Chapter 2 1. The Fox-Laskey case

"It's a strange thing," I said, throwing The Times on the floor. "Honestly, I'm surprised the family hasn't come to you for consultation." My friend Sherlock Holmes turned from the window and sank down in his arm-chair. "I suppose you mean the Fox-Lars murder, don't you?" he said slowly. "If so, Watson, this one may interest you. It's the one before breakfast." Arrived." He took out a light yellow printout from his dressing gown pocket and handed it to me from the opposite side.It was a telegram, postmarked from Sussex Woods, which read: "Meeting at exactly fifteen minutes past ten for the Adelton affair, Vincent." Picking it up, he quickly read that column of news again. "There is no mention of Vincent in it."

"That is of no consequence," replied Holmes irritably. "From the wording of the telegram it may be inferred that he is a lawyer of the old school in the employ of the Adeltons. I think we have a little time to spare, Watson. Please." Please repeat the main points of the morning paper report, and let me recall the case again. Ignore the irrelevant opinions expressed by the reporter." Holmes filled a clay pipe with strong tobacco, and leaned back in his chair to smoke. Breathing out acrid blue smoke, staring at the ceiling. I began: "This tragedy happened in Folkes-Rath. It is an old Sussex manor house in the Forest of Relic Hill near the Forest District. There is an old cemetery there, and the mansion That's how it got its weird name..."

"Just the facts, Watson." I went on stiffly: "The owner of the property is Colonel Mathias Adelton. Adelton, known as the Squire, is the local magistrate and the wealthiest landowner in the district. The Erkes-Rath family consisted of the squire himself, his nephew Percy Langton, the butler Mosted, and four house servants. In addition, there were porters, grooms and several gamekeepers. They are outside servants, and live in the house on the edge of the estate. Squire Adderton and his nephew had supper as usual at eight o'clock last night. After dinner, the squire rode out for about an hour, at ten o'clock. He came home not long ago. He and his nephew were drinking wine together in the living room, and the two seemed to have had a quarrel. The steward said that when he delivered the wine, he noticed the squire's red face and rough attitude."

"I suppose you said that the nephew's name was Langton? And what was his expression?" interrupted Holmes. "According to the steward, he did not see Langton's face, for as soon as he entered the house the young man went to the window and looked out into the night. But the sound of their angry quarrel was heard as the steward withdrew. Shortly after midnight , everyone in the house was awakened by a wild cry. The cry obviously came from the living room. When everyone ran to the living room in their pajamas, they couldn't help being shocked. It turned out that Squire Adderton's head had been split open. Lie unconscious in a pool of blood. Standing beside the dying man is Mr. Percy Langton, in his dressing gown, holding in his hand a blood-stained ax, a medieval executioner's axe. His ax, Holmes, had been drawn from a monumental set of arms which hung over the mantelpiece. Longton, overwhelmed with fright, helped with difficulty to lift the wounded man's head and stanch the bleeding. But, in Moss As Tad bent over him, the squire raised himself on his elbows and struggled to whisper, "It's...Lon...Dum!It's... Lang...! "Before he finished speaking, he fell back and died in the arms of the butler. The local police were called in, and Mr. Percy Langton was arrested for killing the squire Adderton. The evidence is: the nephew and uncle There was a quarrel, Langton stood beside the dead man, and the denunciation of the dead man before he passed away. I know that the defendant who insisted on affirming his innocence has been transferred to Luwes recently. The whole truth That is probably all, Holmes."

My friend was silent for a moment, smoking his pipe. Finally, he asked: "How did Langton explain the quarrel?" "Here it is. He volunteered to tell the police authorities that when he and his uncle talked about the sale of Chadford Grange, the words on both sides became heated. Longton thought that in doing so, it was reducing the property again, and there was no necessary." "again?" "It appears that Squire Addleton has sold other properties during the last two years." I replied, throwing the paper on the couch, "I must admit, Holmes, that I have seldom come across crimes more serious than this." More definite cases!"

"Abominable, Watson, very abominable," agreed my friend. "Indeed, assuming the facts are as they are said, I cannot see why this Mr. Vincent should waste my time. Well, what we said The man is going upstairs, unless I'm mistaken." There was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Hudson ushered in the visitor. Mr. Vincent was an old man of short stature, with a long, sad expression on his pale face, and sideburns.He wore a rather scruffy frock-coat, with a pince-nez attached to the lapel of the coat by a black satin ribbon.His short-sighted eyes peered at us for a moment through the pince-nez, hesitating. "This is too bad, Mr. Holmes!" he cried sharply. "I thought I could have a private conversation with you by telegram, sir. No one should be present. My client's business..."

"This is my colleague, Dr. Watson," interposed Sherlock Holmes, waving his visitor to a chair which I had just drawn out, "I assure you that his presence will be of great value to us. Help." Mr. Vincent nodded to me, put his hat and cane on the floor, and sat down on the chair. "Believe me, I mean no offense to you, Dr. Watson," he said sharply, "but it is a dreadful event to those who love and have good intentions for the Folkes-Lars house. Morning, I say, is a dreadful morning." "I believe so," said Holmes. "However, your walk to the station early this morning has always refreshed you somewhat. I have found that exercise itself is a tranquilizer." Startled our visitor, he exclaimed Say, "Honestly, sir, I don't see how you could..."

"Tut! Tsk!" interrupted Holmes impatiently. "A man who travels to the station by train will never get wet mud on his left shoe-cover, nor on the metal-toe of his cane." Similar smudges. You've traveled a rough country road, and, because of the dry weather, I think you've waded in water somewhere along the way, or at a transition." "Your reasoning is quite correct, sir," replied Mr. Vincent, looking at Holmes over his pince-nez with the utmost suspicion. "My horse was taken out, and horses were not available for hire in the village at that hour. I had to walk, as you say, and catch a milk train to London. I came here to seek , no, Mr. Holmes, but to my unfortunate young client, Mr. Percy Langton."

Holmes leaned back in his chair with closed eyes, resting his chin on the tips of his fingers. "I'm afraid I can do nothing about it," said he. "Dr. Watson has given me the principal facts. They appear to be very incriminating. Who is in charge of the case?" "I have heard that the local police authorities appealed to Scotland Yard on account of the seriousness of the crime, and Scotland Yard sent an Inspector Lestrade -- alas, Mr. Holmes, you have rheumatism, and the sting is excruciating -- - An Inspector Lestrade in charge. Perhaps, I should say," continued our visitor, "I am a senior partner in the law firm of Vincent, Peabody, Vincent in the Woods. For hundreds of years or more, the Addletons have entrusted us with their interests."

Holmes stooped forward, picked up the paper, tapped his finger quickly in the place where the paragraph appeared, and without a word handed it to the lawyer. "The report is accurate enough," said the little man sadly, glancing over the news, "though it says nothing of the fact that the squire had told the butler, Moststead, that he locked the gate himself, and that when the accident happened The door wasn't locked." Holmes raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Unlocked, you say? Well. Well, it may be that Squire Adderton had a quarrel with his nephew and forgot about it. But I don't think there's a point or two that's unclear."

"What is it, sir?" "Is the victim wearing pajamas?" "No, he's fully dressed. Mr. Langton is in pajamas." "The squire is said to have left the house an hour or so after supper. Does he often ride out at night?" Mr. Vincent, who had been stroking his sideburns just now, stopped.He cast a keen eye on Holmes, and said sharply: "You mention that. He is not in the habit of going out at night. But he came home safe and sound. I don't understand. . . . " "Exactly," interposed Holmes. "The squire is a rich man, do you think? Please answer clearly." "Matius Addleton was a very rich man. He was the younger son, of course, and emigrated to Australia about forty years ago, in 1854. He worked on the Australian goldfields. Amassed a fortune and returned home in the seventies; since his brother was dead, he also inherited the Fulks-Lass estate. Alas! I can't say against my will that he was loved by his neighbors. He was eccentric , unpopular in the neighbourhood. His position as sheriff made him feared by the worthless people of our country. He was a hard, stern, calculating man." "How is Mr. Percy Langton on good terms with his uncle?" The lawyer hesitated, and finally said: "I'm afraid it's not good. Mr. Percy was the son of the squire's late sister, and he had been raised in Forks-Rath. When the estate passed into his uncle's hands, He stayed to manage the estate. Of course, he was a limited heir, and his inheritance consisted of a house and part of the land. He had expressed displeasure more than once at the sale of certain estates and properties by his uncle. I am afraid that this caused the quarrel between them. Disgust. His wife was absent on any other day, but last night, it was unfortunate." "His wife?" "Yes, Langton has a lady, a lovely, modest young woman. Last night he spent the night at a friend's house in East Grinstead, and should be back this morning." Mr. Vincent paused. "Dear little Mary," he concluded softly, "how can she bear to come back in these circumstances! The squire is dead, and her husband is accused of murder." "And one last question," said Holmes. "What did your client say about the events of last night?" "His account was very simple, Mr. Holmes. He said that at supper the squire had informed him of his intention to sell Chadford Grange. He advised the squire that it was not necessary to sell it, as it would damage the property. He Uncle lost his temper with him and said angry words after that. Afterwards, his uncle ordered the horses to be ready, and rode away without saying anything. The squire came back and asked for a bottle of wine. Because he felt that the conversation might get louder if he continued. The more fierce Mr. Percy said good night to his uncle, he went back to his own room. However, he was too disturbed to sleep. According to his account, he sat up twice in bed, as if he heard From the great drawing room came his uncle's voice." "Then why didn't he look at it then?" interposed Holmes sternly. "I asked him that question. He replied that his uncle had been drinking a lot and he thought his uncle had lost his temper alone in the drawing room. Moststead, the housekeeper, confirmed that this has often happened in the past, too." "Please continue." "Just as the clock in the stables struck twelve and he was about to fall asleep, a scream shook the silent mansion, and he awoke with a start. He jumped out of bed, put on his dressing-gown, and grabbed the Lighting a candle, he ran down to the drawing-room. He recoiled in horror at the horrors unfolding before him. Blood was spattering both inside and outside the fireplace. Squire Adderton lay with his arms over his head. In a large pool of crimson blood. Mr. Percy rushed to his uncle and bent down, when his eyes fell on something that made him sick and fainted. Squire Addleton's Beside him lay an executioner's ax, horribly stained with the blood of his victims, which he vaguely recognized as one of the monumental weapons which hung on the wall above the fireplace. Not thinking what he was doing, he stooped and picked up the axe. At that moment Mostede burst into the room with the terrified maid. That was what my unfortunate client said." "Ah!" Holmes uttered a voice of surprise. The lawyer and I sat there silently for a long time, watching my friend.He leaned his head back in his chair, closed his eyes, and a faint spiral of smoke rose rapidly from his earthen pipe.There was no expression on his hawk-like face, only the plume of smoke suggested that his thoughts were at work.After a while, he jumped up. "A little air from the mound of remains will certainly do you no harm, Watson." He said briskly, "Mr. Vincent, my friend and I are completely at your disposal." It was three or four o'clock when we got off at Forest District Station.Mr. Vincent wired a room for us at the Green Man Hotel.The stone inn appeared to be the only building of importance in the village.All around were the low, round Sussex hills, thick with woods, and the air was full of the scent of trees.As I gazed at the verdant landscape, I had the feeling that the idyllic setting in which the Folkes-Lass tragedy had taken place seemed all the more sinister and horrific by the serenity.The venerable lawyer evidently shared my sentiments, while Sherlock Holmes was left brooding to himself.He didn't participate in our conversation, but just made a few comments from time to time, saying that the station master had an unfortunate marriage and recently changed the location of the shaving mirror. We hired a carriage from the inn, and started the three-mile journey from the village to the manor. The road winds its way up the wooded slopes of Mount Pipinford, and occasionally we catch sight of a spooky, vegetated ridge, with the vast swath of remains looming on the horizon. . We go up to the top of the mountain.I was fascinated by the marvelous view of the moorland gradually extending towards the green Sussex Downs pastures in the distance.At this moment, Mr. Vincent touched my arm and pointed ahead. "Folkes-Lass," he said. On the highest point of the moor there was a bleak, rambling house of gray stone, with a row of stables beside it.Around the corner of the old house lay fields, which gradually merged with yellow gorse and heath-grown heath, and stretched out in front of a deep wooded ravine.A column of smoke rose from the other side of the valley.The high-pitched hum of a steam saw also came from there. "That's the Relic Hill Sawmill," Mr. Vincent offered to me. "Those woods lie outside the boundaries of the property, and have no neighbors within three miles. But, Mr. Holmes, we came here, and Falk The people of S-Lass welcomed us in sorrow." An elderly manservant heard our drive up the drive and appeared by the prominent Tudor gate.Seeing our companions, he hastened forward with a cry of relief. "Thank God you are here, sir," he cried. "Mrs. Longton..." "She's back?" put in Mr. Vincent. "Poor lady. I'll go and see her right away." "Officer Clare is here, sir, and, oh, someone from the Metropolitan Police." "Very well, Mostad." "Wait a moment," said Holmes, "has your master's body been removed?" "It's gone to the gun room, sir." "Nothing else has been disturbed, I believe?" asked Holmes sharply. The servant's eyes turned slowly to the dark archway in the gate. "No, sir," he said vaguely, "it's all the same." Mostede let us put our hats and sticks in a little hall.Pass through the foyer to the inner hall.The inner hall is a vaulted stone room with a row of narrow windows with pointed corners decorated with stained glass on the wall.The fading afterglow of the setting sun shines through the glass, casting green, red, sky blue and other mottled shadows on the oak floor.As we entered, a short, thin man who was writing at a desk took one look at us.He jumped up, anger showing on his chiseled face. "What is the matter, Mr. Holmes?" he cried. "There is no room for your genius here." "You may be right, Lestrade," replied my friend casually; "however, there have been cases..." "...Luck favors the theorist, doesn't it, Mr. Holmes? Ah! Dr. Watson. Besides, I'd like to ask who this is, if you understand the question I, a police officer, are asking." "This is Mr. Vincent, counsel to the Addelstons," I replied, "and it is he who has enlisted the help of Mr. Sherlock Holmes." "Oh, he did, didn't he?" he snapped, giving the little lawyer a wicked look. "Unfortunately, whatever clever theories Mr. Holmes may have, it is too late. We have already caught the criminal. Good-bye, gentlemen." "Wait a minute, Lestrade," said Holmes sternly. "You have erred in the past, and you may err in the future. In this case, if you have caught the criminal, and I must admit, by now I believe you did catch the criminal, and I'll confirm that you have nothing to lose. On the other hand..." "Ah, always 'on the other hand.' But..." said Lestrade reluctantly, "I don't think you can do me any harm. If you want to waste your own time, Mr. Holmes, that is your business. Yes, Mr. Watson, it's a very odd evening, isn't it?" I followed Mr. Holmes to the fireplace which stood at the other end of the room, and the sight which greeted me made me cringe.There was a large puddle of partially congealed blood on the oak floor, and the inside and outside of the fireplace, and even the nearby wall panels, were splattered with crimson mottled blood, which was terrible. Mr. Vincent's lips turned pale with fright.He turned away and slumped in a chair. "Stand back, Watson." Holmes ordered me bluntly. "No footprints, I suppose..." He gestured toward the horrible part of the floor. "Only one, Mr. Holmes," replied Lestrade, with a wry smile. "This footprint matches Mr. Percy Langton's bedroom slippers." "Ah, it seems that you understand the situation. By the way, what is the defendant's dressing gown like?" "Well, what's the matter?" "Walls! Lestrade, those walls! Langton's blood-spattered gown-fronts must help in finalizing the case." "That's what you mentioned. The sleeve is soaked in blood." "Tsk, it's only natural that the sleeves are soaked in blood, considering that he helped to lift the dead man's head. There's no clue there. Do you have the dressing gown?" The Scotland Yard policeman rummaged in a double-pocketed duffel bag and produced a gray woolen robe. "This is." "Hmph. There are bloodstains on the sleeves and the hem of the clothes, and there is not even a trace of blood on the front. Strange, alas... this is not convincing. Is this a murder weapon?" Lestrade drew from his bag something very frightening.It was a short-handled all-steel ax with a thin waist and a broad half-moon blade. "It must be of very old fashion," said Holmes, examining it with a magnifying glass. "By the way, where is the wound?" "The top of Squire Adderton's skull has been chopped up like a rotten apple," replied Lestrade. "To be honest, it's a miracle that he regained a moment of consciousness. To Mr. Longton It's an unfortunate miracle." "I heard that the deceased mentioned his name, did you?" "Well, he uttered 'Langton' out of breath, which is all a dying man can do." "Yes. But who's coming? Oh, no, madam, you can't go any further, not even a step, I beseech you. This fireplace is now closed to women." A slender and elegant girl in heavy filial piety rushed into the room.Her dark eyes gleamed wildly on her pale face, and her hands were clasped before her in agony. "Help him!" she cried, overpoweringly. "I swear he is innocent! Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, save my husband!" I think we were all deeply moved by her at the time, even Lestrade. "I will do my best, madam," said Holmes kindly. "Now, please tell me something about your husband." "He's a very, very nice guy." "Yes, yes. But I'm talking about physical matters. For instance, do you think he's taller than Squire Addleton?" Mrs. Longton looked at Holmes in amazement. "My God, no," she cried. "Why, the squire is more than six feet tall." "Ah. Mr. Vincent, perhaps now you can tell me when Squire Adderton began to sell his property?" "The first time was two years ago, and the second time was about six months ago," replied the lawyer hastily. "Mr. Holmes, if there is nothing to do now, I should like to see Mrs. Langton back to the drawing room." My friend replied with a bow: "We need not bother Mrs. Langton any further. But I would like to speak to the housekeeper." While we waited, Holmes walked to the window, with his hands behind his back and his chin resting on his chest. , looking at the empty yard outside.Lestrade returned to the table, bit the pen holder, and looked at him curiously. "Ah, Mostads," said Holmes, as the butler entered the room, "you are, no doubt, anxious to do all you can to help Mr. Langton. I hope you understand that we have come for the same purpose. ’ The butler looked nervously at Lestrade, and then at Holmes. "Well," continued my friend, "I'm sure you will be able to help us. For example, you may recall whether the squire received the letter when it was delivered yesterday?" "Yes, sir, there is a letter." "Ah! Can you tell me more about the situation?" "There's not much to tell, I'm afraid, sir. The letter was stamped locally and appeared to be a very common cheap envelope, such as is commonly used in this part of the neighbourhood. I'm surprised..." He hesitated for a moment. . "The circumstance which astonishes you, perhaps, concerns the attitude of the squire?" asked Holmes calmly. "Yes, sir, that's exactly it. As soon as I handed him the letter, he opened it, and as he looked at it, something came into his face which made me get out of there as quickly as I could. When I came in afterwards, The squire is out, and there are still bits of burnt paper smoking in the grate." "Your help is invaluable," said Holmes, rubbing his hands. "Now, please think carefully. Six months ago, your master sold some land. You may know about it. Naturally, you cannot recall it." Was there a similar letter at that time?" "No letter, sir." "Of course not. Thank you, Mosted. That's all I think." Something in his voice made me glance at him.His transformation surprised me.His eyes sparkled with excitement, and a blush appeared on his face. "Sit down, Watson," he cried. "Sit down on that stool over there." Then he drew his magnifying glass from his pocket, and began to examine it. I stared at him intently.Holmes crawled around on all fours.His elongated nose was inches from the parquet floor, and the magnifying glass in his hand reflected the last rays of the setting sun.The bloodstains, the fireplace, the mantel, and the floor itself were carefully and methodically examined. In the middle of the room was a Persian rug.I saw him stop suddenly as he crawled to the edge of the rug. "You should have found this, Lestrade," he whispered. "There are some obscure tracks here." "That's no big deal, Mr. Holmes." Lestrade grinned and winked at me at the same time. "A lot of people walked across that carpet." "However, it has not rained for many days. The boots that have left this mark are a little damp. There must be something in this room to explain it. I need not tell you. Ah! What is it?" Holmes scratched from the carpet. Next thing, carefully observed with a magnifying glass.Lestrade and I went up to him. "Cough, what is it?" Holmes was silent.He handed the magnifying glass to Lestrade and held out his hand at the same time. Lestrade looked at it with a magnifying glass and commented, "It's dust." "It is pine sawdust," replied Holmes calmly. "It is so fine that it cannot be mistaken. You may have noticed that I scraped it off the prints of my shoes." I said aloud: "To be honest, Holmes, I don't understand..." My friend looked at me slyly and said: "Come, Watson. Let us now go to the stables." In the cobbled yard we met a stableman who was drawing water from the pump.I have mentioned before that Holmes had a genius for disarming the agitated.After a few words of conversation, the Sussex cautiousness of the man was almost entirely removed, and when Holmes hinted that it would be difficult to point out the horse his master had used the night before, He told the situation right away. "He's riding the Wanderer, sir," said the groom proactively. "Isn't this still in the stables? Would you like to see the horse's hooves? Oh, why not? Look. You can use it as you please." There is not a single stone in the cleft of the hoof." Holmes took a small lump of mud from the horse's hoof, inspected it carefully, and put it carefully in an envelope.He thrust a half-pound piece into the groom's hand, and left the yard. "Well, Watson, we can go back to the hotel after we get our hat and cane," he said in a relaxed tone.When he saw the Scotland Yard sergeant at the front door, he added: "Ah, Lestrade, I want to draw your attention to the chairs in front of the fire." "But there are no chairs in front of the fire." "That's why I called your attention. Well, Watson, nothing more will happen here tonight." The evening passed rather pleasantly, though I was a little angry with Holmes.I was angry because he refused to answer any of my questions on the grounds that "tomorrow's answer is better than today's answer", but he talked to our landlord about local affairs, and outsiders like us have no idea about those things. interested. When I awoke next morning, I was astonished to find that Holmes had breakfasted and gone out two hours before.He walked in just as I was finishing my breakfast.He looked energized from being outside and exercising. "Where have you been?" I asked. "Learn from the early bird, Watson." He pursed his lips and smiled. "If you have finished eating, then we will take the car to Forks-Lass to meet Lestrade. Sometimes he has a certain amount." useful." Half an hour later, we arrived at the old mansion again.Lestrade greeted us rather roughly, looking at my companion with surprise. "But why go to the moor, Mr. Holmes?" he said angrily. "What are you thinking about this time?" Holmes turned away with a grave face. "Very well," he said. "I wanted you to have the exclusive honor of catching the murderer of Squire Addleton." Lestrade grabbed Holmes' arm and asked, "Aren't you joking, man? But, I want evidence! All the facts point to..." Holmes raised his stick and pointed silently down the long sloping field, covered with crops and heather, and down to the distant valley covered with bushes. He said calmly, "Go there." This trip is something I will never forget.I am sure that Lestrade had no more idea of ​​what lay ahead than I did.We simply followed the slender figure of Holmes across the prairie, up a rough track trodden by the sheep, towards the desolate moor.After walking a mile or more, we came to the valley, and then into the lovely pine woods.The whirring of the steam saw echoed through the pine woods like the hum of some gigantic insect.There was a strong smell of burning wood in the air, fragrant.In a few minutes we were between the houses and the lumber piles of the sawmill on Remains Knoll. Without hesitation, Holmes led the way to a small cottage with the sign of "Manager's Office" and knocked heavily on the door.After a short wait, the door slammed open. I have seldom seen a man more terrible than the man who stood on the threshold.He was as tall as a giant, with broad shoulders that blocked the doorway, and a matted, matted red beard that fell to his chest like a lion's mane. "What are you doing here?" he growled. "I suppose I have the honor of speaking with Mr. Thomas Greerley, don't I?" asked Holmes politely. The man does not speak.He bit off a piece of chewing tobacco and looked at us slowly, one by one, with indifferent eyes. At last he said, "So what?" "Your friends call you 'Big Tom,' don't you?" said Holmes calmly. "Well, Mr. Thomas Greerley, it is because of you that an innocent man has committed a crime for you." and be punished for your crime." For a brief moment the giant stood still as a stone; then, with a growl like a wild animal, he sprang upon Holmes.I hugged his waist with all my strength and pulled him back.Holmes's hands were thrust deep into his upright tangled beard.If Lestrade hadn't hastily put the pistol to his head, we'd be in trouble.When the cold muzzle touched his temple, he stopped struggling.In the blink of an eye Holmes had placed a pair of handcuffs on his large, knotty wrists. Judging by the fire in his eyes, I thought Greerley was going to attack us again.But suddenly, with a wry smile, he turned his bearded face to Holmes. "I don't know who you are, sir," said he, "but you've had a good catch. If you'll tell me how you found out the facts, I'll answer all your questions." Lestrade De took a step forward and said, with the magnanimous equality of an English judge: "I have to warn you . . . " Our prisoner, however, ignored his words. He growled, "Yes, I killed him. I killed Bully Adelton. I think I can hang in peace now. That said, is that clear enough? Ah, come in the house." "He led the way into the small office and sat down on a chair.We all try to find as comfortable a place to sit as we can. He raised his handcuffed hands, bit off another piece of chewing tobacco, and asked casually, "How did you find me, sir?" "It is very fortunate for an innocent man that I recognize some traces of your presence," replied Holmes, with the utmost gravity. "I confess that, when I was first called upon to investigate the matter, I believed that Lang Mr. Ton was guilty; nor did I see reason to change my opinion when I arrived on the scene. After a while, however, I found that I was confronted with certain details which, in themselves, were of no great importance, but which were strange, It is a new discovery, which helps to understand the whole case. The blow that killed the squire of Adelton spattered the fireplace with blood, and even part of the wall was stained with blood. There is no blood on the front of his dressing gown? This is not convincing, and there must be a mystery in it. Next, I saw that there was no chair near the fireplace, where the victim had fallen. Therefore, he was standing Rather than being shot while sitting. Since the blow split the top of the skull, it was struck by someone at least as tall, if not taller. When I learned from Mrs. Longton When Squire Adelton was more than six feet tall, I had no doubt that we had made a very bad judgment. But who was the real murderer, if not Longton? On investigation, I learned that,当天早晨乡绅收到一封信；显然，他把信烧了；接着，由于提出出售一座农庄而和他的外甥吵起来。阿得尔顿乡绅是个富翁，那么，为什么从两年前开始，每隔一段时间就要出售产业呢？这个人一定是受到了敲诈勒索。” “老天在上，这纯粹是撒谎！”格里尔利凶狠地插话说，“是要他把本来不属于他的东西还回来，实情就是这样的。” “检查那个房间时，”我的朋友接着说，“我发现了不明显的脚印。雷斯垂德，我不是还提醒你注意吗？因为天气乾燥，所以我知道脚印当然是在犯罪以后留下的。那个人的靴子是湿的，原因在于他曾经踩过血迹。用放大镜可以看出，脚印上黏着一些细末，再细看一下就认出那些细末是松木锯末。接着，从乡绅那匹马的蹄子上的乾泥巴里发现了类似的锯末。这样，我就能相当清楚地勾画出那天晚上犯罪的情况了。乡绅提出要卖一些很值钱的土地，遭到他外甥的强烈反对，于是在吃完晚饭以后马上就骑上马摸黑儿走了。显然，他是想和某个人说点什么，或者是提点什么要求。午夜前后，那个人来了。他身材高大，劲头儿也大的可怕－－一击就能把颅骨劈开。他鞋底子上黏着松木锯末。两个人吵起来－－大概是一个拒绝付款，另一个发出威胁。眨眼之间，那个身量较高的人从墙上拽下一把斧子，狠命向对方的颅骨上斫下去，然后冲出门去，消失在黑夜之中。我捉摸，上哪去找那种掺着大量锯末的泥土呢？当然得到锯木厂去，而遗骸丘锯木厂就在庄园下面的山谷那里。我已经想到，这件可怕的案件的线索可能要从乡绅早年的生活中去找，所以，按照一贯的做法，我和房东谈了一个晚上，很有启发。在谈话过程中，我随便提了个问题，引出了这样一个情况：两年以前，阿得尔顿乡绅亲自介绍一个澳大利亚人到遗骸丘锯木厂去当经理。格里尔利，你今天早上在屋子外面派活时，我就在木材堆后面。我看见了你，案子就破了。” 一直在专心倾听福尔摩斯叙述的那个澳大利亚人带着苦笑靠在椅背上。 “他们请你来，算我倒霉，先生。”他厚颜无耻地说，“可是，我绝不是那种任意反悔的人，所以，我还要告诉你一点你需要知道的情况。七十年代初，在卡尔古尔里附近出现了淘金热潮，事情就从那时开始。我有一个弟弟，他和一个英国人合伙；我们知道这个英国人的外号叫恶霸阿得尔顿。他们真的找到了很丰富的矿脉。那个时候，到金矿去的道路是不怎么安全的，因为丛林中有土匪出没。喔，就在我弟弟和阿得尔顿找到矿脉后一个星期，卡尔古尔里的矿场被劫，护矿人和车伕都被打死了。阿得尔顿提出了莫须有的指控，捏造了证据，我那不幸的弟弟因而被捕受审。在那个时候，执行法律的行动是非常迅速的。当天晚上，他们就把他吊死在绞杀匪徒的树上。阿得尔顿就佔有了矿场。当时，我正在蓝山伐木。我听到一个淘金者告诉我全部事实真相时，已经是两年以后的事了。那个淘金人是听一个受贿隐瞒事实的厨子临死时说的。阿得尔顿发了财，回到英国，我想跟着他，可是没有钱。从那时起，我到处流浪，干零活，一直省吃俭用，算计着要找到杀害我弟弟的凶手。对，凶手，但愿魔鬼烤死他。过了差不多二十年，我才来到他身边。就在那一刻，我长期的等待得到了报偿。我说：'早安，恶霸。'他一下子变的面如死灰，叼着的烟斗也掉在地上了。他吓得喘不过气来地说：'大个子托姆·格里尔利！'我当时以为这个人马上就会晕倒了。嗯，我们谈了一次话，我逼着他给我找了这个差事。以后，我就让他一点一点地出血。不是敲诈，先生，而是收回一个死者的财产。两天以前，我又给他写了信；当天晚上，他骑马来到这里，破口大骂，说我逼他走向毁灭。我告诉他，以午夜为期，他可以在付款和告发两者之中任选其一，我到他那里去听他的回话。我到他家时，他正在客厅里等着。他生气，又喝了酒，因而像要发疯一样。他骂骂咧咧地说什么不管我去找警察还是去见鬼，他都不在乎；问我是不是真的认为人们会不听他这位庄园主和治安官的话，而相信像我这样一个下流的伐木工的胡说八道。他后悔曾经给过我钱，即便是一个小钱也后悔得要发疯。他叫着说：'我要像对待你那卑鄙的弟弟那样毫不留情地对待你。'就是这句话起了作用。我的脑袋好像'嗡'地响了一下。我从墙上拽下最靠近我的一件武器，狠命地斫在他那龇牙咧嘴地咆哮着的脑袋上。我站在那里朝下看了他一会儿。我小声说：'这是我和吉姆共同给你的'。然后，我转过身去，跑进夜幕之中。先生，这就是我的自述。咱们要是能在我手下的人们回来之前离开，那我就Thank you so much. " 雷斯垂德带着他的犯人走到门口时，福尔摩斯把他们叫住了。 他说：“我只是想了解一下，你是否知道你杀死阿得尔顿乡绅的武器是什么？” “我说过，那是挂在墙上、离我最近的东西，可能是古老的斧子或棍棒之类。” 福尔摩斯冷冰冰地说：“那是一把刽子手用的斧子。”那个澳大利亚人没有回答，可是，在他跟着雷斯垂德出门时，我似乎看到他那粗糙、长满鬍鬚的脸上闪现了一种奇怪的笑容。 我和我的朋友慢慢地往回走。我们穿过森林走上高沼地，雷斯垂德和犯人已经向福尔克斯－拉斯方向走出了我们的视野。福尔摩斯心情忧郁，若有所思。我明显感觉到，通常一个案子结束后总要有的反应已经在他身上表现出来了。 我说：“真奇怪，一个人的仇恨和残忍经过了二十年竟然还丝毫也没有减弱。” “亲爱的华生，”福尔摩斯答道，“我提醒你注意西西里谚语所说的，报仇是最适宜于放冷了再吃的菜。”他手搭凉蓬看着远处接着说道：“那位匆匆忙忙地向我们这条路走来的妇女肯定是朗顿夫人。虽然我并不缺乏骑士风度，可是我现在没有心情去听女性倾吐感恩的话。如果你同意，咱们就走这荆豆丛生后面的小道吧。从这里走出去，咱们还赶得上下午进城的车。柯拉塔今晚在考文公园演出。我看，在遗骸丘森林那种令人鼓舞的气氛中渡过短短的假期之后，你我都精神振奋。华生，到家后在'曼侬·列斯戈'的魅力中消遣一两个小时，再在贝克街咱们的房子里吃一次冷餐，那是再愉快不过的，你也同意吧？”