a whirling and grinding sound, and finally another click.So he straightened up, and it was only then that I saw that he was holding a gun with a very peculiarly shaped butt.He opened the breech of the gun, put something in it, and snapped the bolt back on.He bent down and rested the barrel of the gun on the windowsill.I saw his long beard brushing the butt of his gun, his eyes shining on the sight.I heard a sigh of satisfaction as he pressed the butt of the gun against his right shoulder, and saw the astonishing target—the figure on the yellow curtain, exposed in front of the gun.He paused and pulled the trigger.There was a strange rattling sound, followed by a series of crisp glass breaking sounds.At that instant Holmes sprang like a tiger on the shooter's back, and threw him face down.He got up immediately, and grabbed Holmes by the throat with all his strength.I hit him on the head with the butt of the pistol, and he fell to the floor again.My friend let out a piercing whistle as I rushed to hold him down.Immediately there was a sound of running on the sidewalk: two uniformed policemen and a plainclothes detective rushed in through the gate.

"Is that you, Lestrade?"

"It was I, Mr. Holmes. I took over the task myself. It is a pleasure to see you back in London, sir."

"I think you need some unofficial help. It won't do if three murders go unsolved in a year, Lestrade. You don't handle the Morzi case the way you usually do—that is, you do." Not bad."

Everyone has stood up.The criminal was panting, and on either side of him stood a tall policeman.By this time some idlers had begun to gather in the street.Holmes went to the window, shut it, and drew down the curtain again.Lestrade lit two candles, and the policemen lit their lanterns, so that at last I could get a good look at the criminal.

A face full of energy and insidious cunning is presented before us.This man had the forehead of a philosopher, but the jaw of a voluptuous man, as if he had been gifted, for better or worse.However, one look at his drooping sneering eyelids, his ruthless blue eyes, his fierce defiant nose, and his aggressive bushy brows, will recognize the Creator's clearest danger signs.He paid no attention to others, but fixed Holmes' face, eyes full of hatred and surprise. "You devil!" he kept muttering, "you cunning devil!"

"Ah, Colonel!" said Holmes, straightening his ruffled collar. "As the saying goes, 'It's not that enemies don't see each other.' I haven't seen him since you took care of me on the cliffs at Reichenbach Falls." you."

The Colonel was still looking at my friend intently like a man in a trance.The only thing he repeated was this: "You crafty devil!"

"Colonel, I haven't introduced you yet," said Holmes. "Gentlemen, this is Colonel Sebastian Moran, who formerly served in Her Majesty's Indian Army. He is the best man our Eastern Empire has ever trained. Colonel, I think it is correct to say that your record in hunting tigers is still unmatched in the country?"

The wicked old man was silent, still staring at my companion.His wild eyes and bristling beard make him look like a tiger.

"It is strange that this little stratagem of mine can lead such an experienced hunter into a trap," said Holmes. "It should be a trick you are very familiar with. You are also tying a kid under a tree. Hide yourself in a tree with your rifle and wait for this little goat as bait to lure the tiger? This empty house is my tree, and you're the tiger I want to shoot. You probably have a few spares with you in case there are several tigers, or in case you miss aiming, which is unlikely. They are my backup guns." He pointed to the people around him, "that's an apt metaphor .”

Colonel Moran roared and wanted to rush forward, but was dragged back by two policemen.There was a horrible look of anger on his face, which made people shudder.

"I confess that you have also surprised me by a trick," said Holmes. "I did not expect you to take advantage of this empty house and this convenient front window. I suspect that you will act in the street, where I have Friend Lestrade and his retinue are waiting for you. Other than that, everything is as I expected."

Colonel Moran turned his face to the official detective.

"You may or may not have good cause for arresting me," he said, "but at least there is no reason for me to be mocked by this man. If I am now in the hands of the law, let it be!"

"You are quite reasonable," said Lestrade. "Mr. Holmes, do you have anything else to say before we go?"

Holmes had picked up the powerful air gun from the floor and was examining its structure carefully.

"A rare weapon," he said, "silent and powerful. I knew von Herdel, a blind German mechanic, who made this gun especially for Professor Moriarty. I know so A gun has been around for several years, though I have had no occasion to handle it before. Lestrade, I especially entrust this gun, with the applicable cartridges, to your safekeeping."

"You can leave it to us, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade as they all moved towards the door. "Do you have anything else to say?"

"Just ask what charges you intend to prosecute."

"What charge? Attempted murder of Mr. Holmes, of course."

(End of this chapter)