福尔摩斯归来(中文导读英文版)(txt+pdf+epub+mobi电子书下载)

作者：王勋,纪飞,（英）阿瑟·柯南·道尔

出版社：清华大学出版社

格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT

福尔摩斯归来(中文导读英文版)试读：

前言

阿瑟·柯南·道尔（Arthur Conan Doyle，1859-1930），英国著名侦探小说家、剧作家，现代侦探小说的奠基人之一，被誉为“英国侦探小说之父”。

柯南·道尔于1859年5月22日出生于爱丁堡，1881年获爱丁堡大学医学博士学位。博士毕业后，柯南·道尔以行医为职业。1885年，柯南·道尔开始创作侦探小说《血字的研究》，并于1887年发表在《比顿圣诞年刊》上。1890年，柯南·道尔出版了第二部小说《四签名》，并一举成名。次年，他弃医从文，专事侦探小说的创作，陆续出版了以福尔摩斯为主人公的系列侦探小说：《波希米亚丑闻》、《红发会》、《身份案》、《恐怖谷》、《五个橘核》、《巴斯克维尔的猎犬》等。1902年，他因有关布尔战争的著作被加封为爵士。1930年7月7日，柯南·道尔逝世于英国。

柯南·道尔一生共创作了60多篇以福尔摩斯为主人公的侦探小说，他塑造的福尔摩斯形象其实就是正义的化身。福尔摩斯已成为世界上家喻户晓的人物、侦探的象征，印在全世界不同种族、不同肤色的人心中。福尔摩斯是一个栩栩如生、有血有肉的形象。他活动在伦敦大雾迷漫的街道上、普普通通的公寓里，似乎随时都可能跟走在街上的读者擦肩而过，因此使人感到十分亲切可信。福尔摩斯善于运用医学、心理学、逻辑学，尤其是他的逻辑推理能力令人叹为观止。他又十分注重调查研究，并且对案子极其热情，认真负责，这使他的侦探本领到了神鬼莫测的境地。柯南·道尔通过福尔摩斯探案故事，宣扬善恶有报、法网难逃的思想。小说中所涉及的医学、化学、生物学、犯罪学、法学知识以及探案和侦察方法，即便是对今天的侦探工作也具有一定的借鉴作用。

柯南·道尔以福尔摩斯为主人公的系列侦探小说出版100多年来，一直畅销至今，被译成世界上几十种语言，是全世界公认的侦探小说名著。在中国，福尔摩斯系列侦探小说是最受广大读者欢迎的外国文学之一。目前，在国内数量众多的福尔摩斯侦探小说书籍中，主要的出版形式有两种：一种是中文翻译版，另一种是英文原版。而其中的英文原版越来越受到读者的欢迎，这主要是得益于中国人热衷于学习英文的大环境。从英文学习的角度来看，直接使用纯英文素材更有利于英语学习。考虑到对英文内容背景的了解有助于英文阅读，使用中文导读应该是一种比较好的方式，也可以说是该类型书的第三种版本形式。采用中文导读而非中英文对照的方式进行编排，这样有利于国内读者摆脱对英文阅读依赖中文注释的习惯。基于以上原因，我们决定编译“福尔摩斯经典探案系列”丛书，该系列丛书收入了柯南·道尔的《血字的研究》、《四签名》、《福尔摩斯冒险史》、《福尔摩斯回忆录》、《福尔摩斯归来》、《巴斯克维尔的猎犬》、《恐怖谷》、《最后的致意》、《新探案》等经典之作，并采用中文导读英文版的形式出版。在中文导读中，我们尽力使其贴近原作的精髓，也尽可能保留原作故事主线。我们希望能够编出为当代中国读者所喜爱的经典读本。读者在阅读英文故事之前，可以先阅读中文导读内容，这样有利于了解故事背景，从而加快阅读速度。我们相信，该经典著作的引进对加强当代中国读者，特别是青少年读者的科学素养和人文修养是非常有帮助的。

本书主要内容由王勋、纪飞编译。参加本书故事素材搜集整理及编译工作的还有郑佳、刘乃亚、赵雪、左新杲、黄福成、冯洁、徐鑫、马启龙、王业伟、王旭敏、陈楠、王多多、邵舒丽、周丽萍、王晓旭、李永振、孟宪行、熊红华、胡国平、熊建国、徐平国、王小红等。限于我们的文学素养和英语水平，书中难免不当之处，衷心希望读者朋友批评指正。1.空荡荡的屋子导读

罗纳德·艾德尔于一八九四年春天被谋杀，他是澳洲某殖民地总督梅努斯爵士的次子，曾与伊迪丝吴德利小姐订婚，后经双方同意解除婚约。

罗纳德喜欢玩纸牌，被杀的当天下午曾和莫瑞先生、约翰·哈弟爵士和莫兰上校玩牌，输了五镑钱，几星期前曾与莫兰上校搭档赢了四百二十镑。当晚他在俱乐部玩牌，十点回家，在房中生了火，由于有烟，所以窗户是开着的。十一点二十分，他的母亲和妹妹回来，敲他的门没回音。找人撬开房门，发现他头部被左轮枪子弹击中，已身亡。桌上放着一堆堆的钱并写着俱乐部朋友的名字。

他的窗口离地二十英尺，窗下没有被踩踏的痕迹。凶手应该是神枪手，从街上射击致其死亡。

这天六点左右，华生来到牛津街，看到一个人在讲对此案的推论，不小心将一个驼背老人的书碰掉。华生赶快拾起书交还老人，老人怒骂着消失在人群中。

华生回到肯辛顿家中还不到五分钟，那个驼背老人来找他，对刚才的态度表示道歉。并说自己有几本书正好可以填满华生的书柜。当华生看了一眼书柜转回身时，听到了福尔摩斯的笑声，华生高兴地叫道：“福尔摩斯，你真的还活着吗？！”

福尔摩斯告诉华生当年他写完那封信后，走到小路的尽头，莫利亚蒂紧跟着他，并冲过来抱住他。福尔摩斯学过柔道，摆脱了莫利亚蒂。教授疯狂地猛踢猛抓，身体失去了平衡，掉下了悬崖。但福尔摩斯知道他的同伙还会找来，他要让人们都相信自己已死。于是冒险从陡壁爬了上去，费了好大力气，才爬到了一个狭长的突出处躲了起来。

当福尔摩斯被一个人留在那里后，看到上边有一个人的脑袋，紧接着一块石头落在他的头的一边。他知道这人是和莫利亚蒂一伙的，就赶紧往下爬，爬到一半时，摔到了下面的小路上，身上也被割伤。福尔摩斯不敢停留，连夜走了十英里，几天后便到了佛罗伦萨。

福尔摩斯不敢与任何人联系，需要钱时，只和哥哥麦考夫联系。随后又知道他的敌人在伦敦只有一个，便回到了贝克街。赫森太太看到福尔摩斯回来，高兴得快疯了。他哥哥仍保留着他在贝克街的房间，就这样他又坐回了贝克街的扶手椅中。

他们两个谈论着分别三年来各自的经历。当福尔摩斯知道华生夫人已去世时，对华生表示了安慰，并让华生晚上和自己去做件事情。到了晚上九点半，他们一起坐上马车，来到一个偏僻的小巷；又穿过一条小路，来到了一座房子前，福尔摩斯打开后门，他们进到里面。

里面一片漆黑，福尔摩斯拉着华生来到一个大房间，通过街灯射进来的微弱灯光，才能彼此看到一点身影。福尔摩斯告诉华生现在他们处的位置是贝克街旧屋对面的康登大屋。华生在窗口看到对面旧屋的窗口，惊奇地发现里面亮着灯，还看到一个坐在椅子中的身影。

福尔摩斯告诉华生，这是他请人做的蜡像，就是让追捕他的人相信他自己在屋里，那人就是从岩壁上扔石头的人。华生这时才明白了福尔摩斯的计划。看到街上人来人往，有两个人在门廊里避风，这时华生看到蜡像人影移动了。

福尔摩斯告诉华生，他让赫森太太每隔一刻钟移动一次假人，到现在已经移动了八次了。这时，他将华生拉到黑暗的角落，听到门被打开又关上的声音，紧接着响起了脚步声。他们两个紧贴着墙站着，手中握紧了枪。

一会儿，一个人来到窗前，打开窗户，这时街灯照着他，那是一个长着花白胡子的上了年纪的人。随着一阵金属响声，那人拿着一把枪站了起来，瞄着对面窗户里的黑影。

随着玻璃的破碎声，福尔摩斯马上扑到那人身上并吹响了哨子，那人翻身站起，掐住了福尔摩斯的脖子。华生用枪托击打那人的脑袋，使之又倒在地上，这时，雷斯垂德领着警察冲进来。

雷斯垂德点亮了蜡烛，警察也亮起了油灯。福尔摩斯指着凶犯向大家介绍说这位就是塞巴斯蒂恩莫兰上校，是皇家印度军团的最佳射手。上校愤怒地向前一跳，但被两边的警察拉住了。

福尔摩斯拾起地上那把既无声响，又极有杀伤力的枪，让雷斯垂德注意这枪和它使用的子弹。然后告诉探长他自己不想出现在这个案件中，是探长逮住了杀死罗纳德艾德尔的凶犯。于是雷斯垂德带着犯人走了。

福尔摩斯和华生回到旧房子，里面和原来一样，蜡像被打坏了，赫森太太高兴地对他们说自己是按要求爬着进去的，又将蜡像碎片捡起来给福尔摩斯。

福尔摩斯看着蜡像对华生说子弹把脑袋打得粉碎。莫兰上校是印度军团中最好的神枪手，一八四〇年生于伦敦，其父是前英国驻波斯公使奥加斯特斯·莫兰公爵，上校曾在爱顿和牛津大学就读，参加过好几个国家和地区的战役，现住康达特街，是几个俱乐部的成员。

上校后来成了莫利亚蒂的头号幕僚，只参与一些水平极高的案子。福尔摩斯在法国逗留期间始终注意着上校的动向，罗纳德艾德尔的案子发生后，他了解到上校先和罗纳德·艾德尔一起玩牌，再从俱乐部跟踪艾德尔到家，然后作了案。

福尔摩斯回来后，被上校的手下发现。福尔摩斯知道上校肯定要将他除掉，所以就发生了今晚的事。上校和艾德尔一起赢了一大笔钱，后来艾德尔发现上校作弊，劝上校自动退出俱乐部，所以上校枪杀了艾德尔。当时艾德尔正锁着门在算自己该退还多少钱。不管怎样，莫兰上校将要受到应得的惩罚。t was in the spring of the year 1894 that all London was interested,and the fashionable world dismayed,by the murder of the IHonourable Ronald Adair under most unusual and inexplicable circumstances.The public has already learned those particulars of the crime which came out in the police investigation,but a good deal was suppressed upon that occa sion,since the case for the prosecution was so overwhelmingly strong that it was not necessary to bring forward all the facts.Only now,at the end of nearly ten years,am I allowed to supply those missing links which make up the whole of that remarkable chain.The crime was of interest in itself,but that interest was as nothing to me compared to the inconceivable sequel,which afforded me the greatest shock and surprise of any event in my adventurous life.Even now,after this long interval,I find myself thrilling as I think of it,and feeling once more that sudden flood of joy,amazement,and incredulity which utterly submerged my mind.Let me say to that public,which has shown some interest in those glimpses which I have occasionally given them of the thoughts and actions of a very remarkable man,that they are not to blame me if I have not shared my knowledge with them,for I should have considered it my first duty to do so,had I not been barred by a positive prohibition from his own lips,which was only withdrawn upon the third of last month.

It can be imagined that my close intimacy with Sherlock Holmes had interested me deeply in crime,and that after his disappearance I never failed to read with care the various problems which came before the public.And I even attempted,more than once,for my own private satisfaction,to employ his methods in their solution,though with indifferent success.There was none,however,which appealed to me like this tragedy of Ronald Adair.As I read the evidence at the inquest,which led up to a verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown,I realized more clearly than I had ever done the loss which the community had sustained by the death of Sherlock Holmes.There were points about this strange business which would,I was sure,have specially appealed to him,and the efforts of the police would have been supplemented,or more probably anticipated,by the trained observation and the alert mind of the first criminal agent in Europe.All day,as I drove upon my round,I turned over the case in my mind and found no explanation which appeared to me to be adequate.At the risk of telling a twice-told tale,I will recapitulate the facts as they were known to the public at the conclusion of the inquest.

The Honourable Ronald Adair was the second son of the Earl of Maynooth,at that time governor of one of the Australian colonies.Adair's mother had returned from Australia to undergo the operation for cataract,and she,her son Ronald,and her daughter Hilda were living together at 427 Park Lane.The youth moved in the best society-had,so far as was known,no enemies and no particular vices.He had been engaged to Miss Edith Woodley,of Carstairs,but the engagement had been broken off by mutual consent some months before,and there was no sign that it had left any very profound feeling behind it.Forthe rest of the man's life moved in a narrow and conventional circle,for his habits were quiet and his nature tmemotional.Yet it was upon this easy-going young aristocrat that death came,in most strange and unexpected form,between the hours of ten and eleven-twenty on the night of March 30，1894.

Ronald Adair was fond of cards-playing continually,but never for such stakes as would hurt him.He was a member of the Baldwin,the Cavendish,and the Bagatelle card clubs.It was shown that,after dinner on the day of his death,he had played a rubber of whist at the latter club.He had also played there in the afternoon.The evidence of those who had played with him-Mr.Murray,Sir John Hardy,and Colonel Moran-showed that the game was whist,and that there was a fairly equal fall of the cards.Adair might have lost five pounds,but not more.His fortune was a considerable one,and such a loss could not in any way affect him.He had played nearly every day at one club or other,but he was a cautious player,and usually rose a winner.It came out in evidence that,in partnership with Colonel Moran,he had actually won as much as four hundred and twenty pounds in a sitting,some weeks before,from Godfrey Milner and Lord Balmoral.So much for his recent history as it came out at the inquest.

On the evening of the crime,he returned from the club exactly at ten.His mother and sister were out spending the evening with a relation.The servant deposed that she heard him enter the front room on the second floor,generally used as his sitting-room.She had lit a fire there,and as it smoked she had opened the window.No sound was heard from the room until eleven-twenty,the hour of the return of Lady Maynooth and her daughter.Desiring to say good-night,she attempted to enter her son's room.The door was locked on the inside,and no answer could be got to their cries and knocking.Help was obtained,and the door forced.The unfortunate young man was found lying near the table.His head had been horribly mutilated by an expanding revolver bullet,but no weapon of any sort was to be found in the room.On the table lay two banknotes for ten pounds each and seventeen pounds ten in silver and gold,the money arranged in little piles of varying amount.There were some figures also upon a sheet of paper,with the names of some club friends opposite to them,from which it was conjectured that before his death he was endeavoufingto make out his losses or winnings at cards.

A minute examination of the circumstances served only to make the case more complex.In the first place,no reason could be given why the young man should have fastened the door upon the inside.There was the possibility that the murderer had done this,and had afterwards escaped by the window.The drop was at least twenty feet,however,and a bed of crocuses in full bloom lay beneath.Neither the flowers nor the earth showed any sign of having been disturbed,nor were there any marks upon the narrow strip of grass which separated the house from the road.Apparently,therefore,it was the young man himself who had fastened the door.But how did he come by his death？No one could have climbed up to the window without leaving traces.Suppose a man had fired through the window,he would indeed be a remarkable shot who could with a revolver inflict so deadly a wound.Again,Park Lane is a frequented thoroughfare；there is a cab stand within a hundred yards of the house.No one had heard a shot.And yet there was the dead man,and there the revolver bullet,wliich bad mush roomed out,as soft-nosed bullets will,and so inflicted a wound which must have caused instantaneous death.Such were the circumstances of the Park Lane Mystery,which were further complicated by entire absence of motive,since,as I have said,young Adair was not known to have any enemy,and no attempt had been made to remove the money or valuables in the room.

All day I turned these facts over in my mind,endeavouring to hit some theory which could reconcile them all,and to find that line of least resistance which my poor friend had declared to be the starting-point of every investigation.I confess that I made little progress.In the evening I strolled across the Park,and found myself about six o'clock at the Oxford Street end of Park Lane.A group of loafers upon the pavements,all staring up at a particular window,directed me to the house which I had come to see.A tall,thin man with coloured glasses,whom I strongly suspected of being a plain-clothes detective,was pointing out some theory of his own,while the others crowded round to listen to what he said.I got as near him as I could,but his observations seemed to me to be absurd,so I withdrew again in some disgust.As I did so I struck against an elderly,deformed man,who had been behind me,and Iknocked down several books which he was carrying.I remember that as I picked them up,I observed the title of one of them,The Origin of Tree Worship,and it struck me that the fellow must be some poor bibliophile,who,either as a trade or as a hobby,was a collector of obscure volumes.I endeavoured to apologize for the accident,but it was evident that these books which I had so unfortunately maltreated were very precious objects in the eyes of their owner.With a snarl of contempt he turned upon his heel,and I saw his curved back and white side-whiskers disappear among the throng.

My observations of No.427 Park Lane did little to clear up the problem in which I was interested.The house was separated from the street by a low wall and railing,the whole not more than five feet high.It was perfectly easy,therefore,for anyone to get into the garden,but the window was entirely inaccessible；since there was no waterpipe or anything which could help the most active man to climb it.More puzzled than ever,I retraced my steps to Kensington.I had not been in my study five minutes when the maid entered to say that a person desired to see me.To my astonishment it was none other than my strange old book collector,his sharp,wizened face peering out from a frame of white hair,and his precious volumes,a dozen of them at least,wedged under his fight arm.

“You're surprised to see me,sir，”said he,in a strange,croaking voice.

I acknowledged that I was.

“Well,I've a conscience,sir,and when I chanced to see you go into this house,as I came hobbling after you,I thought to myself,I'll just step in and see that kind gentleman,and tell him that if I was a bit gruff in my manner there was not any harm meant,and that I am much obliged to him for picking up my books.”

“You make too much of a trifle，”said I.“May I ask how you knew who I was？”

“Well,sir,if it isn't too great a liberty,I am a neighbour of yours,for you'll find my little bookshop at the comer of Church Street,and very happy to see you,I am sure.Maybe you collect yourself,sir.Here's British Birds,and Catullus,and The Holy War-a bargain,every one of them.With five volumes you could just fill that gap on that second shelf.It looks untidy,does it not,sir？”

I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me.When I turned again,Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table.I rose to my feet,stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement,and then it appears that I must have fainted for the first and the last time in my life.Certainly a gray mist swirled before my eyes,and when it cleared I found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips.Holmes was bending over my chair,his flask in his hand.

“My dear Watson，”said the well-remembered voice，“I owe you a thousand apologies.I had no idea that you would be so affected.”

I gripped him by the arms.

“Holmes！”I cried.“Is it really you？Can it indeed be that you are alive？Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out of that awful abyss？”

“Wait a moment，”said he.“Are you sure that you are really fit to discuss things？I have given you a serious shock by my unnecessarily dramatic reappearance.”

“I am all right,but indeed,Holmes,I can hardly believe my eyes.Good heavens！to think that you-you of all men-should be standing in my study.”Again I gripped him by the sleeve,and felt the thin,sinewy arm beneath it.“Well,you're not a spirit,anyhow”said I.“My dear chap,I'm overjoyed to see you.Sit down,and tell me how you came alive out of that dreadful chasm.”

He sat opposite to me,and lit a cigarette in his old,nonchalant manner.He was dressed in the seedy frockcoat of the book merchant,but the rest of that individual lay in a pile of white hair and old books upon the table.Holmes looked even thinner and keener than of old,but there was a dead-white tinge in his aquiline face which told me that his life recently had not been a healthy one.

“I am glad to stretch myself,Watson”said he.“It is no joke when a tall man has to take a foot off his stature for several hours on end.Now,my dear fellow,in the matter of these explanations,we have,if I may ask for your cooperation,a hard and dangerous night's work in front of us.Perhaps it would be better if I gave you an account of the whole situation when that work is finished.”

“I am full of curiosity.I should much prefer to hear now.”

“You'll come with me to-night？”

“When you like and where you like.”

“This is,indeed,like the old days.We shall have time for a mouthful of dinner before we need go.Well,then,about that chasm.I had no serious difficulty in getting out of it,for the very simple reason that I never was in it.”

“You never were in it？”

“No,Watson,I never was in it.My note to you was absolutely genuine.I had little doubt that I had come to the end of my career when I perceived the somewhat sinister figure of the late Professor Moriarty standing upon the narrow pathway which led to safety.I read an inexorable purpose in his gray eyes.I exchanged some remarks with him,therefore,and obtained his courteous permission to write the short note which you afterwards received.I left it with my cigarette-box and my stick,and I walked along the pathway,Moriarty still at my heels.When I reached the end I stood at bay.He drew no weapon,but he rushed at me and threw his long arms around me.He knew that his own game was up,and was only anxious to revenge himself upon me.We tottered together upon the brink of the fall.I have some knowledge,however,of baritsu,or the Japanese system of wrestling,which has more than once been very useful to me.I slipped through his grip,and he with a horrible scream kicked madly for a few seconds,and clawed the air with both his hands.But for all his efforts he could not get his balance,and over he went.With my face over the brink,I saw him fall for a long way.Then he struck a rock,bounded off,and splashed into the water.”

I listened with amazement to this explanation,which Holmes delivered between the puffs of his cigarette.

“But the tracks！”I cried.“I saw,with my own eyes,that two went down the path and none returned.”

“It came about in this way.The instant that the Professor had disappeared,it struck me what a really extraordinarily lucky chance Fate had placed in my way.I knew that Moriarty was not the only man who had sworn my death.There were at least three others whose desire for vengeance upon me would only be increased by the death of their leader.They were all most dangerous men.One or other would certainly get me.On the other hand,if all the worldwas convinced that I was dead they would take liberties,these men,they would soon lay themselves open,and sooner or later I could destroy them.Then it would be time for me to announce that I was still in the land of the living.So rapidly does the brain act that I believe I had thought this all out before Professor Moriarty had reached the bottom of the Reichenbach Fall.

“I stood up and examined the rocky wall behind me.In your picturesque account of the matter,which I read with great interest some months later,you assert that the wall was sheer.That was not literally true.A few small footholds presented themselves,and there was some indication of a ledge.The cliff is so high that to climb it all was an obvious impossibility,and it was equally impossible to make my way along the wet path without leaving some tracks.I might,it is true,have reversed my boots,as I have done on similar occasions,but the sight of three sets of tracks in one direction would certainly have suggested a deception.On the whole,then,it was best that I should risk the climb.It was not a pleasant business,Watson.The fall roared beneath me.I am not a fanciful person,but I give you my word that I seemed to hear Moriarty's voice screaming at me out of the abyss.A mistake would have been fatal.More than once,as tufts of grass came out in my hand or my foot slipped in the wet notches of the rock,I thought that I was gone.But I struggled upward,and at last I reached a ledge several feet deep and covered with soft green moss,where I could lie unseen,in the most perfect comfort.There I was stretched,when you,my dear Watson,and all your following were investigating in the most sympathetic and inefficient manner the circumstances of my death.

“At last,when you had all formed your inevitable and totally erroneous conclusions,you departed for the hotel,and I was left alone.I had imagined that I had reached the end of my adventures,but a very unexpected occurrence showed me that there were surprises still in store for me.A huge rock,falling from above,boomed past me,struck the path,and bounded over into the chasm.For an instant I thought that it was an accident,but a moment later,looking up,I saw a man's head against the darkening sky,and another stone struck the very ledge upon which I was stretched,within a foot of my head.Of course,the meaning of this was obvious.Moriarty had not been alone.A confederate-and even that one glance had told me how dangerous a man that confederate was-had kept guard while the Professor had attacked me.From a distance,unseen by me,he had been a witness of his friend's death and of my escape.He had waited,and then making his way round to the top of the cliff,he had endeavoured to succeed where his comrade had failed.

I did not take long to think about it,Watson.Again I saw that grim face look over the cliff,and I knew that it was the precursor of another stone.I scrambled down on to the path.I don't think I could have done it in cold blood.It was a hundred times more difficult than getting up.But I had no time to think of the danger,for another stone sang past me as I hung by my hands from the edge of the ledge.Halfway down I slipped,but,by the blessing of God,I landed,torn and bleeding,upon the path.I took to my heels,did ten miles over the mountains in the darkness,and a week later I found myself in Florence,with the certainty that no one in the world knew what had become of me.

“I had only one confidant-my brother Mycroft.I owe you many apologies,my dear Watson,but it was all-important that it should be thought I was dead,and it is quite certain that you would not have written so convincing an account of my unhappy end had you not yourself thought that it was true.Several times during the last three years I have taken up my pen to write to you,but always I feared lest your affectionate regard for me should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray my secret.For that reason I turned away from you this evening when you upset my books,for I was in danger at the time,and any show of Surprise and emotion upon your part might have drawn attention to my identity and led to the most deplorable and irreparable results.As to Mycroft,I had to confide in him in order to obtain the money which I needed.The course of events in London did not run so well as I had hoped,for the trial of the Moriarty gang left two of its most dangerous members,my own most vindictive enemies,at liberty.I travelled for two years in Tibet,therefore,and amused myself by visiting Lhassa,and spending some days with the head lama.You may have read of the remarkable explorations of a Norwegian named Sigerson,but I am sure that it never occurred to you that you were receiving news of your friend.I then passed through Persia,looked in a Mecca,and paid a short but interesting visit to the Khalifa at Khartoum,the results of which I have communicated to the Foreign Office Returning to France,I spentsome months in research into the coaltar derivatives,which I conducted in a laboratory at Montpellier,in the south of France.Having concluded this to my satisfaction and learning that only one of my enemies was now left in London,I was about to return when my movements were hastened by the news of this very remarkable Park Lane Mystery,which not only appealed to me by its own merits,but which seemed to offer some most peculiar personal opportunities.I came over at once to London,called in my own person at Baker Street,threw Mrs.Hudson into violent hysterics,and found that Mycroft had preserved my rooms and my papers exactly as they had always been.So it was,my dear Watson,that at two o'clock to-day I found myself in my old armchair in my own old room,and only wishing that I could have seen my old friend Watson in the other chaff which he has so often adorned.”

Such was the remarkable narrative to which I listened on that April evening-a narrative which would have been utterly incredible to me had it not been confirmed by the actual sight of the tall,spare figure and the keen,eager face,which I had never thought to see again.In some manner he had learned of my own sad bereavement,and his sympathy was shown in his manner rather than in his words.“Work is the best antidote to sorrow,my dear.Watson，”said he；“and I have a piece of work for us both to-mght which,if we can bring it to a successful conclusion,will in itself justify a man's life on this planet.”In vain I begged him to tell me more.“You will hear and see enough before morning，”he answered.“We have three years of the past to discuss.Let that suffice until half-past nine,when we start upon the notable adventure of the empty house.”

It was indeed like old times when,at that hour,I found myself seated beside him in a hansom,my revolver in my pocket,and the thrill of adventure in my heart.Holmes was cold and stem and silent.As the gleam of the street-lamps flashed upon his austere features,I saw that his brows were drawn down in thought and his thin lips compressed.I knew not what wild beast we were about to hunt down in the dark jungle of criminal London,but I was well assured,from the bearing of this master huntsman,that the adventure was a most grave one-while the sardonic smile which occasionally broke through his ascetic gloom boded little good for the object of our quest.

I had imagined that we were bound for Baker Street,but Holmes stoppedthe cab at the corner of Cavendish Square.I observed that as he stepped out he gave a most searching glance to fight and left,and at every subsequent street corner he took the utmost pains to assure that he was not followed.Our route was certainly a singular one.Holmes's knowledge of the byways of London was extraordinary,and on this occasion he passed rapidly and with an assured step through a network of mews and stables,the very existence of which I had never known.We emerged at last into a small road,lined with old,gloomy houses,which led us into Manchester Street,and so to Blandford Street.Here he turned swiftly down a narrow passage,passed through a wooden gate into a deserted yard,and then opened with a key the back door of a house.We entered together,and he closed it behind us.

The place was pitch dark,but it was evident to me that it was an empty house.Our feet creaked and crackled over the bare planking,and my outstretched hand touched a wall from which the paper was hanging in ribbons.Holmes's cold,thin fingers closed round my wrist and led me forward down a long hall,until I dimly saw the murky fanlight over the door.Here Holmes turned suddenly to the right,and we found ourselves in a large,square,empty room,heavily shadowed in the corners,but faintly lit in the centre from the lights of the street beyond.There was no lamp near,and the window was thick with dust,so that we could only just discern each other's figures within.My companion put his hand upon my shoulder and his lips close to my ear.

“Do you know where we are？”he whispered.

“Surely that is Baker Street”I answered,staring through the dim window.

“Exactly.We are in Camden House,which stands opposite to our own old quarters.”

“But why are we here？”

“Because it commands so excellent a view of that picturesque pile.Might I trouble you,my dear Watson,to draw a little nearer to the window,taking every precaution not to show yourself,and then to look up at our old rooms-the starting point of so many of your little fairytales？We will see if my three years of absence have entirely taken away my power to surprise you.”

I crept forward and looked across at the familiar window.As my eyes fell upon it,I gave a gasp and a cry of amazement.The blind was down,and astrong light was burning in the room.The shadow of a man who was seated in a chair within was thrown in hard,black outline upon the luminous screen of the window.There was no mistaking the poise of the head,the squareness of the shoulders,the sharpness of the features.The face was turned half-round,and the effect was that of one of those black silhouettes which our grandparents loved to frame.It was a perfect reproduction of Holmes.Soámazed was I that I threw out my hand to make sure that the man himself was standing beside me.He was quivering with silent laughter.

“Well？”said he.

“Good heavens！”I cried.“It is marvellous.”

“I trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinite variety”said he,and I recognized in his voice the joy and pride which the artist takes in his own creation.“It really is rather like me,is it not？”

“I should be prepared to swear that it was you.”

“The credit of the execution is due to Monsieur Oscar Meunier,of Grenoble,who spent some days in doing the moulding.It is a bust in wax.The rest I arranged myself during my visit to Baker Street this afternoon.”

“But why？”

“Because,my dear Watson,I had the strongest possible reason for wishing certain people to think that I was there when I was really elsewhere.”

“And you thought the rooms were watched？”

“I knew that they were watched.”

“By whom？”

“By my old enemies,Watson.By the charming society whose leader lies in the Reichenbach Fall.You must remember that they knew,and only they knew,that I was still alive.Sooner or later they believed that I should come back to my rooms.They watched them continuously,and this morning they saw me arrive.”

“How do you know？”

“Because I recognized their sentinel when I glanced out of my window.He is a harmless enough fellow,Parker by name,a garroter by trade,and a remarkable performer upon the jew'sharp.I cared nothing for him.But I cared a great deal for the much more formidable person who was behind him,thebosom friend of Moriarty,the man who dropped the rocks over the cliff,the most cunning and dangerous criminal in London.That is the man who is after me to-night,Watson,and that is the man who is quite unaware that we are after him.”

My friend's plans were gradually revealing themselves.From this convenient retreat,the watchers were being watched and the trackers tracked.That angular shadow up yonder was the bait,and we were the hunters.In silence we stood together in the darkness and watched the hurrying figures who passed and re-passed in front of us.Holmes was silent and motionless；but I could tell that he was keenly alert,and that his eyes were fixed intently upon the stream of passers-by.It was a bleak and boisterous night,and the wind whistled shrilly down the long street.Many people were moving to and fro,most of them muffled in their coats and cravats.Once or twice it seemed to me that I had seen the same figure before,and I especially noticed two men who appeared to be sheltering themselves from the wind in the doorway of a house some distance up the street.I tried to draw my companion's attention to them；but he gave a little ejaculation of impatience,and continued to stare into the street.More than once he fidgeted with his feet and tapped rapidly with his fingers upon the wall.It was evident to me that he was becoming uneasy,and that his plans were not working out altogether as he had hoped.At last,as midnight approached and the street gradually cleared,he paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation.I was about to make some remark to him,when I raised my eyes to the lighted window,and again experienced almost as great a surprise as before.I clutched Holmes's arm,and pointed upward.

“The shadow has moved！”I cried.

It was indeed no longer the profile,but the back,which was turned towards us.

Three years had certainly not smoothed the asperities of his temper or his impatience with a less active intelligence than his own.

“Of course it has moved，”said he.“Am I such a farcical bungler,Watson,that I should erect an obvious dummy,and expect that some of the sharpest men in Europe would be deceived by it？We have been in this room two hours,and Mrs.Hudson has made some change in that figure eight times,or once inevery quarter of an hour.She works it from the front,so that her shadow may never be seen.Ah！”He drew in his breath with a shrill,excited intake.In the dim light I saw his head thrown forward,his whole attitude rigid with attention.Outside the street was absolutely deserted.Those two men might still be crouching in the doorway,but I could no longer see them.All was still and dark,save only that brilliant yellow screen in from of us with the black figure outlined upon its centre.Again in the utter silence I heard that thin,sibilant note which spoke of intense suppressed excitement.An instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room,and I felt his warning hand upon my lips.The fingers which clutched me were quivering.Never had I known my friend more moved,and yet the dark street still,stretched lonely and motionless before us.

But suddenly I was aware of that which his keener senses had already distinguished.A low,stealthy sound came to my ears,not from the direction of Baker Street,but from the back of the very house in which we lay concealed.A door opened and shut.An instant later steps crept down the passage-steps which were meant to be silent,but which reverberated harshly through the empty house.Holmes crouched back against the wall,and I did the same,my hand closing upon the handle of my revolver.Peering through the gloom,I saw the vague outline of a man,a shade blacker than the blackness of the opendoor.He stood for an instant,and then he crept forward,crouching,menacing,into the room.He was within three yards of us,this sinister figure,and I had braced myself to meet his spring,before I realized that he had no idea of our presence.He passed close beside us,stole over to the window,and very softly and noiselessly raised it for half a foot.As he sank to the level of this opening,the light of the street,no longer dimmed by the dusty glass,fell full upon his face.The man seemed to be beside himself with excitement.His two eyes shone like stars,and his features were working convulsively.He was an elderly man,with a thin,projecting nose,a high,bald forehead,and a huge grizzled moustache.An opera hat was pushed to the back of his head,and an evening dress shirt-front gleamed out through his open overcoat.His face was gaunt and swarthy,scored with deep,savage lines.In his hand he carried what appeared to be a stick,but as he laid it down upon the floor it gave a metallic clang.Thenfrom the pocket of his overcoat he drew a bulky object,and he busied himself in some task which ended with a loud,sharp click,as if a spring or bolt had fallen into its place.Still kneeling upon the floor he bent forward and threw all his weight and strength upon some lever,with the result that there came a long,whirling,grinding noise,ending once more in a powerful click.He straightened himself then,and I saw that what he held in his hand was a sort of gun,with a curiously misshapen butt.He opened it at the breech,put something in,and snapped the breech-lock.Then,crouching down,he rested the end of the barrel upon the ledge of the open window,and I saw his long moustache droop over the stock and his eye gleam as it peered along the sights.I heard a little sigh of satisfaction as he cuddled the butt into his shoulder,and saw that amazing target,the black man on the yellow ground,standing clear at the end of his foresight.For an instant he was rigid and motionless.Then his finger tightened on the trigger.There was a strange,loud whiz and a long,silvery tinkle of broken glass.At that instant Holmes sprang like a tiger on to the marksman's back,and hurled him flat upon his face.He was up again in a moment,and with convulsive strength he seized Holmes by the throat,but I struck him on the head with the butt of my revolver,and he dropped again upon the floor.I fell upon him,and as I held him my comrade blew a shrill call upon a whistle.There was the clatter of running feet upon the pavement,and two policemen in uniform,with one plainclothes detective,rushed through the front entrance and into the room.

“That you,Lestrade？”said Holmes.

“Yes,Mr.Holmes.I took the job myself.It's good to see you back in London,sir.”

“I think you want a little unofficial help.Three undetected murders in one year won't do,Lestrade.But you handled the Molesey Mystery with less than your usual-that's to say,you handled it fairly well.”

We had all risen to our feet,our prisoner breathing hard,with a stalwart constable on each side of him.Already a few loiterers had begun to collect in the street.Holmes stepped up to the window,closed it,and dropped the blinds.Lestrade had produced two candles,and the policemen had uncovered their lanterns.I was able at last to have a good look at our prisoner.

It was a tremendously virile and yet sinister face which was turned towards us.With the brow of a philosopher above and the jaw of a sensualist below,the man must have started with great capacities for good or for evil.But one could not look upon his cruel blue eyes,with their drooping,cynical lids,or upon the fierce,aggressive nose and the threatening,deeplined brow without reading Nature's plainest danger-signals.He took no heed of any of us,but his eyes were fixed upon Holmes's face with an expression in which hatred and amazement were equally blended.“You fiend！”he kept on muttering.“You clever,clever fiend！”

“Ah,Colonel！”said Holmes,arranging his rumpled collar“‘Journeys end in lovers'meetings，'as the old play says.I don't think I have had the pleasure of seeing you since you favoured me with those attentions as I lay on the ledge above the Reichenbach Fall.”

The colonel still stared at my friend like a man in a trance.“You cunning,cunning fiend！”Was all that he could say.

“I have not introduced you yet，”said Holmes.“This,gentlemen,is Colonel Sebastian Moran,once of Her Majesty's Indian Army,and the best heavy-game shot that our Eastern Empire has ever produced.I believe I am correct,Colonel,in saying that your bag of tigers still remains unrivalled？”

The fierce old man said nothing,but still glared at my companion.With his savage eyes and bristling moustache he was wonderfully like a tiger himself.

“I wonder that my very simple stratagem could deceive so old a shikari，”said Holmes.“It must be very familiar to you.Have you not tethered a young kid under a tree,lain above it with your rifle,and waited for the bait to bring up your tiger？This empty house is my tree,and you are my tiger.You have possibly had other guns in reserve in case there should be several tigers,or in the unlikely supposition of your own aim failing you.These”—he pointed around-”are my other guns.The parallel is exact.”

Colonel Moran sprang forward with a snarl of rage,but the constables dragged him back.The fury upon his face was terrible to look at.

“I confess that you had one small surprise for me，”said Holmes.“I did not anticipate that you would yourself make use of this empty house and thisconvenient front window.I had imagined you as operating from the street,where my friend Lestrade and his merry men were awaiting you.With that exception,all has gone as I expected.”

Colonel Moran turned to the official detective.

“You may or may not have just cause for arresting me，”said he，“but at least there can be no reason why I should submit to the gibes of this person.If I am in the hands of the law,let things be done in a legal way.”

“Well,that's reasonable enough，”said Lestrade.“Nothing further you have to say,Mr.Holmes,before we go？”

Holmes had picked up the powerful air-gun from the floor,and was examining its mechanism.

“An admirable and unique weapon.”said he，“noiseless and of tremendous power：I knew Von Herder,the blind German mechanic,who constructed it to the order of the late Professor Moriarty.For years I have been aware of its existence,though I have never before had the opportunity of handling it.I commend it very specially to your attention,Lestrade,and also the bullets which fit it.”

“You can trust us to look after that,Mr.Holmes，”said Lestrade,as the whole party moved towards the door.“Anything further to say？”

“Only to ask what charge you intend to prefer？”

“What charge,sir？Why,of course,the attempted murder of Mr.Sherlock Holmes.”

“Not so,Lestrade.I do not propose to appear in the matter at all.To you,and to you only,belongs the credit of the remarkable arrest which you have effected.Yes,Lestrade,I congratulate you！With your usual happy mixture of cunning and audacity,you have got him.”

“Got him！Got whom,Mr.Holmes？”

“The man that the whole force has been seeking in vain-Colonel Sebastian Moran,who shot the Honourable Ronald Adair with an expanding bullet from an air-gun through the open window of the second-floor front of No.427 Park Lane,upon the thirtieth of last month.That's the charge,Lestrade.And now,Watson,if you can endure the draught from a broken window,I think that half an hour in my study over a cigar may afford you some profitableamusement.”

Our old chambers had been left unchanged through the supervision of Mycroft Holmes and the immediate care of Mrs.Hudson.As I entered I saw,it is true,an unwonted tidiness,but the old landmarks were all in their place.There were the chemical corner and the acid-stained,deal-topped table.There upon a shelf was the row of formidable scrap-books and books of reference which many of our fellow-citizens would have been so glad to burn.The diagrams,the violin-case,and the pipe-rack-even the Persian slipper which contained the tobacco-all met my eyes as I glanced round me.There were two occupants of the room-one,Mrs.Hudson,who beamed upon us both as we entered-the other,the strange dummy which had played so important a part in the evening's adventures.It was a wax-coloured model of my friend,so admirably done that it was a perfect facsimile.It stood on a small pedestal table with an old dressing-gown of Holmes's so draped round it that the illusion from the street was absolutely perfect.

“I hope you observed all precautions,Mrs.Hudson？”said Holmes.

“I went to it on my knees,sir,just as you told me.”

“Excellent.You carried the thing out very well.Did you observe where the bullet went？”

“Yes,sir.I'm afraid it has spoilt your beautiful bust,for it passed right through the head and flattened itself on the wall.I picked it up from the carpet.Here it is！”

Holmes held it out to me.“A soft revolver bullet as you perceive,Watson.There's genius in that,for who would expect to find such a thing fired from an air-gun？All right,Mrs.Hudson.I am much obliged for your assistance.And now,Watson,let me see you in your old seat once more,for there are several points which I should like to discuss with you.”

He had thrown off the seedy froekcoat,and now he was the Holmes of old in the mouse-eoloured dressing-gown which he took from his effigy.

“The old shikari's nerves have not lost their steadiness,nor his eyes their keenness”said he,with a laugh,as he inspected the shattered forehead of his bust.

“Plumb in the middle of the back of the head and smack through the brain.He was the best shot in India,and I expect that there are few better in London.Have you heard the name？”

“No,I have not.”

“Well,well,such is fame！But,then,if I remember right,you had not heard the name of Professor James Moriarty,who had one of the great brains of the century.Just give me down my index of biographies from the shelf？”

He turned over the pages lazily,leaning back in his chair and blowing great clouds from his cigar.

“My collection of M's is a fine one，”said he.“Moriarty himself is enough to make any letter illustrious,and here is Morgan the poisoner,and Merridew of abominable memory,and Mathews,who knocked out my left canine in the waitingroom at Chafing Cross,and,finally,here is our friend of tonight.”

He handed over the book,and I read：

Moran,Sebastian,Colonel.Unemployed.Formerly 1st Bangalore Pioneers.Born London，1840.Son of Sir Augustus Moran,C.B.，once British Minister to Persia.Educated Eton and Oxford.Served in Jowaki Campaign,Afghan Campaign,Charasiab（despatches），Sherpur,and Cabal.Author of Heavy Game of the Western Himalayas（1881）；Three Months in the Jungle（1884）.Address：Conduit Street.Clubs：The AngloIndian,the Tankerville,the Bagatelle Card Club.

On the margin was written,in Holmes's precise hand：

The second most dangerous man in London.

“This is astonishing”said I,as I handed back the volume.“The man's career is that of an honourable soldier.”

“It is tree”Holmes answered.“Up to a certain point he did well.He was always a man of iron nerve,and the story is still told in India how he crawled down a drain after a wounded man-eating tiger.There are some trees,Watson,which grow to a certain height,and then suddenly develop some unsightly eccentricity.You will see it often in humans.I have a theory that the individual represents in his development the whole procession of his ancestors,and that such a sudden trun to good or evil stands for some strong influence which came into the line of his pedigree.The person becomes,as it were,the epitome of the history of his own family.”

“It is surely rather fanciful.”

“Well,I don't insist upon it.Whatever the cause,Colonel Moran began to go wrong.Without any open scandal,he still made India too hot to hold him.He retired,came to London,and again acquired an evil name.It was at this time that he was sought out by Professor Moriarty,to whom for a time he was chief of the staff.Moriarty supplied him liberally with money,and used him only in one or two very high-class jobs,which no ordinary criminal could have undertaken.You may have some recollection of the death of Mrs.Stewart,of Lauder,in 1887.Not？Well,I am sure Moran was at the bottom of it,but nothing could be proved.So cleverly was the colonel concealed that,even when the Moriarty gang was broken up,we could not incriminate him.You remember at that date,when I called upon you in your rooms,how I put up the shutters for fear of airguns？No doubt you thought me fanciful.I knew exactly what I was doing,for I knew of the existence of this remarkable gun,and I knew also that one of the best shots in the world would be behind it.When we were in Switzerland he followed us with Moriarty,and it was undoubtedly he who gave me that evil five minutes on the Reichenbach ledge.

“You may think that I read the papers with some attention during my sojourn in France,on the look-out for any chance on laying him by the heels.So long as he was free in London,my life would really not have been worth living.Night and day the shadow would have been over me,and sooner or later his chance must have come.What could I do？I could not shoot him at sight,or I should myself be in the dock.There was no use appealing to a magistrate.They cannot interfere on the strength of what would appear to them to be a wild suspicion.So I could do nothing.But I watched the criminal news,knowing that sooner or later I should get him.Then came the death of this Ronald Adair.My chance had come at last.Knowing what I did,was it not certain that Colonel Moran had done it？He had played cards with the lad,he had followed him home from the club,he had shot him through the open window.There was not a doubt of it.The bullets alone are enough to put his head in a noose.I came over at once.I was seen by the sentinel,who would,I knew,direct the colonel's attention to my presence.He could not fail to connect my sudden return with his crime,and to be terribly alarmed.I was sure that hewould make an attempt to get me out of the way at once,and would bring round his murderous weapon for that purpose.I left him an excellent mark in the window,and,having warned the police that they might be needed-by the way,Watson,you spotted their presence in that doorway with unerring accuracy-I took up what seemed to me to be a judicious post for observation,never dreaming that he would choose the same spot for his attack.Now,my dear Watson,does anything remain for me to explain？”

“Yes，”said I.“You have not made it clear what was Colonel Moran's motive in murdering the Honourable Ronald Adair？”

“Ah！my dear Watson,there we come into those realms of conjecture,where the most logical mind may be at fault.Each may form his own hypothesis upon the present evidence,and yours is as likely to be correct as mine.”

“You have formed one,then？”

“I think that it is not difficult to explain the facts.It came out in evidence that Colonel Moran and young Adair had,between them,won a considerable amount of money.Now,Moran undoubtedly played foul-of that I have long been aware.I believe that on the day of the murder Adair had discovered that Moran was cheating.Very likely he had spoken to him privately,and had threatened to expose him unless he voluntarily resigned his membership of the club,and promised not to play cards again.It is unlikely that a youngster like Adair would at once make a hideous scandal by exposing a well known man so much older than himself.Probably he acted as I suggest.The exclusion from his clubs would mean ruin to Moran,who lived by his ill-gotten card-gains.He therefore murdered Adair,who at the time was endeavouring to work out how much money he should himself return,since he could not profit by his partner's foul play.He locked the door lest the ladies should surprise him and insist upon knowing what he was doing with these names and coins.Will it pass？”

“I have no doubt that you have hit upon the truth.”

“It will be verified or disproved at the trial.Meanwhile,come what may,Colonel Moran will trouble us no more.The famous air-gun of Von Herder will embellish the Scotland Yard Museum,and once again Mr.Sherlock Holmes is free to devote his life to examining those interesting little problems which the complex life of London so plentifully presents.”2.诺伍德的建筑商导读

福尔摩斯回来后，说服华生卖掉了诊所，搬回到贝克街。几年后华生才知道是福尔摩斯出钱让其远亲文纳高价买下了自己的诊所。搬过来这几个月，他们又办了几个案子，但福尔摩斯不让华生对外讲。

这天早晨，一阵敲门声响后，进来一个脸色发白、衣衫不整、浑身颤动的年轻人，说自己快要发病了，还说自己叫约翰海特麦法兰。福尔摩斯让他坐下慢慢说。福尔摩斯只判断出他是单身汉、共济会员，患有气管病，并是律师职业，别的什么情况也不知道。

年轻人说自己遭到了跟踪，要在被逮捕前，把整个真相说出来。说着拿出了《每日电讯》报，指着一遍文章让福尔摩斯看。福尔摩斯让华生念一下，大致意思是昨晚十二点左右，住在下诺伍德郊区的五十二岁已经隐退的建筑商琼纳斯奥戴克先生房后的小木材厂起火，本人失踪，屋内保险柜大开，文件散落在房中，床上没有睡过的痕迹。屋中有一根带血的手杖及一点血迹。

奥戴克先生当晚曾接待过年轻律师约翰海特麦法兰，屋中的手杖就是他的。警方已掌握了他杀人的动机，还有传言其人已被逮捕，至少逮捕证已签发。警方发现一楼卧室的落地窗被打开，曾有东西被带到火灾现场。现已确定灰烬中有烧焦的残留物。警方认为被害人在卧室被害后又被毁尸，此案由雷斯垂德探长侦办。

麦法兰先生说他和自己的父母住在黑石南多林顿寓所。因昨晚和奥戴克先生商谈事情，住到了下诺伍德的一家旅馆。今天早上在火车上看到报纸就立刻来找福尔摩斯。这时雷斯垂德探长领着两名警察来到门口，宣布逮捕麦法兰。

福尔摩斯请探长稍等一下，说应该让麦法兰先生把话说完。麦法兰说自己对奥戴克先生一无所知，只是从父母那里知道了他的名字。原来麦法兰先生的父母和奥戴克先生认识。昨天下午三点左右，奥戴克先生到麦法兰先生的办公室，还拿了几张纸，上边写着潦草的字，说是他的遗嘱。奥戴克先生说自己是单身汉，要把他的金钱留给麦法兰，并让麦法兰晚上到他那里看房契等文件，还不让麦法兰提前告诉父母。麦法兰九点半到了奥戴克先生家，一个女管家开了门，麦法兰报了姓名后管家把他领进一间起居室，吃了简单的晚餐，后来奥戴克先生领麦法兰来到卧室，打开保险柜让他看文件。十一点多麦法兰走时，奥戴克先生拉开窗帘、打开落地窗带他出去。麦法兰没找到手杖，奥戴克先生说让他下次来再拿。于是他就走到了旅馆。今天早上才从报纸上知道了这件事，说着便把遗嘱的草稿给福尔摩斯看。

福尔摩斯告诉探长，现在没有什么要问的，自己明天要去黑石南；又对探长说这草稿是在火车上写的，有三个地方的字迹看不懂，这表明遗嘱最后是在旅途中写成的，说明奥戴克并不看重这份遗嘱，是因为不想让它生效。还有一个疑点是，年轻人的作案手段太简单了，随便就把自己给暴露了。

探长坚持自己的观点，把麦法兰带走了。

福尔摩斯马上穿上外衣告诉华生，他要去黑石南。福尔摩斯一直到很晚才回来，他告诉华生，他见到了麦法兰的母亲，她不承认儿子犯罪，并对奥戴克十分痛恨。说年轻时奥戴克和自己订了婚，后来知道他做事残忍而拒绝了他，在她结婚的当天奥戴克将她的照片割得稀烂后寄给了她。麦法兰的母亲表示他们全家都不会要奥戴克的任何东西。于是福尔摩斯又去了下诺伍德，在燃烧的灰烬中找到了一些烧焦的残骸和几个金属圆片，那上面有裁缝师的名字，到外面只看到有东西被拖过的痕迹。在卧室发现了很浅的血迹及两个人的脚印，文件中没发现房契等有价值的东西。

福尔摩斯又去找管家，在她那里没得到任何有用的信息，但福尔摩斯知道她应该掌握一些信息。福尔摩斯查看了存折，发现里面余额很少，主要是去年奥戴克把大笔钱都转给了一个叫康纳利斯的先生。

第二天早上华生下来吃早餐时，发现福尔摩斯坐在椅子里，周围丢满了烟头，并有一份探长的电报，告诉他已经找到了新的证据证明麦法兰有罪，但福尔摩斯认为现在放弃为时过早。早餐后他们去了下诺伍德，碰到了得意扬扬的探长，带他们去看墙上的一个拇指印，这个指印和早上取的麦法兰的指模是一样的。可福尔摩斯脸上却呈现出愉快的笑容，并问了探长一些问题。

探长告诉福尔摩斯，这是管家昨晚告诉值班警察的，指印是麦法兰取帽子时按上去的，这个地方不明显，所以开始没检查过。福尔摩斯告诉探长麦法兰总不会在昨天夜里跑出来做了对自己不利的证据吧？探长认为只要是麦法兰的指纹就行了。

福尔摩斯告诉华生昨天检查时那里并没有指纹。他们又对房子四周查看了一遍，然后走进房子进行观察。这时，他们走进起居室，福尔摩斯对探长说，现在写报告太早了一点，因为还有一个证人没出来。随后福尔摩斯让探长将附近的三个警察叫来，并拿来两捆干草，然后一起到了楼顶。福尔摩斯让一名警察提来两桶水放到地板上，再点燃起干草。他们一起喊“失火了”。

这时，一个墙壁上打开一扇房门，一个矮小的人冲了出来，福尔摩斯让人把火浇灭，将出来的这个狡诈的人对大家介绍说这就是失踪的琼纳斯·奥戴克先生。

探长愤怒地质问奥戴克这么长时间在干什么，奥戴克回答说自己并没有伤害人，只是开了个玩笑。探长让人把奥戴克带到起居室，随后说福尔摩斯救了一个无辜的年轻人，并阻止了一件丑闻的发生。

福尔摩斯告诉探长，探长只要把报告修改一下，人们就会发现探长的声誉将会进一步提高，而他自己不需要在探长的报告中出现，并表示自己只要能工作就满意了。随后他们看了建筑商藏身的地方，并让探长把同谋的管家也抓起来，福尔摩斯又告诉探长他发现上面的走廊比下面短了六英尺，就知道建筑商藏在哪里了。原来福尔摩斯检查时，门廊是没有指印的，建筑商一定是用热蜡封信封时，让麦法兰按紧才留下了指印，再把自己的血弄在指纹上又按在了墙上。

建筑商曾向麦法兰母亲求婚遭到拒绝，而在黑市的投资情况很差，欺骗债主，把资金托付给一个叫康纳利斯的人，实际就是建筑商自己的化名，然后假装被旧情人的儿子杀害，再将钱提走逃到别处。

在起居室，建筑商一直声称这只是个玩笑，而探长则告诉他会以阴谋陷害罪逮捕他。rom the point of view of the criminal expert,”said Mr.Sherlock Holmes,“London has become a singularly uninteresting city since Fthe death of the late lamented Professor Moriarty.”

“I can hardly think that you would find many decent citizens to agree with you，”I answered.

“well,well,I must not be selfish，”said he,with a smile,as he pushed back his chair from the breakfast-table.“The community is certainly the gainer,and no one the loser,save the poor out-of-work specialist,whose occupation has gone.With that man in the field,one's morning paper presented infinite possibilities.Often it was only the smallest trace,Watson,the faintest indication,and yet it was enough to tell me that the great malignant brain was there,as the gentlest tremors of the edges of the web remind one of the foul spider which lurks in the centre.Petty thetis,wanton assaults,purposeless outrage-to the man who held the clue all could be worked into one connected whole.To the scientific student of the higher criminal world,no capital in Europe offered the advantages which London then possessed.But now-”He shrugged his shoulders in humorous deprecation of the state of things which he had himself done so much to produce.

At the time of which I speak,Holmes had been back for some months,and I at his request had sold my practice and returned to share the old quarters in Baker Street.A young doctor,named Verner,had purchased my small Kensington practice,and given with astonishingly little demur the highest price that I ventured to ask-an incident which only explained itself some years later,when I found that Verner was a distant relation of Holmes,and that it was my friend who had really found the money.

Our months of partnership had not been so uneventful as he had stated,for I find,on looking over my notes,that this period includes the case of the papers of ex-President Murillo,and also the shocking affair of the Dutch steamship Friesland,which so nearly cost us both our lives.His cold and proud nature was always averse,however,from anything in the shape of public applause,and he bound me in the most stringent terms to say no further word of himself，“F rom the point of view of the criminal expert，”said Mr.Sherlock Holmes，“London has become a singularly uninteresting city since the death of the late lamented Professor Moriarty.”

his methods,or his successes-a prohibition which,as I have explained,has only now been removed.

Mr.Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his chair after his whimsical protest,and was unfolding his morning paper in a leisurely fashion,when our attention was arrested by a tremendous ring at the bell,followed immediately by a hollow drumming sound,as if someone were beating on the outer door with his fist.As it opened there came a tumultuous rush into the hall,rapid feet clattered up the stair,and an instant later a wildeyed and frantic young man,pale,dishevelled,and palpitating,burst into the room.He looked from one to the other of us,and under our gaze of inquiry he became conscious that some apology was needed for this unceremonious entry.

“I'm sorry,Mr.Holmes，”he cried.“You mustn't blame me.I am nearly mad.Mr.Holmes,I am the unhappy John Hector McFarlane.”

He made the announcement as if the name alone would explain both his visit and its manner,but I could see,by my companion's unresponsive face,that it meant no more to him than to me.

“Have a cigarette,Mr.McFarlane，”said he,pushing his case across.“I am sure that,with your symptoms,my friend Dr.Watson here would prescribe a sedative.The weather has been so very warm these last few days.Now,if you feel a little more composed,I should be glad if you would sit down in that chair,and tell us very slowly and quietly who you are,and what it is that you want.You mentioned your name,as if I should recognize it,but I assure you that,beyond the obvious facts that you are a bachelor,a solicitor,a Freemason,and an asthmatic,I know nothing whatever about you.”

Familiar as I was with my friend's methods,it was not difficult for me to follow his deductions,and to observe the untidi ness of attire,the sheaf of legal papers,the watch-charm,and the breathing which had prompted them.Our client,however,stared in amazement.

“Yes,I am all that,Mr.Holmes；and,in addition,I am the most unfortunate man at this moment in London,For heaven's sake,don't abandon me,Mr.Holmes！If they come to arrest me before I have finished my story,make them give me time,so that I may tell you the whole troth.I could go to jail happy if I knew that you were working for me outside.”

“Arrest you！”said Holmes.“This is really most graft-most interesting.On what charge do you expect to be arrested？”

“Upon the charge of murdering Mr.Jonas Oldacre,of Lower Norwood.”

My companion's expressive face showed a sympathy which was not,I am afraid,entirely unmixed with satisfaction.

“Dear me，”said he，“it was only this moment at breakfast that I was saying to my friend,Dr.Watson,that sensational cases had disappeared out of our papers.”

Our visitor stretched forward a quivering hand and picked up the Daily Telegraph,which still lay upon Holmes's knee.

“If you had looked at it,sir,you would have seen at a glance what the errand is on which I have come to you this morning.I feel as if my name and my misfortune must be in every man's mouth.”He turned it over to expose the central page.“Here it is,and with your permission I will read it to you.Listen to this,Mr.Holmes.The headlines are：‘Mysterious Affair at Lower Norwood.Disappearance of a Welt Known Builder.Suspicion of Murder and Arson.A Clue to the Criminal.'That is the clue which they are already following,Mr.Holmes,and I know that it leads infallibly to me.I have been followed from London Bridge Station,and I am sure that they are only waiting for the warrant to arrest me.It will break my mother's heart-it will break her heart！”He wrung his hands in an agony of apprehension,and swayed backward and forward in his chair.

I looked with interest upon this man,who was accused of being the perpetrator of a crime of violence.He was flaxen haired and handsome,in a washed-out negative fashion,with frightened blue eyes,and a clean-shaven face,with a weak sensitive mouth.His age may have been about twenty-seven,his dress and bearing that of a gentleman.From the pocket of his light summer overcoat protruded the bundle of endorsed papers which proclaimed his profession.

“We must use what time we have，”said Holmes.“Watson,would you have the kindness to take the paper and to read the paragraph in question？”

Underneath the vigorous headlines which our client had quoted,I read the following suggestive narrative：

“Late last night,or early this morning,an incident occurred at Lower Norwood which points,it is feared,to a serious crime.Mr.Jonas Oldacre is a well known resident of that suburb,where he has carded on his business as a builder for many years.Mr.Oldacre is a bachelor,fifty-two years of age,and lives in Deep Dene House,at the Sydenham end of the road of that name.He has had the reputation of being a man of eccentric habits,secretive and retiring.For some years he has practically withdrawn from the business,in which he is said to have massed considerable wealth.A small timberyard still exists,however,at the back of the house,and last night,about twelve o'clock,an alarm was given that one of the stacks was on fire.The engines were soon upon the spot,but the dry wood burned with great fury,and it was impossible to arrest the conflagration until the stack had been entirely consumed.Up to this point the incident bore the appearance of an ordinary accident,but fresh indications seem to point to serious crime.Surprise was expressed at the absence of the master of the establishment from the scene of the fire,and an inquiry followed,which showed that he had disappeared from the house.An examination of his room revealed that the bed had not been slept in,that a safe which stood in it was open,that a number of important papers were scattered about the room,and finally,that there were signs of a murderous struggle,slight traces of blood being found within the room,and an oaken walking-stick,which also showed stains of blood upon the handle.It is known that Mr.Jonas Oldacre had received a late visitor in his bedroom upon that night,and the stick found has been identified as the property of this person,who is a young London solicitor named John Hector McFarlane,junior partner of Graham and McFarlane,of 426 Gresham Buildings,E.C.The police believe that they have evidence in their possession which supplies a very convincing motive for the crime,and altogether it cannot be doubted that sensational developments will follow.

“Later.—It is rumoured as we go to press that Mr.John Hector McFarlane has actually been arrested on the charge of the murder of Mr.Jonas Oldacre.It is at least certain that a warrant has been issued.There have been further and sinister developments in the investigation at Norwood.Besides the signs of a straggle in the room of the unfortunate builder it is now known that the Frenchwindows of his bedroom（which is on the ground floor）were found to be open,that there were marks as if some bulky object had been dragged across to the wood-pile,and,finally,it is asserted that charred remains have been found among the charcoal ashes of the fire.The police theory is that a most sensational crime has been committed,that the victim was clubbed to death in his own bedroom,his papers rifled,and his dead body dragged across to the wood-stack,which was then ignited so as to hide all traces of the crime.The conduct of the criminal investigation has been left in the experienced hands of Inspector Lestrade,of Scotland Yard,who is following up the clues with his accustomed energy and sagacity.”

Sherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes and fingertips together to this remarkable account.

“The case has certainly some points of interest，”said he,in his languid fashion.“May I ask,in the first place,Mr.McFarlane,how it is that you are still at liberty,since there appears to be enough evidence to justify your arrest？”

“I live at Torrington Lodge,Blackheath,with my parents,Mr.Holmes,but last night,having to do business very late with Mr.Jonas Oldacre,I stayed at an hotel in Norwood,and came to my business from there.I knew nothing of this affair until I was in the train,when I read what you have just heard.I at once saw the horrible danger of my position,and I hurried to put the case into your hands.I have no doubt that I should have been arrested either at my city office or at my home.A man followed me from London Bridge Station,and I have no doubt-Great heaven！what is that？”

It was a clang of the bell,followed instantly by heavy steps upon the stair.A moment later,our old friend Lestrade appeared in the doorway.Over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of one or two uniformed policemen outside.

“Mr.John Hector McFarlane？”said Lestrade.

Our unfortunate client rose with a ghastly face.

“I arrest you for the wilful murder of Mr.Jonas Oldacre,of Lower Norwood.”

McFarlane turned to us with a gesture of despair,and sank into his chair once more like one who is crushed.

“One moment,Lestrade，”said Holmes.“Half an hour more or less canmake no difference to you,and the gentleman was about to give us an account of this very interesting affair,which might aid us in clearing it up.”

“I think there will be no difficulty in cleating it up，”said Lestrade,grimly.

“None the less,with your permission,I should be much interested to hear his account.”

“Well,Mr.Holmes,it is difficult for me to refuse you anything,for you have been of use to the force once or twice in the past,and we owe you a good turn at Scotland Yard，”said Lestrade.“At the same time I must remain with my prisoner,and I am bound to warn him that anything he may say will appear in evidence against him.”

“I wish nothing better，”said our client.“All I ask is that you should hear and recognize the absolute truth.”

Lestrade looked at his watch.“I'll give you half an hour.”said he.

“I must explain first，”said McFarlane，“that I knew nothing of Mr.Jonas Oldacre.His name was familiar to me,for many years ago my parents were acquainted with him,but they drifted apart.I was very much surprised,therefore,when yesterday,about three o'clock in the afternoon,he walked into my office in the city.But I was still more astonished when he told me the object of his visit.He had in his hand several sheets of a notebook,covered with scribbled writing-here they are-and he laid them on my table.

“‘Here is my will，'said he.‘I want you,Mr.McFarlane,to cast it into proper legal shape.I will sit here while you do so.'

“I set myself to copy it,and you can imagine my astonishment when I found that,with some reservations,he had left all his property to me.He was a strange little ferret-like man,with white eyelashes,and when I looked up at him I found his keen gray eyes fixed upon me with an amused expression.I could hardly believe my own senses as I read the terms of the will；but he explained that he was a bachelor with hardly any living relation,that he had known my parents in his youth,and that he had always heard of me as a very deserving young man,and was assured that his money would be in worthy hands.Of course,I could only stammer out my thanks.The will was duly finished,signed,and witnessed by my clerk.This is it on the blue paper,and these slips,as I have explained,are the rough draft.Mr.Jonas Oldacre theninformed me that there were a number of documents-building leases,title-deeds,mortgages,scrip,and so forth-which it was necessary that I should see and understand.He said that his mind would not be easy until the whole thing was settled,and he begged me to come out to his house at Norwood that night,bringing the will with me,and to arrange matters.‘Remember,my boy,not one word to your parents about the affair until everything is settled.We will keep it as a little surprise for them.'He was very insistent upon this point,and made me promise it faithfully.

“You can imagine,Mr.Holmes,that I was not in a humour to refuse him anything that he might ask.He was my benefactor,and all my desire was to carry out his wishes in every particular.I sent a telegram home,therefore,to say that I had important business on hand,and that it was impossible for me to say how late I might be.Mr.Oldacre had told me that he would like me to have supper with him at nine,as he might not be home before that hour.I had some difficulty in finding his house,however,and it was nearly half-past before I reached it.I found him-”

“One moment！”said Holmes.“Who opened the door？”

“A middle-aged woman,who was,I suppose,his housekeeper.”

“And it was she,I presume,who mentioned your name？”

“Exactly.”said McFarlane.

“Pray proceed.”

McFarlane wiped his damp brow,and then continued his narrative：

“I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room,where a frugal supper was laid out.Afterwards,Mr.Jonas Oldacre led me into his bedroom,in which there stood a heavy safe.This he opened and took out a mass of documents,which we went over together.It was between eleven and twelve when we finished.He remarked that we must not disturb the housekeeper.He showed me out through his own French window,which had been open all this time.”

“Was the blind down？”asked Holmes.

“I will not be sure,but I believe that it was only half down.Yes,I remember how he pulled it up in order to swing open the window.I could not find my stick,and he said，‘Never mind,my boy,I shall see a good deal of you now,I hope,and I will keep your stick until you come back to claim it.'I lefthim there,the safe open,and the papers made up in packets upon the table.It was so late that I could not get back to Blackheath,so I spent the night at the Anerley Arms,and I knew nothing more until I read of this horrible affair in the morning.”

“Anything more that you would like to ask,Mr.Holmes？”said Lestrade,whose eyebrows had gone up once or twice during this remarkable explanation.“Not until I have been to Blackheath.”

“You mean to Norwood，”said Lestrade.

“Oh,yes,no doubt that is what I must have meant，”said Holmes,with his enigmatical smile.Lestrade had learned by more experiences than he would care to acknowledge that that razor-like brain could cut through that which was impenetrable to him.I saw him look curiously at my companion.

“I think I should like to have a word with you presently,Mr.Sherlock Holmes，”said he.“Now,Mr.McFarlane,two of my constables are at the door,and there is a four-wheeler waiting.”The wretched young man arose,and with a last beseeching glance at us walked from the room.The officers conducted him to the cab,but Lestrade remained.

Holmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft of the will,and was looking at them with the keenest interest upon his face.

“There are some points about that document,Lestrade,are there not？”said he,pushing them over.

The official looked at them with a puzzled expression.

“I can read the first few lines,and these in the middle of the second page,and one or two at the end.Those are as clear as print，”said he，“but the writing in between is very bad,and there are three places where I cannot read it at all.”

“What do you make of that？”said Holmes.

“Well,what do you make of it？”

“That it was written in a train.The good writing represents stations,the bad writing movement,and the very bad writing passing over points.A scientific expert would pronounce at once that this was drawn up on a suburban line,since nowhere save in the immediate vicinity of a great city could there be so quick a succession of points.Granting that his whole journey was occupied in drawing up the will,then the train was an express,only stopping oncebetween Norwood and London Bridge.”

Lestrade began to laugh.

“You are too many for me when you begin to get on your theories,Mr.Holmes，”said he.“How does this bear on the case？”

“Well,it corroborates the young man's story to the extent that the will was drawn up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey yesterday.It is curious-is it not？—that a man should draw up so important a document in so haphazard a fashion.It suggests that he did not think it was going to be of much practical importance.If a man drew up a will which he did not intend ever to be effective,he might do it so.”

“Well,he drew up his own death warrant at the same time，”said Lestrade.

“Oh,you think so？”

“Don't you？”

“Well,it is quite possible,but the case is not clear to me yet.”

“Not clear？Well,if that isn't clear,what could be clear？Here is a young man who learns suddenly that,if a certain older man dies,he will succeed to a fortune.What does he do？He says nothing to anyone,but he arranges that he shall go out on some pretext to see his client that night.He waits until the only other person in the house is in bed,and then in the solitude of a man's room he murders him,burns his body in the wood-pile,and departs to a neighbouring hotel.The bloodstains in the room and also on the stick are very slight.It is probable that he imagined his crime to be a bloodless one,and hoped that if the body were consumed it would hide all traces of the method of his death-traces which,for some reason,must have pointed to him.Is not all this obvious？”

“It strikes me,my good Lestrade,as being just a trifle too obvious，”said Holmes.“You do not add imagination to your other great qualities,but if you could for one moment put yourself in the place of this young man,would you choose the very night after the will had been made to commit your crime？Would it not seem dangerous to you to make so very close a relation between the two incidents？Again,would you choose an occasion when you are known to be in the house,when a servant has let you in？And,finally,would you take the great pains to conceal the body,and yet leave your own stick as a sign that you were the criminal？Confess,Lestrade,that all this is very unlikely.”

“As to the stick,Mr.Holmes,you know as well as I do that a criminal is often flurried,and does such things,which a cool man would avoid.He was very likely afraid to go back to the room.Give me another theory that would fit the facts.”

“I could very easily give you half a dozen，”said Holmes.“Here,for example,is a very possible and even probable one.I make you a free present of it.The older man is showing documents which are of evident value.A passing tramp sees them through the window,the blind of which is only half down.Exit the solicitor.Enter the tramp！He seizes a stick,which he observes there,kills Oldacre,and departs after burning the body.”

“Why should the tramp burn the body？”

“For the matter of that,why should McFarlane？”

“To hide some evidence.”

“Possibly the tramp wanted to hide that any murder at all had been committed.”

“And why did the tramp take nothing？”

“Because they were papers that he could not negotiate.”

Lestrade shook his head,though it seemed to me that his manner was less absolutely assured than before.

“Well,Mr.Sherlock Holmes,you may look for your tramp,and while you are finding him we will hold on to our man.The future will show which is right.Just notice this point,Mr.Holmes：that so far as we know,none of the papers were removed,and that the prisoner is the one man in the world who had no reason for removing them,since he was heir-at-law,and would come into them in any case.”

My friend seemed struck by this remark.

“I don't mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways very strongly in favour of your theory，”said he.“I only wish to point out that there are other theories possible.As you say,the future will decide.Good-morning！I dare say that in the course of the day I shall drop in at Norwood and see how you are getting on.”

When the detective departed,my friend rose and made his preparations for the day's work with the alert air of a man'who has a congenial task before him.“My first movement,Watson，”said he,as he bustled into his frockcoat，“must,as I said,be in the direction of Blackheath.”

“And why not Norwood？”

“Because we have in this case one singular incident coming close to the heels of another singular incident.The police are making the mistake of concentrating their attention upon the second,because it happens to be the one which is actually criminal.But it is evident to me that the logical way to approach the case is to begin by trying to throw some light upon the first incident-the curious will,so suddenly made,and to so unexpected an heir.It may do something to simplify what followed.No,my dear fellow,I don't think you can help me.There is no prospect of danger,or I should not dream of stirring out without you.I trust that when I see you in the evening,I will be able to report that I have been able to do something for this unfortunate youngster,who has thrown himself upon my protection.”

It was late when my friend returned,and I could see,by a glance at his haggard and anxious face,that the high hopes with which he had started had not been fulfilled.For an hour he droned away upon his violin,endeavouring to soothe his own ruffled spirits.At last he flung down the instrument,and plunged into a detailed account of his misadventures.

“It's all going wrong,Watson-all as wrong as it can go.I kept a bold face before Lestrade,but,upon my soul,I believe that for once the fellow is on the fight track and we are on the wrong.All my instincts are one way,and all the facts are the other,and I much fear that British juries have not yet attained that pitch of intelligence when they will give the preference to my theories over Lestrade's facts.”

“Did you go to Blackheath？”

“Yes,Watson,I went there,and I found very quickly that the late lamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable blackguard.The father was away in search of his son.The mother was at home-a little,fluffy,blue-eyed person,in a tremor of fear and indignation.Of course,she would not admit even the possibility of his guilt.But she would not express either surprise or regret over the fate of Oldacre.On the contrary,she spoke of him with such bitterness that she was unconsciously considerably strengthening the case of the police for,of course,if her son had heard her speak of the man in this fashion,it would predispose him towards hatred and violence.‘He was more like a malignant and cunning ape than a human being，'said she，‘and he always was,ever since he was a young man.'

“‘You knew him at that time？'said I.

“‘Yes,I knew him well,in fact,he was an old suitor of mine.Thank heaven that I had the sense to turn away from him and to marry a better,ifpoorer,man.I was engaged to him,Mr.Holmes,when I heard a shocking story of how he had turned a cat loose in an aviary,and I was so horrified at his brutal cruelty that I would have nothing more to do with him.'She rummaged in a bureau,and presently she produced a photograph of a woman,shamefully defaced and mutilated with a knife.‘That is my own photograph，'she said.‘He sent it to me in that state,with his curse,upon my wedding morning.'

“‘Well，'said I，‘at least he has forgiven you now,since he has left all his property to your son.'

“‘Neither my son nor I want anything from Jonas Oldacre,dead or alive！'she cried,with a proper spirit.‘There is a God in heaven,Mr.Holmes,and that same God who has punished that wicked man will show,in His own good time,that my son's hands are guiltless of his blood.'

“Well,I tried one or two leads,but could get at nothing which would help our hypothesis,and several points which would make against it.I gave it up at last,and off I went to Norwood.

“This place,Deep Dene House,is a big modern villa of staring brick,standing back in its own grounds,with a laurelclumped lawn in front of it.To the fight and some distance back from the road was the timber-yard which had been the scene of the fire.Here's a rough plan on a leaf of my notebook.This window on the left is the one which opens into Oldacre's room.You can look into it from the road,you see.That is about the only bit of consolation I have had to-day.Lestrade was not there,but his head constable did the honours.They had just found a great treasure-trove.They had spent the morning raking among the ashes of the burned wood-pile,and besides the charred organic remains they had secured several discoloured metal discs.I examined them with care,and there was no doubt that they were trouser buttons.I evendistinguished that one of them was marked with the name of‘Hyams，'who was Oldacre's tailor.I then worked the lawn very carefully for signs and traces,but this drought has made everything as hard as iron.Nothing was to be seen save that some body or bundle had been dragged through a low privet hedge which is in a line with the wood-pile.All that,of course,fits in with the official theory.I crawled about the lawn with an August sun on my back,but I got up at the end of an hour no wiser than before.

“Well,atter this fiasco I went into the bedroom and examined that also.The blood-stains were very slight,mere smears and discolourations,but undoubtedly fresh.The stick had been removed,but there also the marks were slight.There is no doubt about the stick belonging to our client.He admits it.Footmarks of both men could be made out on the carpet,but none of any third person,which again is a trick for the other side.They were piling up their score all the time and we were at a standstill.

“Only one little gleam of hope did I get-and yet it amounted to nothing.I examined the contents of the safe,most of which had been taken out and left on the table.The papers had been made up into sealed envelopes,one or two of which had been opened by the police.They were not,so far as I could judge,of any great value,nor did the bank-book show that Mr.Oldacre was in such very affluent circumstances.But it seemed to me that all the papers were not there.There were allusions to some deeds-possibly the more valuable-which I could not find.This,of course,if we could definitely prove it,would turn Lestrade's argument against himself；for who would steal a thing if he knew that he would shortly inherit it？

“Finally,having drawn every other cover and picked up no scent,I tried my luck with the housekeeper.Mrs.Lexington is her name-a little,dark,silent person,with suspicious and sidelong eyes.She could tell us something if she would-I am convinced of it.But she was as close as wax.Yes,she had let Mr.McFarlane in at half-past nine.She wished her hand had withered before she had done so.She had gone to bed at halfpast ten.Her room was at the other end of the house,and she could hear nothing of what passed.Mr.McFarlane had left his hat,and to the best of her belief his stick,in the hall.She had been awakened by the alarm of fire.Her poor,dear master had certainly beenmurdered.Had he any enemies？Well,every man had enemies,but Mr.Oldacre kept himself very much to himself,and only met people in the way of business.She had seen the buttons,and was sure that they belonged to the clothes which he had worn last night.The wood-pile was very dry,for it had not rained for a month.It burned like tinder,and by the time she reached the spot,nothing could be seen but flames.She and all the firemen smelled the burned flesh from inside it.She knew nothing of the papers,nor of Mr.Oldacre's private affairs.

“So,my dear Watson,there's my report of a failure.And yet-and yet”—he elenched his thin hands in a paroxysm of conviction-“I know it's all wrong.I feel it in my bones.There is something that has not come out,and that housekeeper knows it.There was a sort of sulky defiance in her eyes,which only goes with guilty knowledge.However,there's no good talking any more about it,Watson；but unless some lucky chance comes our way I fear that the Norwood Disappearance Case will not figure in that chronicle of our successes which I foresee that a patient public will sooner or later have to endure.”

“Surely，”said I，“the man's appearance would go far with any jury？”

“That is a dangerous argument,my dear Watson.You remember that terrible murderer,Belt Stevens,who wanted us to get him off in'87？Was there ever a more mild-mannered,Sunday-school young man？”

“It is true.”

“Unless we succeed in establishing an alternative theory,this man is lost.You can hardly find a flaw in the case which can now be presented against him,and all further investigation has served to strengthen it.By the way,there is one curious little point about those paprs which may serve us as the startingpoint for an inquiry.On looking over the bank-book I found that the low state of the balance was prmcipally due to large checks which have been made out during the last year to Mr.Cornelius.I confess that I should be interested to know who this Mr.Cornelius may be with whom a retired builder has had such very large transactions.Is it possible that he has had a hand in the affair？Cornelius might be a broker,but we have found no scrip to correspond with these large payments.Failing any other indication,my researches must now take the direction of an inquiry at the bank for the gentleman who has cashed these checks.But I fear,my dear fellow,that our case will end ingloriously byLestrade hanging our client,which will certainly be a triumph for Scotland Yard.”

I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night,but when I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed,his bright eyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them.The carpet round his chair was littered with cigarette-ends and with the early editions of the morning papets.An open telegram lay upon the table.

“What do you think of this,Watson？”he asked,tossing it across.

It was from Norwood,and ran as follows：Important fresh evidence to hand.McFarlane's guiltdefinitely established.Advise you to abandon case.Lestrade.

“This sounds serious.”said I.

“It is Lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory，”Holmes answered,with a bitter smile.“And yet it may be premature to abandon the case.After all,important fresh evidence is a twoedged thing,and may possibly cut in a very different direction to that which Lestrade imagines.Take your breakfast,Watson,and we will go out together and see what we can do.I feel as if I shall need your company and your moral support to-day.”

My friend had no breakfast himself,for it was one of his peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food,and I have known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted from pure inanition.“At present I cannot spare energy and nerve force for digestion，”he would say in answer to my medical remonstrances.I was not sur prised,therefore,when this morning he left his untouched meal behind him,and started with me for Norwood.A crowd of morbid sightseers were still gathered round Deep Dene House,which was just such a suburban villa as I had pictured.Within the gates Lestrade met us,his face flushed with victory,his manner grossly triumphant.

“Well,Mr.Holmes,have you proved us to be wrong yet？Have you found your tramp？”he cried.

“I have formed no conclusion whatever，”my companion answered.

“But we formed ours yesterday,and now it proves to be correct,so you must acknowledge that we have been a little in front of you this time,Mr.Holmes.”

“You certainly have the air of something unusual having occurred，”said Holmes.

Lestrade laughed loudly.

“You don't like being beaten any more than the rest of us do，”said he.“A man can't expect always to have it his own way,can he,Dr.Watson？Step this way,if you please,gentlemen,and I think I can convince you once for all that it was John McFarlane who did this crime.”

He led us through the passage and out into a dark hall beyond.

“This is where young McFarlane must have come out to get his hat after the crime was done，”said he.“Now look at this.”With dramatic suddenness he struck a match,and by its light exposed a stain of blood upon the whitewashed wall.As he held the match nearer,I saw that it was more than a stain.It was the well-marked print of a thumb.

“Look at that with your magnifying glass,Mr.Holmes.”

“Yes,I am doing so.”

“You are aware that no two thumb-marks are alike？”

“I have heard something of the kind.”

“Well,then,will you please compare that print with this wax impression of young McFarlane's right thumb,taken by my orders this morning？”

As he held the waxen print close to the blood-stain,it did not take a magnifying glass to see that the two were undoubtedly from the same thumb.It was evident to me that our unfortunate client was lost.

“That is final，”said Lestrade.

“Yes,that is final，”I involuntarily echoed.

“It is final，”said Holmes.

Something in his tone caught my ear,and I turned to look at him.An extraordinary change had come over his face.It was writhing with inward merriment.His two eyes were shining like stars.It seemed to me that he was making desperate efforts to restrain a convulsive attack of laughter.

“Dear me！Dear me！”he said at last.“Well,now,who would have thought it？And how deceptive appearances may be,to be sure！Such a nice young man to look at！It is a lesson to us not to trust our own judgment,is it not,estrade？”

“Yes,some of us are a little too much inclined to be cocksure,Mr.Holmes，”said Lestrade.The man's insolence was maddening,but we could not resent it.

“What a providential thing that this young man should press his fight thumb against the wall in taking his hat from the peg！Such a very natural action,too,if you come to think if it.”Holmes was outwardly calm,but his whole body gave a wrig gle of suppressed excitement as he spoke.

“By the way,Lestrade,who made this remarkable discovery？”

“It was the housekeeper,Mrs.Lexington,who drew the night constable's attention to it.”

“Where was the night constable？”

“He remained on guard in the bedroom where the crime was committed,so as to see that nothing was touched.”

“But why didn't the police see this mark yesterday？”

“Well,we had no particular reason to make a careful examination of the hall.Besides,it's not in a very prominent place,as you see.”

“No,no-of course not.I suppose there is no doubt that the mark was there yesterday？”

Lestrade looked at Holmes as if he thought he was going out of his mind.I confess that I was myself surprised both at his hilarious manner and at his rather wild observation.

“I don't know whether you think that McFarlane came out of jail in the dead of the night in order to strengthen the evidence against himself，”said Lestrade.“I leave it to any expert in the world whether that is not the mark of his thumb.”

“It is unquestionably the mark of his thumb.”

“There,that's enough，”said Lestrade.“I am a practical man,Mr.Holmes,and when I have got my evidence I come to my conclusions.If you have anything to say,you will find me writing my report in the sitting-room.”

Holmes had recovered his equanimity,though I still seemed to detect gleams of amusement in his expression.

“Dear me,this is a very sad development,Watson,is it not？”said he.“And yet there are singular points about it which hold out some hopes for our client.”

“I am delighted to hear it，”said I,heartily.“I was afraid it was all up with him.”

“I would hardly go so far as to say that,my dear Watson.The fact is that there is one really serious flaw in this evidence to which our friend attaches so much importance.”

“Indeed,Holmes！What is it？”

“Only this：that I know that that mark was not there when I examined the hall yesterday.And now,Watson,let us have a little stroll round in the sunshine.”

With a confused brain,but with a heart into which some warmth of hope was returning,I accompanied my friend in a walk round the garden.Holmes took each face of the house in turn,and examined it with great interest.He then led the way inside,and went over the whole building from basement to attic.Most of the rooms were unfurnished,but none the less Holmes inspected them all minutely.Finally,on the top corridor,which ran outside three untenanted bedrooms,he again was seized with a spasm of merriment.

“There are really some very unique features about this case,Watson，”said he.“I think it is time now that we took our friend Lestrade into our confidence.He has had his little smile at our expense,and perhaps we may do as much by him,if my reading of this problem proves to be correct.Yes,yes,I think I see how we should approach it.”

The Scotland Yard inspector was still writing in the parlour when Holmes interrupted him.

“I understood that you were writing a report of this case，”said he.

“So I am.”

“Don't you think it may be a little premature？I can't help thinking that your evidence is not complete.”

Lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard his words.He laid down his pen and looked curiously at him.

“What do you mean,Mr.Holmes？”

“Only that there is an important witness whom you have not seen.”

“Can you produce him？”

“I think I can.”

“Then do so.”

“I will do my best.How many constables have you？”

“There are three within call.”

“Excellent！”said Holmes.“May I ask if they are all large,able-bodied men with powerful voices？”

“I have no doubt they are,though I fail to see what their voices have to do with it.”

“Perhaps I can help you to see that and one or two other things as well，”said Holmes.“Kindly summon your men,and I Will try.”

Five minutes later,three policemen had assembled in the hall.

“In the outhouse you will find a considerable quantity of straw，”said Holmes.“I will ask you to carry in two bundles of it.I think it will be of the greatest assistance in producing the witness whom I require.Thank you very much.I believe you have some matches in your pocket,Watson.Now,Mr.Lestrade,I will ask you all to accompany me to the top landing.”

As I have said,there was a broad corridor there,which ran outside three empty bedrooms.At one end of the corridor we were all marshalled by Sherlock Holmes,the constables grinning and Lestrade staring at my friend with amazement,expectation,and derision chasing each other across his features.Holmes stood before us with the air of a conjurer who is performing a trick.

“Would you kindly send one of your constables for two buckets of water？Put the straw on the floor here,free from the wall on either side.Now I think that we are all ready.”

Lestrade's face had begun to grow red and angry.

“I don't know whether you are playing a game with us,Mr.Sherlock Holmes，”said he.“If you know anything,you can surely say it without all this tomfoolery.”

“I assure you,my good Lestrade,that I have an excellent reason for everything that I do.You may possibly remember that you chaffed me a little,some hours ago,when the sun seemed on your side of the hedge,so you must not grudge me a little pomp and ceremony now.Might I ask you,Watson,toopen that window,and then to put a match to the edge of the straw？”

I did so,and driven by the draught,a coil of gray smoke swirled down the corridor,while the dry straw crackled and flamed.

“Now we must see if we can find this witness for you,Lestrade.Might I ask you all to join in the cry of‘Fire！'？Now then；one,two,three-”

“Fire！”we all yelled.

“Thank you.I will troubleyou once again.”

“Fire！”

“Just once more,gentlemen,and all together.”

“Fire！”The shout must have rung over Norwood.

It had hardly died away when an amazing thing happened.A door suddenly flew open out of what appeared to be solid wall at the end of the corridor,and a little,wizened man darted out of it,like a rabbit out of its burrow.

“Capital！”said Holmes,calmly.“Watson,a bucket of water over the straw.That will do！Lestrade,allow me to present you with your principal missing witness,Mr.Jonas Oldacre.”

The detective stared at the newcomer with blank amaze ment.The latter was blinking in the bright light of the corridor,and peering at us and at the smouldering fire.It was an odious face-crafty,vicious,malignant,with shifty,light-gray eyes and white lashes.

“What's this,then？”said Lestrade,at last.“What have you been doing all this time,eh？”

Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh,shrinking back from the furious red face of the angry detective.

“I have done no harm.”

“No harm？You have done your best to get an innocent man hanged.If it wasn't for this gentleman here,I am not sure that you would not have succeeded.”

The wretched creature began to whimper.

“I am sure,sir,it was only my practical joke.”

“Oh！a joke,was it？You won't find the laugh on your side,I promise you.Take him down,and keep him in the sitting-room until I come.Mr.Holmes，”he continued,when they had gone，“I could not speak before the constables,butI don't mind saying,in the presence of Dr.Watson,that this is the brightest thing that you have done yet,though it is a mystery to me how you did it.You have savedan innocent man's life,and you have prevented a very grave scandal,which would have mined my reputation in the Force.”

Holmes smiled,and clapped Lestrade upon the shoulder.

“Instead of being mined,my good sir,you will find that your reputation has been enormously enhanced.Just make a few alterations in that report which you were writing,and they will understand how hard it is to throw dust in the eyes of Inspector Lestrade.”

“And you don't want your name to appear？”

“Not at all.The work is its own reward.Perhaps I shall get the credit also at some distant day,when I permit my zealous historian to lay out his foolscap once more-eh,Watson？Well,now,let us see where this rat has been lurking.”

A lath-and-plaster partition had been run across the passage six feet from the end,with a door cunningly concealed in it.It was lit within by slits under the eaves.A few articles of furniture and a supply of food and water were within,together with a number of books and papers.

“There's the advantage of being a builder，”said Holmes,as we came out.“He was able to fix up his own little hiding-place without any confederate-save,of course,that precious housekeeper of his,whom I should lose no time in adding to your bag,Lestrade.”

“I'll take your advice.But how did you know of this place,Mr.Holmes？”

“I made up my mind that the fellow was in hiding in the house.When I paced one corridor and found it six feet shorter than the corresponding one below,it was pretty clear where he was.I thought he had not the nerve to lie quiet before an alarm of fire.We could,of course,have gone in and taken him,but it amused me to make him reveal himself.Besides,I owed you a little mystification,Lestrade,for your chaff in the morning.”

“Well,sir,you certainly got equal with me on that.But how in the world did you know that he was in the house at all？”

“The thumb-mark,Lestrade.You said it was final；and so it was,in a very different sense.I knew it had not been there the day before.I pay a good deal of attention to matters of detail,as you may have observed,and I had examinedthe hall,and was sure that the wall was clear.Therefore,it had been put on during the night.”

“But how？”

“Very simply.When those packets were sealed up,Jonas Oldacre got McFarlane to secure one of the seals by putting his thumb upon the soft wax.It would be done so quickly and so naturally,that I daresay the young man himself has no recollection of it.Very likely it just so happened,and Oldacre had himself no notion of the use he would put it to.Brooding over the case in that den of his,it suddenly struck him what absolutely damning evidence he could make against McFarlane by using that thumb-mark.It was the simplest thing in the world for him to take a wax impression from the seal,to moisten it in as much blood as he could get from a pinprick,and to put the mark upon the wall during the night,either with his own hand or with that of his housekeeper.If you examine among those documents which he took with him into his retreat,I will lay you a wager that you find the seal with the thumb-mark upon it.”

“Wonderful！”said Lestrade.“Wonderful！It's all as clear as crystal,as you put it.But what is the object of this deep deception,Mr.Holmes？”

It was amusing to me to see how the detective's overbearing manner had changed suddenly to that of a child asking questions of its teacher.

“Well,I don't think that is very hard to explain.A very deep,malicious,vindictive person is the gentleman who is now waiting us downstairs.You know that he was once refused by McFarlane's mother？You don't！I told you that you should go to Blackheath first and Norwood afterwards.Well,this injury,as he would consider it,has rankled in his wicked,scheming brain,and all his life he has longed for vengeance,but never seen his chance.During the last year or two,things have gone against him-secret speculation,I think-and he finds himself in a bad way.He determines to swindle his creditors,and for this purpose he pays large checks to a certain Mr.Cornelius,who is,I imagine,himself under another name.I have not traced these checks yet,but I have no doubt that they were banked under that name at some provincial town where Oldacre from time to time leda double existence.He intended to change his name altogether,draw this money,and vanish,starting life again elsewhere.”

“Well,that's likely enough.”

“It would strike him that in disappearing he might throw all pursuit off his track,and at the same time have an ample and crushing revenge upon his old sweetheart,if he could give the impression that he had been murdered by her only child.It was a masterpiece of villainy,and he carried it out like a master.The idea of the will,which would give an obvious motive for the crime,the secret visit unknown to his own parents,the retention of the stick,the blood,and the animal remains and buttons in the wood-pile,all were admirable.It was a net from which it seemed to me,a few hours ago,that there was no possible escape.But he had not that supreme gift of the artist,the knowledge of when to stop.He wished to improve that which was already perfect-to draw the rope tighter yet round the neck of his unforttmate victim-and so he ruined all.Let us descend,Lestrade.There are just one or two questions that I would ask him.”

The malignant creature was seated in his own parlour,with a policeman upon each side of him.

“It was a joke,my good sir-a practical joke,nothing more”he whined incessantly.“I assure you,sir,that I simply concealed myself in order to see the effect of my disappearance,and I am sure that you would not be so unjust as to imag ine that I would have allowed any harm to befall poor young Mr.McFarlane.”

“That's for a jury to decide，”said Lestrade.“Anyhow,we shall have you on a charge of conspiracy,if not for attempted murder.”

“And you'll probably find that your creditors will impound the banking account of Mr.Cornelius.”said Holmes.

The little man started,and turned his malignant eyes upon my friend.

“I have to thank you for a good deal，”said he.“Perhaps I'll pay my debt some day.”

Holmes smiled indulgently.

“I fancy that,for some few years,you will find your time very fully occupied，”said he.“By the way,what was it you put into the wood-pile besides your old trousers？A dead dog,or rabbits,or what？You won't tell？Dear me,how very unkind of you！Well,well,I daresay that a couple of rabbits would account both for the blood and for the charred ashes.If ever you write an account,Watson,you can make rabbits serve your turn.”3.跳舞的人导读

福尔摩斯在那里做试验已经几个小时了，他突然问华生是否不再准备投资南非的股票。华生很吃惊。福尔摩斯告诉华生从他手指间的白粉印就知道他和塞斯顿在玩撞球。四周前他说塞斯顿准备对南非的资产投资，时效一个月，可到现在他也没从抽屉里拿过支票簿，就这么简单。

福尔摩斯又让华生看一些像是小孩画的图画，说这是希尔顿·邱比特先生寄来的，还说一会儿他就坐火车来。这时响起了脚步声。他告诉华生，邱比特先生来了。这时，进来一位身材高大的男子，看到桌上的画问福尔摩斯是否看明白了。

福尔摩斯将那张小人跳舞似的图画放进口袋，让邱比特先生讲一遍事情的经过。邱比特先生说他去年到伦敦参加狂欢节，认识了美国小姐艾尔西·帕特里，在一个月时间内他们相爱并注册结了婚。

回来后艾尔西小姐说自己曾有过不愉快的经历，但没有做过感到羞耻的事，让邱比特相信她。结婚一年以来都十分愉快，但有一天她接到了一封美国来信，看后就烧了，并且脸色发白，从此邱比特先生感到她总是感到不安。

一个星期前，邱比特在窗台上发现了这样的圆形，让人洗掉了，艾尔西说以后再有这种情况让她看一下。昨天早晨，他在花园的日晷仪上发现了这张纸条，她看后就晕过去了，邱比特便把纸条寄给了福尔摩斯。

邱比特要遵守诺言，不逼她说出她的秘密，所以只有用他的方法。他们附近没有陌生人，只是不远的休息站有时留宿客人。福尔摩斯告诉他这些符号只是代表一些意思，但是太短没法破译它，让邱比特回去注意一下，如有此类情况要保留下来，如需要可随时到他家中。

两个星期后，福尔摩斯告诉华生，一会儿邱比特要来，他有一些重要的线索，没过多长时间，邱比特到了。他坐在椅中说自己感觉到妻子正在受着折磨，并说找到了一些东西，说着拿出两个画着小人跳舞的纸条，说头一天在工具房的门板上发现了一幅画，便画了下来，并把它擦掉了，第二天又出现了一幅，他又把它画了下来，第三天在日晷仪上用小石子压着和上次一样的纸条。那天凌晨两点左右，他坐在窗边，妻子过来求他去睡觉，并说如果他感到烦恼，可以出去旅行，但他是不会为这件事逃走的。这时邱比特看到一个黑影从屋角爬到工具房门前，便抓起手枪要冲出去，但妻子死命拉住他，等他挣脱跑到外面时已经没人了，那人留下了和前两次一样的小人图画。早上邱比特又去那里时，发现在另扇门上又画了一行，说着便拿出了一张纸条。

邱比特先生把画留下就回去了。福尔摩斯把那几幅画摊在面前，仔细研究起来，随后脸上出现了满足的笑容。

第二天傍晚，邱比特寄来一封信，并附上他从日晷仪底部描绘下来的图形。福尔摩斯看后马上查列车时刻表，已经没车了，便决定第二天坐第一班车去邱比特家。

第二天他们刚下车，有人过来问他是不是探长，并说刚才马丁探长才过去，希尔顿·邱比特先生被他太太杀了，她太太也自杀了，现在生命垂危。他们马上乘马车去马场村庄园。

他们到门口时，一个身材矮小的人从马车上下来，自我介绍是马丁探长，当听到福尔摩斯的名字时，对他及时赶来表示惊奇，在听说福尔摩斯已提前介入此案时，表示愿意合作破案。

这时，当地一位老外科医生从邱比特太太房中出来说，她脑子中了一枪，邱比特先生已死，医生自称是四点钟被女仆桑德斯叫来的，是她和厨娘发现了凶案。

于是，他们立刻询问两位女仆，她们是在梦中被爆炸声惊醒，隔了一分钟又响了一声。她们到书房发现桌上点着一根蜡烛，主人在睡衣外面加了件晨袍，面朝下已经死了。夫人穿着睡衣已受重伤。她们通知了警察和医生，她们肯定房子的门和窗都插得好好的，并且她一出自己在楼顶的房间就闻到了火药味。

他们检查了现场，并看到了打在窗框上的子弹。福尔摩斯告诉马丁，通过女仆说一跑出房间就闻到了火药味，说明窗户是开着的；而蜡烛又没被吹灭，则证明窗户开了一下又关上了，所以有第三者在窗外射击。这时，福尔摩斯又发现了女人的皮包及里面的二十张五十英镑的纸币。

他们又来到了窗外的花园，花园被一个大而强壮的男性脚踩得乱七八糟。福尔摩斯又拾到了一个黄铜小圆管，说这就是从排弹器中出来的第三个弹壳。在征得探长的同意后，福尔摩斯便开始按自己的意见去做。

福尔摩斯问有没有一个“埃尔里奇”旅馆，人们都不知道，有一个马童知道几英里外的一个偏僻农场叫埃尔里奇。福尔摩斯在书房把那些小舞人纸条拿出来，用了好长一段时间写了一封信，让马童送给埃尔里奇农场的阿贝·斯兰尼先生，并且不要回答他任何问题，然后让马丁探长找来一个警卫。

马童走后福尔摩斯告诉仆人，如果有人找邱比特太太，不要告诉他任何情况，马上把他带到客厅。

当只剩下福尔摩斯、华生及探长时，福尔摩斯说这种小舞人是代表字母来传信的。福尔摩斯通过研究和对比，终于揭开了它的秘密。头一个字条是告诉女士，他在埃尔里奇。福尔摩斯知道那位女士有不愉快的过去，因此他发电报给纽约警察局的朋友威尔森·哈格里夫，让他查一下阿贝·斯兰尼这个人，威尔森回信说此人是芝加哥最危险的歹徒。后来福尔摩斯又收到邱比特最后寄来的纸条，看出他受到了威胁，于是他们立刻赶来，可不幸已经发生了。

探长担心凶手逃走，福尔摩斯认为凶手不会逃走，因为那样就等于承认自己犯罪了。

这时响起了门铃声，福尔摩斯让大家站在门后，准备好，一个高大、英俊的黑人走了进来。福尔摩斯将手枪顶在他头上，马丁迅速给他戴上手铐，他反抗着说是接到邱比特太太的信才来的。当听说她已身受重伤处于昏迷中时，痛苦地倒在沙发中，他说那男的先开枪射自己，自己还了他一枪，邱比特太太和自己曾经订婚，自己是不会枪杀她的，但不明白既然邱比特太太在昏迷中，怎么还能给自己写信。

福尔摩斯告诉他信是自己写的，因为他让一个绅士死了，又使他妻子自杀。而这位女士还要蒙上谋杀丈夫的罪名，他必须把事情说清楚。

斯兰尼说艾尔西的父亲是他们一帮人的头子。他发明了小人密码，艾尔西和自己订了婚，但她看不惯他们的行为，便拿着她辛苦赚的钱逃到了伦敦，直到她结婚后他才知道艾尔西在伦敦，于是他来了。

斯兰尼在农场租了个房间，晚上溜出来和艾尔西联系，后来开始威胁她。艾尔西回信让他离开，并说会在凌晨两点她丈夫睡后在下面窗口跟他说话。她下来后想用钱打发他走，这使他感到耻辱，想把她从窗口拉走，这时她丈夫来了，手里拿着枪。艾尔西缩到地板上，斯兰尼想用枪吓唬她丈夫，可她丈夫开了枪，但没打中，他的枪也响了，她丈夫倒了下去。斯兰尼穿过花园跑了，听到了后面的关窗声。经过就是这样。

这时，一辆马车过来了，探长希望以后还和福尔摩斯合作，然后押着犯人走了。olmes had been seated for some hours in silence with his long,thin back curved over a chemical vessel in which he was Hbrewing a particularly malodorous product.His head was sunk upon his breast,and he looked from my point of view like a strange,lank bird,with dull gray plumage and a black top-knot.

“So,Watson，”said he,suddenly，“you do not propose to invest in South African securities？”

I gave a start of astonishment.Accustomed as I was to Holmes's curious faculties,this sudden intrusion into my most intimate thoughts was utterly inexplicable.

“How on earth do you know that？”I asked.

He wheeled round upon his stool,with a steaming test-tube in his hand,and a gleam of amusement in his deep-set eyes.

“Now,Watson,confess yourself utterly taken aback，”said he.

“I am.”

“I ought to make you sign a paper to that effect.”

“Why？”

“Because in five minutes you will say that it is all so absurdly simple.”

“I am sure that I shall say nothing of the kind.”

“You see,my dear Watson”—he propped his test-tube in the rack,and began to lecture with the air of a professor addressing his class-“it is not really difficult to construct a series of inferences,each dependent upon its predecessor and each simple in itself.If,after doing so,one simply knocks outall the central inferences and presents one's audience with the startingpoint and the conclusion,one may produce a startling,though possibly a meretricious,effect.Now,it was not really difficult,by an inspection of the groove between your left forefinger and thumb,to feel sure that you did not propose to invest your small capital in the gold fields.”

“I see no connection.”

“Very likely not；but I can quickly show you a close connection.Here are the missing links of the very simple chain：1.You had chalk between your left finger and thumb when you returned from the club last night.2.You put chalk there when you play billiards,to steady the cue.3.You never play billiards except with Thurston.4.You told me,four weeks ago,that Thurston had an option on some South African property which would expire in a month,and which he desired you to share with him.5.Your check book is locked in my drawer,and you have not asked for the key.6.You do not propose to invest your money in this manner.”

“How absurdly simple！”I cried.

“Quite so！”said he,a little nettled.“Every problem becomes very childish when once it is explained to you.Here is an unexplained one.See what you can make of that,friend Watson.”He tossed a sheet of paper upon the table,and turned once more to his chemical analysis.

I looked with amazement at the absurd hieroglyphics upon the paper.

“Why,Holmes,it is a child's drawing.”I cried.

“Oh,that's your idea！”

“What else should it be？”

“That is what Mr.Hilton Cubitt,of Riding Thorpe Manor,Norfolk,is very anxious to know.This little conundrum came by the first post,and he Was to follow by the next train.There's a ring at the bell,Watson.I should not be very much surprised if this were he.”

A heavy step was heard upon the stairs,and an instant later there entered a tall,ruddy,clean-shaven gentleman,whose clear eyes and florid cheeks told of a life led far from the fogs of Baker Street.He seemed to bring a whiff of his strong,fresh,bracing,east-coast air with him as he entered.Having shaken hands with each of us,he was about to sit down,when his eye rested upon thepaper with the curious markings,which I had just examined and left upon the table.

“Well,Mr.Holmes,what do you make of these？”he cried.“They told me that you were fond of queer mysteries,and I don't think you can find a queerer one than that.I sent the paper on ahead,so that you might have time to study it before I came.”

“It is certainly rather a curious production，”said Holmes.“At first sight it would appear to be some childish prank.It consists of a number of absurd little figures dancing across the paper upon which they are drawn.Why should you attribute any importance to so grotesque an object？”

“I never should,Mr.Holmes.But my wife does.It is frightening her to death.She says nothing,but I can see terror in her eyes.That's why I want to sift the matter to the bottom.”

Holmes held up the paper so that the sunlight shone full upon it.It was a page torn from a notebook.The markings were done in pencil,and ran in this way：

Holmes examined it for some time,and then,folding it carefully up,he placed it in his pocketbook.

“This promises to be a most interesting and unusual case，”said he.“You gave me a few particulars in your letter,Mr.Hilton Cubitt,but I should be very much obliged if you would kindly go over it all again for the benefit of my friend,Dr.Watson.”

“I'm not much of a story-teller，”said our visitor,nervously clasping and unclasping his great,strong hands.“You'll just ask me anything that I don't make clear.I'll begin at the time of my marriage last year,but I want to say first of all that,though I'm not a rich man,my people have been at Riding Thorpe for a matter of five centuries,and there is no better known family in the County of Norfolk.Last year I came up to London for the Jubilee,and I stopped at a boardinghouse in Russell Square,because Parker,the vicar of ourparish,was staying in it.There was an American young lady there-Patrick was the name-Elsie Patrick.In some way we became friends,until before my month was up I was as much in love as man could be.We were quietly married at a registry office,and we returned to Norfolk a wedded couple.You’ll think it very mad,Mr.Holmes,that a man of a good old family should marry a wife in this fashion,knowing nothing of her past or of her people,but if you saw her and knew her,it would help you to understand.

“She was very straight about it,was Elsie.I can't say that she did not give me every chance of getting out of it if I wished to do so.‘I have had some very disagreeable associations in my life.'said she.‘I wish to forget all about them.I would rather never allude to the past,for it is very painful to me.If you take me,Hilton,you will take a woman who has nothing that she need be personally ashamed of；but you will have to be content with my word for it,and to allow me to be silent as to all that passed up to the time when I became yours.If these conditions are too hard,then go back to Norfolk,and leave me to the lonely life in which you found me.'It was only the day before our wedding that she said those very words to me.I told her that I was content to take her on her own terms,and I have been as good as my word.

“Well,we have been married now for a year,and very happy we have been.But about a mtonth ago,at the end of June,I saw for the first time signs of trouble.One day my wife received a letter from America.I saw the American stamp.She turned deadly white,read the letter,and threw it into the fire.She made no allusion to it afterwards,and I made none,for a promise is a promise,but she has never known an easy hour from that moment.There is always a look of fear upon her face-a look as if she were waiting and expecting.She would do better to trust me.She would find that I was her best friend.But until she speaks,I can say nothing.Mind you,she is a truthful woman,Mr.Holmes,and whatever trouble there may have been in her past life it has been no fault of hers.I am only a simple Norfolk squire,but there is not a man in England who ranks his family honour more highly than I do.She knows it well,and she knew it well before she married me.She would never bring any stain upon it-of that I am sure.

“Well,now I come to the queer part of my story.About a week ago-itwas the Tuesday of last week-I found on one of the window-sills a number of absurd little dancing figures like these upon the paper.They were scrawled with chalk.I thought that it was the stable-boy who had drawn them,but the lad swore he knew nothing about it.Anyhow,they had come there during the night.I had them washed out,and I only mentioned the matter to my wife afterwards.To my surprise,she took it very Seriously,and begged me if any more came to let her see them.None did come for a week,and then yesterday morning I found this paper lying on the sundial in the garden.I showed it to Elsie,and down she dropped in a dead faint.Since then she has looked like a woman in a dream,half dazed,and with terror always lurking in her eyes.It was then that I wrote and sent the paper to you,Mr.Holmes.It was not a thing that I could take to the police,for they would have laughed at me,but you will tell me what to do.I am not a rich man,but if there is any danger threatening my little woman,I would spend my last copper to shield her.”

He was a fine creature,this man of the old English soil-simple,straight,and gentle,with his great,earnest blue eyes and broad,comely face.His love for his wife and his trust in her shone in his features.Holmes had listened to his story with the utmost attention,and now he sat for some time in silent thought.

“Don't you think,Mr.Cubitt，”said he,at last，“that your best plan would be to make a direct appeal to your wife,and to ask her to share her secret with you？”

Hilton Cubitt shook his massive head.

“A promise is a promise,Mr.Holmes.If Elsie wished to tell me she would.If not,it is not for me to force her confidence.But I am justified in taking my own line-and I will.”

“Then I will help you with all my heart.In the first place,have you heard of any strangers being seen in your neighbourhood？”

“No.”

“I presume that it is a very quiet place.Any fresh face would cause comment？”

“In the immediate neighbourhood,yes.But we have several small watering-places not very far away.And the farmers take in lodgers.”

“These hieroglyphics have evidently a meaning.If it is a purely arbitraryone,it may be impossible for us to solve it.If,on the other hand,it is systematic,I have no doubt that we shall get to the bottom of it.But this particular sample is so short that I can do nothing,and the facts which you have brought me are so indefinite that we have no basis for an investigation.I would suggest that you return to Norfolk,that you keep a keen look-out,and that you take an exact copy of any fresh dancing men which may appear.It is a thousand pities that we have not a reproduction of those which were done in chalk upon the window-sill.Make a discreet inquiry also as to any strangers in the neighbourhood.When you have collected some fresh evidence,come to me again.That is the best advice which I can give you,Mr.Hilton Cubitt.If there are any pressing fresh developments,I shall be always ready to run down and see you in your Norfolk home.”

The interview left Sherlock Holmes very thoughtful and several times in the next few days I saw him take his slip of paper from his notebook and look tong and earnestly at the curious figures inscribed upon it.He made no allusion to the affair,however,until one afternoon a fortnight or so later.I was going out when he called me back.

“You had better stay here,Watson.”

“Why？”

“Because I had a wire from Hilton Cubitt this morning.You remember Hilton Cubitt,of the dancing men？He was to reach Liverpool Street at one-twenty.He may be here at any moment.I gather from his wire that there have been some new incidents of importance.”

We had not long to wait,for our Norfolk squire came straight from the station as fast as a hansom could bring him.He was looking worried and depressed,with tired eyes and a lined forehead.

“It's getting on my nerves,this business,Mr.Holmes，”said he,as he sank,like a wearied man,into an armchair.“It's bad enough to feel that you are surrounded by unseen,unknown folk,who have some kind of design upon you,but when,in addition to that,you know that it is just killing your wife by inches,then it becomes as much as flesh and blood can endure.She's wearing away under it-just wearing away before my eyes.”

“Has she said anything yet？”

“No,Mr.Holmes,she has not.And yet there have been times when the poor girl has wanted to speak,and yet could not quite bring herself to take the plunge.I have tried to help her,but I daresay I did it clumsily,and scared her from it.She has spoken about my old family,and our reputation in the county,and our pride in our unsullied honour,and I always felt it was leading to the point,but somehow it turned off before we got there.”

“But you have found out something for yourself？”

“A good deal,Mr.Holmes.I have several fresh dancingmen pictures for you to examine,and,what is more important,I have seen the fellow.”

“What,the man who draws them？”

“Yes,I saw him at his work.But I will tell you everything in order.When I got back after my visit to you,the very first thing I saw next morning Was a fresh crop of dancing men.They had been drawn in chalk upon the black wooden door of the toolhouse,which stands beside the lawn in full view of the front windows.I took an exact copy,and here it is.”He unfolded a paper and laid it upon the table.Here is a copy of the hieroglyphics：

“Excellent！”said Holmes.“Excellent！Pray continue.”

“When I had taken the copy,I rubbed out the marks,but,two mornings later,a flesh inscription had appeared.I have a copy of it here”：

Holmes rubbed his hands and chuckled with delight.

“Our material is rapidly accumulating.”said he.

“Three days later a message was left scrawled upon paper,and placed under a pebble upon the sundial.Here it is.The characters are,as you see,exactly the same as the last one.After that I determined to lie in wait,so I got out my revolver and I sat up in my study,which overlooks the lawn and garden.About two in the morning I was seated by the window,all being dark save for the moonlight outside,when I heard steps behind me,and there was my wife in her dressing-gown.She implored me to come to bed.I told her frankly that I wished to see who it was who played such absurd tricks upon us.She answered that it was some senseless practical joke,and that I should not take any noticeof it.

“‘If it really annoys you,Hilton,we might go and travel,you and I,and so avoid this nuisance.'

“‘What,be driven out of our own house by a practical joker？'said I.‘Why,we should have the whole county laughing at us.'

“‘Well,come to bed，'said she，‘and we can discuss it in the morning.'

“Suddenly,as she spoke,I saw her white face grow whiter yet in the moonlight,and her hand tightened upon my shoulder.Something was moving in the shadow of the tool-house.I saw a dark,creeping figure which crawled round the comer and squatted in front of the door.Seizing my pistol,I was rushing out when my wife threw her arms round me and held me with convulsive strength.I tried to throw her off,but she clung to me most desperately.At last I got clear,but by the time I had opened the door and reached the house the creature was gone.He had left a trace of his presence,however,for there on the door was the very same arrangement of dancing men which has already twice appeared,and which I have copied on that paper.There was no other sign of the fellow anywhere,though I ran all over the grounds.And yet the amazing thing is that he must have been there all the time,for when I examined the door again in the morning,he had scrawled some more of his pictures under the line which I had already seen.”

“Have you that fresh drawing？”

“Yes,it is very short,but I made a copy of it,and here it is.”Again he produced a paper.The new dance was in this form：

“Tell me，”said Holmes-and I could see by his eyes that he was much excited-“was this a mere addition to the first or did it appear to be entirely separate？”

“It was on a different panel of the door.”

“Excellent！This is far the most important of all for our purpose.It fills me with hopes.Now,Mr.Hilton Cubitt,please continue your most interesting statement.”

“I have nothing more to say,Mr.Holmes,except that I was angry with mywife that night for having held me back when I might have caught the skulking rascal.She said that she feared that I might come to harm.For an instant it had crossed my mind that perhaps what she really feared was that he might come to harm,for I could not doubt that she knew who this man was,and what he meant by these strange signals.But there is a tone in my wife's voice,Mr.Holmes,and a look in her eyes which forbid doubt,and I am sure that it was indeed my own safety that was in her mind.There's the whole case,and now I want your advice as to what I ought to do.My own inclination is to put half a dozen of my farm lads in the shrubbery,and when this fellow comes again to give him such a hiding that he will leave us in peace for the future.”

“I fear it is too deep a case for such simple remedies，”said Holmes.“How long can you stay in London？”

“I must go back today.I would not leave my wife alone all night for anything.She is very nervous,and begged me to come back.”

“I daresay you are right.But if you could have stopped,I might possibly have been able to return with you in a day or two.Meanwhile you will leave me these papers,and I think that it is very likely that I shall be able to pay you a visit shortly and to throw some light upon your case.”

Sherlock Holmes preserved his calm professional manner until our visitor had left us,although it was easy for me,who knew him so well,to see that he was profoundly excited.The moment that Hilton Cubitt's broad back had disappeared through the door my comrade rushed to the table,laid out all the slips of paper containing dancing men in front of him,and threw himself into an intricate and elaborate calculation.For two hours I watched him as he covered sheet after sheet of paper with figures and letters,so completely absorbed in his task that he had evidently forgotten my presence.Sometimes he was making progress and whistled and sang at his work；sometimes he was puzzled,and would sit for long spells with a furrowed brow and a vacant eye.Finally he sprang from his chair with a cry of satisfaction,and walked up and down the room rubbing his hands together.Then he wrote a long telegram upon a cable form.“If my answer to this is as I hope,you will have a very pretty case to add to your collection,Watson，”said he.“I expect that we shall be able to go down to Norfolk tomorrow,and to take our friend some very definite news asto the secret of his annoyance.”

I confess that I was filled with curiosity,but I was aware that Holmes liked to make his disclosures at his own time and in his own way,so I waited until it should suit him to take me into his confidence.

But there was a delay in that answering telegram,and two days of impatience followed,during which Holmes pricked up his ears at every ring of the bell.On the evening of the second there came a letter from Hilton Cubitt.All was quiet with him,save that a long inscription had appeared that morning upon the pedestal of the sundial.He enclosed a copy of it,which is here reproduced：

Holmes bent over this grotesque frieze for some minutes,and then suddenly sprang to his feet with an exclamation of surprise and dismay.His face was haggard with anxiety.

“We have let this affair go far enough，”said he.“Is there a train to North Walsham tonight？”

I turned up the time-table.The last had just gone.

“Then we shall breakfast early and take the very first in the morning，”said Holmes.“Our presence is most urgently needed.Ah！here is our expected cablegram.One moment,Mrs.Hudson,there may be an answer.No,that is quite as I expeered.This message makes it even more essential that we should not lose an hour in letting Hilton Cubitt know how matters stand,for it is a singular and a dangerous web in which our simple Norfolk squire is entangled.”

So,indeed,it proved,and as I come to the dark conclusion of a story which had seemed to me to be only childish and bizarre,I experience once again the dismay and horror with which I was filled.Would that I had some brighter ending to communicate to my readers,but these are the chronicles of fact,and I must follow to their dark crisis the strange chain of events which for some days made Riding Thorpe Manor a household word through the length and breadth of England.

We had hardly alighted at North Walsham,and mentioned the name of our destination,when the stationmaster hurried towards us.“I suppose that you are the detectives from London？”said he.

A look of annoyance passed over Holmes's face.

“What makes you think such a thing？”

“Because Inspector Martin from Norwich has just passed through.But maybe you are the surgeons.She's not dead-or wasn't by last accounts.You may be in time to save her yet-though it be for the gallows.”

Holmes's brow was dark with anxiety.

“We are going to Riding Thorpe Manor，”said he，“but we have heard nothing of what has passed there.”

“It's a terrible business，”said the stationmaster.“They are shot,both Mr.Hilton Cubitt and his wife.She shot him and then herself-so the servants say.He's dead and her life is despaired of.Dear,dear,one of the oldest families in the county of Norfolk,and one of the most honoured.”

Without a word Holmes hurried to a carriage,and during the long seven miles'drive he never opened his mouth.Seldom have I seen him so utterly despondent.He had been uneasy during all our journey from town,and I had observed that he had turned over the morning papers with anxious attention,but now this sudden realization of his worst fears left him in a blank melancholy.He leaned back in his seat,lost in gloomy speculation.Yet there was much around to interest us,for we were passing through as singular a countryside as any in England,where a few scattered cottages represented the population of

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