Sherlock Holmes.

Chapter 38 Adventure History (16)
Our carriage stopped before a large villa in the middle of the courtyard.A stable boy ran over, and as soon as the car stopped, he pulled the horse's head.I got out of the car, and walked side by side with Holmes up a small curving gravel road leading to the front of the building.The door of the building is open, and a young woman is standing at the door.She was fair-skinned and fair-haired, and she wore a well-fitting light-colored muslin dress with gauze trims around the collar and cuffs.The edge of the gauze is pink, fluffy and transparent like a cicada's wings, and the light makes her look even more graceful.She supported the door with one hand, and raised her hand halfway in the air. She looked very anxious, obviously she had been waiting for a long time.She bent slightly, leaned forward, stared at us with longing eyes, and slightly parted lips, as if she wanted to ask us questions at any time.

"How's the situation?" she asked, seeing me as she asked.Her question sounded promising, but when Holmes shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, she began to feel sad again.

"Any exciting news?"

"No."

"No bad news either?"

"Yes."

"Thank God! Come in, you've been tired all day too."

"He's a friend of mine, Dr. Watson. I'm glad he's here to help me solve my case. He's played a part in many cases in the past."

"Nice to meet you," she said, shaking hands with me. "If there is any place where the hospitality is not good, please forgive me. The blow I have suffered recently is too great, and I hope to understand."

"Dear madam," I said, "I have suffered a lot, and you needn't be so polite to me, because I don't mind. It would be my pleasure if I could be of any help to you." We walked together to a In the brightly lit restaurant, cold meals are already placed on the table.Mrs. St. Clair said: "I would like to ask you two questions, Mr. Holmes. I hope you can give me a clear answer, without the slightest concealment, will you?"

"Yes, madam, you can ask."

"You don't have to think about my feelings, I will control myself, and I won't faint when I say I faint. The only request is that I hope you tell the truth."

"What do you want to ask?"

"Don't lie to me, do you think Neville is still alive?"

Sherlock Holmes was immediately embarrassed by this question.

"Tell me the truth!" she asked eagerly, standing on the carpet, looking at Holmes.The latter was now sitting in a wicker chair.

"To be honest, ma'am, I don't think so."

"You mean he's gone?"

"Correct."

"Murdered?"

"I don't think so, but it's possible."

"What day did he die?"

"Monday."

"Mr. Holmes, I received his letter today. Perhaps you would like to explain what is going on?" Hearing this, Holmes jumped up like an electric shock.

"What did you say?" he called out.

"That's right, just today." She held up a small piece of paper in her hand and stood there with a smile.

"Can I take a look?"

"of course."

Holmes snatched the note hastily, moved the lamp over, spread the paper on the table again, and began to read it earnestly.I also stood up and leaned over to read the note.The envelope was of rough paper, and it was postmarked from Gravesend, and dated to this day, the previous day to be exact, for it was past midnight.

"The handwriting is very illegible," he murmured, and suddenly raised his voice again. "It is definitely not your husband's writing. He could not have written such illegible handwriting."

"Yes, the envelope probably wasn't, but the letter inside was written by him."

"I think that no matter who wrote the envelope, they didn't know the address at the beginning and wrote it after asking."

"why?"

"You see, the names of people are written in dark black ink, which dried by itself after being written. The ink of other characters is gray, obviously after being written, it was blotted with blotting paper. If the paper is blotted dry, then the color of all the handwriting will not be different. This person wrote the name first, and then wrote the address, which means that he does not know the address of the recipient. Of course, this is a trivial matter, but it should not be ignored. Let's read the letter now, ha! There's one more thing."

"Yes, one of his signet rings."

"Are you sure it's your husband's handwriting?"

"It's one of his handwriting."

"What kind?"

"It's the one used in a hurry, and although it's different from the usual one, I can recognize it just the same."

Dear:
Don't be afraid, everything will be fine.Now that the mistake has been made, it will take some time to correct it, so please be patient.

Neville

"The letter was written in pencil, and the paper was the title page of an octavo book, and no handprints were left on it! Oh! It looks like the man who sent the letter from Gravesend has a dirty thumb. Ha! The envelope was sealed with glue, and the man was chewing tobacco while gluing it, if I guess correctly. Are you sure it's your husband's handwriting, ma'am?"

"I'm sure it's Neville's handwriting."

"The token was sent from Gravesend today. Mrs. St. Clair, although I cannot conclude that the danger is over, there is indeed a glimmer of hope."

"He is certainly alive, Mr. Holmes."

"Perhaps the handwriting was cleverly forged in order to lead us astray. And the ring, after all, proves nothing, because it can be taken from your husband's hand!"

"No, no, it was indeed written by him!"

"That's true, but there's also the possibility that it was written on Monday and not posted until today."

"It is possible."

"If this is the case, then during this period, anything can happen."

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, why do you keep pouring cold water on me? He will be all right. There is an understanding between us, and if something happens to him, I must feel it. On the day I last saw him, he Accidentally cut my hand in the bedroom, and I was in the dining room, and I felt like something was wrong, so I ran upstairs. You see, even such a small thing makes me so sensitive, let alone his Life, how can I not feel ominous at all?"

"In my experience, it is true that a woman's intuition is sometimes more accurate than an analytical reasoner's assertion. According to this letter, you do have a strong case to support your assertion. However, if your husband still alive, and still has the freedom to write letters, why should he live outside, why doesn't he go home?"

"I can't guess why, it's hard to understand."

"Did he say anything before he left on Monday?"

"No."

"Were you surprised when you saw him in Swan Gate Lane?"

"Of course I was surprised."

"Was the window open?"

"Correct."

"Then he called you?"

"Yes."

"But he just uttered an inarticulate call?"

"Yes."

"Do you think he was asking for help?"

"Yeah, I think it was a cry for help, and he waved his hands."

"Maybe it was also a cry of surprise, because he suddenly saw you, and instinctively raised his hands because it was so unexpected. Do you think it is possible?"

"possible."

"You feel like someone pulled him back by force, don't you?"

"He was gone all at once, it was so sudden."

"It's possible that he shrank back all of a sudden. Did you see anyone else in the room?"

"No, but at the foot of the stairs, I saw that Indian assan, and that scary person was there too."

"In that case, when you saw your husband, was he still wearing his old clothes?"

"Yes, but without the collar and tie, I can clearly see his neck bared."

"Did he mention Swan Gate Lane before?"

"No."

"Did he smoke opium?"

"Never smoked."

"Thank you, ma'am, that's all I'm trying to figure out. Let's have something to eat before we rest, maybe we'll be busy all day tomorrow."

Mrs. St. Clair had prepared for us a large and comfortable room with two beds.Exhausted from the whole night's running, I got into bed immediately after entering the house, ready to sleep.But Holmes was not at all sleepy.He is always like this, if there is an unsolvable problem bothering him, he will definitely forget to eat and sleep for days or even a week, always thinking over and over again, re-analyzing, rearranging and summarizing various information, and inferring back and forth from different angles , until you figure it out.So, I knew he was going to stay up all night again this time.He took off his jacket and vest, changed into a large blue pajamas, searched everywhere in the house, gathered the pillows and cushions, used them to build a simple oriental sofa, and then sat cross-legged on it. An ounce of strong tobacco and a box of matches lay before him.In the dim light, I saw him sitting there cross-legged, staring at a corner of the ceiling, and still biting the old briar pipe in his mouth.He sat there in silence, blue smoke rising from his mouth and hovering over his head.He neither made a sound nor moved, his face was as firm as a mountain eagle.Due to overwork, I soon fell asleep, while my friend sat like that, lost in endless thoughts.I woke up from a nightmare in the middle of the night, and dimly saw him still maintaining the same posture, sitting there quietly.When it was almost dawn, I opened my eyes, and the summer sun shone into the house. Except that the pile of shredded tobacco from the night before had disappeared, everything else was the same.My friend still had the pipe in his mouth, and the smoke was still slowly rising and coiling, filling the room with a thick puff of smoke.

"Are you awake, Watson?" he asked.

"woke up."

"Do you want to drive out and relax on the road?"

"Yes I do."

"Then get ready. No one is up yet. Maybe I can get the carriage out smoothly. I know where the little stable boy sleeps. I'll call him. He looks completely different from the sad-faced man last night." , talking and laughing, with excitement shining in his eyes.

When I got up and dressed, I looked at my watch, it was exactly 25:[-].I had hardly dressed when Holmes returned, and he said that the stable boy was preparing the carriage.

"I must test my new conjecture," said he, putting on his shoes. "I think, Watson, that you are standing before you a stupid fool, and one of the stupidest in Europe! Somebody ought to kick I'm kicked to Charles Cross! Fortunately, now I have found the key to this wonderful case."

"Where is it?" I asked with a smile.

"In the bathroom," he said, "oh, don't think I'm joking." Seeing my disbelieving look, he went on: "I just went there and got the key and put it in my compartment." Lestone's suitcase. Let us go, my friend, to see if this key will work that lock."

In order not to disturb others, we lightened our steps and went downstairs quietly.As soon as he stepped out of the room, the bright sun shone on his body.The stable boy had already harnessed the horse, the carriage stopped quietly by the roadside, and the stable boy who hadn't dressed yet was already standing beside the horse.We got into the car and sped down the London road.It was still early, and there were only a few large country carriages loaded with vegetables driving slowly on the road, and those vegetables were transported to the city.

"It looks queer in places," said Holmes, lashing his horse. "I confess that I was once as blind as a mole. But then I became wiser, a little later, than in my own design." Wander around in the mist."

As we drove through the streets around Surrey some sleepy-eyed early risers were watching from the windows.The carriage sped across Waterloo Bridge, sped through Wellington Street, and finally, turning sharply to the right, reached Bow Street.The two constables standing by the door saluted Holmes, whom most of the police officers knew.One of the patrolmen led the horse away, and the other led us in.

"Who is on duty?" asked Holmes.

"It's Bradstreet, sir."

"Hi, Brastreet, hello!" Holmes greeted an inspector. "We would like to have a private chat with you." A button-up jacket with a coiled flower, walking down the stone-paved corridor at this time.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, come and sit in my room first."

We came to the Inspector's office-like hut, with a thick ledger on the desk and a telephone on the wall.Bradstreet sat down at the table.

"Can I help you, Mr. Holmes?" said he.

"I came to see that beggar named Hugh Boone. He's being held here, charged with connection with the disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee."

"Yes, he is here awaiting trial."

"Where is he now?"

"In a cell."

"Does he follow the rules?"

"It's still the rules, but it's filthy and stinky."

"Too dirty?"

"Yes, I had a hard time getting him to wash his hands. He's as black as a tinkerer. Well, when the case is over, he'll have to have a bath. You'll be hurt too." No, it's too dirty!"

"I have to see him."

"It's simple, come with me, you put the bag in my room first."

"No, I'd better take it with me." Holmes smiled mysteriously.

"Fine! Come with me!" He led us down a passage, unlocked a door, and descended a spiral staircase.After going downstairs, there is a white-walled corridor with a row of cells on each side.

"His cell is the third from the right," said the inspector, glancing inside.

"I can see clearly, and I'm sleeping," he said.

We both looked in through the grille, and he was lying facing us, breathing slowly and deeply, in a deep sleep.He was of medium height, and wore a tattered dungaree, the slits of which peeped through the slits of his dyed shirt.The attire was in keeping with his profession.The inspector was right, he was filthy beyond description, but the dirt couldn't hide the ugly scars on his face.The scar stretches from the eye to the chin, and the shrunken scar lifts up one side of the upper lip, exposing three teeth, like a howling beast, with shaggy red hair covering the eyes and forehead .

"It's a very good-looking one, isn't it?" said the inspector.

"It is time for him to be washed," said Holmes. "I have contrived to make him a little cleaner, and I have brought these things here on my own." As he spoke, he opened the bag and produced a very The big bath sponge, took me by surprise.

"Haha! You are so funny!" the inspector laughed.

"Here, please open the cell door gently, and I will show him a more decent appearance in a moment. You will find that you have done a very good deed."

"Okay, I can help with that," he said. "He doesn't bring much glory to the detention center, does he?" He opened the door, and we walked in quietly.The sleeping guy just turned sideways and fell asleep again.Holmes moistened the sponge with the water in the pitcher, and rubbed it vigorously on the prisoner's face twice.

"Let me introduce you," said he. "This man we see is Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee, Kent."

I have never seen such a wonderful scene in my life.The man's face was rubbed with a sponge, and it fell off layer by layer like peeling bark.The rough brown was gone, as were the ghastly scars, and the messy red hair had been pulled out.Another person sat up on the bed. He was pale and handsome, with black hair and smooth skin, and he didn't even know what happened.He rubbed his sleepy eyes vigorously and looked around. When he knew the truth had been revealed, he yelled and lay down on the bed, burying his face deeply in the pillow.

The inspector exclaimed: "My God, the missing man is here. I've seen his photograph and I recognize him!"

When things got to this point, the prisoner knew it was irreversible, so he put on a resigned expression and said, "Even so, what crime have I committed?"

"Charging you for homicide, killing Neville St. . The police, and finally got a good opportunity to make meritorious service, now, I can make a lot of money."

"If I am Neville St Clair, then obviously, I have not committed any crime and it is unlawful for you to detain me."

"You didn't commit a crime, but you made a huge mistake! Is your behavior worthy of your wife?"

"Not only the wife, but my children," the prisoner began to moan, "God help them not to be ashamed of what their father has done, which is what worries me the most. My God, it will spread Damn, what should I do?"

Holmes sat down beside him, and patted him lightly on the shoulder.

"If it comes to the point where the case is brought to the courts, it is inevitable that the case will be made public. But if you can convince the police that there is no need to charge you in this matter, then I don't think it is necessary to make the case public. I am sure Inspector Brasstreet will take your account on record and pass it on to the appropriate authorities so that the case will not be brought to court and will not be circulated."

The prisoner shouted happily: "God bless you! I apply for detention. I am willing to be punished, but I don't want my secret to become a stain of pain and shame on my family and affect the growth of my children."

"Now, you are the only ones who know my origins. My father was the principal of the primary school in Chesterford, so I was well educated from a young age. When I was young, I loved traveling and acting. Later, I became a I became a reporter for an evening newspaper in London. One day, I volunteered to interview for a group of reports reflecting the life of beggars in the city. Unexpectedly, this turned out to be a turning point in my life. From then on, I started another life. To get the article I decided to experience it myself as a beggar. I learned how to dress up when I was an actor, and my makeup skills are well-known in the backstage of the theater. I put this skill in the days of playing a beggar. First, I slathered my face with oil paint, and for the most pathetic look, I made a realistic scar with a strip of flesh-colored adhesive tape, and twisted my upper lip upwards, Then put on a red wig, match with suitable clothes, and then choose a place in the urban area to sell matches on the surface, but in fact they are beggars. On the first day, I worked for seven hours. After I went home at night, I checked and found that I was amazed at twenty-six shillings and fourpence.

(End of this chapter)