福尔摩斯-马斯格雷夫礼典 The Musgrave Ritual

The Musgrave Ritual

Arthur Conan Doyle

An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it.

Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner. One winter's night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his common-place book, he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages.

“There are cases enough here, Watson,” said he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. “I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in.”

“These are the records of your early work, then?” I asked. “I have often wished that I had notes of those cases.”

“Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to glorify me.” He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing sort of way. “They are not all successes, Watson,” said he. “But there are some pretty little problems among them. Here's the record of the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable wife. And here—ah, now, this really is something a little recherché.”

He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children's toys are kept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, an old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal.

“Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?” he asked, smiling at my expression.

“It is a curious collection.”

“Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more curious still.”

“These relics have a history then?”

“So much so that they are history.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of the table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“These,” said he, “are all that I have left to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual.”

I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had never been able to gather the details. “I should be so glad,” said I, “if you would give me an account of it.”

“And leave the litter as it is?“ he cried, mischievously. “Your tidiness won't bear much strain after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very singular business.

“You may remember how the affair of the Gloria Scott, and my conversation with the unhappy man whose fate I told you of, first turned my attention in the direction of the profession which has become my life's work. You see me now when my name has become known far and wide, and when I am generally recognized both by the public and by the official force as being a final court of appeal in doubtful cases. Even when you knew me first, at the time of the affair which you have commemorated in ‘A Study in Scarlet,’ I had already established a considerable, though not a very lucrative, connection. You can hardly realize, then, how difficult I found it at first, and how long I had to wait before I succeeded in making any headway.

“When I first came up to London I had rooms in Montague Street, just round the corner from the British Museum, and there I waited, filling in my too abundant leisure time by studying all those branches of science which might make me more efficient. Now and again cases came in my way, principally through the introduction of old fellow-students, for during my last years at the University there was a good deal of talk there about myself and my methods. The third of these cases was that of the Musgrave Ritual, and it is to the interest which was aroused by that singular chain of events, and the large issues which proved to be at stake, that I trace my first stride towards the position which I now hold.

“Reginald Musgrave had been in the same college as myself, and I had some slight acquaintance with him. He was not generally popular among the undergraduates, though it always seemed to me that what was set down as pride was really an attempt to cover extreme natural diffidence. In appearance he was a man of exceedingly aristocratic type, thin, high-nosed, and large-eyed, with languid and yet courtly manners. He was indeed a scion of one of the very oldest families in the kingdom, though his branch was a cadet one which had separated from the northern Musgraves some time in the sixteenth century, and had established itself in western Sussex, where the Manor House of Hurlstone is perhaps the oldest inhabited building in the county. Something of his birth place seemed to cling to the man, and I never looked at his pale, keen face or the poise of his head without associating him with gray archways and mullioned windows and all the venerable wreckage of a feudal keep. Once or twice we drifted into talk, and I can remember that more than once he expressed a keen interest in my methods of observation and inference.

“For four years I had seen nothing of him until one morning he walked into my room in Montague Street. He had changed little, was dressed like a young man of fashion—he was always a bit of a dandy—and preserved the same quiet, suave manner which had formerly distinguished him.

“‘How has all gone with you Musgrave?’ I asked, after we had cordially shaken hands.

“‘You probably heard of my poor father's death,’ said he; ‘he was carried off about two years ago. Since then I have of course had the Hurlstone estates to manage, and as I am member for my district as well, my life has been a busy one. But I understand, Holmes, that you are turning to practical ends those powers with which you used to amaze us?’

“‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I have taken to living by my wits.’

“‘I am delighted to hear it, for your advice at present would be exceedingly valuable to me. We have had some very strange doings at Hurlstone, and the police have been able to throw no light upon the matter. It is really the most extraordinary and inexplicable business.’

“You can imagine with what eagerness I listened to him, Watson, for the very chance for which I had been panting during all those months of inaction seemed to have come within my reach. In my inmost heart I believed that I could succeed where others failed, and now I had the opportunity to test myself.

“‘Pray, let me have the details,’ I cried.

“Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me, and lit the cigarette which I had pushed towards him.

“‘You must know,’ said he, ‘that though I am a bachelor, I have to keep up a considerable staff of servants at Hurlstone, for it is a rambling old place, and takes a good deal of looking after. I preserve, too, and in the pheasant months I usually have a house-party, so that it would not do to be short-handed. Altogether there are eight maids, the cook, the butler, two footmen, and a boy. The garden and the stables of course have a separate staff.

“‘Of these servants the one who had been longest in our service was Brunton the butler. He was a young school-master out of place when he was first taken up by my father, but he was a man of great energy and character, and he soon became quite invaluable in the household. He was a well-grown, handsome man, with a splendid forehead, and though he has been with us for twenty years he cannot be more than forty now. With his personal advantages and his extraordinary gifts—for he can speak several languages and play nearly every musical instrument—it is wonderful that he should have been satisfied so long in such a position, but I suppose that he was comfortable, and lacked energy to make any change. The butler of Hurlstone is always a thing that is remembered by all who visit us.

“‘But this paragon has one fault. He is a bit of a Don Juan, and you can imagine that for a man like him it is not a very difficult part to play in a quiet country district. When he was married it was all right, but since he has been a widower we have had no end of trouble with him. A few months ago we were in hopes that he was about to settle down again for he became engaged to Rachel Howells, our second house-maid; but he has thrown her over since then and taken up with Janet Tregellis, the daughter of the head game-keeper. Rachel—who is a very good girl, but of an excitable Welsh temperament—had a sharp touch of brain-fever, and goes about the house now—or did until yesterday—like a black-eyed shadow of her former self. That was our first drama at Hurlstone; but a second one came to drive it from our minds, and it was prefaced by the disgrace and dismissal of butler Brunton.

“‘This was how it came about. I have said that the man was intelligent, and this very intelligence has caused his ruin, for it seems to have led to an insatiable curiosity about things which did not in the least concern him. I had no idea of the lengths to which this would carry him, until the merest accident opened my eyes to it.

“‘I have said that the house is a rambling one. One day last week—on Thursday night, to be more exact—I found that I could not sleep, having foolishly taken a cup of strong café noir after my dinner. After struggling against it until two in the morning, I felt that it was quite hopeless, so I rose and lit the candle with the intention of continuing a novel which I was reading. The book, however, had been left in the billiard-room, so I pulled on my dressing-gown and started off to get it.

“‘In order to reach the billiard-room I had to descend a flight of stairs and then to cross the head of a passage which led to the library and the gun-room. You can imagine my surprise when, as I looked down this corridor, I saw a glimmer of light coming from the open door of the library. I had myself extinguished the lamp and closed the door before coming to bed. Naturally my first thought was of burglars. The corridors at Hurlstone have their walls largely decorated with trophies of old weapons. From one of these I picked a battle-axe, and then, leaving my candle behind me, I crept on tiptoe down the passage and peeped in at the open door.

“‘Brunton, the butler, was in the library. He was sitting, fully dressed, in an easy-chair, with a slip of paper which looked like a map upon his knee, and his forehead sunk forward upon his hand in deep thought. I stood dumb with astonishment, watching him from the darkness. A small taper on the edge of the table shed a feeble light which sufficed to show me that he was fully dressed. Suddenly, as I looked, he rose from his chair, and walking over to a bureau at the side, he unlocked it and drew out one of the drawers. From this he took a paper, and returning to his seat he flattened it out beside the taper on the edge of the table, and began to study it with minute attention. My indignation at this calm examination of our family documents overcame me so far that I took a step forward, and Brunton, looking up, saw me standing in the doorway. He sprang to his feet, his face turned livid with fear, and he thrust into his breast the chart-like paper which he had been originally studying.

“‘“So!” said I. “This is how you repay the trust which we have reposed in you. You will leave my service to-morrow.”

“‘He bowed with the look of a man who is utterly crushed, and slunk past me without a word. The taper was still on the table, and by its light I glanced to see what the paper was which Brunton had taken from the bureau. To my surprise it was nothing of any importance at all, but simply a copy of the questions and answers in the singular old observance called the Musgrave Ritual. It is a sort of ceremony peculiar to our family, which each Musgrave for centuries past has gone through on his coming of age—a thing of private interest, and perhaps of some little importance to the archaeologist, like our own blazonings and charges, but of no practical use whatever.’

“‘We had better come back to the paper afterwards,’ said I.

“‘If you think it really necessary,’ he answered, with some hesitation. ‘To continue my statement, however: I relocked the bureau, using the key which Brunton had left, and I had turned to go when I was surprised to find that the butler had returned, and was standing before me.

“‘“Mr. Musgrave, sir,” he cried, in a voice which was hoarse with emotion, “I can't bear disgrace, sir. I've always been proud above my station in life, and disgrace would kill me. My blood will be on your head, sir—it will, indeed—if you drive me to despair. If you cannot keep me after what has passed, then for God's sake let me give you notice and leave in a month, as if of my own free will. I could stand that, Mr. Musgrave, but not to be cast out before all the folk that I know so well.”

“‘“You don't deserve much consideration, Brunton,” I answered. “Your conduct has been most infamous. However, as you have been a long time in the family, I have no wish to bring public disgrace upon you. A month, however is too long. Take yourself away in a week, and give what reason you like for going.”

“‘“Only a week, sir?” he cried, in a despairing voice. “A fortnight—say at least a fortnight!”

“‘“A week,” I repeated, “and you may consider yourself to have been very leniently dealt with.”

“‘He crept away, his face sunk upon his breast, like a broken man, while I put out the light and returned to my room.

“‘For two days after this Brunton was most assiduous in his attention to his duties. I made no allusion to what had passed, and waited with some curiosity to see how he would cover his disgrace. On the third morning, however he did not appear, as was his custom, after breakfast to receive my instructions for the day. As I left the dining-room I happened to meet Rachel Howells, the maid. I have told you that she had only recently recovered from an illness, and was looking so wretchedly pale and wan that I remonstrated with her for being at work.

“‘“You should be in bed,” I said. “Come back to your duties when you are stronger.”

“‘She looked at me with so strange an expression that I began to suspect that her brain was affected.

“‘“I am strong enough, Mr. Musgrave,” said she.

“‘“We will see what the doctor says,” I answered. “You must stop work now, and when you go downstairs just say that I wish to see Brunton.”

“‘“The butler is gone,” said she.

“‘“Gone! Gone where?”

“‘“He is gone. No one has seen him. He is not in his room. Oh, yes, he is gone, he is gone!” She fell back against the wall with shriek after shriek of laughter, while I, horrified at this sudden hysterical attack, rushed to the bell to summon help. The girl was taken to her room, still screaming and sobbing, while I made inquiries about Brunton. There was no doubt about it that he had disappeared. His bed had not been slept in, he had been seen by no one since he had retired to his room the night before, and yet it was difficult to see how he could have left the house, as both windows and doors were found to be fastened in the morning. His clothes, his watch, and even his money were in his room, but the black suit which he usually wore was missing. His slippers, too, were gone, but his boots were left behind. Where then could butler Brunton have gone in the night, and what could have become of him now?

“‘Of course we searched the house from cellar to garret, but there was no trace of him. It is, as I have said, a labyrinth of an old house, especially the original wing, which is now practically uninhabited; but we ransacked every room and cellar without discovering the least sign of the missing man. It was incredible to me that he could have gone away leaving all his property behind him, and yet where could he be? I called in the local police, but without success. Rain had fallen on the night before and we examined the lawn and the paths all round the house, but in vain. Matters were in this state, when a new development quite drew our attention away from the original mystery.

“‘For two days Rachel Howells had been so ill, sometimes delirious, sometimes hysterical, that a nurse had been employed to sit up with her at night. On the third night after Brunton's disappearance, the nurse, finding her patient sleeping nicely, had dropped into a nap in the arm-chair, when she woke in the early morning to find the bed empty, the window open, and no signs of the invalid. I was instantly aroused, and, with the two footmen, started off at once in search of the missing girl. It was not difficult to tell the direction which she had taken, for, starting from under her window, we could follow her footmarks easily across the lawn to the edge of the mere, where they vanished close to the gravel path which leads out of the grounds. The lake there is eight feet deep, and you can imagine our feelings when we saw that the trail of the poor demented girl came to an end at the edge of it.

“‘Of course, we had the drags at once, and set to work to recover the remains, but no trace of the body could we find. On the other hand, we brought to the surface an object of a most unexpected kind. It was a linen bag which contained within it a mass of old rusted and discolored metal and several dull-colored pieces of pebble or glass. This strange find was all that we could get from the mere, and, although we made every possible search and inquiry yesterday, we know nothing of the fate either of Rachel Howells or of Richard Brunton. The county police are at their wits' end, and I have come up to you as a last resource.’

“You can imagine, Watson, with what eagerness I listened to this extraordinary sequence of events, and endeavored to piece them together, and to devise some common thread upon which they might all hang. The butler was gone. The maid was gone. The maid had loved the butler, but had afterwards had cause to hate him. She was of Welsh blood, fiery and passionate. She had been terribly excited immediately after his disappearance. She had flung into the lake a bag containing some curious contents. These were all factors which had to be taken into consideration, and yet none of them got quite to the heart of the matter. What was the starting-point of this chain of events? There lay the end of this tangled line.

“‘I must see that paper, Musgrave,’ said I, ‘which this butler of your thought it worth his while to consult, even at the risk of the loss of his place.’

“‘It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of ours,’ he answered. ‘But it has at least the saving grace of antiquity to excuse it. I have a copy of the questions and answers here if you care to run your eye over them.’

“He handed me the very paper which I have here, Watson, and this is the strange catechism to which each Musgrave had to submit when he came to man's estate. I will read you the questions and answers as they stand.

“‘Whose was it?’

“‘His who is gone.’

“‘Who shall have it?’

“‘He who will come.’

“‘What was the month?’

“‘The sixth from the first.’

“‘Where was the sun?’

“‘Over the oak.’

“‘Where was the shadow?’

“‘Under the elm.’

“‘How was it stepped?’

“‘North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south by two and by two, west by one and by one, and so under.’

“‘What shall we give for it?’

“‘All that is ours.’

“‘Why should we give it?’

“‘For the sake of the trust.’

“‘The original has no date, but is in the spelling of the middle of the seventeenth century,’ remarked Musgrave. ‘I am afraid, however, that it can be of little help to you in solving this mystery.’

“‘At least,’ said I, ‘it gives us another mystery, and one which is even more interesting than the first. It may be that the solution of the one may prove to be the solution of the other. You will excuse me, Musgrave, if I say that your butler appears to me to have been a very clever man, and to have had a clearer insight that ten generations of his masters.’

“‘I hardly follow you,’ said Musgrave. ‘The paper seems to me to be of no practical importance.’

“‘But to me it seems immensely practical, and I fancy that Brunton took the same view. He had probably seen it before that night on which you caught him.’

“‘It is very possible. We took no pains to hide it.’

“‘He simply wished, I should imagine, to refresh his memory upon that last occasion. He had, as I understand, some sort of map or chart which he was comparing with the manuscript, and which he thrust into his pocket when you appeared.’

“‘That is true. But what could he have to do with this old family custom of ours, and what does this rigmarole mean?’

“‘I don't think that we should have much difficulty in determining that,’ said I; ‘with your permission we will take the first train down to Sussex, and go a little more deeply into the matter upon the spot.’

“The same afternoon saw us both at Hurlstone. Possibly you have seen pictures and read descriptions of the famous old building, so I will confine my account of it to saying that it is built in the shape of an L, the long arm being the more modern portion, and the shorter the ancient nucleus, from which the other had developed. Over the low, heavily-lintelled door, in the centre of this old part, is chiseled the date, 1607, but experts are agreed that the beams and stone-work are really much older than this. The enormously thick walls and tiny windows of this part had in the last century driven the family into building the new wing, and the old one was used now as a store-house and a cellar, when it was used at all. A splendid park with fine old timber surrounds the house, and the lake, to which my client had referred, lay close to the avenue, about two hundred yards from the building.

“I was already firmly convinced, Watson, that there were not three separate mysteries here, but one only, and that if I could read the Musgrave Ritual aright I should hold in my hand the clue which would lead me to the truth concerning both the butler Brunton and the maid Howells. To that then I turned all my energies. Why should this servant be so anxious to master this old formula? Evidently because he saw something in it which had escaped all those generations of country squires, and from which he expected some personal advantage. What was it then, and how had it affected his fate?

“It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading the ritual, that the measurements must refer to some spot to which the rest of the document alluded, and that if we could find that spot, we should be in a fair way towards finding what the secret was which the old Musgraves had thought it necessary to embalm in so curious a fashion. There were two guides given us to start with, an oak and an elm. As to the oak there could be no question at all. Right in front of the house, upon the left-hand side of the drive, there stood a patriarch among oaks, one of the most magnificent trees that I have ever seen.

“‘That was there when your ritual was drawn up,’ said I, as we drove past it.

“‘It was there at the Norman Conquest in all probability,’ he answered. ‘It has a girth of twenty-three feet.’

“Here was one of my fixed points secured.

“‘Have you any old elms?’ I asked.

“‘There used to be a very old one over yonder but it was struck by lightning ten years ago, and we cut down the stump,’

“‘You can see where it used to be?’

“‘Oh, yes.’

“‘There are no other elms?’

“‘No old ones, but plenty of beeches.’

“‘I should like to see where it grew.’

“We had driven up in a dogcart, and my client led me away at once, without our entering the house, to the scar on the lawn where the elm had stood. It was nearly midway between the oak and the house. My investigation seemed to be progressing.

“‘I suppose it is impossible to find out how high the elm was?’ I asked.

“‘I can give you it at once. It was sixty-four feet.’

“‘How do you come to know it?’ I asked, in surprise.

“‘When my old tutor used to give me an exercise in trigonometry, it always took the shape of measuring heights. When I was a lad I worked out every tree and building in the estate.’

“This was an unexpected piece of luck. My data were coming more quickly than I could have reasonably hoped.

“‘Tell me,’ I asked, ‘did your butler ever ask you such a question?’

“Reginald Musgrave looked at me in astonishment. ‘Now that you call it to my mind,’ he answered, ‘Brunton did ask me about the height of the tree some months ago, in connection with some little argument with the groom.’

“This was excellent news, Watson, for it showed me that I was on the right road. I looked up at the sun. It was low in the heavens, and I calculated that in less than an hour it would lie just above the topmost branches of the old oak. One condition mentioned in the Ritual would then be fulfilled. And the shadow of the elm must mean the farther end of the shadow, otherwise the trunk would have been chosen as the guide. I had, then, to find where the far end of the shadow would fall when the sun was just clear of the oak.”

“That must have been difficult, Holmes, when the elm was no longer there.”

“Well, at least I knew that if Brunton could do it, I could also. Besides, there was no real difficulty. I went with Musgrave to his study and whittled myself this peg, to which I tied this long string with a knot at each yard. Then I took two lengths of a fishing-rod, which came to just six feet, and I went back with my client to where the elm had been. The sun was just grazing the top of the oak. I fastened the rod on end, marked out the direction of the shadow, and measured it. It was nine feet in length.

“Of course the calculation now was a simple one. If a rod of six feet threw a shadow of nine, a tree of sixty-four feet would throw one of ninety-six, and the line of the one would of course be the line of the other. I measured out the distance, which brought me almost to the wall of the house, and I thrust a peg into the spot. You can imagine my exultation, Watson, when within two inches of my peg I saw a conical depression in the ground. I knew that it was the mark made by Brunton in his measurements, and that I was still upon his trail.

“From this starting-point I proceeded to step, having first taken the cardinal points by my pocket-compass. Ten steps with each foot took me along parallel with the wall of the house, and again I marked my spot with a peg. Then I carefully paced off five to the east and two to the south. It brought me to the very threshold of the old door. Two steps to the west meant now that I was to go two paces down the stone-flagged passage, and this was the place indicated by the Ritual.

“Never have I felt such a cold chill of disappointment, Watson. For a moment it seemed to me that there must be some radical mistake in my calculations. The setting sun shone full upon the passage floor, and I could see that the old, foot-worn gray stones with which it was paved were firmly cemented together, and had certainly not been moved for many a long year. Brunton had not been at work here. I tapped upon the floor, but it sounded the same all over, and there was no sign of any crack or crevice. But fortunately, Musgrave, who had begun to appreciate the meaning of my proceedings, and who was now as excited as myself, took out his manuscript to check my calculation.

“‘And under,’ he cried. ‘You have omitted the “and under.”’

“I had thought that it meant that we were to dig, but now, of course, I saw at once that I was wrong. ‘There is a cellar under this then?’ I cried.

“‘Yes, and as old as the house. Down here, through this door.’

“We went down a winding stone stair, and my companion, striking a match, lit a large lantern which stood on a barrel in the corner. In an instant it was obvious that we had at last come upon the true place, and that we had not been the only people to visit the spot recently.

“It had been used for the storage of wood, but the billets, which had evidently been littered over the floor, were now piled at the sides, so as to leave a clear space in the middle. In this space lay a large and heavy flagstone with a rusted iron ring in the centre to which a thick shepherd's-check muffler was attached.

“‘By Jove!’ cried my client. ‘That's Brunton's muffler. I have seen it on him, and could swear to it. What has the villain been doing here?’

“At my suggestion a couple of the county police were summoned to be present, and I then endeavored to raise the stone by pulling on the cravat. I could only move it slightly, and it was with the aid of one of the constables that I succeeded at last in carrying it to one side. A black hole yawned beneath into which we all peered, while Musgrave, kneeling at the side, pushed down the lantern.

“A small chamber about seven feet deep and four feet square lay open to us. At one side of this was a squat, brass-bound wooden box, the lid of which was hinged upwards, with this curious old-fashioned key projecting from the lock. It was furred outside by a thick layer of dust, and damp and worms had eaten through the wood, so that a crop of livid fungi was growing on the inside of it. Several discs of metal, old coins apparently, such as I hold here, were scattered over the bottom of the box, but it contained nothing else.

“At the moment, however, we had no thought for the old chest, for our eyes were riveted upon that which crouched beside it. It was the figure of a man, clad in a suit of black, who squatted down upon his hams with his forehead sunk upon the edge of the box and his two arms thrown out on each side of it. The attitude had drawn all the stagnant blood to the face, and no man could have recognized that distorted liver-colored countenance; but his height, his dress, and his hair were all sufficient to show my client, when we had drawn the body up, that it was indeed his missing butler. He had been dead some days, but there was no wound or bruise upon his person to show how he had met his dreadful end. When his body had been carried from the cellar we found ourselves still confronted with a problem which was almost as formidable as that with which we had started.

“I confess that so far, Watson, I had been disappointed in my investigation. I had reckoned upon solving the matter when once I had found the place referred to in the Ritual; but now I was there, and was apparently as far as ever from knowing what it was which the family had concealed with such elaborate precautions. It is true that I had thrown a light upon the fate of Brunton, but now I had to ascertain how that fate had come upon him, and what part had been played in the matter by the woman who had disappeared. I sat down upon a keg in the corner and thought the whole matter carefully over.

“You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put myself in the man's place and, having first gauged his intelligence, I try to imagine how I should myself have proceeded under the same circumstances. In this case the matter was simplified by Brunton's intelligence being quite first-rate, so that it was unnecessary to make any allowance for the personal equation, as the astronomers have dubbed it. He knew that something valuable was concealed. He had spotted the place. He found that the stone which covered it was just too heavy for a man to move unaided. What would he do next? He could not get help from outside, even if he had some one whom he could trust, without the unbarring of doors and considerable risk of detection. It was better, if he could, to have his helpmate inside the house. But whom could he ask? This girl had been devoted to him. A man always finds it hard to realize that he may have finally lost a woman's love, however badly he may have treated her. He would try by a few attentions to make his peace with the girl Howells, and then would engage her as his accomplice. Together they would come at night to the cellar, and their united force would suffice to raise the stone. So far I could follow their actions as if I had actually seen them.

“But for two of them, and one a woman, it must have been heavy work the raising of that stone. A burly Sussex policeman and I had found it no light job. What would they do to assist them? Probably what I should have done myself. I rose and examined carefully the different billets of wood which were scattered round the floor. Almost at once I came upon what I expected. One piece, about three feet in length, had a very marked indentation at one end, while several were flattened at the sides as if they had been compressed by some considerable weight. Evidently, as they had dragged the stone up they had thrust the chunks of wood into the chink, until at last, when the opening was large enough to crawl through, they would hold it open by a billet placed lengthwise, which might very well become indented at the lower end, since the whole weight of the stone would press it down on to the edge of this other slab. So far I was still on safe ground.

“And now how was I to proceed to reconstruct this midnight drama? Clearly, only one could fit into the hole, and that one was Brunton. The girl must have waited above. Brunton then unlocked the box, handed up the contents presumably—since they were not to be found—and then—and then what happened?

“What smouldering fire of vengeance had suddenly sprung into flame in this passionate Celtic woman's soul when she saw the man who had wronged her—wronged her, perhaps, far more than we suspected—in her power? Was it a chance that the wood had slipped, and that the stone had shut Brunton into what had become his sepulchre? Had she only been guilty of silence as to his fate? Or had some sudden blow from her hand dashed the support away and sent the slab crashing down into its place? Be that as it might, I seemed to see that woman's figure still clutching at her treasure trove and flying wildly up the winding stair, with her ears ringing perhaps with the muffled screams from behind her and with the drumming of frenzied hands against the slab of stone which was choking her faithless lover's life out.

“Here was the secret of her blanched face, her shaken nerves, her peals of hysterical laughter on the next morning. But what had been in the box? What had she done with that? Of course, it must have been the old metal and pebbles which my client had dragged from the mere. She had thrown them in there at the first opportunity to remove the last trace of her crime.

“For twenty minutes I had sat motionless, thinking the matter out. Musgrave still stood with a very pale face, swinging his lantern and peering down into the hole.

“‘These are coins of Charles the First,’ said he, holding out the few which had been in the box; ‘you see we were right in fixing our date for the Ritual.’

“‘We may find something else of Charles the First,’ I cried, as the probable meaning of the first two question of the Ritual broke suddenly upon me. ‘Let me see the contents of the bag which you fished from the mere.’

“We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris before me. I could understand his regarding it as of small importance when I looked at it, for the metal was almost black and the stones lustreless and dull. I rubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it glowed afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of my hand. The metal work was in the form of a double ring, but it had been bent and twisted out of its original shape.

“‘You must bear in mind,’ said I, ‘that the royal party made head in England even after the death of the King, and that when they at last fled they probably left many of their most precious possessions buried behind them, with the intention of returning for them in more peaceful times.’

“‘My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, was a prominent Cavalier and the right-hand man of Charles the Second in his wanderings,’ said my friend.

“‘Ah, indeed!’ I answered. ‘Well now, I think that really should give us the last link that we wanted. I must congratulate you on coming into the possession, though in rather a tragic manner, of a relic which is of great intrinsic value, but of even greater importance as an historical curiosity.’

“‘What is it, then?’ he gasped in astonishment.

“‘It is nothing less than the ancient crown of the kings of England.’

“‘The crown!’

“‘Precisely. Consider what the Ritual says: How does it run? “Whose was it?” “His who is gone.” That was after the execution of Charles. Then, “Who shall have it?” “He who will come.” That was Charles the Second, whose advent was already foreseen. There can, I think, be no doubt that this battered and shapeless diadem once encircled the brows of the royal Stuarts.’

“‘And how came it in the pond?’

“‘Ah, that is a question that will take some time to answer.’ And with that I sketched out to him the whole long chain of surmise and of proof which I had constructed. The twilight had closed in and the moon was shining brightly in the sky before my narrative was finished.

“‘And how was it then that Charles did not get his crown when he returned?’ asked Musgrave, pushing back the relic into its linen bag.

“‘Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one point which we shall probably never be able to clear up. It is likely that the Musgrave who held the secret died in the interval, and by some oversight left this guide to his descendant without explaining the meaning of it. From that day to this it has been handed down from father to son, until at last it came within reach of a man who tore its secret out of it and lost his life in the venture.’

“And that's the story of the Musgrave Ritual, Watson. They have the crown down at Hurlstone—though they had some legal bother and a considerable sum to pay before they were allowed to retain it. I am sure that if you mentioned my name they would be happy to show it to you. Of the woman nothing was ever heard, and the probability is that she got away out of England and carried herself and the memory of her crime to some land beyond the seas.”

马斯格雷夫礼典

我的朋友歇洛克-福尔摩斯的一性一格有一点与众不同的地方，经常使我烦恼。虽然他的思想方法敏锐过人，有条有理，着装朴素而整洁，可是他的生活一习一惯却杂乱无章，使同住的人感到心烦。我自己在这方面也并不是无可指责的。我在阿富汗时那种乱糟糟的工作，还有放一荡不羁的一性一情，已使我相当马虎，不是一个医生应有的样子。但对我来说总是有个限度。当我看到一个人把烟卷放在煤斗里，把烟叶放在波斯拖鞋顶部，而一些尚未答复的信件却被他用一把大折刀插在木制壁炉台正中时，我便开始觉得自己还怪不错的呢。此外，我总认为，手槍练一习一显然应当是一种户外消遣，而福尔摩斯一时兴之所至，便坐在一把扶手椅中，用他那手槍和一百匣子弹，以维多利亚女王的一爱一国主义一精一神，用弹痕把对面墙上装饰得星罗棋布，我深深感到，这既不能改善我们室内的气氛，又不能改善房屋的外观。

我们的房里经常塞满了化学药品和罪犯的遗物，而这些东西经常放在意料不到的地方，有时突然在黄油盘里，或甚至在更不令人注意的地方出现，可是他的文件却是我最大的难题。他最不喜欢销毁文件，特别是那些与他过去办案有关的文件，他每一两年只有一次集中一精一力去归纳处理它们。因为，正如我在这些支离破碎的回忆录里有些地方曾经提到的一样，当他建立了卓越的功勋因而扬名时，他才会有这种一精一力。但这种热情旋即消失，随之而来的是反映异常冷漠，在此期间，他每日与小提琴和书籍为伍，除了从沙发到桌旁以外几乎一动也不动。这样月复一月，他的文件越积越多，屋里每个角落都堆放着一捆捆的手稿，他决不肯烧毁，而且除了他本人外，谁也不准把它们挪动一寸。

有一年冬季的夜晚，我们一起坐在炉旁，我冒然向他提出，等他把摘要抄进备忘录以后，用两小时整理房间，搞得稍稍适于居住一些。他无法反驳我这正当的要求，面有愠色，走进寝室，一会儿就返回，身后拖着一只铁皮大箱子。他把箱子放在地板当中，拿个小凳蹲坐大箱子前面，打开箱盖。我见箱内已有三分之一装进了文件，都是用红带子绑成的小捆。

“华生，这里有很多案件，”福尔摩斯调皮地望着我说道，“我想，如果你知道我这箱子里装的都是什么，那么你就会要我把已装进去的拿出来，而不要我把没有装的装进去了。”

“这么说，这都是你早期办案的记载了？”我问道，“我总想对这些案件做些札记呢。”

“是的，我的朋友，这都是在我没成名以前办的案子。”福尔摩斯轻轻而又一爱一惜地拿出一捆捆的文件。“这些并不都是成功的记录，华生，”他说道，“可是其中也有许多很有趣。这是塔尔顿凶杀案报告，这是范贝里酒商案，俄国老妇人历险案，还有铝制拐杖奇案以及跛足的里科里特和他可恶妻子的案件。还有这一件，啊，这才真是一桩有点儿新奇的案件呢。”

他把手伸进箱子，从箱底取出一个小木匣，匣盖可以活动，活象儿童玩具盒子。福尔摩斯从匣内取出一张一揉一皱了的纸，一把老式铜钥匙，一只缠着线球的木钉和三个生锈的旧金属圆板。

“喂，我的朋友，你猜这些东西是怎么回事？”福尔摩斯看到我脸上的表情，笑容满面地问道。

“这简直是一些稀奇古怪的收藏品。”

“非常希奇古怪，而围绕它们发生的故事，更会使你感到惊奇不迭呢。”

“那么，这些遗物还有一段历史吗？”

“不仅有历史，而且它们本身就是历史啊。”

“这是什么意思呢？”

歇洛克-福尔摩斯把它们一件一件拿出来，沿桌边摆成一行，然后又坐到椅子上打量着这些东西，两眼露出满意的神情。

“这些，”他说道，“都是我留下来以便回忆马斯格雷夫礼典一案的。”

我曾经听他不止一次提到这件案子，可是始终未能探悉详情。“如果你详细讲给我听，”我说道，“那我真是太高兴了。”

“那么这些杂乱东西还照原样不动了？”福尔摩斯调皮地大声说道，“你的整洁又不能如愿了，华生。可是我很高兴在你的案例记载中，能把这件案子增加进去。因为这件案子不仅在国内犯罪记载中非常独特，而且我相信，在国外也极为罕见。如果搜集我那些微不足道的成就，却不记载这件离奇的案子，那就很不完备了。

“你当然记得‘格洛里亚斯科特’号帆船事件，我向你讲了那个不幸的人的遭遇，我和他的谈话，第一次使我想到职业问题，而后来侦探果然成了我的终身职业。现在你看我已经名扬四海了，无论是公众，还是警方都普遍把我当作疑难案件的最高上诉法院。甚至当你和我初一交一之际，即我正进行着你后来追记为‘血字的研究’一案的时候，虽然我业务并非十分兴隆，但已有了很多主顾了。你很难想象，开始我是多么困难，我经历了多么长久的努力才得到了成功。

“当初我来到伦敦，住在大英博物馆附近的蒙塔格街，闲居无事，便专心研究各门科学，以便将来有所成就。那时不断有人求我破案，主要都是通过我一些老同学介绍的。因为我在大学的后几年，人们经常议论我和我的思想方法。我破的第三个案件就是马斯格雷夫礼典案。而那使我兴致昂然的一系列奇异事件以及后来证明是事关重大的办案结局，使我向从事今天这一职业迈出了第一步。

“雷金纳德-马斯格雷夫和我在同一个学校学一习一，我和他有一面之一交一。因为他看上去很骄傲，所以在大学生中是不怎么受欢迎的。但我总觉得他的骄傲，实际上是力图掩盖他那天生的羞怯的表现。他有一副极为典型的贵族子弟的相貌，瘦身形，高鼻子，大眼睛，慢条斯理，一温一文尔雅。事实上他确是大英帝国一家最古老贵族的后裔。可是在十六世纪时，他们这一支（次子的后裔）就从北方的马斯格雷夫家族中分出来，定居在苏塞克斯西部，而赫尔斯通庄园或许是这一地区至今还有人居住的最古老的建筑了。他出生地苏塞克斯一带的事物看来对他影响很大，我每次看到他那苍白而机灵的面孔或他那头部的姿态，就不免联想起那些灰色的拱道、直棂的窗户以及封建古堡的一切遗迹。有一两次我们不知不觉地攀谈起来，我还记得他不止一次说他对我的观察和推理方法感兴趣。

“我们有四年没有见面了，一天早晨他到蒙塔格街来找我。他变化不大，穿戴得象一个上流社会的年轻人（他一爱一讲究穿戴），依然保持他从前那种与众不同的安静文雅的风度。

“‘你一向很好吗？马斯格雷夫，’我们热情地握手以后，我问道。

“‘你大概听说过我可怜的父亲去世了，’马斯格雷夫说道，“他是两年前故去的。从那时起我当然要管理赫尔斯通庄园了。因为我是我们这一区的议员，所以忙得不可开一交一。可是，福尔摩斯，我听说你正在把你那令人惊奇的本领用到实际生活中？’

“‘是的，’我说道，‘我已经靠这点小聪明谋生了！’“‘听你这么说我很高兴，因为眼下你的指教对我非常宝贵。我在赫尔斯通碰到许多怪事，警察未能查出任何头绪。这确实是一件最不寻常的难以言喻的案件。’

“你可以想象我听他讲时是多么急不可耐了，华生，因为几个月来我无所事事，我一直渴望的机会看来终于来到了。在我内心深处，我相信别人遭到失败的事情，我能成功，现在我有机会试一试身手了。

“‘请把详情见告，’我大声说道。

“雷金纳德-马斯格雷夫在我对面坐下来，把我递给他的香烟点着。

“‘你要知道，’他说，‘我虽然是一个单身汉，但是我在赫尔斯通庄园仍然拥有相当多的仆人，因为那是一座偏僻凌一乱的旧庄园，需要很多人照料。我也不愿辞退他们，而且在猎野鸡的季节，我经常在别墅举行家宴，留客人小住，缺乏人手是不成的。我共有八个女仆，一个厨师，一个管家，两个男仆和一个小听差。花园和马厩当然另有一班子人。

“‘仆人中当差最久的是管家布伦顿。我父亲当初雇他时，他是一个不称职的小学教师。但他一精一力旺盛，个一性一很强，很快就受到全家的器重。他身材适中，眉目清秀，前额俊美，虽然和我们相处已二十年，但年龄还不满四十。由于他有许多优点和非凡的才能（因为他能说几国语言，几乎能演奏所有乐器），长期处于仆役地位而竟然很满足，这实在令人费解。不过我看他是安于现状，没有一精一力去作任何改变。凡是拜访过我们的人都记得这位管家。

“‘可是这个完人也有瑕疵，就是有一点唐璜［唐璜：西班牙传奇人物，是一个风一流一浪一荡贵族，西方诗歌、戏剧中多引用——译者注］的作风，你可以设想，象他这样的人在穷乡僻壤扮演风一流荡子是毫不困难的。他初结婚时倒也不错，但自妻子亡故，我们就在他身上碰到无穷无尽的麻烦。几个月以前因为他已经与我们的二等使女雷切尔-豪厄尔斯订了婚，我们本希望他再一次收敛些，可是他又把雷切尔抛弃了，与猎场看守班头的女儿珍妮特-特雷杰丽丝搅在一起。雷切尔是一个很好的姑一娘一，可是具有威尔士人那种容易激动的一性一格。她刚闹了一场脑膜炎，现在，或者说直到昨天才开始能够行走。与她过去相比，简直成了一个黑眼睛的幽灵。这是我们赫尔斯通的第一出戏剧一性一事件。可是接着又发生了第二出戏剧一性一事件，这使我们把第一件忘在脑后，那第二出戏剧一性一事件，是由管家布伦顿的失一宠一和解雇引起的。

“‘事情是这样的：我已经说过，这个人很聪明，可是聪明反被聪明误，因为聪明使他对毫不关己的事显得过分好奇。

我根本没有想到好奇心会使他陷得这样深，直到发生了一件纯属偶然的事情，才使我重视起来。

“‘我说过，这原是一所凌一乱的庄园。上星期有一天，更确切地说是上星期四晚上，我在吃过晚餐以后，极为愚蠢地喝了一杯非常浓的咖啡，很久不能入睡，一直闹到清早两点钟，我感到毫无入睡的希望了，便起来点起蜡烛，打算继续看我没看完的一本小说。然而我把这本书丢在弹子房了，于是我便披上睡衣走出卧室去取。

“‘要到弹子房，我必须下一段楼梯，然后经过一段走廊，那条走廊的尽头，通往藏书室和槍库。我向走廊望过去，忽见一道微弱的亮光从藏书室敞开的门内射一出，这时你可想见我是多么惊奇了。临睡前我已经亲自把藏书室的灯熄灭，把门也关上了。我自然首先想到这一定是夜盗了。赫尔斯通庄园的走廊里的墙壁上装饰着许多古代武器的战利品。我从里面挑出一把战斧，然后，丢一了蜡烛，蹑手蹑脚地走过走廊，向门里窥视。

“‘原来是管家布伦顿呆在藏书室里。他衣着整齐地坐在一把安乐椅里，膝上摊着一张纸，看上去好象是一张地图，手托前额，正在沉思。我瞠目结舌地立在那里，暗中窥一探他的动静。只见桌边放着一支小蜡烛，我借着那微弱的烛光，瞧见他衣着整齐，又见他突然从椅上站起来，走向那边一个写字台，打开锁，拉开一个一抽一屉。他从里面取出一份文件，又回到原来的座位，把文件平铺在桌边蜡烛旁，开始聚一精一会神地研究起来。看到他那样镇静自若地检查我们家的文件，我不禁勃然大怒，便一步跨向前去。这时布伦顿抬起头来，见我站在门口，便跳起来，脸吓得发青，连忙把刚才研究的那张海图一样的文件塞一进怀中。

“‘我说：“好哇！你就这样报答我们对你的信任。明天你就离职辞行吧。”

“‘他垂头丧气地一鞠躬，一言不发地从我身边溜走了。

蜡烛依然摆在桌上，借助烛光，我瞥了一眼，看布伦顿从写字台里取出的文件到底是什么。出乎我的意料，那文件根本无关紧要，只是一份奇异的古老仪式中的问答词抄件而已。这种仪式叫“马斯格雷夫礼典”，是我们家族的特有仪式。过去几世纪以来，凡是马斯格雷夫家族的人，一到成年就要举行这种仪式——这只同我们家族的私事有关，就象我们自己的纹章图记一样，或许对考古学家有些重要作用，但是毫无实际用处。’

“‘我们最好还是回头再谈那份文件的事吧，’我说道。

“‘如果你认为确有必要的话，’马斯格雷夫也有些迟疑地答道，‘好，我就继续讲下去：我用布伦顿留下的钥匙重新把写字台锁好，刚要转身走开，突然发现管家已经走回来站在我面前，这使我吃了一惊。

“‘他感情激动，声音嘶哑地高声喊道：“先生，马斯格雷夫先生，我不能丢这个脸，先生，我虽然身份低微，但平生极重脸面，丢这份脸就要了我的命。先生，如果你绝人生路，那我的死亡应由你负责，我会这么办的，确实不假。先生，如果在出了这件事以后你再也不能留我，那么，看在上帝面上，让我向你申请在一个月内离开，就如同自愿辞职一样。马斯格雷夫先生，辞职没有关系，但是当着所有熟人的面前把我赶出去可不行。”

“‘我答道：“你不配那么多照顾，布伦顿，你的行为极其恶劣。不过，既然你在我们家这么长时间了，我也无意让你当众丢脸。不过一个月时间太长了，一星期之内离开吧，随便找个什么理由都行。”

“‘他绝望地叫道：“只给一个星期？先生。两个星期吧，我说，至少两个星期！”

“‘我重复道：“一个星期。你该认为这对你已是非常宽大的了。”

“‘他象一个绝望的人，垂头丧气地悄悄走开了。我吹熄了灯，回到自己房里。

“‘以后两天，布伦顿非常勤奋专注，克尽职守。我也不提发生过的事，怀着一种好奇心等着看他怎样保全面子。他有个一习一惯，总是吃罢早餐来接受我对他一天工作的指示，可是第三天早晨他没有来。我从餐室出来时碰巧遇到女仆雷切尔-豪厄尔斯。前面已经说过，这位女仆最近刚刚病愈复原，疲惫不堪，面无血色，于是我劝她不要再去工作。

“‘我说道：“你应当卧一床一休息，身一体结实些了，再工作。”

“‘她带着那么奇怪的表情望着我，使我开始怀疑她是不是又犯了脑病。

“‘她说道：“我已经够结实的了，马斯格雷夫先生。”

“‘我回答道：“我们要听听医生怎么说。你现在必须停止工作，你到楼下时，请告诉布伦顿，我要找他。”

“‘她说道：“管家已经走了。”

“‘我问道：“走了！到哪儿去了？”

“‘她说：“他走了，没有人看见他。他不在房里。啊，是的，他走了，他走了！”雷切尔说着，靠在墙上，发出一阵阵尖声狂笑，这种歇斯底里的突然发作，使我一毛一骨悚然，我急忙按铃叫人帮忙。仆人们把姑一娘一搀回房去。我向她询问布伦顿的情况，她依然尖一叫着，一抽一泣不止。毫无疑问，布伦顿确实不见了。他的一床一昨夜没有人睡过，从他前夜回房以后，再没有人见到过他。也很难查明他是怎样离开住宅的，因为早晨门窗都是闩着的。他的衣服、表，甚至钱钞，都在屋里原封没动，只有常穿的那套黑衣服不见了。他的拖鞋穿走了，长统靴子却留下来。那么管家布伦顿夤夜到哪里去了呢？他现在又怎么样了呢？

“‘我们当然把整个庄园从地下室到阁楼都搜索了一遍，可是连他的影子都没有。正如我说过的，这是一所象迷宫一样的老宅邸，特别是那些古老的厢房，现在实际上已无人居住。可是我们反复搜查了每个房间和地下室，结果连失踪者的蛛丝马迹也没有。我很难相信他能丢弃所有财物空手而去，再说他又能到什么地方去呢？我叫来了当地警察，但也无济无事。前夜曾经下过雨，我们察看庄园四周的草坪与小径，依然徒劳无益。情况就是这样。后来事情又有了新进展，把我们的注意力从这个疑一团一上引开了。

“‘雷切尔-豪厄尔斯两天来病得很厉害，有时神志昏迷，有时歇斯底里，我便雇了一个护一士给她陪夜。在布伦顿失踪后的第三个夜晚，护一士发现病人睡得香甜，便坐在扶手椅上打盹，第二天大清早醒来，发现病一床一上空空如也，窗户大开，病人已无影无踪。护一士立即叫醒了我，我带领两个仆人立即出发去寻找那个失踪的姑一娘一。她的去向并不难辨认，因为从她窗下开始，我们可以沿着她的足迹，毫不费力地穿过草坪，来到小湖边，在这里，足迹就在石子路附近消失了，而这条石子路是通往宅旁园地的。这个小湖水深八英尺，我们看到可怜的疯姑一娘一的足迹在湖边消失，当时的心情就可想而知了。

“‘当然，我们立即打捞，着手寻找遗体，但是连一尸一体的影子也没能找到。另一方面，却捞出一件最意料不到的东西，那是一个亚麻布口袋，里面装着一堆陈旧生锈和失去光泽的金属件，以及一些暗淡无光的水晶和玻璃制品。我们从湖中捞取的除此奇怪的物品之外，再无其它。此外，虽然昨天我们竭尽一切可能进行搜索、查询，可是对雷切尔-豪厄尔斯和理查德-布伦顿的命运，仍然一无所知。区警局已经智穷力竭。我只好来找你，这是最后一着了。’“华生，可想而知，我是多么急不可耐地倾听着这一连串离奇事件，极力把它们串到一起，并找出串连所有事件的共同主线来。管家不见了，女仆也不见了，女仆曾经一爱一过管家，不过后来又有理由怨恨他。姑一娘一是威尔士血统，一性一情急躁易怒。管家一失踪，她就立刻万分激动。她把装着怪东西的口袋投进湖中。这些都是需要考虑到的因素，但是没有一个因素完全触及问题的实质。这一连串事项的起点是什么呢？现在只有这一连串错综复杂事件的结尾。

“我说道：‘我必须看看那份文件，马斯格雷夫，你的管家认为值得冒丢掉职业的危险一读的那一份。’“‘我们家族的礼典是件非常荒唐的东西。’马斯格雷夫回答道，‘不过由于它是古人留下的，至少还有些可取之处。

如果你愿意过目的话，我有这份礼典问答词的抄件。’“华生，马斯格雷夫就把我现在拿着的这份文件递给了我，这就是马斯格雷夫家族中每个成年人都必须服从的奇怪的教义问答手册。请听问答词的原文。

“‘它是谁的？’

“‘是那个走了的人的。’

“‘谁应该得到它？’

“‘那个即将来到的人。’

“‘太一陽一在哪里？’

“‘在橡树上面。’

“‘一陰一影