Chapter 7 6. The Curious Case of the Red Widow

Sherlock Holmes said: "My dear Watson, you are quite right in your conclusions. Lowliness and poverty are the natural mothers of violent crime." I agreed and said, "Exactly. Really, I was just thinking..." I stopped suddenly and looked at him in surprise. "My God, Holmes, this is too much," I said aloud, "you How can you know what's going on in my heart?" My friend leaned back in the chair, put his fingertips together, and looked at me without lifting his eyelids. "Perhaps my refraining from answering your questions will allow you to do a more fair assessment of my limited abilities." He said with a dry smile. "You are always asking for explanations of simple and logical reasoning, Watson. an attitude of arrogance. You have it: you use it to cover up your failure to see the obvious."

I was a little offended by his arrogance, so I retorted: "I don't understand. How can logical reasoning allow you to find out my thoughts?" "It's not very difficult. I have been watching you for the last few minutes. At first, your face was expressionless. Then, your eyes wandered aimlessly around the room, landed on the bookshelves, and stopped on Hugo's. You read this book last year and it made a deep impression on you. You become thoughtful and your eyes narrow. Evidently your mind is lost again in that long saga of human suffering. Finally, Your eye moves up to the window where you can see the fluttering snow, the gray sky, and the bare, icy roof, then slowly to the mantelpiece, where I thread the unanswered letters. You frowned, your face became more gloomy, and you shook your head involuntarily in frustration. You are thinking of it. From the miserable situation of the third-class people described by Hugo, from The hungry and cold poor in the slums, think of the unsheathed knife above our ordinary steaming fireplace. The sorrowful look on your face is the kind that comes from knowing the cause and the eternal tragedy of the world. The melancholy of the consequences. Only now do I venture to agree with you."

I confessed: "Well, I must admit, you understand my thoughts very well. Extraordinary reasoning, Holmes." "It is superficial, my dear Watson." The year 1887 was drawing to a close.A harsh blizzard has swept across the land since the last week of December.Out the windows of Holmes' residence on Baker Street presented a gloomy view: a low, gloomy sky, white roofs looming through a curtain of snow. The year was memorable to my friend, but it was more important to me; for two months ago Miss Merry Morstan had bestowed on me the extraordinary honor of promising her fate and mine combined together.Before the transition from celibate life as a half-pay ex-military doctor to married bliss was complete, Sherlock Holmes made some unexpected and ironic comments, but, as my wife and I We are indebted to him for our acquaintance, so we can deal with his cynicism with patience, even understanding.

On this day, to be precise, it was the afternoon of December 30th, and I stopped by our old residence to spend a few hours with my friend and to ask him, since my last visit, Have you encountered any interesting cases?I saw him pale and listless, his dressing gown draped over his shoulders, the room filled with the smoke and smell of his favorite blackboard tobacco.Looking at a fire in a fireplace through smoke is like looking at a brazier in fog. He replied sharply in a complaining tone: "Except for a few routine investigations, nothing happened, Watson. The creative art of crime seems to have declined since I took up the case of the late Bert Stevens." ’” Then he fell silent, curled up in his armchair morosely, and neither of us spoke.Later, my train of thought was interrupted by his comments, which is how this chapter begins.

When I stood up to go, he looked at me critically. He said: "I can see, Watson, that you are paying the price. The untidy condition of your left cheek is regrettable evidence that someone has changed the position of your shaving mirror. Besides, you are Spend and waste like crazy." "You have wronged me too much." "Fivepence a winter flower, isn't it? The way you knock on the door tells me that you were wearing a flower in front of people as recently as yesterday." I countered with some reluctance: "I just found out today that you are a poor man, Holmes."

He suddenly laughed happily.He said aloud: "Dear friend, you must forgive me! It is not fair to torment you with too much energy that cannot be expended, which always has to work on my nerves. Oh, what?" thing?" Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.My friend waved me to sit down again. He said: "Stay a little longer, Watson. This is Gregson, and the old drama will be repeated." "Gregson?" "It was one of those common footsteps, unmistakable. Lestrade did not walk so heavily; Mrs. Hudson could hear the footsteps of acquaintance, or she would have accompanied him up. It was Gray. Gerson."

As soon as he finished speaking, someone knocked on the door, and the person who came in was wearing a big, thick scarf and covered his ears.The guest threw his bowler hat on to the chair beside him, and unfastened the scarf which covered the lower part of his face, revealing the flaxen hair and long, pale face of the Scotland Yard detective. "Ah, Gregson," said Holmes, greeting me, looking at me mischievously, "there must be some urgent business, otherwise you would not have come here in such cold weather. Take off your scarf, my boy. Come and warm yourself by the fire."

The constable took out a large pocket watch, looked at it, shook his head, and said: "There is no delay. The train for Derbyshire leaves in half an hour, and my hansom is still down there." Waiting. Although this case is not difficult for an experienced police officer like myself, I will be very happy if you can go with me." "Is it interesting?" "Murder, Mr. Holmes," replied Gregson curtly. "A curious case, from the telegrams from the local police. It appears that the Deputy Sheriff, Sir Jocelyn Cope, was murdered at Fort Ainsworth." .Scotland Yard is perfectly capable of dealing with cases of this nature, but, in view of the strange words in the police telegram, I thought you might be willing to come with me. Will you?"

Holmes leaned forward and emptied the tobacco from the pouch into his pouch, and sprang to his feet. "Wait a little while," he said aloud, "and I'll get a clean collar, and a toothbrush. I have a spare toothbrush, Watson, for your use. No, old friend, don't talk. You don't Help, what can I do? Write your wife a note, and Mrs. Hudson will post it. We'll be back to-morrow. Ah, Gregson, I'm at your command. You can tell me a little on the way Case details." We rushed onto the platform at St Pancras station and hurriedly opened the door of the first empty smoking car as the steward waved his flag and ordered to move on.Holmes had brought three traveling rugs.We were all comfortably seated as the train sped away in the winter twilight.

"Now, Gregson, I should like to hear your details," said Holmes, wearing a deerstalker cap whose earflaps framed his lean, eager face.A column of smoke rose from his pipe. "I don't know anything except what I have just told you." "However, you used the word 'odd'; and you said 'odd' in reference to the cable from the Sheriff's Office. Please explain." "The reason for these two words is that the local inspector's telegram suggested that Scotland Yard officers should read the Derbyshire Chronicle and the Local Chronicle. What an extraordinary suggestion!"

"It seems to me that the advice was very sensible. How did you do it?" "The Gazetteer simply says that Sir Jocelyn Cope was Deputy Sheriff, a great magnate in the County, married, childless, and noted for his bequest to the local archaeological community in his will. As for the Derbyshire Chronicle, I've brought it." He took a little booklet from his pocket and turned the pages. "Here," he went on, "Fort Ainsworth, built in the third reign of Edward. Fifteenth-century stained glass commemorating the Battle of Agincourt. The museum was opened once a year. The exhibits include a large number of military and other artifacts, including a small guillotine made in Nîmes during the French Revolution, which was originally used to execute a matriarch of the current head of the family Ancestral. The guillotine was never used because the intended execution escaped, and the family bought it as a relic after the Napoleonic Wars and brought it to Ainsworth. Phew! Local Inspector I have lost my mind. Mr. Holmes, there is nothing useful in it." "Let's not jump to conclusions. He doesn't suggest this for nothing. In the meantime, I remind you that things are blurred now that it's getting dark, but their substance is still there, though we can hardly see I don't see them. There's a lot of truth in the twilight." Gregson winked at me and said with a smile, "Yes, Mr. Holmes. Really, very poetic. Well, I'm going to take a nap." After about three hours, we got off at a small station.The snow has stopped.Behind the houses in the small village the long, barren slopes of the Derbyshire moors, white in the full moon, stretched beyond the horizon.A stout, bow-legged man in a shepherd's tweed cloak came hurrying toward us on the platform. He greeted us rudely and said: "I suppose you're from Scotland Yard? I've got your answer to my telegram and there's a car waiting outside. Yes, I'm Inspector Dawleys." ’” he added in response to Gregson’s question. "Who are these two?" "The reputation of Sherlock Holmes, I suppose..." Our companion was only halfway through, before being interrupted by Dawlish. "I've never heard of it." He looked at us with hostility in his black eyes. "This is a serious case, and there is no room for laymen to speak. But it's too cold here, and I don't want to argue about it; and, since London has agreed to let him come, I have no right to deny him. This way, please." .” A closed carriage was parked in front of the station.In a blink of an eye, we turned out of the station and drove silently and rapidly on the main road leading to the village. "You can live at Queen's Point. But go to the castle now," grumbled Dowris. Gregson said: "I want to hear the case, and why you made that unusual suggestion in your telegram." "The case is too simple," said Dawlish with a sneer. "My lord was murdered, and we know who did it." "yes?" "Captain Jasper Rossian, the victim's cousin, suddenly disappeared. Everyone around here knows that this man has no scruples. When he sees wine, horses, or the nearest woman, his men are ruthless." It does not surprise us that Captain Jasper was ruined by killing his benefactor, the head of his family. Yes, 'boss' is a very appropriate word." He said in a soft tone The last word. "If the facts of the case are already clear, then why do you still mention such meaningless things as county records?" Inspector Dowleys leaned forward and said in a voice close to a whisper: "Have you read the County Records? Well, this circumstance may amuse you: Sir Jocelyn Cope was executed on the guillotine of his own ancestors. people killed." After hearing what he said, we all felt cold and couldn't speak. At last Sherlock Holmes asked: "What do you think was the motive of the murder? Why such barbaric means?" "Probably because of the violent quarrels. Didn't I already say that Captain Jasper has no scruples. Ah, that's the castle. Looks like a good place for violence and dark deeds." Our car turned off the main road into a gloomy alley.The alley, lined with snowdrifts, leads upwards to the desolate swampy slopes.On the top of the slope rose a huge building, its walls and towers looking gray and forlorn against the night sky.In a few minutes.Our car rumbled under the arches of the outer wall and stopped in front of a courtyard. Inspector Dawleys knocked on the door, and a tall, stooped man in a butler's uniform opened the heavy oak door.He held the candle high above his head and looked out at us through the door, its light illuminating his sad, red-rimmed eyes and his wispy beard. He complained and yelled: "Why, there are four of you here? At this juncture, we are all very sad. It's shameful for you to trouble Madam." "All right, Stephen. Where's the lady?" The candlelight flickered.Stephen replied in a sobbing old voice, "Still with him. She hasn't moved. Still sitting in that big chair and staring at him, as if she'd fallen asleep with wide-eyed eyes." "Of course, you didn't touch anything, did you?" "No, it's exactly the same," said Dawlish. "Then let's go first to the museum where the crime happened--over the courtyard." As he made his way up a cleared pebble path Holmes took hold of his arm.He cried eagerly, "How can this work! The museum is on the other side, and you have cars running through the yard and people trampling on the ground like a herd of buffaloes." "So what's the matter?" Holmes stretched out his arms towards the moon and said earnestly, "Snow, my fellow, Snow! You have spoiled your best helper." "But, I told you that the murder took place in a museum. What does snow have to do with that?" Holmes snorted in the utmost gloom, and we followed the local detective across the courtyard and into an arched doorway. I have seen many horrific sights in my time with Sherlock Holmes, but I can't recall a single one more terrifying than the one presented in this Gothic room.The room is small, with a round roof, illuminated by clusters of thin candles placed in candlesticks on the wall, monumental armor and medieval weapons hung on the wall, and glass cabinets filled with They bought parchment manuscripts, finger pullers, various stone carvings and a trap with a wide mouth.I saw these things at once, and then my attention was drawn to something lying on a low platform in the middle of the house. It was a guillotine with faded red paint.Exactly like the ones I've seen on woodcuts of the French Revolution, except on a smaller scale.A tall, thin man lay on his stomach between two uprights.He was wearing a smoking suit, with his hands tied behind his back; a white cloth that had been horribly stained with blood covered his head, or rather the place where his head used to grow. The light of the thin candle fell on the bloodstained steel blade set deep in the guillotine, and then spread in a halo, illuminating the red hair of a woman sitting next to the horrible headless corpse.She ignored us as we approached, remaining motionless in her high-backed carved chair.Her face was like an ivory mask, and her eyes, black and shining like a iguana's, looked into the shadows without blinking.I have seen women on three continents, but none can match, for the indifference and perfection of facial expression, the hostess who kept watch in the death-chamber at Fort Ainsworth. Dawley coughed. "You'd better go to rest, ma'am," he said bluntly. "Don't worry, Gregson and I promise to make things fair." She just looked at us.The candle flickered, and for a moment it seemed to me that there was mockery rather than sorrow in her beautiful eyes, and that was soon gone. She asked irrelevantly: "Isn't Stephen with you? Oh, of course, he will be in the library. Faithful Stephen." "I'm afraid my lord's death..." She stood up abruptly, breasts heaving, one hand clutching the hem of her black mesh gown. "He deserves hell!" she said hoarsely.Then, making a gesture of despair, she turned and walked softly out of the house. As soon as the door closed, Sherlock Holmes knelt on one knee by the guillotine, lifted the blood-soaked cloth, and looked down at the dreadful thing below.He said calmly, "My God, that head must have rolled across the room after such a blow." "possible." "I don't understand. You must know where you saw that head?" "I don't see it. No head." Holmes knelt on his knees again for a long time, looking silently at the speaker.Then he said, standing up, "I think you seem to take a lot of things for granted. Please tell me what you think of this strange case." "It was clear. At some point last night the two men quarreled and ended up fighting each other. The younger overpowered the older and killed him with the instrument. Ser Jocelyn was placed in Alive on the guillotine, the evidence is that Captain Rossian had to have his hands tied. This morning the crime was discovered by Stephen the steward, and a groom went to the village to fetch me. So I confirmed in the usual way The Lord's body, and made a list of what was found on him. If you want to know how the murderer got away, I can also tell you that he ran away on the mare that was missing in the stable." "Very instructive," said Holmes. "Your theory, as I understand it, is that these two fought ferociously, while being careful not to disturb the furniture or break the glass case, so as not to clutter the room." And then, with the box under one arm and the victim's head under the other, the killer rode away into the night on his horse. It was a truly remarkable show." Dawley's face flushed with anger.He sneered contemptuously. "It is very easy to find fault with other people's ideas, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps you can tell us about your theories?" "I don't have a theory. I'm waiting to find out for myself. By the way, when did the snow fall here?" "yesterday afternoon." "In this case, there is still hope. But we still have to see what else we can find in this room." We stood there watching him for ten minutes.Gregson and I were interested, while Dowris's weather-beaten face was filled with unconcealed contempt.Holmes was now crawling slowly about the room on all fours, muttering to himself, looking like a great dun worm.He took a magnifying glass from his cloak pocket.I noticed that not only the floor, but even the occasional objects found in the table were carefully inspected by him.Then he stood up and thought.He turned his back to the candlelight, and cast his thin figure on the faded red guillotine opposite. He suddenly said, "No, this is a premeditated murder." "How did you know?" "The starting handle of the guillotine was newly oiled, and the victim was unconscious. With a slight movement, his hands tied behind his back could be freed." "Then why are you still tied?" "Ah! There is no doubt that this man was brought here unconscious, and his hands were bound at that time." Dowris broke in aloud: "You are mistaken! The pattern on the cord that binds the hands proves that it is one of the curtain cords on these curtains." "The cords of those curtains have been faded by the sun, but this one has not," said Holmes, shaking his head. "No doubt it was taken from the door curtain, and there is no curtain in this room. Now, here we go." There's nothing to be found here." After a discussion between the two police officers, Gregson turned to Holmes and said: "It is already past midnight. We had better go back to the hotel in the village to rest; we will separately investigate in the morning. I can only agree with Inspector Dawley. Officer's opinion: We're here to speculate that the murderer may have reached the shore." "I want to get one thing straight, Gregson: Are I officially employed by the police on this case?" "Impossible, Mr. Holmes!" "Exactly. Then I am free to judge for myself. Give me five minutes, please. I will go out into the yard, and then Dr. Watson and I will come to you." It was cold.Holmes was ahead with his lantern, and by the dim light we made our way along the still snow-covered path through the yard to the front door.He leaned over the powdered snow on the path, and exclaimed: "Idiots all! Look, Watson! A party of men could not have done such damage. Three wheel-tracks. These are Dawlish's boots." and a pair of tacks on the soles, probably from a groom. Ah, a woman, still running. Of course it was Mrs. Jocelyn who found out about it first. Yes, it must have been her. What was Stephen out doing? That was him Your square-toed shoes, yes. You must have seen them, Watson, when he opened the door for us? Ah, what are they?" The light paused for a moment, then slowly moved forward again. He cried eagerly, "Pumps, pumps, and from the front door. Look, it's him again. Judging by the size of his feet, he might be a tall man with a heavy The stride length is shortened, the toe mark is clearer than the heel. People who carry heavy weights tend to lean forward. He's back! Ah, that's it, that's it! Well, I see, we can go Go to sleep." On the way back to the village, my friend remained silent.But as they parted in front of the hotel he put his hand on the shoulder of Inspector Dawleys. He said: "The man who did this was tall and thin, about fifty years old, his left foot turned inward, he was a heavy smoker, he liked to smoke Turkish cigarettes, and he used a mouthpiece when smoking." Dawleys muttered, "Captain Rothian! I don't know about the feet and the cigarette holder, but the rest of what you said is clear. But who told you about these physical features?" "I'll ask you a question in answer. Were science popularizers Catholic before?" The local inspector gave Gregson a meaningful look.He slapped his forehead and said, "Catholicism? Well, you mentioned this, I think they believed in Catholicism a long time ago, but, what is it...!" "I just want you to look at the county records. Good night." The next morning, after the two police officers drove my friend and me to the gate of the castle, they drove to a distance to investigate.Holmes watched them go with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm afraid I have been very unfair to you all these years, Watson," he remarked, somewhat inscrutablely, as we turned. The old manservant opened the door for us.We were troubled as we followed him into the hall, for he was apparently still reeling from the death of his master. He shrieked, "It's none of your business here. For God's sake, won't you ever give us peace?" I have said before that Holmes had a calming genius, and the old man gradually calmed down. "This is the Agincourt window, I suppose?" asked Holmes, looking up at a small, tastefully colored window of stained glass.At this time, the winter sun shines through the windows, casting colorful patterns on the ancient stone paving ground. "Yes, sir. There are only two in the whole of England." My friend then asked meekly: "You have no doubt been in the service of this family for many years?" "Serve them? Yes, my family and I have been together for almost two hundred years. We are inseparable from them." "I think the history of their family is very interesting, isn't it?" "Yes, sir." "I seem to have heard that this ominous guillotine was specially built for an ancestor of your late master?" "Yes, Marquis Reines. Made by his own tenants—those rascals. They hate him only because he follows old habits." "Really? What habit?" "It's about women, sir. The book in the library doesn't explain it right." "Perhaps you mean "The Feudal Lordship"?" "Well, I don't want to say savage; but I believe that's the right word." "Well, I want to see the library." The old man turned his eyes to a door at the end of the hall.He muttered, "Looking at the library? What do you want to find there? Nothing but books, and the lady doesn't want to—well, all right." He led us very rudely into a long, low room, piled up with books to the ceiling, and ending in a very handsome fireplace.Holmes wandered listlessly about the room for a while, then stopped to light a chegar. "Well, Watson, I think we must go," said he. "Thank you, Stephen. The room is very pretty, though I was surprised to see the Indian rug in it." The old man protested indignantly: "India! Those are ancient Persian carpets." "Definitely Indian." "I told you it was Persian! A gentleman like you should know that the mark is engraved on it. Can't you see it without a magnifying glass? Then use a magnifying glass. It's too bad he spilled the match!" We picked up the spilled matches and put them away, and stood up.I saw a flush of excitement suddenly appear on Holmes's sallow face, but I could not understand why. "I was mistaken," said he. "It is a Persian rug. Come, Watson, it is time for us to go back to the village and drive back to the town." A few minutes later we had left the castle.To my amazement, Holmes led the way immediately after stepping out of the castle walls along a path leading to the stables. I prompted, "You intend to investigate the lost horse." "A horse? My dear friend, I have no doubt that the horse is safely hidden on some private farm, and that Gregson is going all over the county looking for it. That's what I want to find out." He went into the first stable and came back with an armful of straw. "Go and get another bundle, Watson, and that will be enough for our purpose." "But what is our purpose?" "Mainly to get to the front door without being seen." He smiled as he picked up his bale of straw. Turning back to finish the walk, Holmes raised his index finger to his lips as a signal to keep quiet.He opened the door carefully.Slip into a nearby room piled high with cloaks and staffs, and throw both bales of straw on the floor. He whispered: "The house is built of stones and is safe. Ah, these two raincoats will help a lot." He struck a match and threw it into the straw, adding: "I have no doubt that I can When encountering a situation that requires the use of such a not-so-excessive strategy." As the flames burned on the straw and reached the raincoats, black clouds of smoke poured from the cloakroom into the hall of Ainsworth Castle, and the burning rubber hissed and crackled. I was so smoked that weeping, I gasped and said: "My God! Holmes, we are going to suffocate!" He grabbed my arm. "Wait," he said in a low voice, and as he spoke there were sudden hurried footsteps and a horrific howl. "It's on fire!" This desperate howl, I recognized Stephen's voice. "Fire!" he screamed again.We heard the clatter of his feet as he galloped across the hall. "Quick!" whispered Holmes.In a blink of an eye, he was out of the cloakroom and ran straight to the library.The library door was ajar, but the man who was banging his hands hysterically on the great fireplace did not even look back when we burst in. He screamed: "Fire! The house is on fire! Oh, my poor master! Master! Master!" Holmes put his hand on his shoulder and said calmly, "It will be enough to pour a pail of water into the cloakroom. But it would be better for you to get my lordship out." The old man's eyes were burning, and his fingers were bent like eagle's claws.He threw himself on Holmes. "You're playing tricks!" he screamed. "By your playing tricks, I've exposed him!" "Catch him, Watson," said Holmes, extending his arms to catch him. "There, there. You are a loyal companion." At this time, a man said in a weakened voice, "Faithful unto death." I was taken aback and turned around involuntarily.The old fireplace was opened at the side, revealing a dark gap, and there stood a tall, thin man; he was covered with dust, and for a moment it seemed to me that what I saw was not a man, but a ghost.He was about fifty years old, haggard, with a high nose, a face like old paper, and a pair of dim eyes that frantically opened and closed. "I'm afraid the dust bothers you, Sir Jocelyn," said Holmes very gently. "Sit down, please. Wouldn't that be better?" The man staggered and slumped into an armchair.He gasped, "You must be a policeman." "No, I'm a private detective, but I represent a force for justice." Ser Joselyn grinned wryly. "It's too late," he said. "Are you sick?" "I'm going to die." He opened his hand, revealing an empty vial, "I won't live long." "Is there no other way, Watson?" I went over and took the patient's pulse.His face was blue and his pulse was slow and weak. "There is nothing to be done, Holmes." Ser Joselyn straightened in pain.He said: "Maybe you can satisfy my last curiosity and tell me how you found out the truth? You must be a very perceptive person." "There were difficulties at the beginning, I admit," said Holmes, "though they have since disappeared in the course of events. It is evident that the whole crux of the matter consists in the simultaneous occurrence of two outstanding events—the use of The guillotine and the disappearance of the victim's head. I asked myself, who would use such a cumbersome and grotesque instrument but the one to whom the guillotine was of great symbolic importance? If this were the case, then , such a clue of great significance must be related to the history of the guillotine. This assumption is logical." The nobleman nodded. "Reines's own people made it for him," he grumbled, "in revenge for what he did to the women. But go on, please, and quickly." "That's all for the first matter," continued Holmes, nodding his finger. "The second throws a ray of light into the whole matter. This is not New Guinea, so why did the murderer leave the victim's body?" The obvious answer is that he wanted to cover up the real identity of the victim." He asked sternly, "By the way, what did you do with Captain Rothien's head?" "Stephen and I buried it in the family grave in the middle of the night, but we still respect it very much." The answer was very weak. Holmes went on: "The rest is simple. The local inspector could easily identify the dead body as yours from the clothes and other personal effects of the deceased, so I realized that unless the murderer and the deceased exchanged clothes, there would be no need Hide your head. The clothes were changed before death, as can be seen from the blood on them. The dead man had been incapacitated beforehand, perhaps given an anesthetic; for as I said to my friend Hua As explained by Dr. Sheng, it is clear from some phenomena that the deceased showed no signs of struggle before death; also, that he was transported to the museum from another part of the castle. Assuming my reasoning is correct, then , the victim cannot be Sir Jocelyn. But isn’t there another missing person? His lord’s cousin, Captain Jasper Rossian, who is considered the murderer.” I interjected, "How can you describe to Dawlish the characteristics of the wanted man?" "I can do that by looking at the dead man's body, Watson. The two men must bear many resemblances to each other, or the deception will not work from the first place. There is an ashtray in the museum containing a Turkish cigarette." the butt of a cigarette, recently smoked, with the holder in use. No one but an addict would smoke in such dire circumstances as to leave that inconspicuous butt. Footprints in the snow show that someone Came here from the main building with a heavy load, and returned empty. I think the main point is over." For a moment we were all silent, broken only by the rustling of the windows as the wind increased, and the short, harsh gasps of the dying man's breathing. 他终于说道：“我没有向你解释的义务，因为，只有上帝才能看到人类内心最深处的东西，我的行为只应当向上帝负责。然而，尽管我的经历是可耻和有罪的，我还是要在你能忍耐的限度以内向你说一些，以使你能答应我最后的要求。我应该告诉你：我表弟贾斯帕·罗西恩在干了那件使他结束了军事生涯的丑事之后，一直住在安斯沃斯。虽然他分文不名，而且已经由于邪恶的行为闹得声名狼藉，我还是把他当作亲人来欢迎，不但给他以财政上的支援，而且，恐怕更有价值的是，凭我在郡里的地位而提供的社会庇护。现在回头去看过去的那些年，我要责备我自己缺乏原则性，因为我没能制止他的奢侈、酗酒、赌博以及使他的名字和流言相联系的一些不那么光彩的消遣。我已经觉得他是放荡和不慎重的，可我还不知道他是如此卑鄙无耻、败坏门风的傢伙。我娶了一个比我小得多的女人，她的美貌和她从她西班牙祖先那里继承到的浪漫而又独特的气质都很突出。这是旧事。最后，我在可怕的现实面前醒悟过来，又知道了我有生之年只剩下一件可做的事，那就是报复。向我这个使我的名字蒙受耻辱并且败坏了我家名誉的人报复。出事的那天晚上，罗西恩和我就在这间屋子里喝酒，一直坐到深夜。我设法在他的酒里下了药，而在麻醉药的效果使他失去知觉之前，我把我发觉他丑行的情况告诉了他，并且说只有死才能消除宿怨。他轻蔑地回答说，杀了他，我自己就会走上断头台，而且会把我妻子的羞辱公之于世。我说明了我的计画，他脸上的轻蔑神情消失了，死的恐怖冻结了他的黑心。其余的情况你是知道的。药力把他麻醉过去之后，我和他调换了衣服，从门帘上扯下一根绳子捆住他的手，背着他经过院子走到博物馆，来到那个原来为另一个人的丑行而建造的、但从未使用过的断头台前。事情办完之后，我叫来了斯蒂芬，把实情告诉了他。这个老人在为不幸的主人效忠方面是从不迟疑的。我们一起把人头埋在家墓里面；然后，他从马厩里牵出一匹母马，骑着它走过沼地，为的是给人以逃走的印象；最后，他把那匹母马藏在他妹妹的一座孤零零的田庄里。剩下的事就是我该装作失踪了。像许多从前信奉天主教家庭的古老住宅一样，安斯沃斯也有一个神父室；我一直在那里面藏着，只在夜间出来，在图书室里向我那忠诚的仆人传达我的最后指示。” 福尔摩斯插话说：“你在地毯上留下了不下于五处的土耳其烟污迹，于是进一步证实了我对你藏身处所的猜疑。可是，你最终的目的是什么呢？” “在向极不公平地对待我的人进行报复时，我已成功地使我们的名声免遭断头台之辱。我可以信赖斯蒂芬的忠诚。至于我的妻子，虽然她知道实情，可是她要出卖我，就不能不向世人宣布她自己的不贞。对我来说，生命已经没有意义，所以，我当时决定再活一两天，把事情安排就绪之后就自杀。我向你们保证，你发现了我的藏身之处，这只不过把事情的进程提前了大约一小时而已。我留下一封信给斯蒂芬，要求他尽最后的义务：把我的屍体秘密地埋在我们家族的坟地上。先生们，这就是我的经历。我是我们古老家族中最后一个人。这个家族究竟会不会传下不光彩的名声，那要靠你们来决定。” 夏洛克·福尔摩斯按着爵士的手。 “警方已经告诉我们了，华生和我完全是以私人的身份来的，也许这样倒更好些。”他平静地说道，“我要把斯蒂芬叫来，因为我不由得想到，如果他把这张椅子搬到神父室里去，再把你搬进去，然后把门关上，那样你一定更舒适一些。” 我们得弯下腰去才能听到乔瑟林爵士的声音。 他用微弱的声音说：“那样的话，上帝将审理我的罪过，而坟墓将吞没我的秘密。永别了，让一个即将死去的人祝福你们吧。” 在回伦敦的路上，我感到又冷气氛又沉闷。福尔摩斯看着窗外黑暗中间歇掠过的星散村舍的灯光，完全没有谈话的心情。 “旧的一年即将逝去，”他忽然谈道，“等待着午夜钟声的善良单纯的人们年年都在心中期盼着，希望将要到来的一年比去年要好。'希望'，不管它有多么天真而且被过去的实践所否定过，却仍然是医治生活给予我们的打击和创伤的万应灵药。”他靠向椅背。可是往烟斗里装烟丝。 “万一你要写一篇叙述德比郡这个奇案的文章的话，”他接着说，“我建议你用'红寡妇'这个题目，用它挺合适。” “我知道你对妇女十分反感，福尔摩斯，所以，你竟然注意到了她的头发的颜色，这很使我惊讶。” 他严肃地说：“华生，我这里指的是法国革命时，人们给断头台起的一个通俗的绰号。” 我们最后回到贝克街已很晚了。福尔摩斯把火捅旺之后，忙不迭地穿上他那件灰褐色的晨衣。 我说：“快到午夜了。在这一八八七年就要结束的时候，我希望能和我妻子在一起，因此，我必须走了。祝你新年快乐，我的朋友。” “我衷心地感谢你的良好祝愿。”他答道，“请代我向你的妻子致意，还请你代我向她道歉，为了我让你短暂离家之事。” 我来到空无一人的街上，停住了一小会儿，把领子翻起来挡住飞舞的雪花。我刚要往前走时，一个小提琴曲的旋律吸引了我的注意力。我不由自主地抬眼看着起居室的窗户，夏洛克·福尔摩斯的身影清楚地显现在被灯光照亮了的窗帘上。我看得见我非常熟悉的那个好看的鹰一样的侧影，他俯向提琴时稍微前倾的双肩，还有起落的琴弓。但是，在荒凉冬夜的寂静中飘进我耳朵里的肯定不是如梦的意大利曲调，也不是他自己创作的複杂的即兴曲。 怎能忘记旧日朋友， 心中能不回想？ 旧日朋友岂能相忘， 友谊地久天长。 必定是一片雪花飘到我的眼里了，因为，在我转过身来时，照在荒凉空旷的贝克街上的煤气灯的微弱光芒似乎变得异样地模糊了。 我的任务完成了。我的笔记本近年来一直放在一个黑马口铁文件箱里；现在，它们又被放到那里面去了。我也是最后一次在墨水瓶里蘸墨水了。 从可以俯视我们农庄住房外一片不大的草地的窗户向外看，我看得见在蜂箱之间散步的夏洛克·福尔摩斯。他的头发白得厉害，但他那瘦长的身体却还像从前那么结实有力，面颊上显露出健康的红晕，这是大自然和她那吹到这优美的苏塞克斯丘陵的带有海水气味又充满三叶草香的微风赐给他的。 我们的生命已接近黄昏，熟识的面孔和景物已永远消失。但是，当我靠在椅背上闭上眼睛时，过去的情景就会在眼前升起，遮住了现在的一切。我看见贝克街的黄雾，又听见我所认识的最好、最聪明的人的声音： “来吧，华生，比赛正在进行！”－－ 根据《冒险记》中《波希米亚丑闻》里“在达灵顿顶替丑闻案件中，它对我有用；在安斯沃斯案件中也是如此。”两句话而写。 (End of the book)