福尔摩斯-Study In Scarlet血字的研究 Chapter 2
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Chapter 2 The Science Of Deduction WE met next day as he had arranged, and inspected the rooms at No. 221B, Baker Street, of which he had spoken at our meeting. They consisted of a couple of comfortable bed-rooms and a single large airy sitting-room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated by two broad windows. So desirable in every way were the apartments, and so moderate did the terms seem when divided between us, that the bargain was concluded upon the spot, and we at once entered into possession. That very evening I moved my things round from the hotel, and on the following morning Sherlock Holmes followed me with several boxes and portmanteaus. For a day or two we were busily employed in unpacking and laying out our property to the best advantage. That done, we gradually began to settle down and to accommodate ourselves to our new surroundings. Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with. He was quiet in his ways, and his habits were regular. It was rare for him to be up after ten at night, and he had invariably breakfasted and gone out before I rose in the morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the chemical laboratory, sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, and occasionally in long walks, which appeared to take him into the lowest portions of the City. Nothing could exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; but now and again a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night. On these occasions I have noticed such a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes, that I might have suspected him of being addicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the temperance and cleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion. As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as to his aims in life, gradually deepened and increased. His very person and appearance were such as to strike the attention of the most casual observer. In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded; and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and squareness which mark the man of determination. His hands were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments. The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when I confess how much this man stimulated my curiosity, and how often I endeavoured to break through the reticence which he showed on all that concerned himself. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered, how objectless was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention. My health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather was exceptionally genial, and I had no friends who would call upon me and break the monotony of my daily existence. Under these circumstances, I eagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion, and spent much of my time in endeavouring to unravel it. He was not studying medicine. He had himself, in reply to a question, confirmed Stamford's opinion upon that point. Neither did he appear to have pursued any course of reading which might fit him for a degree in science or any other recognized portal which would give him an entrance into the learned world. Yet his zeal for certain studies was remarkable, and within eccentric limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily ample and minute that his observations have fairly astounded me. Surely no man would work so hard or attain such precise information unless he had some definite end in view. Desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the exactness of their learning. No man burdens his mind with small matters unless he has some very good reason for doing so. His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to be to me such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it. "You appear to be astonished," he said, smiling at my expression of surprise. "Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it." "To forget it!" "You see," he explained, "I consider that a man's brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones." "But the Solar System!" I protested. "What the deuce is it to me?" he interrupted impatiently; "you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work." I was on the point of asking him what that work might be, but something in his manner showed me that the question would be an unwelcome one. I pondered over our short conversation, however, and endeavoured to draw my deductions from it. He said that he would acquire no knowledge which did not bear upon his object. Therefore all the knowledge which he possessed was such as would be useful to him. I enumerated in my own mind all the various points upon which he had shown me that he was exceptionally well-informed. I even took a pencil and jotted them down. I could not help smiling at the document when I had completed it. It ran in this way -- SHERLOCK HOLMES -- his limits. 1. Knowledge of Literature. -- Nil. 2. Philosophy. -- Nil. 3. Astronomy. -- Nil. 4. Politics. -- Feeble. 5. Botany. -- Variable. Well up in belladonna, opium, and poisons generally. Knows nothing of practical gardening. 6. Geology. -- Practical, but limited. Tells at a glance different soils from each other. After walks has shown me splashes upon his trousers, and told me by their colour and consistence in what part of London he had received them. 7. Chemistry. -- Profound. 8. Anatomy. -- Accurate, but unsystematic. 9. Sensational Literature. -- Immense. He appears to know every detail of every horror perpetrated in the century. 10. Plays the violin well. 11. Is an expert singlestick player, boxer, and swordsman. 12. Has a good practical knowledge of British law. When I had got so far in my list I threw it into the fire in despair. "If I can only find what the fellow is driving at by reconciling all these accomplishments, and discovering a calling which needs them all," I said to myself, "I may as well give up the attempt at once." I see that I have alluded above to his powers upon the violin. These were very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his other accomplishments. That he could play pieces, and difficult pieces, I knew well, because at my request he has played me some of Mendelssohn's Lieder, and other favourites. When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee. Sometimes the chords were sonorous and melancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim or fancy was more than I could determine. I might have rebelled against these exasperating solos had it not been that he usually terminated them by playing in quick succession a whole series of my favourite airs as a slight compensation for the trial upon my patience. During the first week or so we had no callers, and I had begun to think that my companion was as friendless a man as I was myself. Presently, however, I found that he had many acquaintances, and those in the most different classes of society. There was one little sallow rat-faced, dark-eyed fellow who was introduced to me as Mr. Lestrade, and who came three or four times in a single week. One morning a young girl called, fashionably dressed, and stayed for half an hour or more. The same afternoon brought a grey-headed, seedy visitor, looking like a Jew pedlar, who appeared to me to be much excited, and who was closely followed by a slip-shod elderly woman. On another occasion an old white-haired gentleman had an interview with my companion; and on another a railway porter in his velveteen uniform. When any of these nondescript individuals put in an appearance, Sherlock Holmes used to beg for the use of the sitting-room, and I would retire to my bed-room. He always apologized to me for putting me to this inconvenience. "I have to use this room as a place of business," he said, "and these people are my clients." Again I had an opportunity of asking him a point blank question, and again my delicacy prevented me from forcing another man to confide in me. I imagined at the time that he had some strong reason for not alluding to it, but he soon dispelled the idea by coming round to the subject of his own accord. It was upon the 4th of March, as I have good reason to remember, that I rose somewhat earlier than usual, and found that Sherlock Holmes had not yet finished his breakfast. The landlady had become so accustomed to my late habits that my place had not been laid nor my coffee prepared. With the unreasonable petulance of mankind I rang the bell and gave a curt intimation that I was ready. Then I picked up a magazine from the table and attempted to while away the time with it, while my companion munched silently at his toast. One of the articles had a pencil mark at the heading, and I naturally began to run my eye through it. Its somewhat ambitious title was "The Book of Life," and it attempted to show how much an observant man might learn by an accurate and systematic examination of all that came in his way. It struck me as being a remarkable mixture of shrewdness and of absurdity. The reasoning was close and intense, but the deductions appeared to me to be far-fetched and exaggerated. The writer claimed by a momentary expression, a twitch of a muscle or a glance of an eye, to fathom a man's inmost thoughts. Deceit, according to him, was an impossibility in the case of one trained to observation and analysis. His conclusions were as infallible as so many propositions of Euclid. So startling would his results appear to the uninitiated that until they learned the processes by which he had arrived at them they might well consider him as a necromancer. "From a drop of water," said the writer, "a logician could infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara without having seen or heard of one or the other. So all life is a great chain, the nature of which is known whenever we are shown a single link of it. Like all other arts, the Science of Deduction and Analysis is one which can only be acquired by long and patient study nor is life long enough to allow any mortal to attain the highest possible perfection in it. Before turning to those moral and mental aspects of the matter which present the greatest difficulties, let the enquirer begin by mastering more elementary problems. Let him, on meeting a fellow-mortal, learn at a glance to distinguish the history of the man, and the trade or profession to which he belongs. Puerile as such an exercise may seem, it sharpens the faculties of observation, and teaches one where to look and what to look for. By a man's finger nails, by his coat-sleeve, by his boot, by his trouser knees, by the callosities of his forefinger and thumb, by his expression, by his shirt cuffs -- by each of these things a man's calling is plainly revealed. That all united should fail to enlighten the competent enquirer in any case is almost inconceivable." "What ineffable twaddle!" I cried, slapping the magazine down on the table, "I never read such rubbish in my life." "What is it?" asked Sherlock Holmes. "Why, this article," I said, pointing at it with my egg spoon as I sat down to my breakfast. "I see that you have read it since you have marked it. I don't deny that it is smartly written. It irritates me though. It is evidently the theory of some arm-chair lounger who evolves all these neat little paradoxes in the seclusion of his own study. It is not practical. I should like to see him clapped down in a third class carriage on the Underground, and asked to give the trades of all his fellow-travellers. I would lay a thousand to one against him." "You would lose your money," Sherlock Holmes remarked calmly. "As for the article I wrote it myself." "You!" "Yes, I have a turn both for observation and for deduction. The theories which I have expressed there, and which appear to you to be so chimerical are really extremely practical -- so practical that I depend upon them for my bread and cheese." "And how?" I asked involuntarily. "Well, I have a trade of my own. I suppose I am the only one in the world. I'm a consulting detective, if you can understand what that is. Here in London we have lots of Government detectives and lots of private ones. When these fellows are at fault they come to me, and I manage to put them on the right scent. They lay all the evidence before me, and I am generally able, by the help of my knowledge of the history of crime, to set them straight. There is a strong family resemblance about misdeeds, and if you have all the details of a thousand at your finger ends, it is odd if you can't unravel the thousand and first. Lestrade is a well-known detective. He got himself into a fog recently over a forgery case, and that was what brought him here." "And these other people?" "They are mostly sent on by private inquiry agencies. They are all people who are in trouble about something, and want a little enlightening. I listen to their story, they listen to my comments, and then I pocket my fee." "But do you mean to say," I said, "that without leaving your room you can unravel some knot which other men can make nothing of, although they have seen every detail for themselves?" "Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that way. Now and again a case turns up which is a little more complex. Then I have to bustle about and see things with my own eyes. You see I have a lot of special knowledge which I apply to the problem, and which facilitates matters wonderfully. Those rules of deduction laid down in that article which aroused your scorn, are invaluable to me in practical work. Observation with me is second nature. You appeared to be surprised when I told you, on our first meeting, that you had come from Afghanistan." "You were told, no doubt." "Nothing of the sort. I _knew_ you came from Afghanistan. From long habit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through my mind, that I arrived at the conclusion without being conscious of intermediate steps. There were such steps, however. The train of reasoning ran, `Here is a gentleman of a medical type, but with the air of a military man. Clearly an army doctor, then. He has just come from the tropics, for his face is dark, and that is not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are fair. He has undergone hardship and sickness, as his haggard face says clearly. His left arm has been injured. He holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner. Where in the tropics could an English army doctor have seen much hardship and got his arm wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan.' The whole train of thought did not occupy a second. I then remarked that you came from Afghanistan, and you were astonished." "It is simple enough as you explain it," I said, smiling. "You remind me of Edgar Allen Poe's Dupin. I had no idea that such individuals did exist outside of stories." Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. "No doubt you think that you are complimenting me in comparing me to Dupin," he observed. "Now, in my opinion, Dupin was a very inferior fellow. That trick of his of breaking in on his friends' thoughts with an apropos remark after a quarter of an hour's silence is really very showy and superficial. He had some analytical genius, no doubt; but he was by no means such a phenomenon as Poe appeared to imagine." "Have you read Gaboriau's works?" I asked. "Does Lecoq come up to your idea of a detective?" Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically. "Lecoq was a miserable bungler," he said, in an angry voice; "he had only one thing to recommend him, and that was his energy. That book made me positively ill. The question was how to identify an unknown prisoner. I could have done it in twenty-four hours. Lecoq took six months or so. It might be made a text-book for detectives to teach them what to avoid." I felt rather indignant at having two characters whom I had admired treated in this cavalier style. I walked over to the window, and stood looking out into the busy street. "This fellow may be very clever," I said to myself, "but he is certainly very conceited." "There are no crimes and no criminals in these days," he said, querulously. "What is the use of having brains in our profession. I know well that I have it in me to make my name famous. No man lives or has ever lived who has brought the same amount of study and of natural talent to the detection of crime which I have done. And what is the result? There is no crime to detect, or, at most, some bungling villany with a motive so transparent that even a Scotland Yard official can see through it." I was still annoyed at his bumptious style of conversation. I thought it best to change the topic. "I wonder what that fellow is looking for?" I asked, pointing to a stalwart, plainly-dressed individual who was walking slowly down the other side of the street, looking anxiously at the numbers. He had a large blue envelope in his hand, and was evidently the bearer of a message. "You mean the retired sergeant of Marines," said Sherlock Holmes. "Brag and bounce!" thought I to myself. "He knows that I cannot verify his guess." The thought had hardly passed through my mind when the man whom we were watching caught sight of the number on our door, and ran rapidly across the roadway. We heard a loud knock, a deep voice below, and heavy steps ascending the stair. "For Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he said, stepping into the room and handing my friend the letter. Here was an opportunity of taking the conceit out of him. He little thought of this when he made that random shot. "May I ask, my lad," I said, in the blandest voice, "what your trade may be?" "Commissionaire, sir," he said, gruffly. "Uniform away for repairs." "And you were?" I asked, with a slightly malicious glance at my companion. "A sergeant, sir, Royal Marine Light Infantry, sir. No answer? Right, sir." He clicked his heels together, raised his hand in a salute, and was gone. 按照福尔摩斯的安排，我们第二天又见了面，并且到上次见面时他所谈到的贝克街号乙那里看了房子。这所房子共有两间舒适的卧室和一间宽敞而又空气流畅的起居室，室内陈设起能使人感觉愉快，还有两个宽大的窗子，因此屋内光线充足，非常明亮。无论从哪方面来说，这些房间都很令人满意。我们分租以后，租金便更合适了。因此我们就当场成交，立刻租了下来。当晚，我就收拾行囊从公寓搬了进去。第二天早晨，福尔摩斯也跟着把几只箱子和旅行起包搬了进来。我们打开行囊，布置陈设，一直忙了一两天。尽可能安排妥善以后，我们就逐渐安定下来，对这个新环境也慢慢地熟悉起来了。 说实在的，福尔摩斯并不是一个难与相处的人。他为人沉静，生活习惯很有规律。每晚很少在十点以后还不睡觉。早晨，他总是在我起床之前就吃完早饭出去了。有时，他把整天的时间都消磨在化验室里，或是在解剖室里；偶尔也步行到很远的地方去，所去的地方好像是伦敦城的平民窟一带。在他高兴工作的时候，绝没有人能比得上他那份旺盛的精力；可是常常也会上来一股相反的劲头，整天地躺在起居室的沙发上，从早到晚，几乎一言不发，一动不动。每逢这样的时候，我总看到他的眼里有着那么一种茫然若失的神色。若不是他平日生活严谨而有节制，我真要疑心他有服麻醉剂的瘾癖了。 几个星期过去了，我对于他这个人的兴趣以及对于他的生活目的何在的好破心也日益加深。他的相貌和外表，乍见之下就足以引人注意。他有六英尺多高，身体异常瘦削，因此显得格外颀长；目光锐利（他茫然若失的时候除外）；细长的鹰钩鼻子使他的相貌显得格外机警、果断；下颚方正而突出，说明他是个非常有毅力的人。他的两手虽然斑斑点点沾满了墨水和化学药品，但是动作却异乎寻常地熟练、仔细。因为他摆弄那些精致易碎的化验仪平时，我常常在一旁观察着他。 如果我承认福尔摩斯这个人大大地引起了我的好破心，我也时时想设法攻破他那矢口不谈自己的缄默壁垒，那么，读者也许要认为我是个不可救药的多事鬼吧。但是，在您下这样的结论以前，请不妨想一想：我的生活是多么空虚无聊；在这样的生活中，能够吸引我注意力的事物又是多么疲乏。除非是天气特别晴和，我的健康情况又不允许我到外面去；同时，我又没有什么好友来访，足以打破我单调的日常生活。在这种情况下，我自然就对围绕在我伙伴周围的这个小小的秘密发生了极大的兴趣，并且把大部分时间消磨在设法揭穿这个秘密上。 他并不是在研究医学。在回答我的一个问题的时候，他自己证实了斯坦弗在这一点上的说法是正确的。他既不象是为了获得科学学位而在研究任何学科，也不象是在采取其他任何一般的途径，使他能够进入学术界。然而他对某些方面研究工作的热忱却是惊人的；在一些稀破古怪的知识领域以内，他的学识却是异常的渊博，因此，他往往出语惊人。肯定地说，如果不是为了某种一定的目的，一个人决不会这样辛勤地工作，以求获得这样确切的知识的。因为漫无目标、无书不读的人，他们的知识很难是非常精湛的。除非是为了某种充分的理由，否则绝不会有人愿意在许多细微末节上这样花费精力。 他的知识疲乏的一面，正如他的知识丰富的一面同样地惊人。关于现代文学、哲学和政治方面，他几乎一无所知。当我引用托马斯•卡莱耳的文章的时候，他傻里傻平地问我①卡莱耳究竟是什么人，他干过些什么事情。最使我惊讶不止的是：我无意中发现他竟然对于哥白尼学说以及太阳系的构成，也全然不解。当此十九世纪，一个有知识的人居然不知道地球绕着太阳运行的道理，这件怪事简直令我难以理解。 他看到我吃惊的样子，不觉微笑着说：“你似乎感到吃惊吧。即使我懂得这些，我也要尽力把它忘掉。” “把它忘掉！” 他解释道：“你要知道，我认为人的脑子本来象一间空空的小阁楼，应该有选择地把一些家具装进去。只有傻瓜才会把他碰到的各种各样的破烂杂碎一古脑儿装进去。这样一来，那些对他有用的知识反而被挤了出来；或者，最多不过是和许多其他的东西掺杂在一起。因此，在取用的时候也就感到困难了。所以一个会工作的人，在他选择要把一些东西装进他的那间小阁楼似的头脑中去的时候，他确实是非常仔细小心的。除了工作中有用的工具以外，他什么也不带进去，而这些工具又样样具备，有条有理。如果认为这间小阁楼的墙壁富有弹性，可以任意伸缩，那就错了。请相信我的话，总有一天，当你增加新知识的时候，你就会把以前所熟习的东西忘了。所以最要紧的是，不要让一些无用的知识把有用的挤出去。” ①ＴｈｏｍａｓＣａｒｌｙｌｅ（—）：英国散文家，历史学家和哲学家，著有《英雄与英雄崇拜》等书。——译者注 我分辩说：“可是，那是太阳系的问题啊！” 他不耐烦地打断我的话说：“这与我又有什么相干？你说咱们是绕着太阳走的，可是，即使咱们绕着月亮走，这对于我或者对于我的工作又有什么关系呢？” 我几乎就要问他，他的工作究竟是什么的时候，我从他的态度中看出来，这个问题也许会引其他的不高兴。于是我便把我们的短短谈话考虑了一番，尽力想从这里边得出一些可资推论的线索来。他说他不愿去追求那些与他所研究的东西无关的知识，因此他所具有的一切知识，当然都是对他有用的了。我就在心中把他所了解得特别深的学科一一列举出来，而且用铅笔把它写了出来。写完了一看，我忍不住笑了。原来是这样： 歇洛克•福尔摩斯的学识范围： １．文学知识——无。２．哲学知识——无。３．天文学知识——无。４．政治学知识——浅薄。 ５．植物学知识——不全面，但对于莨蓿制剂和鸦片却知之甚详。对毒剂有一般的了解，而对于实用园艺学却一无所知。 ６．地质学知识——偏于实用，但也有限。但他一眼就能分辨出不同的土质。他在散步回来后，曾把溅在他的裤子上的泥点给我看，并且能根据泥点的颜色和坚实程度说明是在伦敦什么地方溅上的。 ７．化学知识——精深。８．解剖学知识——准确，但无系统。 ９．惊险文学——很广博，他似乎对近一世纪中发生的一切恐怖事件都深知底细。 １０．提琴拉得很好。１１．善使棍棒，也精于刀剑拳术。１２．关于英国法律方面，他具有充分实用的知识。 我写了这些条，很觉失望。我把它扔在火里，自言自语地说：“如果我把这些本领一一联系起来，以求找出一种需要所有这些本领的行业来，但结果并不能弄清这位老兄究竟在搞些什么的话，那我还不如马上放弃这种企图为妙。” 我记得在前面曾提到过他拉提琴的本事。他提琴拉得很出色，但也象他的其他本领一样，有些古怪出破之处。我深知他能拉出一些曲子，而且还是一些很难拉的曲子。因为在我的请求之下，他曾经为我拉过几支门德尔松的短歌和一些他所喜爱的曲子。可是当他独自一人的时候，他就难得会拉出什么象样的乐曲或是大家所熟悉的调子了。黄昏时，他靠在扶手椅上，闭上眼睛，信手弹弄着平放在膝上的提琴。有时琴声高亢而忧郁，有时又古怪而欢畅。显然，这些琴声反映了当时支配着他的某种思潮，不过这些曲调是否助长了他的这种思潮，或者仅仅是一时兴之所至，我就无法断言了。对于他的那些刺耳的独奏，我感到十分不耐烦；如果不是他常常在这些曲子之后，接连拉上几支我喜爱的曲子，作为对我耐心的小小补偿，我真要暴跳起来。 在头一两个星期中，没有人来拜访我们。我曾以为我的伙伴也象我一样，孤零零的没有朋友。可是，不久我就发现他有许多相识，而且是来自社会上各个迥然不同的阶层的。其中有一个人面色发黄，獐头鼠目，生着一双黑色的眼睛。经福尔摩斯介绍，我知道他叫雷斯垂德先生。这个人每星期要来三四次。一天早上，有一个时髦的年轻姑娘来了，坐了半个多钟头才走。当天下午，又来了一个头发灰白、衣衫褴褛的客人，模样儿很象个犹太小贩，他的神情似乎非常紧张，身后还紧跟着一个邋邋遢遢的老妇人。还有一次，一个白发绅士拜访了我的伙伴；另外一回，一个穿着棉绒制服的火车上的茶房来找他。每当这些破特的客人出现的时候，歇洛克•福尔摩斯总是请求让他使用品居室，我也只好回到我的卧室里去。他因为给我带来这样的不便，常常向我道歉。他说：“我不得不利用这间起居室作为办公的地方，这些人都是我的顾客。"这一次，我又找到了一个单刀直入向他提出问题的好机会，但是，为了谨慎起见，我又没有勉强他对我吐露真情。我当时想，他不谈出他的职业，一定有某种重大理由。但是，他不久就主动地谈到了这个问题，打破了我原来的想法。 我记得很清楚，那是三月四日，我比平时期得早了一些；我发现福尔摩斯还没有吃完早餐。房东太太一向知道我有晚起的习惯，因此餐桌上没有安排我的座位，我的一份咖啡也没有预备好。我一时没有道理地发起火来，立刻按铃，简捷地告诉房东太太，我已准备早餐。于是我从桌上拿起一本杂志翻翻，借此消磨等待的时间，而我的同伴却一声不响地只管嚼着他的面包。杂志上有一起文章，标题下面有人画了铅笔道，我自然而然地就先看了这一起。 文章的标题似乎有些夸大，叫做什么"生活宝鉴"。这篇文章企图说明：一个善于观察的人，如果对他所接触的事物加以精确而系统地观察，他将有多么大的收获。我觉得这篇文章很突出，虽有其精明独到之处，但也未免荒唐可笑；在论理上，它严密而紧凑；但是在论断上，据我看来，却未免牵强附会，夸大其辞。作者声称，从一个人瞬息之间的表情，肌肉的每一牵动以及眼睛的每一转动，都可以推测出他内心深处的想法来。根据作者的说法，对于一个在观察和分析上素有锻炼的人来说， “欺骗"是不可能的事。他所作出的结论真和欧几里得的定理一样的准确。而这些结论，在一些门外汉看来，确实惊人，在他们弄明白他所以得到这样结论的各个步骤以前，他们真会把他当作一个未卜先知的神人。 作者说：“一个逻辑学家不需亲眼见到或者听说过大西洋或尼加拉契布，他能从一滴水上推测出它有可能存在，所以整个生活就是一条巨大的链条，只要见到其中的一环，整个链条的情况就可推想出来了。推断和分析的科学也象其他技艺一样，只有经过长期和耐心的钻研才能掌握；人们虽然尽其毕生精力，也未必能够达到登峰造极的地步。初学的人，在着手研究极其困难的有关事物的精神和心理方面的问题以前，不妨先从掌握较浅显的问题入手。比如遇到了一个人，一起之间就要辨识出这人的历史和职业。这样的锻炼，看起来好象幼稚无聊，但是，它却能够使一个人的观察能力变得敏锐起来，并且教导人们：应该从哪里观察，应该观察些什么。一个人的手指甲、衣袖、靴子和裤子的膝盖部分，大拇指与食指之间的茧子、表情、衬衣袖口等等，不论从以上所说的哪一点，都能明白地显露出他的职业来。如果把这些情形联系起来，还不能使案件的调查人恍然领悟，那几乎是难以想象的事了。” 我读到这里，不禁把杂志往桌上一丢，大声说道：“真是废话连篇！我一辈子也没有见过这样无聊的文章。” “哪篇文章？"福尔摩斯问道。 “唔，就是这篇文章。"我一面坐下来吃早餐，一面用小匙子指着那篇文章说，“我想你已经读过了，因为你在下边还画有铅笔道。我并不否认这篇文章写得很漂亮，但是我读了之后，还是不免要生气。显然，这是哪一位饱食终日、无所事事的懒汉，坐在他的书房里闭门造车地空想出来的一套似是而非的妙论。一点也不切合实际。我倒愿意试一试把他关进地下火车的三等车厢里，叫他把同车人的职业一个个都说出来。我愿跟他打个赌，一千对一的赌注都行。” “那你就输了，"福尔摩斯安详地说，“那篇是我写的。” “是你！” “对啦，我在观察和推理两方面都具有特殊的才能。我在这篇文章里所提出的那些理论，在你看来真是荒谬绝伦，其实它却非常实际，实际到这样程度，甚至我就是靠着它挣得我这份干酪和面包的。” “你怎样靠它生活呢？"我不禁问道。 “啊，我有我自己的职业。我想全世界上干这行职业的人恐怕只有我一个。我是一个'咨询侦探'，也许你能够理解这是一个什么行业吧。在这伦敦城中，有许多官方侦探和私人侦探。这些人遇到困难的时候就来找我，我就设法把他们引入正轨。他们把所有的证据提供给我，一般说来我都能起着我对犯罪史的知识，把他们的错误纠正过来。犯罪行为都有它非常类似的地方，如果你对一千个案子的详情细节都能了如指掌，而对第一千零一件案子竟不能解释的话，那才是怪事哩。雷斯垂德是一位著名的侦探。最近他在一桩伪造案里坠入五里雾中，所以他才来找我。” “还有另外那些人呢？” “他们多半是由私人侦探指点来的，都是遇到些麻烦问题、需要别人加以指引的。我仔细听取他们的事实经过，他们则听取我的意见；这样，费用就装进我的口袋里了。” 我说：“你的意思是说，别人虽然亲眼目睹各种细节，但都无法解决，而你足不出户，却能解释某些疑难问题吗？” “正是如此。因为我有那么一种利用直觉分析事物的能力。间或也会遇到一件稍微复杂的案件，那么，我就得奔波一番，亲自出马侦查。你知道，我有许多特殊的知识，把这些知识应用到案件上去，就能使问题迎刃而解。那篇文章里所提到的几点推断法则虽曾惹起你的讪笑，但在实际工作中，对我却有着无比的价值。观察能力是我的第二天性。咱们初次会面时，我就对你说过，你是从阿富汗来的，你当时好象还很惊讶哩。” “没问题，一定有人告诉过你。” “没有那回事。我当时一看就知道你是从阿富汗来的。由于长久以来的习惯，一系列的思索飞也似地掠过我的脑际，因此在我得出结论时，竟未觉察得出结论所经的步骤。但是，这中间是有着一定的步骤的。在你这件事上，我的推理过程是这样的：‘这一位先生，具有医务工作者的风度，但却是一副军人气概。那么，显见他是个军医。他是刚从热带回来，因为他脸色黝黑，但是，从他手腕的皮肤黑白分明看来，这并不是他原来的肤色。他面容憔悴，这就清楚地说明他是久病初愈而又历尽了艰苦。他左臂受过伤，现在动作品来还有些僵硬不便。试问，一个英国的军医在热带地方历尽艰苦，并且臂部负过伤，这能在什么地方呢？自然只有在阿富汗了。'这一连串的思想，历时不到一秒钟，因此我便脱口说出你是从阿富汗来的，你当时还感到惊破哩。” 我微笑着说：“听你这样一解释，这件事还是相当简单的呢。你使我想起埃德加•爱伦•坡的作品中的侦探人物杜①班来了。我真想不到除了小说以外，实际上竟会真有这样人②物存在。” 福尔摩斯站了起来，点燃他的烟斗。他说：“你一定以为把我和杜班相提并论就是称赞我了。可是，在我看来，杜班实在是个微不足道的家伙。他先静默一刻钟，然后才突然道破他的朋友的心事，这种伎俩未免过于做作，过于肤浅了。不错，他有些分析问题的天才，但决不是爱伦•起想象中的非凡人物。” 我问道：“你读过加波利奥的作品吗？你对勒高克这个人物的评价如何，他可算得上一个侦探么？” 福尔摩斯轻蔑地哼了一声。他恶声恶平地说道：“勒高克是个不中用的笨蛋。他只有一件事还值得提一提，就是他的精力。那本书简直使我腻透了。书中的主题只是谈到怎样去辨识不知名的罪犯。我能在二十四小时之内解决这样的问题。可是勒高克却费了六个月左右的工夫。有这么长的时间，真可以给侦探们写出一本教科书了，教导教导他们应当避免些什么。” 我听到他把我所钦佩的两个人物说成这样一文不值，心中感到非常恼怒。我便走到窗口，望着热闹的街道。我自言自语地说：“这个人也许非常聪明，但是他却太骄傲自负了。” ①埃德加•爱伦•坡Edgar Allan Poe（—）：美国小说家。著有《莫格街凶杀案》等侦探小说。——译者注 ②杜班Ｄｕｐｉｎ为爱伦•坡所写《莫格街凶杀案》一书中之主角。——译者注 他不满地抱怨着说：“这些天来一直没有罪案发生，也没有发现什么罪犯，干我们这行的人，头脑真是没用了。我深知我的才能足以使我成名。从古到今，从来没有人象我这样，在侦查罪行上既有天赋又有这样精湛的研究。可是结果怎样呢？竟没有罪案可以侦查，顶多也不过是些简单幼稚的罪案，犯罪动机浅显易见，就连苏格兰场的人员也能一眼识破。"① 我对他这种大言不惭的谈话，余怒未息。我想最好还是换个话题。 “我不知道这个人在找什么？"我指着一个体格魁伟、衣着朴素的人说。他正在街那边慢慢地走着，焦急地寻找着门牌号码。他的手中拿着一个蓝色大信封，分明是个送信的人。 福尔摩斯说：“你是说那个退伍的海军陆战队的军曹吗？” 我心中暗暗想道：“又在吹牛说大话了。他明知我没法证实他的猜测是否正确。” 这个念头还没有从我的脑中消逝，只见我们所观察的那个人看到了我们的门牌号码以后，就从街对面飞快地跑了过来。只听见一阵急促的敲门声，楼下有人用低沉的声音讲着话，接着楼梯上便响起了沉重的脚步声。 这个人一走进房来，便把那封信交给了我的朋友。他说： “这是给福尔摩斯先生的信。” 这正是把福尔摩斯的傲气挫折一下的好机会。他方才信口胡说，决没想到会有目前这一步。我尽量用温和的声音说道：“小伙子，请问你的职业是什么？” ①苏格兰场 ScotlandYard 为伦敦警察厅之别名。——译者注 “我是当差的，先生，"那人粗声粗平地回答说，“我的制服修补去了。” “你过去是干什么的？"我一面问他，一面略带恶意地瞟了我同伴一眼。 “军曹，先生，我在皇家海军陆战轻步兵队中服务过。先生，没有回信吗？好吧，先生。” 他碰了一下脚跟，举手敬礼，然后走了出去。 |
