福尔摩斯-The Sign of the Four四签名 Chapter 8

Chapter 8 The Baker Street Irregulars

“What now?” I asked. “Toby has lost his character for infallibility.”

“He acted according to his lights,” said Holmes, lifting him down from the barrel and walking him out of the timber-yard. “If you consider how much creasote is carted about London in one day, it is no great wonder that our trail should have been crossed. It is much used now, especially for the seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is not to blame.”

“We must get on the main scent again, I suppose.”

“Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go. Evidently what puzzled the dog at the corner of Knight's Place was that there were two different trails running in opposite directions. We took the wrong one. It only remains to follow the other.”

There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to the place where he had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle and finally dashed off in a fresh direction.

“We must take care that he does not now bring us to the place where the creasote-barrel came from,” I observed.

“I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps on the pavement, whereas the barrel passed down the roadway. No, we are on the true scent now.”

It tended down towards the river-side, running through Belmont Place and Prince's Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran right down to the water's edge, where there was a small wooden wharf. Toby led us to the very edge of this, and there stood whining, looking out on the dark current beyond.

“We are out of luck,” said Holmes. “They have taken to a boat here.” Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the water and on the edge of the wharf. We took Toby round to each in turn, but, though he sniffed earnestly, he made no sign.

Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a wooden placard slung out through the second window. “Mordecai Smith” was printed across it in large letters, and, underneath, “Boats to hire by the hour or day.” A second inscription above the door informed us that a steam launch was kept,—a statement which was confirmed by a great pile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes looked slowly round, and his face assumed an ominous expression.

“This looks bad,” said he. “These fellows are sharper than I expected. They seem to have covered their tracks. There has, I fear, been preconcerted management here.”

He was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and a little, curly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by a stoutish, red-faced woman with a large sponge in her hand.

“You come back and be washed, Jack,” she shouted. “Come back, you young imp; for if your father comes home and finds you like that, he'll let us hear of it.”

“Dear little chap!” said Holmes, strategically. “What a rosy-cheeked young rascal! Now, Jack, is there anything you would like?”

The youth pondered for a moment. “I'd like a shillin',” said he.

“Nothing you would like better?”

“I'd like two shillin' better,” the prodigy answered, after some thought.

“Here you are, then! Catch!—A fine child, Mrs. Smith!”

“Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets a'most too much for me to manage, 'specially when my man is away days at a time.”

“Away, is he?” said Holmes, in a disappointed voice. “I am sorry for that, for I wanted to speak to Mr. Smith.”

“He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and, truth to tell, I am beginnin' to feel frightened about him. But if it was about a boat, sir, maybe I could serve as well.”

“I wanted to hire his steam launch.”

“Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he has gone. That's what puzzles me; for I know there ain't more coals in her than would take her to about Woolwich and back. If he'd been away in the barge I'd ha' thought nothin'; for many a time a job has taken him as far as Gravesend, and then if there was much doin' there he might ha' stayed over. But what good is a steam launch without coals?”

“He might have bought some at a wharf down the river.”

“He might, sir, but it weren't his way. Many a time I've heard him call out at the prices they charge for a few odd bags. Besides, I don't like that wooden-legged man, wi' his ugly face and outlandish talk. What did he want always knockin' about here for?”

“A wooden-legged man?” said Holmes, with bland surprise.

“Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that's called more'n once for my old man. It was him that roused him up yesternight, and, what's more, my man knew he was comin', for he had steam up in the launch. I tell you straight, sir, I don't feel easy in my mind about it.”

“But, my dear Mrs. Smith,” said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders, “You are frightening yourself about nothing. How could you possibly tell that it was the wooden-legged man who came in the night? I don't quite understand how you can be so sure.”

“His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o' thick and foggy. He tapped at the winder,—about three it would be. ‘Show a leg, matey,’ says he: ‘time to turn out guard.’ My old man woke up Jim,—that's my eldest,—and away they went, without so much as a word to me. I could hear the wooden leg clackin' on the stones.”

“And was this wooden-legged man alone?”

“Couldn't say, I am sure, sir. I didn't hear no one else.”

“I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and I have heard good reports of the—Let me see, what is her name?”

“The Aurora, sir.”

“Ah! She's not that old green launch with a yellow line, very broad in the beam?”

“No, indeed. She's as trim a little thing as any on the river. She's been fresh painted, black with two red streaks.”

“Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith. I am going down the river; and if I should see anything of the Aurora I shall let him know that you are uneasy. A black funnel, you say?”

“No, sir. Black with a white band.”

“Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good-morning, Mrs. Smith.—There is a boatman here with a wherry, Watson. We shall take it and cross the river.

“The main thing with people of that sort,” said Holmes, as we sat in the sheets of the wherry, “is never to let them think that their information can be of the slightest importance to you. If you do, they will instantly shut up like an oyster. If you listen to them under protest, as it were, you are very likely to get what you want.”

“Our course now seems pretty clear,” said I.

“What would you do, then?”

“I would engage a launch and go down the river on the track of the Aurora.”

“My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may have touched at any wharf on either side of the stream between here and Greenwich. Below the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth of landing-places for miles. It would take you days and days to exhaust them, if you set about it alone.”

“Employ the police, then.”

“No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last moment. He is not a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything which would injure him professionally. But I have a fancy for working it out myself, now that we have gone so far.”

“Could we advertise, then, asking for information from wharfingers?”

“Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase was hot at their heels, and they would be off out of the country. As it is, they are likely enough to leave, but as long as they think they are perfectly safe they will be in no hurry. Jones's energy will be of use to us there, for his view of the case is sure to push itself into the daily press, and the runaways will think that every one is off on the wrong scent.”

“What are we to do, then?” I asked, as we landed near Millbank Penitentiary.

“Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get an hour's sleep. It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot to-night again. Stop at a telegraph-office, cabby! We will keep Toby, for he may be of use to us yet.”

We pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office, and Holmes despatched his wire. “Whom do you think that is to?” he asked, as we resumed our journey.

“I am sure I don't know.”

“You remember the Baker Street division of the detective police force whom I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?”

“Well,” said I, laughing.

“This is just the case where they might be invaluable. If they fail, I have other resources; but I shall try them first. That wire was to my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and his gang will be with us before we have finished our breakfast.”

It was between eight and nine o'clock now, and I was conscious of a strong reaction after the successive excitements of the night. I was limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I had not the professional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I look at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. As far as the death of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard little good of him, and could feel no intense antipathy to his murderers. The treasure, however, was a different matter. That, or part of it, belonged rightfully to Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it I was ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I found it it would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it would be a petty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a thought as that. If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I had a tenfold stronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure.

A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me up wonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfast laid and Holmes pouring out the coffee.

“Here it is,” said he, laughing, and pointing to an open newspaper. “The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous reporter have fixed it up between them. But you have had enough of the case. Better have your ham and eggs first.”

I took the paper from him and read the short notice, which was headed “Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood.”

“About twelve o'clock last night,” said the Standard, “Mr. Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, was found dead in his room under circumstances which point to foul play. As far as we can learn, no actual traces of violence were found upon Mr. Sholto's person, but a valuable collection of Indian gems which the deceased gentleman had inherited from his father has been carried off. The discovery was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, who had called at the house with Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother of the deceased. By a singular piece of good fortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the well-known member of the detective police force, happened to be at the Norwood Police Station, and was on the ground within half an hour of the first alarm. His trained and experienced faculties were at once directed towards the detection of the criminals, with the gratifying result that the brother, Thaddeus Sholto, has already been arrested, together with the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal Rao, and a porter, or gatekeeper, named McMurdo. It is quite certain that the thief or thieves were well acquainted with the house, for Mr. Jones's well-known technical knowledge and his powers of minute observation have enabled him to prove conclusively that the miscreants could not have entered by the door or by the window, but must have made their way across the roof of the building, and so through a trap-door into a room which communicated with that in which the body was found. This fact, which has been very clearly made out, proves conclusively that it was no mere haphazard burglary. The prompt and energetic action of the officers of the law shows the great advantage of the presence on such occasions of a single vigorous and masterful mind. We cannot but think that it supplies an argument to those who would wish to see our detectives more decentralized, and so brought into closer and more effective touch with the cases which it is their duty to investigate.”

“Isn't it gorgeous!” said Holmes, grinning over his coffee-cup. “What do you think of it?”

“I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being arrested for the crime.”

“So do I. I wouldn't answer for our safety now, if he should happen to have another of his attacks of energy.”

At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could hear Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of expostulation and dismay.

“By heaven, Holmes,” I said, half rising, “I believe that they are really after us.”

“No, it's not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial force,—the Baker Street irregulars.”

As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon the stairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and ragged little street-Arabs. There was some show of discipline among them, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew up in line and stood facing us with expectant faces. One of their number, taller and older than the others, stood forward with an air of lounging superiority which was very funny in such a disreputable little carecrow.

“Got your message, sir,” said he, “and brought 'em on sharp. Three bob and a tanner for tickets.”

“Here you are,” said Holmes, producing some silver. “In future they can report to you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the house invaded in this way. However, it is just as well that you should all hear the instructions. I want to find the whereabouts of a steam launch called the Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith, black with two red streaks, funnel black with a white band. She is down the river somewhere. I want one boy to be at Mordecai Smith's landing-stage opposite Millbank to say if the boat comes back. You must divide it out among yourselves, and do both banks thoroughly. Let me know the moment you have news. Is that all clear?”

“Yes, guv'nor,” said Wiggins.

“The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds the boat. Here's a day in advance. Now off you go!” He handed them a shilling each, and away they buzzed down the stairs, and I saw them a moment later streaming down the street.

“If the launch is above water they will find her,” said Holmes, as he rose from the table and lit his pipe. “They can go everywhere, see everything, overhear every one. I expect to hear before evening that they have spotted her. In the mean while, we can do nothing but await results. We cannot pick up the broken trail until we find either the Aurora or Mr. Mordecai Smith.”

“Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going to bed, Holmes?”

“No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I never remember feeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts me completely. I am going to smoke and to think over this queer business to which my fair client has introduced us. If ever man had an easy task, this of ours ought to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the other man must, I should think, be absolutely unique.”

“That other man again!”

“I have no wish to make a mystery of him,—to you, anyway. But you must have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the data. Diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked feet, stone-headed wooden mace, great agility, small poisoned darts. What do you make of all this?”

“A savage!” I exclaimed. “Perhaps one of those Indians who were the associates of Jonathan Small.”

“Hardly that,” said he. “When first I saw signs of strange weapons I was inclined to think so; but the remarkable character of the footmarks caused me to reconsider my views. Some of the inhabitants of the Indian Peninsula are small men, but none could have left such marks as that. The Hindoo proper has long and thin feet. The sandal-wearing Mohammedan has the great toe well separated from the others, because the thong is commonly passed between. These little darts, too, could only be shot in one way. They are from a blow-pipe. Now, then, where are we to find our savage?”

“South American,” I hazarded.

He stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky volume from the shelf. “This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now being published. It may be looked upon as the very latest authority. What have we here? ‘Andaman Islands, situated 340 miles to the north of Sumatra, in the Bay of Bengal.’ Hum! hum! What's all this? Moist climate, coral reefs, sharks, Port Blair, convict-barracks, Rutland Island, cottonwoods—Ah, here we are. ‘The aborigines of the Andaman Islands may perhaps claim the distinction of being the smallest race upon this earth, though some anthropologists prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the Digger Indians of America, and the Terra del Fuegians. The average height is rather below four feet, although many full-grown adults may be found who are very much smaller than this. They are a fierce, morose, and intractable people, though capable of forming most devoted friendships when their confidence has once been gained.’ Mark that, Watson. Now, then, listen to this. ‘They are naturally hideous, having large, misshapen heads, small, fierce eyes, and distorted features. Their feet and hands, however, are remarkably small. So intractable and fierce are they that all the efforts of the British official have failed to win them over in any degree. They have always been a terror to shipwrecked crews, braining the survivors with their stone-headed clubs, or shooting them with their poisoned arrows. These massacres are invariably concluded by a cannibal feast.’ Nice, amiable people, Watson! If this fellow had been left to his own unaided devices this affair might have taken an even more ghastly turn. I fancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small would give a good deal not to have employed him.”

“But how came he to have so singular a companion?”

“Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we had already determined that Small had come from the Andamans, it is not so very wonderful that this islander should be with him. No doubt we shall know all about it in time. Look here, Watson; you look regularly done. Lie down there on the sofa, and see if I can put you to sleep.”

He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air,—his own, no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have a vague remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face, and the rise and fall of his bow. Then I seemed to be floated peacefully away upon a soft sea of sound, until I found myself in dream-land, with the sweet face of Mary Morstan looking down upon me.

第八章 贝克街的侦探小队

我问道：“现在怎么办呢？透比也失去了它百发百中的能力了。”

福尔摩斯把透比从桶上抱下来，牵着它出了木场，说道："透比是根据它自己的见解行动的，如果你计算一下每天在伦敦市内木馏油的运输量，那你就可以明白为什么咱们走错了路。现在使用木馏油的地方很多，特别是用在木料的防腐上面，不应当怪罪透比。”

我建议道：“咱们还是顺原路回到油味被混杂了的地方去吧。”

“是啊，幸亏路途不远。透比在骑士街左边曾经犹豫不定，显然是油味的方向在那儿分歧了。咱们走上了错路，现在只有顺着另外一条路去找。”

我们牵着透比回到了原来发生错误的地点。透比转了一个大圈，一点儿也没有费事，就向一个新的方向奔去了。

我说道：“要当心透比，不要让它把咱们引到原来运出木馏油桶的地方去。”

“这点我也想到啦。可是你看它在人行道上跑，运木桶的车应当在马路上走，所以这次咱们没有走错路。”

经过贝尔芒特路和太子街，它奔向河滨，一直到了宽街河边的一个小的用木材修成的码头上。透比把我们引到紧一靠水边的地方，站在那里看着河水，从鼻子里发出哼声。

福尔摩斯道：“咱们的运岂不好，他们从这里上了船啦。”码头上系着几只小一平底船和小艇。我们把透比引到各小船上，虽然它都很认真地闻了闻，可是没做出任何表示。

靠近登船的地方，有一所小砖房，在第二个窗口上挂着一个木牌子，上面有几个大字写道：“茂迪凯·斯密司"。下面有小字写着：“船只出租：按时按日计价均可。"在门上另外有一块牌子，上面说这里另备有小汽船。码头上堆积着许多焦炭，可以知道就是这个汽船的燃料。福尔摩斯慢慢地把四周看了一遍，脸上很不高兴。

他道：“这件事看来有些麻烦。他们事先就准备把行踪隐蔽起来，他们的一精一明是出乎我意料的。”

他向那个屋门走过去，恰巧从里面跑出一个卷发的小男孩，约摸六岁光景。后面追上来一个肥胖红脸的妇人，手里拿着一块海绵。

她喊道：“杰克，回来洗澡！快回来，你这小表！你爸爸回来看见你这个样子，轻饶不了你！”

福尔摩斯乘着这个机会说道：“小朋友！你的小一脸红通通的，真是个好孩子！杰克，你要什么东西吗？”

小孩想了一下，说道：“我要一个先令。”"你不想要比一个先令更好的吗？”

那天真的小孩想了想，又说道：“最好给我两个先令。”

“那末，好吧，接住了！斯密司太太，他真是个好孩子。”

“先生，他就是这样的淘气，我老伴有时整天出去，我简直管不住他。”

福尔摩斯装作失望，问道：“啊，他出去了？太不凑巧啦！我来找斯密司先生有事。”

“先生，他从昨天早晨就出去了。说实话，他到现在还没有回来，我真有点着急。可是，先生，您如果要租船，也可以和我谈。”

“我要租他的汽船。”

“先生呀，他就是坐那汽船走的。可怪的是我知道船上的煤不够到伍尔维破来回烧的。他若是坐大片底船去，我就不会这样着急了，因为有时他还要到更远的葛雷夫赞德去呢。再说他如果有事，可能有些耽搁，可是汽船没有煤烧怎么走呢？”

“或者他可以在中途买些煤。”

“也说不定，可是他从来不这样做的，他常常说零袋煤价太贵。再说我不喜欢那装木腿的人，他那张丑脸和外国派头。他常跑到这儿来，也不知道他有什么事。”

福尔摩斯惊讶地问道：“一个装木腿的人？”

“是呀，先生！一个猴头猴脑的小子，来过不止一次，昨天晚上就是他把我老伴从一床一上叫起来的。还有，我老伴在事前就知道他要来，因为他已经把汽船升火等着了。先生，我老实告诉您，我实在是不放心。”

福尔摩斯耸肩说道：“可是我亲一爱一的斯密司太太，您不用自己瞎着急。您怎么知道昨天晚上来的就是那个装木腿的人呢？我不明白怎么您就肯定是他呢？”

“先生，听他那样粗重模糊的口音，我就知道了。他弹了几下窗户——那时大概是三点钟——说道：‘伙计，快起来，咱们该走了！我老伴把吉姆——我的大儿子也叫醒了，没有跟我说一个字，他们爷俩就走了。我还听见那只木腿走在石头上的声音呢。”

“来的就是那装木腿的一个人，没有同伴吗？""先生，我说不清，我没有听见还有别人。”

“斯密司太太，太不巧啦，我想租一只汽船，因为我老早就听说过这只……让我想想！这只船叫……？”

“先生，船名叫曙光。”

“啊！是不是那只绿色的、船帮上画着宽宽的黄线的旧船？”

“不，不是。是跟在河上常见的整洁的小船一样，新刷的油，黑色船身上画着两条红线。”

“谢谢您，我希望斯密司先生不久就能回来了。我现在往下游去，如果碰到曙光号，我就告诉他您在惦记着他。您方才说，那只船的烟囱是黑的吗？”

“不是，是有白线的黑烟囱。”

“啊，对了，那船身是黑色的。斯密司太太，再见吧！华生，那儿有一只小舢板，叫他把咱们渡到河那边去。”

坐到船上以后，福尔摩斯道：“和这种人讲话，最要紧的是不要叫他们知道他们所说的消息是与你有关的，否则他们马上就会绝口不言。假若你用话逗引着，你就会得到你所要知道的事了。”

我道：“咱们应当采取的步骤已经很清楚了。”

“你想应当采取什么步骤呢？”

“雇一只汽船到下游去寻找曙光号。”

“我的好伙计，你这个办法太费事啦。这只船可能靠在从这里到格林威治的两岸任何一个码头上。桥那边几十里内全是停泊的地方。如果你一个一个地去找，不知要用多少日子呢？”

“那末请警察协助？”

“不，在最后的紧要的关头我也许会把埃瑟尔尼·琼斯叫来。他这个人还不错，我也不愿意影响他的职务。咱们已经侦察到这个地步，我很想自己单独干下去。”

“咱们可不可以在报纸上登广告，以便从码头主人那里得到曙光号的消息呢？”

“那更糟了！这样一来匪徒们就会知道咱们正在追寻他们，他们就要赶快离开英国了，就是现在他们也未尝不想离境远走呢。可是在他们还以为是安全的时候，他们就不急于快走。琼斯的行动对于咱们在这方面是有利的。因为他的意见在报纸上每天全可以看见，这些匪徒会认为大家都在向错误方向侦察，他们可以苟安一时呢。”

当我们在密尔班克监狱门前下船时，我问道：“究竟咱们怎么办呢？”

“现在咱们坐这部车子回去，吃些早餐，睡一个钟头，说不定今晚咱们还得跑路呢。车夫，请在电报局停一停。我们暂时留一留透比，以后或者还要用它。”

我们在大彼得街邮电局停下，福尔摩斯发了一封电报。他上车后问我道：“你知道我给谁发电报？”

“我不知道。”

“你还记得在杰弗逊·侯波一案里我们雇用的贝克街侦探小队吗？

我笑道：“就是他们呀！”

“在这个案子里，他们可能很有用处。他们若是失败了，我还有别的办法，不过我愿意先用他们试一试。那封电报就是发给我那个小队长维金斯的，他们这群孩子在咱们没吃完早餐前就能来到了。”

这时正是早晨八九点钟。一一夜的辛苦，使我感觉万分疲乏，走起路来两一腿也跛了，真是一精一疲力竭。论起这桩案子，在侦查上我没有我的伙伴的那种忠于职业的热情，同时我也不把它仅仅看成是个一抽一象的理论问题。至于巴索洛谬·舒尔托的被害，因为大家对于他素日的行为并没有好气，所以我对于凶手们也没有太大的反感。可是论到宝物，那就另当别论了。这些宝物——或者宝物的一部分——按理是应属于摩斯坦小一姐的。在可能有机会找回宝物的时候，我愿尽毕生之力，把它找回来。不错，如果宝物能够找回，我个人可能就永远不能和她接近了。可是一爱一情如果被这种想法所左右，这种一爱一情也就成为无聊和自私的了。如果福尔摩斯能够找到凶手，我就该加上十倍的努力去找宝物。在贝克街家中洗了一个澡，重新换了衣服，使我的一精一神大大地振作品来。等到下楼，看见早餐早已备好，福尔摩斯正在那里斟咖啡。

他笑着指着一张打开的报纸向我说道：“你看看，这位好高务远的琼斯和一个庸俗的记者把这个案子一手包办了。这案子把你搞得也够烦的了，还是先吃你的火腿蛋吧。”

我从他手里接过报纸来，上边标题写着《上诺伍德的破案》。这张《旗帜报》报道道：昨夜十二时左右，上诺伍德樱沼别墅主人巴索洛谬·舒尔托先生在室内身亡，显系被人暗杀。据本报探悉，死者身上并无伤痕可寻，可是死者所继承他父亲的一批印度宝物却已全部被窃。死者之弟塞笛厄斯·舒尔托先生与同来访问死者的歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生和华生医师首先发现了死者被害。侥幸彼时警署著名侦探埃瑟尔尼·琼斯先生适在诺伍德警察分署，因此能于惨案发生后半小时内赶到现场主持一切。他训练有素，经验丰富，到场不久即已发现线索。死者之弟塞笛厄斯·舒尔托因嫌疑重大，已被逮捕。同时被捕者尚有女管家博恩斯通太太、印度仆人拉尔·拉奥和看门人麦克默多。现已证实凶手对于房屋出入路径非常熟悉。由于琼斯先生的熟练技术和一精一密的观察，已证明凶手既不能由门窗进入室内，必定是由屋顶经过一个暗门潜入的。由这个明显的事实，可以得出结论：这并非普通窃案。警署方面的这种及时和负责的处理，说明了在这种情形下，必须有一位老练的官长主持一切，并且说明了对于把全市警署侦探力量分散驻守，以便及时赶到进行侦查的建议，是值得考虑的。”

福尔摩斯喝着咖啡笑道：“这太伟大了！你的意见如何？”

“我想咱们也险些被指为凶手，遭到逮捕呢。”

“我也这么想，只要他又来个灵机一动，到现在还保不住咱们不会被捕呢。”

正在这时，门铃大作，随后听见我们的房东赫德森太太高声和人争吵。

我半站起来，说道：“天啊！埃尔摩斯，这些家伙们真捉咱们来啦！”

“还不至于吧。这是我们的非官方的部队——贝克街的杂牌军来了。”

说话间，楼梯上已有赤足而行和高声说话的声音。走进来十几个穿破衣服的街头小流一浪一者。他们虽然吵嚷着进来，可是他们中间却有些纪律。他们立刻站成一排，脸对着我们等待我们发言。其中有一个年纪较大、好象是队长的站在前面，神AE鳿f1十足，可是从他衣衫褴褛的情况看来却很滑稽可笑。

“先生，接到您的命令以后，我立刻就带他们来了。车费三先令六便士。”

福尔摩斯把钱给了他说道：“给你钱。我曾经告诉过你，维金斯，今后有事，你自己来。他们听你的招呼，不要全都带了来，我的屋子容不下这么些人。可是，这一次全都来了也好，可以都听到我的命令。我现在要寻找一只名叫曙光的汽船，船主叫茂迪凯·斯密司。船身黑色有两条红线，黑烟囱上有一道白线，这只船在河的下游。我要一个孩子在密尔班克监狱对岸茂迪凯·斯密司的码头上守着。船一回来立即报告。你们必须分散在下游两岸，缜密地寻找，一有消息，立刻来报。你们全都听明白了吗？”

维金斯道：“是，司令，都听清楚了。”

“报酬还照以前的老例。找到船的另外多给一个畿尼，①这是预付你们一天的工资，现在去吧！"他给了每人一个先令——

①畿尼是英国旧币，每个值21先令。——译者注孩子们欢天喜地地下了楼，不一会，我就看见他们消失在马路中间了。

福尔摩斯离开桌子站了起来，点上了他的烟斗说道：“只要这只船还浮在水上，咱们就能找到它。他们可以到处跑，可以看到各色各样的事情，可以偷一听任何人的谈话。我预计他们在黄昏前就可以有寻到汽船的消息来报告，这时咱们只好等待着无事可做了。在找到曙光号或茂迪凯·斯密司以前，咱们无法进行侦查。”

“透比吃咱们的剩饭就行了。福尔摩斯，你要睡一会儿吗？”

“不，我不觉得疲倦。我的体质非常特别。工作的时候一点儿也不觉得累，如果闲着无事反而会使我委顿不堪了。我现在要吸烟了，细细地想一想我那女主顾委托咱们办的这件破事。咱们这个问题，想来不难解决，因为装木腿的人并不多见，另外那个人，更是绝无仅有的了。”

“你又提到那另外的一个人了。”

“至少我没有想向你保守秘密，可是你也许有你的高见。现在考虑一下所有的情况：小脚印、没有穿过鞋子的赤足、一端装着石头的木棒、灵敏的行动和有毒的木刺。你从这里得到什么结论呢？”

我喊道：“一个生番！可能是和琼诺赞·斯茂同伙的一个印度人。”

他道：“这倒不太象。最初在我看到好象有破怪的武器的时候，我也这样想过。可是由于那特殊的脚印，我就另向其他方面考虑了。印度半岛的居民有的是矮小的，可是没有能留这样的脚印的。印度土著的脚是狭长的，穿凉鞋的回教人因为鞋带缚在紧一靠大拇指的趾缝里，拇指和其他脚趾是分开的。这些木刺只有从吹管向外发放的一个方法。这样的生番，我们应当往哪里去找呢？”

我道：“从南美洲。”

他伸出胳臂，从书架上取下了一本厚书，说道：“这是新出版的地理辞典第一卷，可以认为是最新的权威著作了。这里写的是什么？安达曼群岛位于孟加拉湾，距苏门答腊三百四十英里。喝！喝！这又是什么？气候潮一湿、珊瑚暗礁、鲨鱼、布勒尔港、囚犯营、罗特兰德岛、白杨树……啊！在这里！安达曼群岛的土人，可以称为世界上最小的人了，虽然人类学者亦有说非洲的布史人或美洲的迪格印第安人和火地人是最①②矮小的。这里的人品均高度不到四英尺，成年人比这个还矮的也不少。他们生一性一凶狠、易怒而又倔强，但是只要和他们建立了信任和感情，他们就能至死不渝。注意这个，华生！再听下边的：‘他们天生可怕，畸形的大头、凶狠的小眼睛、破怪的面貌、特别小的手和脚。由于他们凶狠、倔强已极，英国官吏虽竭尽一切努力，也丝毫无法把他们争取饼来。对于船只遭难的水手们说来，他们永远是个祸害，往往被他们用镶着石头的木棒击碎脑袋，或用毒箭刺死。这种屠一杀的结果总是毫无例外地以人肉盛筵作为结束。可真是可一爱一的好人哪！华生！如果这个小子没有人管着，叫他自一由行动，那结果更不堪设想了。我觉得，就是琼诺赞·斯茂雇用他，恐怕也是出于不得已吧。”——

①布史人为一种南非州的土著部落民族。——译者注

②迪格印第安人为居于美洲西北部的红种人，以掘食树根著称。—译者注

“可是他怎么就找到一个这样破怪的同谋呢？”

“啊，这个就不得而知了。可是咱们既然知道斯茂是从安达曼群岛来的，这个土人和他在一起也就没有什么稀破了。毫无疑问，以后咱们还要知道些详情呢。华生，看来你是疲倦极了，你在那张沙发上躺下，等我来催你入睡吧。”

他从屋角那里拿起小提琴来，开始奏起一支低沉的催眠曲——无疑是他的自编曲，因为他有一种即景作曲的本领。我直到现在还能模糊地记得他那瘦削的手，诚恳的脸和弓弦上下的动作呢。那时我一身孓然在音乐声中，进入了梦境，我看见梅丽·摩斯坦甜蜜的脸容在向我微笑。