The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 9 Research on Scarlet Characters (8)
"All this may sound strange to you," continued Holmes, "because, at the outset of your investigation, you failed to appreciate the importance of the only true clue before you. I had the good fortune to seize this clue. , and everything that has happened since then has confirmed my original assumptions, and they are indeed the inevitable result of logical reasoning. Therefore, those things that confuse you and add confusion to the case have something to me. Illumination, and further confirmation of my thesis. It would be a mistake to confound the strange with the mysterious. The most prosaic crime is often the most mysterious, because there is nothing new or unique about it on which to base reasoning. The murder case would have been much more difficult to solve if the victim's body had been found on the main road and there hadn't been anything that made the case seem out of the ordinary and appalling. So, the plot is peculiar Not only does it not increase the difficulty of solving the case at all, but it will reduce the difficulty of handling the case."

Mr. Grayson had been very irritable as he listened to this statement.At this moment, he could bear it no longer.He said: "You see, Mr. Holmes, we all admit that you are a shrewd and capable person, and you have your own way of working. However, we are not here to listen to your theory and lectures, but to catch you. To the murderer. I have told my investigation, and it seems that I was wrong. There is no way that young Charpentier is involved in the second murder. Lestrade is desperately tracking his Stan Jesson, it seems that he is wrong too. You say something here and there, and you seem to know more than we do, but now is the time to unravel the mystery. I think we have a right to ask you to say it bluntly, you How much do you know about this case, can you name the murderer?"

Lestrade also said: "I agree with Grayson, sir. We have both tried, and we have both failed. Since I have come to you, you have said more than once that you have obtained All the evidence you need, so you should tell everything."

I said: "If the murderer is not caught for a long time, he may commit new atrocities."

When all of us pressed like this, Holmes showed hesitation.He kept walking up and down the room, his head drooping on his chest, frowning.It was always like this when he was thinking.

"There will be no more assassinations," he said to us at last, stopping suddenly, "you can rest assured that this is no longer a question. You ask me if I know the name of the murderer, and yes, I do. However, just knowing the murderer's name is nothing. If you can catch the murderer, you are really capable. I guess I can catch him soon. For this matter, I prefer to arrange it myself and do it myself , but the method must be thorough, because what we have to deal with is a very vicious and cunning person. It turns out that he has another person who is as alert as him to help him. As long as the murderer does not feel that anyone can get clues, then There is a chance of catching him. However, if he has the slightest suspicion, he will change his name and disappear immediately among the 400 million inhabitants of this big city. I have absolutely no intention of hurting the self-esteem of you two, but I must Explain that I do not think the official detectives are their match, which is why I did not ask for your assistance. If I fail, then I cannot escape the responsibility of not asking for your assistance. However, I am ready to accept this responsibility. Now I am willing to promise that as long as there is no harm to my overall plan, I will tell you immediately when it is appropriate."

Grayson and Lestrade were extremely dissatisfied with this assurance from Holmes, and with the contemptuous mockery of the official detective.After hearing this, Gregson blushed all over his face, down to the roots of his hair.Lestrade, on the other hand, stared at a pair of round eyes, with a look of surprise and irritation in his eyes.But before they had time to open their mouths, they heard someone knocking on the door. The person who came was the representative of street children, the insignificant little Wiggins.

Wiggins saluted and said, "Sir, please, the carriage has arrived, it's downstairs."

"My dear boy," said Holmes mildly, "why don't you choose handcuffs like these at Scotland Yard?" he said, taking out a pair of steel handcuffs from a drawer. Touch it and it snaps on." Lestrade said: "As long as we can find people who need handcuffs, these old-fashioned handcuffs are enough."

"Very well, very well," said Holmes, smiling. "I'd better have the coachman come and help me with my box. Go and fetch him, Wiggins."

I was surprised at this, for according to my companion he seemed to be going on a journey, but he never mentioned it to me.There was only a small traveling suitcase in the room, and he pulled it out and busied himself fastening the straps.While he was busy, the coachman came into the room.

"Cheerer, fasten this belt buckle for me," said Holmes, kneeling and handling the suitcase, without looking back.

The coachman's face was tense, and the boss walked forward unwillingly, and stretched out his hands to help.It was too late to say it, but it was too late, when the steel handcuffs clicked, and Holmes suddenly jumped up.

"Gentlemen," said he, with sparkling eyes, "let me introduce to you Mr. Jefferson Hope, the murderer of Drebber and Stangerson."

It was just a matter of a moment, and I had no time to think about it.At that moment, the look of triumph on Holmes' face, the resounding voice of his voice, the dazed, savage expression of the coachman as he watched the shining handcuffs fall as if by magic on his wrists The face, until now, I still remember it fresh.We stood frozen like statues for a second or two, and then, with a roar of rage, the coachman, breaking free from Holmes' grasp, rushed towards the window, smashing the frame and glass to pieces.But just as the coachman was about to get out, Gregson, Lestrade, and Holmes rushed up like a pack of hounds, and dragged him back.A fierce battle began.This man was so ferocious that the four of us were repeatedly repelled by him.He seemed to have the energy of a madman.His face and hands were cut quite badly when he jumped out of the window, and blood continued to flow, but his resistance was not weakened by this.It wasn't until Lestrade put his hands around his neck that he couldn't breathe that he realized the futility of struggling.In this way, we still couldn't rest assured, so we tied his hands and feet again.After it was tied up, we stood up, gasping for breath.

"Here is his carriage," said Holmes. "Take him to Scotland Yard. Now, gentlemen," he said, smiling cheerfully, "this little mysterious The case is finally over. Now, I welcome you to ask any questions, and I will never refuse to answer them again."

Eight travelers in the desert
In the middle of the North American continent, there is a large area of ​​arid and desolate desert.It has been an obstacle to cultural development for many years.From the Sierra Nevada to the Nebraska, from the Yellowstone River in the north to Colorado in the south, it is a desolate and quiet area.In these desolate and terrible regions, the scenery of nature is different.Some are high mountains and mountains covered with heavy snow, some are dark and dark valleys, some are swift rivers rushing between majestic canyons, and some are boundless wastelands, where snow covers the fields in winter and gray alkaline land in summer.Even so, those places still have one thing in common, that is, there is no grass growing, and they are extremely desolate.

In this bleak and hopeless land, there are few people, except for the Pawnee and Blackfoot who occasionally walk here in groups to other hunting areas.Even the bravest and strongest will long to walk across this terrible wasteland and rejoin the prairie.There were only coyotes slinking through the undergrowth, giant eagles soaring slowly through the air, and that stupid grizzly looking for food in the shadowy canyons.They are the only residents in the wilderness.

There is no place in the world more dismal than the northern foothills of the Sierra Blanca.Looking up, I saw patches of saline-alkali land separated by dwarf oak forests on the wasteland.At the end of the horizon, the mountains are undulating, covered with snow, and silver light is shining everywhere.In this land, there is neither life nor anything related to life.Not a single bird could be seen in the iron-blue sky, there was no movement on the gray earth, and there was a dead silence everywhere.

Some people say that there is nothing related to life in this vast wilderness. In fact, this statement is not accurate.For looking down from the Sierra Blanca, one could see a path winding its way through the desert and disappearing into the distant horizon.This trail was made by many vehicles and trampled by countless adventurers.The white things scattered here and there reflected the light in the sun, which was very dazzling on the monotonous salt-alkali land.When I got closer, it turned out to be piles of bones.Among them, the big and thick ones are bovine bones, while the smaller and thinner ones are human bones.On this [-]-mile terrible business travel road, people continue to walk along with the remains of their predecessors lying on the roadside.

On May 40th, [-], a lonely traveler looked down on this miserable scene from a hill.From the outside, he is simply a ghost in this desperate situation.Even for a person with strong observation skills, it is difficult to guess whether he is forty or nearly sixty.His face was gaunt and emaciated, parchment-like brown skin tightly wrapped around a mass of protruding bones.His long brown beard and hair were grizzled, and his deep-set eyes were glazed over.The hand in which he held the rifle was not much more muscular than skeleton.When he stood, he had to rely on the gun for support.However, his tall stature and burly physique are enough to show that he was a very strong person at the beginning.But now, his thin face and the overcoat that covered his bony body made him look very frail.The man was near death due to starvation.

He had endured pain and trekked along the valley, and now he struggled to come to this small plateau.He held out his hopeless hope that he would find even the slightest source of water.Now, what unfolded in front of him was only the boundless saline-alkali land and the continuous barren hills far into the sky, without a single tree around, because where there are trees, there may be water vapor.In this vast land, there is no hope for life.He looked north, west, and east with wild, bewildered eyes, and then he knew that his wandering days were at an end, and that he was about to die on this barren cliff. "What's the difference between dying here and dying on a bed covered with velvet and brocade quilts 20 years later?" He muttered to himself, and sat down in the shadow of a large abrupt rock.Before he sat down, he put his useless rifle on the ground, and then put down the great bundle that was slung over his right shoulder, wrapped in a large gray shawl.It could be seen that he was exhausted, so when he put down the burden, it hit the ground heavily.Suddenly there was a cry from the gray bundle, and out of the bundle emerged a frightened little face with bright brown eyes, and two fat faces with dimples and freckles. His little fist stretched out.

"You hurt me!" the child complained in a childish voice.

"Really?" The man replied apologetically, "I didn't do it on purpose." As he said that, he opened the gray bag and hugged a beautiful little girl from inside.The little girl was about five years old, wearing dainty shoes, a pretty pink top, and a sackcloth bib.From these dresses, it can be seen that her mother loves her meticulously.The child was pale, too, but her strong arms and calves showed that she had suffered far less than her companions.

"How is it now?" he asked anxiously, as she was still rubbing the tousled blond hair at the back of her head.

"Just kiss this place," she said seriously, and showed him where she had knocked just now. "Mommy always does that. Where did Mommy go?"

"Mother's gone. I think you'll see her soon."

The little girl said: "What, are you gone? It's strange, but why hasn't she said goodbye to me? She used to say goodbye to my aunt's every time she went to drink tea, but this time she walked away for three days. God. Hey, I'm so thirsty, isn't there anything to eat and drink here?"

"No, there's nothing, honey. Just bear with it for a while, and you'll be fine in a while. Come on, put your head on me, um, like this, and you'll feel better. My My lips are so dry that I can barely speak, but I think I'll tell you the truth. What's that in your hand?"

The little girl showed him two flakes of mica and said happily, "How beautiful! It's so good! I'm going to take it home and give it to my little brother Bob."

His Excellency said firmly, "You'll see something prettier than this before long. Just wait. I was going to tell you just now. Do you remember when we left that river?"

"Well, I remember." The little girl replied.

"Well, we figured we'd see another river soon. Understand? But something was wrong, maybe with the compass, maybe with the map, or something, so we stopped after that. The river was nowhere to be found either. The water was gone, and there was only a little left, for children like you to drink. And then—later—"

"You can't even wash your face anymore," his little friend said seriously, interrupting him.At the same time, she looked up at his dirty face.

"Not only could I not wash my face, but I had no water to drink. Then Mr. Bender went first, and then Indian Pinter, and then Mrs. MacGregor, and Johnny Horns, and then, my dear, It's your mother."

"So, mother died too?" the little girl cried, covering her face with her bib and crying.

"Yes, they all left, just you and me. Then I thought maybe there might be water here, so I put you on my shoulders, and the two of us moved forward little by little. But the situation seems Still not getting better. We have very little hope of surviving!" replied His Excellency.

The baby stopped crying, and she turned up her tear-stained face and asked, "Are you saying we're going to die too?"

"I suppose so," said his lord sadly.

The little girl smiled happily and said, "Why didn't you say it earlier? You gave me a big jump. You see, as long as we die, we can be with our mother again, can't we?"

"Yes, I will definitely do it, baby." The lord replied with tears in his eyes.

"You'll see her, too. I'll tell mother how good you are to me. I'm sure she'll meet us at Heaven's gate, with a jug of water, and lots of buckwheat cakes, and that's it." The pancakes are steaming hot and browned on both sides, just like the ones Bob and I like to eat. But how long are we going to die?"

"I don't know—it won't be long," said his lord now, gazing at the northern horizon.It turned out that three black dots appeared under the blue sky, and the black dots became bigger and bigger, coming at an extremely fast speed.In an instant it was seen that the three black dots were three large brown birds, which circled over the heads of the two vagrants, and then alighted on a large rock not far above them. .These are three giant eagles, the so-called bald eagles in the western United States. Their appearance is a sign of death.

"Rooster and hen," the little girl cried happily, pointing to the three ferocious animals, and clapped her little hands, intending to startle them and make them fly. "Hey, is this place also made by God?"

"Of course he made it," replied her companion.Her sudden question surprised him.

The little girl went on to say: "He built Illinois over there, and he built Missouri. I think this must be built by someone else. It's not very well built here, even the water and trees are forgotten."

The adult asked hesitantly: "Do you want to pray?"

The little girl replied, "It's not evening yet."

"Never mind, there shouldn't be any fixed hour. Don't worry, God won't blame us. Just say your prayers now, as we do every night in the wagon when we go through the moor."

The little girl opened her eyes and asked curiously, "Why don't you pray yourself?"

He replied, "I don't remember the prayers. I haven't said a prayer since I was half as high as that gun. But I don't think it's too late to pray now. You read the prayers , I will read after you."

The little girl spread the bundle on the ground and said, "Then you have to kneel down, and I will kneel down too. You have to raise your hands like this, it will make you feel better."

(End of this chapter)