Chapter 9 Chapter 5 The Diogenes Club

I awoke the next morning to find Holmes up and pacing, undisturbed by the accident of the night before.He said: "Would you like to make some notes for me, Watson?" "my pleasure." "I'm sorry to ask you to be the scribe, but I have a special reason, and I want the details of this case to be recorded in an orderly manner." "A special reason?" "Yes. If you have time in the afternoon, let's visit my brother Mycroft at the club and hear what he has to say. You know, in some respects Mycroft is more analytical than I am." "I know you have always had great respect for him."

"Of course he hates exercise and has the ability to sit still. If a chair could be invented that could take him down the street and transport him from the office to his home after get off work every day and back to the office at work, Mycroft would certainly be a first buyer." "In my impression, he is indeed a strict person." "Hence, he tends to remove all the riddles, or extraneous people, to make the dimensions of the chessboard clearer. His analysis tends to be quite provocative and more extensive, although not to my liking." Holmes rubbed his hands together. "Now, let's list the characters in the incident. The order does not represent their importance. First, the Duke of Charles..."

Holmes spoke for an hour, and I took notes for an hour.Then he paced back and forth in the room while I reorganized the notes.After sorting it out, I handed it to Holmes. The notes contained information that Holmes had collected at night that I didn't know before. Holmes frowned disapprovingly and looked at the list. "It doesn't seem to make much sense to do so," He said, "It just goes to show how far we've come and how much we still have to go on. There's no list of imminent potential victims. There are five known massacres and our delays add up at any one step The number of victims. Watson, so put on your coats quickly, we must take the carriage to the Club of Diogenes."

Holmes fell into deep thought as we bumped over the cobblestones. I suddenly remembered something, so I had to risk disturbing him. "Holmes," said I, "when we left the estate of the Duke of Charles, you mentioned two mistakes by Lord Carfax. I think I have understood one of them." "Really?" "He didn't ask how you got the surgeon's kit. Logically, he already knew." "Excellent, Watson." "If it was a mistake, are we reasonably inferring that he sent it to you?" "We can at least suspect that he knew who did it."

"Maybe Lord Carfax is the key to our unraveling the identity of the Scarfaced Woman." "Quite possible, Watson. But to discern such a point, and to act upon it, are two entirely different things." "I have to admit, I haven't thought of the second mistake of Lord Lord." "You must remember that I left my trunk on the ground when Lord Carfax appeared? He picked up tools there very politely." "how?" "In case you haven't noticed, he puts things back with great skill, everything fits right into place without hesitation."

"Oh, of course!" "So now that you recall these, do you have any other thoughts about this lord?" "Although he claimed to have no surgical knowledge or experience, he was quite familiar with surgical tools." "Exactly. As a matter of fact, we must store these in our brains for later use. But now, Watson, Mycroft is waiting for us." Club Diogenes!Although I have only been to this quiet and solemn place once, I still remember it vividly.That time was about the case of the Greek interpreter. Mycroft gave Holmes great support and assistance. I also had the honor and satisfaction to record everything at that time, although Holmes thought it was not worth showing off at all.

The Diogenes Club was created for men seeking peace of mind in the noisy city.It's a luxurious place with simple furnishings, great food and all the amenities are very upscale.The rules of the club are clear and strict, and all social activities are discouraged or even prohibited. Conversations in the drawing room were also silently forbidden.In fact, any member pays little attention to each other.It was rumored - and indeed, I believe it was - that a member had suffered a heart attack in the chair, only to be found three days later by another member, already dead in the chair. Mycroft Holmes found time to wait for us in the drawing room.I later learned that he had left his work at Whitehall to come all the way.Breaking his steadfast habits, I may add, is unheard of.

However, the situation at this moment is not like a meeting of brothers, but more like an ordinary business meeting.Mycroft was tall and rich, with thick gray hair and good features, much like his brother's.He stretched out his hand and shouted: "Sherlock! You look good. England and the whole continent of Europe take your words as sacred." He stretched out his thick palm again and said, "Doctor Watson, I heard that You escaped Sherlock and entered the palace of marriage. Are you sure Sherlock didn't do anything to you?" "I'm in a very happy marriage," I assured him. "My wife's gone to an aunt's."

"The long arms of Holmes carried you in a moment." Mycroft smiled warmly.Although he is not social, he has a strange gift that makes people feel immediately at ease.He greeted us at the door, then walked to the bay window, which looked out on the busiest street in London.We followed, the brothers standing side by side, overlooking the scenery outside the window. "Sherlock," said Mycroft, "I have not been in this room since your last visit. But the view from the window has not changed. From here, it looks as it did yesterday." "But," murmured Holmes, "has changed. The old conspiracy has vanished, and a new one has been born."

Mycroft held out his finger. "Those two guys on the side of the road, they are also involved in the terrible conspiracy?" "You mean lamplighters and accountants?" "Exactly." "I don't think so. It's just that the lamplighters are comforting the newly unemployed accountant." "I agree. The accountant will no doubt find a new job, but he'll soon be out of work again and wander the streets." I had to interrupt their conversation. "Hey, hey," I heard my own objection repeated so many times, "too much information!"

"Watson, Watson," reproached Mycroft, "although you have been with Sherlock for so many years, I did not expect you to be so short-sighted. From here, you must see the first finger Black and red ink blots on the paper. At the same time, it is certain that this is the professional mark of an accountant." Holmes added: "Judging by the ink stains on his collar, he must have accidentally touched a pen to a decent but scruffy linen suit." "It is difficult to tell how this came about, my dear Watson," put in Mycroft, irritating me with his kindly reassuring tone, "whether it is the man's indifference to his work, or whether he provokes the boss to attack him. Angry?" “The boss was not only angry, but ruthless,” Sherlock said. “It was obvious that the accountant had a newspaper in his jacket pocket, and the page he was opening was the hiring section. So he must have been fired.” "But you said he'd find a new job soon," I said impatiently to Mycroft. "If the fellow isn't capable, why would a new boss want him?" "Mostly unwilling, but he's clearly done his research with all the marks he's made in the papers. So much trouble finding a new job must pay off before long." I raise my hands. "As usual, I surrender! But the other one is a lamplighter, how do you tell?" "It requires a bit of skill," admitted my friend Holmes. "Note that the inside of his right cuff, from the inside upwards, is frayed and shiny." "The mark of a lamplighter," said Mycroft. Sherlock explained: "They have to extend the light pole to touch the gas lamp, and the lower end of the light pole will constantly rub against the sleeve. Watson, it is indeed very simple." Before I could reply, Holmes' mood changed, and he turned away, frowning. "Wish our present problems were so easily solved. That's why we're here, Mycroft." "In detail," his brother replied, laughing, "I don't have all the afternoon." Twenty minutes later, we sat in comfortable chairs in the reception room, silent.It was Mycroft who spoke first. "Sherlock, so far, your thinking is correct and clear. You must be sure that you will be able to solve the mystery." "I have no doubts, but time is running out. It is imperative to prevent further crime. Two men have more wisdom than one; your analysis may save me a day or two of investigative time." "Look at the information you have now, or, rather, the information you don't have. Your investigation is far from complete." "certainly!" "And yet you hit a sensitive point, otherwise the process of obtaining evidence and bringing in a deadly killer so quickly wouldn't be so synchronized. Unless you attribute this to coincidence?" "I don't!" "I think so too." Mycroft tugged at his ears. "Of course, it's irrational to check the real name of the mysterious Pierre." "I do not think so," replied Holmes. "He is the second son of the Duke of Charles, Michael." "Michael was badly injured, and his father may not have known. But Lord Carfax saw Michael at the inn, and there was no doubt that he recognized his brother." "I am convinced of that, too," said Holmes. "Lord Carfax is not quite telling the truth." "He interested me. Charity is often a disguise for cruelty. It may well be that Lord Carfax lost Michael to Dr. Murray." "And," said Holmes gravely, "it is also possible that Michael's injury was his fault." "Perhaps. But you must find other evidence, Sherlock." "Time, Mycroft, time! That's my problem. I must make sure quickly, through the mess of clues, to catch the murderer accurately." "I think you've got to force Carfax." I interjected: "Can I ask a question?" "Of course, Watson, we never excluded you." "I may not be able to help, but confirming that Jack the Ripper is our main concern. So I ask, do you think we have met a murderer? Or have we met someone connected to Jack the Ripper?" Holmes laughed. "You already have a candidate in mind, Watson?" "If I had to choose, I'd think it was the imbecile. But I have to admit, I made the mistake of not assuming he was Michael Osborne." "What reason do you think he has?" "No real reason, I'm afraid. But I cannot forget what I witnessed when we left the Montargue Street Mortuary. You may recall that Dr. Murray ordered Pierre to cover the unfortunate corpses with white cloths. His conduct There was nothing wrong with it, but his attitude gave me the creeps. He seemed fascinated by the mutilated bodies. His hands were stroking the cold, smooth corpses, and he seemed fascinated by the carnage." The brothers paused, pondering and judging my speech.Then Mycroft said gravely: "Watson, you have said a very good point. I am sure you are well aware that it is difficult to judge the behavior of a severely mentally impaired person. However, your instinctive disgust may exceed our understanding. Every logic you can find." "Observation is of course necessary," remarked Sherlock. In any case, my confession of ideas was not considered meaningless by them.Mycroft strode heavily. "You must gather more facts, Sherlock." His brother squeezed his hand. It occurred to me that, with Mycroft, Sherlock Holmes was by no means the poise and confidence of the man I had known.While I was puzzled, Mycroft said calmly, "Sherlock, I understand the cause of your confusion. You must break it, you have become too subjective in this case." "I do not understand," said Holmes, somewhat coldly. "The most heinous murderer of the century killed five people, and maybe more. If you had intervened earlier, you could have prevented this, which is what tortures you. Guilt dulls the sharpest intellect. .” Holmes made no reply.He shook his head impatiently, and said: "Come, Watson, the game begins. We are going to chase the ferocious monster." "Criminals are cunning," Mycroft apparently warned.He said: "Sherlock, go find the scar-faced woman. In the meantime, there is one crucial clue not to be missed: Michael has a notorious wife. What does that suggest?" Holmes glared at his brother. "You must feel that I have lost my powers, Mycroft! That obviously means they are one and the same." With that said, we left the Diogenes Club.