The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 94 The Return (9)
"I've been here a month. I've rented a downstairs room on the farm. I can come and go every night without disturbing anyone. I've tried my best to trick Elsie away." ...I know she read what I wrote because she answered one of the lines one time. So I panicked and started threatening her. She sent me a letter begging me to go away and Said it would break her heart if it did damage her husband's reputation. She also said that if I promised to get out of here and never pester her again, she would be there at three o'clock in the morning while her husband was asleep Then come downstairs and talk to me at the last window. She came down with money and tried to bribe me to go. I was so angry that I grabbed her arm and tried to throw her out of the window. Just then her husband burst into the house with a revolver. Elsie collapsed on the floor and we were looking at each other. I had a gun in my hand too. I raised it to put He scared away and I was able to leave. Who knew he fired, but missed me. Almost at the same time I fired, and he was immediately knocked down. I hurried away through the garden, and heard the door behind me. The sound of the window. Gentlemen, everything I said was true. I heard nothing of what happened after that, until the boy came on horseback with a letter, and I walked here like a fool, and put I will deliver it to you myself."

When the American spoke these words, a carriage had arrived with two uniformed policemen sitting in it.Inspector Martin stood up and touched the prisoner on the shoulder with his hand.

"We should go."

"Can I see her first?"

"No, she hasn't woken up yet. Mr. Holmes, next time I encounter a major case, I really hope to have the good luck of having you as my guide."

We stood at the window and watched the carriage drive away.I turned and saw the ball of paper thrown on the table by the prisoner. It was the letter that Holmes had used to lure him into his trap.

"Look, Watson, what is written on it," said Holmes with a smile.

There are no words in the letter, only a line of dancing people:
"If you translate by a cipher of the kind I have explained," said Holmes, "you will find that it means nothing more than 'Come here at once. , there were other people than Elsie who could have written such a letter. So, my dear Watson, it turned out that we had done us a favor by these villainous little dancers. I also felt that I had kept my promise , add something unusual to your notebook. I think we shall catch the three-forty train, and be back in time for supper in Baker Street."

One more word about the final outcome: American Abe Slaney was sentenced to death at the Norwich Winter Trials, but given some mitigating circumstances and the fact that it was indeed Hilton Cupid who shot first, He was commuted to hard labor.As for Mrs. Cupid, I only hear that she recovered and is still a widow, devoting all her energies to helping the poor and managing her husband's estate.

solo cyclist

From [-] to [-] Mr. Sherlock Holmes was very busy.It is no exaggeration to say that in the past eight years, there was not a single difficult case in the various police stations that did not require consulting Holmes.There are also hundreds of very complex and characteristic private cases in which Holmes has also played a major role.During this long period of continuous work, many amazing achievements have been made, and inevitably there are also some failure cases.As I have documented each of these cases, large and small, many of which I have personally participated in, it is not difficult to imagine how difficult it is to know which ones I should choose to make public.However, I can, as I have done in the past, give preference to cases not known for the ferocity of the crime, but for the cleverness and dramatic appeal of the closing.It is for this reason that I have chosen the case of Miss Violet Smith, Charrington's lone cyclist, and the strange end of our investigation.The case ended in unexpected tragedy.Now I will introduce the situation to the readers.To be sure, these incidents did not add much to my friend's already famous talents, but there was something unique about this case, very different from the long criminal records from which I have gathered material for these little stories.

Looking through my notes for 23, I found that it was Saturday, April [-], when we first heard Violet Smith talk about herself.I remember that Holmes was displeased with her visit at the time, for he was at the time preoccupied with a very inexplicable and intricate problem concerning the troubles of the famous tobacco magnate John Vincent Harden.What my friend likes most is accuracy and concentration, and hates being interrupted by other things when he is busy with the matter at hand.Even so, he was not stubborn by nature, and it was certainly impossible for him to refuse the beautiful girl who was slender, well-mannered, and dignified to tell him what happened to him, not to mention that she came to Baker Street in the middle of the night to beg him. Helpful and pointing.It was in vain that Holmes declared that the time was filled, for the girl was determined to speak.Obviously, if she doesn't get what she wants, don't try to get her to leave without brute force.Holmes could only smile resignedly, and invited the handsome intruder to sit down and tell the truth about her troubles.

"At least it won't be a thing to impair your health," said Holmes, looking her up and down with a keen eye. "A cyclist like you must have a lot of energy."

She looked at her feet in amazement, and I also noticed that the soles of her shoes were frayed by the edge of the pedals.

"Yes, I often ride a bicycle, Mr. Holmes, and it is precisely because of this that I am calling on you today."

My friend took the girl's ungloved hand, and examined it with the same concentration as a scientist examines a specimen, without saying a word.

"I trust you will forgive me. It is my business," said Holmes, putting down the girl's hand. "I almost took you for a typist. You are evidently a musician. Attention, Watson." Have you ever had the spoon-shaped fingertips that are common to those two professions? However, she has an aura on her face." The woman calmly turned her face to the light, "That's something typists don't have. So, this lady It's a musician."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music."

"From the look on your face, I think you teach music in the country."

"Yes, sir, near Farnham, on the Surrey border."

"It's a fine place, and brings to mind many interesting things. You must remember, Watson, that it was near there that we caught the counterfeiter Archie Stamford. Well, Miss Violet, at the Surrey border. Farnham, what has happened to you?"

The girl articulated the following queer incident with clarity and composure:

"Mr. Holmes, my father is dead. His name was James Smith, and he was the conductor of the old Empire Theatre. My mother and I have no one in the world except an uncle, Ralph Smith, who arrived twenty-five years ago. Africa gone, and not heard from since. We were all alone when my father died, but one day we were told there was an ad in The Times asking what happened to us. You can imagine our excitement, Because we thought we had been left an inheritance. We immediately went to the solicitor by the name given in the newspaper, and there met two more gentlemen, Carruthers and Woodley, who were visiting from South Africa. They Said to be a friend of my uncle who died in poverty in Johannesburg a few months ago. Before my uncle died, he asked them to go to his relatives and make sure that his relatives were not destitute. This seems to make us very strange , because my uncle Ralph, who cared little for us when he was alive, took such good care of us when he died. But Mr. Carruthers explained that because my uncle had just heard of his brother's death, he felt sorry for us. lives with great responsibilities.”

"Excuse me," said Holmes, "but when did you meet?"

"December last year, it's been four months now."

"Please continue."

"I find Mr. Woodley disgusting. He's an ill-bred young man, with a pudgy face, a red beard, and a gruff disposition, with his hair hanging on either side of his forehead, and he keeps winking at me. I think he's very unpleasant. People like it, and I believe Cyril must not be happy for me to know this person."

"Oh, Cyril is his name!" said Holmes, smiling.

The girl blushed and smiled.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, Cyril Morton, is an electrical engineer, and we plan to be married at the end of the summer. Why, how did I bring this up? I would say that Mr. Woodley is very annoying, and the old man Mr. Carruthers was more polite than Mr. Carruthers. Although he was sallow, clean-shaven, and taciturn, he was polite and had a good smile. He inquired about our situation, found us poor, and invited me to his house. To be a teacher for his only ten-year-old daughter. I said I didn't want to leave my mother, and he said I could go home and visit her every weekend, and promised to pay me a hundred pounds a year, which is of course a very generous salary. So at last I agreed, and came to Chiltern Farm, about six miles from Farnham. Mr. Carruthers, whose wife had died, had employed a housekeeper, Mrs. Dixon, an old woman Respectable, dignified person. The kid was lovely too, and all was well. Mr. Carruthers was very kind, loved music, and we had a great evening together, and I visited my mother at home in the city at the weekends.

"The first thing that went wrong in such a happy life was a visit from Mr. Woodley with the red beard. A week of his visit, alas! seemed like three months to me. He was a dreadful man , domineering to others, and even more unscrupulous to me. He did a lot of ugly things to show his love to me, boasted how rich he was, and said that if I married him, I could get the most beautiful diamond in London. Finally, when I always treated him badly At the time of talking, one day after dinner he grabbed me and took me in his arms--he had a lot of strength--and swore he wouldn't let me go if I didn't kiss him. That's when Mr. Carruthers came in , pulled him away from me. For this, Woodley turned on his hosts, and knocked Carruthers to the ground, leaving him with a large gash on his face. Thus ended Woodley's visit, and the next day Mr. Carruthers Apologize to me and promise never to subject me to such insults again. I have not seen Mr. Woodley since.

"Mr. Holmes, I have finally come to the specific matter on which I have come to ask you today. You must know that I ride to Farnham Station every Saturday morning to catch the twelve-twenty-two train into town. The road from Chiltern Farm to the station is a remote, very deserted part, perhaps a mile long, between the Charrington heath on one side and the woods outside Charrington Hall on the other. Couldn't be a wilder place than this. It's rare to meet a wagon, a farmer until you get close to the Crooksbury Hill road. I passed this place two weeks ago and looked back now and then I noticed a man riding a bicycle about two hundred yards behind me. He looked like a middle-aged man with a black short beard. Before I reached Farnham, I looked back and the man had disappeared, so I didn't Think of the matter again. But, Mr. Holmes, I saw the man again on that part of the road on my return on the Monday. You can imagine my surprise. And the next Saturday and Monday will be nothing like the last time. Not bad, the thing happened again, and I was more and more astonished. The man kept a certain distance from me and never disturbed me, but it was very odd after all. I told Mr. Carruthers about it, and he seemed He took my word seriously, and told me he had ordered a horse and a buggy, so that I would not be alone when I crossed that back road again.

"The horse and buggy were supposed to be here this week, but the seller didn't deliver for some reason, so I had to ride to the station. It was this morning. I came to Charrington Heath, Looking at the distance, it's not bad at all, the man is there, exactly the same as two weeks ago. He is always far away from me, I can't see his face clearly, but it is certainly not someone I know. He wears He was dressed in black and had a cloth hat on. All I could see was the black beard on his face. Today I wasn't afraid, but I was full of doubts. I was determined to find out who he was and what he was up to. So I slowed down He also slowed down his speed. Then I stopped to ride, and he stopped to ride. So I came up with an idea to deal with him. There was a sharp turn on the road, and I pedaled hard to turn around , and stopped to wait for him. I was counting on him to turn the corner quickly and pass in front of me without braking. But he never showed. I went back and looked around the turn. I could see a mile of There was no sign of him on the road. What is especially amazing is that there is no fork in this place, and he cannot go away."

Holmes smiled softly, and rubbed his hands together. "It does have its character," he said. "How long is it between the time you turn the bend and the time you find the road empty?"

"Two or three minutes."

"Then it's too late for him to retreat from the same road, do you think there is no fork in the road?"

"No."

"Then he must have walked away from the sidewalk."

"Impossible to go the heath side, or I would have seen him."

"Then, by reasoning by exclusion, we have ascertained the fact that he went towards Charrington Hall, which, as far as I know, is on the side of the road. Anything else? ?”

"No, Mr. Holmes. It is only because I am very perplexed and unhappy that I have come to see you and ask for your advice."

Holmes sat for a while in silence.

"Where is the gentleman to whom you are engaged?" asked Holmes at last.

"He's at Midland Electric in Coventry."

"He won't come to see you by surprise, will he?"

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, don't I know him?"

"Are there any other men who admire you?"

"There were a few before I knew Cyril."

"Since then?"

"If you count Woodley among my admirers, he's a dreadful one."

"Is there no one else?"

Our beautiful client seems to be in a bit of a bind.

"Who is he?" asked Holmes.

"Oh, it may be purely my imagination, but sometimes I seem to think that my employer, Mr. Carruthers, is interested in me. We are often together, and I accompany him in the evenings, and he never says anything. He is a very polite man. A gentleman, but a girl is always sensitive."

"Ha!" said Holmes gravely. "What does he do for a living?"

"He's rich."

"Has he no carriage or horses?"

"Well, at least he's pretty rich. He's in town two or three times a week, and he's very concerned about South African gold stocks."

"Miss Smith, you will tell me all that you discover. I am very busy at the moment, but I will find time to investigate your case. In the meantime, do not act without telling me. Good-bye, I trust we will Good news for you."

"It is only natural that a girl like her should have suitors," said Holmes, musing, smoking his pipe. "But don't take the lonely road and ride your bicycle to pursue a girl. There is no doubt that it is a secret love." But, Watson, there are some rather curious details in this case, which are quite troubling."

"You mean he's only in that place?"

"That's right. The first thing we need to do is find out who rented Charrington Manor. Then find out what the relationship between Carruthers and Woodley is, because they are not the same type of people at all. Why are they so eager to find out about Lal What about the relatives of Jeff Smith? And it is a matter of fact that the Carruthers, six miles from the station, did not buy a single horse, and yet paid more than twice as much for a governess. What kind of housekeeping? Strange, Watson, very strange!"

"Are you going to investigate?"

"No, my dear friend, you go down and investigate. It may be a trivial conspiracy, and I cannot interrupt other important work for it. You will go to Farnham early on Monday morning and hide in Charington Stone. Near the South Bush, observe these for yourself, and use your own judgment. Then, find out who lives at Charrington Park, and come back and report to me. Now, Watson, after getting some reliable evidence and having Hopefully it can be used to close the case, I have nothing else to say about the matter."

The girl told us she left Waterloo station at nine-fifty on Monday, so I started early for the nine-thirteen train.At Farnham Station, I had no trouble getting to Charrington Place.It was impossible to miss the girl's place of peril, for the road was bounded by open heathland on one side, and a garden surrounded by old yew hedges on the other, with towering trees.There is a moss-covered stone road outside the manor, and there are tattered heraldic patterns on the stone pillars on both sides of the gate.In addition to the gravel road in the middle, I found a few gaps in the hedges, which can be penetrated by the path.The house cannot be seen from the road, and the surrounding environment is dark and decadent.

(End of this chapter)