福尔摩斯-The Sign of the Four四签名 Chapter 6

Chapter 6 Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration

“Now, Watson,” said Holmes, rubbing his hands, “we have half an hour to ourselves. Let us make good use of it. My case is, as I have told you, almost complete; but we must not err on the side of over-confidence. Simple as the case seems now, there may be something deeper underlying it.”

“Simple!” I ejaculated.

“Surely,” said he, with something of the air of a clinical professor expounding to his class. “Just sit in the corner there, that your footprints may not complicate matters. Now to work! In the first place, how did these folk come, and how did they go? The door has not been opened since last night. How of the window?” He carried the lamp across to it, muttering his observations aloud the while, but addressing them to himself rather than to me. “Window is snibbed on the inner side. Framework is solid. No hinges at the side. Let us open it. No water-pipe near. Roof quite out of reach. Yet a man has mounted by the window. It rained a little last night. Here is the print of a foot in mould upon the sill. And here is a circular muddy mark, and here again upon the floor, and here again by the table. See here, Watson! This is really a very pretty demonstration.”

I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs. “This is not a footmark,” said I.

“It is something much more valuable to us. It is the impression of a wooden stump. You see here on the sill is the boot-mark, a heavy boot with the broad metal heel, and beside it is the mark of the timber-toe.”

“It is the wooden-legged man.”

“Quite so. But there has been some one else,—a very able and efficient ally. Could you scale that wall, doctor?”

I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone brightly on that angle of the house. We were a good sixty feet from the ground, and, look where I would, I could see no foothold, nor as much as a crevice in the brick-work.

“It is absolutely impossible,” I answered.

“Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend up here who lowered you this good stout rope which I see in the corner, securing one end of it to this great hook in the wall. Then, I think, if you were an active man, you might swarm up, wooden leg and all. You would depart, of course, in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up the rope, untie it from the hook, shut the window, snib it on the inside, and get away in the way that he originally came. As a minor point it may be noted,” he continued, fingering the rope, “that our wooden-legged friend, though a fair climber, was not a professional sailor. His hands were far from horny. My lens discloses more than one blood-mark, especially towards the end of the rope, from which I gather that he slipped down with such velocity that he took the skin off his hand.”

“This is all very well,” said I, “but the thing becomes more unintelligible than ever. How about this mysterious ally? How came he into the room?”

“Yes, the ally!” repeated Holmes, pensively. “There are features of interest about this ally. He lifts the case from the regions of the commonplace. I fancy that this ally breaks fresh ground in the annals of crime in this country,—though parallel cases suggest themselves from India, and, if my memory serves me, from Senegambia.”

“How came he, then?” I reiterated. “The door is locked, the window is inaccessible. Was it through the chimney?”

“The grate is much too small,” he answered. “I had already considered that possibility.”

“How then?” I persisted.

“You will not apply my precept,” he said, shaking his head. “How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? We know that he did not come through the door, the window, or the chimney. We also know that he could not have been concealed in the room, as there is no concealment possible. Whence, then, did he come?”

“He came through the hole in the roof,” I cried.

“Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will have the kindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall now extend our researches to the room above,—the secret room in which the treasure was found.”

He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand, he swung himself up into the garret. Then, lying on his face, he reached down for the lamp and held it while I followed him.

The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet one way and six the other. The floor was formed by the rafters, with thin lath-and-plaster between, so that in walking one had to step from beam to beam. The roof ran up to an apex, and was evidently the inner shell of the true roof of the house. There was no furniture of any sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay thick upon the floor.

“Here you are, you see,” said Sherlock Holmes, putting his hand against the sloping wall. “This is a trap-door which leads out on to the roof. I can press it back, and here is the roof itself, sloping at a gentle angle. This, then, is the way by which Number One entered. Let us see if we can find one other traces of his individuality.”

He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw for the second time that night a startled, surprised look come over his face. For myself, as I followed his gaze my skin was cold under my clothes. The floor was covered thickly with the prints of a naked foot,—clear, well defined, perfectly formed, but scarce half the size of those of an ordinary man.

“Holmes,” I said, in a whisper, “a child has done the horrid thing.”

He had recovered his self-possession in an instant. “I was staggered for the moment,” he said, “but the thing is quite natural. My memory failed me, or I should have been able to foretell it. There is nothing more to be learned here. Let us go down.”

“What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?” I asked, eagerly, when we had regained the lower room once more.

“My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself,” said he, with a touch of impatience. “You know my methods. Apply them, and it will be instructive to compare results.”

“I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts,” I answered.

“It will be clear enough to you soon,” he said, in an off-hand way. “I think that there is nothing else of importance here, but I will look.” He whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and hurried about the room on his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long thin nose only a few inches from the planks, and his beady eyes gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird. So swift, silent, and furtive were his movements, like those of a trained blood-hound picking out a scent, that I could not but think what a terrible criminal he would have made had he turned his energy and sagacity against the law, instead of exerting them in its defense. As he hunted about, he kept muttering to himself, and finally he broke out into a loud crow of delight.

“We are certainly in luck,” said he. “We ought to have very little trouble now. Number One has had the misfortune to tread in the creosote. You can see the outline of the edge of his small foot here at the side of this evil-smelling mess. The carboy has been cracked, You see, and the stuff has leaked out.”

“What then?” I asked.

“Why, we have got him, that's all,” said he. “I know a dog that would follow that scent to the world's end. If a pack can track a trailed herring across a shire, how far can a specially-trained hound follow so pungent a smell as this? It sounds like a sum in the rule of three. The answer should give us the—But halloo! here are the accredited representatives of the law.”

Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible from below, and the hall door shut with a loud crash.

“Before they come,” said Holmes, “just put your hand here on this poor fellow's arm, and here on his leg. What do you feel?”

“The muscles are as hard as a board,” I answered.

“Quite so. They are in a state of extreme contraction, far exceeding the usual rigor mortis. Coupled with this distortion of the face, this Hippocratic smile, or ‘risus sardonicus,’ as the old writers called it, what conclusion would it suggest to your mind?”

“Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid,” I answered,—“some strychnine-like substance which would produce tetanus.”

“That was the idea which occurred to me the instant I saw the drawn muscles of the face. On getting into the room I at once looked for the means by which the poison had entered the system. As you saw, I discovered a thorn which had been driven or shot with no great force into the scalp. You observe that the part struck was that which would be turned towards the hole in the ceiling if the man were erect in his chair. Now examine the thorn.”

I took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lantern. It was long, sharp, and black, with a glazed look near the point as though some gummy substance had dried upon it. The blunt end had been trimmed and rounded off with a knife.

“Is that an English thorn?” he asked.

“No, it certainly is not.”

“With all these data you should be able to draw some just inference. But here are the regulars: so the auxiliary forces may beat a retreat.”

As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded loudly on the passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray suit strode heavily into the room. He was red-faced, burly and plethoric, with a pair of very small twinkling eyes which looked keenly out from between swollen and puffy pouches. He was closely followed by an inspector in uniform, and by the still palpitating Thaddeus Sholto.

“Here's a business!” he cried, in a muffled, husky voice. “Here's a pretty business! But who are all these? Why, the house seems to be as full as a rabbit-warren!”

“I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones,” said Holmes, quietly.

“Why, of course I do!” he wheezed. “It's Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the theorist. Remember you! I'll never forget how you lectured us all on causes and inferences and effects in the Bishopgate jewel case. It's true you set us on the right track; but you'll own now that it was more by good luck than good guidance.”

“It was a piece of very simple reasoning.”

“Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up. But what is all this? Bad business! Bad business! Stern facts here,—no room for theories. How lucky that I happened to be out at Norwood over another case! I was at the station when the message arrived. What d'you think the man died of?”

“Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over,” said Holmes, dryly.

“No, no. Still, we can't deny that you hit the nail on the head sometimes. Dear me! Door locked, I understand. Jewels worth half a million missing. How was the window?”

“Fastened; but there are steps on the sill.”

“Well, well, if it was fastened the steps could have nothing to do with the matter. That's common sense. Man might have died in a fit; but then the jewels are missing. Ha! I have a theory. These flashes come upon me at times.—Just step outside, sergeant, and you, Mr. Sholto. Your friend can remain.—What do you think of this, Holmes? Sholto was, on his own confession, with his brother last night. The brother died in a fit, on which Sholto walked off with the treasure. How's that?”

“On which the dead man very considerately got up and locked the door on the inside.”

“Hum! There's a flaw there. Let us apply common sense to the matter. This Thaddeus Sholto was with his brother; there was a quarrel; so much we know. The brother is dead and the jewels are gone. So much also we know. No one saw the brother from the time Thaddeus left him. His bed had not been slept in. Thaddeus is evidently in a most disturbed state of mind. His appearance is—well, not attractive. You see that I am weaving my web round Thaddeus. The net begins to close upon him.”

“You are not quite in possession of the facts yet,” said Holmes. “This splinter of wood, which I have every reason to believe to be poisoned, was in the man's scalp where you still see the mark; this card, inscribed as you see it, was on the table; and beside it lay this rather curious stone-headed instrument. How does all that fit into your theory?”

“Confirms it in every respect,” said the fat detective, pompously. “House is full of Indian curiosities. Thaddeus brought this up, and if this splinter be poisonous Thaddeus may as well have made murderous use of it as any other man. The card is some hocus-pocus,—a blind, as like as not. The only question is, how did he depart? Ah, of course, here is a hole in the roof.” With great activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up the steps and squeezed through into the garret, and immediately afterwards we heard his exulting voice proclaiming that he had found the trap-door.

“He can find something,” remarked Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. “He has occasional glimmerings of reason. Il n'y a pas des sots si incommodes que ceux qui ont de l'esprit!”

“You see!” said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the steps again. “Facts are better than mere theories, after all. My view of the case is confirmed. There is a trap-door communicating with the roof, and it is partly open.”

“It was I who opened it.”

“Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then?” He seemed a little crestfallen at the discovery. “Well, whoever noticed it, it shows how our gentleman got away. Inspector!”

“Yes, sir,” from the passage.

“Ask Mr. Sholto to step this way.—Mr. Sholto, it is my duty to inform you that anything which you may say will be used against you. I arrest you in the Queen's name as being concerned in the death of your brother.”

“There, now! Didn't I tell you!” cried the poor little man, throwing out his hands, and looking from one to the other of us.

“Don't trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto,” said Holmes. “I think that I can engage to clear you of the charge.”

“Don't promise too much, Mr. Theorist,—don't promise too much!” snapped the detective. “You may find it a harder matter than you think.”

“Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will make you a free present of the name and description of one of the two people who were in this room last night. His name, I have every reason to believe, is Jonathan Small. He is a poorly-educated man, small, active, with his right leg off, and wearing a wooden stump which is worn away upon the inner side. His left boot has a coarse, square-toed sole, with an iron band round the heel. He is a middle-aged man, much sunburned, and has been a convict. These few indications may be of some assistance to you, coupled with the fact that there is a good deal of skin missing from the palm of his hand. The other man—”

“Ah! the other man—?” asked Athelney Jones, in a sneering voice, but impressed none the less, as I could easily see, by the precision of the other's manner.

“Is a rather curious person,” said Sherlock Holmes, turning upon his heel. “I hope before very long to be able to introduce you to the pair of them. A word with you, Watson.”

He led me out to the head of the stair. “This unexpected occurrence,” he said, “has caused us rather to lose sight of the original purpose of our journey.”

“I have just been thinking so,” I answered. “It is not right that Miss Morstan should remain in this stricken house.”

“No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs. Cecil Forrester, in Lower Camberwell: so it is not very far. I will wait for you here if you will drive out again. Or perhaps you are too tired?”

“By no means. I don't think I could rest until I know more of this fantastic business. I have seen something of the rough side of life, but I give you my word that this quick succession of strange surprises to-night has shaken my nerve completely. I should like, however, to see the matter through with you, now that I have got so far.”

“Your presence will be of great service to me,” he answered. “We shall work the case out independently, and leave this fellow Jones to exult over any mare's-nest which he may choose to construct. When you have dropped Miss Morstan I wish you to go on to No. 3 Pinchin Lane, down near the water's edge at Lambeth. The third house on the right-hand side is a bird-stuffer's: Sherman is the name. You will see a weasel holding a young rabbit in the window. Knock old Sherman up, and tell him, with my compliments, that I want Toby at once. You will bring Toby back in the cab with you.”

“A dog, I suppose.”

“Yes,—a queer mongrel, with a most amazing power of scent. I would rather have Toby's help than that of the whole detective force of London.”

“I shall bring him, then,” said I. “It is one now. I ought to be back before three, if I can get a fresh horse.”

“And I,” said Holmes, “shall see what I can learn from Mrs. Bernstone, and from the Indian servant, who, Mr. Thaddeus tell me, sleeps in the next garret. Then I shall study the great Jones's methods and listen to his not too delicate sarcasms. ‘Wir sind gewohnt, da? die Menschen verh?hnen was sie nicht verstehen.’ Goethe is always pithy.”

第六章 福尔摩斯作出判断

发布时间:2020-04-01 栏目:专题 投稿:尊敬的冬瓜

福尔摩斯一搓一着两手说道：“华生，现在咱们还有半个钟头的时间，咱们要好好地利用。我已经告诉过你，这个案子差不多完全明白了，可是咱们不要过于自信，以免搞出错来。现在看着似乎简单，其中或许还藏有更玄奥的事情呢。”

我不由得问道：“简单？”

他好象老教授在对学生们讲解般地说道：“当然很简单！请你坐在屋角那边，别叫你的脚印把证据弄乱了。现在开始工作吧！头一件，这些人是怎么进来的？怎么走的？屋门从昨晚就没有开过。窗户怎样？"他提着灯往前走着，不象在和我说话，简直是在自言自语地大声嘟哝着：“窗户是从里面关牢的。窗框也很坚固。两旁没有合叶。咱们把它打开。近旁没有雨水漏管。房顶也离得很远。可是有人在窗台上站过。昨晚下过小雨。窗台这儿有一个脚印。这儿有一个圆的泥印，地板上也有一个，桌旁又有一个。华生，看这儿！这真是个好证据。”

我看了看那些清楚的圆泥印，说道：“这不是脚印。”"这是我们更重要的证据。这是一根木桩的印痕。你看窗台上是靴子印……一只后跟镶有宽铁掌的厚靴子，旁边是木桩的印迹。”

“这就是那个装有木腿的人。”

“没有错。可是另外还有一个人……一个很能干、很灵活的同谋。医师，你能从那面墙爬上来吗？”

我探头向窗外看看。月光还很亮地照射着原来的那个屋角。我们离地至少有六丈多高，墙上连一个能够插脚的砖缝都没有。

我答道：“从这儿绝对无法往上爬。”

“如果没有帮忙的，是爬不上来的。可是譬如这里有你的一位朋友，用搁在屋角那里的那条粗绳，一头牢系在墙上的大环子上，另一头扔到你手里，我想只要你是个有力气的人，就是装着木腿、也可以缘着绳子爬上来的。你下去的时候自然也可依法炮制，然后你的同一党一再把绳子拉上来，从环子上解下来，关上窗户，从里面拴牢，再从来路逃走。"他指着绳子继续说道：“还有一个值得注意的细节，那个装木腿的朋友虽然爬墙的技术不坏，但不是一个熟练的水手。他的手可不象惯于爬桅的水手的掌皮那样坚韧。我用放大镜发现了不只一处的血迹，特别是在绳的末端更是明显。我可以断定，他在缘绳而下的时候，速度快得竟把他的手掌皮磨掉了。”

我道：“这都不错，可是事情愈搞愈奥妙了。谁是他的同谋呢？他又是怎么进来的呢？”

福尔摩斯沉思着重复说道：“不错，还有那个同谋！这个人确有些有趣的情形。他把这案子搞得很不平凡。我想这个同谋给我国的犯罪方式又开辟了一条新路子，——可是在印度有过先例，如果我没有记错，在森尼干比亚曾发生过同样的情形。”

我反复地问道：“那么究竟他是怎么进来的呢？门是锁着的，窗户又够不着，难道是从烟囱进来的？”

他答道：“我也想到了这个可能一性一，但是烟囱太窄，不能通过。”

我追问道：“到底是怎么样呢？”

他摇头说道：“你总是不按着我的理论研究。我不是曾经和你说过多少次吗，当你把绝不可能的因素都除出去以后，不管剩下的是什么——不管是多么难以相信的事——那就是实情吗？咱们知道，他不是从门进来的，不是从窗进来的，也不是从烟囱进来的。咱们也知道他不会预先藏在屋里边，因为屋里没有藏身的地方，那么他是从哪里进来的呢？”

我嚷道：“他从屋顶那个洞进来的。”"当然是从那个洞进来的了，这是毫无疑义的。你给我提着灯，咱们到上边的屋子里去察看一下——就是到发现藏着宝物的那间屋子去。”

他登上梯子，两手按住了椽木，翻身上了屋顶室。他俯身朝下接过灯去，我也随着上去了。

这间屋顶室大约有十英尺长，六英尺宽。椽木架成的地板中间铺了些薄板条，敷了一层灰泥。我们走路时必须踩在一根一根的椽子上。屋顶呈尖形，也就是这所房子的真正屋顶了。屋里没有陈设，多年的尘土，积得很厚。

歇洛克·福尔摩斯把手扶在斜坡的墙上说道：“你看，这就是一个通屋顶外面的暗门，我把这个暗门拉开，外面就是坡度不大的屋顶，这就是第一个人的来路，咱们找一找，看他有没有留下什么能说明他个人特征的痕迹。”

他把灯往地板上照着，今晚我又第二次看到在他脸上出现的惊破表情。我随着往他所注视的地方看去，也被吓得全身发起冷来。地上满都是没有穿鞋的赤足脚印，一一很清楚，很完整，可是不及平常人脚的一半大。

我轻轻地说道：“福尔摩斯，一个小孩子做了这样怕人的勾当！”

他神色略定以后说道：“起初我也是吃了一惊，其实这件事是很平常的。我一时忘记了，我本当预料到的。这里没有什么可搜查的了，咱们下去吧。”

我们回到下面屋里，我急急问道：“你对于那些脚印的见解是怎样的呢？”

他有些不耐烦地答道：“华生，请你自己分析分析吧。你知道我的方法，依法实践，然后咱们互相参证结论，彼此也可以多得些经验。”

我回答道：“在这些事实上面，我想不出什么来。”

他不假思索地说道：“不久就会完全明白了。我想这里也许没有什么重要之处了，但是我还要看一看。"他拿出他的放大镜和气尺，跪在地上。他那细长的鼻子，离地只有几英寸，他那圆溜溜发光的眼睛和鸟眼一般。他在屋里来回地度量、比较和察看着。他那动作的敏捷、无声和鬼祟真象一只熟练的猎犬在找寻气味。我不禁联想到：如果他把一精一力和聪明不用于维护法律而去犯法的话，他会变成一个多么可怕的罪犯啊！他一面侦查，一面自言自语着，最后他突然发出一阵欢喜的呼声。

他说：“咱们真走运，问题不大了。第一个人不幸踏在木馏油①上面。你可以看见，在这难闻的东西的右边，有他的小脚印。这盛油的瓶子裂了，里边的东西流了出来。”——

①木馏油：又名杂酚油，是由煤焦油中提出来的一种气味极浓的酚油，供防腐和医疗用。——译者注

我问道：“这又作什么解释呢？”

他道：“没有别的，不过咱们就要捉到他罢了。我知道：一只狗凭着嗅觉能够顺着气味寻到尽头；狼群循着气味就可以找到食物，那么一只经过特别训练的猎犬追寻这么强烈的气味，不是更容易吗？这是个定理，结果定然是……可是，喂！警察们到了。”

从下面传来了沉重的脚步声、谈话声和关门的声音。

福尔摩斯道：“乘他们还没有上来的时候，你用手摸一摸一尸一身的胳臂，还有他的两条腿。你有什么感觉？”

我答道：“肌肉坚一硬得象木头一样。”

“正是。是极端强烈的收缩，比普通的死后强直还要厉害，再加上脸部的歪斜和惨笑，你作何结论呢？”

我答道：“中了植物一性一生物硷的剧毒——一种类似番木鳖硷，能造成破伤风一性一症状的毒物而致死的。”

“我一发现他那面部肌肉收缩的情形，就想到是中剧毒的现象。进屋以后我就马上设法弄清这毒物是如何进入体内的。你也看见我发现了那根不费力就能扎进或者射入他头起的荆刺。似乎死者当时是直坐在椅上，你看那刺入的地方正对着那天花板的洞。你再仔细看看这根荆刺。”

我小心地把它拿在手里对着灯光细看。是一个长而尖的黑刺，尖端上有一层发亮的好象是一种干了的胶质的东西。较钝的那一头，是被刀削过的。

他问道：“是生长在英国的荆刺吗？”

“绝对不是的。”

“有了这些资料，你就应当能作出合理的结论来。这是主要之点，其余的更容易解决了。”

他说话的时节，脚步声已经来到甬道。一个穿灰衣的胖子走进屋内。他的面色发红，身材魁伟，多血的体质，从肿胀的凸眼泡中间露出了一对小小的闪烁的眼睛。后面紧随着一个穿制一服的警长和还在那里发一抖的塞笛厄斯·舒尔托。

他喊道：“这成什么样子！这成什么样子！这些人都是谁？这屋子里简直热闹得都象养兔场了。”

福尔摩斯静静地说道：“埃瑟尔尼·琼斯先生，我想您一定还记得我吧？”

他喘一息未定地说道：“当然还记得的！你是大理论家歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生。记得您，记得您的！我忘不了那次您怎么向我们演说关于主教门珍宝案的起因和推论结果。您确实把我们引入了正轨，但是您也应当承认，那次主要还是靠了运气好，而不是因为有了正确的指导才破的案。”

“那是一个很简单很容易理解的案子。”

“啊，算了吧！算了吧！用不着不好意思承认。可是这是怎么一回事？太糟糕了！太糟糕了！事实都摆在这里，不需要用理论来推测了。真是运气，我正为了别的案子来到诺伍德！报案时我正在分署。您以为这个人是怎样死的呢？”

福尔摩斯冷冷地答道：“啊，这个案子似乎不需要我的理论。”

“不需要，不需要。可是我们还不能不承认，您有时真能一言中的。可是据我了解，门是锁着的，五十万镑的宝物丢失啦。窗户的情形怎么样呢？”

“关得很牢，不过窗台上有脚印。”

“好啦，好啦。如果窗户是关着的，这脚印就与本案无关了，这是常识。这个人也许是在盛怒之下死的，可是珠宝又遗失了。哈！我有了一个解释。有时我也常能灵机一动呢。警长，你先出去，您，舒尔托先生，也出去，您的医生朋友可以留在这里。福尔摩斯先生，您想这是怎么一回事？舒尔托他自己承认过昨晚和他哥哥在一起。他哥哥是在盛怒之下死的，于是舒尔托就借机把珠宝拿走了。您看怎么样？”

“这个死人还很细心地起来把门倒锁上。”

“哼！这里确实有个破绽。咱们根据常识来想想看。这个塞笛厄斯曾和他哥哥在一起，哥俩有过争吵，这是我们知道的。哥哥死了，珠宝丢一了，这个我们也是知道的。塞笛厄斯走后就再没有人看见过他哥哥了，他的一床一也没有人睡过，塞笛厄斯显然是万分的不安，他的情形也很不对头。您看我是在向塞笛厄斯四面夹攻，他也就难逃法网了。”

福尔摩斯道：“您还没有知道全部的事实呢！这个我有理由认为是有毒的木刺，是从死者的头皮上拿下来的，伤痕还可以看得出来。这张纸，您看，是这样写的，是由桌上捡到的，一旁还有这根古怪的镶石头的木棒。这些东西您怎么把它适应到您的理论上去呢？”

这个胖侦探神气活现地说道：“各方面都证实了。满屋全是印度古玩，如果这个木刺有毒，旁人能利用它杀人，塞笛厄斯一样也能利用它来杀人，这张纸不过是一种欺骗的戏法罢了，故弄玄虚。唯一的问题是：他是怎样出去的呢？啊！当然喽，这个房顶上有一个洞。”

他的身一子笨重，费了很大片力才爬上了梯子，从洞一口挤进了屋顶室。紧跟着我们就听见他高兴地喊着说他找到了通屋顶的暗门。

福尔摩斯耸了耸肩说道：“他有时也能发现些证据，有时也有些模模糊糊的认识。法国老话：‘和没有思想的愚人更难相处。”埃瑟尔尼·琼斯从上边下来，说道：“你看，还是事实胜于理论。我的看法完全证实了：有一个暗门通屋顶，暗门还是半开的。”

“那暗门是我开开的。”

“啊，不错！那么您也看见暗门了。"他好象有些沮丧，“好吧，不论是谁发现的，反正是说明了凶手逃走的路径。警长！”

甬道里有声音答应道：“有！辟长。”

“叫舒尔托先生进来。舒尔托先生，我有责任告诉您，您所要说的任何话全可能对您不利。为了您哥哥的死亡，我代表政一府逮捕您。”

这个可怜的矮小的人，举起手来望着我们两人叫道：“你们看怎么样？我早就料到的。”

福尔摩斯说道：“舒尔托先生，不要着急，我想我是能够为您洗清一切的。”

这位侦探立即反驳道：“大理论家先生，不要随随便便就答应，事实恐怕不象您想的那样简单。”

“琼斯先生，我不只要洗清他，我还要奉赠您昨晚曾到这间屋里来的两个凶手之中的一个人的姓名和特征。他的姓名——我有理由认为是叫做琼诺赞·斯茂。他的文化程度很低，个子不大，人很灵活，右腿已断去，装了一只木腿。木腿向里的一面已经磨去了一块。他左脚的靴子下面有一块粗糙的方形前掌，后跟上钉着铁掌。他是个中年人，皮肤晒得很黑，从前还是个囚犯。这些情况和不少由他手掌上剥落的皮或者对您是有帮助的。那另外的一个……”

埃瑟尔尼·琼斯，看来显然是被另一人的正确一性一所打动了，可是他仍用着嘲笑的态度问道：“不错，那另外一个人呢？”

歇洛克·福尔摩斯转过身来，答道：“是个很古怪的人，我希望不久就可以把这两个人介绍给您。华生，请到这边来，我和你说句话。”

他引我到楼梯口，说道：“这件意外的事几乎弄得咱们把到这里来的原意都忘记了。”

我答道：“我也想到了，摩斯坦小一姐留在这个恐怖的地方是不合适的。”

“你现在就送她回去。她住在下坎伯韦尔，西色尔·弗里斯特夫人的家里，离这儿不远。假使你愿意再来，我可以在这里等你。可是你太累了吧？”

“一点儿也不累，我得不到这回事的真相是不能休息的。我也曾经历过危难，可是说实话，今天晚上这一系列的怪事，把我的神经都搅乱了。已经到了这个阶段，我愿意帮助你结案。”

他答道：“你在这里对我帮助很大，咱们要单独进行，让这个琼斯愿意怎样干就干他的去吧。你送摩斯坦小一姐回去以后，请你到河边莱姆贝斯区品琴里三号——一个做鸟类标本的瓶子右边的第三个门，去找一个叫做谢尔曼的人。他的窗上画着一只鼬鼠抓着一只小兔。把这个老头儿叫起来，告诉他我向他借透比用一用，请你把透比坐车带回来。”

“透比是一只狗吗？”

“是一只破特的混血狗，嗅觉极灵。我宁愿要这只狗的帮忙，它比全伦敦的警察还要得力得多呢。”

我道：“我一定把它带回来。现在已经一点钟了，如果能换一起新马，三点钟以前我一准返回。”

福尔摩斯道：“我同时还要从女管家博恩斯通太太和印度仆人那里弄些新材料。塞笛厄斯先生曾告诉过我，那个仆人住在旁边那间屋顶室。回来再研究这伟大琼斯的工作方法，再听听他的挖苦吧。我们已经一习一惯，有些人对于他们所不了解的事物偏要挖苦。歌德的话总是这样简洁有力。”