Sherlock Holmes.

Chapter 36 Adventure History (14)
"Kyu Clarks Crane was first deduced by imitating the sound of a rifle trigger being pulled. It was a secret group of former Union soldiers from the southern states after the American Civil War. Branches. Among them, Tennessee, Louisiana, Carolina, Georgia, and Florida are more noticeable. Their forces are mainly devoted to political purposes, such as intimidating black voters, murdering or deporting those who oppose their political views, etc. Before committing atrocities , they usually send some strange but recognizable things to the victim as a warning, such as a small leafy oak branch, a few watermelon seeds or a few orange pits. Those who have been warned can publicly renounce their original intentions. or flee abroad. But if you ignore them, you will be killed, and most of them will be killed in unexpected ways. The group is well-organized and the methods used are extremely systematic, so in each case, no one has ever been spared However, no suspect has ever been tracked down. Although the U.S. government and the upper class in the South have made great efforts, they have not been able to stop it. In the past few years, the organization has grown and spread even more. Until 1869, three The sudden collapse of the K-Klan left only the aftermath of its atrocities.

Holmes put down the book in his hand and said: "You can see that this group collapsed when Openshaw fled the United States with the documents. There may be a causal connection between the two events. No wonder there are always people who insist that Openshaw and his family are not good." It is understandable that these records and diaries involve some important figures in the southern United States, and if they are not retrieved, some people may not even be able to sleep well."

"Then, the page we saw..."

"Exactly as I expected. If I remember correctly, it said 'send the orange pits to A, B, and C' which meant that the warning had been sent to the three. Then it read: A, B Has been cleared or has gone abroad; finally said that he visited C, which probably means that C has been caught. Hey, doctor, look at this dark world, let us bring some light to it. I am sure that at this time, Xiao Ao Penshaw is doing as I say, and this is his only chance. That's all for tonight, please pass me the violin now, and let us temporarily put aside this annoying weather and the misfortune of our compatriots."

The next morning, the sky cleared.The sun shone softly over the city through hazy clouds.When I came down, Holmes was already sitting down to breakfast.

"Forgive me for not waiting for you," he said. "Little Openshaw's case will keep me busy all day."

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"Depending on the results of my preliminary inquiries, perhaps I'll make a trip to Horsham."

"Aren't you going directly?"

"No, I have to check from the city first. You ring the bell, and the maid will bring you coffee."

While I waited for my coffee, I picked up the unopened newspaper on the table and read it.Suddenly, my eyes stopped on a title, and I couldn't help shivering.

"Holmes, you are too late," I cried.

"Ah!" he said, putting down his glass, "I'm worried about this, what's going on?" He looked calm when he spoke, but I knew he was very nervous.

Openshaw's name and the headline "A Tragedy at Waterloo Bridge," which attracted my attention, read as follows:

Last night between [-]:[-] and [-]:[-], police officer Cuco of District H was on duty near Waterloo Bridge when he suddenly heard the sound of someone falling into the water and calling for help.At that time, there was a violent storm and it was pitch black, so even though several people participated in the rescue, it still ended in failure.After the alarm was issued, through the joint efforts of the water police, a body was finally recovered, which was identified as a young gentleman.Judging from the envelope in his pocket, the name of the man was John Openshaw, who lived near Horsham.It is speculated that the deceased may have been in a hurry to catch the last train from Waterloo Station. The road was slippery in the dark and he was in such a hurry that he accidentally stepped on the edge of a small ferry pier and fell into the water.No trace of violence was found on the body of the deceased, and it was evident that it was an accident, which was enough to arouse the attention of the ruling authorities to the safety of the riverside pier.

We sat in silence for some minutes, and Holmes, too, looked dismayed and astonished as I had never seen him before.Finally, he finally spoke: "I'm very sorry, Watson. Although it sounds a little narrow, it really hurt my self-esteem. It's my fault. I will definitely get rid of these guys in my lifetime. He came to me for help, but I sent him away, let him go to a dead end...!" He jumped up from his chair and walked back and forth in the room, unable to control his agitation all the time, and his expression of embarrassment was even more frequent from time to time. floating above his sunken cheeks.I saw him clasping his hands together for a while, and loosening them for a while, over and over again.At last he exclaimed: "Those cunning devils! By what trick did he get him there? The embankment is no direct route to the station at all! Besides, in spite of the darkness, the traffic on that bridge There are still a lot of pedestrians. Well, Watson, I'm going out soon, just wait and see who will win at the end!"

"Are you going to the police?"

"No, I want to be a policeman myself. When the net is made, we can catch flies. But we must make a good net to catch flies."

I had been busy with my medical work all day, and it was very late when I got back to Baker Street.Holmes has not returned yet.He came back just before ten o'clock, very pale and looking exhausted.He ran to the cupboard, pulled off a large loaf of bread, ate it hungrily, and drank a large glass of water.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

"I'm so hungry! I haven't eaten anything since breakfast."

"No more food?"

"Yeah, I haven't eaten at all, and I don't have time to eat."

"How things had been?"

"is acceptable."

"Any clues?"

"It's in my hands. Little Openshaw's revenge will be avenged. Watson, we will treat him in the same way. I have been thinking about it for a long time!"

"What did you say?"

He took an orange from the cabinet, peeled it, squeezed out the core, picked out five oranges and put them in an envelope, and wrote "SH on behalf of JO" on the back of the flap of the envelope, and finally glued the envelope on it. Wrote "USA, Georgia, Savannah, the bark 'Lone Star', for Captain James Calhoun."

"He'll get it when he comes into port," he smiled smugly. "He will surely lose sleep at night when he reads this letter, and will feel that it is a premonition of his death, as happened to Openshaw."

"Who is this Captain Calhoun?"

"It's the leader of that group of bastards. After I get rid of him, I will continue to mess with other people."

"How did you find out?"

He took from his pocket a large sheet of paper covered with dates and names.

"I went to Lloyd's Ship's Annals, and the related old files, and traced every ship that was in the port of Pondicherry, India, in January and February, 1883, and the voyage since it left the port. A whole day." He said, "From the record, 1 ships of larger tonnage have been there in the past two months, and one of the sailing ships named 'Lone Star' caught my attention. , for the record says the ship cleared customs in London and sailed away, but strangely enough, it was named after an American state."

"I guess it's Texas."

"What state it is, I haven't figured out yet, but I'm pretty sure it's an American sailing ship."

"What then?"

"I checked the Dundee records again. It was confirmed that the Lone Star had indeed arrived there in January 1885, which further confirmed my speculation. I then also made a survey of the ships currently docked in the Port of London. Investigate in detail.

"The results of it?"

"The Lone Star was here last week. When I went to the Abbott Dockyard to inquire, I found out that the ship had returned to Savannah Harbor this morning. I also telegraphed the city of Gravesend and learned that The ship has passed by not long ago. As the sea is now easterly, I have no doubt that the ship has passed Goodwinson by now, and is not far from the Isle of Wight."

"Then what are you going to do next?"

"I'll catch him! I checked, and he and his two lieutenants were the only Americans on board, and the rest were Finns and Germans. And according to the dockworkers who loaded them, the three of them had Disembark and disembark. The mail ship will bring them this letter as soon as they reach Savannah Harbor. And I have telegraphed to the police there that they are the three wanted men here. , charged with murder."

However, man's calculation is not as good as heaven's calculation. No matter how delicate the artificially laid net is, it is impossible to be without the slightest loophole.John Openshaw's murderers would never receive those orange pits again, and therefore never know that there was someone wiser and more persistent in the world hunting them down.That autumn, the wind was particularly fierce and lasted for a long time.We have been waiting for news about the Lone Star from Savannah, but there has been no news.Later, I heard that someone far away from the Atlantic Ocean found a broken sternpost after a wave ebbed, with the letters "LS" engraved on it, which should be the abbreviation of "Lone Star".That's all we can learn about the fate of the Lone Star.mysterious beggar
Elias Whitney, the late dean of St. George's University Divinity School, had a brother, Isa Whitney, who became addicted to opium and was addicted to it.As far as I know, the reason why I contracted this bad habit is due to a mistake in college.He read a book written by De Quincey, who was also a drug addict, describing the dreaminess and enjoyment of smoking opium, and he also smoked the tobacco soaked in laudanum in the same way, so as to experience the so-called intoxication. Effect.Over time, I became addicted without knowing it.Later, I found out that it was wrong, but it was already very difficult to quit.Like many people, he has been trapped in it for many years and cannot extricate himself. His relatives and friends both hate and pity him, and there is nothing he can do.I can still think of his appearance: yellow complexion, drooping eyelids, dull eyes, curled up in a chair, like a hapless and down-and-out prince.

One night in June, 1889, my doorbell rang suddenly, when most people were supposed to be going to bed.When I heard the doorbell, I immediately sat up from my chair, and my wife also stopped her sewing with a displeased expression on her face.

"It must be a patient, you're going to be out again," she said.

After a busy day, I came back from the outside tiredly, and couldn't help but sigh after hearing this.

The sound of the door opening was followed by hurried voices, followed by the sound of footsteps.Almost at the same time, the door of my house opened, and a woman came in. She was dressed in dark woolen clothes, with a black veil on her head.

"I'm sorry to bother you at such a late hour!" As she spoke, she walked forward quickly, put her arms around my wife, and began to cry against her. "Oh! I'm so unlucky!" she cried. "You must help me!"

"Ah!" said my wife, lifting her veil. "It's Kate Whitney. Kate, you scared the hell out of me! I didn't expect it to be you!"

"I came to you so late, because I really have nothing to do." This kind of thing often happens. Once women encounter something that goes wrong, they will rush to my wife like a bird in the night to a lighthouse, hoping to get from her. Get some comfort there.

"We're glad you're here! But please take a sip of wine and water, calm down, and tell us what's going on. Or I'll let James go rest, what do you think?"

"Oh! No! I need the doctor's help too. Something happened to Isa. I'm so scared. He hasn't been home for two days!"

This is not the first time she came to my house to ask for help. She consulted me from the perspective of seeking medical treatment, and confided to her wife as an old classmate and old friend.Generally, we will try our best to persuade her, such as asking her if she knows where her husband is, if we can help her find it, and so on.

In fact, it is not difficult to find him.Normally, whenever he got addicted to cigarettes, he would go to an opium den in the easternmost part of the old city to enjoy his addiction.However, he never wandered out for more than a day, and every night he would twitch his body and return home exhausted.But this time the situation seems a bit special, he has been outside for 48 hours.Where will he go?Maybe he was hanging out with the scum of society on the docks, maybe he was still in the opium den, where his wife was convinced he was.The opium den was at the Gold Hotel in Swan Gate Lane, but she knew it was useless.How could she, a young and timid woman, break into such a place and drag her husband out of a horde of demons?
It seems that someone can only do it for him.At first I wanted to go with her, but then I thought, why bother her, I can get him back by myself.In my capacity as Isa Whitney's medical advisor, I believe I have influence over him.And it might be easier for me to go alone.I promised her that if her husband was actually there, I would send him home within two hours. Ten minutes later I got into a small buggy and headed east.For this errand, I didn't pay attention to it at first, let alone thought that it would be so bizarre later on.

It started off well.In Swan Gate Lane, a dirty alley hidden behind the tall wharf buildings on the north bank of the river east of London Bridge, the smokehouse was squeezed between a cheap tailor's store and a gin tavern, with a darkened front. Gap, like a cave.A steep staircase led inside, and I went down the stairs, leaving the car to wait outside.The feet of the drunks who came and went had dented the middle of the stone steps. There was an oil lamp hanging on the door. I felt the latch in the flickering light, and walked into a deep, low room. in the house.The room was filled with brown opium smoke, and rows of wooden beds lined the walls like the forecastle of an immigrant ship.

Through the dim light, one could vaguely see people lying on the bed, some shrugging their shoulders, some with their heads back, and some with their chins upturned. They looked at the new guests from all corners with absent-minded eyes.In the opium-burning metal pipe, the red halo of human sucking shimmers and flickers among the overlapping black shadows.Some of them were talking to themselves, and some were talking to each other in low, monotonous language.But their conversations are often ambiguous, and they may be all their own thoughts. As for what others say to him, they ignore it.However, the vast majority of people just lay quietly, and there was a burning charcoal fire in the distance.An old man sat on a three-legged bench nearby.He was a tall man, with his chin resting on his hands, his elbows on his knees, and his eyes fixed on the coals.

A pale Malay approached me as soon as I entered, handed me a bong and a supply of powder, and invited me to an empty bed inside.

"Thank you very much, but I'm not going to stay here long," I said. "I'm a friend of Mr. Isa Whitney, and I need to talk to him."

To my right, someone moved and made a sound.Through the dim light, I saw Whitney staring at me with wide eyes. He was pale, unkempt, and haggard.

"My God! It's Watson!" said he, looking pitiful and contemptible, and looking tense. "Hi, Watson, what time is it?"

"It's almost eleven o'clock."

"What day?"

"June NO.15, Friday."

"My God! I always thought it was Wednesday. It's Wednesday, don't you scare me." He bowed his head and buried his face in his arms and cried loudly.

"Let me tell you, it's indeed Friday. Your wife has been waiting for you at home for two whole days. Don't you feel guilty?"

"Yes, I should be ashamed, but you are mistaken, Watson, I was only here for a few hours, three pots, four pots... I don't remember. But I will go back to you at once." Little Kate is so poor, I can't let her worry anymore, help me, have you hired a carriage?"

"Yes, the carriage I hired is waiting outside."

"Okay, then I'll go home by car, but you have to help me find out how much I owe. I'm so depressed that I can hardly walk."

I looked around for the shopkeeper, and held my breath between the wooden beds where people were lying, walking back and forth to avoid smelling the disgusting smell.When I passed by the tall old man in the charcoal fire room, I felt someone pull me, and said quietly: "Go over and look back at me!" I hurriedly looked for the source of the voice, only the old man was closer to me, I Surely it was he who said it.But he was still the same as before, sitting there intently.He was wrinkled, bony, stooped, and held a pipe between his knees.I walked a few steps and looked back at him, startled, I would have cried out if I hadn't tried my best to restrain myself.When he turned around, no one could see him except me. His stooped body was straightened, his wrinkles were stretched out, and his eyes were piercing. It turned out to be Sherlock Holmes. He was sitting by the coal brazier watching I laughed at the dumbfounded.Following his instructions, I hurried to his side, and he immediately turned around to face the crowd, and at this moment he showed that trembling and gibberish appearance again.

"Holmes! What are you doing here?" I asked him in a low voice.

"Keep your voice down," he said. "I'm very good at hearing. If you want to help me, get rid of your smoker friend first. I'm eager to talk to you."

"I have hired a carriage to wait outside."

(End of this chapter)