福尔摩斯-Study In Scarlet血字的研究 Chapter 3

Chapter 3 The Lauriston Gardens Mystery

I CONFESS that I was considerably startled by this fresh proof of the practical nature of my companion's theories. My respect for his powers of analysis increased wondrously. There still remained some lurking suspicion in my mind, however, that the whole thing was a pre-arranged episode, intended to dazzle me, though what earthly object he could have in taking me in was past my comprehension. When I looked at him he had finished reading the note, and his eyes had assumed the vacant, lack-lustre expression which showed mental abstraction.

"How in the world did you deduce that?" I asked.

"Deduce what?" said he, petulantly.

"Why, that he was a retired sergeant of Marines."

"I have no time for trifles," he answered, brusquely; then with a smile, "Excuse my rudeness. You broke the thread of my thoughts; but perhaps it is as well. So you actually were not able to see that that man was a sergeant of Marines?"

"No, indeed."

"It was easier to know it than to explain why I knew it. If you were asked to prove that two and two made four, you might find some difficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact. Even across the street I could see a great blue anchor tattooed on the back of the fellow's hand. That smacked of the sea. He had a military carriage, however, and regulation side whiskers. There we have the marine. He was a man with some amount of self-importance and a certain air of command. You must have observed the way in which he held his head and swung his cane. A steady, respectable, middle-aged man, too, on the face of him -- all facts which led me to believe that he had been a sergeant."

"Wonderful!" I ejaculated.

"Commonplace," said Holmes, though I thought from his expression that he was pleased at my evident surprise and admiration. "I said just now that there were no criminals. It appears that I am wrong -- look at this!" He threw me over the note which the commissionaire had brought."

"Why," I cried, as I cast my eye over it, "this is terrible!"

"It does seem to be a little out of the common," he remarked, calmly. "Would you mind reading it to me aloud?"

This is the letter which I read to him ----

"MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES, -- "There has been a bad business during the night at 3, Lauriston Gardens, off the Brixton Road. Our man on the beat saw a light there about two in the morning, and as the house was an empty one, suspected that something was amiss. He found the door open, and in the front room, which is bare of furniture, discovered the body of a gentleman, well dressed, and having cards in his pocket bearing the name of `Enoch J. Drebber, Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.' There had been no robbery, nor is there any evidence as to how the man met his death. There are marks of blood in the room, but there is no wound upon his person. We are at a loss as to how he came into the empty house; indeed, the whole affair is a puzzler. If you can come round to the house any time before twelve, you will find me there. I have left everything _in statu quo_ until I hear from you. If you are unable to come I shall give you fuller details, and would esteem it a great kindness if you would favour me with your opinion. Yours faithfully, "TOBIAS GREGSON."

"Gregson is the smartest of the Scotland Yarders," my friend remarked; "he and Lestrade are the pick of a bad lot. They are both quick and energetic, but conventional -- shockingly so. They have their knives into one another, too. They are as jealous as a pair of professional beauties. There will be some fun over this case if they are both put upon the scent."

I was amazed at the calm way in which he rippled on. "Surely there is not a moment to be lost," I cried, "shall I go and order you a cab?"

"I'm not sure about whether I shall go. I am the most incurably lazy devil that ever stood in shoe leather -- that is, when the fit is on me, for I can be spry enough at times."

"Why, it is just such a chance as you have been longing for."

"My dear fellow, what does it matter to me. Supposing I unravel the whole matter, you may be sure that Gregson, Lestrade, and Co. will pocket all the credit. That comes of being an unofficial personage."

"But he begs you to help him."

"Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and acknowledges it to me; but he would cut his tongue out before he would own it to any third person. However, we may as well go and have a look. I shall work it out on my own hook. I may have a laugh at them if I have nothing else. Come on!"

He hustled on his overcoat, and bustled about in a way that showed that an energetic fit had superseded the apathetic one.

"Get your hat," he said.

"You wish me to come?"

"Yes, if you have nothing better to do." A minute later we were both in a hansom, driving furiously for the Brixton Road.

It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-coloured veil hung over the house-tops, looking like the reflection of the mud-coloured streets beneath. My companion was in the best of spirits, and prattled away about Cremona fiddles, and the difference between a Stradivarius and an Amati. As for myself, I was silent, for the dull weather and the melancholy business upon which we were engaged, depressed my spirits.

"You don't seem to give much thought to the matter in hand," I said at last, interrupting Holmes' musical disquisition.

"No data yet," he answered. "It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment."

"You will have your data soon," I remarked, pointing with my finger; "this is the Brixton Road, and that is the house, if I am not very much mistaken."

"So it is. Stop, driver, stop!" We were still a hundred yards or so from it, but he insisted upon our alighting, and we finished our journey upon foot.

Number 3, Lauriston Gardens wore an ill-omened and minatory look. It was one of four which stood back some little way from the street, two being occupied and two empty. The latter looked out with three tiers of vacant melancholy windows, which were blank and dreary, save that here and there a "To Let" card had developed like a cataract upon the bleared panes. A small garden sprinkled over with a scattered eruption of sickly plants separated each of these houses from the street, and was traversed by a narrow pathway, yellowish in colour, and consisting apparently of a mixture of clay and of gravel. The whole place was very sloppy from the rain which had fallen through the night. The garden was bounded by a three-foot brick wall with a fringe of wood rails upon the top, and against this wall was leaning a stalwart police constable, surrounded by a small knot of loafers, who craned their necks and strained their eyes in the vain hope of catching some glimpse of the proceedings within.

I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would at once have hurried into the house and plunged into a study of the mystery. Nothing appeared to be further from his intention. With an air of nonchalance which, under the circumstances, seemed to me to border upon affectation, he lounged up and down the pavement, and gazed vacantly at the ground, the sky, the opposite houses and the line of railings. Having finished his scrutiny, he proceeded slowly down the path, or rather down the fringe of grass which flanked the path, keeping his eyes riveted upon the ground. Twice he stopped, and once I saw him smile, and heard him utter an exclamation of satisfaction. There were many marks of footsteps upon the wet clayey soil, but since the police had been coming and going over it, I was unable to see how my companion could hope to learn anything from it. Still I had had such extraordinary evidence of the quickness of his perceptive faculties, that I had no doubt that he could see a great deal which was hidden from me.

At the door of the house we were met by a tall, white-faced, flaxen-haired man, with a notebook in his hand, who rushed forward and wrung my companion's hand with effusion. "It is indeed kind of you to come," he said, "I have had everything left untouched."

"Except that!" my friend answered, pointing at the pathway. "If a herd of buffaloes had passed along there could not be a greater mess. No doubt, however, you had drawn your own conclusions, Gregson, before you permitted this."

"I have had so much to do inside the house," the detective said evasively. "My colleague, Mr. Lestrade, is here. I had relied upon him to look after this."

Holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrows sardonically. "With two such men as yourself and Lestrade upon the ground, there will not be much for a third party to find out," he said.

Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way. "I think we have done all that can be done," he answered; "it's a queer case though, and I knew your taste for such things."

"You did not come here in a cab?" asked Sherlock Holmes.

"No, sir."

"Nor Lestrade?"

"No, sir."

"Then let us go and look at the room." With which inconsequent remark he strode on into the house, followed by Gregson, whose features expressed his astonishment.

A short passage, bare planked and dusty, led to the kitchen and offices. Two doors opened out of it to the left and to the right. One of these had obviously been closed for many weeks. The other belonged to the dining-room, which was the apartment in which the mysterious affair had occurred. Holmes walked in, and I followed him with that subdued feeling at my heart which the presence of death inspires.

It was a large square room, looking all the larger from the absence of all furniture. A vulgar flaring paper adorned the walls, but it was blotched in places with mildew, and here and there great strips had become detached and hung down, exposing the yellow plaster beneath. Opposite the door was a showy fireplace, surmounted by a mantelpiece of imitation white marble. On one corner of this was stuck the stump of a red wax candle. The solitary window was so dirty that the light was hazy and uncertain, giving a dull grey tinge to everything, which was intensified by the thick layer of dust which coated the whole apartment.

All these details I observed afterwards. At present my attention was centred upon the single grim motionless figure which lay stretched upon the boards, with vacant sightless eyes staring up at the discoloured ceiling. It was that of a man about forty-three or forty-four years of age, middle-sized, broad shouldered, with crisp curling black hair, and a short stubbly beard. He was dressed in a heavy broadcloth frock coat and waistcoat, with light-coloured trousers, and immaculate collar and cuffs. A top hat, well brushed and trim, was placed upon the floor beside him. His hands were clenched and his arms thrown abroad, while his lower limbs were interlocked as though his death struggle had been a grievous one. On his rigid face there stood an expression of horror, and as it seemed to me, of hatred, such as I have never seen upon human features. This malignant and terrible contortion, combined with the low forehead, blunt nose, and prognathous jaw gave the dead man a singularly simious and ape-like appearance, which was increased by his writhing, unnatural posture. I have seen death in many forms, but never has it appeared to me in a more fearsome aspect than in that dark grimy apartment, which looked out upon one of the main arteries of suburban London.

Lestrade, lean and ferret-like as ever, was standing by the doorway, and greeted my companion and myself.

"This case will make a stir, sir," he remarked. "It beats anything I have seen, and I am no chicken."

"There is no clue?" said Gregson.

"None at all," chimed in Lestrade.

Sherlock Holmes approached the body, and, kneeling down, examined it intently. "You are sure that there is no wound?" he asked, pointing to numerous gouts and splashes of blood which lay all round.

"Positive!" cried both detectives.

"Then, of course, this blood belongs to a second individual -- presumably the murderer, if murder has been committed. It reminds me of the circumstances attendant on the death of Van Jansen, in Utrecht, in the year '34. Do you remember the case, Gregson?"

"No, sir."

"Read it up -- you really should. There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before."

As he spoke, his nimble fingers were flying here, there, and everywhere, feeling, pressing, unbuttoning, examining, while his eyes wore the same far-away expression which I have already remarked upon. So swiftly was the examination made, that one would hardly have guessed the minuteness with which it was conducted. Finally, he sniffed the dead man's lips, and then glanced at the soles of his patent leather boots.

"He has not been moved at all?" he asked.

"No more than was necessary for the purposes of our examination."

"You can take him to the mortuary now," he said. "There is nothing more to be learned."

Gregson had a stretcher and four men at hand. At his call they entered the room, and the stranger was lifted and carried out. As they raised him, a ring tinkled down and rolled across the floor. Lestrade grabbed it up and stared at it with mystified eyes.

"There's been a woman here," he cried. "It's a woman's wedding-ring."

He held it out, as he spoke, upon the palm of his hand. We all gathered round him and gazed at it. There could be no doubt that that circlet of plain gold had once adorned the finger of a bride.

"This complicates matters," said Gregson. "Heaven knows, they were complicated enough before."

"You're sure it doesn't simplify them?" observed Holmes. "There's nothing to be learned by staring at it. What did you find in his pockets?"

"We have it all here," said Gregson, pointing to a litter of objects upon one of the bottom steps of the stairs. "A gold watch, No. 97163, by Barraud, of London. Gold Albert chain, very heavy and solid. Gold ring, with masonic device. Gold pin -- bull-dog's head, with rubies as eyes. Russian leather card-case, with cards of Enoch J. Drebber of Cleveland, corresponding with the E. J. D. upon the linen. No purse, but loose money to the extent of seven pounds thirteen. Pocket edition of Boccaccio's `Decameron,' with name of Joseph Stangerson upon the fly-leaf. Two letters -- one addressed to E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph Stangerson."

"At what address?"

"American Exchange, Strand -- to be left till called for. They are both from the Guion Steamship Company, and refer to the sailing of their boats from Liverpool. It is clear that this unfortunate man was about to return to New York."

"Have you made any inquiries as to this man, Stangerson?"

"I did it at once, sir," said Gregson. "I have had advertisements sent to all the newspapers, and one of my men has gone to the American Exchange, but he has not returned yet."

"Have you sent to Cleveland?"

"We telegraphed this morning."

"How did you word your inquiries?"

"We simply detailed the circumstances, and said that we should be glad of any information which could help us."

"You did not ask for particulars on any point which appeared to you to be crucial?"

"I asked about Stangerson."

"Nothing else? Is there no circumstance on which this whole case appears to hinge? Will you not telegraph again?"

"I have said all I have to say," said Gregson, in an offended voice.

Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself, and appeared to be about to make some remark, when Lestrade, who had been in the front room while we were holding this conversation in the hall, reappeared upon the scene, rubbing his hands in a pompous and self-satisfied manner.

"Mr. Gregson," he said, "I have just made a discovery of the highest importance, and one which would have been overlooked had I not made a careful examination of the walls."

The little man's eyes sparkled as he spoke, and he was evidently in a state of suppressed exultation at having scored a point against his colleague.

"Come here," he said, bustling back into the room, the atmosphere of which felt clearer since the removal of its ghastly inmate. "Now, stand there!"

He struck a match on his boot and held it up against the wall.

"Look at that!" he said, triumphantly.

I have remarked that the paper had fallen away in parts. In this particular corner of the room a large piece had peeled off, leaving a yellow square of coarse plastering. Across this bare space there was scrawled in blood-red letters a single word --

RACHE.

"What do you think of that?" cried the detective, with the air of a showman exhibiting his show. "This was overlooked because it was in the darkest corner of the room, and no one thought of looking there. The murderer has written it with his or her own blood. See this smear where it has trickled down the wall! That disposes of the idea of suicide anyhow. Why was that corner chosen to write it on? I will tell you. See that candle on the mantelpiece. It was lit at the time, and if it was lit this corner would be the brightest instead of the darkest portion of the wall."

"And what does it mean now that you _have_ found it?" asked Gregson in a depreciatory voice.

"Mean? Why, it means that the writer was going to put the female name Rachel, but was disturbed before he or she had time to finish. You mark my words, when this case comes to be cleared up you will find that a woman named Rachel has something to do with it. It's all very well for you to laugh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You may be very smart and clever, but the old hound is the best, when all is said and done."

"I really beg your pardon!" said my companion, who had ruffled the little man's temper by bursting into an explosion of laughter. "You certainly have the credit of being the first of us to find this out, and, as you say, it bears every mark of having been written by the other participant in last night's mystery. I have not had time to examine this room yet, but with your permission I shall do so now."

As he spoke, he whipped a tape measure and a large round magnifying glass from his pocket. With these two implements he trotted noiselessly about the room, sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling, and once lying flat upon his face. So engrossed was he with his occupation that he appeared to have forgotten our presence, for he chattered away to himself under his breath the whole time, keeping up a running fire of exclamations, groans, whistles, and little cries suggestive of encouragement and of hope. As I watched him I was irresistibly reminded of a pure-blooded well-trained foxhound as it dashes backwards and forwards through the covert, whining in its eagerness, until it comes across the lost scent. For twenty minutes or more he continued his researches, measuring with the most exact care the distance between marks which were entirely invisible to me, and occasionally applying his tape to the walls in an equally incomprehensible manner. In one place he gathered up very carefully a little pile of grey dust from the floor, and packed it away in an envelope. Finally, he examined with his glass the word upon the wall, going over every letter of it with the most minute exactness. This done, he appeared to be satisfied, for he replaced his tape and his glass in his pocket.

"They say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains," he remarked with a smile. "It's a very bad definition, but it does apply to detective work."

Gregson and Lestrade had watched the manoeuvres of their amateur companion with considerable curiosity and some contempt. They evidently failed to appreciate the fact, which I had begun to realize, that Sherlock Holmes' smallest actions were all directed towards some definite and practical end.

"What do you think of it, sir?" they both asked.

"It would be robbing you of the credit of the case if I was to presume to help you," remarked my friend. "You are doing so well now that it would be a pity for anyone to interfere." There was a world of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke. "If you will let me know how your investigations go," he continued, "I shall be happy to give you any help I can. In the meantime I should like to speak to the constable who found the body. Can you give me his name and address?"

Lestrade glanced at his note-book. "John Rance," he said. "He is off duty now. You will find him at 46, Audley Court, Kennington Park Gate."

Holmes took a note of the address.

"Come along, Doctor," he said; "we shall go and look him up. I'll tell you one thing which may help you in the case," he continued, turning to the two detectives. "There has been murder done, and the murderer was a man. He was more than six feet high, was in the prime of life, had small feet for his height, wore coarse, square-toed boots and smoked a Trichinopoly cigar. He came here with his victim in a four-wheeled cab, which was drawn by a horse with three old shoes and one new one on his off fore leg. In all probability the murderer had a florid face, and the finger-nails of his right hand were remarkably long. These are only a few indications, but they may assist you."

Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each other with an incredulous smile.

"If this man was murdered, how was it done?" asked the former.

"Poison," said Sherlock Holmes curtly, and strode off. "One other thing, Lestrade," he added, turning round at the door: "`Rache,' is the German for `revenge;' so don't lose your time looking for Miss Rachel."

With which Parthian shot he walked away, leaving the two rivals open-mouthed behind him.

第三章　劳里斯顿花园谜案

我同伴的理论的实践性又一次得到了证明。我承认，这确实使我大吃一惊，因此我对他的分析能力也就更加钦佩了。但是在我心中仍然潜藏着某些怀疑，唯恐这是他事先布置好的圈套，打算捉弄我一下；至于捉弄我的目的何在，我就不能理解了。当我瞧着他的时候，他已读完来信，两眼茫然出神，若有所思。

我问道：“你怎么推断出来的呢？”

他粗声粗平地问道：“推断什么？”

“嗯，你怎么知道他是个退伍的海军陆战队的军曹呢？”

“我没有工夫谈这些琐碎的事，"他粗鲁地回答说，然后又微笑着说，“请原谅我的无礼。你把我的思路打断了，但这不要紧。那么说，你真的看不出他曾是个海军陆战队的军曹吗？”

“真的看不出。”

“了解这件事是比较容易的，可是要说明我怎样了解它的，却不是那么简单。如果要你证明二加二等于四，你不免要觉得有些困难了，然而你却知道这是无可怀疑的事实。我隔着一条街就看见这个人手背上刺着一只蓝色大锚，这是海员的特征。况且他的举止又颇有军人品概，留着军人式的络腮胡子；因此，我们就可以说，他是个海军陆战队员。他的态度有些自高自大，而且带有一些发号施令的神气。你一定也看到他那副昂首挥杖的姿态了吧。从他的外表上看来，他又是一个既稳健而又庄重的中年人——所以根据这些情况，我就相信他当过军曹。”

我情不自禁地喊道：“妙极了！”

“这也平淡无破，"福尔摩斯说。但是，从他的脸上的表情看来，我认为他见到我十分惊讶、并且流露出钦佩的神情，他也感到很高兴。"我刚才还说没有罪犯，看来我是说错了——看看这个！"他说着就把送来的那封短信扔到我的面前。

“哎呀，"我草草地看了一下，不由地叫了起来，"这真可怕！”

他很镇静地说：“这件事看来确实不寻常。请你大声地把信给我念一念好吗？”

下面就是我念给他听的那封信：亲爱的福尔摩斯先生：

昨夜，在布瑞克斯顿路的尽头、劳瑞斯顿花园街号发生了一件凶杀案。今晨两点钟左右，巡逻警察忽见该处有灯光，因素悉该房无人居住，故而怀疑出了什么差错。该巡警发现房门大开，前室空无一物，中有男尸一具。该尸衣着齐整，袋中装有名片，上有"伊瑙克••锥伯，美国俄亥俄州Ｊ克利夫兰城人"等字样。既无被抢劫迹象，亦未发现任何能说明致死原因之证据。屋中虽有几处血迹，但死者身上并无伤痕。死者如何进入空屋，我们百思莫解，深感此案棘手之至。至希在十二时以前惠临该处，我将在此恭候。在接奉回示前，现场一切均将保持原状。如果不能莅临，亦必将详情奉告，倘蒙指教，则不胜感荷之至。

特白厄斯•葛莱森上

我的朋友说道：“葛莱森在伦敦警察厅中不愧是首屈一指的能干人物。他和雷斯垂德都算是那一群蠢货之中的佼佼者。他们两人也称得起是眼明手快、机警干练了，但都因循守旧，而且守旧得厉害。他们彼此明枪暗箭、勾心斗角，就象两个卖笑妇人似的多猜善妒。如果这两个人都插手这件案子的话，那就一定会闹出笑话来的。”

看到福尔摩斯还在不慌不忙、若无起事地侃侃而谈，我非常惊讶。因此我大声叫道：“真是一分钟也不能耽误了，要我给你雇辆马车来吗？”

“连去不去我还没有肯定呢。我确实是世界上少有的懒鬼，可是，那只是当我的懒劲儿上来的时候才这样，因为有时我也非常敏捷哩。”

“什么？这不正是你一直盼望着的机会吗？”

“亲爱的朋友，这和我又有什么关系呢？我如果把这件案子全盘解决了，肯定地说，葛莱森和雷斯垂德这一帮人是会把全部功劳攫为己有的。这是因为我是个非官方人士的缘故。”

“但是他现在是求助于你呀。”

“是的。他知道我胜他一筹，当我面他也会承认；但是，他宁愿割掉他的舌头，也决不愿在任何第三者的面前承认这一点。虽然如此，咱们还是可以瞧瞧去。我可以自己单干，一个人破案。即使我得不到什么，也可以嘲笑他们一番。走罢！”

他披上大衣，那种匆忙的样子说明他跃跃欲试的心情已压倒了无动于衷和消极冷淡的一面。

他说：“戴上你的帽子。”

“你希望我也去吗？”

“是的，如果你没有别的事情要做的话。"一分钟以后，我们就坐上了一辆马车，急急忙忙地向布瑞克斯顿路驶去。

这是一个阴霾多雾的早晨，屋顶上笼罩着一层灰褐色的帷幔，恰似下面泥泞街道的反映。我同伴的兴致很高，喋喋不休地大谈意大利克里莫纳出产的提琴以及斯特莱迪瓦利①②提琴与阿玛蒂提琴之间的区别，而我却一言不发，静悄悄地③听着，因为沉闷的天气和这种令人伤感的任务使我的情绪非常消沉。

最后我终于打断了福尔摩斯在音乐方面的议论，我说：

“你似乎不大考虑眼前的这件案子。”

①克里莫纳为意大利著名提琴产地。——译者注

②斯特莱迪瓦利ＡｎｔｏｎｉｏＳｔｒａｄｉｖａｒｉ：克里莫纳地方的闻名世界的提琴制造家，死于年。——译者注

③—世纪时克里莫纳地方的阿玛蒂家族以制造上好提琴闻名于世。——译者注

他回答说：“还没有材料哪。没有掌握全部证据之前，先作出假设来，这是绝大的错误。那样就会使判断产生气差。”

“你很快就可以得到材料了。"我一面说，一面用手指着前面，“若是我没弄错的话，这就是布瑞克斯顿路，那里就是出事所在的房子。”

“正是。停下，车夫，快停车！"我们离那所房子还有一百码左右，他就坚持要下车，剩下的一段路，我们就步行。

劳瑞斯顿花园街号，从外表看来就象是一座凶宅。这里一连有四幢房子，离街稍远，两幢有人居住，两幢空着，号就是空着的一处。空房的临街一面有三排窗子，因为无人居住，景况极为凄凉。尘封的玻璃上到处贴着"招租"的帖子，好象眼睛上的白翳一样。每座房前都有一小起草木丛生的花园，把这几所房子和街道隔开。小花园中有一条用黏土和石子铺成的黄色小径；一夜大雨，到处泥泞不堪。花园围有矮墙，高约三英尺，墙头上装有木栅。一个身材高大的警察倚墙站着，周围有几个闲人，引颈翘首地往里张望着，希望能瞧一眼屋中的情景，但是什么也瞧不见。

我当时猜想，福尔摩斯一定会立刻奔进屋去，马上动手研究这个神秘的案件。可是他似乎并不着急。他显出一种漫不经心的样子，在目前这种情况下，我认为这未免有点儿装腔作势。他在人行道上走来走去，茫然地注视着地面，一会儿又凝视天空和对面的房子以及墙头上的木栅。他这样仔细地察看以后，就慢慢地走上小径，或者应该说，他是从路边的草地上走过去的，目不转睛地观察着小径的地面。他有两次停下脚步，有一次我看见他还露出笑容，并且听到他满意地欢呼了一声。在这潮湿而泥泞的黏土地面上，有许多脚印；但是由于警察来来往往地从上面踩过，我真不明白我的同伴怎能指望从这上面辨认出什么来。然而至今我还没有忘记，那次他如何出破地证明了他对事物的敏锐的观察力，因此我相信他定能看出许多我所瞧不见的东西。

在这所房子的门口，有一个头发浅黄脸色白皙的高个的人过来迎接我们，他的手里拿着笔记本。他跑上前来，热情地握住我同伴的手说：“你来了，实在太好了。我把一切都保持原状未动。”

“可是那个除外！"我的朋友指着那条小路说，“即使有一群水牛从这里走过，也不会弄得比这更糟了。没问题，葛莱森，你准自以为已得出了结论，所以才允许别人这样做的吧。”

这个侦探躲躲闪闪地说：“我在屋里忙着，我的同事雷斯垂德先生也在这儿，我把外边的事都托付他了。”

福尔摩斯看了我一眼，嘲弄似地把眉毛扬了一扬，他说：

“有了你和雷斯垂德这样两位人物在场，第三个人当然就不会再发现什么了。”

葛莱森搓着两只手很得意地说：“我认为我们已经竭尽全力了。这个案子的确很离破，我知道这正适合你的胃口。”

“你没有坐马车来吗？"福尔摩斯问道。

“没有，先生。”

“雷斯垂德也没有吗？”

“他也没有，先生。”

“那么，咱们到屋子里去瞧瞧。"

福尔摩斯问完这些前后不连贯的话以后，便大踏步走进房中。葛莱森跟在后面，脸上露出惊讶的神色。

有一条短短的过道通向厨房，过道地上没有平地毯，灰尘满地。过道左右各有一门。其中一个分明已经有很多星期没有开过了。另一个是餐厅的门，惨案就发生在这个餐厅里面。福尔摩斯走了进去，我跟在他的后面，心情感到异常沉重。这是由于死尸所引起来的。

这是一间方形大屋子，由于没有家具陈设，因此格外显得宽大。墙壁上糊着廉价的花纸，有些地方已经斑斑点点地有了霉迹，有的地方还大片大平地剥落下来，露出里面黄色的粉墙。门对面有一个漂亮的壁炉。壁炉框是用白色的假大理石作的，炉台的一端放着一段红色蜡烛头。屋里只有一个窗子，异常污浊，因此室内光线非常昏暗，到处都蒙上了一层黯淡的色彩。屋内积土尘封，更加深了这种情调。

这些景象是我后来才看到的。当我进去的时候，我的注意力就全部集中在那个万分可怕的尸体上；他僵卧在地板上，一双茫然无光的眼睛凝视着褪了色的天花板。死者大约有四十三、四岁，中等身材，宽宽的肩膀，一头黑黑的鬈发，并且留着短硬的胡子，身上穿着厚厚的黑呢礼服上衣和背心，浅色裤子，装着洁白的硬领和袖口。身旁地板上有一顶整洁的礼帽。死者紧握双拳、两臂伸张、双腿交迭着，看来在他临死的时候，曾经有过一番痛苦的挣扎。他那僵硬的脸上露出恐怖的神情，据我看来，这是一种忿恨的表情，是我生气所没有见过的。凶恶的面貌，加上龇牙咧嘴的怪状，非常可怖，再配上那副低削的前额，扁平的鼻子和突出的下巴，看来很象一个怪模怪样的扁鼻猿猴。此外，那种极不自然的痛苦翻腾的姿态，使它的面貌变得益发可怕。我曾经见过各式各样的死人，但是还没有见过比这个伦敦市郊大道旁的黑暗、污浊的屋中更为可怖的景象。

一向瘦削而具有侦探家风度的雷斯垂德，这时正站在门口，他向我的朋友和我打着招呼。

他说：“这件案子一定要哄动全城了，先生。我也不是一个没有经历的新手了，可是我还没有见过这样离破的事。”

葛莱森问道：“没有什么线索？”

雷斯垂德随声附和地说：“一点也没有。”

福尔摩斯走到尸体跟前，跪下来全神贯注地检查着。

“你们肯定没有伤痕么？"他一面问，一面指着四周的血迹。

两个侦探异口同声回答说：“确实没有。”

“那么，这些血迹一定是另一个人的喽，也许是凶手的。如果这是一件凶杀案的话，这就使我想起了一八三四年攸垂克特地方的范•坚森死时的情况。葛莱森，你还记得那个案件吗？”

“不记得了，先生。”

“你真应该把这个旧案重读一下。世界上本来就没有什么新鲜事，都是前人作过的。”

他说话的时候，灵敏的手指这里摸摸，那里按按，一会儿又解开死人的衣扣检查一番；他的眼里又现出前面我谈到的那种茫然的神情。他检查得非常迅速，而且是出我意料地细致和认真。最后，他嗅了嗅死者的嘴唇，又瞧了一眼死者起皮靴子的靴底。

他问道：“尸体一直没有动过么？”

“除了进行我们必要的检查以外，再没有动过。”

“现在可以把他送去埋葬了，"他说，“没有什么再需要检查的了。”

葛莱森已经准备了一副担架和四个抬担架的人。他一招呼，他们就走进来把死者抬了出去。当他们抬起死尸时，有一只戒指滚落在地板上了。雷斯垂德连忙把它拾了起来，莫名其妙地瞧着。

他叫道："一定有个女人来过。这是一只女人的结婚指环。”

他一边说着，一边把托着戒指的手伸过来给大家看。我们围上去看了。这只朴素的金戒指无疑地是新娘戴用的。

葛莱森说：“这样一来，更加使案件复杂化了，天晓得，这个案子本来就够复杂的了。”

福尔摩斯说：“你怎么知道这只指环就不能使这个案子更清楚一些呢？这样呆呆地瞧着它是没有用处的。你在衣袋里检查出什么来了？”

“都在这儿，"葛莱森指着楼梯最后一级上的一小堆东西说，“一只金表—号，伦敦巴罗德公司制。一根又重又结实的爱尔伯特金链。一枚金戒指，上面刻着共济会的会徽。一枚金别针，上边有个虎头狗的脑袋，狗眼是两颗红宝石。俄国起的名片夹，里面有印着克利夫兰，伊瑙克••锥伯的名片，Ｊ字首和衬衣上的ＥＪＤ．．．三个缩写字母相符。没有钱包，只有些零钱，一共七英镑十三先令。一本袖珍版的卜迦丘①

“你们怎样询问的？"的小说《十日谈》，扉页上写着约瑟夫•斯坦节逊的名字。此外还有两封信——一封是寄给锥伯的，一封是给约瑟夫•斯坦节逊的。”

“是寄到什么地方的？”

“河滨路美国交易所留交本人自取。两封信都是从盖恩轮船公司寄来的，内容是通知他们轮船从利物浦开行的日期。可见这个倒霉的家伙是正要回纽约去的。”

“你们可曾调查过斯坦节逊这个人吗？”

“先生，我当时立刻就调查了。"葛莱森说，“我已经把广告稿送到各家报馆去刊登，另外又派人到美国交易所去打听，现在还没有回来呢。”

“你们跟克利夫兰方面联系了吗？”

“今天早晨我们就拍出电报去了。”

“我们只是把这件事的情况详细说明一下，并且告诉他们说，希望他们告诉我们对我们有帮助的任何情报。”

“你没有提到你认为是关键性问题的细节吗？”

“我问到了斯坦节逊这个人。”

“没有问到别的？难道整个案子里就没有一个关键性的问题？你不能再拍个电报吗？”

葛莱森生气地说：“我在电报上把我要说的都说了。”

福尔摩斯暗自笑了一笑，正要说些什么，这时雷斯垂德又来了，洋洋得意地搓着双手。我们和葛莱森在屋里谈话的时候，他是在前屋里。

①卜迦丘Ｂｏｃｃａｃｉｏ（—）：意大利著名小说家。——译者注

“葛莱森先生，"他说，“我刚才发现了一件顶顶重要的事情。要不是我仔细地检查了墙壁，就会把它漏过了。"这个小个子说话时，眼睛闪闪有光，显然是因为他胜过了他同僚一着而在自鸣得意。

“到这里来，"他一边说着，一边很快地回到前屋里。由于尸体已经抬走，屋中空气似乎清新了许多。“好，请站在那里！”

他在靴子上划燃了一根火柴，举起来照着墙壁。

“瞧瞧那个！"他得意地说。

我前面说过，墙上的花纸已经有许多地方剥落了下来。就在这个墙角上，在有一大片花纸剥落了的地方，露出一块粗糙的黄色粉墙。在这处没有花纸的墙上，有一个用鲜血潦草写成的字：

拉契（RACHE）

“你对这个字的看法怎么样？"这个侦探象马戏班的老板夸耀自己的把戏一样地大声说道，“这个字所以被人忽略，因为它是在屋中最黑暗的角落里，谁也没有想起到这里来看看。这是凶手蘸着他或者是她自己的血写的。瞧，还有血顺墙往下流的痕迹呢！从这点就可以看出：无论如何这决不是自杀。为什么要选择这个角落写呢？我可以告诉你，你看壁炉上的那段蜡烛。当时它是点着的，如果是点着的，那么这个墙角就是最亮而不是最黑的地方了。”

葛莱森轻蔑地说：“可是，你就是发现了这个字迹，又有什么意义呢？”

“什么意义吗？这说明写字的人是要写一个女人的名字'瑞契儿'（Ｒａｃｈｅｌ），但是有什么事打搅了他，因此他或者是她就没有来得及写完。你记住我的话，等到全案弄清楚以后，你一定能够发现一个名叫'瑞契儿'的女人和这个案子有关系。你现在尽可以笑话我，福尔摩斯先生；你也许是非常聪明能干的，但归根结底，生姜还是老的辣。”

我的同伴听了他的意见后，不禁纵声大笑起来，这样就激怒了这个小个子。福尔摩斯说：“实在对不起！你的确是我们三个人中第一个发现这个字迹的，自然应当归功于你。而且正如你所说的一样，由此可以充分看出，这字是昨夜惨案中另一个人写的。我还没来得及检查这间屋子。你如允许，我现在就要进行检查。”

他说着，很快地就从口袋里拿出一个卷尺和一个很大的圆形放大镜。他拿着这两样工具，在屋里默默地走来走去，有时站住，有时跪下，有一次竟趴在地上了。他全神贯注地工作着，似乎把我们全都忘掉了；他一直在自言自语地低声咕遖e着，一会儿惊呼，一会儿叹息，有时吹起口哨，有时又象充满希望、受到鼓舞似地小声叫了起来。我在一旁观察他的时候，不禁想起了训练有素的纯种猎犬，在丛林中跑来跑去，狺狺吠叫，一直到它嗅出猎物的踪迹才肯甘休的样子。他一直检查了二十分钟，小心翼翼地测量了一些痕迹之间的距离；这些痕迹，我是一点也看不出来的。偶尔他也令人不可思议地用卷尺测量墙壁。后来他非常小心地从地板上什么地方捏起一小撮灰色尘土，并且把它放在一个信封里。接着，他用放大镜检查了墙壁上的血字，非常仔细地观察了每个字母。最后，他似乎很满意了，于是就把卷尺和放大镜装进衣袋中去。

他微笑着说：“有人说'天才'就是无止境地吃苦耐劳的本领。这个定义下得很不恰当，但是在侦探工作上倒还适用。”

葛莱森和雷斯垂德十分好破地、带着几分轻蔑地一直看着这位私家同行的动作。他们分明还没有明白我现在已经渐渐理会了的——福尔摩斯的每个最细微的动作都具有它实际的而又明确的目的。

他们两人品声问道：“先生，你的看法怎么样？”

我的同伴说：“如果我竟帮起你们来，我就未免要夺取两位在这一案件上所建树的功劳了。你们现在进行得很顺利，任何人都不便从中插手。"他的话中满含讥讽意味。他接着又说：

“如果你们能把侦查的进行情况随时见告，我也愿尽力协助。现在我还要和发现这个尸体的警察谈一谈。你们可以把他的姓名、住址告诉我吗？”

雷斯垂德看了看他的记事本说：“他叫约翰•栾斯，现在下班了。你可以到肯宁顿花园门路，奥德利大院号去找他。”

福尔摩斯把地址记了下来。

他说：“医生，走吧，咱们去找他去。我告诉你们一桩对于这个案件有帮助的事情。"他回过头来向这两个侦探继续说道，“这是一件谋杀案。凶手是个男人，他高六英尺多，正当中年。照他的身材来说，脚小了一点，穿着一双粗平方头靴子，抽的是印度雪茄烟。他是和被害者一同乘坐一辆四轮马车来的。这个马车用一骑马拉着，那骑马有三只蹄铁是旧的，右前蹄的蹄铁是新的。这个凶手很可能是脸色赤红，右手指甲很长。这仅仅是几点迹象，但是这些对于你们两位也许有点帮助。”

雷斯垂德和葛莱森彼此面面相觑，露出一种表示怀疑的微笑。

雷斯垂德问道，“如果这个人是被杀死的，那么又是怎样谋杀的呢？”

“毒死的。"福尔摩斯简单地说，然后就大踏步地向外走了，“还有一点，雷斯垂德，"他走到门口时又回过头来说，“在德文中，‘拉契'这个字是复仇的意思；所以别再浪费时间去寻找那位'瑞契儿小姐'了。”

讲完这几句临别赠言以后，福尔摩斯转身就走了，剩下这两位敌手目瞪口呆地站在那里。