福尔摩斯-身份案 A Case of Identity

A Case of Identity

Arthur Conan Doyle

“My dear fellow,” said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side of the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, “life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to the most outré results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable.”

“And yet I am not convinced of it,” I answered. “The cases which come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and vulgar enough. We have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed, neither fascinating nor artistic.”

“A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realistic effect,” remarked Holmes. “This is wanting in the police report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the platitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an observer contain the vital essence of the whole matter. Depend upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace.”

I smiled and shook my head. “I can quite understand your thinking so.” I said. “Of course, in your position of unofficial adviser and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with all that is strange and bizarre. But here”—I picked up the morning paper from the ground—“let us put it to a practical test. Here is the first heading upon which I come. ‘A husband's cruelty to his wife.’ There is half a column of print, but I know without reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is, of course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of writers could invent nothing more crude.”

“Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument,” said Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. “This is the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged in clearing up some small points in connection with it. The husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the conduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller. Take a pinch of snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over you in your example.”

He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in the centre of the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to his homely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting upon it.

“Ah,” said he, “I forgot that I had not seen you for some weeks. It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my assistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers.”

“And the ring?” I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which sparkled upon his finger.

“It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in which I served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confide it even to you, who have been good enough to chronicle one or two of my little problems.”

“And have you any on hand just now?” I asked with interest.

“Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of interest. They are important, you understand, without being interesting. Indeed, I have found that it is usually in unimportant matters that there is a field for the observation, and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives the charm to an investigation. The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for the bigger the crime the more obvious, as a rule, is the motive. In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter which has been referred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing which presents any features of interest. It is possible, however, that I may have something better before very many minutes are over, for this is one of my clients, or I am much mistaken.”

He had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted blinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted London street. Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite there stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was tilted in a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion over her ear. From under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at our windows, while her body oscillated backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glove buttons. Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurried across the road, and we heard the sharp clang of the bell.

“I have seen those symptoms before,” said Holmes, throwing his cigarette into the fire. “Oscillation upon the pavement always means an affaire de coeur. She would like advice, but is not sure that the matter is not too delicate for communication. And yet even here we may discriminate. When a woman has been seriously wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom is a broken bell wire. Here we may take it that there is a love matter, but that the maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or grieved. But here she comes in person to resolve our doubts.”

As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons entered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself loomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed merchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable, and, having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked her over in the minute and yet abstracted fashion which was peculiar to him.

“Do you not find,” he said, “that with your short sight it is a little trying to do so much typewriting?”

“I did at first,” she answered, “but now I know where the letters are without looking.” Then, suddenly realising the full purport of his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear and astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face. “You've heard about me, Mr. Holmes,” she cried, “else how could you know all that?”

“Never mind,” said Holmes, laughing; “it is my business to know things. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others overlook. If not, why should you come to consult me?”

“I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Etherege, whose husband you found so easy when the police and everyone had given him up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as much for me. I'm not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in my own right, besides the little that I make by the machine, and I would give it all to know what has become of Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

“Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?” asked Sherlock Holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to the ceiling.

Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss Mary Sutherland. “Yes, I did bang out of the house,” she said, “for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr. Windibank—that is, my father—took it all. He would not go to the police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he would do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done, it made me mad, and I just on with my things and came right away to you.”

“Your father,” said Holmes, “your stepfather, surely, since the name is different.”

“Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny, too, for he is only five years and two months older than myself.”

“And your mother is alive?”

“Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr. Holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death, and a man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father was a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy business behind him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr. Windibank came he made her sell the business, for he was very superior, being a traveller in wines. They got ￡4700 for the goodwill and interest, which wasn't near as much as father could have got if he had been alive.”

I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this rambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he had listened with the greatest concentration of attention.

“Your own little income,” he asked, “does it come out of the business?”

“Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle Ned in Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4? per cent. Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can only touch the interest.”

“You interest me extremely,” said Holmes. “And since you draw so large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in every way. I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about ￡60.”

“I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you understand that as long as I live at home I don't wish to be a burden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while I am staying with them. Of course, that is only just for the time. Mr. Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it over to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I earn at typewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a day.”

“You have made your position very clear to me,” said Holmes. “This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Kindly tell us now all about your connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

A flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face, and she picked nervously at the fringe of her jacket. “I met him first at the gasfitters' ball,” she said. “They used to send father tickets when he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, and sent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go. He never did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat. But this time I was set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to prevent? He said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all father's friends were to be there. And he said that I had nothing fit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never so much as taken out of the drawer. At last, when nothing else would do, he went off to France upon the business of the firm, but we went, mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

“I suppose,” said Holmes, “that when Mr. Windibank came back from France he was very annoyed at your having gone to the ball.”

“Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember, and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denying anything to a woman, for she would have her way.”

“I see. Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, a gentleman called Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

“Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if we had got home all safe, and after that we met him—that is to say, Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after that father came back again, and Mr. Hosmer Angel could not come to the house any more.”

“No?”

“Well, you know father didn't like anything of the sort. He wouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But then, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to begin with, and I had not got mine yet.”

“But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt to see you?”

“Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmer wrote and said that it would be safer and better not to see each other until he had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he used to write every day. I took the letters in in the morning, so there was no need for father to know.”

“Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk that we took. Hosmer—Mr. Angel—was a cashier in an office in Leadenhall Street—and—”

“What office?”

“That's the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I don't know.”

“Where did he live, then?”

“He slept on the premises.”

“And you don't know his address?”

“No—except that it was Leadenhall Street.”

“Where did you address your letters, then?”

“To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to be left till called for. He said that if they were sent to the office he would be chaffed by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady, so I offered to typewrite them, like he did his, but he wouldn't have that, for he said that when I wrote them they seemed to come from me, but when they were typewritten he always felt that the machine had come between us. That will just show you how fond he was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that he would think of.”

“It was most suggestive,” said Holmes. “It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important. Can you remember any other little things about Mr. Hosmer Angel?”

“He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with me in the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to be conspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he was. Even his voice was gentle. He'd had the quinsy and swollen glands when he was young, he told me, and it had left him with a weak throat, and a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech. He was always well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just as mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare.”

“Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfather, returned to France?”

“Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that we should marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnest and made me swear, with my hands on the Testament, that whatever happened I would always be true to him. Mother said he was quite right to make me swear, and that it was a sign of his passion. Mother was all in his favour from the first and was even fonder of him than I was. Then, when they talked of marrying within the week, I began to ask about father; but they both said never to mind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother said she would make it all right with him. I didn't quite like that, Mr. Holmes. It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, as he was only a few years older than me; but I didn't want to do anything on the sly, so I wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the company has its French offices, but the letter came back to me on the very morning of the wedding.”

“It missed him, then?”

“Yes, sir; for he had started to England just before it arrived.”

“Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then, for the Friday. Was it to be in church?”

“Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviour's, near King's Cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the St. Pancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were two of us he put us both into it and stepped himself into a four-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in the street. We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler drove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and when the cabman got down from the box and looked there was no one there! The cabman said that he could not imagine what had become of him, for he had seen him get in with his own eyes. That was last Friday, Mr. Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything since then to throw any light upon what became of him.”

“It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated,” said Holmes.

“Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, all the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to be true; and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to separate us, I was always to remember that I was pledged to him, and that he would claim his pledge sooner or later. It seemed strange talk for a wedding-morning, but what has happened since gives a meaning to it.”

“Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that some unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?”

“Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he would not have talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw happened.”

“But you have no notion as to what it could have been?”

“None.”

“One more question. How did your mother take the matter?”

“She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the matter again.”

“And your father? Did you tell him?”

“Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had happened, and that I should hear of Hosmer again. As he said, what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of the church, and then leaving me? Now, if he had borrowed my money, or if he had married me and got my money settled on him, there might be some reason, but Hosmer was very independent about money and never would look at a shilling of mine. And yet, what could have happened? And why could he not write? Oh, it drives me half-mad to think of it, and I can't sleep a wink at night.” She pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob heavily into it.

“I shall glance into the case for you,” said Holmes, rising, “and I have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. Let the weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind dwell upon it further. Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel vanish from your memory, as he has done from your life.”

“Then you don't think I'll see him again?”

“I fear not.”

“Then what has happened to him?”

“You will leave that question in my hands. I should like an accurate description of him and any letters of his which you can spare.”

“I advertised for him in last Saturday's Chronicle,” said she. “Here is the slip and here are four letters from him.”

“Thank you. And your address?”

“No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell.”

“Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is your father's place of business?”

“He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers of Fenchurch Street.”

“Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given you. Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it to affect your life.”

“You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be true to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back.”

For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which compelled our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon the table and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever she might be summoned.

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of infinite languor in his face.

“Quite an interesting study, that maiden,” he observed. “I found her more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, is rather a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you consult my index, in Andover in '77, and there was something of the sort at The Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however, there were one or two details which were new to me. But the maiden herself was most instructive.”

“You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisible to me,” I remarked.

“Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know where to look, and so you missed all that was important. I can never bring you to realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace. Now, what did you gather from that woman's appearance? Describe it.”

“Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with a feather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beads sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little purple plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and were worn through at the right forefinger. Her boots I didn't observe. She had small round, hanging gold earrings, and a general air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way.”

Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.

“'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have really done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed everything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and you have a quick eye for colour. Never trust to general impressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. My first glance is always at a woman's sleeve. In a man it is perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. As you observe, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most useful material for showing traces. The double line a little above the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the table, was beautifully defined. The sewing-machine, of the hand type, leaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and on the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the broadest part, as this was. I then glanced at her face, and, observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, I ventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to surprise her.”

“It surprised me.”

“But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and interested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots which she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were really odd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and the other a plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower buttons out of five, and the other at the first, third, and fifth. Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed, has come away from home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry.”

“And what else?” I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, by my friend's incisive reasoning.

“I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving home but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right glove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see that both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She had written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have been this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger. All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must go back to business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertised description of Mr. Hosmer Angel?”

I held the little printed slip to the light.

“Missing,” it said, “on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman named Hosmer Angel. About five ft. seven in. in height; strongly built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted glasses, slight infirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and grey Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots. Known to have been employed in an office in Leadenhall Street. Anybody bringing—”

“That will do,” said Holmes. “As to the letters,” he continued, glancing over them, “they are very commonplace. Absolutely no clue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There is one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you.”

“They are typewritten,” I remarked.

“Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the neat little ‘Hosmer Angel’ at the bottom. There is a date, you see, but no superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is rather vague. The point about the signature is very suggestive—in fact, we may call it conclusive.”

“Of what?”

“My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon the case?”

“I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able to deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were instituted.”

“No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters, which should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, the other is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking him whether he could meet us here at six o'clock tomorrow evening. It is just as well that we should do business with the male relatives. And now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the answers to those letters come, so we may put our little problem upon the shelf for the interim.”

I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy demeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him to fail, in the case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adler photograph; but when I looked back to the weird business of the Sign of Four, and the extraordinary circumstances connected with the Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a strange tangle indeed which he could not unravel.

I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the conviction that when I came again on the next evening I would find that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up to the identity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary Sutherland.

A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at the time, and the whole of next day I was busy at the bedside of the sufferer. It was not until close upon six o'clock that I found myself free and was able to spring into a hansom and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I might be too late to assist at the dénouement of the little mystery. I found Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin form curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable array of bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work which was so dear to him.

“Well, have you solved it?” I asked as I entered.

“Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta.”

“No, no, the mystery!” I cried.

“Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon. There was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said yesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawback is that there is no law, I fear, that can touch the scoundrel.”

“Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss Sutherland?”

The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet opened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the passage and a tap at the door.

“This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windibank,” said Holmes. “He has written to me to say that he would be here at six. Come in!”

The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some thirty years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating grey eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.

“Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank,” said Holmes. “I think that this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment with me for six o'clock?”

“Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite my own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has troubled you about this little matter, for I think it is far better not to wash linen of the sort in public. It was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable, impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I did not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the official police, but it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised abroad. Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you possibly find this Hosmer Angel?”

“On the contrary,” said Holmes quietly; “I have every reason to believe that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel.”

Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. “I am delighted to hear it,” he said.

“It is a curious thing,” remarked Holmes, “that a typewriter has really quite as much individuality as a man's handwriting. Unless they are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. Some letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one side. Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank, that in every case there is some little slurring over of the ‘e,’ and a slight defect in the tail of the ‘r.’ There are fourteen other characteristics, but those are the more obvious.”

“We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office, and no doubt it is a little worn,” our visitor answered, glancing keenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes.

“And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study, Mr. Windibank,” Holmes continued. “I think of writing another little monograph some of these days on the typewriter and its relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted some little attention. I have here four letters which purport to come from the missing man. They are all typewritten. In each case, not only are the ‘e’s' slurred and the ‘r’s' tailless, but you will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteen other characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well.”

Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. “I cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes,” he said. “If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know when you have done it.”

“Certainly,” said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in the door. “I let you know, then, that I have caught him!”

“What! where?” shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his lips and glancing about him like a rat in a trap.

“Oh, it won't do—really it won't,” said Holmes suavely. “There is no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is quite too transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that it was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That's right! Sit down and let us talk it over.”

Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a glitter of moisture on his brow. “It—it's not actionable,” he stammered.

“I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves, Windibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a petty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the course of events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong.”

The man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his breast, like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet up on the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his hands in his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it seemed, than to us.

“The man married a woman very much older than himself for her money,” said he, “and he enjoyed the use of the money of the daughter as long as she lived with them. It was a considerable sum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would have made a serious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it. The daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate and warm-hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that with her fair personal advantages, and her little income, she would not be allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage would mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her stepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course of keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company of people of her own age. But soon he found that that would not answer forever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and finally announced her positive intention of going to a certain ball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives an idea more creditable to his head than to his heart. With the connivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself, covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with a moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that clear voice into an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the girl's short sight, he appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off other lovers by making love himself.”

“It was only a joke at first,” groaned our visitor. “We never thought that she would have been so carried away.”

“Very likely not. However that may be, the young lady was very decidedly carried away, and, having quite made up her mind that her stepfather was in France, the suspicion of treachery never for an instant entered her mind. She was flattered by the gentleman's attentions, and the effect was increased by the loudly expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel began to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. There were meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the girl's affections from turning towards anyone else. But the deception could not be kept up forever. These pretended journeys to France were rather cumbrous. The thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young lady's mind and prevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to come. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and hence also the allusions to a possibility of something happening on the very morning of the wedding. James Windibank wished Miss Sutherland to be so bound to Hosmer Angel, and so uncertain as to his fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, she would not listen to another man. As far as the church door he brought her, and then, as he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a four-wheeler and out at the other. I think that was the chain of events, Mr. Windibank!”

Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while Holmes had been talking, and he rose from his chair now with a cold sneer upon his pale face.

“It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes,” said he, “but if you are so very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is you who are breaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothing actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door locked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal constraint.”

“The law cannot, as you say, touch you,” said Holmes, unlocking and throwing open the door, “yet there never was a man who deserved punishment more. If the young lady has a brother or a friend, he ought to lay a whip across your shoulders. By Jove!” he continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon the man's face, “it is not part of my duties to my client, but here's a hunting crop handy, and I think I shall just treat myself to—” He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he could grasp it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavy hall door banged, and from the window we could see Mr. James Windibank running at the top of his speed down the road.

“There's a cold-blooded scoundrel!” said Holmes, laughing, as he threw himself down into his chair once more. “That fellow will rise from crime to crime until he does something very bad, and ends on a gallows. The case has, in some respects, been not entirely devoid of interest.”

“I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning,” I remarked.

“Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr. Hosmer Angel must have some strong object for his curious conduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who really profited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the stepfather. Then the fact that the two men were never together, but that the one always appeared when the other was away, was suggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice, which both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My suspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in typewriting his signature, which, of course, inferred that his handwriting was so familiar to her that she would recognise even the smallest sample of it. You see all these isolated facts, together with many minor ones, all pointed in the same direction.”

“And how did you verify them?”

“Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. I knew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printed description, I eliminated everything from it which could be the result of a disguise—the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I sent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform me whether it answered to the description of any of their travellers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and I wrote to the man himself at his business address asking him if he would come here. As I expected, his reply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but characteristic defects. The same post brought me a letter from Westhouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that the description tallied in every respect with that of their employee, James Windibank. Voilà tout!”

“And Miss Sutherland?”

“If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the old Persian saying, ‘There is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.’ There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the world.”

身份案

我同福尔摩斯两人对坐在贝克街他寓所的壁炉前。他说：“老兄，生活比人们所能想象的要破妙何止千百倍；真正存在的很平常的事情，我们连想也不敢想。假如我们能够手拉手地飞出那个窗户，翱翔在这个大城市的上空，轻轻地揭开那些屋顶，窥视里边正在发生的不平常的事情：破怪的巧合、密室的策划、闹别扭、以及令人惊破的一连串的事件，它们一代一代地不断发生着，导致稀破古怪的结果，这就会使得一切老一套的、一看开头就知道结局的小说，变得索然无味而失去销路。”

我回答说：“可是，我并不信。报纸上发表的案件，一般地说，都十分单调，俗不可耐。在警察的报告里，现实主义到了极点，必须承认，结果是既不有趣，也无艺术一性一。”

福尔摩斯说道：“要产生实际的效果必须运用一些选择和判断。警察报告里没有这些，也许重点放到地方长官的陈词滥调上去了，而不是放在观察者认为是整个事件必不可少的实质的细节上。毫无疑问，没有什么象司空见惯的东西那样不自然的了。”

我笑着摇摇头说：“我十分理解你这种想法。当然，由于你所处的地位，是整个三大洲每一个陷于困境的人的非正式顾问和助手，你就有机会接触到一切异乎寻常的人和事。可是在这儿"——我从地上捡起一份晨报——"让我们作一次实验，这儿是我看到的第一个标题：《丈夫虐一待妻子》。这条新闻占了半栏篇幅，可是我不看就完全明白里边说的是什么。当然罗，其中牵涉到另一个女人、狂欢滥饮、推推搡搡、拳打脚踢、伤痕累累以及富有同情心的姊妹或者房东太太等等。哪怕最拙劣的作者也想不出比这更粗制滥造的东西了。”

福尔摩斯拿过报纸，粗略地扫视了一下，开口道：“其实，你所举的例子，对你的论点来说是很不恰当的。这是一邓一达斯家分居的案子，发生的时候，我正在把同此案有关的一些细节弄清楚。丈夫是绝对的戒酒主义者，没有别的女人；被控的行为是，他养成了一种一习一惯，在每餐结束时，总是取下假牙，向他的妻子扔去。你将认为，这件事在一般讲故事者的想象里是不会发生的。大夫，来一点鼻烟，你得承认，从你所举的例子来看，我赢了。”

他伸手拿出他的旧金鼻烟壶，壶盖的中心嵌上了一颗紫色水晶。它的光彩夺目同他的朴素作风和简单生活成为鲜明的对照，于是我不得不加以评论。

“呵，"他说，“我忘记有几星期没见你了。这是波希米亚国王为酬谢我在艾琳-艾德勒相片案中帮了他的忙而赠送的小小纪念品。”

“那个戒指呢？"我看了看他手指上光辉夺目的钻石戒指问道。

“这是荷兰王室送给我的，由于我给他们破的案件非常微妙，即便是对你这么一位一直诚诚恳恳地把我的一两件小事迹都记述下来的朋友，我也不便透露。”

“那末，目前你手头上有什么案件吗？"我很感兴趣地问他。

“有那么十一二件，但是没有一件是特别有趣的。它们是重要的，你了解，但是并不是有趣的。的确，我发现在通常不重要的事件里倒有观察和可以机敏地分析因果关系的余地，这样的调查工作就很有兴味了。罪行越大，往往越简单；因为罪行越大，一般地说，动机就越明显。这些案件中，除了从马赛来要我办的那个案件颇为复杂以外，其它就没有一件特别有趣了。不过，也许再过一会儿，就会有更有趣的案件送上门来的，因为如果我不是大错而特错的话，现在又有位委托人来了。”

他从椅子上起身，站到拉开了窗帘的窗前，往下看着那灰暗而萧条的伦敦街道。我从他的肩上往外看去，对面人行道上站着一个高大的女人，颈上围着厚一毛一皮围脖，插着一支大而卷曲的羽一毛一的宽边帽子，以德文郡公爵夫人卖弄风情的姿态，歪戴在一只耳朵上面。在这样盛装之下，她神情紧张、迟疑不决地向上窥视着我们的窗子，同时身一体前后摇晃着，手指烦躁不安地拨一弄着手套的钮扣。突然，象游泳者从岸上一跃入水那样，她急遽地穿过马路，我们听到了一阵刺耳的门铃声。

福尔摩斯把烟头扔到壁炉里，说：“这种征兆，我以前看见过。在人行道上摇摇晃晃经常是意味着发生了色情事件。她想要征询一下别人的意见，但是又拿不定主意是否应把这样微妙的事情告诉别人。就在这点上也要加以区别。当一个女人觉得一个男人做了很对不起她的事的时候，她不再摇晃了，通常的征兆是急得把门铃线都给你拉断了。现在这个我们可以看作是一桩恋一爱一事件，不过这个女子并不怎么愤怒，而只是迷惘或忧伤。好在目前她亲自登门造访，我们的疑一团一也就可以迎刃而解了。”

他正说着，有人敲门，穿着号衣的男仆进来报告说玛丽-萨瑟兰小一姐来访。话音未落，这位女客就出现在他那穿着黑色号衣的矮小身材后面，仿佛随着领港小船扬帆而来的一艘商船。福尔摩斯以他落落大方而又彬彬有礼的非凡态度欢迎她，他随手推上门，微微鞠躬，请她在扶手椅上坐下，片刻之间，就以他特有的那种心不在焉的神态把她打量了一番。

他说道："你眼睛近视，要打那么多字，不觉得有点费劲吗？”

她回答道：“开始确实有点费劲，但是现在不用看就知道字母的位置了。"突然，她体会到他这问话的全部含义，感到十分震惊，抬起头来仰视着，她的宽阔而一性一情和善的脸上露出害怕和惊破之色。她叫道：“福尔摩斯先生，您听说过我吧，不然，怎能知道这一切呢？”

福尔摩斯笑着说道：“不要紧，我的工作就是要知道一些事情。也许我已把自己锻炼得能够了解别人所忽略的地方。不然的话，你怎么会来请教我呢？”

“先生，我是从埃思里破太太那里听说到您才来找您的。警察和大家都认为她的丈夫已经死了而不再去找了，而您却毫不费力就找到了。哦，福尔摩斯先生，我盼望您也能这样帮助我。我并不富裕，但是除了打字所得的那一点点钱之外，凭我自己继承的财产，每年还有一百英镑的收入。只要能知道霍斯默-安吉尔先生的消息，我愿意全部拿出来。”

福尔摩斯问道：“你为什么这样匆匆忙忙地离开家来找我呢？"他手指尖顶着手指尖，眼睛望着天花板。

玛丽-萨瑟兰小一姐的有些茫然若失的脸上又一次出现了惊讶的神色。她说：“是的，我是突然地出来的。因为看到一温一迪班克先生——就是我的父亲——对这事漠不关心，使我非常气愤。他不肯去报告警察，也不肯到您这里来，最后，由于他什么都不干，只是不断地说，‘没事，没事，'使我十分冒火，我穿上外衣，就立即赶来找您。”

“你的父亲，"福尔摩斯说，“一定是你的继父，因为不是同姓。”

“不错，是我的继父。我叫他父亲，尽避听起来很可笑，因为他比我只大五岁零两个月。”

“你母亲还健在吗？”

“是的，我母亲还健在。福尔摩斯先生，在父亲刚死不久，她就重新结婚了，而且男的比她几乎年轻十五岁，这使我很不高兴。我父亲是在托特纳姆法院路做管子生意的。他遗留下来一个相当大的企业，这个企业由母亲和工头哈迪先生继续经营。可是，一温一迪班克先生一来就迫使母亲出卖了这个企业，因为他是个推销酒的旅行推销员，地位很优越。他们出卖商誉连同利息，共得四千七百英镑。假如父亲还活着，他得到的钱数会比这个多得多。”

我本以为福尔摩斯对于这样杂乱无章和没头没脑的叙述会感到厌烦，岂知相反，他却聚一精一会神地倾听着。

他问道：“你自己这一点儿收入是从这个企业里得来的吗？”

“啊，先生，不是。那是一笔另外的收入，是在奥克兰的奈德伯父遗留给我的。是新西兰股票，利率是四分五厘。股票金额是二千五百英镑，但是我只能动用利息。”

福尔摩斯说：“我对你说的深感兴趣。你既然每年提用一百英镑那样一笔巨款，加上你工作所挣的钱，不成问题你可以旅行，过着舒适的生活。我相信，一位独身的女士大约有六十英镑的收入就可以生活得很好了。”

“哪怕比这个数目小得多，福尔摩斯先生，我也能过得很好。不过，您可以想见，只要我住在家里，就不愿意成为他们的负担，所以当我同他们住在一起的时候，他们就用我的钱，当然，这只不过是暂时的。一温一迪班克先生每季度把我的利息提出来一交一给母亲，我觉得我光用打字所挣的那点钱就能过得很好。每打一张挣两便士，一天往往能打十五到二十张。”

福尔摩斯说：“你已经把你的情况对我说清楚了。这位是我的朋友华生大夫，在他面前可以同在我面前一样，谈话不必拘束。请你把同霍斯默-安吉尔先生的关系全部告诉我们吧。”

萨瑟兰小一姐的脸上泛起了红晕，紧张不安地用手抚一弄短外衣的镶边。她说：“我第一次遇见他是在煤气装修工的舞会上。我父亲在世的时候，他们总要送票给他。此后，他们还记得我们，把票送给我母亲。一温一迪班克先生不愿意我们赴舞会。他从来不愿意我们到任何地方去。甚至我想去教堂做礼拜，他也会很生气的。可是这一次我下定决心前往。我就是要去，他有什么权利阻止我去呢？他说，父亲的所有朋友都会在那里，我们结识那些人不合适。他还说，我没有合适的衣服穿。而我的那件紫色长一毛一绒衣服，几乎还从来没有从柜子里取出来穿过。最后，他没有别的办法，为了公司的公事而到法国去了。母亲和我两个人，就随同从前当过我们工头的哈迪先生一起去了。正是在那里我遇到霍斯默-安吉尔先生。”

福尔摩斯说：“我想，一温一迪班克先生从法国回来后，对你去过舞会的事一定很恼火。”

“啊，可是他的态度倒很不错。我记得他笑笑，耸耸肩膀，还说不让女人做她愿意做的事是没有用的，她总是一爱一干什么就会干什么。”

“我明白了。我想你是在煤气装修工舞会上遇见一位叫霍斯默-安吉尔先生的。”

“先生，是的。那天晚上我遇见了他。第二天他来访，问我们是否都平安无事地回到家里。在此以后，我们会见过他……福尔摩斯先生，我是说，我同他一起散过两次步，但是此后我父亲又回来了，而霍斯默-安吉尔先生就不能再到我家来了。”

“不能吗？”

“对啊，您知道我父亲不喜欢那样的事情。要是办得到，他总是极力不让任何客人来访，他总是说，女人家应当安于同自己家里的人在一起。不过我却常常对母亲说，一个女人首先要有她自己的小圈子，而我自己还没有。”

“那么霍斯默-安吉尔先生又怎么样了呢？他没有设法来看你吗？”

“嗳，父亲一星期内又要去法国了，霍斯默来信说，在他走之前最好彼此不要见面，这样更保险。在这期间我们可以通信，而且他总是每天都有信来。我一早就把信收进来了，没有必要让父亲知道。”

“你这时候和那位先生订婚了没有？”

“啊，是订了婚的，福尔摩斯先生。我们在第一次散步后就订了婚。霍斯默-安吉尔先生……是莱登霍尔街一家办公室的出纳员，而且……”

“什么办公室？”

“福尔摩斯先生，最大的一毛一病就出在这里，我不知道。”

“那么，他住在哪里呢？”

“就住在办公室。”

“你竟不知道他的地址？”

“不知道……只知道莱登霍尔街。”

“那么，你的信寄到哪里呢？”

“寄到莱登霍尔街邮局，留待本人领取。他说，如果寄到办公室去，其他办事员都会嘲笑他和女人通信。因此，我提出用打字机把信打出来，象他所做的那样，但是他又不肯，因为他说，我亲笔写的信就象同我直接往来，而打字的信，总觉着我们俩中间隔着一部机器似的。福尔摩斯先生，这正好表明他多么喜欢我，哪怕一些小事情他也想得很周到。”

福尔摩斯说：“这最能说明问题了。长期以来，我一直认为，小事情是最重要不过的了。你还记得霍斯默-安吉尔先生的其他小事情吗？”

“福尔摩斯先生，他是一个非常腼腆的人。他宁可同我在晚上散步，也不愿在白天散步，因为他说他很不愿意受人注意。他举止文雅，态度悠闲，甚至说话的声音都是柔和的。他告诉我，他幼年时患过扁桃腺炎和颈腺肿大，以后嗓子一直不大好，说起话来含含糊糊、细声细气。他对衣着总是很讲究，十分整洁素雅，但是他的视力不好，同我一样，所以戴上浅色眼镜，遮挡眩目的亮光。”

“好，你继父一温一迪班克先生再去法国以后又怎样呢？”

“霍斯默-安吉尔先生又来我家里，并且提议，我们在父亲回来前就结婚。他非常认真，要我把手放在圣经上发誓，不管发生什么事情，我都要永远忠实于他。母亲说，他要我发誓是十分对的，这是他的热情的表示。母亲从一开始就对他大有好感，甚至比我更喜欢他。这样，当他们谈论要在一星期内举行婚礼时，我就提起父亲来。但是他们两人都说，不用担心父亲，只要事后告诉他一声就可以了。母亲还说，她会把这件事同父亲谈妥的。福尔摩斯先生，我并不喜欢这样一种做法。由于他不过比我大几岁，却一定要得到他的允许，说来未免可笑，但是我不想偷偷摸一摸干任何事情，所以我写封信给父亲，寄往公司驻法国办事处所在地波尔多，但是就在我结婚那天早晨，这封信退回来了。”

“那么，他没有收到这封信？”

“是的，先生；因为这封信寄到时，他刚好已经动身回英国来了。”

“哈哈！那才不巧呢。那么，你的婚礼是安排在星期五。是预定在教堂举行的吗？”

“是的，先生，但是静悄悄的，一点也不张扬。我们决定在皇家十字路口的圣救世主教堂举行婚礼。婚礼后到圣潘克拉饭店进早餐。霍斯默乘了一辆双轮双座马车来接我们。但是我们是两个人，他就让我们两个登上这辆马车，当时街上刚巧有另外一辆四轮马车，他自己就坐上那一辆马车。我们先到教堂，四轮马车随后到达时，我们等待他下车，却没有见他走出车厢来。当马车夫从赶车的座位上下来，看看人已经是无影无踪、不翼而飞了！车夫说他没法想象人到哪里去了，因为他亲眼目睹他坐进车厢的。福尔摩斯先生，那是上星期五，从此以后，我就再没有听到他的消息了。”

福尔摩斯说：“看来这样对待你，是对你的极大侮辱。”

“啊，不，不，先生。他对我太好了，太体贴了，不会这样离开我的。您瞧，他一早就对我说，不管发生什么事情，我都要忠于他；哪怕发生预料不到的事情而把我们分开，我也永远要记住我对他已经有了誓约，他迟早会有一天要求我实践这誓约的。在结婚当天早晨，说这样的话似乎有点不可思议，但是从以后发生的事情来看，这是有含义的了。”

“可以十分肯定这是有含义的。那么，你本人也认为他遇到了出乎意料的飞来横祸？”

“可不是吗，先生。我相信他预见到某些危险，否则他不会讲这样的话。之后，我想他所预见的事终于发生了。”

“不过，你没有想过可能发生什么事情吗？”

“没有。”

“还有一个问题。你母亲是怎样对待这件事的呢？”

“她很生气，并且对我说，永远不要再提这件事了。”

“还有你父亲呢？你告诉他了吗？”

“告诉了，他似乎同我想法一样，是发生了什么事，但是我将会重新得到霍斯默的消息的。照他的说法，把我带到教堂门口就丢一了，不管对任何人来说会有什么好处呢？好，如果他借了我的钱，或者同我结了婚而我把财产转让给他，也许有点理由可说，但是霍斯默在钱这个问题上是完全不依赖他人的，对我的钱，哪怕是一个先令，也是从来不屑一顾的。既然如此，还会发生什么事呢？为什么连信也不写一封呢？唉，想起来真把我一逼一得半疯半癫、通宵不能合眼。"她从皮手笼里一抽一出一块手帕，蒙着脸开始痛哭起来。

福尔摩斯边站起来边说道：“我要为你办这件案子，我们一定会得到结果的，这点毫无疑问。现在让我来挑一起这副担子吧，你就用不着再一操一心了。尤其重要的是，让霍斯默先生从你的记忆中消失吧，就象他从你的生活中消失了一样。”

“那么，您想我不会再见到他了吗？”

“恐怕不会了。”

“那么，他出了什么事呢？”

“你把这个问题一交一给我好了。我愿意得到关于这个人的准确的描述，还要你现在保留的他的信件。”

她说：“我在上星期六的《纪事报》上登过寻找他的广告。这就是这条广告，这里还有他的四封来信。”

“谢谢你。你的通信地址呢？”

“坎伯韦尔区，里昂街３！”号。”

“我知道你从来没有过安吉尔先生的地址，那么，你父亲的工作地点在哪里呢？”

“他是芬丘破特的法国红葡萄酒大进口商韦斯特豪斯-马班克商行的旅行推销员。”

“谢谢你。你已经把情况说得很清楚。请你把这些文件留下来，记住我给你的劝告。这整个事件就这样了结了，不要让它影响你的生活。”

“福尔摩斯先生，你对我太好了，可是这个我做不到。我要忠实于霍斯默。他一回来我就要和他结婚。”

我们的客人，尽避戴着一顶可笑的帽子，显得茫然若失。但是她那纯仆的忠诚之心带有一种高尚的情一操一，使我们不得不肃然起敬。她把一小束文件放在桌上就离开了，答应需要她的时候，当即再来。

福尔摩斯沉默了几分钟，他的手指尖仍然顶着手指尖，两一腿向前伸展，眼睛朝上盯着天花板。然后，他从架子上取下使用年久、满是油腻的陶制烟斗，这烟斗对他好象是一个顾问。点燃烟丝以后，他朝后靠在椅子上，那浓浓的蓝色烟雾袅袅萦绕，脸上现出无限沉思的神情。

他说：“那个姑一娘一本身就是一个非常有趣的研究对象。我发现她本人比她小小的问题更有意思。顺便说一下，她的问题不过是一个很平常的问题。如果翻阅一下我的案例、一八七七年安多弗索引的话，就能找到同样的例子，而且去年在海牙也发生过一些类似事件。那都是些老主意，我看其中有一两个情节倒是新鲜的。可是这位姑一娘一本人却是最发人深省的。”

我说：“你似乎能在她身上看出很多我看不出来的东西。”“不是看不出，华生，而是不注意。你不知道该看哪里，所以忽略了所有重要的东西。我从来没有使你认识到袖子的重要一性一，从大拇指指甲中看出问题，或者在鞋带上发现大问题。好，你从这个姑一娘一的外表看到了什么呢？你描述一下吧。”“唔，她头戴一顶蓝灰色的宽边草帽，帽上插着一根砖红色羽一毛一。她的短外套是灰黑色的，上面缝缀黑色珠子，边缘镶嵌小小的黑玉饰物。她的上衣是褐色的，比咖啡色深，领部和扣子上镶着窄条紫色长一毛一绒。手套是浅灰色的，右手食指已经磨破。她穿的什么鞋我倒没有注意观察。她稍微有点发胖，戴着下垂的金耳环，总的气派看来是相当富裕的，神态是平平常常、舒舒服服、自一由自在的。”

福尔摩斯轻轻地拍着掌，抿嘴微笑。

“华生，我不是奉承你，你进步很大。你的这番描述确实很好。你固然忽略了所有重要的东西，但是已经掌握了方法。你观察颜色的眼睛很敏锐。老弟，你决不可依靠一般印象，而要集中注意细节。我首先着眼的总是女人的袖子。看一个男人，也许以首先观察他裤子的膝部为好。象你看到的那样，这个女人的袖子上有长一毛一绒，这是透露痕迹的最有用的材料。手腕再往上一点的两条纹路是打字员压着桌子的地方，看来十分明显。手摇式的缝纫机也留下类似的痕迹，不过是在左臂上，离开大拇指最远的一边，而不是象打字痕迹那样正好横过最阔的部分。我然后看一看她的脸，见鼻梁两边都有夹鼻眼镜留下的凹痕，我大胆提出近视和打字这两种说法，这似乎使她感到惊破。”

“这使我也感到惊破。”

“可是一点不错，这是很明显的。我接着往下看去，很惊破、又很感兴趣地观察到，尽避她所穿的两只靴子，并不是彼此不同的，而实际上却不是一对。一只靴尖上有带花纹的皮包头，另一只却没有。一只靴子的五个扣子中只扣了下面两个，而另一只则扣上第一、第三和第五个扣子。喏，当你看见一位青年妇女，穿戴得很整洁，但出门时却穿着不配对的靴子，靴上扣子只扣上一半，那说明她离家时非常匆忙，这不能算是一个什么了不起的推论吧。”

“还有呢？"我问道，我的朋友透彻的推理，经常引起我强烈的兴趣。

“顺便说一说，我注意到她在走出家门之前写了一张字条，但是这张纸条是在穿戴好了之后写的。你观察到她右手套的食指那个地方破了，不过你显然没有看到手套和食指都沾了紫色墨水。她写得很匆忙，蘸墨水时笔插得太深了。事情一定发生在今晨，否则墨迹不会清晰地留在手指上，这一切虽然都很简单，但却很有趣。不过我得回到正题上来，华生，给我念一念寻找霍斯默-安吉尔先生的那个启事好吗？”

我把那一小张印刷