福尔摩斯-The Sign of the Four四签名 Chapter 3

Chapter 3 In Quest of a Solution

It was half-past five before Holmes returned. He was bright, eager, and in excellent spirits,--a mood which in his case alternated with fits of the blackest depression.

"There is no great mystery in this matter," he said, taking the cup of tea which I had poured out for him. "The facts appear to admit of only one explanation."

"What! you have solved it already?"

"Well, that would be too much to say. I have discovered a suggestive fact, that is all. It is, however, VERY suggestive. The details are still to be added. I have just found, on consulting the back files of the Times, that Major Sholto, of Upper Norword, late of the 34th Bombay Infantry, died upon the 28th of April, 1882."

"I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what this suggests."

"No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way, then. Captain Morstan disappears. The only person in London whom he could have visited is Major Sholto. Major Sholto denies having heard that he was in London. Four years later Sholto dies. WITHIN A WEEK OF HIS DEATH Captain Morstan's daughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated from year to year, and now culminates in a letter which describes her as a wronged woman. What wrong can it refer to except this deprivation of her father? And why should the presents begin immediately after Sholto's death, unless it is that Sholto's heir knows something of the mystery and desires to make compensation? Have you any alternative theory which will meet the facts?"

"But what a strange compensation! And how strangely made! Why, too, should he write a letter now, rather than six years ago? Again, the letter speaks of giving her justice. What justice can she have? It is too much to suppose that her father is still alive. There is no other injustice in her case that you know of."

"There are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties," said Sherlock Holmes, pensively. "But our expedition of to-night will solve them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan is inside. Are you all ready? Then we had better go down, for it is a little past the hour."

I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observed that Holmes took his revolver from his drawer and slipped it into his pocket. It was clear that he thought that our night's work might be a serious one.

Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive face was composed, but pale. She must have been more than woman if she did not feel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon which we were embarking, yet her self-control was perfect, and she readily answered the few additional questions which Sherlock Holmes put to her.

"Major Sholto was a very particular friend of papa's," she said. "His letters were full of allusions to the major. He and papa were in command of the troops at the Andaman Islands, so they were thrown a great deal together. By the way, a curious paper was found in papa's desk which no one could understand. I don't suppose that it is of the slightest importance, but I thought you might care to see it, so I brought it with me. It is here."

Holmes unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed it out upon his knee. He then very methodically examined it all over with his double lens.

"It is paper of native Indian manufacture," he remarked. "It has at some time been pinned to a board. The diagram upon it appears to be a plan of part of a large building with numerous halls, corridors, and passages. At one point is a small cross done in red ink, and above it is '3.37 from left,' in faded pencil- writing. In the left-hand corner is a curious hieroglyphic like four crosses in a line with their arms touching. Beside it is written, in very rough and coarse characters, 'The sign of the four,--Jonathan Small, Mahomet Singh, Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar.' No, I confess that I do not see how this bears upon the matter. Yet it is evidently a document of importance. It has been kept carefully in a pocket-book; for the one side is as clean as the other."

"It was in his pocket-book that we found it."

"Preserve it carefully, then, Miss Morstan, for it may prove to be of use to us. I begin to suspect that this matter may turn out to be much deeper and more subtle than I at first supposed. I must reconsider my ideas." He leaned back in the cab, and I could see by his drawn brow and his vacant eye that he was thinking intently. Miss Morstan and I chatted in an undertone about our present expedition and its possible outcome, but our companion maintained his impenetrable reserve until the end of our journey.

It was a September evening, and not yet seven o'clock, but the day had been a dreary one, and a dense drizzly fog lay low upon the great city. Mud-colored clouds drooped sadly over the muddy streets. Down the Strand the lamps were but misty splotches of diffused light which threw a feeble circular glimmer upon the slimy pavement. The yellow glare from the shop-windows streamed out into the steamy, vaporous air, and threw a murky, shifting radiance across the crowded thoroughfare. There was, to my mind, something eerie and ghost-like in the endless procession of faces which flitted across these narrow bars of light,--sad faces and glad, haggard and merry. Like all human kind, they flitted from the gloom into the light, and so back into the gloom once more. I am not subject to impressions, but the dull, heavy evening, with the strange business upon which we were engaged, combined to make me nervous and depressed. I could see from Miss Morstan's manner that she was suffering from the same feeling. Holmes alone could rise superior to petty influences. He held his open note-book upon his knee, and from time to time he jotted down figures and memoranda in the light of his pocket-lantern.

At the Lyceum Theatre the crowds were already thick at the side- entrances. In front a continuous stream of hansoms and four- wheelers were rattling up, discharging their cargoes of shirt- fronted men and beshawled, bediamonded women. We had hardly reached the third pillar, which was our rendezvous, before a small, dark, brisk man in the dress of a coachman accosted us.

"Are you the parties who come with Miss Morstan?" he asked.

"I am Miss Morstan, and these two gentlemen are my friends," said she.

He bent a pair of wonderfully penetrating and questioning eyes upon us. "You will excuse me, miss," he said with a certain dogged manner, "but I was to ask you to give me your word that neither of your companions is a police-officer."

"I give you my word on that," she answered.

He gave a shrill whistle, on which a street Arab led across a four-wheeler and opened the door. The man who had addressed us mounted to the box, while we took our places inside. We had hardly done so before the driver whipped up his horse, and we plunged away at a furious pace through the foggy streets.

The situation was a curious one. We were driving to an unknown place, on an unknown errand. Yet our invitation was either a complete hoax,--which was an inconceivable hypothesis,--or else we had good reason to think that important issues might hang upon our journey. Miss Morstan's demeanor was as resolute and collected as ever. I endeavored to cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of my adventures in Afghanistan; but, to tell the truth, I was myself so excited at our situation and so curious as to our destination that my stories were slightly involved. To this day she declares that I told her one moving anecdote as to how a musket looked into my tent at the dead of night, and how I fired a double-barrelled tiger cub at it. At first I had some idea as to the direction in which we were driving; but soon, what with our pace, the fog, and my own limited knowledge of London, I lost my bearings, and knew nothing, save that we seemed to be going a very long way. Sherlock Holmes was never at fault, however, and he muttered the names as the cab rattled through squares and in and out by tortuous by-streets.

"Rochester Row," said he. "Now Vincent Square. Now we come out on the Vauxhall Bridge Road. We are making for the Surrey side, apparently. Yes, I thought so. Now we are on the bridge. You can catch glimpses of the river."

We did indeed get a fleeting view of a stretch of the Thames with the lamps shining upon the broad, silent water; but our cab dashed on, and was soon involved in a labyrinth of streets upon the other side.

"Wordsworth Road," said my companion. "Priory Road. Lark Hall Lane. Stockwell Place. Robert Street. Cold Harbor Lane. Our quest does not appear to take us to very fashionable regions."

We had, indeed, reached a questionable and forbidding neighborhood. Long lines of dull brick houses were only relieved by the coarse glare and tawdry brilliancy of public houses at the corner. Then came rows of two-storied villas each with a fronting of miniature garden, and then again interminable lines of new staring brick buildings,--the monster tentacles which the giant city was throwing out into the country. At last the cab drew up at the third house in a new terrace. None of the other houses were inhabited, and that at which we stopped was as dark as its neighbors, save for a single glimmer in the kitchen window. On our knocking, however, the door was instantly thrown open by a Hindoo servant clad in a yellow turban, white loose- fitting clothes, and a yellow sash. There was something strangely incongruous in this Oriental figure framed in the commonplace door-way of a third-rate suburban dwelling-house.

"The Sahib awaits you," said he, and even as he spoke there came a high piping voice from some inner room. "Show them in to me, khitmutgar," it cried. "Show them straight in to me."

第三章 寻求解答

一直等到五点半钟，福尔摩斯方才回来。他一精一神勃勃，非常兴奋——足见他在这最难解的问题当中已经发现了曙光。

他拿着我给他倒的一杯茶，说道：“这件案子没有多大神秘，这些事实似乎只有一个解释。”

“什么！你已经把真相搞清楚了吗？”

“还不能这么说。不过我已经发现了一个有提示一性一的事实，是一个极有用的线索，当然还需要把一些细节拼凑起来。我刚刚从旧的《泰晤士报》上面找到住在上诺伍德的前驻孟买陆军第三十四一团一的舒尔托少校在一八八二年四月二十八日去世的讣告。”

“福尔摩斯，或许我的脑筋迟钝，可是我不了解这个讣告对本案有什么提示的作用。”

“你真不了解吗？没想到。那么咱们这样来看这个问题吧。摩斯坦上尉失踪了。在伦敦，他可能去拜访的只有舒尔托少校一个人，可是舒尔托少校竟说毫不知道他曾来伦敦。四年以后，舒尔托死了。他死后不到一个礼拜，摩斯坦上尉的女儿就收到了一件贵重的礼物，以后每年收到一次。现在又收到了一封信，竟说她是一个受了委曲的人。除了她丧失了自己的父亲之外，还有什么委曲呢？还有，为什么仅仅在舒尔托死后的几天里，才开始有礼物寄给她？莫非舒尔托的继承人知道其中的秘密，想要借着这些礼物来弥补他们先人的罪愆？你对以上的事实还有什么不同的见解吗？”

“为什么这样弥补罪愆呢！方法太离破了！再说，他为什么现在才写信，而不在六年以前呢？还有，信上说要给她公道。她可以得到什么公道呢？要说是她父亲还活着，那未免太乐观了。可是你又不知道她还受过什么别的委曲。”

“确实是有难题，是有一些费解的地方。"福尔摩斯沉思道，“但是今天晚上咱们走一趟，就可以全都明白了。啊，来了一辆四轮马车，摩斯坦小一姐正在里边。你准备好了吗？咱们最好赶快下去，时间已经稍晚一些了。”

我戴上帽子，拿了一支最粗重的手杖，福尔摩斯从一抽一屉里拿了他的手槍放进衣袋里。这说明他料到今晚的工作或许是一个冒险的尝试。

摩斯坦小一姐穿着黑色的衣服，缠着围巾，她虽然还保持着镇定，可是面色惨白。假若她对于我们今晚破特的冒险不觉得有些不安的话，她的毅力确是超过平常一般女子的了。她能够完全控制住自己的感情，对于歇洛克·福尔摩斯所提出的几个新问题，她全能够立刻答复。

她道：“舒尔托少校是爸爸的一位特别要好的朋友。在他的来信里面总是常常提到少校。他和爸爸同是安达曼群岛驻军的指挥官，所以他们时常在一起。还有，在我爸爸的书桌里发现过一张没人能懂的字条，我想未必和本案有关，但您也许愿意看一看，所以我把它带来了。这就是。”

福尔摩斯小心地把纸打开，放在膝盖上平铺，然后用双层放大镜有条不紊地细看了一遍。

他指出：“这纸是印度的土产，过去曾经在板上钉过。纸上的图似乎是一所大建筑图样的一部分，其中有许多大房间、走廊和甬道。中间一点有用红墨水画的十字，在这上面写有模糊的用铅笔写的从左边3．37。纸的左上角有一个有神秘意味的怪字，象四个联接的十字形。在旁边用极粗陋的笔法写着，四个签名——琼诺赞·斯茂，莫郝米特·辛格，一爱一勃德勒·克汗，德斯特·阿克勃尔。我实在也不能断定这个和本案有什么关联！可是无疑地是一个重要文件。这张纸曾经在起夹里小心地收藏过，因为两面全都同样干净。”

“这是我们从他的皮夹里找到的。”

“摩斯坦小一姐，您好好地将它保存起来吧，可能以后对我们还有用处。现在我觉得这个案情比我最初所想象的更要深奥和费解了。我需要重新考虑一下。"说着他就向后靠在车座靠背上。从他紧皱的眉一毛一和发呆的目光中，我可以看出，他正在深思。摩斯坦小一姐和我轻轻地聊天，谈到我们目前的行动和可能的结果，但是我们的伙伴却始终保持着静默，一直到我们抵达旅程的终点。

这一天是九月的傍晚，还不到七点钟，天气一陰一沉，浓浓的迷雾笼罩了这个大城。街道上一起泥泞，空中低悬着令人抑郁的卷卷黑云。伦敦河滨马路上的暗淡路灯，照到满是泥浆的人行道上，只剩了萤萤的微光。还有淡淡的黄色灯光从两旁店铺的玻璃窗里射一出来，穿过迷茫的雾气，闪闪地照到车马拥挤的大街上。我心里想着：在这闪闪的灯光照耀下络绎不绝的行人，他们的面部表情有喜欢的和忧愁的，有憔悴的和快活的——其中含有无限的怪诞和破异的事迹，好象人类的一生，从黑暗来到光明，又由光明返回黑暗。我不是易于产生感触的人，但是这个沉闷的夜晚和我们将要遇到的破事，使我不禁一精一神紧张起来。我可以从摩斯坦小一姐的表情中看得出来，她和我有同样的感觉。只有福尔摩斯不受外界的影响。他借着怀中电筒的光亮，不断地在记事簿上写字。

莱西厄姆剧院两旁入口处的观众已经拥挤不堪。双轮和四轮的马车象流水一般地辚辚而至。穿着礼服露着白胸的男子和披着围巾、珠光空气的女人，一个个地从车上下来。我们刚刚走近约定的第三个柱子前面，就来了一个身材短小、面貌黧黑、穿着马车夫装束的一精一壮男子，向我们招呼。

他问道：“你们是同摩斯坦小一姐同来的吗？”

她答道：“我就是摩斯坦小一姐，这两位是我的朋友。”

那人用XX的眼光一逼一视着我们，态度顽强地说道：“小一姐请原谅我，我需要请您保证您的同伴中没有警官。”

她答道：“我可以保证。”

他用嘴唇吹了一下口哨，就有一个街头流一浪一的人引着一辆四轮马车来到跟前，他开了车门。和我们搭话的人跳到车夫的座上，我们陆续上车，还没有坐定，马夫已经扬鞭驱车，迅速地驰行在雾气迷蒙的街道上了。

我们所处的环境是破特的。我们既不知道上哪里去，又不知道去做什么。若说是被人愚弄吧？又好象是不可能，想来还不至于白跑一趟，总可以得些重要的结果的。摩斯坦小一姐的态度还是象以前一样的坚决和镇定。我竭力设法鼓励和安慰她，我给她说我在阿富汗冒险的故事。可是，说实话，我自己也正因为我们所处的环境和难测的命运感觉紧张和不安，以致我所讲的故事未免乱七八糟。直到今天，她还把我告诉她的那个生动的故事用作笑话呢：我如何在深夜里用一只小老虎打死了钻到帐篷里来的一支双筒槍。起初，我还能辨别我们所经的道路，可是不久，因为路远多雾，再加上我对伦敦地理的生疏，我就迷了方向，除了行程似乎很长以外，其余的我就一概全都不知道了。福尔摩斯并没有迷路；车子经过的地方，他都能喃喃地说出地名来。

他道：“罗破斯特路，这是文森特广场。现在我们似乎是在从沃克斯豪尔桥路走向萨利区去。不错，正是这样地走。我们现在上了桥面，你们可以看见河水的闪光。”

我们果然看见了灯光照耀下的泰晤士河的景色，可是我们的车仍在向前奔驰，不久就到达河对岸令人迷惑的街道上去了。

我的伙伴又道：“沃兹沃斯路，修道院路，拉克豪尔衖，斯陶克维尔街，罗伯特街，冷港衖，我们的路径不象是向着高尚区域去的。”

我们的确到了一个可疑和可怕的区域。直到在街角看到一些粗俗、耀眼的酒肆以前，两旁一直都是连续不断的暗灰色的砖房。随后又是几排两层楼房的住宅，每幢楼前有一个小小的花园，夹杂着一些砖造的新楼房——是这个大城市在郊区扩建的新区域。最后，车子停在这新衖的第三个门前。所有其他的房子还没有人住，在我们停车的房子前面，除了从厨房窗户射一出的一线微光外，也和其他的房子一样的黑暗。我们敲门以后，立刻就有一个头戴黄色包头、身穿肥一大的白色衣服、系着黄带子的印度仆人开了门。在这个普通三等郊区住宅的门前出现了一个东方仆人，是有一些不调和的。

他道：“我的主人正在等候。"他还没有说完，就有人在屋内高声喊道：“吉特穆特迦，请他们到我这里来吧，请他们一①直到我这里来。”——

①对住在印度的英国人家庭中的印度男仆的称呼。——译者注