The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 95 The Return (10)
The heather was full of clumps of yellow gorse, glistening in the bright spring sun.I hid behind a clump of bushes, from where I could see both the manor gate and the long stretch of road on either side.When I left the main road, there was no one on the road. At this time, a man was riding a bicycle from the opposite direction towards me.He was dressed in black and had a black beard.He came to the end of Charrington House, jumped out of the car, pushed it into a gap in the hedge, and disappeared from my sight.

After 15 minutes, a second cyclist appeared.This time it was the girl who came from the train station.When I saw her ride to Charrington Hedges, she looked around and continued on.After a while, the man came out of hiding, hopped on his bike, and followed her.In the vast picturesque landscape, only these two figures moved.The dignified girl was riding upright on the bike, but the man behind her was crouching on the handlebars, his every move seemed inexplicable and sneaky.She looked back at him and slowed down.He also slowed down.The girl got out of the car, and he got out immediately, keeping a distance of two hundred yards from her.The girl's next move was unexpected and quick, she suddenly turned the front of the car and pedaled for a while, and rushed straight towards him.However, he was also as fast as the girl, desperate to escape.She immediately returned to the main road, holding her head proudly, disdaining to pay any attention to the silent follower.He turned, too, and kept that distance until he turned the road and disappeared from my sight.

I was quite right to stay where I was hiding, for the man reappeared at once, and he rode back without haste.He turned into the manor gate and got out of the car.I watched him stand among the trees for a few minutes, with his hands up, as if adjusting his tie.Then he rode past me on his bike and rode down the driveway facing the manor.I ran out of the heather, looked through the gaps in the trees, and could vaguely see the old gray building in the distance with its standing Tudor chimneys, but the driveway was hidden in a thick bush. I can never see that person again.

However, I felt that I had done a good job, and walked back to Farnham in high spirits.The local estate agent could tell me nothing about Charrington Hall, but referred me to a well-known firm in Palmar.I called there on my way home, and was well received by the agent.No, I can't take Charrington for the summer, I'm too late, it was let a month ago, to a Mr. Williamson.He's a decent old gentleman.The polite broker said politely that he couldn't tell me anything more, because he couldn't talk about his client.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened attentively to my long report that evening.I expected compliments, and valued his compliments, but I never heard a word of approval.Quite the contrary, his countenance was even more serious than usual when he commented on things I had done and hadn't done.

"My dear Watson, your hiding-place was very poorly chosen. You were supposed to hide behind the hedge, so that you could have a closer look at the interesting man. In fact, your hiding-place was several hundred yards from there, Tell me even less than Miss Smith. She doesn't think she knows the man, and I'm sure she does. Otherwise, why was he so evasive, lest the girl come near him and get a good view of him? You said he was crouching over the handlebars of his bicycle, you see, isn't that just to hide his face? You did it really badly. He came back to the house, and you went to a London to find out who he was. Real estate agent there!"

"Then what should I do?" I shouted a little feverishly.

"Go to the nearest tavern, it's the center of country gossip. You'll be told the names of everyone, from the master to the kitchen maid. As for Williamson, I don't have any recollection. If he's old , he wouldn't be the nimble cyclist, the one who escaped calmly under the swift and nimble pursuit of the girl. What's your takeaway from this journey? Knowing that what the girl told is true I never doubted it. Knowing that the cyclist was connected with the estate, I also never doubted it. Knowing that the estate was rented by Williamson, who can guarantee it? Well, my dear Hua Don't be discouraged, Mr. Health. We can do a little more work before Saturday, and I can make an inquiry or two myself during that time."

The next morning we received a note from Miss Smith, recounting briefly and accurately what I had witnessed yesterday, but the gist of the letter was left in the postscript: "When I told you I was While the situation here has become difficult, I trust you to keep the secret I have confided to you due to the fact that my employer has proposed to me. His affection, I trust, is very deep and very noble. This I told him, of course, that I was engaged. He took my refusal very seriously, but in a very kind way. However, you can understand that I was in a somewhat awkward position. Our young friend seemed to be in This is a difficult situation." After reading the letter, Holmes said thoughtfully, "the case is certainly more interesting and has more possibilities than I had imagined. I should go to the country for a quiet and peaceful day. Day, I intend to go this afternoon, and to test a point or two that have formed in my head."

Holmes spent a quiet life in the country, and the ending of this incident is also very strange, because he came back to Baker Street very late at night, with a broken lip and a big bruise on his forehead, and he looked very embarrassed. Like a subject of a Scotland Yard investigation.He relished talking about his adventures, laughing heartily as he talked.

"Active exercise is always useful, but unfortunately I do so little," said Holmes. "You know, I have mastered some good old English boxing, and I could use it now and then, for example, today, if I hadn't had it. Then I would have suffered a very humiliating defeat."

I asked him to tell me what happened.

"I went to the country tavern to which you were alerted, and made my inquiries there discreetly. In the bar, the loquacious proprietor told me all I needed to know. Williamson, an old man with a white beard, and a handful of servants Lives at the manor. Rumor has it that he was a pastor, and probably still is, but one or two little things about the manor during this short period of time made me think he wasn't a pastor at all. There was a clergyman by that name, but he had a bad past. The shopkeeper went on to tell me that there were always some visitors at the farm every week-end--'a rascal lot, sir'--especially the man with the red beard, My name is Woodley, and he's always there. We were talking about this, and this Mr. Woodley, who had been drinking a beer in the bar, overheard everything we had to say. He asked who I was, What am I going to do, what do I mean by asking these questions. He can't stop talking, he can't stop talking. He swears to the end, and backhanded me so viciously, I didn't have time to dodge. The next few minutes are more interesting, I give hello to the vicious thug A beat. I myself became what you see. Mr. Woodley drove home. And so ended my country excursion. I have to admit, however amusing, that my day on the Surrey border The journey is not greater than your harvest."

On Thursday we received another letter from the woman client.She wrote: "Mr. Holmes, you will not be surprised to hear that I am about to quit the job offered by Mr. Carruthers. Even if the pay is good, I will not put up with this embarrassing situation any longer. I am going back to town on Saturday Mr. Carruthers has bought a carriage, so that if there was any danger to me on the road before, there is no danger on the back road.

"As for the specific reason for my resignation, it is not only the embarrassing situation between me and Mr. Carruthers, but also because that disgusting Mr. Woodley is here again. He was terrible before, and now he is even more terrible. Because he seems to be out of something, that made his features look more menacing. I saw him through the window, luckily, I didn't come across him. He talked to Mr. Carruthers for a long time, after which Mr. Carruthers was very excited ...Woodley must live in the neighbourhood, for he does not live at the Carruthers' house. I saw him slinking about in the bushes this morning. I expect to come across this ferocious eater in this place before long. A beast, I can't express how much I hate and fear him. How can Mr. Carruthers put up with such a fellow? Not for a moment! But all my troubles will be over by Saturday."

"I believe so, Watson, I believe so," said Holmes gravely. "The little girl is surrounded by a most secret conspiracy, and it is our duty to go to the country to protect her last." A trip to be disturbed by no one. I think, Watson, that we must find time to go together on Saturday morning, in order to insure that our strange and extensive investigation does not come to an unhappy end."

I confess that up to now I have not taken the case too seriously, and that there is no danger in it, but something absurd and queer.It is not uncommon for a man to lie in wait for a beautiful woman by the side of the road and follow her. If he is only a little presumptuous, not only afraid to woo her, but to run away when she approaches him, then he is not Terrible thugs.That villain, Woodley, was another matter.But, save on that one occasion, he never harassed our client, nor did he intrude into the Carruthers' house lately, when he was in her presence.The cyclist was undoubtedly a member of what the hotel owner said was a weekend party.But who is he?What is he going to do?But still vague.Holmes left our room with a serious expression, and put a pistol in his pocket, which made me feel that there might be tragedy hidden behind this series of strange events.

The sun shines brightly on the morning after the rain, and the heath-covered countryside, with its dazzling clumps of gorse, is refreshing and even more beautiful to those who are tired of the gloomy London.Holmes and I strolled along the wide gravel road, breathing the fresh morning air. It was a spring scene full of birdsong and flowers.On our way from the top of Crooksbury Hill we could see the gray manor towering among the old oaks.The oak trees were old enough, but they looked very young compared with the buildings surrounded by them.Holmes pointed out a long stretch of road, cut like a reddish-yellow band between the brown heath and the verdant woods.In the distance, a small black dot appeared, and it could be seen that a one-horse carriage was moving in our direction.Holmes gave a cry of anxiety.

"I am half an hour late," said Holmes. "If this is her carriage, she must be catching an early train. I am afraid, Watson, that she will pass Charrington before we see her."

By this time we had passed the high point of the road, and the carriage was no longer in sight, but we picked up speed, so fast that I fell behind, and I began to appreciate the disadvantages of sitting still.Holmes, however, kept up his exercise, for he had inexhaustible energy.His brisk pace never slowed down, when suddenly he stopped a hundred yards in front of me.I saw him raise one hand in a gesture of defeat and despair.At the same moment an empty carriage turned the bend in the road, the horse dragged its bridle and trotted, and the carriage creaked towards us.

"It's too late, Watson, it's too late!" Holmes shouted, as I ran up panting to my side. "I'm so stupid that I didn't think she was going to catch the early train? It must be hijacking." , Watson, it's hijacking, it's murder! God knows what? Block the road! Stop the horse! That's right. Quick, jump into the car, and see if we can undo the consequences of our blunder."

We jumped into the carriage, Holmes turned the horse, gave it a good whip, and we galloped back down the road.As we turned a bend, the whole road between the manor house and the heather lay before us.I took Holmes by the arm.

"That's him!" I gasped.

A lone cyclist rode towards us.He lowered his head, shrugged his shoulders, put all his strength on the pedals, and pedaled the car as fast as a racing driver.Suddenly he raised his bearded face, saw us close in front of him, stopped the car, and jumped off the bicycle. His black beard and pale face were in stark contrast.His eyes were bright, as if extremely excited.He stared at us and the carriage with a look of wonder on his face.

"Hey! Stop!" he yelled, blocking our way with his bicycle. "Where did you get this wagon? Hey, stop!" he growled, drawing a pistol from his side pocket. , "Tell you, stop immediately, otherwise, I will really feed your horse a bullet."

Holmes threw over the reins, and sprang from the carriage.

"You are exactly the person we want to see. Where is Miss Violet Smith?" Holmes asked hastily and clearly.

"I was going to ask you. You are in her carriage, and you ought to know where she is."

"We came across this deserted carriage on the road and drove it back to save the girl."

"My God! My God! What shall I do?" cried the stranger in despair. "They've got her, that damned Woodley and that rogue priest! Come with me, sir, if you really are hers." Come on, my friend. Help me to save her, and I don't care if I die in Charrington Woods!"

He ran frantically towards a gap in the hedge with a pistol in his hand, and Holmes followed closely. I tied the horse to the roadside to graze, and ran behind Holmes.

"That's where they went," said the stranger, pointing to the footprints in the muddy path. "Hey! Wait a minute! Is there anyone in the bushes?"

It was a boy of seventeen or eighteen, like a groom, wearing leather trousers and leggings.He was lying on his back, his legs curled up, with a terrible gash on his head, and he was unconscious, but still breathing.I took a look at his wound and knew there was no bone.

"This is Peter the groom," cried the stranger, "who drove the girl. The beasts dragged him out of the cart and clubbed him. Let him lie here; we can't save him anyway, but we but as soon as possible to save the girl from the worst that can befall a woman."

We rushed frantically down the winding path through the woods, but Holmes stopped short as soon as we reached the bushes surrounding the house.

"They didn't go into the yard. There are their footprints on the left, here, by the laurel bushes. Ah! I was right."

As he was speaking, there was a woman's scream, and a trembling sound of utter horror came from a dense green undergrowth in front of us.Suddenly the screaming stopped, followed by a strangled gurgle.

"Here! Here! They're on the side of the pétanque-green," said the stranger, breaking through the bushes. "Ah, these cowards! Come with me, gentlemen! Oh! It's too late! It's too late! "

We suddenly broke into a forest meadow surrounded by ancient trees.Beyond the meadow, in the shade of a great oak tree, stood three men.One is a woman, our client, with her head bowed, almost fainted, with a handkerchief over her mouth.Opposite her stood a fierce-looking young man with a red beard, with leggings tied and crossed, with one hand on his hip and a whip in the other, with a look that made him look triumphant.Between the two stood an old man with a gray beard, in light tweed and a short white cassock, who had evidently just officiated at the ceremony, for as soon as we arrived he pocketed a prayer book, and Gently patted the insidious groom on the back, and blessed him with great interest.

"They're having a wedding!" I gasped.

"Come!" cried our guide, "Come!" and he ran across the clearing, Holmes and I following him closely.When we rushed up to the girl, she was staggering against a tree.Williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowed mockingly to us, while Woodley the Thug, with a savage growl and a smug laugh, charged at us.

"You may take off your beard, Bob," said he. "I know you, all right. Well, you and your mate are just in time, and I was just about to introduce Mrs. Woodley to you."

The answer of our guide was peculiar.He pulled off his camouflaged black beard and threw it to the ground, revealing a long, clean-shaven buff face.Then he raised his pistol and took aim at the young thug, who at that moment charged at him with the deadly whip in his hand.

"Yes," said our companion, "I am Bob Carruthers, and I will keep the girl safe, or I will kill myself. I told you what I would do if you molested her. God bless, I will do what I say."

"You are too late, she is already my wife."

"No, she is your widow."

(End of this chapter)