Chapter 12 Chapter Seven: The Butcher Who Kills Pigs

"You did not see, Watson, that Joseph Baker, in his cloak, left the pub just when the girl had evidently indicated that she was going elsewhere. You had only me in your eyes." It was obvious that I was the culprit, not him, but he never gave me the slightest hint.I tried to refute the accusation, but he stopped my defense. "No, no," he said, "my stupidity let the monster slip through our fingers, not your fault." With his chin resting on his chest, Holmes went on: "The girl was turning the corner when I came out of the bar. I did not see Baker, and I can only assume that he fled in another direction, or crouched in the darkness near the door. I choose The latter. I followed the girl around the corner, heard footsteps behind me, and saw a man in a cloak following us. I never dreamed it was you—I'm afraid I'd say you're about the same size as Baker. Watson - I mistook this stalker for a pawnbroker. I ducked around the corner and you passed me. Then I heard cries and I thought I had successfully caught the Ripper. So I attacked, and I found myself making an unforgivable mistake."

After morning tea, Holmes walked up and down the Baker Street home angrily.I watched him sadly, hoping to have the power to erase the entire incident, not just for Polly, but for my friend as well. "Then," continued Holmes gruffly, "while our minds were engrossed in our blunder, the Ripper struck. The insolent devil!" he cried, "contempt, absolute self-confidence, committing a heinous crime! Believe I, Watson, I must bring this monster to justice, even if this is the last scene of my life!" "Then," I said, trying to divert his pain, "Joseph Baker has been cleared, at least he was not responsible for last night's murder."

"Indeed. There is no way Baker would have had time to return to the lodgings, wipe off the blood, undress, and put on his pajamas before we arrived." Holmes snatched up his cherrywood pipe, and Persian slippers, and looked away with disgust. Throwing aside, "Watson," he said, "all we did last night was to rule out one of a million suspects in London. At this rate we must be able to Find the murderer." I can't find any words to refute it.But Holmes suddenly turned his shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes. "But that will be enough, Watson! We shall be like the Phoenix rising from the ashes. Put on your clothes, and pay another visit to Dr. Murray's morgue."

Less than an hour later, we were standing in the cold doorway of the mortuary on Montague Street.Holmes looked around the dilapidated street. "Watson," he said, "I want more detailed information about this neighborhood. After I go in later, can you go and scout out the surrounding streets?" Eager to make up for my clumsiness the night before, I readily agreed. "When you're done, meet me at the hotel." After Holmes finished speaking, he turned and entered the morgue. I found no commercial buildings near Montague Street.On the other side of the street is a row of locked warehouses, lifeless.

But when I turned the corner, a vibrant scene came into view.At a vegetable and fruit stall, a housewife and the boss were bargaining for a cabbage; next door to the stall was a cigarette seller.In the distance is an evil-looking bar, with a model of a weathered carriage hanging above the gate. I quickly noticed an entrance on the near side of the street.There was a loud, high-pitched noise from inside that sounded like the slaughter of a battalion of pigs.It turns out that's the case.I walked through an old stone archway into a courtyard and found a slaughterhouse.Four lean hogs were locked in a corner, and an extremely muscular young butcher in a bloodstained leather apron was dragging a fifth pig toward the hook.He ruthlessly hung the pig's hind legs from the hooks.The rusty pulleys creaked as he pulled the rope.He quickly tied a knot, and the pig squealed as if it knew death was near.

I watched with disgust, the young butcher picked up a long knife and stabbed the pig's throat without hesitation.The sound died away, and the butcher stepped back to avoid being sprayed with crimson plasma.Then, he stepped into the pool of blood indifferently, inserted the butcher knife into the throat of the pig, raised the knife with his hand and dropped it, and the dead pig was completely open from the throat to the tail, with a clear view. Although this is not a killing, no matter what, I can't bear to watch it any longer.My eyes were drawn to something even more horrific--an idiot, whom both Holmes and his brother Mycroft were sure to be: Michael Osborne.He squatted in a corner of the slaughterhouse, seemingly forgetting everything around him, and stared at the butcher's work engrossed.He looked so fascinated, staring intoxicated at what I can only describe as a bloodied corpse.

The young butcher finished his basic operation, came back and smiled at me. "Want some pork, sir?" "No thanks! I'm just walking around—" "Oh, it looks like you heard the screaming. You don't live here, the neighbors are used to it." He turned his head happily, and said to Michael Osborn, "Isn't it, stupid ?” The fool smiled and nodded. "This idiot is the only one who is there for me, I feel so lonely without him." "Your work environment certainly isn't the cleanest," I said with disgust. "Clean?" the boy laughed. "Sir, human fat is more repulsive than pig blood, isn't it?" He blinked. Try to keep them."

"You mean the Ripper?" "Yes, man, I meant him." "Do you know the girl who was murdered last night?" "I know. Give her two shillings and she'll give you one. Poor girl, can't pay the rent, so I pay her so generously. I hate to see a girl because she wants a sleeping bed and roaming the dirty streets in the fog." Instinct makes me continue this tasteless conversation. "Do you know who the Ripper is?" "God bless you, sir. He might be a landowner, can't he? You must admit, he might be a dandy too, won't you?" "Why do you say that?"

"Well, let's think about it this way. Because of my job, I deal with gore all the time, and you could say, I sure as hell think so, right?" "What do you want to say?" "My lord, when the Ripper kills, there's bound to be blood. But no one ever saw a guy running around covered in blood, did they?" "I don't think so." I was a little surprised. "Why not, sir? Because a rich man wears a cloak that hides his blood. That's why I say that. Don't you think so? Well, I'm going to get to work." I fled this place of stench and blood.But the image of Michael Osborne crouching in the corner, staring down at the slaughter was imprinted on my mind.In spite of what Holmes said, this crippled man was still my prime suspect.

I walked around the square, across Montague Street, to the door of the mortuary, making a mental note of the surrounding buildings.The morgue is not rented, it is only used to store dead bodies.Passing through the narrow passage, I stopped beside the corpse bed, where lay people who were still full of nostalgia for life.There was a corpse wrapped in a white sheet. I stared at it for a long time, feeling sad in my heart. I walked over and lifted the sheet covering my face. When her ordeal was over, Polly's marble-pale face expressed resignation to fate.I don't consider myself a sentimental person, but I believe death has a dignity no matter what.Although I am not a devout Christian, I still prayed for the poor child for a while, hoping to save her unfortunate soul.Then I leave.

I found Holmes in the hotel dining room, with Lord Carfax and Miss Sally Young.Sally smiled and asked me, "Doctor Watson, would you like me to pour you a cup of tea?" I declined.Holmes said briskly: "Watson, you have come at the right time. Lord Carfax has some information to provide." The Lord looked a little suspicious. "Your Excellency, in front of my partner, you can say whatever you want without reservation." "Very well. Mr. Holmes, the matter I am about to relate concerns Michael. Michael left London for Paris two years ago. I thought he would continue to live a life of dissoluteness in the most dissolute city, but I still do. Try to keep in touch with him. To my relief and surprise, he entered the University of Paris to study medicine. We keep in touch with each other, and I am full of hope for his future, and his life is about to turn a new page." said At this point, the Lord's eyes dimmed, and great sadness appeared on his face, "But, disaster struck, and I was shocked to learn that Michael was going to marry a prostitute." "Have you seen her, sir?" "Never, Mr. Holmes! Frankly, I cannot bear to see her face to face. However, I should still like to see her if the opportunity arises." "Then how do you know she's a whore? It's impossible for your brother to tell you he's married to a whore." "My brother didn't tell me. It was a classmate of his who I didn't know who wrote to me, and he wrote that letter out of concern for Michael's well-being. This gentleman told me about Angela, Osborne , suggesting that if I am really worried about my brother's future, I should immediately leave for Paris to save my brother before irreversible consequences occur." "You told your lord this matter?" Lord Carfax said with certainty: "I have not at all! But unfortunately, that gentleman! He sent two letters, one of which I think should not have been sent, in order to secure our receipt." "How did your father react?" "You needn't even ask that question, Mr. Holmes." "The Duke made a judgment without waiting for the facts to be clarified?" "Yes. This letter is too real, and I have never doubted it myself. As for my father, this kind of Michael is the same as the person he thought in his heart." Lord Carfax paused with a face full of pain, " It's hard for me to forget the scene of the severance. I suspect my father got the letter too, so I ran to his apartment. When I arrived, he was painting. I broke into the studio and his nude model put on a sleeping bag. Robe, my father put down his paintbrush and looked at me calmly. He said, 'Richard, why are you here at this hour?' "I saw the envelope with the French stamp lying beside his palette, and pointed. 'That's it, my lord, from Paris, I think.' "'You're right.' He picked up the envelope, but didn't open it. 'It doesn't fit. There should be a black border on the envelope.' "'I don't understand you,' I replied. "He put the letter down coldly. 'Isn't the death statement supposed to be marked like that? So it seems to me, Richard, that this is just Michael's death notice. In my mind, Michael is dead, just a Just a corpse." "I was shocked and overwhelmed by his horrific words. But knowing the futility of arguing, I just walked away." "You made no effort to save Michael?" asked Holmes. "I didn't, sir. To me he was irretrievable. However, about two months later, I received an anonymous letter saying that I'd come to this hotel and I'd find something of interest. I did. I didn't Let me tell you what I found." "Have you kept that letter, sir?" "No." "Really sorry." Lord Carfax seemed to be wrestling with his natural reserve.Finally, he broke out. "Mr. Holmes, I cannot describe to you my shock at what I saw Michael in. The brutal attack turned him into what you saw him-a deformed monster whose mind was all but lost before he left." "How did you manage it, if I could know?" Lord Carfax shrugged. "The hotel is a good place for him, and it can also solve part of the problem." Miss Sally Yang has been sitting by the side, surprised and silent.Her eyes never left the lord's face.Lord Carfax felt this.He smiled wryly and continued, "Honey, I'm sure you'll forgive me. Earlier, I didn't tell you the truth. But it's really unnecessary and not wise. I want Michael to stay here, as a matter of fact. , I don't want to admit his identity to you and your uncle." "I understand," said the girl calmly, "that you have a right to keep your secret, sir. Perhaps that is why you are so generous to the hotel." The nobleman seemed a little embarrassed. "Darling, I should help you to maintain the hotel under any circumstances. However, I do not deny that the protection given to Michael by the hotel makes me pay more attention to this place. Perhaps my motivation is more selfish than philanthropic. More." Holmes has been keenly studying Lord Carfax while he tells his story. "You did not make further efforts for your brother's benefit?" The lord replied: "A little bit. I have contacted the Paris police and Scotland Yard to see if there were any reports of an attack on my brother. But nothing." "So you left there?" "Yes!" cried the weary nobleman, "what else?" "Criminals will be brought to justice." "By what means? Michael has become a hopeless fool. I doubt he would have been able to recognize his attacker. Even if he could, his testimony is worthless in a criminal proceeding." "I understand," said Holmes gravely.But I get the feeling he's very dissatisfied with Lord's answer. "And about his wife, Angela Osborne?" "I haven't found her yet." "You don't suspect that she wrote the anonymous letter?" "I think maybe so." Holmes rose. "Thank you very much for opening your heart to us in such a difficult situation." Carfax returned a bleak smile. "I assure you, sir, that I did this out of choice. I have no doubt that you will find out about it through other means. Now, you may perhaps allow it to take its course." "I'm afraid I can't do that." Lord Carfax became tense. "It is my honor to assure you, sir, that Michael had nothing to do with the horrific murders in London." "Be at ease," replied Holmes, "and I assure you that I will do my best to alleviate your suffering." Lord Carfax bowed, and said nothing more.And just like that, we got out of there.When I walked out of the hotel, I saw only Michael Osborne squatting in the filthy slaughterhouse, drunk on the killing, unable to extricate himself.