福尔摩斯-孤身骑车人 The Solitary Cyclist

The Solitary Cyclist

Arthur Conan Doyle

From the years 1894 to 1901 inclusive Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a very busy man. It is safe to say that there was no public case of any difficulty in which he was not consulted during those eight years, and there were hundreds of private cases, some of them of the most intricate and extraordinary character, in which he played a prominent part. Many startling successes and a few unavoidable failures were the outcome of this long period of continuous work. As I have preserved very full notes of all these cases, and was myself personally engaged in many of them, it may be imagined that it is no easy task to know which I should select to lay before the public. I shall, however, preserve my former rule, and give the preference to those cases which derive their interest not so much from the brutality of the crime as from the ingenuity and dramatic quality of the solution. For this reason I will now lay before the reader the facts connected with Miss Violet Smith, the solitary cyclist of Charlington, and the curious sequel of our investigation, which culminated in unexpected tragedy. It is true that the circumstances did not admit of any striking illustration of those powers for which my friend was famous, but there were some points about the case which made it stand out in those long records of crime from which I gather the material for these little narratives.

On referring to my note-book for the year 1895 I find that it was upon Saturday, the 23rd of April, that we first heard of Miss Violet Smith. Her visit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome to Holmes, for he was immersed at the moment in a very abstruse and complicated problem concerning the peculiar persecution to which John Vincent Harden, the well-known tobacco millionaire, had been subjected. My friend, who loved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resented anything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand. And yet without a harshness which was foreign to his nature it was impossible to refuse to listen to the story of the young and beautiful woman, tall, graceful, and queenly, who presented herself at Baker Street late in the evening and implored his assistance and advice. It was vain to urge that his time was already fully occupied, for the young lady had come with the determination to tell her story, and it was evident that nothing short of force could get her out of the room until she had done so. With a resigned air and a somewhat weary smile, Holmes begged the beautiful intruder to take a seat and to inform us what it was that was troubling her.

“At least it cannot be your health,” said he, as his keen eyes darted over her; “so ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy.”

She glanced down in surprise at her own feet, and I observed the slight roughening of the side of the sole caused by the friction of the edge of the pedal.

“Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes, and that has something to do with my visit to you to-day.”

My friend took the lady's ungloved hand and examined it with as close an attention and as little sentiment as a scientist would show to a specimen.

“You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my business,” said he, as he dropped it. “I nearly fell into the error of supposing that you were typewriting. Of course, it is obvious that it is music. You observe the spatulate finger-end, Watson, which is common to both professions? There is a spirituality about the face, however”—he gently turned it towards the light—“which the typewriter does not generate. This lady is a musician.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music.”

“In the country, I presume, from your complexion.”

“Yes, sir; near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey.”

“A beautiful neighbourhood and full of the most interesting associations. You remember, Watson, that it was near there that we took Archie Stamford, the forger. Now, Miss Violet, what has happened to you near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey?”

The young lady, with great clearness and composure, made the following curious statement:—

“My father is dead, Mr. Holmes. He was James Smith, who conducted the orchestra at the old Imperial Theatre. My mother and I were left without a relation in the world except one uncle, Ralph Smith, who went to Africa twenty-five years ago, and we have never had a word from him since. When father died we were left very poor, but one day we were told that there was an advertisement in the Times inquiring for our whereabouts. You can imagine how excited we were, for we thought that someone had left us a fortune. We went at once to the lawyer whose name was given in the paper. There we met two gentlemen, Mr. Carruthers and Mr. Woodley, who were home on a visit from South Africa. They said that my uncle was a friend of theirs, that he died some months before in great poverty in Johannesburg, and that he had asked them with his last breath to hunt up his relations and see that they were in no want. It seemed strange to us that Uncle Ralph, who took no notice of us when he was alive, should be so careful to look after us when he was dead; but Mr. Carruthers explained that the reason was that my uncle had just heard of the death of his brother, and so felt responsible for our fate.”

“Excuse me,” said Holmes; “when was this interview?”

“Last December—four months ago.”

“Pray proceed.”

“Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most odious person. He was for ever making eyes at me—a coarse, puffy-faced, red-moustached young man, with his hair plastered down on each side of his forehead. I thought that he was perfectly hateful—and I was sure that Cyril would not wish me to know such a person.”

“Oh, Cyril is his name!” said Holmes, smiling.

The young lady blushed and laughed.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes; Cyril Morton, an electrical engineer, and we hope to be married at the end of the summer. Dear me, how did I get talking about him? What I wished to say was that Mr. Woodley was perfectly odious, but that Mr. Carruthers, who was a much older man, was more agreeable. He was a dark, sallow, clean-shaven, silent person; but he had polite manners and a pleasant smile. He inquired how we were left, and on finding that we were very poor he suggested that I should come and teach music to his only daughter, aged ten. I said that I did not like to leave my mother, on which he suggested that I should go home to her every week-end, and he offered me a hundred a year, which was certainly splendid pay. So it ended by my accepting, and I went down to Chiltern Grange, about six miles from Farnham. Mr. Carruthers was a widower, but he had engaged a lady-housekeeper, a very respectable, elderly person, called Mrs. Dixon, to look after his establishment. The child was a dear, and everything promised well. Mr. Carruthers was very kind and very musical, and we had most pleasant evenings together. Every week-end I went home to my mother in town.

“The first flaw in my happiness was the arrival of the red-moustached Mr. Woodley. He came for a visit of a week, and oh, it seemed three months to me! He was a dreadful person, a bully to everyone else, but to me something infinitely worse. He made odious love to me, boasted of his wealth, said that if I married him I would have the finest diamonds in London, and finally, when I would have nothing to do with him, he seized me in his arms one day after dinner—he was hideously strong—and he swore that he would not let me go until I had kissed him. Mr. Carruthers came in and tore him off from me, on which he turned upon his own host, knocking him down and cutting his face open. That was the end of his visit, as you can imagine. Mr. Carruthers apologized to me next day, and assured me that I should never be exposed to such an insult again. I have not seen Mr. Woodley since.

“And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to the special thing which has caused me to ask your advice to-day. You must know that every Saturday forenoon I ride on my bicycle to Farnham Station in order to get the 12.22 to town. The road from Chiltern Grange is a lonely one, and at one spot it is particularly so, for it lies for over a mile between Charlington Heath upon one side and the woods which lie round Charlington Hall upon the other. You could not find a more lonely tract of road anywhere, and it is quite rare to meet so much as a cart, or a peasant, until you reach the high road near Crooksbury Hill. Two weeks ago I was passing this place when I chanced to look back over my shoulder, and about two hundred yards behind me I saw a man, also on a bicycle. He seemed to be a middle-aged man, with a short, dark beard. I looked back before I reached Farnham, but the man was gone, so I thought no more about it. But you can imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes, when on my return on the Monday I saw the same man on the same stretch of road. My astonishment was increased when the incident occurred again, exactly as before, on the following Saturday and Monday. He always kept his distance and did not molest me in any way, but still it certainly was very odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carruthers, who seemed interested in what I said, and told me that he had ordered a horse and trap, so that in future I should not pass over these lonely roads without some companion.

“The horse and trap were to have come this week, but for some reason they were not delivered, and again I had to cycle to the station. That was this morning. You can think that I looked out when I came to Charlington Heath, and there, sure enough, was the man, exactly as he had been the two weeks before. He always kept so far from me that I could not clearly see his face, but it was certainly someone whom I did not know. He was dressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. The only thing about his face that I could clearly see was his dark beard. To-day I was not alarmed, but I was filled with curiosity, and I determined to find out who he was and what he wanted. I slowed down my machine, but he slowed down his. Then I stopped altogether, but he stopped also. Then I laid a trap for him. There is a sharp turning of the road, and I pedalled very quickly round this, and then I stopped and waited. I expected him to shoot round and pass me before he could stop. But he never appeared. Then I went back and looked round the corner. I could see a mile of road, but he was not on it. To make it the more extraordinary, there was no side road at this point down which he could have gone.”

Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. “This case certainly presents some features of its own,” said he. “How much time elapsed between your turning the corner and your discovery that the road was clear?”

“Two or three minutes.”

“Then he could not have retreated down the road, and you say that there are no side roads?”

“None.”

“Then he certainly took a footpath on one side or the other.”

“It could not have been on the side of the heath or I should have seen him.”

“So by the process of exclusion we arrive at the fact that he made his way towards Charlington Hall, which, as I understand, is situated in its own grounds on one side of the road. Anything else?”

“Nothing, Mr. Holmes, save that I was so perplexed that I felt I should not be happy until I had seen you and had your advice.”

Holmes sat in silence for some little time.

“Where is the gentleman to whom you are engaged?” he asked, at last.

“He is in the Midland Electrical Company, at Coventry.”

“He would not pay you a surprise visit?”

“Oh, Mr. Holmes! As if I should not know him!”

“Have you had any other admirers?”

“Several before I knew Cyril.”

“And since?”

“There was this dreadful man, Woodley, if you can call him an admirer.”

“No one else?”

Our fair client seemed a little confused.

“Who was he?” asked Holmes.

“Oh, it may be a mere fancy of mine; but it has seemed to me sometimes that my employer, Mr. Carruthers, takes a great deal of interest in me. We are thrown rather together. I play his accompaniments in the evening. He has never said anything. He is a perfect gentleman. But a girl always knows.”

“Ha!” Holmes looked grave. “What does he do for a living?”

“He is a rich man.”

“No carriages or horses?”

“Well, at least he is fairly well-to-do. But he goes into the City two or three times a week. He is deeply interested in South African gold shares.”

“You will let me know any fresh development, Miss Smith. I am very busy just now, but I will find time to make some inquiries into your case. In the meantime take no step without letting me know. Good-bye, and I trust that we shall have nothing but good news from you.”

“It is part of the settled order of Nature that such a girl should have followers,” said Holmes, as he pulled at his meditative pipe, “but for choice not on bicycles in lonely country roads. Some secretive lover, beyond all doubt. But there are curious and suggestive details about the case, Watson.”

“That he should appear only at that point?”

“Exactly. Our first effort must be to find who are the tenants of Charlington Hall. Then, again, how about the connection between Carruthers and Woodley, since they appear to be men of such a different type? How came they both to be so keen upon looking up Ralph Smith's relations? One more point. What sort of a menage is it which pays double the market price for a governess, but does not keep a horse although six miles from the station? Odd, Watson—very odd!”

“You will go down?”

“No, my dear fellow, you will go down. This may be some trifling intrigue, and I cannot break my other important research for the sake of it. On Monday you will arrive early at Farnham; you will conceal yourself near Charlington Heath; you will observe these facts for yourself, and act as your own judgment advises. Then, having inquired as to the occupants of the Hall, you will come back to me and report. And now, Watson, not another word of the matter until we have a few solid stepping-stones on which we may hope to get across to our solution.”

We had ascertained from the lady that she went down upon the Monday by the train which leaves Waterloo at 9.50, so I started early and caught the 9.13. At Farnham Station I had no difficulty in being directed to Charlington Heath. It was impossible to mistake the scene of the young lady's adventure, for the road runs between the open heath on one side and an old yew hedge upon the other, surrounding a park which is studded with magnificent trees. There was a main gateway of lichen-studded stone, each side pillar surmounted by mouldering heraldic emblems; but besides this central carriage drive I observed several points where there were gaps in the hedge and paths leading through them. The house was invisible from the road, but the surroundings all spoke of gloom and decay.

The heath was covered with golden patches of flowering gorse, gleaming magnificently in the light of the bright spring sunshine. Behind one of these clumps I took up my position, so as to command both the gateway of the Hall and a long stretch of the road upon either side. It had been deserted when I left it, but now I saw a cyclist riding down it from the opposite direction to that in which I had come. He was clad in a dark suit, and I saw that he had a black beard. On reaching the end of the Charlington grounds he sprang from his machine and led it through a gap in the hedge, disappearing from my view.

A quarter of an hour passed and then a second cyclist appeared. This time it was the young lady coming from the station. I saw her look about her as she came to the Charlington hedge. An instant later the man emerged from his hiding-place, sprang upon his cycle, and followed her. In all the broad landscape those were the only moving figures, the graceful girl sitting very straight upon her machine, and the man behind her bending low over his handle-bar, with a curiously furtive suggestion in every movement. She looked back at him and slowed her pace. He slowed also. She stopped. He at once stopped too, keeping two hundred yards behind her. Her next movement was as unexpected as it was spirited. She suddenly whisked her wheels round and dashed straight at him! He was as quick as she, however, and darted off in desperate flight. Presently she came back up the road again, her head haughtily in the air, not deigning to take any further notice of her silent attendant. He had turned also, and still kept his distance until the curve of the road hid them from my sight.

I remained in my hiding-place, and it was well that I did so, for presently the man reappeared cycling slowly back. He turned in at the Hall gates and dismounted from his machine. For some few minutes I could see him standing among the trees. His hands were raised and he seemed to be settling his necktie. Then he mounted his cycle and rode away from me down the drive towards the Hall. I ran across the heath and peered through the trees. Far away I could catch glimpses of the old grey building with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the drive ran through a dense shrubbery, and I saw no more of my man.

However, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly good morning's work, and I walked back in high spirits to Farnham. The local house-agent could tell me nothing about Charlington Hall, and referred me to a well-known firm in Pall Mall. There I halted on my way home, and met with courtesy from the representative. No, I could not have Charlington Hall for the summer. I was just too late. It had been let about a month ago. Mr. Williamson was the name of the tenant. He was a respectable elderly gentleman. The polite agent was afraid he could say no more, as the affairs of his clients were not matters which he could discuss.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long report which I was able to present to him that evening, but it did not elicit that word of curt praise which I had hoped for and should have valued. On the contrary, his austere face was even more severe than usual as he commented upon the things that I had done and the things that I had not.

“Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very faulty. You should have been behind the hedge; then you would have had a close view of this interesting person. As it is you were some hundreds of yards away, and can tell me even less than Miss Smith. She thinks she does not know the man; I am convinced she does. Why, otherwise, should he be so desperately anxious that she should not get so near him as to see his features? You describe him as bending over the handle-bar. Concealment again, you see. You really have done remarkably badly. He returns to the house and you want to find out who he is. You come to a London house-agent!”

“What should I have done?” I cried, with some heat.

“Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the centre of country gossip. They would have told you every name, from the master to the scullery-maid. Williamson! It conveys nothing to my mind. If he is an elderly man he is not this active cyclist who sprints away from that athletic young lady's pursuit. What have we gained by your expedition? The knowledge that the girl's story is true. I never doubted it. That there is a connection between the cyclist and the Hall. I never doubted that either. That the Hall is tenanted by Williamson. Who's the better for that? Well, well, my dear sir, don't look so depressed. We can do little more until next Saturday, and in the meantime I may make one or two inquiries myself.”

Next morning we had a note from Miss Smith, recounting shortly and accurately the very incidents which I had seen, but the pith of the letter lay in the postscript:

“I am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes, when I tell you that my place here has become difficult owing to the fact that my employer has proposed marriage to me. I am convinced that his feelings are most deep and most honourable. At the same time my promise is, of course, given. He took my refusal very seriously, but also very gently. You can understand, however, that the situation is a little strained.”

“Our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters,” said Holmes, thoughtfully, as he finished the letter. “The case certainly presents more features of interest and more possibility of development than I had originally thought. I should be none the worse for a quiet, peaceful day in the country, and I am inclined to run down this afternoon and test one or two theories which I have formed.”

Holmes's quiet day in the country had a singular termination, for he arrived at Baker Street late in the evening with a cut lip and a discoloured lump upon his forehead, besides a general air of dissipation which would have made his own person the fitting object of a Scotland Yard investigation. He was immensely tickled by his own adventures, and laughed heartily as he recounted them.

“I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat,” said he. “You are aware that I have some proficiency in the good old British sport of boxing. Occasionally it is of service. To-day, for example, I should have come to very ignominious grief without it.”

I begged him to tell me what had occurred.

“I found that country pub which I had already recommended to your notice, and there I made my discreet inquiries. I was in the bar, and a garrulous landlord was giving me all that I wanted. Williamson is a white-bearded man, and he lives alone with a small staff of servants at the Hall. There is some rumour that he is or has been a clergyman; but one or two incidents of his short residence at the Hall struck me as peculiarly unecclesiastical. I have already made some inquiries at a clerical agency, and they tell me that there was a man of that name in orders whose career has been a singularly dark one. The landlord further informed me that there are usually week-end visitors—‘a warm lot, sir’—at the Hall, and especially one gentleman with a red moustache, Mr. Woodley by name, who was always there. We had got as far as this when who should walk in but the gentleman himself, who had been drinking his beer in the tap-room and had heard the whole conversation. Who was I? What did I want? What did I mean by asking questions? He had a fine flow of language, and his adjectives were very vigorous. He ended a string of abuse by a vicious back-hander which I failed to entirely avoid. The next few minutes were delicious. It was a straight left against a slogging ruffian. I emerged as you see me. Mr. Woodley went home in a cart. So ended my country trip, and it must be confessed that, however enjoyable, my day on the Surrey border has not been much more profitable than your own.”

The Thursday brought us another letter from our client.

You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes [said she] to hear that I am leaving Mr. Carruthers's employment. Even the high pay cannot reconcile me to the discomforts of my situation. On Saturday I come up to town and I do not intend to return. Mr. Carruthers has got a trap, and so the dangers of the lonely road, if there ever were any dangers, are now over.

As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely the strained situation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the reappearance of that odious man, Mr. Woodley. He was always hideous, but he looks more awful than ever now, for he appears to have had an accident and he is much disfigured. I saw him out of the window, but I am glad to say I did not meet him. He had a long talk with Mr. Carruthers, who seemed much excited afterwards. Woodley must be staying in the neighbourhood, for he did not sleep here, and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this morning slinking about in the shrubbery. I would sooner have a savage wild animal loose about the place. I loathe and fear him more than I can say. How can Mr. Carruthers endure such a creature for a moment? However, all my troubles will be over on Saturday.

“So I trust, Watson; so I trust,” said Holmes, gravely. “There is some deep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it is our duty to see that no one molests her upon that last journey. I think, Watson, that we must spare time to run down together on Saturday morning, and make sure that this curious and inconclusive investigation has no untoward ending.”

I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view of the case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre than dangerous. That a man should lie in wait for and follow a very handsome woman is no unheard-of thing, and if he had so little audacity that he not only dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, he was not a very formidable assailant. The ruffian Woodley was a very different person, but, except on one occasion, he had not molested our client, and now he visited the house of Carruthers without intruding upon her presence. The man on the bicycle was doubtless a member of those week-end parties at the Hall of which the publican had spoken; but who he was or what he wanted was as obscure as ever. It was the severity of Holmes's manner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into his pocket before leaving our rooms which impressed me with the feeling that tragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events.

A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and the heath-covered country-side with the glowing clumps of flowering gorse seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the duns and drabs and slate-greys of London. Holmes and I walked along the broad, sandy road inhaling the fresh morning air, and rejoicing in the music of the birds and the fresh breath of the spring. From a rise of the road on the shoulder of Crooksbury Hill we could see the grim Hall bristling out from amidst the ancient oaks, which, old as they were, were still younger than the building which they surrounded. Holmes pointed down the long tract of road which wound, a reddish yellow band, between the brown of the heath and the budding green of the woods. Far away, a black dot, we could see a vehicle moving in our direction. Holmes gave an exclamation of impatience.

“I had given a margin of half an hour,” said he. “If that is her trap she must be making for the earlier train. I fear, Watson, that she will be past Charlington before we can possibly meet her.”

From the instant that we passed the rise we could no longer see the vehicle, but we hastened onwards at such a pace that my sedentary life began to tell upon me, and I was compelled to fall behind. Holmes, however, was always in training, for he had inexhaustible stores of nervous energy upon which to draw. His springy step never slowed until suddenly, when he was a hundred yards in front of me, he halted, and I saw him throw up his hand with a gesture of grief and despair. At the same instant an empty dog-cart, the horse cantering, the reins trailing, appeared round the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us.

“Too late, Watson; too late!” cried Holmes, as I ran panting to his side. “Fool that I was not to allow for that earlier train! It's abduction, Watson—abduction! Murder! Heaven knows what! Block the road! Stop the horse! That's right. Now, jump in, and let us see if I can repair the consequences of my own blunder.”

We had sprung into the dog-cart, and Holmes, after turning the horse, gave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew back along the road. As we turned the curve the whole stretch of road between the Hall and the heath was opened up. I grasped Holmes's arm.

“That's the man!” I gasped.

A solitary cyclist was coming towards us. His head was down and his shoulders rounded as he put every ounce of energy that he possessed on to the pedals. He was flying like a racer. Suddenly he raised his bearded face, saw us close to him, and pulled up, springing from his machine. That coal-black beard was in singular contrast to the pallor of his face, and his eyes were as bright as if he had a fever. He stared at us and at the dog-cart. Then a look of amazement came over his face.

“Halloa! Stop there!” he shouted, holding his bicycle to block our road. “Where did you get that dog-cart? Pull up, man!” he yelled, drawing a pistol from his side pocket. “Pull up, I say, or, by George, I'll put a bullet into your horse.”

Holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from the cart.

“You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss Violet Smith?” he said, in his quick, clear way.

“That's what I am asking you. You're in her dog-cart. You ought to know where she is.”

“We met the dog-cart on the road. There was no one in it. We drove back to help the young lady.”

“Good Lord! Good Lord! what shall I do?” cried the stranger, in an ecstasy of despair. “They've got her, that hellhound Woodley and the blackguard parson. Come, man, come, if you really are her friend. Stand by me and we'll save her, if I have to leave my carcass in Charlington Wood.”

He ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, towards a gap in the hedge. Holmes followed him, and I, leaving the horse grazing beside the road, followed Holmes.

“This is where they came through,” said he, pointing to the marks of several feet upon the muddy path. “Halloa! Stop a minute! Who's this in the bush?”

It was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an ostler, with leather cords and gaiters. He lay upon his back, his knees drawn up, a terrible cut upon his head. He was insensible, but alive. A glance at his wound told me that it had not penetrated the bone.

“That's Peter, the groom,” cried the stranger. “He drove her. The beasts have pulled him off and clubbed him. Let him lie; we can't do him any good, but we may save her from the worst fate that can befall a woman.”

We ran frantically down the path, which wound among the trees. We had reached the shrubbery which surrounded the house when Holmes pulled up.

“They didn't go to the house. Here are their marks on the left—here, beside the laurel bushes! Ah, I said so!”

As he spoke a woman's shrill scream—a scream which vibrated with a frenzy of horror—burst from the thick green clump of bushes in front of us. It ended suddenly on its highest note with a choke and a gurgle.

“This way! This way! They are in the bowling alley,” cried the stranger, darting through the bushes. “Ah, the cowardly dogs! Follow me, gentlemen! Too late! too late! by the living Jingo!”

We had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of greensward surrounded by ancient trees. On the farther side of it, under the shadow of a mighty oak, there stood a singular group of three people. One was a woman, our client, drooping and faint, a handkerchief round her mouth. Opposite her stood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-moustached young man, his gaitered legs parted wide, one arm akimbo, the other waving a riding-crop, his whole attitude suggestive of triumphant bravado. Between them an elderly, grey-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light tweed suit, had evidently just completed the wedding service, for he pocketed his prayer-book as we appeared and slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the back in jovial congratulation.

“They're married!” I gasped.

“Come on!” cried our guide; “come on!” He rushed across the glade, Holmes and I at his heels. As we approached, the lady staggered against the trunk of the tree for support. Williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowed to us with mock politeness, and the bully Woodley advanced with a shout of brutal and exultant laughter.

“You can take your beard off, Bob,” said he. “I know you right enough. Well, you and your pals have just come in time for me to be able to introduce you to Mrs. Woodley.”

Our guide's answer was a singular one. He snatched off the dark beard which had disguised him and threw it on the ground, disclosing a long, sallow, clean-shaven face below it. Then he raised his revolver and covered the young ruffian, who was advancing upon him with his dangerous riding-crop swinging in his hand.

“Yes,” said our ally, “I am Bob Carruthers, and I'll see this woman righted if I have to swing for it. I told you what I'd do if you molested her, and, by the Lord, I'll be as good as my word!”

“You're too late. She's my wife!”

“No, she's your widow.”

His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt from the front of Woodley's waistcoat. He spun round with a scream and fell upon his back, his hideous red face turning suddenly to a dreadful mottled pallor. The old man, still clad in his surplice, burst into such a string of foul oaths as I have never heard, and pulled out a revolver of his own, but before he could raise it he was looking down the barrel of Holmes's weapon.

“Enough of this,” said my friend, coldly. “Drop that pistol! Watson, pick it up! Hold it to his head! Thank you. You, Carruthers, give me that revolver. We'll have no more violence. Come, hand it over!”

“Who are you, then?”

“My name is Sherlock Holmes.”

“Good Lord!”

“You have heard of me, I see. I will represent the official police until their arrival. Here, you!” he shouted to a frightened groom who had appeared at the edge of the glade. “Come here. Take this note as hard as you can ride to Farnham.” He scribbled a few words upon a leaf from his note-book. “Give it to the superintendent at the police-station. Until he comes I must detain you all under my personal custody.”

The strong, masterful personality of Holmes dominated the tragic scene, and all were equally puppets in his hands. Williamson and Carruthers found themselves carrying the wounded Woodley into the house, and I gave my arm to the frightened girl. The injured man was laid on his bed, and at Holmes's request I examined him. I carried my report to where he sat in the old tapestry-hung dining-room with his two prisoners before him.

“He will live,” said I.

“What!” cried Carruthers, springing out of his chair. “I'll go upstairs and finish him first. Do you tell me that that girl, that angel, is to be tied to Roaring Jack Woodley for life?”

“You need not concern yourself about that,” said Holmes. “There are two very good reasons why she should under no circumstances be his wife. In the first place, we are very safe in questioning Mr. Williamson's right to solemnize a marriage.”

“I have been ordained,” cried the old rascal.

“And also unfrocked.”

“Once a clergyman, always a clergyman.”

“I think not. How about the license?”

“We had a license for the marriage. I have it here in my pocket.”

“Then you got it by a trick. But in any case a forced marriage is no marriage, but it is a very serious felony, as you will discover before you have finished. You'll have time to think the point out during the next ten years or so, unless I am mistaken. As to you, Carruthers, you would have done better to keep your pistol in your pocket.”

“I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes; but when I thought of all the precaution I had taken to shield this girl—for I loved her, Mr. Holmes, and it is the only time that ever I knew what love was—it fairly drove me mad to think that she was in the power of the greatest brute and bully in South Africa, a man whose name is a holy terror from Kimberley to Johannesburg. Why, Mr. Holmes, you'll hardly believe it, but ever since that girl has been in my employment I never once let her go past this house, where I knew these rascals were lurking, without following her on my bicycle just to see that she came to no harm. I kept my distance from her, and I wore a beard so that she should not recognise me, for she is a good and high-spirited girl, and she wouldn't have stayed in my employment long if she had thought that I was following her about the country roads.”

“Why didn't you tell her of her danger?”

“Because then, again, she would have left me, and I couldn't bear to face that. Even if she couldn't love me it was a great deal to me just to see her dainty form about the house, and to hear the sound of her voice.”

“Well,” said I, “you call that love, Mr. Carruthers, but I should call it selfishness.”

“Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I couldn't let her go. Besides, with this crowd about, it was well that she should have someone near to look after her. Then when the cable came I knew they were bound to make a move.”

“What cable?”

Carruthers took a telegram from his pocket.

“That's it,” said he.

It was short and concise:

The old man is dead.

“Hum!” said Holmes. “I think I see how things worked, and I can understand how this message would, as you say, bring them to a head. But while we wait you might tell me what you can.”

The old reprobate with the surplice burst into a volley of bad language.

“By Heaven,” said he, “if you squeal on us, Bob Carruthers, I'll serve you as you served Jack Woodley. You can bleat about the girl to your heart's content, for that's your own affair, but if you round on your pals to this plain-clothes copper it will be the worst day's work that ever you did.”

“Your reverence need not be excited,” said Holmes, lighting a cigarette. “The case is clear enough against you, and all I ask is a few details for my private curiosity. However, if there's any difficulty in your telling me I'll do the talking, and then you will see how far you have a chance of holding back your secrets. In the first place, three of you came from South Africa on this game—you Williamson, you Carruthers, and Woodley.”

“Lie number one,” said the old man; “I never saw either of them until two months ago, and I have never been in Africa in my life, so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Busybody Holmes!”

“What he says is true,” said Carruthers.

“Well, well, two of you came over. His reverence is our own home-made article. You had known Ralph Smith in South Africa. You had reason to believe he would not live long. You found out that his niece would inherit his fortune. How's that—eh?”

Carruthers nodded and Williamson swore.

“She was next-of-kin, no doubt, and you were aware that the old fellow would make no will.”

“Couldn't read or write,” said Carruthers.

“So you came over, the two of you, and hunted up the girl. The idea was that one of you was to marry her and the other have a share of the plunder. For some reason Woodley was chosen as the husband. Why was that?”

“We played cards for her on the voyage. He won.”

“I see. You got the young lady into your service, and there Woodley was to do the courting. She recognised the drunken brute that he was, and would have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, your arrangement was rather upset by the fact that you had yourself fallen in love with the lady. You could no longer bear the idea of this ruffian owning her.”

“No, by George, I couldn't!”

“There was a quarrel between you. He left you in a rage, and began to make his own plans independently of you.”

“It strikes me, Williamson, there isn't very much that we can tell this gentleman,” cried Carruthers, with a bitter laugh. “Yes, we quarreled, and he knocked me down. I am level with him on that, anyhow. Then I lost sight of him. That was when he picked up with this cast padre here. I found that they had set up house-keeping together at this place on the line that she had to pass for the station. I kept my eye on her after that, for I knew there was some devilry in the wind. I saw them from time to time, for I was anxious to know what they were after. Two days ago Woodley came up to my house with this cable, which showed that Ralph Smith was dead. He asked me if I would stand by the bargain. I said I would not. He asked me if I would marry the girl myself and give him a share. I said I would willingly do so, but that she would not have me. He said, ‘Let us get her married first, and after a week or two she may see things a bit different.’ I said I would have nothing to do with violence. So he went off cursing, like the foul-mouthed blackguard that he was, and swearing that he would have her yet. She was leaving me this week-end, and I had got a trap to take her to the station, but I was so uneasy in my mind that I followed her on my bicycle. She had got a start, however, and before I could catch her the mischief was done. The first thing I knew about it was when I saw you two gentlemen driving back in her dog-cart.”

Holmes rose and tossed the end of his cigarette into the grate. “I have been very obtuse, Watson,” said he. “When in your report you said that you had seen the cyclist as you thought arrange his necktie in the shrubbery, that alone should have told me all. However, we may congratulate ourselves upon a curious and in some respects a unique case. I perceive three of the county constabulary in the drive, and I am glad to see that the little ostler is able to keep pace with them; so it is likely that neither he nor the interesting bridegroom will be permanently damaged by their morning's adventures. I think, Watson, that in your medical capacity you might wait upon Miss Smith and tell her that if she is sufficiently recovered we shall be happy to escort her to her mother's home. If she is not quite convalescent you will find that a hint that we were about to telegraph to a young electrician in the Midlands would probably complete the cure. As to you, Mr. Carruthers, I think that you have done what you could to make amends for your share in an evil plot. There is my card, sir, and if my evidence can be of help to you in your trial it shall be at your disposal.”

In the whirl of our incessant activity it has often been difficult for me, as the reader has probably observed, to round off my narratives, and to give those final details which the curious might expect. Each case has been the prelude to another, and the crisis once over the actors have passed for ever out of our busy lives. I find, however, a short note at the end of my manuscripts dealing with this case, in which I have put it upon record that Miss Violet Smith did indeed inherit a large fortune, and that she is now the wife of Cyril Morton, the senior partner of Morton & Kennedy, the famous Westminster electricians. Williamson and Woodley were both tried for abduction and assault, the former getting seven years and the latter ten. Of the fate of Carruthers I have no record, but I am sure that his assault was not viewed very gravely by the Court, since Woodley had the reputation of being a most dangerous ruffian, and I think that a few months were sufficient to satisfy the demands of justice.

孤身骑车人

从一八九四年到一九○一年期间，歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生异常繁忙。完全可以说，这八年来各种公办的疑难著名案件，没有一件不请教福尔摩斯的。还有千百件私人案件，其中许多是十分错综复杂并具有特色的，福尔摩斯也在其中起了重要作用。许多惊人的成就和一些不可避免的失败是这一漫长时期连续工作的结果。由于我对这些案件有闻必录，其中的许多案件我自己也亲身参加过，可以想象，要弄清我应该选择哪些来公之于众，这不是一件容易的事。然而，我可以按照我从前的作法，优先选择那些不是以犯罪的凶残著称，而是以结案的巧妙和戏剧一性一而引人入胜的案件。由于这个原因，我就选择了有关维奥莱特·史密斯小一姐，查林顿的孤身骑车人一事，以及我们调查到的奇异结局，这个结局以出人意料的悲剧而告终。现在我就把情况介绍给读者。诚然，这些事对我朋友那因以扬名的才能并没有增添什么异彩，可是这件案子却有几点非常突出，不同于我从中收集资料写成了这些小笔事的那些长期犯罪记录。

我翻阅了一八九五年的笔记，查出是四月二十三日，星期六，我们第一次听维奥莱特·史密斯谈自己的事。我记得福尔摩斯对她的来访极不欢迎，因为那时他正全神贯注于一件十分难解的错综复杂的问题，这个问题涉及著名的烟草大王约翰·文森特·哈登所遭遇的特殊难题。我的朋友最喜欢的事就是准确和思想集中，在办手头的事情时，最厌烦别的事来打扰他。尽避如此，但他生一性一并不固执生硬，不可能拒绝那位身材苗条、仪态万方、神色庄重的美貌姑一娘一来讲述她的遭遇，何况她又是在这么晚的晚上亲自来贝克街恳请他帮助和指点的。尽避福尔摩斯声明时间已经排满，但也无济于事，因为那姑一娘一下定决心非讲不可。很明显，她不达到目的，要想使她离开除非动武。福尔摩斯显出无可奈何的神色，勉强地笑了笑，请那位美丽的不速之客坐下，把她遇到的麻烦事如实地讲给我们听。

“至少不会是一件有碍你身一体健康的事，"福尔摩斯用那双敏锐的眼睛把她周身打量了一番说道，“象你这样一爱一骑车的人，一定是一精一力充沛的。”

她惊异地看看自己的双脚，我也发现了她鞋底一边被脚蹬子边缘磨得起一毛一了。

“是的，我经常骑自行车，福尔摩斯先生，我今天来拜访你，正是和骑车的事情有关系呢。”

我的朋友拿起这姑一娘一没戴手套的那只手，象科学家看标本那样，全神贯注而不动声色地检查着。

“我相信，你会原谅我的。这是我的业务，"福尔摩斯把姑一娘一的手放下，说道，"我几乎错把你当成打字员了。显而易见，你当然是一位音乐家。华生，你注意到那两种职业所共有的勺形指端吗？不过，她脸上有一种风采，"那女子平静地把脸转向亮处，"那是打字员所不具备的。所以，这位女士是音乐家。”

“是的，福尔摩斯先生，我教音乐。”

“从你的脸色来看，我想你是在乡下教音乐。”

“是的，先生，靠近法纳姆，在萨里边界。”

“是一个好地方，可以使人联想到许多有趣的事情。华生，你一定记得我们就是在那附近拿获了伪造货币犯阿尔奇·斯坦福德。嗯，维奥莱特小一姐，靠近法纳姆，在萨里边界，你遇到什么事了？”

那位姑一娘一十分清楚明白、镇静自若地说出下面这一段古怪离奇的事情来：

“福尔摩斯先生，我父亲已经去世了。他叫詹姆斯·史密斯，是老帝国剧院的乐队指挥。我和母亲在世上举目无亲，我只有一个叔父，他名叫拉尔夫·史密斯，于二十五年前到非洲去了，从那时期音信全无。父亲死后，我们一譬如洗，可是有一天人家告诉我们，《泰晤士报》登了一则广告，询问我们的下落。你可以想象我们是多么激动啊，因为我们想这是有人给我们留下遗产了。我们立即按报上登的姓名去找那位律师，在那里又遇到了两位先生，卡拉瑟斯和伍德利，他们是从南非回来探家的。他们说我叔父是他们的朋友，几个月以前在十分贫困中死于约翰内斯堡。我叔父临终之前，请他们去找他的亲属，并务必使他的亲属不至穷困潦倒。这似乎使我们很奇怪，我叔父拉尔夫活着的时候，并不关心我们，而在他死时却那么一精一心关照我们。可是卡拉瑟斯先生解释说，因为我叔父刚刚听到他哥哥的死讯，所以感到对我们的命运负有重大责任。”

“请原谅，"福尔摩斯说道，"你们是什么时候见面的？”

“去年十二月，已有四个月了。”

“请继续讲下去吧。”

“我看伍德利先生讨厌得很，他是一个面孔虚胖、一脸红一胡一子的粗一暴的青年，头发披散在额头两边，总是向我挤眉弄眼。我认为他十分可憎，我相信西里尔一定不乐意我认识这个人。”

“噢，西里尔是他的名字！"福尔摩斯笑容满面地说道。

那姑一娘一满面通红，笑了笑。

“是的，福尔摩斯先生，西里尔·莫顿，是一个电气工程师，我们希望在夏末结婚。哎呀，我怎么扯其他来了呢？我想说伍德利先生十分讨厌，而那位年纪老些的卡拉瑟斯先生可比较有礼貌。虽然他脸色土黄，脸刮得光光的，沉默寡言，但举止文雅，笑容可掬。他询问了我们的境况，发现我们很穷困，便要我到他那里教他那十岁的独生女儿。我说我不愿离开母亲，他说我可以在每周末回家去看她。他答应给我每年一百镑，这当然是十分优厚的酬金了。所以最后我答应了，来到离法纳姆六英里左右的奇尔特恩农庄。卡拉瑟斯先生丧妻鳏居，他雇用了一个叫狄克逊太太的女管家来照料家事，这位老妇人老成持重，令人品敬。那个孩子也很可一爱一，一切也都如意。卡拉瑟斯先生十分和善，热衷于音乐，我们晚上在一起过得很高兴，每逢周末我回城里家中看望母亲。

“在我的快乐生活中，头一件不顺心的事就是一脸红一胡一子的伍德利先生的到来。他来访一个星期，哎呀！对我来说简直如同三个月。他是一个可怕的人，对别人横行霸道，对我更肆无忌惮。他作了许多丑态表示一爱一我，吹嘘他的财富，说如果我嫁给他，我就可以得到伦敦最漂亮的钻石。最后，当我始终对他不加理睬时，有一天饭后他抓住我把我抱在怀里——他有可恶的牛劲——发誓说如果我不吻他，他就不放手。这时正好卡拉瑟斯先生进屋，把他从我身边拉开。为了这事，伍德利和东道主翻了脸，把卡拉瑟斯打倒在地，脸上弄出个大口子。伍德利的来访至此结束，第二天卡拉瑟斯先生向我道歉，并保证绝不让我再受这样的凌一辱。从那以后我再没见到伍德利先生。

“现在，福尔摩斯先生，我终于谈到今天来向你请教的具体事情上了。你一定知道，我每星期六上午骑车到法纳姆车站，赶十二点二十二分的火车进城。我从奇尔特恩农庄出来，那条路很偏僻，有一段尤其荒凉，这一段有一英里多长，一边是查林顿石南灌木地带，另一边是查林顿庄园外圈的树林。你再也找不到比这段路更荒凉的地方了。在你没有到达靠近克鲁克斯伯里山公路以前，极难遇到一辆马车、一个农民。两星期以前，我从这地方经过，偶然回头一望，见身后两百码左右有个男人在骑车，看起来是个中年人，蓄着短短的黑一胡一子。在到法纳姆以前，我又回头一看，那人已经消失，所以我也没再想这件事。不过，福尔摩斯先生，我星期一返回时又在那段路上看到那个人。你可想而知我该多么惊奇了。而下一个星期六和星期一，又和上次丝毫不差，这事又重演了一遍，我愈发惊异不止了。那个人始终保持一定距离，决不打扰我，不过这毕竟十分古怪。我把这事告诉了卡拉瑟斯先生，他看来十分重视我说的事，告诉我他已经订购了一骑马和一辆轻便马车，所以将来我再过那段偏僻道路时，不愁没有伴侣了。

“马和轻便马车本来应该在这个星期就到，可不知什么原因，卖主没有一交一货，我只好还是骑车到火车站。这是今天早晨的事。我来到查林顿石南灌木地带，向远处一看，一点也不错，那人就在那地方，和两个星期以前一模一样。他总是离我很远，我看不清他的脸，但肯定不是我认识的人。他穿一身黑衣服，戴布帽。我只能看清他脸上的黑一胡一子。今天我不害怕了，而是满腹疑一团一，我决心查明他是什么人，要干什么事。我放慢了我的车速，他也放慢了他的车速。后来我停车不骑了，他也停车不骑了。于是我心生一计来对付他。路上有一处急转弯，我便紧蹬一阵拐过弯去，然后停车等候他。我指望他很快拐过弯来，并且来不及停车，超到我前面去。但他根本没露面。我便返回去，向转弯处四处张望。我可以望见一英里的路程，可是路上不见他的踪影。尤其令人惊异的是，这地方并没有岔路，他是无法走开的。”

福尔摩斯轻声一笑，一搓一着双手。"这件事确实有它的特色，"他说道，"从你转过弯去到你发现路上无人，这中间有多久？”

“二、三分钟吧。”

“那他来不及从原路退走，你说那里没有岔路吗？”

“没有。”

“那他肯定是从路旁人行小径走开的。”

“不可能从石南灌木地段那一侧，不然我早就看到他了。”

“那么，按照排除推理法，我们就查明了一个事实，他向查林顿庄园那一侧去了，据我所知，查林顿庄园宅基就在大路一侧。还有其它情况吗？”

“没有了，福尔摩斯先生，只是我十分惶惑莫解，感到极不愉快，所以才来见你，求得你的指点。”

福尔摩斯默默不语地坐了一会儿。

“和你订婚的那位先生在什么地方？"福尔摩斯终于问道。

“他在考文垂的米得兰电气公司。”

“他不会出其不意地来看你吧？”

“噢，福尔摩斯先生！难道我还不认识他！”

“还有其他一爱一慕你的男人吗？”

“在我认识西里尔以前有过几个。”

“从那时以后呢？”

“假如你把伍德利也算做一个一爱一慕我的人的话，那就是那个可怕的人了。”

“没有别的人了吗？”

我们那位美丽的委托人似乎有点为难。

“他是谁呢？"福尔摩斯问道。

“噢，可能纯粹是我一胡一思乱想；可是有时我似乎觉得我的雇主卡拉瑟斯先生对我十分有意。我们经常相遇，晚上我给他伴奏，他从来没说过什么。他是一位很好的先生，可是一个姑一娘一总是心里明白的。”

“哈！"福尔摩斯显得十分严肃，"他以什么为生呢？”

“他是一个富有的人。”

“他没有四轮马车或者马匹吗？”

“啊，至少他生活相当富裕。他每星期进城两三次，十分关心南非的黄金股票。”

“史密斯小一姐，你要把新发现的一切情况告诉我。现在我很忙，不过我一定一抽一时间来查办你这件案子。在这期间，不要没通知我就采取行动。再见，我相信我们会得到你的好消息。”

“这样的一位姑一娘一会有一些追求者，这是很自然的，"福尔摩斯沉思地一抽一着烟斗说道，“不过不要选偏僻村路骑自行车去追逐嘛。毫无疑问是一个偷偷一爱一上她的人。可是这件案子里有一些颇为奇怪和引人深思的细节，华生。”

“你是说他竟然只在那个地方出现吗？”

“不错。我们要做的第一件事就是查明谁租用了查林顿庄园。然后再查明卡拉瑟斯和伍德利究竟是什么关系，因为他俩是完全不同类型的人啊。他俩为什么急于查访拉尔夫·史密斯的亲属呢？还有一点，卡拉瑟斯家离车站六英里远，连一骑马都不买，却偏偏要出两倍代价来雇一名家庭女教师，这是一种什么样的治家之道呢？奇怪，华生，十分奇怪！”

“你下去调查吗？”

“不，我亲一爱一的朋友，你下去调查好了。这可能是一件无足挂齿的小一一谋，我不能为它中断别的重大调查工作。星期一你一早到法纳姆去，要隐藏在查林顿石南地带附近，亲自观察这些事实。根据自己的判断见机行一事，然后，查明是谁住在查林顿庄园，回来向我报告。现在，华生，在弄到几件可靠的证据，有希望用于结案前，我对这件事没有别的话好讲的了。”

那姑一娘一告诉我们她星期一九点五十分从滑铁卢车站乘车出发，所以我便提早出发赶乘九点十三分的火车。到法纳姆车站，我毫不费力地问明了查林顿地带。要错过那姑一娘一的遇险地带是不可能的，因为那段路一边是开阔的石南灌木地带，另一边是老紫杉树篱，环绕着一座花园，花园里巨树参天。庄园有个长满地衣的石子路，大门两侧的石柱上满是破烂的纹章图案。除了中间行车的石子路之外，我发现几处树篱有豁口，有小路穿入。从路上看不到宅院，四周的环境都显得一一暗、衰颓。

石南地带开满一丛丛的黄色金雀花，在灿烂的春日骄一栆幌律辽练⒐狻Ｎ以诠嗄敬院笱『靡身之Γ员慵饶芄鄄熳按竺牛帜芸吹搅奖叱こさ囊淮蠖温贰Ｎ依肟舐肥保飞峡瘴抟蝗耍衷谟懈鋈似纷懦荡佣悦嫦蛭依吹姆较虮既ァＫ┳藕谏装，我见他蓄有黑一胡一子。他来到查林顿宅地⊥罚鲁道矗殉低平骼榈囊淮砜冢谖业氖酉咧邢Я恕�

过了一刻钟，第二个骑自行车的人出现了。这次是那位姑一娘一从火车站来。我见她骑到查林顿树篱时四下张望。过了一会儿，那男人从藏身处走出来，跳上自行车，尾随着她。在那辽阔的如画风景中，只有这两个人影在活动。那位仪态端庄的姑一娘一笔直地A骑在车上，她身后的男人却低伏一在车把上，一举一动都带有莫名其妙的鬼鬼祟祟的形迹。她回头看到他，便放慢了速度。他也放慢了速度。姑一娘一下了车，他也立即下车，在她身后有二百码的距离。那姑一娘一的下一步动作却是出奇不意地迅猛，她突然扭转车头紧蹬一阵，径直向他冲了过去。然而，他也象那姑一娘一一样迅速，不顾一切拼命地逃脱了。她又立刻返回大路，傲然地昂着头，不屑再去置理那不声不响的尾随者了。他也转过身来，依然保持着那段距离，直到转过大路我看不到他们为止。

我依然呆在藏身之处，这样作是很恰当的，因为那个男人马上又露面了，他不慌不忙地骑车返回来。他拐进庄园大门，下了车。我看他在树丛中站了几分钟，举起双手，似乎在整理他的领带。然后又上车从我身旁经过，向对着庄园的车道骑去。我跑出石南灌木地带，从树林缝隙望过去，可以隐约看到远处那座古老的灰楼和它那些矗一立的都铎式烟囱，可惜那条车道穿过一片浓密的灌木丛，我再也看不到那个人了。

不过，我看我已经作了一件漂亮事，便兴致勃勃地徒步走回法纳姆。关于查林顿庄园，当地房产经纪人什么也说不出来，只好把我介绍到帕尔马尔的一家著名的公司。我在回家途中到那里停留了一阵，受到经纪人的殷勤接待。不行，我不能租用查林顿庄园避暑了，我来得太晚了，庄园一个月以前已经租出去，租给了一个叫威廉森先生的人。他是一个体面的老先生。那位颇有礼貌的经纪人客气地说他不能再告诉我什么了，因为他不能议论他顾主的事。

那天晚上，歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生注意地倾听了我向他作的冗长的报告。我本来期望受到称赞，而且很重视他的称赞，可是连一句赞许的话也没有听到。恰恰相反，在他评论我做过的事和没有做到的事时，他那严峻的面容甚至比平时更加严肃。

“我亲一爱一的华生，你那藏身之地是非常失算的。你本来应该藏到树篱后面，仔细看看那位有趣的人。事实上，你藏的地方离那儿几百码，告诉我的情况甚至比史密斯小一姐还要少。她认为她不认识那个人，我确信她是认识的。要不然，他为什么那样拼死拼活地担心，生怕那姑一娘一走近他，看清了他的面貌呢？你说他伏身在自行车把上，你看，这不又是为了隐藏面目吗？你确实作得十分不妙。他回到了那所宅院，你要查明他是谁，却跑到一个伦敦房产经纪人那里！”

“那我应该怎么办呢？"我有点头脑发一热地高声喊道。

“到离那儿最近的酒店里去，那里是村上扯闲话的中心。人家会告诉你每一个人的名字，从主人到帮厨的女仆。至于威廉森吗，我一点印象也没有。假如他是老年人，那么他就不是那个灵敏的骑车人，不是在那个姑一娘一迅速敏捷的追赶下翩然逃脱的人。你这次远行的收获是什么呢？知道了那姑一娘一所讲的是真事，这我从来都不怀疑。知道了骑车人和庄园有关系这我同样不曾怀疑过。知道了那庄园是由威廉森租用的。谁又能为这作保证呢？好了，好了，我亲一爱一的先生，不要显得那么灰心丧气。星期六以前我们还可以多干点事，这段时间我还可以亲自做一两次调查。”

第二天早晨，我们接到史密斯小一姐一封短信，简要而又准确地重述了我亲眼看到的那件事，可是信的主旨却留在附言中。

当我告诉你我在这里的处境已经变得很困难时，我相信你会考虑我所吐露的秘密，这是由于我的雇主已经向我求婚这样一个事实。我相信他的感情是十分深厚而且高尚的。这时，我当然把我已经订婚的事告诉了他。他把我的拒绝看得非常严重，但又十分和气。然而，你可以理解，我的处境是有些尴尬了。

“我们的年轻朋友看起来陷入了困境，"福尔摩斯看完信后，若有所思地说道，"这件案子肯定比我原来设想的有趣得多，发展的可能一性一也多得多。我还是应当到乡下去过一天安静太平日子，我打算今天下午就去，并且把我所形成的一两点想法检验一下。”

福尔摩斯在乡下度过的安静日子，结局是很奇特的，因为他晚间很晚才回到贝克街，嘴