福尔摩斯-恐怖谷 The Valley of Fear（2）

Chapter II.

Sherlock Holmes Discourses

It was one of those dramatic moments for which my friend existed. It would be an overstatement to say that he was shocked or even excited by the amazing announcement. Without having a tinge of cruelty in his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from long over-stimulation. Yet, if his emotions were dulled, his intellectual perceptions were exceedingly active. There was no trace then of the horror which I had myself felt at this curt declaration; but his face showed rather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees the crystals falling into position from his oversaturated solution.

“Remarkable!” said he. “Remarkable!”

“You don't seem surprised.”

“Interested, Mr. Mac, but hardly surprised. Why should I be surprised? I receive an anonymous communication from a quarter which I know to be important, warning me that danger threatens a certain person. Within an hour I learn that this danger has actually materialized and that the person is dead. I am interested; but, as you observe, I am not surprised.”

In a few short sentences he explained to the inspector the facts about the letter and the cipher. MacDonald sat with his chin on his hands and his great sandy eyebrows bunched into a yellow tangle.

“I was going down to Birlstone this morning,” said he. “I had come to ask you if you cared to come with me—you and your friend here. But from what you say we might perhaps be doing better work in London.”

“I rather think not,” said Holmes.

“Hang it all, Mr. Holmes!” cried the inspector. “The papers will be full of the Birlstone mystery in a day or two; but where's the mystery if there is a man in London who prophesied the crime before ever it occurred? We have only to lay our hands on that man, and the rest will follow.”

“No doubt, Mr. Mac. But how do you propose to lay your hands on the so-called Porlock?”

MacDonald turned over the letter which Holmes had handed him. “Posted in Camberwell—that doesn't help us much. Name, you say, is assumed. Not much to go on, certainly. Didn't you say that you have sent him money?”

“Twice.”

“And how?”

“In notes to Camberwell post-office.”

“Did you ever trouble to see who called for them?”

“No.”

The inspector looked surprised and a little shocked. “Why not?”

“Because I always keep faith. I had promised when he first wrote that I would not try to trace him.”

“You think there is someone behind him?”

“I know there is.”

“This professor that I've heard you mention?”

“Exactly!”

Inspector MacDonald smiled, and his eyelid quivered as he glanced towards me. “I won't conceal from you, Mr. Holmes, that we think in the C. I. D. that you have a wee bit of a bee in your bonnet over this professor. I made some inquiries myself about the matter. He seems to be a very respectable, learned, and talented sort of man.”

“I'm glad you've got so far as to recognize the talent.”

“Man, you can't but recognize it! After I heard your view I made it my business to see him. I had a chat with him on eclipses. How the talk got that way I canna think; but he had out a reflector lantern and a globe, and made it all clear in a minute. He lent me a book; but I don't mind saying that it was a bit above my head, though I had a good Aberdeen upbringing. He'd have made a grand meenister with his thin face and gray hair and solemn-like way of talking. When he put his hand on my shoulder as we were parting, it was like a father's blessing before you go out into the cold, cruel world.”

Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. “Great!” he said. “Great! Tell me, Friend MacDonald, this pleasing and touching interview was, I suppose, in the professor's study?”

“That's so.”

“A fine room, is it not?”

“Very fine—very handsome indeed, Mr. Holmes.”

“You sat in front of his writing desk?”

“Just so.”

“Sun in your eyes and his face in the shadow?”

“Well, it was evening; but I mind that the lamp was turned on my face.”

“It would be. Did you happen to observe a picture over the professor's head?”

“I don't miss much, Mr. Holmes. Maybe I learned that from you. Yes, I saw the picture—a young woman with her head on her hands, peeping at you sideways.”

“That painting was by Jean Baptiste Greuze.”

The inspector endeavoured to look interested.

“Jean Baptiste Greuze,” Holmes continued, joining his finger tips and leaning well back in his chair, “was a French artist who flourished between the years 1750 and 1800. I allude, of course to his working career. Modern criticism has more than indorsed the high opinion formed of him by his contemporaries.”

The inspector's eyes grew abstracted. “Hadn't we better—” he said.

“We are doing so,” Holmes interrupted. “All that I am saying has a very direct and vital bearing upon what you have called the Birlstone Mystery. In fact, it may in a sense be called the very centre of it.”

MacDonald smiled feebly, and looked appealingly to me. “Your thoughts move a bit too quick for me, Mr. Holmes. You leave out a link or two, and I can't get over the gap. What in the whole wide world can be the connection between this dead painting man and the affair at Birlstone?”

“All knowledge comes useful to the detective,” remarked Holmes. “Even the trivial fact that in the year 1865 a picture by Greuze entitled La Jeune Fille a l'Agneau fetched one million two hundred thousand francs—more than forty thousand pounds—at the Portalis sale may start a train of reflection in your mind.”

It was clear that it did. The inspector looked honestly interested.

“I may remind you,” Holmes continued, “that the professor's salary can be ascertained in several trustworthy books of reference. It is seven hundred a year.”

“Then how could he buy—”

“Quite so! How could he?”

“Ay, that's remarkable,” said the inspector thoughtfully. “Talk away, Mr. Holmes. I'm just loving it. It's fine!”

Holmes smiled. He was always warmed by genuine admiration—the characteristic of the real artist. “What about Birlstone?” he asked.

“We've time yet,” said the inspector, glancing at his watch. “I've a cab at the door, and it won't take us twenty minutes to Victoria. But about this picture: I thought you told me once, Mr. Holmes, that you had never met Professor Moriarty.”

“No, I never have.”

“Then how do you know about his rooms?”

“Ah, that's another matter. I have been three times in his rooms, twice waiting for him under different pretexts and leaving before he came. Once—well, I can hardly tell about the once to an official detective. It was on the last occasion that I took the liberty of running over his papers—with the most unexpected results.”

“You found something compromising?”

“Absolutely nothing. That was what amazed me. However, you have now seen the point of the picture. It shows him to be a very wealthy man. How did he acquire wealth? He is unmarried. His younger brother is a station master in the west of England. His chair is worth seven hundred a year. And he owns a Greuze.”

“Well?”

“Surely the inference is plain.”

“You mean that he has a great income and that he must earn it in an illegal fashion?”

“Exactly. Of course I have other reasons for thinking so—dozens of exiguous threads which lead vaguely up towards the centre of the web where the poisonous, motionless creature is lurking. I only mention the Greuze because it brings the matter within the range of your own observation.”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, I admit that what you say is interesting: it's more than interesting—it's just wonderful. But let us have it a little clearer if you can. Is it forgery, coining, burglary—where does the money come from?”

“Have you ever read of Jonathan Wild?”

“Well, the name has a familiar sound. Someone in a novel, was he not? I don't take much stock of detectives in novels—chaps that do things and never let you see how they do them. That's just inspiration: not business.”

“Jonathan Wild wasn't a detective, and he wasn't in a novel. He was a master criminal, and he lived last century—1750 or thereabouts.”

“Then he's no use to me. I'm a practical man.”

“Mr. Mac, the most practical thing that you ever did in your life would be to shut yourself up for three months and read twelve hours a day at the annals of crime. Everything comes in circles—even Professor Moriarty. Jonathan Wild was the hidden force of the London criminals, to whom he sold his brains and his organization on a fifteen per cent commission. The old wheel turns, and the same spoke comes up. It's all been done before, and will be again. I'll tell you one or two things about Moriarty which may interest you.”

“You'll interest me, right enough.”

“I happen to know who is the first link in his chain—a chain with this Napoleon-gone-wrong at one end, and a hundred broken fighting men, pickpockets, blackmailers, and card sharpers at the other, with every sort of crime in between. His chief of staff is Colonel Sebastian Moran, as aloof and guarded and inaccessible to the law as himself. What do you think he pays him?”

“I'd like to hear.”

“Six thousand a year. That's paying for brains, you see—the American business principle. I learned that detail quite by chance. It's more than the Prime Minister gets. That gives you an idea of Moriarty's gains and of the scale on which he works. Another point: I made it my business to hunt down some of Moriarty's checks lately—just common innocent checks that he pays his household bills with. They were drawn on six different banks. Does that make any impression on your mind?”

“Queer, certainly! But what do you gather from it?”

“That he wanted no gossip about his wealth. No single man should know what he had. I have no doubt that he has twenty banking accounts; the bulk of his fortune abroad in the Deutsche Bank or the Credit Lyonnais as likely as not. Sometime when you have a year or two to spare I commend to you the study of Professor Moriarty.”

Inspector MacDonald had grown steadily more impressed as the conversation proceeded. He had lost himself in his interest. Now his practical Scotch intelligence brought him back with a snap to the matter in hand.

“He can keep, anyhow,” said he. “You've got us side-tracked with your interesting anecdotes, Mr. Holmes. What really counts is your remark that there is some connection between the professor and the crime. That you get from the warning received through the man Porlock. Can we for our present practical needs get any further than that?”

“We may form some conception as to the motives of the crime. It is, as I gather from your original remarks, an inexplicable, or at least an unexplained, murder. Now, presuming that the source of the crime is as we suspect it to be, there might be two different motives. In the first place, I may tell you that Moriarty rules with a rod of iron over his people. His discipline is tremendous. There is only one punishment in his code. It is death. Now we might suppose that this murdered man—this Douglas whose approaching fate was known by one of the arch-criminal's subordinates—had in some way betrayed the chief. His punishment followed, and would be known to all—if only to put the fear of death into them.”

“Well, that is one suggestion, Mr. Holmes.”

“The other is that it has been engineered by Moriarty in the ordinary course of business. Was there any robbery?”

“I have not heard.”

“If so, it would, of course, be against the first hypothesis and in favour of the second. Moriarty may have been engaged to engineer it on a promise of part spoils, or he may have been paid so much down to manage it. Either is possible. But whichever it may be, or if it is some third combination, it is down at Birlstone that we must seek the solution. I know our man too well to suppose that he has left anything up here which may lead us to him.”

“Then to Birlstone we must go!” cried MacDonald, jumping from his chair. “My word! it's later than I thought. I can give you, gentlemen, five minutes for preparation, and that is all.”

“And ample for us both,” said Holmes, as he sprang up and hastened to change from his dressing gown to his coat. “While we are on our way, Mr. Mac, I will ask you to be good enough to tell me all about it.”

“All about it” proved to be disappointingly little, and yet there was enough to assure us that the case before us might well be worthy of the expert's closest attention. He brightened and rubbed his thin hands together as he listened to the meagre but remarkable details. A long series of sterile weeks lay behind us, and here at last there was a fitting object for those remarkable powers which, like all special gifts, become irksome to their owner when they are not in use. That razor brain blunted and rusted with inaction.

Sherlock Holmes's eyes glistened, his pale cheeks took a warmer hue, and his whole eager face shone with an inward light when the call for work reached him. Leaning forward in the cab, he listened intently to MacDonald's short sketch of the problem which awaited us in Sussex. The inspector was himself dependent, as he explained to us, upon a scribbled account forwarded to him by the milk train in the early hours of the morning. White Mason, the local officer, was a personal friend, and hence MacDonald had been notified much more promptly than is usual at Scotland Yard when provincials need their assistance. It is a very cold scent upon which the Metropolitan expert is generally asked to run.

“Dear Inspector MacDonald [said the letter which he read to us]:

“Official requisition for your services is in separate envelope. This is for your private eye. Wire me what train in the morning you can get for Birlstone, and I will meet it—or have it met if I am too occupied. This case is a snorter. Don't waste a moment in getting started. If you can bring Mr. Holmes, please do so; for he will find something after his own heart. We would think the whole thing had been fixed up for theatrical effect if there wasn't a dead man in the middle of it. My word! it is a snorter.“

“Your friend seems to be no fool,” remarked Holmes.

“No, sir, White Mason is a very live man, if I am any judge.”

“Well, have you anything more?”

“Only that he will give us every detail when we meet.”

“Then how did you get at Mr. Douglas and the fact that he had been horribly murdered?”

“That was in the enclosed official report. It didn't say ‘horrible’: that's not a recognized official term. It gave the name John Douglas. It mentioned that his injuries had been in the head, from the discharge of a shotgun. It also mentioned the hour of the alarm, which was close on to midnight last night. It added that the case was undoubtedly one of murder, but that no arrest had been made, and that the case was one which presented some very perplexing and extraordinary features. That's absolutely all we have at present, Mr. Holmes.”

“Then, with your permission, we will leave it at that, Mr. Mac. The temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data is the bane of our profession. I can see only two things for certain at present—a great brain in London, and a dead man in Sussex. It's the chain between that we are going to trace.”

二　福尔摩斯的论述

这又是一个富于戏剧一性一的时刻，我的朋友就是为这样的时刻而生的。如果说这个惊人的消息使他吃了一惊，或者说哪怕使他有所激动，那都言过其实了。尽避在他的癖一性一中不存在残忍的成分，可是由于长期过度兴奋，他无疑变得冷漠起来。然而，他的感情固然淡漠了，他的理智的洞察力却极端的敏锐。这个简短的消息使我感到恐怖，可是福尔摩斯却丝毫不露声色，他的脸上显得颇为镇静而沉着，正象一个化学家看到结晶体从过饱和溶液里分离出来一样。

“意外！意外！"他说。

“看来你并不感到吃惊啊！”

“麦克先生，这只不过是引起了我的注意罢了，决不是吃惊。我为什么要吃惊呢？我从某方面接到一封匿名信并知道这封信非常重要。它警告我说危险正威胁着某个人。一小时之内，我得知这个危险已成为现实，而那个人已经死了。正象你看到的那样，它引起了我的注意，可我并不吃惊。”

他把这封信和密码的来由向那警官简单讲了一遍。麦克唐纳双手托着下巴坐着，两道淡茶色的浓眉蹙成一一团一。

“今天早晨我本来是要到伯尔斯通去的，"麦克唐纳说，

“我来的目的就是问一下你和你的这位朋友是否愿意和我一起去。不过，从你刚才的话来看，我们在伦敦也许能办得更好些。”

“我倒不这样想，"福尔摩斯说。

“真是活见鬼了！埃尔摩斯先生，"警官大声喊道，“一两天内，报上就该登满伯尔斯通之谜了。可是既然在罪行还没有发生以前，已经有人在伦敦预料到了，那还算得上什么谜呢？我们只要捉住这个人，其余的一切就迎刃而解了。”

“这是毫无疑问的，麦克先生。可是你打算怎样去捉住这个所谓的波尔洛克呢？”

麦克唐纳把福尔摩斯递给他的那封信翻过来说：“是从坎伯韦尔投寄的——这对我们也没有太大帮助。你说名字是假名。这当然不会有什么进展。你不是说你曾给他送过钱么？”

“送过两次。”

“怎样送给他的？”

“把钞票寄到坎伯韦尔邮局。”

“你没有设法去看看是谁取走的？”

“没有。”

警官显出吃惊的样子，而且有些诧异地说：“为什么没有呢？”

“因为我一贯守信用。他第一次写信给我时，我曾经答应不去追查他的行踪。”

“你认为他背后有个什么人吗？”

“我当然知道有。”

“就是我曾经听你提到过的那位教授吗？”

“一点也不错！”

警官麦克唐纳微微一笑，他向我瞥了一眼，眼皮连连眨动着：“不瞒你说，福尔摩斯先生，我们民间犯罪调查部都认为你对这位教授有一点儿偏见。关于这件事，我曾经亲自去调查过。他很象是一个非常可敬的、有学问的、有才能的人啊！”

“我很高兴你们竟赏识起这位天才来了。”

“老兄，人们不能不佩服他啊！在我听到你的看法以后，我就决心去看看他。我和他就日蚀的问题闲谈了一阵。我想不起来怎么会谈到这上面去的，不过他那时拿出一个反光灯和一个地球仪来，一下子就把原理说得明明白白了。他借给了我一本书，不过不怕你笑话，尽避我在阿伯丁受过很好的教育，我还是有些看不懂。他面容瘦削，头发灰白，说话时神态严肃，完全可以当一个极好的牧师呢。在我们分手的时候，他把手放在我肩上，就象父亲在你走上冷酷凶残的社会之前为你祝福似的。”

福尔摩斯格格地笑着，一边一搓一着手，一边说道：“好极了！好极了！麦克唐纳，我的朋友，请你告诉我，这次兴致盎然、感人肺腑的会见，我想大概是在教授的书房里进行的吧。”

“是这样。”

“一个很一精一致的房间，不是吗？”

“非常一精一致——实在非常华丽，福尔摩斯先生。”

“你是坐在他写字台对面吗？”

“正是这样。”

“太一陽一照着你的眼睛，而他的脸则在暗处，对吗？”

“嗯，那是在晚上；可是我记得当时灯光照在我的脸上。”

“这是当然的了。你可曾注意到教授座位上方墙上挂着一张画吗？”

“我不会漏过什么的，福尔摩斯先生。也许这是我从你那里学来的本领。不错，我看见那张画了——是一个年轻的女子，两手托着头，斜睨着人。”

“那是让·巴普蒂斯特·格罗兹的油画。”

警官尽力显得很感兴趣。

“让·巴普蒂斯特·格罗兹，"福尔摩斯两手指尖抵着指尖，仰靠在椅背上，继续说道，“他是一位法国画家，在一七五○年到一八○○年之间是显赫一时的。当然，我是指他绘画生涯说的。和格罗兹同时代的人对他评价很高，现时的评价，比那时还要高。”

警官双眼显出茫然不解的样子，说道：“我们最好还是……”

“我们正是在谈这件事情啊，"福尔摩斯打断他的话说，

“我所说的这一切都与你所称之为伯尔斯通之谜的案件有非常直接和极为重要的关系。事实上，在某种意义上可以说正是这一案件的中心呢。”

麦克唐纳用求助的眼光看着我，勉强地笑着说：“对我来讲，你的思路转动得有点太快了，福尔摩斯先生。你省略了一两个环节，可我就摸不着头脑了。到底这个已死的画家和伯尔斯通事件有什么关系呢？”

“一切知识对于侦探来说都是有用的，"福尔摩斯指出道，“一八六五年时，格罗兹一幅题名为牧羊少女的画，在波梯利斯拍卖时，卖到一百二十万法郎——论英镑也在四万以上——即使这样一件琐细的小事，也可以引起你的无限深思呢。”

显然，这确实引起警官的深思，他认认真真地注意听着。

“我可以提醒你，"福尔摩斯继续说下去，“教授的薪金可以从几本可靠的参考书中判断出来，每年是七百镑。”

“那他怎能买得起……”

“完全是这样！他怎能买得起呢？”

“啊，这是值得注意的，"警官深思地说，“请你继续讲下去吧，福尔摩斯先生，我真一爱一听极了，简直太妙了！”

福尔摩斯笑了笑。他受到人家真诚的钦佩时总是感到一温一暖——这可以说是一个真正的艺术家的一性一格。他这时问道：“到伯尔斯通去的事怎么样了呢？”

“我们还有时间呢，"警官瞅了一下表说，“我有一辆马车等在门口，用不了二十分钟就可以到维多利亚车站。可是讲起这幅画来，福尔摩斯先生，我记得你曾经对我说过一次，你从来没有见到过莫里亚蒂教授啊。”

“对，我从来没有见到过他。”

“那你怎么能知道他房间里的情形呢？”

“啊，这可是另外一回事了。我到他房一中去过三次，有两次用不同的借口等候他，在他回来之前，就离开了。还有一次，啊，我可不便对一个官方侦探讲了。那是最后一次，我擅自把他的文件匆匆检查了一下，获得了完全意外的结果。”

“你发现了什么可疑的东西吗？”

“一点也没有。这正是使我惊奇的地方。不管怎样，你现在已经看到这张画所具有的意义了。它说明莫里亚蒂是一个极为富有的人。他怎么搞到这些财富的呢？他还没有结婚。他的弟弟是英格兰西部一个车站的站长。他的教授职位每年是七百镑。而他竟拥有一张格罗兹的油画。”

“嗯？”

“这样一推论，自然就明白了。”

“你的意思是说他有很大的收入，而这个收入是用非法的手段得来的吗？”

“一点不错，当然我还有别的理由这样想——许多蛛丝马迹，隐隐约约地通向蛛网的中心，而这个毒虫却一动也不动地在那里潜伏着。我仅只提起一个格罗兹，因为你自己已经亲眼见到了。”

“对，福尔摩斯先生，我承认刚才你所讲的那些话是很有意思的，不只非常有意思，简直奇妙极了。不过，如果你能把它讲得再清楚一些就更好了。究竟他的钱是从哪儿来的？伪造钞票？私铸硬币？还是盗窃来的？”

“你看过关于乔纳森·怀尔德的故事吗？”

“啊，这个名字听起来倒是很熟悉的。他是一本小说里的人物吧！是不是？我对于小说里的侦探们向来是不感兴趣的。这些家伙做什么事总是不让人家知道他们是怎样做的。那只不过是灵机一动的事，算不上办案。”

“乔纳森·怀尔德不是侦探，也不是小说里的人物，他是一个罪魁，生在上一世纪——一七五○年前后。”

“那么，他对我就没有什么用处了，我是一个讲究实际的人。”

“麦克先生，你一生最实际的事，就是应该闭门读书三个月，每天读十二个小时犯罪史。任何事物都是往复循环的——甚至莫里亚蒂教授也是如此。乔纳森·怀尔德是伦敦罪犯们的幕后推动力，他靠他那诡谲的头脑和他的组织势力从伦敦罪犯那里收取百分之十五的佣金。旧时代的车轮在旋转，同一根轮辐还会转回来的。过去所发生的一切，将来还是要发生的。我要告诉你一两件关于莫里亚蒂的事，它会使你感兴趣的。”

“你讲的一定会使我非常感兴趣。”

“我偶然发现莫里亚蒂锁链中的第一个环节——锁链的一端是这位罪大恶极的人物，另一端则有上百个出手伤人的打手、扒手、诈骗犯和靠耍弄花招骗钱的赌棍，中间夹杂着五花八门的罪行。给他们出谋划策的是塞巴斯蒂恩·莫兰上校，而国法对这位参谋长和对莫里亚蒂本人一样无能为力。你知道莫里亚蒂教授给他多少钱吗？”

“我很愿意听一听。”

“一年六千镑。这是他绞尽脑汁的代价。你知道这是美国的商业原则。我了解到这一详情，完全出于偶然。这比一个首相的收入还要多。从这一点就可以想象莫里亚蒂的收入究竟有多少，以及他所从事的活动规模有多大了。另外一点：最近我曾有意地搜集了莫里亚蒂的一些支票——只不过是一些他支付家庭用度的无嫌疑的普通支票。这些支票是从六家不同的银行支取的。这一点使你产生了什么印象呢？”

“当然，非常奇怪！可是你想从这点得出什么结论呢？”

“他不愿让人议论他的财富。谁也别想知道他到底有多少钱。我深信他开了足有二十个银行账户。他的大部分财产很可能存在国外德意志银行或者是利翁内信贷银行。以后当你能有一两年空闲时间的时候，我请你把莫里亚蒂教授好好研究一下。”

这番谈话给麦克唐纳留下了很深的印象，他颇感兴趣地听得出了神。现在他那种讲究实际的苏格兰人一性一格又使他马上转回到当前的案子上来。

“不管怎样，他当然可以存在任何一家银行的，"麦克唐纳说，“你讲这些饶有兴味的轶闻旧史，引得我都离了题，福尔摩斯先生。真正重要的是你所说的：那位教授和这件罪案是有牵连的，就是你从波尔洛克那个人那里收到的警告信上所说的那点。我们能不能为了当前的实际需要再前进一步呢？”

“我们不妨推测一下犯罪动机。我根据你原来所讲的情况来推测，这是一宗莫名片妙的、或者至少是一起难于解释的凶杀案。现在，假定犯罪的起因正象我们所怀疑的那样，可能有两种不同的动机。首先，我可以告诉你，莫里亚蒂用一种铁的手腕来统治他的一党一羽，他的纪律非常严。在他的法典里，只有一种惩戒形式，那就是处死。现在我们可以假定这个被害人道格拉斯以某种方式背叛过他的首领，而他那即将临头的厄运却被这个首领的某个部下知道了。继之而来的就是对他的惩戒，而且这个惩戒也就会被所有的人都知道——其目的不过是要使部下都感到死亡的恐怖。”

“好！这是一种意见。福尔摩斯先生。”

“另一种看法就是惨案的发生是按照那种营生的常规做法由莫里亚蒂策划的了。那里遭到抢劫没有？”

“这个我没有听说。”

“当然，如果是这样，那么第一种假设可能就不符合实际，而第二种假设就较接近实际了。莫里亚蒂可能是在分得部分赃物的应许下参加策划的，不然就是别人给他很多钱叫他主持这一罪恶勾当。两种假设都有可能。可是，不管是第一种还是第二种可能，或者还有什么第三种综合一性一的可能，咱们也必须到伯尔斯通去找答案。我对咱们这个对象可太了解了，他决不会在这里留下任何能使咱们跟踪追击到他名下的线索。”

“那么，咱们非得到伯尔斯通去不可了！"麦克唐纳从椅子上跳起来，大声说道，“哎呀！比我想的要晚多了。先生们，我只能给你们五分钟准备时间，就这样吧。”

“对我们俩来说，这就足够了。"福尔摩斯跳起来，急忙脱一下睡衣，换上外套说道，“麦克先生，等我们上了路，请你把一切情况详细地告诉我。”

“一切情况"少得令人失望，但是它却足以使我们确信，我们面临的案子是非常值得一位专家密切注意的。当福尔摩斯倾听那少得可怜但却值得注意的细节时，他面露喜色，不住一搓一弄两只瘦手。漫长而又百无聊赖的几个星期总算是过去了，眼下终于有了一个适合的案件来发挥那些非凡的才能了，这种非凡的才能，正象一切特殊的禀赋一样，当它毫无用武之地的时候，就变得使它们的主人感到厌倦。敏锐的头脑也会由于无所事事而变得迟钝生锈的。

歇洛克·福尔摩斯遇到了要求他解决的案子，他的两眼炯炯传神，苍白的双颊微现红晕，急于求成的面庞神采奕奕。他坐在车上，上身前倾，聚一精一会神地倾听麦克唐纳讲述这个案子的简要情况。这个案子正等待着我们到苏塞克斯去解决呢。警官向我们解释说，他是根据送给他的一份草草写成的报告讲的，这份报告是清晨通过送牛一奶一的火车带给他的。地方官怀特·梅森是他的好朋友，在别处的人需要他们帮忙的时候，麦克唐纳总是比苏格兰场收到通知要快得多。这是一桩无从下手的案子，这样的案子一般需要由大城市的专家去解决的。“亲一爱一的麦克唐纳警官（他念给我们的信上这样说）：

这信是写给你个人的，另有公文送到警署。请打电报通知我，你坐早晨哪一班车到伯尔斯通来，以便我去迎候。如果我不能脱身，也将派人去接。这个案件不比寻常。请你火速前来，不要耽误一点时间。如果你能和福尔摩斯先生一起来，务请同行。他会发现一些完全合他心意的事。如果不是其中有一个死人，我们就会以为全部案子是戏剧一性一地解决了呢。哎呀，这真是个不寻常的案子啊！”

“你的朋友似乎并不愚蠢，"福尔摩斯说道。

“对，先生，如果让我评价的话，怀特·梅森是一个一精一力非常充沛的人。”

“好，你还有什么别的话要说吗？”

“咱们遇到他时，他会把一切详情告诉咱们的。”

“那么，你是怎么知道道格拉斯先生和他惨遭杀害的事实的？”

“那是随信附来的正式报告上说的。报告上没有用那惨遭二字，这不是一个公认的正式术语，只是说死者叫约翰·道格拉斯，提到他伤在头部，是被火槍射中的；还提到案发的时间是昨晚接近午夜时分；还说这案件无疑是一桩谋杀案，不过还没有对任何人实行拘捕。此案案件具有非常复杂和分外离奇的持点。福尔摩斯先生，这就是当前我们所知道的全部情况。”

“那么，麦克先生，你如果赞成，我们就谈到这里。根据不足过早做出判断，这对咱们的工作是极为有害的。当前我只能肯定两件事——伦敦的一个大智囊和苏塞克斯的死者。我们所要查清的正是这两者之间的联系。”