The Adventure of the Speckled Band花斑带之谜 （一）

On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I

have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend

Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number

merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did

rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of

wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation

which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic.

Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which

presented more singular features than that which was associated

with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran.

The events in question occurred in the early days of my

association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors

in Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them

upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the

time, from which I have only been freed during the last month by

the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It

is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I

have reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the

death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even

more terrible than the truth.

It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning to

find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my

bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the

mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I

blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little

resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.

"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, "but it's the

common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she

retorted upon me, and I on you."

"What is it, then--a fire?"

"No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a

considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She

is waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander

about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock

sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is

something very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it

prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to

follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should

call you and give you the chance."

"My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything."

I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his

professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid

deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a

logical basis wlth which he unravelled the problems which were

submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in

a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A

lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in

the window, rose as we entered.

"Good-morning, madam," said Holmes cheerily. "My name is Sherlock

Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson,

before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am

glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light the

fire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot

coffee, for I observe that you are shivering."

"lt is not cold which makes me shiver," said the woman in a low

voice, changing her seat as requested.

"What, then?"

"It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror." She raised her veil as

she spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable

state of agitation, her face all drawn and gray, with restless

frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features

and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot

with premature gray, and her expression was weary and haggard.

Sherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick,

all-comprehensive glances.

"You must not fear," said he soothingly, bending forward and

patting her forearm. "We shall soon set matters right, I have no

doubt. You have come in by train this morning, I see."

"You know me, then?"

"No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm

of your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had

a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached

the station."

The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my

companion.

"There is no mystery, my dear madam," said he, smiling. "The left

arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven

places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a

dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you

sit on the left-hand side of the driver."

"Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct," said

she. "I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at

twenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I

can stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues.

I have no one to turn to--none, save only one, who cares for me,

and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you,

Mr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you

helped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I had

your address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me,

too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness

which surrounds me? At present it is out of my power to reward

you for your services, but in a month or six weeks I shall be

married, with the control of my own income, and then at least you

shall not find me ungrateful."

Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small

case-book, which he consulted.

"Farintosh," said he. "Ah yes, I recall the case; it was

concerned with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time,

Watson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote

the same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As to

reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty

to defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which

suits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before us

everything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the

matter."

"Alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror of my situation

lies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions

depend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to

another, that even he to whom of all others I have a right to

look for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about it

as the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can

read it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have

heard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold

wickedness of the human heart. You may advise me how to walk amid

the dangers which encompass me."

"I am all attention, madam."

"My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who

is the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in

England, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border of

Surrey."

Holmes nodded his head. "The name is familiar to me," said he.

"The family was at one time among the richest in England, and the

estates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north,

and Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, four

successive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition,

and the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the

days of the Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of ground,

and the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under

a heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence

there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but

his only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to

the new conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which

enabled him to take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta,

where, by his professional skill and his force of character, he

established a large practice. In a fit of anger, however, caused

by some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he

beat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital

sentence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and

afterwards returned to England a morose and disappointed man.