福尔摩斯-王冠宝石案 The Adventure of the Mazarin Stone

The Adventure Of The Mazarin Stone

Arthur Conan Doyle

It was pleasant to Dr. Watson to find himself once more in the untidy room of the first floor in Baker Street which had been the starting-point of so many remarkable adventures. He looked round him at the scientific charts upon the wall, the acid-charred bench of chemicals, the violin-case leaning in the corner, the coal-scuttle, which contained of old the pipes and tobacco. Finally, his eyes came round to the fresh and smiling face of Billy, the young but very wise and tactful page, who had helped a little to fill up the gap of loneliness and isolation which surrounded the saturnine figure of the great detective.

“It all seems very unchanged, Billy. You don't change, either. I hope the same can be said of him?”

Billy glanced with some solicitude at the closed door of the bedroom.

“I think he's in bed and asleep,” he said.

It was seven in the evening of a lovely summer's day, but Dr. Watson was sufficiently familiar with the irregularity of his old friend's hours to feel no surprise at the idea.

“That means a case, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir, he is very hard at it just now. I'm frightened for his health. He gets paler and thinner, and he eats nothing. ‘When will you be pleased to dine, Mr. Holmes?’ Mrs. Hudson asked. ‘Seven-thirty, the day after to-morrow,’ said he. You know his way when he is keen on a case.”

“Yes, Billy, I know.”

“He's following someone. Yesterday he was out as a workman looking for a job. To-day he was an old woman. Fairly took me in, he did, and I ought to know his ways by now.” Billy pointed with a grin to a very baggy parasol which leaned against the sofa. “That's part of the old woman's outfit,” he said.

“But what is it all about, Billy?”

Billy sank his voice, as one who discusses great secrets of State. “I don't mind telling you, sir, but it should go no farther. It's this case of the Crown diamond.”

“What—the hundred-thousand-pound burglary?”

“Yes, sir. They must get it back, sir. Why, we had the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary both sitting on that very sofa. Mr. Holmes was very nice to them. He soon put them at their ease and promised he would do all he could. Then there is Lord Cantlemere—”

“Ah!”

“Yes, sir, you know what that means. He's a stiff 'un, sir, if I may say so. I can get along with the Prime Minister, and I've nothing against the Home Secretary, who seemed a civil, obliging sort of man, but I can't stand his Lordship. Neither can Mr. Holmes, sir. You see, he don't believe in Mr. Holmes and he was against employing him. He'd rather he failed.”

“And Mr. Holmes knows it?”

“Mr. Holmes always knows whatever there is to know.”

“Well, we'll hope he won't fail and that Lord Cantlemere will be confounded. But I say, Billy, what is that curtain for across the window?”

“Mr. Holmes had it put up there three days ago. We've got something funny behind it.”

Billy advanced and drew away the drapery which screened the alcove of the bow window.

Dr. Watson could not restrain a cry of amazement. There was a facsimile of his old friend, dressing-gown and all, the face turned three-quarters towards the window and downward, as though reading an invisible book, while the body was sunk deep in an armchair. Billy detached the head and held it in the air.

“We put it at different angles, so that it may seem more lifelike. I wouldn't dare touch it if the blind were not down. But when it's up you can see this from across the way.”

“We used something of the sort once before.”

“Before my time,” said Billy. He drew the window curtains apart and looked out into the street. “There are folk who watch us from over yonder. I can see a fellow now at the window. Have a look for yourself.”

Watson had taken a step forward when the bedroom door opened, and the long, thin form of Holmes emerged, his face pale and drawn, but his step and bearing as active as ever. With a single spring he was at the window, and had drawn the blind once more.

“That will do, Billy,” said he. “You were in danger of your life then, my boy, and I can't do without you just yet. Well, Watson, it is good to see you in your old quarters once again. You come at a critical moment.”

“So I gather.”

“You can go, Billy. That boy is a problem, Watson. How far am I justified in allowing him to be in danger?”

“Danger of what, Holmes?”

“Of sudden death. I'm expecting something this evening.”

“Expecting what?”

“To be murdered, Watson.”

“No, no, you are joking, Holmes!”

“Even my limited sense of humour could evolve a better joke than that. But we may be comfortable in the meantime, may we not? Is alcohol permitted? The gasogene and cigars are in the old place. Let me see you once more in the customary armchair. You have not, I hope, learned to despise my pipe and my lamentable tobacco? It has to take the place of food these days.”

“But why not eat?”

“Because the faculties become refined when you starve them. Why, surely, as a doctor, my dear Watson, you must admit that what your digestion gains in the way of blood supply is so much lost to the brain. I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix. Therefore, it is the brain I must consider.”

“But this danger, Holmes?”

“Ah, yes, in case it should come off, it would perhaps be as well that you should burden your memory with the name and address of the murderer. You can give it to Scotland Yard, with my love and a parting blessing. Sylvius is the name—Count Negretto Sylvius. Write it down, man, write it down! 136 Moorside Gardens, N. W. Got it?”

Watson's honest face was twitching with anxiety. He knew only too well the immense risks taken by Holmes and was well aware that what he said was more likely to be under-statement than exaggeration. Watson was always the man of action, and he rose to the occasion.

“Count me in, Holmes. I have nothing to do for a day or two.”

“Your morals don't improve, Watson. You have added fibbing to your other vices. You bear every sign of the busy medical man, with calls on him every hour.”

“Not such important ones. But can't you have this fellow arrested?”

“Yes, Watson, I could. That's what worries him so.”

“But why don't you?”

“Because I don't know where the diamond is.”

“Ah! Billy told me—the missing Crown jewel!”

“Yes, the great yellow Mazarin stone. I've cast my net and I have my fish. But I have not got the stone. What is the use of taking them? We can make the world a better place by laying them by the heels. But that is not what I am out for. It's the stone I want.”

“And is this Count Sylvius one of your fish?”

“Yes, and he's a shark. He bites. The other is Sam Merton, the boxer. Not a bad fellow, Sam, but the Count has used him. Sam's not a shark. He is a great big silly bull-headed gudgeon. But he is flopping about in my net all the same.”

“Where is this Count Sylvius?”

“I've been at his very elbow all the morning. You've seen me as an old lady, Watson. I was never more convincing. He actually picked up my parasol for me once. ‘By your leave, madame,’ said he—half-Italian, you know, and with the Southern graces of manner when in the mood, but a devil incarnate in the other mood. Life is full of whimsical happenings, Watson.”

“It might have been tragedy.”

“Well, perhaps it might. I followed him to old Straubenzee's workshop in the Minories. Straubenzee made the air-gun—a very pretty bit of work, as I understand, and I rather fancy it is in the opposite window at the present moment. Have you seen the dummy? Of course, Billy showed it to you. Well, it may get a bullet through its beautiful head at any moment. Ah, Billy, what is it?”

The boy had reappeared in the room with a card upon a tray. Holmes glanced at it with raised eyebrows and an amused smile.

“The man himself. I had hardly expected this. Grasp the nettle, Watson! A man of nerve. Possibly you have heard of his reputation as a shooter of big game. It would indeed be a triumphant ending to his excellent sporting record if he added me to his bag. This is a proof that he feels my toe very close behind his heel.”

“Send for the police.”

“I probably shall. But not just yet. Would you glance carefully out of the window, Watson, and see if anyone is hanging about in the street?”

Watson looked warily round the edge of the curtain.

“Yes, there is one rough fellow near the door.”

“That will be Sam Merton—the faithful but rather fatuous Sam. Where is this gentleman, Billy?”

“In the waiting-room, sir.”

“Show him up when I ring.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If I am not in the room, show him in all the same.”

“Yes, sir.”

Watson waited until the door was closed, and then he turned earnestly to his companion.

“Look here, Holmes, this is simply impossible. This is a desperate man, who sticks at nothing. He may have come to murder you.”

“I should not be surprised.”

“I insist upon staying with you.”

“You would be horribly in the way.”

“In his way?”

“No, my dear fellow—in my way.”

“Well, I can't possibly leave you.”

“Yes, you can, Watson. And you will, for you have never failed to play the game. I am sure you will play it to the end. This man has come for his own purpose, but he may stay for mine.” Holmes took out his notebook and scribbled a few lines. “Take a cab to Scotland Yard and give this to Youghal of the C. I. D. Come back with the police. The fellow's arrest will follow.”

“I'll do that with joy.”

“Before you return I may have just time enough to find out where the stone is.” He touched the bell. “I think we will go out through the bedroom. This second exit is exceedingly useful. I rather want to see my shark without his seeing me, and I have, as you will remember, my own way of doing it.”

It was, therefore, an empty room into which Billy, a minute later, ushered Count Sylvius. The famous game-shot, sportsman, and man-about-town was a big, swarthy fellow, with a formidable dark moustache shading a cruel, thin-lipped mouth, and surmounted by a long, curved nose like the beak of an eagle. He was well dressed, but his brilliant necktie, shining pin, and glittering rings were flamboyant in their effect. As the door closed behind him he looked round him with fierce, startled eyes, like one who suspects a trap at every turn. Then he gave a violent start as he saw the impassive head and the collar of the dressing-gown which projected above the armchair in the window. At first his expression was one of pure amazement. Then the light of a horrible hope gleamed in his dark, murderous eyes. He took one more glance round to see that there were no witnesses, and then, on tiptoe, his thick stick half raised, he approached the silent figure. He was crouching for his final spring and blow when a cool, sardonic voice greeted him from the open bedroom door:

“Don't break it, Count! Don't break it!”

The assassin staggered back, amazement in his convulsed face. For an instant he half raised his loaded cane once more, as if he would turn his violence from the effigy to the original; but there was something in that steady gray eye and mocking smile which caused his hand to sink to his side.

“It's a pretty little thing,” said Holmes, advancing towards the image. “Tavernier, the French modeller, made it. He is as good at waxworks as your friend Straubenzee is at air-guns.”

“Air-guns, sir! What do you mean?”

“Put your hat and stick on the side-table. Thank you! Pray take a seat. Would you care to put your revolver out also? Oh, very good, if you prefer to sit upon it. Your visit is really most opportune, for I wanted badly to have a few minutes' chat with you.”

The Count scowled, with heavy, threatening eyebrows.

“I, too, wished to have some words with you, Holmes. That is why I am here. I won't deny that I intended to assault you just now.”

Holmes swung his leg on the edge of the table.

“I rather gathered that you had some idea of the sort in your head,” said he. “But why these personal attentions?”

“Because you have gone out of your way to annoy me. Because you have put your creatures upon my track.”

“My creatures! I assure you no!”

“Nonsense! I have had them followed. Two can play at that game, Holmes.”

“It is a small point, Count Sylvius, but perhaps you would kindly give me my prefix when you address me. You can understand that, with my routine of work, I should find myself on familiar terms with half the rogues' gallery, and you will agree that exceptions are invidious.”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, then.”

“Excellent! But I assure you you are mistaken about my alleged agents.”

Count Sylvius laughed contemptuously.

“Other people can observe as well as you. Yesterday there was an old sporting man. To-day it was an elderly woman. They held me in view all day.”

“Really, sir, you compliment me. Old Baron Dowson said the night before he was hanged that in my case what the law had gained the stage had lost. And now you give my little impersonations your kindly praise?”

“It was you—you yourself?”

Holmes shrugged his shoulders. “You can see in the corner the parasol which you so politely handed to me in the Minories before you began to suspect.”

“If I had known, you might never—”

“Have seen this humble home again. I was well aware of it. We all have neglected opportunities to deplore. As it happens, you did not know, so here we are!”

The Count's knotted brows gathered more heavily over his menacing eyes. “What you say only makes the matter worse. It was not your agents but your play-acting, busybody self! You admit that you have dogged me. Why?”

“Come now, Count. You used to shoot lions in Algeria.”

“Well?”

“But why?”

“Why? The sport—the excitement—the danger!”

“And, no doubt, to free the country from a pest?”

“Exactly!”

“My reasons in a nutshell!”

The Count sprang to his feet, and his hand involuntarily moved back to his hip-pocket.

“Sit down, sir, sit down! There was another, more practical, reason. I want that yellow diamond!”

Count Sylvius lay back in his chair with an evil smile.

“Upon my word!” said he.

“You knew that I was after you for that. The real reason why you are here to-night is to find out how much I know about the matter and how far my removal is absolutely essential. Well, I should say that, from your point of view, it is absolutely essential, for I know all about it, save only one thing, which you are about to tell me.”

“Oh, indeed! And pray, what is this missing fact?”

“Where the Crown diamond now is.”

The Count looked sharply at his companion. “Oh, you want to know that, do you? How the devil should I be able to tell you where it is?”

“You can, and you will.”

“Indeed!”

“You can't bluff me, Count Sylvius.” Holmes's eyes, as he gazed at him, contracted and lightened until they were like two menacing points of steel. “You are absolute plate-glass. I see to the very back of your mind.”

“Then, of course, you see where the diamond is!”

Holmes clapped his hands with amusement, and then pointed a derisive finger. “Then you do know. You have admitted it!”

“I admit nothing.”

“Now, Count, if you will be reasonable we can do business. If not, you will get hurt.”

Count Sylvius threw up his eyes to the ceiling. “And you talk about bluff!” said he.

Holmes looked at him thoughtfully like a master chess-player who meditates his crowning move. Then he threw open the table drawer and drew out a squat notebook.

“Do you know what I keep in this book?”

“No, sir, I do not!”

“You!”

“Me!”

“Yes, sir, you! You are all here—every action of your vile and dangerous life.”

“Damn you, Holmes!” cried the Count with blazing eyes. “There are limits to my patience!”

“It's all here, Count. The real facts as to the death of old Mrs. Harold, who left you the Blymer estate, which you so rapidly gambled away.”

“You are dreaming!”

“And the complete life history of Miss Minnie Warrender.”

“Tut! You will make nothing of that!”

“Plenty more here, Count. Here is the robbery in the train de-luxe to the Riviera on February 13, 1892. Here is the forged check in the same year on the Credit Lyonnais.”

“No; you're wrong there.”

“Then I am right on the others! Now, Count, you are a card-player. When the other fellow has all the trumps, it saves time to throw down your hand.”

“What has all this talk to do with the jewel of which you spoke?”

“Gently, Count. Restrain that eager mind! Let me get to the points in my own humdrum fashion. I have all this against you; but, above all, I have a clear case against both you and your fighting bully in the case of the Crown diamond.”

“Indeed!”

“I have the cabman who took you to Whitehall and the cabman who brought you away. I have the commissionaire who saw you near the case. I have Ikey Sanders, who refused to cut it up for you. Ikey has peached, and the game is up.”

The veins stood out on the Count's forehead. His dark, hairy hands were clenched in a convulsion of restrained emotion. He tried to speak, but the words would not shape themselves.

“That's the hand I play from,” said Holmes. “I put it all upon the table. But one card is missing. It's the king of diamonds. I don't know where the stone is.”

“You never shall know.”

“No? Now, be reasonable, Count. Consider the situation. You are going to be locked up for twenty years. So is Sam Merton. What good are you going to get out of your diamond? None in the world. But if you hand it over—well, I'll compound a felony. We don't want you or Sam. We want the stone. Give that up, and so far as I am concerned you can go free so long as you behave yourself in the future. If you make another slip—well, it will be the last. But this time my commission is to get the stone, not you.”

“But if I refuse?”

“Why, then—alas!—it must be you and not the stone.”

Billy had appeared in answer to a ring.

“I think, Count, that it would be as well to have your friend Sam at this conference. After all, his interests should be represented. Billy, you will see a large and ugly gentleman outside the front door. Ask him to come up.”

“If he won't come, sir?”

“No violence, Billy. Don't be rough with him. If you tell him that Count Sylvius wants him he will certainly come.”

“What are you going to do now?” asked the Count as Billy disappeared.

“My friend Watson was with me just now. I told him that I had a shark and a gudgeon in my net; now I am drawing the net and up they come together.”

The Count had risen from his chair, and his hand was behind his back. Holmes held something half protruding from the pocket of his dressing-gown.

“You won't die in your bed, Holmes.”

“I have often had the same idea. Does it matter very much? After all, Count, your own exit is more likely to be perpendicular than horizontal. But these anticipations of the future are morbid. Why not give ourselves up to the unrestrained enjoyment of the present?”

A sudden wild-beast light sprang up in the dark, menacing eyes of the master criminal. Holmes's figure seemed to grow taller as he grew tense and ready.

“It is no use your fingering your revolver, my friend,” he said in a quiet voice. “You know perfectly well that you dare not use it, even if I gave you time to draw it. Nasty, noisy things, revolvers, Count. Better stick to air-guns. Ah! I think I hear the fairy footstep of your estimable partner. Good day, Mr. Merton. Rather dull in the street, is it not?”

The prize-fighter, a heavily built young man with a stupid, obstinate, slab-sided face, stood awkwardly at the door, looking about him with a puzzled expression. Holmes's debonair manner was a new experience, and though he vaguely felt that it was hostile, he did not know how to counter it. He turned to his more astute comrade for help.

“What's the game now, Count? What's this fellow want? What's up?” His voice was deep and raucous.

The Count shrugged his shoulders, and it was Holmes who answered.

“If I may put it in a nutshell, Mr. Merton, I should say it was all up.”

The boxer still addressed his remarks to his associate.

“Is this cove trying to be funny, or what? I'm not in the funny mood myself.”

“No, I expect not,” said Holmes. “I think I can promise you that you will feel even less humorous as the evening advances. Now, look here, Count Sylvius. I'm a busy man and I can't waste time. I'm going into that bedroom. Pray make yourselves quite at home in my absence. You can explain to your friend how the matter lies without the restraint of my presence. I shall try over the Hoffman ‘Barcarole’ upon my violin. In five minutes I shall return for your final answer. You quite grasp the alternative, do you not? Shall we take you, or shall we have the stone?”

Holmes withdrew, picking up his violin from the corner as he passed. A few moments later the long-drawn, wailing notes of that most haunting of tunes came faintly through the closed door of the bedroom.

“What is it, then?” asked Merton anxiously as his companion turned to him. “Does he know about the stone?”

“He knows a damned sight too much about it. I'm not sure that he doesn't know all about it.”

“Good Lord!” The boxer's sallow face turned a shade whiter.

“Ikey Sanders has split on us.”

“He has, has he? I'll do him down a thick 'un for that if I swing for it.”

“That won't help us much. We've got to make up our minds what to do.”

“Half a mo',” said the boxer, looking suspiciously at the bedroom door. “He's a leary cove that wants watching. I suppose he's not listening?”

“How can he be listening with that music going?”

“That's right. Maybe somebody's behind a curtain. Too many curtains in this room.” As he looked round he suddenly saw for the first time the effigy in the window, and stood staring and pointing, too amazed for words.

“Tut! it's only a dummy,” said the Count.

“A fake, is it? Well, strike me! Madame Tussaud ain't in it. It's the living spit of him, gown and all. But them curtains, Count!”

“Oh, confound the curtains! We are wasting our time, and there is none too much. He can lag us over this stone.”

“The deuce he can!”

“But he'll let us slip if we only tell him where the swag is.”

“What! Give it up? Give up a hundred thousand quid?”

“It's one or the other.”

Merton scratched his short-cropped pate.

“He's alone in there. Let's do him in. If his light were out we should have nothing to fear.”

The Count shook his head.

“He is armed and ready. If we shot him we could hardly get away in a place like this. Besides, it's likely enough that the police know whatever evidence he has got. Hallo! What was that?”

There was a vague sound which seemed to come from the window. Both men sprang round, but all was quiet. Save for the one strange figure seated in the chair, the room was certainly empty.

“Something in the street,” said Merton. “Now look here, guv'nor, you've got the brains. Surely you can think a way out of it. If slugging is no use then it's up to you.”

“I've fooled better men than he,” the Count answered. “The stone is here in my secret pocket. I take no chances leaving it about. It can be out of England to-night and cut into four pieces in Amsterdam before Sunday. He knows nothing of Van Seddar.”

“I thought Van Seddar was going next week.”

“He was. But now he must get off by the next boat. One or other of us must slip round with the stone to Lime Street and tell him.”

“But the false bottom ain't ready.”

“Well, he must take it as it is and chance it. There's not a moment to lose.” Again, with the sense of danger which becomes an instinct with the sportsman, he paused and looked hard at the window. Yes, it was surely from the street that the faint sound had come.

“As to Holmes,” he continued, “we can fool him easily enough. You see, the damned fool won't arrest us if he can get the stone. Well, we'll promise him the stone. We'll put him on the wrong track about it, and before he finds that it is the wrong track it will be in Holland and we out of the country.”

“That sounds good to me!” cried Sam Merton with a grin.

“You go on and tell the Dutchman to get a move on him. I'll see this sucker and fill him up with a bogus confession. I'll tell him that the stone is in Liverpool. Confound that whining music; it gets on my nerves! By the time he finds it isn't in Liverpool it will be in quarters and we on the blue water. Come back here, out of a line with that keyhole. Here is the stone.”

“I wonder you dare carry it.”

“Where could I have it safer? If we could take it out of Whitehall someone else could surely take it out of my lodgings.”

“Let's have a look at it.”

Count Sylvius cast a somewhat unflattering glance at his associate and disregarded the unwashed hand which was extended towards him.

“What—d'ye think I'm going to snatch it off you? See here, mister, I'm getting a bit tired of your ways.”

“Well, well, no offence, Sam. We can't afford to quarrel. Come over to the window if you want to see the beauty properly. Now hold it to the light! Here!”

“Thank you!”

With a single spring Holmes had leaped from the dummy's chair and had grasped the precious jewel. He held it now in one hand, while his other pointed a revolver at the Count's head. The two villains staggered back in utter amazement. Before they had recovered Holmes had pressed the electric bell.

“No violence, gentlemen—no violence, I beg of you! Consider the furniture! It must be very clear to you that your position is an impossible one. The police are waiting below.”

The Count's bewilderment overmastered his rage and fear.

“But how the deuce—?” he gasped.

“Your surprise is very natural. You are not aware that a second door from my bedroom leads behind that curtain. I fancied that you must have heard me when I displaced the figure, but luck was on my side. It gave me a chance of listening to your racy conversation which would have been painfully constrained had you been aware of my presence.”

The Count gave a gesture of resignation.

“We give you best, Holmes. I believe you are the devil himself.”

“Not far from him, at any rate,” Holmes answered with a polite smile.

Sam Merton's slow intellect had only gradually appreciated the situation. Now, as the sound of heavy steps came from the stairs outside, he broke silence at last.

“A fair cop!” said he. “But, I say, what about that bloomin' fiddle! I hear it yet.”

“Tut, tut!” Holmes answered. “You are perfectly right. Let it play! These modern gramophones are a remarkable invention.”

There was an inrush of police, the handcuffs clicked and the criminals were led to the waiting cab. Watson lingered with Holmes, congratulating him upon this fresh leaf added to his laurels. Once more their conversation was interrupted by the imperturbable Billy with his card-tray.

“Lord Cantlemere, sir.”

“Show him up, Billy. This is the eminent peer who represents the very highest interests,” said Holmes. “He is an excellent and loyal person, but rather of the old regime. Shall we make him unbend? Dare we venture upon a slight liberty? He knows, we may conjecture, nothing of what has occurred.”

The door opened to admit a thin, austere figure with a hatchet face and drooping mid-Victorian whiskers of a glossy blackness which hardly corresponded with the rounded shoulders and feeble gait. Holmes advanced affably, and shook an unresponsive hand.

“How do you do, Lord Cantlemere? It is chilly for the time of year, but rather warm indoors. May I take your overcoat?”

“No, I thank you; I will not take it off.”

Holmes laid his hand insistently upon the sleeve.

“Pray allow me! My friend Dr. Watson would assure you that these changes of temperature are most insidious.”

His Lordship shook himself free with some impatience.

“I am quite comfortable, sir. I have no need to stay. I have simply looked in to know how your self-appointed task was progressing.”

“It is difficult—very difficult.”

“I feared that you would find it so.”

There was a distinct sneer in the old courtier's words and manner.

“Every man finds his limitations, Mr. Holmes, but at least it cures us of the weakness of self-satisfaction.”

“Yes, sir, I have been much perplexed.”

“No doubt.”

“Especially upon one point. Possibly you could help me upon it?”

“You apply for my advice rather late in the day. I thought that you had your own all-sufficient methods. Still, I am ready to help you.”

“You see, Lord Cantlemere, we can no doubt frame a case against the actual thieves.”

“When you have caught them.”

“Exactly. But the question is—how shall we proceed against the receiver?”

“Is this not rather premature?”

“It is as well to have our plans ready. Now, what would you regard as final evidence against the receiver?”

“The actual possession of the stone.”

“You would arrest him upon that?”

“Most undoubtedly.”

Holmes seldom laughed, but he got as near it as his old friend Watson could remember.

“In that case, my dear sir, I shall be under the painful necessity of advising your arrest.”

Lord Cantlemere was very angry. Some of the ancient fires flickered up into his sallow cheeks.

“You take a great liberty, Mr. Holmes. In fifty years of official life I cannot recall such a case. I am a busy man, sir, engaged upon important affairs, and I have no time or taste for foolish jokes. I may tell you frankly, sir, that I have never been a believer in your powers, and that I have always been of the opinion that the matter was far safer in the hands of the regular police force. Your conduct confirms all my conclusions. I have the honour, sir, to wish you good-evening.”

Holmes had swiftly changed his position and was between the peer and the door.

“One moment, sir,” said he. “To actually go off with the Mazarin stone would be a more serious offence than to be found in temporary possession of it.”

“Sir, this is intolerable! Let me pass.”

“Put your hand in the right-hand pocket of your overcoat.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Come—come, do what I ask.”

An instant later the amazed peer was standing, blinking and stammering, with the great yellow stone on his shaking palm.

“What! What! How is this, Mr. Holmes?”

“Too bad, Lord Cantlemere, too bad!” cried Holmes. “My old friend here will tell you that I have an impish habit of practical joking. Also that I can never resist a dramatic situation. I took the liberty—the very great liberty, I admit—of putting the stone into your pocket at the beginning of our interview.”

The old peer stared from the stone to the smiling face before him.

“Sir, I am bewildered. But—yes—it is indeed the Mazarin stone. We are greatly your debtors, Mr. Holmes. Your sense of humour may, as you admit, be somewhat perverted, and its exhibition remarkably untimely, but at least I withdraw any reflection I have made upon your amazing professional powers. But how—”

“The case is but half finished; the details can wait. No doubt, Lord Cantlemere, your pleasure in telling of this successful result in the exalted circle to which you return will be some small atonement for my practical joke. Billy, you will show his Lordship out, and tell Mrs. Hudson that I should be glad if she would send up dinner for two as soon as possible.”

王冠宝石案

华生医生很高兴又回到了贝克街二层的这间杂乱无章的房间，许多有名的冒险都是从这里开始的。他环顾室内，墙上贴着科学图表，屋里摆着被强酸烧坏的药品架子，屋角里立着小提琴盒子，煤斗里依然放着烟斗和烟草。最后他的眼光落到毕利的含笑而有神的脸上。这是一个小听差，年纪虽轻却很聪明懂事，有他在身边，可以抵消一点这位著名侦探的一陰一郁身影所造成的孤独寡合之感。

“一切都是老样子，毕利。你也没变。他也是老样子吧？”

毕利有点担心地瞧了瞧那关着的卧室门。

“我想他大概是上一床一睡着了，"毕利说。

当时正是一个明媚夏日的下午起点钟。但是华生已经十分熟悉他朋友的不规律生活，不会感到现在睡觉有什么奇怪。

“就是说，目前正在办一件案子喽？”

“是的，先生。他现在十分紧张。我很担心他的健康状况。他越来越苍白消瘦，还吃不下饭。赫德森太太总是问他：‘福尔摩斯先生，您几点钟用饭？'而他总是说：‘后天气点半。'您是知道他专心办案的时候是怎么过日子的。”

“是的，毕利，我很清楚。”

“目前他正在盯着个什么人。昨天他化装成一个找工作的工人，今天他成了一个老太太。差点儿把我也骗了，可我现在应该算是熟悉他的一习一惯了。"毕利一边笑着一边用手指了指立在沙发上的一把很皱的一陽一伞。"这是老太婆的道具之一。”

“这都是干什么呢？”

毕利放低了声音，仿佛谈论国家大事似的。"跟您说倒没关系，但不能外传。就是办那个王冠宝石的案子。”

“什么——就是那桩十万英镑的盗窃案吗？”

“是的，先生。他们决心要找回宝石。嘿，那天首相和内务大臣亲自来了，就坐在那个沙发上。福尔摩斯先生对他们态度挺好，他没说几句话就使他们放心了，他答应一定尽全力去办。然而那个坎特米尔勋爵——”

“噢，他呀！”

“正是他，先生。您明白那是怎么回事儿。要让我说的话，他是一具活僵一尸一。我可以跟首相谈得来，我也不讨厌内务大臣，他是一个有礼貌、好说话的人。但是我可受不了这位勋爵大人。福尔摩斯也受不了他。您瞧，他根本不相信福尔摩斯先生，根本反对请他办案。他反倒巴不得他办案失败。”

“福尔摩斯先生知道这个吗？”

“福尔摩斯先生当然什么都知道。”

“那就让咱们希望他办案成功，让坎特米尔勋爵见鬼去吧。嘿，毕利，窗子前边那个帘子是干什么的？”

“三天以前福尔摩斯先生让挂上的，那背后有一个好玩的东西。”

毕利走过去把遮在凸肚窗的凹处的帘子一拉。

华生医生不觉惊叹地叫了一声。那是他朋友的蜡像，穿着睡衣什么的，一应俱全，脸起向窗子，微微下垂，仿佛在读一本书，身一体深深地坐在安乐椅里。毕利把头摘下来举在空中。

“我们把头摆成各种不同角度，为的是更象真人。要不是放着窗帘，我是不敢摸它的。打开窗帘，马路对过也可以看得见它。”

“以前有一次我和福尔摩斯也使用过蜡人。”

“那时候我还没来呢，"毕利说。他随手拉开帘子朝街上张望着。"有人在那边监视着我们。我现在就看得见那边窗口有一个家伙。您过来瞧瞧。”

华生刚迈了一步，突然卧室的门开了，露出福尔摩斯的瘦高身材，他面色苍白而紧张，但步伐和体态象往常一样地矫健。他一个箭步跳到窗口，立刻把窗帘拉上了。

“不要再动了，毕利，"他说道。"刚才你有生命危险，而我目前还用得着你。华生，很高兴又在老地方见到你了。你来的正是时候，关键时刻。”

“我猜也是这样。”

“毕利，你可以走开了。这孩子是个问题。能有多少道理证明我让他冒危险是说得通的呢？”

“什么危险，福尔摩斯？”

“暴死的危险。我估计今晚会有事。”

“什么事？”

“被暗杀，华生。”

“别开玩笑了，福尔摩斯！”

“连我的有限的幽默感也不致开这样的玩笑。但是不管怎么说，眼前还是先娱乐一下吧，对不对？允许我喝酒吗？煤气炉和雪茄都在老地方。依我看你还是坐你原来的安乐椅吧。你大概还不会讨厌我的烟斗和我的糟糕烟草吧？最近它们代替了我的三餐。”

“为什么不吃饭呢？”

“因为饥饿可以改善人一体的机能。做为一个医生你当然会承认，消化过程得到的供血量等于脑力所损失的供血量。而我就只是头脑，华生。除此以外我的身一体只是一个附件儿。所以，我首先应该考虑脑的需要。”

“不过，这个危险到底是怎么回事？”

“对了，趁着还没出事的时候，你把凶手的姓名地址记在脑子里说不定也有好处。你可以把它一交一给苏格兰场，连同我的问候和临终祝福。名字是西尔维亚斯——内格雷托-西尔维亚斯伯爵。写下来，伙计，写下来！莫尔赛花园街！”３６号。记下了吗？”

华生那忠厚的脸急得都发一颤了。他很明白福尔摩斯冒的危险是多么大，也很知道他刚才说的话与其说是夸张不如说是缩小。华生一向是个行动家，这时他当机立断。

“算我一个，福尔摩斯。我这两天没什么事做。”

“我说华生，你的人格可没见长进，还又添了说谎的一毛一病。你明明是一个忙不过来的医生，每个小时都有人来看病的。”

“那都不是什么要紧的症候。你为什么不叫人逮捕这个家伙呢？”

“我确实可以这么做。这也正是使他焦躁的缘故。”

“那你为什么不下手呢？”

“因为我还不知道宝石藏在什么地方。”

“对了！毕利跟我说过——是王冠宝石。”

“不错，就是那颗硕一大的发黄光的蓝宝石。我已经撒下网了，也逮住鱼了，就是没拿到宝石，那样抓其他们来又有什么用呢？当然可以为社会除一害。但这不是我的目的。我要的是宝石。”

“这个西尔维亚斯伯爵是你的鱼之一吗？”

“不错，而且是鲨鱼。他是咬人的。另一个是塞姆-莫尔顿，搞拳击的。塞姆倒是一个不坏的家伙，可惜被伯爵利用了。塞姆不是鲨鱼。他是一条大个的长着大头的傻-鱼。不过他也同样在我的网里扑腾呢。”

“这个西尔维亚斯在什么地方呢？”

“今天一上午我都是在他身边。你以前也看见过我化装成老太婆，华生。但今天最一逼一真。有一次他还真替一我拾起了我的一陽一伞。'对不起，夫人，'他说。他有一半意大利血统，在他高兴的时候很有一点南方的礼貌风度，但不对劲儿的时候是个魔鬼的化身。人生真是无奇不有，华生。”

“人生也可以变成悲剧。”

“是的，也许可能。后来我一直跟着他到了米诺里斯的老斯特劳本齐商店。这个店是做汽槍的，做得相当一精一巧，我看现在就有一支在对过的窗口。你看见蜡人没有？当然，毕利给你看过了。蜡人的脑袋随时可能被子弹打穿。什么事儿，毕利？”

小听差手里拿着一个托盘，上面有一张名片。福尔摩斯看了它一眼就抬起了眉梢，脸上浮出打趣的微笑。

“这家伙来了。这一着我倒没料到。华生，拉网吧！这家伙是个有胆量的人。你大概听说过他作为一个大型比赛中的射手的名声吧。要是他能把我也收在他的成功的运动记录上头，那倒是一个胜利的结尾。这说明他已经感觉到我在收网了。”

“叫警察！”

“恐怕得叫，但不是马上。华生，你能不能从窗口看一下，街上是不是有一个人在溜达？”

华生小心地从帘子边上望了望。

“不错，有一个彪形大汉在门口晃荡。”

“那就是莫尔顿——忠心而低能的塞姆。毕利，来访的那个先生在什么地方？”

“在会客室。”

“等我一按铃，你就带他上来。”

“是，先生。”

“要是我不在屋，你也让他一个人进屋。”

“是，先生。”

华生等毕利出去一关上门，就立刻对福尔摩斯严肃地说：

“我说，福尔摩斯，这可不行。这个人是个亡命徒，是个不管不顾的人，他可能是来谋杀你的。”

“我并不感到奇怪。”

“我不走，我跟你一起。”

“你只会碍事。”

“碍他的事？”

“不，我的伙伴，是碍我的事。”

“那我也不能离开你。”

“华生，你走没关系，你会走的，因为你从来没有让我失望过。我相信你会这样做到底的。这个人虽说是为了达到自己的目的而来，倒反而能为我的目的服务。"说着他掏出日记本，匆匆写了几行字。“你把这个送到苏格兰场一交一给侦查处的尤格尔。然后你跟警察一起来。那就可以逮捕这家伙了。”

“我会高高兴兴照办的。”

“在你到来之前我刚好有时间找回宝石。"说着他按了一下铃。"咱们最好从卧室门走出去。这个旁门非常有用。我想在一边看看我的老鲨鱼，你知道我有特殊的办法。”

于是，一分钟以后，毕利把西尔维亚斯伯爵让到空屋子里来了。这位有名的猎兽家、运动员兼花花公子是一个魁梧、黝一黑的男子，留着威武的黑一胡一须，盖着下面凶残的薄嘴唇，上面伸着一个鹰嘴似的长而弯的鼻子。他服饰考究，但是花色领结以及闪闪发光的别针和戒指给人一种浮华的感觉。当他身后的门关上之后，他用凶恶而惊愕的目光到处乱看了一遍，仿佛每走一步都唯恐有陷阱似的。当他突然发现窗前安乐椅上方的头和睡衣领子时，他猛然吃了一惊。起初他的表情纯是惊奇，接着在他凶残的黑眼睛里闪现出一种可怕的希冀的光。他向四周看了一下，见确实没有人在场作证，他就举起粗手杖、踮起脚尖朝无声的人形走过去。当他正蜷身准备猛跳过去一击时，突然从卧室门口有一个冷静而讥讽的声音向他说道：“不要打坏它，伯爵！不要打破！”

凶手吓得一缩，痉一挛的脸上充满惊恐之色。刹时间他又半举起那根加铅的手杖，仿佛又要对真人行凶似的，但是福尔摩斯那镇静的灰眼睛和讥讽的微笑使他的手又放了下来。

“这个玩意儿不错，”福尔摩斯说着朝人形踱过去。"是法国塑像家塔韦尼埃做的。他做蜡像的技巧不下于你的朋友斯特劳本齐做汽槍。”

“什么汽槍！你说的是什么？”

“请把帽子手杖放在茶几上。好！请坐。你愿意把手槍摘下来吗？好吧，你愿带着坐也随你的便。你的来访非常巧，因为我本来也很想找你稍微聊一聊。”

伯爵把粗眉一毛一一拧。

“我么，也是想跟你谈谈，所以才来的，福尔摩斯。我不否认刚才我是想揍你。”

福尔摩斯动了一下靠着桌边的腿。

“我看出来你有这种想法了，"他说。“不过，对我本人的关怀是怎么来的呢？”

“因为你专门跟我捣乱。因为你派出你的爪牙跟踪我。”

“什么？我的爪牙！没那回事！”

“别装蒜！我叫人跟着他们来着。两方面都可以干这个，福尔摩斯。”

“这倒没什么，西尔维亚斯伯爵，不过请你叫我名字的时候要加称呼。你应该知道，我干的这一行，只有流一氓才象熟人那样直呼我的名字，你也会同意我的看法，不遵守正常礼貌是不利的。”

“好吧，那就福尔摩斯先生吧。”

“很好！我告诉你吧，你说我派人跟踪你的话是不对的。”

伯爵轻蔑地笑了。

“别人也会象你一样跟踪。昨天有一个闲散老头子。今天又是一个老太婆。他们盯了我一整天。”

“说实在的，先生，你可真恭维我了。昨天道森老男爵还打赌说，我这个人，干了法律，亏了戏剧界了。怎么你今天也来抬举我的小小化装技术了？”

“那难道——是你本人么？”

福尔摩斯耸了耸肩。"你看墙角那把一陽一伞，就是你开始怀疑我以前在敏诺里替一我拾起来的。”

“要是我晓得是你，你就甭打算——”

“再回到这个寒舍了。我很明白这一点。你我都悔不该错过了好机会。既然你当时不知道是我，所以咱们又碰头了。”

伯爵的眉一毛一拧得更紧了。"你这么一说更严重了。不是你的探子而是你本人化装，你这个没事找事的！你承认你跟踪我。为什么跟踪？”

“得了，伯爵，你过去在阿尔及利亚打过狮子的。”

“那又怎么样？”

“为什么打猎？”

“为什么？为了玩——为了刺激——为了冒险。”

“也为了给国家除一害吧？”

“正是。”

“这也正是我的理由！”

伯爵一下跳起来，手不由自主地朝后裤袋摸去。

“坐下，先生，坐下！还有一个更实际的理由，我要那颗发黄光的宝石。”

伯爵往椅背上一靠，脸上露出狰狞的笑。

“原来如此！"他说道。

“你明知道我是为这个盯着你的。你今晚来的目的就是摸清我到底掌握你多少情况，消灭我有多大必要。好吧。我告诉你，从你的角度来说那是绝对必要的，因为我一切都知道，只除了一点，这是你即将告诉我的。”

“好哇！请问，你要知道的这点是什么呢？”

“宝石现在什么地方。”

伯爵警觉地看了他一眼。“这么说，你是想知道那个喽？但我怎么能告诉你它在什么地方呢？”

“你能的，你一定会这样做。”

“嗬！”

“你岂不了我，伯爵。"福尔摩斯两眼盯着他，越盯越亮，最后成了两个有威力的钢点一般。"你是一块玻璃砖。我能看穿你的脑袋。”

“那你当然能看出宝石在什么地方了。”

福尔摩斯高兴地把手一拍，然后伸出一个指头嘲弄道：“这么说你确实知道了，你已经承认了。”

“我什么也没承认。”

“我说，伯爵，你要是放明白些，咱们可以打打一交一道。否则，对你不利。”

伯爵把头一仰，眼瞧着天花板。"你还说我诈你呢！"他说道。

福尔摩斯出神地看着他，如同一位下棋能手在思考着关键的一着。然后他拉开一抽一屉取出一本厚厚的日记本。

“你知道这里面是什么吗？”

“不知道，先生。”

“是你！”

“我！”

“正是你！你的全部经历——每一件罪恶的冒险勾当。”

“他一妈一的，福尔摩斯！"伯爵两眼冒火地喊道，“我的耐一性一是有限度的！”

“全都在这儿，伯爵。比如哈罗德老太太的死亡真相，她把布莱默产业留给了你，而你立刻就赌光了。”

“你在说梦话吧！”

“以及瓦伦黛小一姐的全部生气事迹。”

“-！那你捞不到什么！”

“还有的是。这里是一八九二年二月十三日在里维埃拉头等火车上抢劫的记录。这个是同一年在里昂的银行的伪造支票案。”

“这个你说的不对。”

“这么说别的都对了！嗨，伯爵，你是一个会打牌的人。在对手掌握了全部王牌的时候，一交一出你的牌是最省时间的了。”

“你说这些和你刚才讲的宝石有什么关系？”

“慢一点，伯爵。不要着急！让我来照我的简单平常的方式把话说明白。我掌握着这些针对你的情况，但在这一切之上的，我还完全掌握着你和你那个打手在王冠宝石案中的情况。”

“嗬！当真？”

“我掌握着送你到白金汉宫的马车夫，带你离开的马车夫。我掌握在出事地点看见过你的看门人。我掌握艾奇-桑德斯的情况，他不肯给你破开宝石。艾奇已经自首了。你的事露了。”

伯爵头上的青筋全胀起来了。他那多一毛一的大手紧张地绞在一起。他似乎要说话，但吐不出字来。

“这就是我的牌，"福尔摩斯说。"现在我都摊出来。但是缺一张牌，是那张方块Ｋ。我不知道宝石在哪里。”

“你不会知道了。”

“真的吗？伯爵，放明白点，你权衡一下轻重。你将被关押二十年。塞姆也一样。那你要宝石有什么用呢？毫无用处。而如果你把宝石一交一出来——那我就搞一个不起诉。我们需要的不是抓住你或塞姆。我们要的是宝石。一交一出宝石，那么，只要你将来老老实实，我个人意见是放你自一由。如果你再出乱子——那就下不为例。这次我的任务是拿到宝石，而不是抓住你。”

“如果我不干呢？”

“那个么，很遗憾，那只有抓你而不取宝石。”

这时毕利听到铃响走来。

“伯爵，我觉得不如也把你的朋友塞姆找来一起商量。不管怎么说，他的利益使他也应该有发言权。毕利，大门外有一个块头挺大、挺难看的先生。请他上楼来。”

“如果他不来呢，先生？”

“不要强迫。不要跟他动武。只要你告诉他西尔维亚斯伯爵找他，他当然会来的。”

“你打算怎么办？"毕利一走，伯爵就问道。

“方才我的朋友华生也在这里。我对他说，我网里捉到一条鲨鱼和一条-鱼；现在我要拉网了，它们就会一起浮起来了。”

伯爵站了起来，一只手伸到背后。福尔摩斯握住睡衣口袋里的一样鼓起的东西。

“你得不了善终，福尔摩斯。”

“我也时常有这个念头。这有多大关系吗？说实在的，伯爵，你自己的退场倒是躺着比立着的可能一性一更大一些。但是忧虑未来是病态的。为什么不让自己尽情享受当前呢？”

突然从这位犯罪界能手的凶狠的黑眼睛里闪出一股野兽般的凶光。当他变得紧张和戒备时，福尔摩斯显得更高大了。“朋友，动手槍是没有用的，"福尔摩斯镇静自若地说。“你自己也知道，就算我给你时间去拿槍，你也不敢用槍。手槍是噪音很大的玩意儿，伯爵。还是用品槍好。噢，来了，我听见你可敬的合伙人的脚步声了。你好，莫尔顿先生。在街上怪闷的吧，是吗？”

这位拳击运动员是一个体格十分壮实的小伙子，长着一张愚蠢、任一性一的扁平脸。他不自然地站在门口，困惑地四下张望。福尔摩斯这种欣然亲切的态度对他来说是没有见过的新鲜事儿，虽然他模糊地意识到这是一种敌意，他却不知道怎样对付它。于是他就向他那位更狡黠的伙伴求救了。

“我说伯爵，现在唱的是什么戏？这个家伙想干什么？到底出了什么事儿？"他的嗓子低沉而沙哑。

伯爵端了端肩膀，倒是福尔摩斯答了话。

“莫尔顿先生，要是允许我用一句话来总括一下情况的话，那叫做全露出来啦。”

拳击运动员还是对他的同伙讲话。

“这小子是在说笑话呢，还是怎么的？我可没有心思取笑儿。”

“我看也是，"福尔摩斯说道，“我看我可以担保你今天晚上会越来越不想笑。嗨，伯爵先生，我是一个忙人，我不能一浪一费时间。现在我进那间卧室去。我不在屋，请你们务必不要拘束客气。你可以不必拘着我的面子，把目前情况跟你的伙伴说清楚。我去练我的小提琴，拉一支《威尼斯船夫曲》。五分钟以后我再回这屋来听你的最后答复。我想你是听明白我才说的最后选择了吧？我们是得到你，还是得到宝石？”

说完福尔摩斯就走了，顺手从墙角拿走了小提琴。不一会儿，就从那闭着房门的卧室里传来了幽怨连绵的曲调。

“到底是怎么回事？"莫尔顿没等他朋友来得及开口就着急地问道。"莫非他知道宝石的底细啦？”

“他掌握的实在他一妈一的太多了。我不敢保险他是不是全都知道了。”

“我的老天爷！"这位拳击运动员的灰黄色的脸更苍白了。

“艾奇把咱们给卖了。”

“真的？真的吗？我非宰了他不可，我豁出上绞架了！”

“那也不顶事。咱们得赶紧决定怎么办。”

“等一等，"拳击运动员怀疑地朝卧室望了望。"这小子是个一精一明鬼，得防他一手，他是不是在偷一听？”

“他正在奏琴怎么能偷一听呢？”

“倒也是。但也许有人藏在帘子后面偷一听呢。这屋的挂帘也实在多。"说着他向四周望了望。这时他第一次发现了福尔摩斯的蜡像，吃惊得伸出手来指着它，连话都说不出来了。

“-，那是蜡像！"伯爵说。

“假的？好家伙，吓坏了我啦。谁也看不出是假的。跟他一模一样，还穿着睡衣哪。但是，伯爵，你看这些帘子！”

“别管什么帘子不帘子了！咱们正在耽误时间，没多少时间了。他马上就可能为宝石的事儿把咱们给押起来。”

“他一妈一的这小子！”

“但是只要咱们告诉他宝石藏在什么地方，他就放开手不管了。”

“怎么！一交一出宝石！一交一出十万镑？”

“两条道儿挑一条。”

莫尔顿用手去抓自己的短头发的脑袋。

“他是一个人在这儿。咱们把他干掉吧。要是这家伙闭上了眼，咱们就没的怕了。”

伯爵摇了摇头。

“他是有槍有准备的。要是咱们开槍打死他，在这么个热闹地方也很难逃走。再说，很可能警察已经知道他掌握的证据。嘿！什么声儿？”

似乎从窗口发出一声模糊不清的声响。两个人立即转过身来，但什么也没有。除了那个怪像坐在那里之外，房间是空的。

“是街上的响声，"莫尔顿说，“我说，掌柜的，你是有脑子的人。你当然能想出办法来。要是动武不行，那我听你的。”

“比他更强的人我也骗过，"伯爵答道，“宝石就在我的暗口袋里。我不能冒险把它乱放在别处。今晚就能将它送出英国，在星期天以前就可以在阿姆斯特丹把它切成四块了。他不知道范-塞达尔这个人。”

“我还当塞达尔是下周才走呢。”

“本来是的。但现在他必须立即动身。你我必须有一个人带着宝石溜到莱姆街去告诉他。”

“但是假底座还没做好呢。”

“那他也得就这么带走，冒险去办。一分钟也不能耽误了。"他再一次象一个运动员本能地感到危险时那样，狠狠地看了看窗口。不错，刚才的声响确实是来自街上的。

“至于福尔摩斯么，"他接着说道，“我们可以很容易地骗他。知道吗，这个笨蛋只要能拿到宝石就不逮捕咱们。那好吧，咱们答应给他宝石。咱们告诉他错误线索，不等他发现上当咱们就到荷兰了。”

“这主意我赞成！"莫尔顿一边咧嘴笑一边喊道。

“你去告诉荷兰人赶紧行动起来。我来对付这个傻瓜，假装检讨一番。我就说宝石在利物浦放着哪。一妈一的，这音乐真烦人！等他发现宝石不在利物浦的时候，宝石已经切成四块啦，咱们也在大海上啦。过来，躲开门上的钥匙孔。给你宝石。”

“你可真敢把它带在身上。”

“这儿不是最保险的地方吗？既然咱们能把它拿出白金汉宫，别人也能把它从我住所拿走。”

“让我仔细参观参观它。”

伯爵不以为然地瞅了一眼他的同伴，没理那伸过来的脏手。

“怎么着？你当我会抢你吗？一妈一的，你跟我来这一套我可受不了！”

“行了，行了，别动火，塞姆。咱们现在可千万不能吵架。到这边窗口来才看得清楚。拿它对着光线，给你！”

“多谢！”

福尔摩斯从蜡像的椅子上一跃而起，一把就抢过宝石。他一只手攥着宝石，另一只手用手槍指着伯爵的脑袋。这两个流一氓完全不知所措，吃惊得倒退了几步。他们惊魂未定，福尔摩斯已经按了电铃。

“不要动武，先生们，我求你们不要动武，看在一屋子家具的面上！你们应当知道反抗对你们是不合适的，警察就在楼下。”

伯爵的困惑超过了他的愤怒和恐惧。

“你是从什么地方——？"他上岂不接下平地说着。

“你的惊讶是可以理解的。你没注意到，我的卧室还有一个门直通这帘子后边。我本来想当我搬走蜡像的时候你一定听见声响了，但我很幸运。这样就使我有机会来聆听你们的生动谈话，要是你们觉察我在场，那谈话就没这么自然了。”

伯爵做了一个绝望无奈的表情。

“真有你的，福尔摩斯。我相信你就是魔鬼撒旦本人。”

“至少离他不远吧，"福尔摩斯谦虚地笑道。

塞姆-莫尔顿的迟钝头脑半天才弄明白是怎么回事。直到楼梯上响起沉重的脚步声了，他才开了腔。

“没的说！"他说道，“不过，这个拉琴声是怎么来的？现在还响呢！”

“不错，"福尔摩斯答道。"你想的很对。让它继续放吧！如今这唱机确是一种了不起的新发明。”

警察蜂拥而入，手铐响过之后犯人就给带到门口的马车上去了。华生留了下来，祝贺福尔摩斯在他的探案史上又添了光辉的一页。说话之间，不动声色的毕利又拿着盛名片的托盘进来了。

“坎特米尔勋爵驾到。”

“请他上来吧，毕利。这就是那位代表最高阶层的贵族名士，"福尔摩斯说道，“他是一个出色的忠实的人物，但是有些迂腐。要不要稍稍捉弄他一下？冒昧地开他一个玩笑如何？照理说，他当然还不知道刚才发生的情况。”

门开了，进来一位清瘦庄严的人，清瘦的面孔上垂着维多利亚中期式的光亮黑颊须，这与他的拱肩弱步颇觉不相称。福尔摩斯热情地迎上前去握住那漠然缺乏反应的手。

“坎特米尔勋爵，您好！今年天气够冷的，不过屋里还够热，我帮您脱脱大衣好吗？”

“不必，谢谢。我不想脱。”

但福尔摩斯硬是拉住袖子不放手。<