Chapter 4 Chapter 2 The Castle in the Swamp

As I have written in other stories, my friend Sherlock Holmes retired and spent the rest of his life away from the hustle and bustle of London to keep bees in the South Downs.Regardless, he ended his career with no regrets, turning his passion for hunting down the world's top criminals to a career in livestock. But in the era when Jack the Ripper was rampant on the streets of London, Holmes was still a man who enjoyed urban life.Every one of his talents was at that time relevant to the day and night of London.The stench of livestock chokes his breath, while the spring smell of the country makes him drowsy.

We drove to Devon that morning.He watched the scenery outside the window with great interest, and I couldn't restrain my surprise and joy.He stared out of the car window intently, and suddenly his thin shoulders straightened. "Ah, Watson! How heartening is the wind telling us that winter is coming!" I was staring at the gloomy old Scot who was in our car, smoking a cigar and making the car smoky.But Holmes did not seem to notice.Outside the window, the leaves are gradually changing color, and the shining golden autumn is slowly flowing away. "This is England, Watson. A new Eden--a heaven on earth."

I was amazed to hear this quote.Of course I knew my friend's sentimental heart, but he would hardly allow himself to show it.However, Britons have an innate sense of honor, and Mr. Holmes cannot escape this quality. As we approached our destination, the joy faded from Holmes's face, and a melancholy took over his countenance.Before us lay the swamp, as far as the eye could see, hard and cold like a great ugly scar on England's face.God also played a role, the sun disappeared behind thick clouds, and we seemed to have fallen into an eternal twilight. Soon we got off at a small country station.Holmes stood there with his hands deep in his pockets, his eyes gleaming.As long as he encounters a problem, he will be in this state.

"Watson, do you remember the Baskerville incident, that black deadly magic?" "certainly!" "We're not far from where it happened, but we're going in the other direction." "This is the best. The curse of hell still appears in my nightmares from time to time." I am very confused.Usually, Holmes will be very concerned about the surrounding environment when handling a case, even a scarred branch will not let go.Memories were never supposed to be a part of it at this moment.Now, he was a little restless and flustered, as if he was beginning to regret having arranged this excursion on the spur of the moment.

"Watson," said he, "let us hire a carriage before we begin our operations." On the vast swampy wasteland, the winding and uneven country roads are the most suitable for pony carts. Soon, the turrets of Shires Castle came into view, adding a bit of sadness. "The sanctuary is in the distance," said Holmes. "The terrain in Duke County is very complicated." He observed the terrain a step ahead of me, and added, "Watson, I suspect that the owner of this sanctuary is not hospitable. , and not a happy man." "How did you see that?" "A man's character tends to be reflected in his surroundings. You will recall that there was not a single happy man at Baskerville Park."

I didn't argue, the focus was on the gloomy gray Shires Castle. It has a full moat and a drawbridge.However, modern people have increasingly relied on the police to protect their personal and property safety.The moat has been filled, and the drawbridge has not been used for a long time. Like Charon the boatman on the Styx, the butler asked our names and ushered us into a cold, cave-like drawing room.Sure enough, Holmes' foresight was very accurate. The Duke of Shires was as cold and forbidding as some I had met before. At first sight, his thin figure makes one have to suspect that he is suffering from tuberculosis.However, this was an illusion. After careful observation, I found that his face was glowing red, and I felt that there was tenacious strength in his seemingly weak body.

The Duke did not invite us to a table, but instead stated rather abruptly: "You are very lucky to have found me here. In an hour I am leaving for London. I rarely stay here. What can I do?" There was nothing in Holmes's tone of disapproval at the aristocrat's insolence. "We won't take you a minute longer than necessary, Your Excellency. We just have something to give you." He offered the surgeon's kit.The tool box has been wrapped in plain brown paper and sealed with wax by us in advance. "What is it?" asked the Duke, without moving. "My lord, I suggest that you had better open it yourself and see if it belongs to you," replied Holmes.

The Duke frowned and tore open the package. "Where did you get this?" "Unfortunately, I must first ask, is this toolbox your property?" "I've never seen this. What on earth made you bring it to me?" He lifted the lid of the case and stared at the set, looking genuinely puzzled. "If you pull the lining off, you can see the imprints on the leather underneath, and that's why we're here." Although the Duke was still frowning, he followed Holmes' advice.When he stared at the lining, I watched too.Now it was my turn to be puzzled.His expression changed, a faint smile appeared on the corner of his thin mouth, and his eyes suddenly lit up.If I were to describe his moment, it would be a strong sense of satisfaction, even a sense of victory.However, these expressions are fleeting.

I glanced at Holmes, hoping for some explanation.It was clear to me that he would not let the duke's change of expression go.But Holmes withdrew his keen eyes and remained expressionless. "I am sure you have found the answer to your question," said Holmes. "Of course," replied the duke casually, as if the matter were of no importance at all. "The suitcase does not belong to me." "So, sir, can you guide us in a direction?" "My son's I presume. Undoubtedly Michael's." "It's from a pawnbroker's in London." A cruel sneer appeared on the corner of the Duke's mouth. "I have no doubts."

"Then can you provide the address of your son—" "Mr. Holmes, my son, my younger son, whom I have just mentioned to you, is dead." Holmes said softly, "I am sincerely sorry to hear this news, sir. Did he die of illness?" "Very serious illness. He has been dead for six months." It strikes me as odd that this nobleman puts so much emphasis on the word "death." "Your son is a surgeon?" I asked. "He studied and failed. He seemed to be a failure at everything. Then he died." It's this strange emphasis again - "death".I glanced at Holmes, but he was more interested in the vaulted room full of heavy furniture.He clasped his lean, strong hands behind his back, looking here and there.

The Duke of Shires is still gushing. "Sir, this is not my thing, I'll give it back to you. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go." I am very puzzled by Holmes' behavior.He had no complaints about the duke's rudeness. He couldn't even stand people wearing studded boots in front of him before.He bowed respectfully as he said goodbye. "We will delay you no longer, sir." The duke was still so rude that he didn't even ring the bell rope to summon the steward, and we had to try our best to find out where the exit was while he watched. After bad things come good things.We passed through the great hall, and went out, when we met two persons entering by the side door, a man and a child. Compared with the Duke, they didn't look hostile. The child was a girl of about nine or ten, with a bright smile on her pale little face.The man looked a lot like the Duke, with a thin build.His sharp, watery eyes were full of curiosity, not questioning.With a dark skin similar to that of the Duke of Shires, and being able to come and go from the castle at will, there is only one conclusion that he is the other son of the Duke. I didn't pay much attention to their arrival, but my friend was clearly interested.He accidentally staggered, and the surgeon's toolbox in his hand fell to the ground. The tools were scattered all over the ground, and the sound of metal objects hitting the ground resounded through the hall. "I'm so stupid!" he complained.I tried to pick up the box, but he stopped me, but I reached for it more and more clumsily. The man ran to the toolbox with a smile on his face and squatted down. "I'll come, sir." The little girl also ran there almost at the same time. "I'm here to help you, Dad." The man smiled even wider. "Come on though, dear. Let's help this gentleman together. Pass me the tools, but be careful not to hurt yourself." The little girl handed the shiny tools to her father one by one, and we watched silently.He made no secret of his feelings for her, never took his eyes off her for a moment, picked up tools one by one, and put them in their original positions. After the tools were put away, the man got up.And the little girl was still looking for something. "One more, Dad. Where did it go?" "Baby, I guess it was lost before. I don't think it fell out of the box." He glanced at Holmes suspiciously, as if he was studying whether Holmes had designed it. "Sir, something was indeed lost earlier. Thank you, and pardon my stupidity." "Irrelevant. I trust that the tool has not been broken." He smiled and handed the box back to Holmes. "May I, if it be possible, call you Lord Carfax?" "Of course," said the man in black cheerfully, "this is my daughter, Deborah." "Permit me to introduce my colleague, Dr. Watson. I am Sherlock Holmes." The name seemed to have touched Lord Carfax; his eyes widened in surprise. "Doctor Watson," he murmured affirmatively, but keeping his eyes on Holmes, "you, sir—it is a great honour. I have read of your deeds." "Your Excellency is too polite," replied Holmes. Deborah's eyes lit up suddenly.She curtseyed and said, "It's an honor to meet you too, sir." Her sweet voice was touching.Lord Carfax was proud, though I detected a tinge of melancholy in his manner. "Deborah," he said solemnly, "you must remember this scene in your life. You met two famous gentlemen today." "I will, Dad." The little girl said solemnly.I'm sure she'd never heard of any of us. Holmes said: "My lord, we came here to return the box to the Duke of Charles. I thought he was the owner of the box." "You found out that your judgment was wrong." "Yes, His Excellency the Duke thinks that this box may belong to your brother who died of illness, Michael Osborne." "Dead?" was more of an annoying comment than a question. "I don't think we got it wrong." Lord Carfax had a look of deep sadness on his face. "That may be true, or it may not be. My father, Mr. Holmes, was a stern, merciless man, as you no doubt have guessed. To him Osborne's reputation was above all else. Keep Charles The purity of the Order of the County is his only passion. He dissociated himself from my brother six months ago, and he declared Michael dead." The Lord sighed. Still dead, even though he might be alive." "Then can you confirm," asked Holmes, "that your brother is alive or dead?" The Lord frowned, looking very much like the Duke.When he spoke, I detected an ambiguity in his voice. "If I were to say, sir, I have no actual proof of his death." "I see," replied Holmes.Then he looked down at Deborah and smiled. The little girl stepped forward and took his hand. "I like you very much, sir," she said solemnly. The moment is intoxicating.For such a straightforward expression, Holmes was obviously not used to it, showing embarrassment.He took her little hand and said, "Lord Carfax, your father is indeed indifferent. However, breaking away from the father-son relationship is not a decision that can be taken lightly. Brother Ling must have made some serious mistakes." "Michael married against his father's wishes." Lord Carfax shrugged. "Mr. Holmes, I am not in the habit of discussing private family matters with strangers, but—" He patted his daughter's head, "Deborah Whoever I like is welcome." I suppose the Lord wondered why Holmes was interested in Michael Osborn, but he didn't ask. Holmes was also looking forward to such a question.However, neither was mentioned.Holmes held out the surgeon's kit. "Perhaps you will like it, my lord." Lord Carfax stooped silently to take the trunk. "Now—our train is waiting for no one, and I am afraid we must depart." Holmes bent as far as he could. "Good-bye, Deborah. The encounter with you will be a time between me and Dr. Watson for a long time." Happiest memory." "I wish you could come again, sir," replied the child. "It's so lonely here when Daddy is away." During our drive back, Holmes spoke almost nothing and did not engage in any of my comments.It wasn't until we were on the train towards London that he joined the discussion, his bony face full of absent-mindedness."A very interesting man, Watson," he said. "Perhaps," I replied sharply, "but the last kind of loathsome person I want to see. Such characters - thank God, fortunately, are very few - simply sullied the reputation of the London aristocracy. .” My anger amused Holmes. "I mean the son, not the father." "Son? I was touched by Lord Carfax's love for his daughter, of course—" "But you also feel that he is too complicated?" "I do have the impression, Holmes, though I do not know how you came to know it. I took no part in your conversation." "Your face is a mirror, my dear Watson," said he. "Even as he admits that he has spoken rashly about his family's private affairs." "But did he talk? Let's first assume he's a dumbass. In this case, he's a loving father and a big mouth. But what if we assume he's a little more complicated and not a dumbass at all? Then he's just Succeeded in devising a scenario that I believed better. He knew my name and fame, and he knew you, Watson. He really thought we were just well-meaning people who came all the way here to find an old surgeon Master of the doctor's kit? I strongly doubt it." "Then does he need to let go?" "My dear old chap, I have all that he said. And he said nothing that I could not easily discover from any London sources." "Then what did he not reveal?" "Is his brother Michael alive or dead; is his brother still in touch with him." "From what he's said, I presume he doesn't know either." "That's what he wants you to speculate, Watson," continued Holmes, before I could answer. "In that case, I would not have gone to Shires ignorantly. Kenneth Osborne, the hereditary duke, has two A son. The youngest son, Michael, certainly cannot inherit the title. I don't know if there is a spark of jealousy in his mind, but his behavior in London has caused the reporters to nickname him 'Wild Boy'. Watson, you Mentioned that his father was a ruthless man. Instead, records show the Duke was very lenient with his younger son. Only, the boy eventually challenged his father's patience and married a prostitute." "I'm beginning to see," I muttered, "that out of malice, or spite, he's sullied a title he couldn't inherit." "Perhaps," said Holmes, "at any rate the Duke cannot bear the fact." "I can't tell." I said humbly. "My dear Watson, this is human beings, and they are always on the side of the weak. But it is wise to know in advance who is the weak. As for the Duke, I admit that he has a complicated character, but he also bears a cross." I responded with a little disappointment: "It seems that my judgment of Lord Carfax was also wrong." "I don't know, Watson. We have too little information. But he made two mistakes." "I do not quite understand." "So did he." I went further. "Holmes," said I, "the papers all seemed outlandish and unsatisfactory. Surely this journey was not motivated by a simple desire to return property?" He stared out the car window. "Why was the surgeon's kit sent to us? We shouldn't be mistaken for the lost and found." "But who will send it?" "A guy who wishes we had this set of tools." "Now we have to wait." "Watson, there is no doubt that I have detected a cunning purpose, but the smell is not yet evident. Perhaps you will succeed." "Fulfillment?" "You hinted to me recently that you'd like to help the Police Department with the Ripper case." "Holmes—" "Of course, there's no evidence linking the Ripper to a surgeon's kit right now. But the coroner's knife is missing." "I also found this hint. In the middle of the night, this knife will be stabbed into the unfortunate innocent bodies." "It is a possibility, Watson. The removal of the scalpel may also be a symbol, a subtle allusion to a cruel stalker." "But why doesn't the person delivering the package come out from behind the scenes?" "Maybe there are many reasons. I think fear comes first. It's time we uncover the truth." Holmes was lost in thought.I understand that it is useless to explore my problem further at this point.I sat back and looked out the window in dismay as the train moved slowly towards Paddington.