Chapter 14 Chapter 8: A Visit from Paris

In the days that followed, we fell to the lowest point in our lives.Never since I had known Holmes had I seen him so restless and incommunicable. After speaking with Lord Carfax, Holmes ceased communication with me, and my proposals were repeatedly ignored.I suddenly found myself more involved in this case than any I had ever shared with him.I deserve this punishment for the chaos I have caused.So I reverted to my usual role as a bystander, watching events unfold. Slow progress.Holmes has become, like the Ripper, a creature of the night.He disappeared in Baker Street every night, returned before dawn, and spent the day lost in thought.I stayed in my room because I knew he needed to be alone at this point.His violin wailed plaintively from time to time.When I couldn't bear it, I would get up and leave the house and throw myself into the busy streets of London.

However, when I saw him on the third morning, I was horrified. "Holmes! Good God!" I cried. "What has happened?" Under his right temple, there is a prominent purple scar.The left sleeve of his jacket had also been ripped off, and he walked with a limp like the dirty Arabs he used to find on the streets on mysterious missions. "It's just fighting late at night, Watson." "Treat the wound first!" I took the medical kit out of the room.He nonchalantly showed the bloodstained knuckles of his right fist. "I have succeeded, Watson. I have drawn out our enemy." I pressed Holmes into the chair and began to examine. "I succeeded and I failed again."

"You're too risky." "One of the two killers, on my hook." "Is it the same one that attacked us?" "Yes. I was going to catch one, but my revolver jammed--dreadful luck--both came forward." "Take it easy, Holmes. Lie back and close your eyes. Perhaps I should give you a tranquilizer." He made an impatient gesture. "The bruise is nothing. It's the failure that hurts me. So close and so far away. If I could catch one of them, I'd be able to dig out who's behind them, I promise you. "Do you think these thugs are the Rippers?"

"My God, of course not! They are full-bodied, healthy, and good at boxing. They are different from the monsters we are looking for." He trembled nervously. "It is another person, Watson, a bloodthirsty tiger. There's bullying in the London woods." A horrible name popped into my head. "Professor Moriarty?" "Moriarty is not involved in this. I have recently checked his movements and whereabouts. He is entangled with something elsewhere. No, not the professor. I am sure one of the four." "Who are the four you mean?" Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "If I haven't found out his identity, what does the name matter?"

Holmes was very tired. He lay flat on his chair and stared at the ceiling.But the fatigue hadn't penetrated into his brain yet. "This 'tiger' you mean," I said, "what good does it do him to kill those innocent whores?" "It's far more complicated than this mess, Watson. There are many black threads twisting and turning in this labyrinth." "The ugly fool in that hotel," I whispered. There was nothing pleasant in Holmes's smile. "My dear Watson, I am afraid that the thread you have pulled is wrong." "I don't believe Michael Osborne had anything to do with it."

"Yes, it does. But—" He didn't finish, because at this moment, the downstairs doorbell rang.Mrs. Hudson quickly went to answer the door."I've been expecting a visitor," said Holmes. "He's very quick. Don't go away, Watson. If you like, pass me my coat. His countenance shows." No sooner had he finished speaking than he was putting on his overcoat and lighting his pipe, while Mrs. Hudson led a tall, flaxen-haired handsome fellow into our drawing room.I figured he was thirty-five or sixteen.He was indeed a well-bred man, and he was only slightly startled at the sudden sight of Holmes in rags.

"Ah," said Holmes, "I believe you are Mr. Timothy Wentworth. You are welcome. Please sit down by the fire. The morning air is a little clammy. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson." .” Mr. Timothy Wentworth bowed in recognition of himself, and seated himself in a chair by the fire. "You are very famous, sir," said he, "and so is Mr. Watson. It is an honor to have known you. Although I am very busy in Paris, I have come to London because of a dear friend of mine, Michael Osborne. I've been baffled by his disappearance in Paris without warning. If I can do anything to help Michael, I think it will be worth the long journey."

"A commendable friendship," said Holmes. "Perhaps we can inspire each other, Mr. Wentworth. If you tell me about Michael's sojourn in Paris, I should be able to tell you how his story ends." "Okay. I met Michael about two years ago, when we were both new to Paris Kennel. I was attracted to him because we were completely different. I'm a bit shy myself, and indeed, my friends were too Think. On the other hand, Michael is passionate, sometimes quite wild! When he feels cheated, it can border on violence. He never doubts his point of view in any way. In any case, the short time at school , we got along very well. Michael was very nice to me."

"I have no doubt that you have done the same with him," said Holmes. "But tell me, do you know anything about his personal life?" "We were very frank. I soon learned that he was the second son of an English nobleman." "Is he angry at his misfortune as the second son?" Mr. Timothy Wentworth liked to frown when he considered things. "I'd have to say yes, but not quite. Michael was easily agitated, or prone to madness. His upbringing and background forbade him to behave like this, so he would have a sense of guilt. He needed to assuage his guilt, And his status as the second son can justify his wildness." Our young guest stopped unnaturally, "I'm afraid the more I speak, the more confused I become."

"On the contrary," Holmes assured him, "you have expressed yourself quite clearly. May I suppose that Michael has no rancour against his father or his brother?" "I'm sure he didn't. But on the other hand, I also understand the Duke of Charles very well. I understand that the Duke is a person with strong self-esteem, even a little arrogant and neurotic, and he attaches great importance to the honor of his surname." "When you see him, you'll know that's what he is. But please, keep talking." "Okay, what happened later was Michael's marriage to that woman." Timothy Wendworth's voice clearly showed a sense of disgust, "Michael met her in the red-light district of Pigna, and the next day He told me. I didn't think much of it, thinking it was just a slap in the face. But since dating that woman, Michael has grown estranged from me. Days go by, but looking back on it now, it's been a long time—from He told me about their acquaintance, and by the morning he had packed up and left school amidst our sarcasm, Jiang told me he had married that woman, as if in the blink of an eye."

I interjected: "You must be shocked, sir." "More than shocked, just stunned. I scolded him, he told me to mind my own business, and then disappeared." At this point, the young man's honest blue eyes showed deep regret, "Our friendship is broken. " "You never saw him again?" whispered Holmes. "I tried and saw it on two other occasions. There's no such thing as an impenetrable wall, and word of that spread quickly—Michael was expelled from the University of Paris. After hearing about it, I went to him specifically. I was on the Left Bank He was found by an indescribable whorehouse, and he was alone, though I assume his wife lived with him. He was half drunk, staring at me with hostility - turned into a very different Michael than I used to know Man. I couldn't even communicate with him. I put some money on the table and turned away. Two weeks later, I met him on the street near the University of Paris. His appearance stung me, like a lost His soul gazed wistfully, wistfully at his lost opportunity. Yet, he was hostile. I tried to strike up a conversation with him, but he snarled at me and slipped away. "I suppose you never saw his wife?" "Yes, there were rumors about her. She had a constant partner of the opposite sex before and after marriage. I'm not sure about that, though." He paused, as if reflecting on his friend's tragic fate.Then he raised his head and said even more excitedly: "I believe that Michael must have been tricked into that disastrous marriage inexplicably. It is impossible for him to intentionally tarnish the distinguished family honor." "I believe your point," said Holmes. "I have recently acquired Michael's surgical tools, and when I examined them, I found that he had very carefully covered the coat of arms with a piece of velvet." Timothy Wentworth's eyes widened. "Has he been forced to dispose of the toolbox?" "On this point," continued Holmes, "I suppose that the concealment of the mark was not merely an act of disgrace, but an attempt to protect him from being charged with an honor crime." "It is intolerable that his father does not believe all this. But now, sir, I have told you all I know, and I am very anxious to hear what you have to tell me." Holmes was evidently unwilling to answer.He got up from his chair, walked quickly up and down the room, and stopped. "You can't do anything for Michael, sir," he said. Wentworth seemed about to spring. "But we made a deal!" "Shortly after you last saw him, Michael had an accident. Now he is nothing more than a walking corpse, Mr. Wentworth. He has no memory of the past, and probably never will. But he is cared for Well done. As I said, there is nothing you can do, and to avoid further grief, I advise you not to see him either." Timothy Wentworth frowned and stared at the floor, considering Holmes' suggestion.He sighed, and said: "Very well, Mr. Holmes, that will be the end." I was very glad to hear that.Wentworth walked over and held out his hand. "But if there is anything I can do, sir, please contact me." "Relax." After the young man had left, Holmes stood quietly, watching the receding figure of his guest from the window.Suddenly he said in a voice so low that I could hardly hear him: "Watson, the more we are wrong, the more we will have a true friend." "What do you mean, Holmes?" "A fleeting thought." "Well, I must say, a statement made by young Wentworth has changed my opinion of Michael Osborne." Holmes turned to the fire, and struck the burning flames with his poker. "But I'm sure you'll realize that the rumors he's heard are more meaningful than the facts he's telling." "I have to admit I'm confused." "That rumor about Michael's wife, her male companion is the point. Who is this man, Watson? Isn't it our missing but elusive link? Who is the tiger who sent us to be assassinated?" "But how did he know you were looking for him?" "Ah, yes. How did he find out that I was following him? Before that, even I didn't know. I think we should pay another visit to the Duke of Charles's villa in Berkeley Square." But, it was fate that we couldn't go.At this moment the downstairs doorbell rang again, and we heard Mrs. Hudson answer it.Then there was a loud click, and the visitor hurried up in front of the landlady, two steps at a time.Our door was flung open, and a lean, acne-faced young man stood defiantly.The sight of him made my hand reach for the fire hook. "Which of you is Sherlock Holmes?" "It is I, lad," said Holmes. The lad pulled out a brown-wrapped paper parcel. "this is for you." Holmes took it and opened it casually. "The missing scalpel!" I exclaimed. Before Holmes could answer, the messenger rushed out.Holmes turned in a circle. "Wait!" he yelled, "I must talk to you. You will be in no danger!" But the boy ran away.Holmes also ran out of the room.I hurried to the window and saw the young man running away at high speed, as if he was followed by the devil from hell.Holmes followed swiftly after him.