Chapter 11 two women

It is written in my notes: Shortly before I left for Dartmoor with Sir Henry Baskerville in late September, 1886, a strange case which came to be called the "Blackmail" began to fascinate me. attention.The case probably involved one of the most respected men in England at the time.Sherlock Holmes has even hitherto urged every means to avoid revealing the true identities of the persons concerned; and, therefore, in relating these cases, I have of course endeavored to follow his wishes in this respect as far as possible.Indeed, I am as sensitive as he is to the fact that, having participated in the investigation of many cases over the years, we have of course heard many strange secrets and learned many secrets which, if known to the outside world, would only be Can cause rumors and shock; therefore, our honor is bound up with the secrecy.I will take care not to inadvertently say anything that may expose any one of the troubles that have been confided to us by men and women of various ranks in our modest little room in Baker Street.

I remember hearing for the first time, one morning at the end of September, the case which is the subject of my present account.The day was dark and dreary, heralding early fog.I was visiting a patient on Seaton Street, and on my way home I found a little ghost stalking after me in the street.When he came to stand beside me, I recognized him as one of the "Baker Street Irregulars"--a gang of scruffy boys whom Holmes occasionally employs to act as eyes and ears on the streets of London, giving them such a name. I said, "Hey, Billy." The kid gave me a look of not knowing me.

"Boss, can I borrow a fire?" He showed a broken cigarette butt and asked.I gave him a box of matches.He glanced up at me as he returned the matches, and then said quickly in a low voice: "Doctor, for God's sake, tell Mr. Holmes to keep his eye on Boyce the valet." After speaking, he nodded roughly and walked away lazily. I am not offended at carrying this secret letter for my friend.For, during the past few days, he had been active, absorbed, and smoking an astonishing amount; and it was obvious to me that he had been hired to investigate a case.However, he, uncharacteristically, did not invite me to participate in his classified activities.I must confess that, notwithstanding Holmes' intentions, it was a great satisfaction for me to be involved in the case.

When I entered the living room, I saw him lounging in his armchair in front of the fireplace, still wearing his purple dressing gown.His thick-lidded gray eyes stared thoughtfully at the ceiling through the haze of smoke.One arm was hanging beside the chair, and a letter was cradled between the tips of his fingers.An envelope fell to the floor, and I noticed a noble piqué on it. He said unhappily: "Ah, Watson, I didn't expect you to come back so early." "Perhaps it will do you good, Holmes." I was a little annoyed at the tone of his voice.After saying this, I began to tell him the message that was entrusted to me.Holmes raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"It's very strange," he said. "What could Boyce, the valet, have to do with it?" I said, "Since I know nothing of what happened, I can hardly answer your question." "Good heavens, Watson, that is an obvious defect," he replied, with a dry smile. "My dear friend, it is by no means out of distrust of you that I have kept you from my secrets. This other one is very troublesome." case. Before asking for your invaluable assistance, I would prefer to fumble a little on my own." I said eagerly, "You don't need to explain any more."

"Tsk, Watson, I've reached a dead end. It may be that it is the case that overthinking is self-defeating, and that thinking calmly depends on the obvious..." He broke off and said quietly. After thinking for a while, he jumped up and walked to the window. "I'm facing one of the most dangerous racketeering cases I've ever seen," he exclaimed. "I thought you might know the name Duke of Carlingford?" "Are you referring to the late Under Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs?" "Exactly." I said, "But he's been dead about three years."

"I know this, Watson. No doubt you will be surprised by it," replied Holmes impatiently. "Let me go on. A few days ago I had a letter from the Duchess (his widow) Letter. The urgency of the situation, from the wording of this letter, obliges me to visit her at her lodgings in Portland Street, at her request. She has, I think, superhuman intellect, and can be called beautiful; But she was overwhelmed by a terrible shock. Suddenly, in fact, by which her and her daughter's social and economic position was in danger of being completely destroyed. Besides, this shock This mockery of fate is all the more terrible since it was caused through no fault of her own."

"Wait a minute," I interjected, picking up a newspaper from the recliner, "the Duchess is mentioned in today's Telegraph, and the news is announcing that her daughter, Mary Gladsdale, and the cabinet ministers Sir James Foltesque is engaged." "That's right. It is behind this bewildering phenomenon that the impending catastrophe is hidden." Holmes drew two sheets of paper pinned together from the pocket of his dressing gown, and threw them to me from the opposite side. "Watson, what are you doing? Do you understand these two things?" "One is a copy of the marriage certificate of Henry Curwin Gladesdale, a bachelor, and Françoise Perredan, a bachelor, dated June 12, 1848, at Valence, France. issued." I browsed through the certificate and answered him. "The other one appears to be the couple's registration form at the Marriage Registry of the Church of Valence. Who is this Henry Gladesdale?"

"After the death of his uncle in 1854, the man became the Duke of Carlingford," said Holmes calmly. "Five years later he married Miss Constance Ellington, who was The present Duchess of Carlingford." "Then he must have been a widower." To my astonishment, Holmes slammed his fist on the palm of his hand and said aloud: "There must be some diabolical conspiracy involved, Watson. We don't know the details yet! Ah, the duchess is now hearing for the first time of the marriage her husband made in his youth on the Continent. She is told that the duke's first wife is still alive and can come if necessary; Her marriage was bigamy, her duchess status was false, and her children's status was illegitimate."

"Why, after thirty-eight years, this has happened! How absurd it is, Holmes!" "And, Watson. Society and the law do not acquit ignorance. As for the lapse of time, is it said that the French wife, after her husband's sudden disappearance, did not bring Henry Gladsdale and Carl The Duke of Ringford, however, I should hardly have been involved in a case of this nature had it not been for a more ominous factor. "I notice that you use the word 'if necessary' when you speak of the first wife coming. In that sense, it is extortion, and undoubtedly a large sum of money."

"We are in a more difficult position than that, Watson. No money has been demanded. The price of silence is that the Duchess has handed over copies of certain papers which are deposited at Lloyds Bank in Oxford Street, which are now Still in a sealed box in that bank's vault." "It is absurd, Holmes!" "Not so absurd. You have to remember that the late duke was a foreign minister, and that it is not unheard of for senior royal officials to keep copies of documents and memorandums, with the originals in safe custody for the state. In the duke's position There are many reasons why people in the United States keep certain documents. These documents were harmless at the time. However, after a few years, the situation changed. If a foreign government (perhaps the government of an unfriendly country ) saw these documents, and the matter would be extremely serious. The unfortunate lady was faced with the choice: either to withdraw the marriage certificate at the price of treason to the country, or to make the matter public, and with it, Britain's most important One of the most revered personalities, and the ruin of two innocent women, one of whom is about to marry. The difficulty, Watson, is that I cannot help them, Watson." "Have you seen the original of Valence's papers?" "The Duchess has seen them. It appears they are entirely genuine, and she has no doubts about her husband's signature." "Possibly a forgery." "That's true. But Valence has confirmed that a woman of that name lived there in 1848, married an Englishman, and moved elsewhere." I objected: "But, Holmes, if a French provincial woman is driven to extortion by her husband's desertion, she will certainly ask for money. What use is she asking for copies of official papers?" "Ah, you've got your point, Watson. That's why I'm involved in the case. Have you ever heard of Edith von Lammerain?" "I can't remember the name." "She was a strange woman," he recalled, "her father was a junior officer in the Russian Black Sea Fleet. Her mother kept a small hotel in Odessa. ran out and settled in Budapest. There, two men fought a sword duel for her, and both died, and she became notorious all at once. Later, she married a Prussian nobleman. The nobleman brought Less than three months after returning to the manor in the country with the bride, the turtledove died suddenly from eating too much chestnuts. Ha, there must be something interesting in those chestnuts! He went on: "You will take my word for it when I say this: for more than a year, in London, in Paris, in Berlin, when there have been great rallies at festivals without her, it has been thought impossible Flawless. If ever there was a woman born for the profession she chose, it was Edith von Lammerain." "You mean: she's a spy?" "Hmph, if she's better than a spy, it's like I'm better than a normal police detective. I'd say I've suspected for a long time that she was involved in the activities of the highest political cabal. Besides, it's this smart and Ambitious and ruthless woman, with the papers of this secret marriage, threatens to destroy the Duchess of Carlingford and her daughter unless the Duchess agrees to a treachery which would do so much harm to England It will be immeasurable." Holmes stopped and shook the ashes into the nearest tea quilt. "I am of no use here, Watson. An innocent woman in distress has turned to me for guidance and protection, and I am of no use, no shelter." He cut off angrily. Huatou. "It's a really outrageous act," I said, "but if Billy's message refers to that, then a servant is involved." "Ah, I confess, I am greatly bewildered by that message," replied Holmes, watching the flood of traffic passing under the window. "By the way, the gentleman called 'Boys the valet' was not an errand runner, my dear Watson, despite his nickname. I believe he got that nickname from the fact that he started messing around. It was a manservant. Actually, he was the head of London's No. 2 dangerous brawling and betting ticket syndicate. I doubt he could have much kindness for me, because in that Lockmorton drug case , it was mainly due to my efforts that he was caught, and he was sentenced to two years. But blackmail is not his business, so I don't understand..." Holmes stopped abruptly, and cast his neck up the street. "Ah! That's him," he exclaimed suddenly. "He's coming here, if I'm not mistaken. Perhaps, Watson, you would be better off in your bedroom." He went to the fireplace and sat down. In the chair, he continued: "Some people need others to show their eloquence, and Mr. Boyce, the 'manservant', is not that kind of person." The downstairs doorbell rang harshly.As I crept into the bedroom, I heard footsteps creaking up the stairs, then a knock at the door, and Holmes let someone in. Through the crack of the door I saw a dumpy, red-cheeked, kind-looking man with bushy sideburns.He was wearing a plaid overcoat, a smart brown bowler hat and gloves, and carried a Malacca palm stick.In my imagination, this person should be of another type, far from this ordinary and pleasing person. I think his appearance is like a farmer in the countryside.When he stood by the living room door and looked at Holmes, I saw his eyes clearly... round like two shining little rosary beads, clear and cold, reminiscent of the horror of the eyes of poisonous reptiles of static state. "We've got to talk." His voice was out of proportion to his fat body. "Really, we need to talk. May I sit down?" My friend replied sternly, "I say it's better if we all stand." "Ah, ah," said the man, turning his fat red face and looking around the room, "it's not a bad place for you! It's comfortable, tidy, and needs nothing. According to the fact that the respectable woman who opened the door to me just now is good at home cooking. Come, I'm sure it is. Why don't you let her find a good lodger, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" "I'm not planning on moving." "Oh! but someone will do it for you. I said: 'Don't be silly, Mr. Holmes is a handsome gentleman.' They said: 'Perhaps so, if his nose was not as it is now compared with the rest of his face.' If it's so long. It's so long that his nose keeps protruding into things that don't concern him.'" "You interest me very much. By the way, Boyce, you must have had urgent orders, and came here from Brighton at the first notice." The angelic smile on the rascal's face was gone. "How the hell do you know where I'm from?" he shrieked. "Well, man, today's South Cup horse racing program is out of your pocket. However, since I am very picky about my choice of conversation partners, please speak briefly so as to conclude this conversation." Boyce's lips parted suddenly, baring his teeth like a malevolent dog. "You busybody, if you pull any more tricks, I'm going to end up with more than the conversation," he growled. "Mind your lady's business, or..." He paused meaningfully, his small round eyes fixed on my friend's face, and finally said gently: "Otherwise, you will regret it, Sherlock. Mr Holmes." Sherlock Holmes rubbed his hands together and smiled. He said: "It is indeed satisfactory. So you come from Madame von Lanmerain?" "Oh, how dare you speak so indiscreetly!" cried Boyce, furtively reaching for the Malacca walking stick with his left hand. "I expected you to accept the warning, but you are so presumptuous about other people's names. If so..." In a blink of an eye, he had removed the hollow shell of his staff, and in his other hand was a long knife with a handle. "In that case, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I shall fulfill my promise." "I trust, Watson, that you have given the matter due attention," said Holmes. "Of course!" I replied loudly. "The Servant" Boyce's hand stopped in mid-air.As I rushed out of the bedroom carrying a thick brass candlestick, he jumped for the living room door.At the door, he turned his face to us for a moment, his small eyes gleaming maliciously in his big crimson face, and at the same time he uttered a stream of curses. "Enough!" Holmes interrupted his curse. "By the way, Boyce, I've wondered more than once how you killed Coach Marjean. No knife was found on you. Now, I know." The redness in the man's face gradually faded, and the face became like dirty putty. "Ah! Mr. Holmes, you don't think that... sir, this is just a little joke among old friends..." Before he finished speaking, he jumped out of the door and closed it hard. In the sound of "click, click", I ran downstairs desperately. My friend laughed happily.He said: "Well, well. We shall not be disturbed any longer by Mr. Boyce, the 'manservant'. But his visit has turned things in my favour." "From what point of view?" "This is my first ray of light in the darkness, Watson. They will not be afraid of my investigation... unless there is something in it that they fear exposure. Take your hat and coat, and we will visit together." The unfortunate Duchess of Carlingford." Our visit was not long, but I shall long recall that courageous and still beautiful woman who faced the most terrible calamity that fate had in store for her.She was the widow of a great statesman, with a name respected throughout England, and the mother of a lovely young girl about to marry a man of society.Suddenly a horrifying secret is discovered that, if revealed, will irrevocably destroy her life and everything else.These suffice to attest to the two extremes of human sentiment.But when my friend and I were admitted into the drawing-room of Carlingford House in Portland Street, the lady who rose to meet us was distinguished by her demure demeanor and her serene countenance.Only by seeing the dark shadows under her eyelids and the too-bright brilliance of those dark brown eyes could one feel that the extreme tension was eating at her heart. "What news have you brought me, Mr. Holmes?" she said rather quietly, but I noticed that she put a long, thin hand over her heart. "Knowing the truth can't be worse than this fear, so I beg you to speak frankly to me." Sherlock Holmes bowed and said softly: "I have no news at present, madam. I have come to ask you a question and make a request." The Duchess sank down on a chair, took up a fan, and fixed bright excited eyes on my friend's face. "What's the matter?" "Only under the pressure of the present situation can a stranger like myself be excused for asking such a question," said Holmes. "You were married to the late Duke for thirty years. Is he a man of high moral character in his sense of personal responsibility? Has his conduct been contrary to his moral code? I demand a frank answer from my lady." "Mr Holmes, there have been quarrels and disagreements during the years of our marriage, but so far as I know he has never descended to baseness, nor has he once, nor has he, lowered the value he set for himself in life. He had an uncompromising sense of honor which did not make his career in politics any better. His character was more noble than his position." "You have told me all I need to know," replied Holmes. "Although I am not indulging in my inner feelings, I am not the kind of person who thinks that 'love can make people blind to shortcomings'. A little reason Some, the result will be just the opposite, for love will inevitably induce one party to have a special understanding of the other's character. Madam, we are facing a crisis situation, and time is short, which is not in our favor." Holmes leaned forward and said earnestly, "I must see the original papers of this marriage, said to have been consummated in Valence. "There is no hope, Mr. Holmes," cried the Duchess. "This dreadful woman will not produce the papers until her shameless conditions are met." "Then we'll have to play tricks. You'll have to write her a carefully worded letter to give her the impression that you'll do what she wants once the marriage certificate is confirmed. Beg her tonight at ten Receive you secretly at her house in St. James's Street at one o'clock. Can you do it?" "Anything except what she asks." "Good! One last thing: there's a safe in that library where the papers are kept; you'll have to find an excuse to drag her out of there at exactly twenty past eleven." "What if she takes the papers and leaves?" "That's okay." "How can you be sure that the safe is in the library?" "The company that rented the house to Mrs. von Lanmerrain asked me to do a little favor, so I have a plan of the house. And, I saw the safe." "You saw it!" "One of the windows was somehow broken yesterday morning," laughed Holmes. "The attorney immediately sent a glass fitter to fix it, and it occurred to me then that this would be an advantage." The Duchess put her hands on her heaving chest, leaned forward, and asked almost fiercely: "What are you going to do?" "It is a question for me to decide according to my own judgment, madam," replied Holmes at the same time, springing up, "and if I fail, I will do it for a good cause." As we parted, the Duchess asked, putting her hand on Holmes' arm: "If you had examined these dreadful papers, and were satisfied that they were genuine, would you have taken them?" Sherlock Holmes looked at her gravely and concernedly, and replied calmly, "No." "You're right!" she cried, "and I don't want you to take it away. This appalling wrong must be cleared, no matter how much it costs me. Only when I think of my daughter, my courage Disappeared." Sherlock Holmes said very politely: "It is precisely because of this clear recognition of courage that I remind you to expect the worst." For the rest of the day, my friend was in a state of extreme restlessness.He smoked incessantly, and the air in the living room was unbearably choking.After reading all the newspapers, he threw them all into the coal scuttle, then walked up and down the room with his head raised anxiously and his hands behind his back.Then he went to the fireplace, leaned his elbows on the mantel-piece, looked at me curled up in the chair, and asked: "Watson, are you interested in doing something seriously illegal?" "For an honorable cause, Holmes, I am, of course, very willing." "My dear friend, it is not fair to you," he cried, "because, if we are caught at that woman's place, we shall be in trouble." "What's the use of saying that?" I objected. "We can't hide the truth." "That's right. Even if that were the case, I'd like to see the original." I said, "Well, it looks like there's no choice." "I don't think there are any," he said, taking a pinch of strong cut tobacco from the pouch, and stuffing it randomly into the pipe. "Ah, Watson, at least a long prison term will enable me to continue my research on the toxicity of oriental plants in the bloodstream, and you may study the new Louis Pasteur theory of inoculation." It was already dark, so we didn't go any further.Mrs. Hudson hurried in and stoked the fire and lit the gas. Sherlock Holmes suggested eating out.He laughed and said: "I want to go to the Fratty's, sit at that table in the corner, and order a bottle of Montrage 1867. Even if it's our last decent evening, at least Have a better time." It was past eleven when we stepped out of the hansom at the corner of Charles Street.The night was damp and cold.Yellow halos formed around the street lamps, heralding fog.Lights shone on a policeman's cape.He walked slowly past us, constantly lighting the dark and silent porch with the bull's-eye lamp he carried. As we entered St. James's Street, and we were going west along the sidewalk, Holmes pointed out to me, by the arm, a tall house with a light still burning in one of the front windows, which towered before us. "That's the light in the living room," he whispered. "We can't lose a moment." He took a quick look at the empty sidewalk, and immediately jumped up and grabbed the top of the wall connected to the building, flipped up with both hands, and then jumped down.When I jumped right after him, he was gone.As far as I could see in the dark, it was a desolate little plot of ordinary city dwelling, with grass and a tangle of laurel trees.In this way, we are already breaking the law.Recalling that at least our purpose was noble, I followed Holmes as far as three tall windows juxtaposed.He said something in a low voice, and I immediately let him step on my back. In a blink of an eye, he was squatting on the window sill, his pale face reflected on the glass in the darkness.His hands were busy with the window hooks.After a while, the window was opened silently, and I grabbed his outstretched fingers and squeezed hard, and I entered the window and stood beside him. "This is the library," whispered Holmes in my ear. "Help yourself behind the curtain." Although we were surrounded by darkness and could smell faintly of calfskin and old leather, I felt that the room was large.Apart from the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock at the back of the room, the room was perfectly quiet.After about five minutes there came a sound from somewhere in the house, followed by footsteps and whispered voices.A bright light flashed under a door, disappeared, and after a while slowly reappeared.I heard hurried footsteps, and the light grew brighter.Later, the door was opened and a woman entered the room with a lamp in her hand. Although time tends to make people forget the details of the past, it always seemed to me that I saw Edith von Lammerain for the first time as if it happened yesterday. On top of an oil lamp, I saw an ivory face, with black, sullen eyes, and a bright red, beautiful, but ruthless mouth.Her dark, shining hair rose high on her head, and wore a bough of ruby ​​and white feathers.Beneath the bare neck and shoulders was a luxurious robe trimmed with metal discs that shone in the dark. She paused for a moment, as if listening to something, then closed the door and crossed the large room, trailing a slender shadow behind her, the lamp in her hand casting a dim light on the book-filled closets all around. . Whether it was due to the rustling of the curtains or not, when Holmes opened them and stood out, she turned round at once, held the oil lamp above her head, and let the light shine in our direction.She stood there silently watching us.There was no trace of fear in her ivory face.She watched us from the other side of the large, silent room, her black eyes full of anger and malice. "Who are you?" she said with disgust. "What do you want to do?" "Five minutes of your time, Madame von Lanmerain," replied Holmes mildly. "So you know my name. If you're not thieves, what are you looking for? I'd like to hear it before I wake the others." Pointing to her left hand, Sherlock Holmes said: "I have come to examine the papers. I warn you that I must do so. Please do not compel me to take the necessary precautions against your shouting." She drew her hands behind her back, her eyes blazing with anger. "You rascal! I see, you are a thief hired by that holy lady," she exclaimed. Then, with a quick movement, she stretched her neck forward and put the lamp in front of her.As she looked intently at my friend, that expression of anger turned into suspicion, and a smile that was at once ecstasy and menace slowly crept into her eyes. "It's Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she whispered.Holmes turned back and lit some candles which stood on the gilt table against the wall, with a slightly humiliated expression on his face. "I have been able to identify the authenticity of the documents, ma'am," he said. "This will get you five years in prison," she cried, baring her shining white teeth. "Perhaps. Then I'll make my prison worthwhile. Give me those papers!" "You think you can do anything by stealing the document! I have a copy, and a dozen people who have seen the document." She let out a hoarse laugh. "I imagined you to be a wise man," she went on, "but now I see you are a fool, a fool, and a worthless thief!" "You will know later." He stretched out his hand.She sneered, shrugged, and handed him the documents. "Attention, Watson, do not let Mrs. von Lanmerain touch the bell-string," said my friend calmly, walking towards the table against the wall. By candlelight, he looked over the papers from beginning to end, held them up again, and examined them carefully by the candlelight.His thin figure forms a black silhouette on the illuminated yellow parchment.Later, he looked up at me; I couldn't help but feel discouraged when I saw the chagrin on his face. "The watermark is English, Watson," he said calmly. "But paper of this manufacture and quality was imported in large quantities into France fifty years ago. It will not help us. Well, I fear it will happen." The worst situation." I knew that he was not concerned with his own unenviable position, but with the anxious and fearless woman whose case he had risked his own freedom. Madame von Lanmerain laughed loudly. "You are dazzled by victory, Mr. Holmes," she said mockingly. "But this time you have made a big mistake, and you will only understand it the hard way." My friend had unfolded the paper again by candlelight, and bent over it for a moment, I noticed a sudden change in the expression on his face.The look of annoyance that had previously covered his face disappeared, and was replaced by a look of concentration.His long nose seemed to almost touch the paper he was looking down at.When he finally straightened up, I saw excitement gleam in his sunken eyes. I hurried to his side.Pointing to the words on the two documents that recorded the details, he asked, "What can you tell from this, Watson?" I said, "It's very clear and easy to recognize." "Ink, man, look at that ink!" he cried impatiently. "Oh, it's black ink," I said, looking over his shoulder. "I'm afraid it won't help. I could have a dozen of my father's old letters written in that ink." Sherlock Holmes shook his hands and smiled.He exclaimed: "Very well, Watson, very well! Please look at the name and signature of Henry Colwyn Gladsdale on the marriage certificate. Well, look at the Valence registration form." His name on that page." "There doesn't appear to be anything inappropriate, the signatures are the same on both." "Exactly. But where's the ink?" "A bit bluish. Yes, it must be the normal blue-black-indigo ink. What's wrong?" "All the words in the two certificates are written in black ink, except for the groom's name and signature. Don't you think this phenomenon is strange?" "Odd, perhaps, but not inexplicable. Gladsdale was probably used to using the inkwell he carried with him." Sherlock Holmes ran to a desk by the window, rummaged a little while, and returned with a quill and an inkstand. He scratched the edge of the certificate once or twice with a quill pen dipped in ink, and asked, "Did you say it's the same color?" "exactly the same." "Exactly. This bottle contains blue-black indigo ink." Madame von Lanmerain, who was standing at the back, rushed forward suddenly to ring the bell, but before she could catch the rope, Holmes' voice resounded throughout the room: "If you ring that bell, insurance is over!" His voice was sharp. Her hands stopped on the rope. She sneered: "What a joke! Do you think Henry Gladsdale signed my desk? Ah, you fool! Everybody uses that ink." "Basically. But the date on the paper is June 12, 1848." "Ah, so what?" "I am afraid it was this little mistake that exposed your guilt, Madame von Lanmerain. Indigo-indigo ink was not invented until 1856." The face that glared at us through the circle of candlelight was beautiful, but there was something terrible about it. "You nonsense!" she said hoarsely. Shrugging his shoulders, Sherlock Holmes replied: "Even a chemist can prove that." He took up the papers, put them carefully in the pocket of his cloak, and added: "Of course, these Françoise Paelle The original marriage certificate, which is entirely genuine. However, the real name of the groom has been erased from the certificate and from the registration form at the church of Valence, and Henry Curwin has been replaced in its place. Gladsdale's name. I have no doubt that, if necessary, the traces of smearing can be observed with a microscope. At any rate, the most well-laid plans fail more often by petty fallible errors than by any conception It is the same basic defect of sex; it is the same as great ships are often destroyed by small but deadly stone points. This ink itself proves the truth, it is only one example. As for you, madam, in I can hardly think of a more ruthless person than you, considering the timing of your rape against a defenseless woman." "How dare you insult a woman like this!" Sherlock Holmes said sternly: "In plotting the destruction of the woman who refuses to hand over her husband's secret papers, you have thrown away the identity of a woman." She looked at us with an evil smile on her sallow face and said, "At the very least, you will be punished for this. You have broken the law." "Indeed. You can ring the bell," said Sherlock Holmes. "When I came to court, my poor pleadings were about your instigating forgery, attempted extortion, and . . . you listen . . . Espionage. I give you a week to leave the country; if you do not leave, I will denounce you to the government." There was a moment of utter silence in the room, and then Edith von Lammerlein wordlessly raised her white, shapely arms and pointed to the door. After eleven o'clock in the morning the next day, we had breakfast and the table had not been cleared.Sherlock Holmes, who had just returned from a walk early in the morning, had put off his frock coat and put on a smoking suit, was sitting lazily in front of the fireplace, passing a long thin awl through his pipe.The awl originally belonged to him under certain circumstances, which I do not want to torture the reader here by mentioning these circumstances. "Have you seen the Duchess?" I asked. "See you, and told her the truth. She gave the family lawyers the forged papers with her husband's signature, along with my statement of the case, as a precautionary measure. She has nothing to fear. Edith von Lammerley is dead." "Thanks to you, my dear friend," I exclaimed enthusiastically. "Ah, ah, Watson. The case is quite simple. The pleasure of our work is our reward." I watched him eagerly.I said, "You seem to have lost some weight, Holmes. You should go to the country for a few days." "Perhaps at a later date. But I cannot go until the lady is gone, for she is a very charming person." "That bead on your tie is so big, I don't think I've seen it before!" My friend took two letters from the mantelpiece, and threw them to me from the opposite side, saying: "Here they were when you were on your rounds." A letter bearing the address of Carlingford House reads: "A woman owes everything to your chivalry and your courage. This debt cannot be repaid. Allow me to express my heart with this pearl, the symbol of this ancient religion, for you have given me A second life. I will never forget." Another, neither addressed nor signed, read: "We shall meet again, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I shall never forget it." Sherlock Holmes laughed and said: "The point of view is the same. I will meet again these two women who see things from the same angle." After speaking, he sat down on the chair at once, and reached for his last hand. Disgusting pipe too.