当前位置

： 英语阅读内容详情

福尔摩斯-The Sign of the Four四签名 Chapter 5

5次大中小

Chapter 5 The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge

It was nearly eleven o'clock when we reached this final stage of our night's adventures. We had left the damp fog of the great city behind us, and the night was fairly fine. A warm wind blew from the westward, and heavy clouds moved slowly across the sky, with half a moon peeping occasionally through the rifts. It was clear enough to see for some distance, but Thaddeus Sholto took down one of the side-lamps from the carriage to give us a better light upon our way.

Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds, and was girt round with a very high stone wall topped with broken glass. A single narrow iron-clamped door formed the only means of entrance. On this our guide knocked with a peculiar postman-like rat-tat.

“Who is there?” cried a gruff voice from within.

“It is I, McMurdo. You surely know my knock by this time.”

There was a grumbling sound and a clanking and jarring of keys. The door swung heavily back, and a short, deep-chested man stood in the opening, with the yellow light of the lantern shining upon his protruded face and twinkling distrustful eyes.

“That you, Mr. Thaddeus? But who are the others? I had no orders about them from the master.”

“No, McMurdo? You surprise me! I told my brother last night that I should bring some friends.

“He ain't been out o' his room to-day, Mr. Thaddeus, and I have no orders. You know very well that I must stick to regulations. I can let you in, but your friends must just stop where they are.”

This was an unexpected obstacle. Thaddeus Sholto looked about him in a perplexed and helpless manner. “This is too bad of you, McMurdo!” he said. “If I guarantee them, that is enough for you. There is the young lady, too. She cannot wait on the public road at this hour.”

“Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus,” said the porter, inexorably. “Folk may be friends o' yours, and yet no friends o' the master's. He pays me well to do my duty, and my duty I'll do. I don't know none o' your friends.”

“Oh, yes you do, McMurdo,” cried Sherlock Holmes, genially. “I don't think you can have forgotten me. Don't you remember the amateur who fought three rounds with you at Alison's rooms on the night of your benefit four years back?”

“Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes!” roared the prize-fighter. “God's truth! how could I have mistook you? If instead o' standin' there so quiet you had just stepped up and given me that cross-hit of yours under the jaw, I'd ha' known you without a question. Ah, you're one that has wasted your gifts, you have! You might have aimed high, if you had joined the fancy.”

“You see, Watson, if all else fails me I have still one of the scientific professions open to me,” said Holmes, laughing. “Our friend won't keep us out in the cold now, I am sure.”

“In you come, sir, in you come,—you and your friends,” he answered. “Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus, but orders are very strict. Had to be certain of your friends before I let them in.”

Inside, a gravel path wound through desolate grounds to a huge clump of a house, square and prosaic, all plunged in shadow save where a moonbeam struck one corner and glimmered in a garret window. The vast size of the building, with its gloom and its deathly silence, struck a chill to the heart. Even Thaddeus Sholto seemed ill at ease, and the lantern quivered and rattled in his hand.

“I cannot understand it,” he said. “There must be some mistake. I distinctly told Bartholomew that we should be here, and yet there is no light in his window. I do not know what to make of it.”

“Does he always guard the premises in this way?” asked Holmes.

“Yes; he has followed my father's custom. He was the favorite son, you know, and I sometimes think that my father may have told him more than he ever told me. That is Bartholomew's window up there where the moonshine strikes. It is quite bright, but there is no light from within, I think.”

“None,” said Holmes. “But I see the glint of a light in that little window beside the door.”

“Ah, that is the housekeeper's room. That is where old Mrs. Bernstone sits. She can tell us all about it. But perhaps you would not mind waiting here for a minute or two, for if we all go in together and she has no word of our coming she may be alarmed. But hush! what is that?”

He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the circles of light flickered and wavered all round us. Miss Morstan seized my wrist, and we all stood with thumping hearts, straining our ears. From the great black house there sounded through the silent night the saddest and most pitiful of sounds,—the shrill, broken whimpering of a frightened woman.

“It is Mrs. Bernstone,” said Sholto. “She is the only woman in the house. Wait here. I shall be back in a moment.” He hurried for the door, and knocked in his peculiar way. We could see a tall old woman admit him, and sway with pleasure at the very sight of him.

“Oh, Mr. Thaddeus, sir, I am so glad you have come! I am so glad you have come, Mr. Thaddeus, sir!” We heard her reiterated rejoicings until the door was closed and her voice died away into a muffled monotone.

Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it slowly round, and peered keenly at the house, and at the great rubbish-heaps which cumbered the grounds. Miss Morstan and I stood together, and her hand was in mine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two who had never seen each other before that day, between whom no word or even look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other. I have marvelled at it since, but at the time it seemed the most natural thing that I should go out to her so, and, as she has often told me, there was in her also the instinct to turn to me for comfort and protection. So we stood hand in hand, like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us.

“What a strange place!” she said, looking round.

“It looks as though all the moles in England had been let loose in it. I have seen something of the sort on the side of a hill near Ballarat, where the prospectors had been at work.”

“And from the same cause,” said Holmes. “These are the traces of the treasure-seekers. You must remember that they were six years looking for it. No wonder that the grounds look like a gravel-pit.”

At that moment the door of the house burst open, and Thaddeus Sholto came running out, with his hands thrown forward and terror in his eyes.

“There is something amiss with Bartholomew!” he cried. “I am frightened! My nerves cannot stand it.” He was, indeed, half blubbering with fear, and his twitching feeble face peeping out from the great Astrakhan collar had the helpless appealing expression of a terrified child.

“Come into the house,” said Holmes, in his crisp, firm way.

“Yes, do!” pleaded Thaddeus Sholto. “I really do not feel equal to giving directions.”

We all followed him into the housekeeper's room, which stood upon the left-hand side of the passage. The old woman was pacing up and down with a scared look and restless picking fingers, but the sight of Miss Morstan appeared to have a soothing effect upon her.

“God bless your sweet calm face!” she cried, with an hysterical sob. “It does me good to see you. Oh, but I have been sorely tried this day!”

Our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand, and murmured some few words of kindly womanly comfort which brought the color back into the others bloodless cheeks.

“Master has locked himself in and will now answer me,” she explained. “All day I have waited to hear from him, for he often likes to be alone; but an hour ago I feared that something was amiss, so I went up and peeped through the key-hole. You must go up, Mr. Thaddeus,—you must go up and look for yourself. I have seen Mr. Bartholomew Sholto in joy and in sorrow for ten long years, but I never saw him with such a face on him as that.”

Sherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the way, for Thaddeus Sholto's teeth were chattering in his head. So shaken was he that I had to pass my hand under his arm as we went up the stairs, for his knees were trembling under him. Twice as we ascended Holmes whipped his lens out of his pocket and carefully examined marks which appeared to me to be mere shapeless smudges of dust upon the cocoa-nut matting which served as a stair-carpet. He walked slowly from step to step, holding the lamp, and shooting keen glances to right and left. Miss Morstan had remained behind with the frightened housekeeper.

The third flight of stairs ended in a straight passage of some length, with a great picture in Indian tapestry upon the right of it and three doors upon the left. Holmes advanced along it in the same slow and methodical way, while we kept close at his heels, with our long black shadows streaming backwards down the corridor. The third door was that which we were seeking. Holmes knocked without receiving any answer, and then tried to turn the handle and force it open. It was locked on the inside, however, and by a broad and powerful bolt, as we could see when we set our lamp up against it. The key being turned, however, the hole was not entirely closed. Sherlock Holmes bent down to it, and instantly rose again with a sharp intaking of the breath.

“There is something devilish in this, Watson,” said he, more moved than I had ever before seen him. “What do you make of it?”

I stooped to the hole, and recoiled in horror. Moonlight was streaming into the room, and it was bright with a vague and shifty radiance. Looking straight at me, and suspended, as it were, in the air, for all beneath was in shadow, there hung a face,—the very face of our companion Thaddeus. There was the same high, shining head, the same circular bristle of red hair, the same bloodless countenance. The features were set, however, in a horrible smile, a fixed and unnatural grin, which in that still and moonlit room was more jarring to the nerves than any scowl or contortion. So like was the face to that of our little friend that I looked round at him to make sure that he was indeed with us. Then I recalled to mind that he had mentioned to us that his brother and he were twins.

“This is terrible!” I said to Holmes. “What is to be done?”

“The door must come down,” he answered, and, springing against it, he put all his weight upon the lock. It creaked and groaned, but did not yield. Together we flung ourselves upon it once more, and this time it gave way with a sudden snap, and we found ourselves within Bartholomew Sholto's chamber.

It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical laboratory. A double line of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn up upon the wall opposite the door, and the table was littered over with Bunsen burners, test-tubes, and retorts. In the corners stood carboys of acid in wicker baskets. One of these appeared to leak or to have been broken, for a stream of dark-colored liquid had trickled out from it, and the air was heavy with a peculiarly pungent, tar-like odor. A set of steps stood at one side of the room, in the midst of a litter of lath and plaster, and above them there was an opening in the ceiling large enough for a man to pass through. At the foot of the steps a long coil of rope was thrown carelessly together.

By the table, in a wooden arm-chair, the master of the house was seated all in a heap, with his head sunk upon his left shoulder, and that ghastly, inscrutable smile upon his face. He was stiff and cold, and had clearly been dead many hours. It seemed to me that not only his features but all his limbs were twisted and turned in the most fantastic fashion. By his hand upon the table there lay a peculiar instrument,—a brown, close-grained stick, with a stone head like a hammer, rudely lashed on with coarse twine. Beside it was a torn sheet of note-paper with some words scrawled upon it. Holmes glanced at it, and then handed it to me.

“You see,” he said, with a significant raising of the eyebrows.

In the light of the lantern I read, with a thrill of horror, “The sign of the four.”

“In God's name, what does it all mean?” I asked.

“It means murder,” said he, stooping over the dead man. “Ah, I expected it. Look here!” He pointed to what looked like a long, dark thorn stuck in the skin just above the ear.

“It looks like a thorn,” said I.

“It is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be careful, for it is poisoned.”

I took it up between my finger and thumb. It came away from the skin so readily that hardly any mark was left behind. One tiny speck of blood showed where the puncture had been.

“This is all an insoluble mystery to me,” said I. “It grows darker instead of clearer.”

“On the contrary,” he answered, “it clears every instant. I only require a few missing links to have an entirely connected case.”

We had almost forgotten our companion's presence since we entered the chamber. He was still standing in the door-way, the very picture of terror, wringing his hands and moaning to himself. Suddenly, however, he broke out into a sharp, querulous cry.

“The treasure is gone!” he said. “They have robbed him of the treasure! There is the hole through which we lowered it. I helped him to do it! I was the last person who saw him! I left him here last night, and I heard him lock the door as I came down-stairs.”

“What time was that?”

“It was ten o'clock. And now he is dead, and the police will be called in, and I shall be suspected of having had a hand in it. Oh, yes, I am sure I shall. But you don't think so, gentlemen? Surely you don't think that it was I? Is it likely that I would have brought you here if it were I? Oh, dear! oh, dear! I know that I shall go mad!” He jerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsive frenzy.

“You have no reason for fear, Mr. Sholto,” said Holmes, kindly, putting his hand upon his shoulder. “Take my advice, and drive down to the station to report this matter to the police. Offer to assist them in every way. We shall wait here until your return.”

The little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and we heard him stumbling down the stairs in the dark.

第五章樱沼别墅的惨案

我们达到今晚冒险历程的最后阶段的时候，已经将近十一点钟了。伦敦的雾气已经消失，夜景清幽，和暖的西风吹开了乌云，半圆的月亮时常从云际透露出来。已经能够往远处看得很清楚了，可是塞笛厄斯·舒尔托还是拿下了一只车灯，为的是把我们的路照得更亮一些。

樱沼别墅建筑在一起广场上面，四周围绕着很高的石墙，墙头上面插着破碎的玻璃片。一个窄一窄的钉有铁夹板的小门是唯一的出入口。我们的向导在门上砰砰地敲了两下。

里边一个粗一暴的声音问道：“谁？”

“是我呀，麦克默多。这时候到这里来的还有哪个？”

里边透出了很抱怨的声音，接着有钥匙的响声。门向后敞开，走出个矮小而健壮的人，提着灯笼，站在门内。黄色的灯光照着他向外探出的脸和两只闪闪多疑的眼睛。

“塞笛厄斯先生，是您吗？可是他们是谁？我没有得到主人的命令不能请他们进来。”

“不能请他们进来？麦克默多，岂有此理！昨天晚上我就告诉了我哥哥今天要陪几位朋友来。”

“塞笛厄斯先生，他今天一天也没有出屋子，我也没有听到吩咐。主人的规矩您是知道的，我可以让您进来，您的朋友暂时等在门外吧。”

这是没有想到的一着！塞笛厄斯·舒尔托瞪着他，似乎很窘。他喊道：“你太不象话啦！我保证他们还不行吗？这里还有一位小一姐，她总不能深夜里等在街上啊。”

守门的仍然坚持地说道：“塞笛厄斯先生，实在对您不起，这几位或许是您的朋友，可不是主人的朋友。主人给我工钱就为的是让我尽到守卫的责任，是我的职责，我就应当尽到。您的朋友我一个也不认得。”

福尔摩斯和蔼地喊道：“麦克默多，你总该认得我呀！我想你不会把我忘记的。你不记得四年以前在一爱一里森场子里为你举行拳赛，和你打过三个回合的那个业余拳赛员吗？”

这拳击手嚷道：“是不是歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生？我的老天！我怎么会认不出来呢？与其站在那里一言不发，您干脆给我下颏底下来上您那拿手的一拳，那我早就认得您是谁啦！啊，您是个有天才然而是自暴自弃的人，您真是那样的人！如果您继续练下去，您的造诣是不可限量的呀！”

福尔摩斯向我笑道：“华生，你看，即使我一事无成，至少我还能找到一种职业呢。咱们的朋友一定不会让咱们在外边受冻了。”

他答道：“先生，请进来吧！连您的朋友全请进来吧！塞笛厄斯先生，实在是对不起，主人命令很严，必须知道您的朋友是谁，我才敢请他们进来。”

进门就是一条铺石子的小路，曲折穿过一起荒凉的空地，直通到隐在丛树里的一所外形方整而构造平常的大房子。枝叶遮蔽得异常一陰一森，只有一翧E月光照到房子的一角，照在顶楼上面的窗上。这样大的房子，一陰一惨沉寂到使人不寒而栗，就连塞笛厄斯·舒尔托也有些局促不安起来，所提的灯在他手里颤一动得发出了响声。

他道：“我实在不明白，这里一定出了事。我明明告诉过巴索洛谬，咱们今天晚上来，可是他的窗户连灯亮都没有。我真不懂这是怎么一回事！”

福尔摩斯问道：“他平日就这样地戒备吗？”"是的，他沿袭了我父亲的一习一惯。您知道，他是我父亲的一爱一子，我有时还想，我父亲告诉他的话比告诉我的多。那被月光照着的就是巴索洛谬的窗户。窗户被月光照得很亮，可是我想里边没有灯光。”

福尔摩斯道：“里边是没有灯光，可是在门旁那个小窗里有闪亮的灯光。”

“啊，那是女管家的房间。那就是博恩斯通老太太屋的灯光。她会把一切情况告诉咱们。请你们在此稍候一下，因为她事先不知道，如果咱们一同进去，也许她会觉得破怪。可是，嘘！那是什么？”

他把灯高高举起，手抖得使灯光摇摇不定。摩斯坦小一姐紧一握着我的手腕，我们极其紧张地站在那里，心跳得普通普通地侧耳倾听着。深夜里，从这所巨大漆黑的房子里不断地发出一阵阵凄惨恐怖的女人喊叫的声音。

塞笛厄斯说道：“这是博恩斯通太太的声音，这所房子里只有她一个女人。请等在这里，我马上就回来。"他赶紧跑到门前，用他一习一惯的方法敲了两下。我们看见有一个身材高高的妇人，好象见了亲人一般地请他进去了。

“哦，塞笛厄斯先生，您来得太好啦！您来得太巧啦！哦，塞笛厄斯先生！"这些喜出望外的话，一直等到门关上以后，还能隐约听到。

福尔摩斯提着向导给我们留下的灯笼，缓缓地、认真细致地查看着房子的四周和堆积在空地上的大堆垃圾。摩斯坦小一姐和我站在一起，她的手紧一握在我的手里。一爱一情真是一件不可思议的事情。我们两人在前一天还没有见过面，今天双方也没有说过一句情话，可是现在遇有患难，我们的手就会不约而同地紧一握在一起。后来我每想起这件事来就感到有趣，不过当时的动作似乎是出于自然而不自觉，后来她也常常告诉我说，当时她自己的感觉是：只有依傍着我才能得到安慰和保护。我们两人如同小孩一样，手拉着手站在一起，四周的危险全不在意，心中反觉得坦然无惧。

她向四周张望着说道：“这真是个破怪的地方！”

“好象全英国的鼹鼠都放到这里来了。我只在白拉莱特附近的山边看见过相同的景象，当时探矿的正在那里钻探。”

福尔摩斯道：“这里也是经过多次的挖掘啊，留下了寻找宝物的痕迹。你不要忘记，他们费了六年的工夫来寻找。无怪乎这块地好象砂砾坑一样。”

这时候房门忽然敞开，塞笛厄斯·舒尔托向外跑出，两手向前，眼神里充满了恐惧。

他叫道：“巴索洛谬一定出了事儿了！怕死我了！我的神经受不了这样的刺激。"他确是万分恐惧。在他那从羔皮大领子里露出来的、痉一挛的、没有血色的脸上，表情就象一个惊骇失措奔逃求救的小孩子一样。

福尔摩斯坚决、干脆地说道：“咱们进屋里去。”

塞笛厄斯恳求道：“请进去！请进去！我真不知如何是好了！”

我们随着他走进甬道左边女管家的屋子里。这个老太太正在惊魂不定地在屋里踱来踱去，可是一看见摩斯坦小一姐就好象得到了安慰似的。

她感情激动地向摩斯坦小一姐哭诉道：“老天爷，看您这副一温一柔安静的脸多好！看见了您，我觉得好多了！我这一天呀，真是够受的！”

我的同伴轻轻地抚拍着她的皱手，低声地说了几句一温一柔的、安慰她的话。老太太苍白的脸渐渐地恢复过来了。

她解释道：“主人自己锁上房门也不和我答话，一整天我在这里等他叫唤。他倒是常常喜欢一个人呆着，可是一个钟头以前，我恐怕出事，我上楼从钥匙孔往里偷看了看。您一定要上去一趟，塞笛厄斯先生，您一定要自己去看一看！十年来，无论是巴索洛谬先生喜欢的时候还是悲痛的时候，我都看见过，可是我从来没有看见过象他现在这副面孔。”

歇洛克·福尔摩斯提着灯在前引路，塞笛厄斯吓得牙齿相击、两一腿哆嗦，亏得我搀扶着他，才一同上了楼。福尔摩斯在上楼时，两次从口袋里拿出放大镜，小心地验看那些留在楼梯棕毯上的泥印。他慢慢地一级一级地走上去，低低地提着灯，左右地细细观察。摩斯坦小一姐留在楼下，和惊恐的女管家做伴。

上了三节楼梯，前面就是一条相当长的甬道，右面墙上悬挂着一幅印度挂毯，左边有三个门。福尔摩斯仍旧一边慢走一边有系统地观察着。我们紧随在后面，我们的长长的影子投在身后的甬道上。第三个门就是我们的目的地了。福尔摩斯用力敲门，里面没有回应；他又旋转门钮，用力推门，也推不开。我们把灯贴近了门缝，可以看见里面是用很粗的门锁倒闩着的。钥匙已经过扭转，所以钥匙孔没有整个地被封闭起来。歇洛克·福尔摩斯弯下腰从钥匙孔往里看了看，立刻又站起来，倒吸了一大口气。

我从来没有看见过他这样激动。他说：“华生，这儿确实是有点可怕，你来看看这是怎么一回事。”

我从钥匙孔往里一望，吓得我立刻缩了回来。淡淡的月光直照屋内，隐约中有一张好象挂在半空中的脸在向我注视，脸以下都浸在黑影里。这个脸和我们的伙伴塞笛厄斯的脸完全一样，同样的光亮的秃顶，同样的一撮红发，同样的无血色的脸，可是表情是死板板的。一种可怕的狞笑，一种不自然露出牙齿的笑。在这样沉寂和月光照耀之下的屋里，看到这样的笑脸，比看到愁眉苦脸的样子更使人一毛一骨悚然。屋里的脸这样同我们那矮小的朋友相像，我不免回过头来看看他是否还在身边。我忽然又想起来他曾经说过，他和他哥哥是孪生兄弟。

我向福尔摩斯说道：“这太可怕啦，怎么办呢？”

他答道：“门一定要打开。"说着就对着门跳上去，把全身重量都加到锁上。门响了响，可是没有推开。我们就一起合力猛一冲，这次砰的一声，门锁断了，我们已进入了巴索洛谬的屋里。

这间屋子收拾得好象是化学试验室。对着门的墙上摆着两层带玻璃塞的玻璃瓶子。桌子上摆满了本生灯、试验管和蒸馏气。墙的一角有许多盛着酸类的瓶子，外面笼着藤络。其中一起似乎已经破漏，流一出来一股黑色的液体。空气中充满了一种特别刺鼻的柏油气味。屋的一边，在一堆散乱的板条和灰泥上，立着一副梯子，梯子上面的天花板上有一个洞，大小可以容人出入。梯子下面有一卷长绳，零乱地盘放在地上。

在桌子旁边的一张有扶手的木椅上，坐着房间的主人，头歪在左肩上，面露惨笑。他已变得僵冷，显然是已经死去很久了。看来不只他的面孔表情特别，就是他的四肢也蜷曲得和AE絓f1常死人不同。他那扶在桌子上的一只手旁边，放着一个破怪的器一具——一个粗糙的棕色木棒，上面用粗麻线捆着一块石头，象是一把锤子。旁边放着一张从记事簿上撕下来的破纸，上边潦草地写着几个字。福尔摩斯看了一眼，递给了我。

他抬起眉一毛一来说道：“你看看。”

在提灯的灯光下，我惊恐地看见上面写着"四个签名"。

我问道：“天哪，这，这是怎么回事呀？”

他正弯腰检验一尸一身，答道：“谋杀！啊！丙然不出我所料，你看！”他指着刚刚扎在一尸一体的耳朵上面头起里的一根黑色长刺。

我道：“好象是一根荆刺。”

“就是一根荆刺。你可以把它拔一出来。可是小心着点，这根荆刺上有毒。”

我用拇指和食指把它拔了出来。荆刺刚刚取出，伤口已经合一拢，除去一点点血痕能说明伤口所在之外，很难找出任何遗留下来的痕迹。

我道：“这件事对我说来完全离破难解，不只没搞明白，反而更一胡一涂了。”

他答道：“正相反，各个环节都清楚了，我只要再弄清几个环节，全案就可以了然了。”

我们自从进屋以后差不多已经把我们的同伴忘记了。他还站在门口，还是那样地哆嗦和悲叹着。忽然间，他失望地尖声喊了起来。

他道：“宝物全部都丢一了！他们把宝物全抢去了！我们就是从那个洞一口里把宝物拿出来的，是我帮着他拿下来的！我是最后看见他的一个人！我昨晚离开他下楼的时候，还听见他锁门呢。”

“那时是几点钟？”