Chapter 9 chapter eight

At four o'clock, my client and I were waiting by a lamppost across the street from Portman's bookstore, but Mrs. Keller hadn't shown up.Coincidentally, from where we were waiting we could just see the house I rented in Montague Street when I first came to London in 1877, the windows of which are now closed.But obviously, I don't need to share such personal information with my clients.When I was young and living at this time, the Portman bookstore used to be a women's apartment of questionable repute.Today, the area remains largely unchanged from the past, with mostly identical-looking houses connected by external walls, with white stone walls adorning the ground floor and exposed brick walls on the upper three floors.

As I stood there, my eyes shifted from the familiar window to the scene in front of me, a kind of sadness welled up in my heart, and I missed something that had gradually drifted away from me in the past many years: the first few days when I was a consultant detective. At that time, I was still free to come and go at will without worrying about being recognized.Now, although the street is the same as before, I am different from the young man who used to live here.In the past, my disguise was just to blend in with a certain group of people or to facilitate observation, to sneak into different corners of the city to obtain information without showing a trace.Among the myriad of characters I played were a jobless bum, a young dissolute plumber named Ascot, a dignified Italian priest, a French blue-collar worker, and even an old lady.Later, though, to ward off the growing following of John's novels, I wore a fake beard and glasses almost all the time.I couldn't do my own thing, I was eating a meal in public and I was accosted by strangers who wanted to talk to me, shake my hand, and ask ridiculous questions about my work.Therefore, when I left Baker Street with Mr. Keller in a hurry, and soon found that I had forgotten my disguise, I couldn't help but feel that I was too reckless.On our way to Portman's bookstore, a simple-minded but very kind worker came to us, and I could only briefly talk to him.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" he suddenly joined us as we were walking on Totemham Hall Road. "Is that you, sir? Isn't it? I've seen all the stories about you, sir." My answer was a quick wave of my hand in the air, as if to push him aside.But the guy was not scared away. He stared at Mr. Keller without fear, and said, "Then I think this must be Dr. Watson." My client was startled by him and looked at me with a disturbed expression. "That's ridiculous," I said calmly. "If I am really Sherlock Holmes, please explain to me how this gentleman who is so much younger than me is Dr. Watson?"

"I don't know, sir, but you are Sherlock Holmes—I'm not that easy to deceive, I tell you." "Are you mistaken?" "No, sir, I'm not mistaken." But he sounded confused and suspicious.He paused, and we continued on. "Are you investigating a case?" he quickly shouted behind us. I waved again, ignoring him.This is how I usually handle the attention of strangers.Besides, if this worker is really a loyal reader of John, then he must know that I will never bother to reveal my thoughts while a case is still under investigation.But my client seemed to be frightened by my indifferent attitude. Although he didn't say anything, we just continued walking in silence along the way.When I came near the Portman bookstore, I thought of an idea that had occurred to me on the way, so I opened my mouth and asked him, "One last question about money—"

Before I could finish asking, Mr. Keller interrupted me, clutching his collar with his slender pale fingers, and spoke eagerly. "Mr. Holmes, I do not have much salary, but I will do my best to pay you what you should pay." "My dear child, the work itself is my reward." I smiled and said, "If I really paid any cost, you can always pay me again at your convenience, but so far, I don't think there's going to be a fee for this case. Now, could you please hold back and let me finish my question: How did your wife get to pay for glass piano lessons?" "I don't know," he answered, "but she has her own property."

"You mean her inheritance." "Exactly." "Very good." I looked at the pedestrians on the opposite street, but my sight was obstructed by four-wheeled carriages, two-seater carriages, and even two small cars from time to time.The presence of such high society vehicles is not so rare these days. I was convinced that the case would be over soon, so I waited with great anticipation for Mrs. Keller's appearance.But minutes passed and she was still nowhere to be seen.I couldn't help but wonder if she entered Portman's bookstore early, or maybe she sensed her husband's suspicion and decided not to come.Just when I was about to tell Mr. Keller the latter possibility, his eyes suddenly narrowed; he nodded and whispered, "Here she is." He tensed up, eager to follow.

"Calm down," I put an arm around his shoulders, "For now, we have to keep our distance." At this moment, I also saw her leisurely walking towards Portman Bookstore, half a beat slower than the hurried crowd around her.The bright yellow parasol hanging above her head is in stark contrast to the woman under it: the petite Mrs. Keller is wearing a traditional gray dress, her breasts are puffed out, and her S-shaped curve is accentuated.She wore white gloves and held a small book with a brown cover in one hand.When she got to the door of Portman's bookstore, she put away the parasol, tucked it under her arm, and went in.

My client broke free from my grip on his shoulder, but a question from me stopped him from rushing forward.I asked him, "Does your wife usually wear perfume?" "Wipe, wipe all the time." "Great," I let go, and walked past him, onto the street, "then let's see how this all goes." As my friend John has long noticed, my senses are like very sensitive receptors, and I have always believed that the quick solution of a case sometimes depends on the direct recognition of the smell of perfume. Experts would do well to learn how to identify different types of perfume.As for Mrs. Keller's choice of perfume, it is a mature scent mixed with rose scent and a little stimulating spice. I noticed it at the entrance of Portman Bookstore.

"She wears Cameo Rose, doesn't she?" I whisper behind my client, but he has already hurried away from me without answering. The further we went, the stronger the scent became.I stopped and sniffed carefully, feeling as if Mrs. Keller was right beside us.My eyes scanned the crowded, dusty bookstore—from one end of the bookstore to the other, it was full of crooked and crumbling bookshelves, the bookshelves were full of books, and the dark corridors were also piled up in disarray. but I didn't see her, nor did I see the figure of the old shopkeeper, who I expected to be sitting behind the counter by the door, poring over some obscure tome.In fact, there was not a single clerk or customer in Portman's bookstore, giving one the odd illusion that the place had been emptied.Just when this idea came out of my mind, I suddenly heard the faint sound of music from upstairs, which made the weird atmosphere here even stronger.

"It's Anne, Mr. Holmes, and here she is, playing the piano!" I honestly think it's a bit inaccurate to call such an ethereal tune played, because the sounds I heard had neither any pattern nor the most basic melody.But the instrument itself has its appeal, the melding of various tones into a continuous chorus, unstructured but intoxicating.My client and I both walked in the direction of the sound, with Mr. Keller leading the way.We walked through rows of bookshelves and came to a flight of stairs behind the bookstore. However, when we climbed towards the second floor, I noticed that the smell of cameo rose water disappeared.I looked back at the bookstore downstairs, but there was still no one there.I bent down to get a better look, but couldn't find it, so I turned my gaze to the top of the bookshelf again.But it was this brief hesitation that made it impossible for me to stop Mr. Keller from slamming his fist on Ms. Skimmer's door angrily. The hurried knock on the door echoed in the corridor, and the music stopped abruptly.When I went up to him, the case was sort of closed.I'm sure Mrs. Keller is somewhere else, and it's definitely not her who's playing the glass organ.Alas, I always reveal too much when I tell my own story.But I can't hide the key facts like John, and I don't have the ability to play hard to catch, always making the original simple conclusions seem inscrutable.

"You have to calm down, brother," I advised my companion, "you should not be so impulsive under any circumstances." Mr. Keller frowned, still staring at the apartment door. "Just forgive me this time," he said. "There is nothing to forgive, but your anger may hinder the progress of our investigation. From now on, don't open your mouth and let me speak." After the fierce knock on the door, there was a moment's silence, but the silence was quickly broken by the equally fierce and swift footsteps of Ms. Skimmer.The door flung open, and she emerged flushed and furious—she was literally the tallest, strongest woman I had ever seen.Before she could speak angrily, I took a step forward, handed her my card, and said, "Good afternoon, Ms. Skimmer, may I have a moment of your time?" She eyed me suspiciously for a moment, then quickly cast a horrifying glance at my companion. "I promise we won't hold you up for long, just a few minutes," I continued, pointing at the business card in her hand, "Maybe you've heard of my name." Ms. Skimmer completely ignored my existence and said sternly, "Mr. Keller, don't come to my house like this again! I will never allow you to disturb me again! Why do you always come to trouble me? As for You, sir," she turned her eyes to me, "same thing, yes! You're his friend, aren't you? You go with him, and don't come to me like this again! I've got no patience for people like you!" "My dear lady, please calm down," I said, pulling my business card out of her hand and holding it up to her. But to my surprise, she shook her head resolutely when she saw my name. "No, no, you're not the person on the card," she said. "I can assure you, Ms. Skimmer, that I am absolutely him." "No, no, you're not him, you're not. I've seen this man a lot, don't you know?" "Then can you please tell me when you saw him?" "In the magazine, of course! That detective is much taller than you. His black hair, his nose, his pipe. You see, it's not you at all." "Ah, magazines! We all know magazines can be very misleading sometimes. I'm afraid I'm not as interesting in real life as they are in magazines, but Ms. Skimmer, if most of the people I meet don't recognize me like you do If so, then I might be more free." "You are so ridiculous!" After saying this, she crumpled up the business card and threw it at my feet, "You all hurry up, or I will call the police to arrest you!" "I can't leave here," said Mr. Keller firmly, "unless I can see my Anne." Our annoyed opponent suddenly stomped his foot on the floor hard, and kept stomping until our feet started to vibrate. "Mr. Portman," she yelled, echoing in the corridor behind us, "I'm in trouble now! Call the police! There are two robbers at my door! Mr. Portman—" "It's no use, Ms. Skimmer," I said. "Mr. Portman seems to be out." Then, I turned and looked at my frustrated client. "Mr. Keller, you should also know that Ms. Skimmer has every right to refuse us. We don't have any legal qualifications to enter her apartment. But I think she must understand that the reason you did this is only because of your concern for your wife. Ms. Skimmer, I really hope you will allow us to come into your apartment for two minutes and we will never mention it again." "His wife is really not with me," she said dissatisfied, "Mr. Keller, I have told you many times. Why do you always come to trouble me? I can call the police to arrest you, you know !" "There's no need to call the police," I said. "I'm well aware that Mr. Keller has wronged you, Ms. Skimmer. Calling the police will only complicate an already sad matter." I He stepped forward and whispered a few words into her ear. "You see," I continued, drawing back, "we really need your help." "I really don't know." She gasped, her expression changed from anger to regret. "Of course," I replied sympathetically, "but I'm sorry to say that my profession has been really frustrating at times." As my client looked at me quizzically, Ms. Skimmer stood thinking for a moment, her thick arms folded at her hips.After thinking about it, she nodded, walked aside, and gestured for us to go in: "Mr. Keller, I don't think it's your fault. If you insist on seeing it with your own eyes, then come in, poor man. " We entered a bright, barely furnished living room with low ceilings and half-open windows.There was an upright piano in one corner of the room, a harpsichord and many percussion instruments in the other, and two beautifully restored glass harps next to the windows.A few small rattan chairs were scattered around these instruments, but there was nothing else in the room.A square of Wilton rug was laid in the center of the faded brown wooden floor, and the rest was left bare; the white-painted walls were left bare, to allow sound waves to reflect better and create a clearer tone. echo effect. However, what first attracted my attention was not the arrangement of the living room, nor the scent of spring flowers coming in from the window, but a small figure fidgeting in front of the glass piano: this is a little boy less than ten years old, with red hair , with freckles all over his face, he turned nervously and watched us enter the room.The moment he saw the child, my client stopped in his tracks; his eyes flicked around.Ms. Skimmer, arms folded, stood in the doorway watching his every move, while I continued to walk towards the boy and greeted him warmly, "Hi, hello." "Hi." The child said shyly. I looked back at my client, smiled and said, "I don't think this kid is your wife." "Of course not," my client replied angrily, "but I really don't understand. Where's Annie?" "Patience, Mr. Keller, just be patient." I moved a chair and sat next to the boy, but my eyes went up and down, left and right, and looked at the glass piano carefully, not letting go of every detail. "What's your name, child?" "Graham." "Okay, Graham," I noticed that the structure of this ancient glass piano is thinner in the treble part, so it should be easier to produce beautiful music. "Is Ms. Skimmer teaching well?" "I feel very well, sir." "Oh." I thoughtfully brushed my fingertips across the edge of the keys. I've never had the opportunity to take a good look at a glass organ before, especially one that's in such good condition.I used to only know that when I played the glass organ, I needed to sit directly in front of the whole glass bowl, turn the glass bowl with the foot pedal, and lubricate it with a damp sponge from time to time.I also know that it takes both hands to play it in order to make all the parts sound at the same time.When I really took a closer look at this glass organ, I realized that each glass bowl was blown into a hemispherical shape with a round hole in the middle.The largest glass bowl is the highest note, which is the key of G.In order to distinguish the different tones, the inside of each glass bowl is painted with one of seven primary colors (except halftones, which are all white): red for C, orange for D, yellow for E, green for F, The G key is blue, the A key is cyan, the B key is purple, and then starts from the red C key.The size of the more than 30 glass bowls is also different. The largest diameter is more than 20 centimeters, and the smallest is only six or seven centimeters; they are all installed on a rotating shaft and placed in a 1.2 meter long box—— The case, also tapered to fit the conical glass bowl, is fixed to a four-legged stand hinged at half the height of the stand.The shaft is made of solid iron, and the two ends are pivoted by brass pivots, which straddle the box in parallel.At the widest point of the case there was a square handle with mahogany wheels attached to it.The wheels keep the body stable as you step on the pedals and turn the axle and glass bowl.The diameter of the wheel is about forty centimeters, and a lead belt is hidden around it.At a position about ten centimeters away from the axis, an ivory wedge is fixed, and a circle of wire in the middle of the wedge can drive the movement of the pedal. "It's amazing," I said. "I've heard that the most beautiful sound is made when the fingertip leaves the glass bowl, not when it touches it. Is it true?" "Yes, indeed," Ms. Skimmer replied behind me. The sun had dipped to the edge of the horizon, and the sunlight reflected off the glass.Graham's wide, round eyes narrowed, and my client began to moan and sigh.The scent of daffodils wafting in through the window, smelling like mildly musty onions, tickled my nose.I am not the only one who hates this floral fragrance. It is said that deer also avoid it when they smell it.I touched the glass organ one last time and said, "If it weren't for today's conditions, I would like to hear you play, Ms. Skimmer." "No problem, sir, we can arrange that. I'm a frequent performer at private parties, you know." "Of course," I said, standing up from my seat, patting the boy on the shoulder lightly, "I think we've taken up too much of your class time, Graham, now we should go, let you and Your teacher is going to class quietly." "Mr. Holmes!" my client cried out. "Really, Mr. Keller, we can't find anything here, except that Ms. Skimmer is willing to accept payment to perform." After speaking, I turned around and walked towards the door of the living room, and Ms. Skimmer stared at me dumbfounded.Mr. Keller followed suit, and as we were leaving, I turned to her as I closed the door and said, "Thank you, Ms. Skimmer. We won't bother you again, but I think maybe we won't get over it." How long, I will come to ask you to give me a piano lesson or two. Goodbye." As the door closed and Caleb and I walked down the stairs, her voice came out: "So, is it true? Are you really the guy in the magazine?" "No, my dear lady, I am not him." "Ha!" She slammed the door shut again. Caleb and I had finished walking the stairs before I stopped to comfort him.He didn't see his wife, but accidentally saw the little boy. His face was already gloomy, his thick eyebrows were twisted into a ball, his eyes were fierce, and even his nostrils were opened and shrunk because of anger.He must be extremely confused about his wife's whereabouts, and his whole expression is like a big question mark. "Mr. Keller, I can assure you that the whole matter is not as serious as you imagined. In fact, although your wife has concealed some things, she is still very honest with you." His serious expression eased a little. "You've obviously seen more upstairs than I've seen," he said. "Maybe, but I bet you're seeing the same thing I'm seeing, except that I'm a little bit more than you think. Give me a week, and I'll make sure there's something about this." Happy ending." "Everything is up to you." "Very well. Now, please go back to Fortis's house immediately. When your wife comes home, don't mention what happened here today. This is very important, Mr. Keller, and you must completely obey my recommendations." "Okay, sir, I'll try to do it." "very good." "There is one more thing I would like to ask you first, Mr. Holmes. What whispered into Miss Skimmer's ear to allow us to enter her room?" "Oh, that," I said, waving my hand, "was just a simple but effective lie, as I've told it before, in similar circumstances. I told her you were going to die Yes, I also said that your wife abandoned you when you were most vulnerable. I only told her the fact that she should have thought that this might be a lie, but in fact, this lie is almost never accepted. People have seen through it, it is like a master key that is tried and tested." Mr. Keller stared at me with some disdain. "It's nothing, bro." I turned away from him. We make our way to the front door of the bookstore, and finally spot the small, wrinkled, elderly owner, who is now back in his seat behind the counter.He was wearing dirty gardening overalls and was reading a book with a magnifying glass in his trembling hands.On the counter next to it was a pair of brown gloves that had obviously just been taken off.He let out two sudden, violent coughs that startled us both.But I held up a finger to my lips to keep my companion quiet.But as Mr. Keller had told me before, the old man seemed oblivious to anyone else in the store, even if I came within two steps of him, staring down at the big book that had absorbed his attention. He also didn't notice my existence.It was a book on the art of shrub pruning, and I could see elaborate illustrations of shrubs and bushes cut into the shapes of elephants, cannons, monkeys, and pots. We quickly and quietly walked outside the bookstore.In the faint evening sun, before we parted, I asked my client one last question: "Mr. Keller, you have something that might be useful to me right now." "Just talk." "A picture of your wife." My client nodded reluctantly. "If you need it, of course I can give it to you." He reached into his coat, pulled out the photo, and handed it to me discreetly. Without hesitation, I pocketed the photo and said, "Thank you, Mr. Keller. There's not much else to do today. Have a nice evening." I just left him.I took a picture of his wife and left without wasting a moment.Buses, taxis, and horse-drawn carriages came and went, carrying people on their way home or elsewhere—I weaved my way through the footpath traffic, walking steadily toward Baker Street.Many wagons from the countryside passed by, carrying unsold vegetables that had been transported to the metropolis early in the morning.I know very well that very soon, after nightfall, the Avenue Montague will be as silent and lifeless as any village; Blue smoke drifted toward the ceiling.