The Adventure of the Three Gables

Arthur Conan Doyle

I don't think that any of my adventures with Mr. Sherlock Holmes opened quite so abruptly, or so dramatically, as that which I associate with The Three Gables. I had not seen Holmes for some days and had no idea of the new channel into which his activities had been directed. He was in a chatty mood that morning, however, and had just settled me into the well-worn low armchair on one side of the fire, while he had curled down with his pipe in his mouth upon the opposite chair, when our visitor arrived. If I had said that a mad bull had arrived it would give a clearer impression of what occurred.

The door had flown open and a huge negro had burst into the room. He would have been a comic figure if he had not been terrific, for he was dressed in a very loud gray check suit with a flowing salmon-coloured tie. His broad face and flattened nose were thrust forward, as his sullen dark eyes, with a smouldering gleam of malice in them, turned from one of us to the other.

“Which of you gen'l'men is Masser Holmes?” he asked.

Holmes raised his pipe with a languid smile.

“Oh! it's you, is it?” said our visitor, coming with an unpleasant, stealthy step round the angle of the table. “See here, Masser Holmes, you keep your hands out of other folks' business. Leave folks to manage their own affairs. Got that, Masser Holmes?”

“Keep on talking,” said Holmes. “It's fine.”

“Oh! it's fine, is it?” growled the savage. “It won't be so damn fine if I have to trim you up a bit. I've handled your kind before now, and they didn't look fine when I was through with them. Look at that, Masser Holmes!”

He swung a huge knotted lump of a fist under my friend's nose. Holmes examined it closely with an air of great interest. “Were you born so?” he asked. “Or did it come by degrees?”

It may have been the icy coolness of my friend, or it may have been the slight clatter which I made as I picked up the poker. In any case, our visitor's manner became less flamboyant.

“Well, I've given you fair warnin',” said he. “I've a friend that's interested out Harrow way—you know what I'm meaning—and he don't intend to have no buttin' in by you. Got that? You ain't the law, and I ain't the law either, and if you come in I'll be on hand also. Don't you forget it.”

“I've wanted to meet you for some time,” said Holmes. “I won't ask you to sit down, for I don't like the smell of you, but aren't you Steve Dixie, the bruiser?”

“That's my name, Masser Holmes, and you'll get put through it for sure if you give me any lip.”

“It is certainly the last thing you need,” said Holmes, staring at our visitor's hideous mouth. “But it was the killing of young Perkins outside the Holborn Bar— What! you're not going?”

The negro had sprung back, and his face was leaden. “I won't listen to no such talk,” said he. “What have I to do with this 'ere Perkins, Masser Holmes? I was trainin' at the Bull Ring in Birmingham when this boy done gone get into trouble.”

“Yes, you'll tell the magistrate about it, Steve,” said Holmes. “I've been watching you and Barney Stockdale—”

“So help me the Lord! Masser Holmes—”

“That's enough. Get out of it. I'll pick you up when I want you.”

“Good-mornin', Masser Holmes. I hope there ain't no hard feelin's about this 'ere visit?”

“There will be unless you tell me who sent you.”

“Why, there ain't no secret about that, Masser Holmes. It was that same gen'l'man that you have just done gone mention.”

“And who set him on to it?”

“S'elp me. I don't know, Masser Holmes. He just say, ‘Steve, you go see Mr. Holmes, and tell him his life ain't safe if he go down Harrow way.’ That's the whole truth.” Without waiting for any further questioning, our visitor bolted out of the room almost as precipitately as he had entered. Holmes knocked out the ashes of his pipe with a quiet chuckle.

“I am glad you were not forced to break his woolly head, Watson. I observed your manoeuvres with the poker. But he is really rather a harmless fellow, a great muscular, foolish, blustering baby, and easily cowed, as you have seen. He is one of the Spencer John gang and has taken part in some dirty work of late which I may clear up when I have time. His immediate principal, Barney, is a more astute person. They specialize in assaults, intimidation, and the like. What I want to know is, who is at the back of them on this particular occasion?”

“But why do they want to intimidate you?”

“It is this Harrow Weald case. It decides me to look into the matter, for if it is worth anyone's while to take so much trouble, there must be something in it.”

“But what is it?”

“I was going to tell you when we had this comic interlude. Here is Mrs. Maberley's note. If you care to come with me we will wire her and go out at once.”

Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes [I read]:

I have had a succession of strange incidents occur to me in connection with this house, and I should much value your advice. You would find me at home any time to-morrow. The house is within a short walk of the Weald Station. I believe that my late husband, Mortimer Maberley, was one of your early clients.

Yours faithfully,

Mary Maberley

The address was “The Three Gables, Harrow Weald.”

“So that's that!” said Holmes. “And now, if you can spare the time, Watson, we will get upon our way.”

A short railway journey, and a shorter drive, brought us to the house, a brick and timber villa, standing in its own acre of undeveloped grassland. Three small projections above the upper windows made a feeble attempt to justify its name. Behind was a grove of melancholy, half-grown pines, and the whole aspect of the place was poor and depressing. None the less, we found the house to be well furnished, and the lady who received us was a most engaging elderly person, who bore every mark of refinement and culture.

“I remember your husband well, madam,” said Holmes, “though it is some years since he used my services in some trifling matter.”

“Probably you would be more familiar with the name of my son Douglas.”

Holmes looked at her with great interest.

“Dear me! Are you the mother of Douglas Maberley? I knew him slightly. But of course all London knew him. What a magnificent creature he was! Where is he now?”

“Dead, Mr. Holmes, dead! He was attache at Rome, and he died there of pneumonia last month.”

“I am sorry. One could not connect death with such a man. I have never known anyone so vitally alive. He lived intensely—every fibre of him!”

“Too intensely, Mr. Holmes. That was the ruin of him. You remember him as he was—debonair and splendid. You did not see the moody, morose, brooding creature into which he developed. His heart was broken. In a single month I seemed to see my gallant boy turn into a worn-out cynical man.”

“A love affair—a woman?”

“Or a fiend. Well, it was not to talk of my poor lad that I asked you to come, Mr. Holmes.”

“Dr. Watson and I are at your service.”

“There have been some very strange happenings. I have been in this house more than a year now, and as I wished to lead a retired life I have seen little of my neighbours. Three days ago I had a call from a man who said that he was a house agent. He said that this house would exactly suit a client of his, and that if I would part with it money would be no object. It seemed to me very strange as there are several empty houses on the market which appear to be equally eligible, but naturally I was interested in what he said. I therefore named a price which was five hundred pounds more than I gave. He at once closed with the offer, but added that his client desired to buy the furniture as well and would I put a price upon it. Some of this furniture is from my old home, and it is, as you see, very good, so that I named a good round sum. To this also he at once agreed. I had always wanted to travel, and the bargain was so good a one that it really seemed that I should be my own mistress for the rest of my life.

“Yesterday the man arrived with the agreement all drawn out. Luckily I showed it to Mr. Sutro, my lawyer, who lives in Harrow. He said to me, ‘This is a very strange document. Are you aware that if you sign it you could not legally take anything out of the house—not even your own private possessions?’ When the man came again in the evening I pointed this out, and I said that I meant only to sell the furniture.

“‘No, no, everything,’ said he.

“‘But my clothes? My jewels?’

“‘Well, well, some concession might be made for your personal effects. But nothing shall go out of the house unchecked. My client is a very liberal man, but he has his fads and his own way of doing things. It is everything or nothing with him.’

“‘Then it must be nothing,’ said I. And there the matter was left, but the whole thing seemed to me to be so unusual that I thought—”

Here we had a very extraordinary interruption.

Holmes raised his hand for silence. Then he strode across the room, flung open the door, and dragged in a great gaunt woman whom he had seized by the shoulder. She entered with ungainly struggle like some huge awkward chicken, torn, squawking, out of its coop.

“Leave me alone! What are you a-doin' of?” she screeched.

“Why, Susan, what is this?”

“Well, ma'am, I was comin' in to ask if the visitors was stayin' for lunch when this man jumped out at me.”

“I have been listening to her for the last five minutes, but did not wish to interrupt your most interesting narrative. Just a little wheezy, Susan, are you not? You breathe too heavily for that kind of work.”

Susan turned a sulky but amazed face upon her captor. “Who be you, anyhow, and what right have you a-pullin' me about like this?”

“It was merely that I wished to ask a question in your presence. Did you, Mrs. Maberley, mention to anyone that you were going to write to me and consult me?”

“No, Mr. Holmes, I did not.”

“Who posted your letter?”

“Susan did.”

“Exactly. Now, Susan, to whom was it that you wrote or sent a message to say that your mistress was asking advice from me?”

“It's a lie. I sent no message.”

“Now, Susan, wheezy people may not live long, you know. It's a wicked thing to tell fibs. Whom did you tell?”

“Susan!” cried her mistress, “I believe you are a bad, treacherous woman. I remember now that I saw you speaking to someone over the hedge.”

“That was my own business,” said the woman sullenly.

“Suppose I tell you that it was Barney Stockdale to whom you spoke?” said Holmes.

“Well, if you know, what do you want to ask for?”

“I was not sure, but I know now. Well now, Susan, it will be worth ten pounds to you if you will tell me who is at the back of Barney.”

“Someone that could lay down a thousand pounds for every ten you have in the world.”

“So, a rich man? No; you smiled—a rich woman. Now we have got so far, you may as well give the name and earn the tenner.”

“I'll see you in hell first.”

“Oh, Susan! Language!”

“I am clearing out of here. I've had enough of you all. I'll send for my box to-morrow.” She flounced for the door.

“Good-bye, Susan. Paregoric is the stuff… Now,” he continued, turning suddenly from lively to severe when the door had closed behind the flushed and angry woman, “this gang means business. Look how close they play the game. Your letter to me had the 10 P. M. postmark. And yet Susan passes the word to Barney. Barney has time to go to his employer and get instructions; he or she—I incline to the latter from Susan's grin when she thought I had blundered—forms a plan. Black Steve is called in, and I am warned off by eleven o'clock next morning. That's quick work, you know.”

“But what do they want?”

“Yes, that's the question. Who had the house before you?”

“A retired sea captain called Ferguson.”

“Anything remarkable about him?”

“Not that ever I heard of.”

“I was wondering whether he could have buried something. Of course, when people bury treasure nowadays they do it in the Post-Office bank. But there are always some lunatics about. It would be a dull world without them. At first I thought of some buried valuable. But why, in that case, should they want your furniture? You don't happen to have a Raphael or a first folio Shakespeare without knowing it?”

“No, I don't think I have anything rarer than a Crown Derby tea-set.”

“That would hardly justify all this mystery. Besides, why should they not openly state what they want? If they covet your tea-set, they can surely offer a price for it without buying you out, lock, stock, and barrel. No, as I read it, there is something which you do not know that you have, and which you would not give up if you did know.”

“That is how I read it,” said I.

“Dr. Watson agrees, so that settles it.”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, what can it be?”

“Let us see whether by this purely mental analysis we can get it to a finer point. You have been in this house a year.”

“Nearly two.”

“All the better. During this long period no one wants anything from you. Now suddenly within three or four days you have urgent demands. What would you gather from that?”

“It can only mean,” said I, “that the object, whatever it may be, has only just come into the house.”

“Settled once again,” said Holmes. “Now, Mrs. Maberley, has any object just arrived?”

“No, I have bought nothing new this year.”

“Indeed! That is very remarkable. Well, I think we had best let matters develop a little further until we have clearer data. Is that lawyer of yours a capable man?”

“Mr. Sutro is most capable.”

“Have you another maid, or was the fair Susan, who has just banged your front door, alone?”

“I have a young girl.”

“Try and get Sutro to spend a night or two in the house. You might possibly want protection.”

“Against whom?”

“Who knows? The matter is certainly obscure. If I can't find what they are after, I must approach the matter from the other end and try to get at the principal. Did this house-agent man give any address?”

“Simply his card and occupation. Haines-Johnson, Auctioneer and Valuer.”

“I don't think we shall find him in the directory. Honest business men don't conceal their place of business. Well, you will let me know any fresh development. I have taken up your case, and you may rely upon it that I shall see it through.”

As we passed through the hall Holmes's eyes, which missed nothing, lighted upon several trunks and cases which were piled in a corner. The labels shone out upon them.

“‘Milano.’ ‘Lucerne.’ These are from Italy.”

“They are poor Douglas's things.”

“You have not unpacked them? How long have you had them?”

“They arrived last week.”

“But you said—why, surely this might be the missing link. How do we know that there is not something of value there?”

“There could not possibly be, Mr. Holmes. Poor Douglas had only his pay and a small annuity. What could he have of value?”

Holmes was lost in thought.

“Delay no longer, Mrs. Maberley,” he said at last. “Have these things taken upstairs to your bedroom. Examine them as soon as possible and see what they contain. I will come to-morrow and hear your report.”

It was quite evident that The Three Gables was under very close surveillance, for as we came round the high hedge at the end of the lane there was the negro prize-fighter standing in the shadow. We came on him quite suddenly, and a grim and menacing figure he looked in that lonely place. Holmes clapped his hand to his pocket.

“Lookin' for your gun, Masser Holmes?”

“No, for my scent-bottle, Steve.”

“You are funny, Masser Holmes, ain't you?”

“It won't be funny for you, Steve, if I get after you. I gave you fair warning this morning.”

“Well, Masser Holmes, I done gone think over what you said, and I don't want no more talk about that affair of Masser Perkins. S'pose I can help you, Masser Holmes, I will.”

“Well, then, tell me who is behind you on this job.”

“So help me the Lord! Masser Holmes, I told you the truth before. I don't know. My boss Barney gives me orders and that's all.”

“Well, just bear in mind, Steve, that the lady in that house, and everything under that roof, is under my protection. Don't forget it.”

“All right, Masser Holmes. I'll remember.”

“I've got him thoroughly frightened for his own skin, Watson,” Holmes remarked as we walked on. “I think he would double-cross his employer if he knew who he was. It was lucky I had some knowledge of the Spencer John crowd, and that Steve was one of them. Now, Watson, this is a case for Langdale Pike, and I am going to see him now. When I get back I may be clearer in the matter.”

I saw no more of Holmes during the day, but I could well imagine how he spent it, for Langdale Pike was his human book of reference upon all matters of social scandal. This strange, languid creature spent his waking hours in the bow window of a St. James's Street club and was the receiving-station as well as the transmitter for all the gossip of the metropolis. He made, it was said, a four-figure income by the paragraphs which he contributed every week to the garbage papers which cater to an inquisitive public. If ever, far down in the turbid depths of London life, there was some strange swirl or eddy, it was marked with automatic exactness by this human dial upon the surface. Holmes discreetly helped Langdale to knowledge, and on occasion was helped in turn.

When I met my friend in his room early next morning, I was conscious from his bearing that all was well, but none the less a most unpleasant surprise was awaiting us. It took the shape of the following telegram:

Please come out at once. Client's house burgled in the night. Police in possession.

— Sutro.

Holmes whistled. “The drama has come to a crisis, and quicker than I had expected. There is a great driving-power at the back of this business, Watson, which does not surprise me after what I have heard. This Sutro, of course, is her lawyer. I made a mistake, I fear, in not asking you to spend the night on guard. This fellow has clearly proved a broken reed. Well, there is nothing for it but another journey to Harrow Weald.”

We found The Three Gables a very different establishment to the orderly household of the previous day. A small group of idlers had assembled at the garden gate, while a couple of constables were examining the windows and the geranium beds. Within we met a gray old gentleman, who introduced himself as the lawyer, together with a bustling, rubicund inspector, who greeted Holmes as an old friend.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, no chance for you in this case, I'm afraid. Just a common, ordinary burglary, and well within the capacity of the poor old police. No experts need apply.”

“I am sure the case is in very good hands,” said Holmes. “Merely a common burglary, you say?”

“Quite so. We know pretty well who the men are and where to find them. It is that gang of Barney Stockdale, with the big nigger in it—they've been seen about here.”

“Excellent! What did they get?”

“Well, they don't seem to have got much. Mrs. Maberley was chloroformed and the house was— Ah! here is the lady herself.”

Our friend of yesterday, looking very pale and ill, had entered the room, leaning upon a little maidservant.

“You gave me good advice, Mr. Holmes,” said she, smiling ruefully. “Alas, I did not take it! I did not wish to trouble Mr. Sutro, and so I was unprotected.”

“I only heard of it this morning,” the lawyer explained.

“Mr. Holmes advised me to have some friend in the house. I neglected his advice, and I have paid for it.”

“You look wretchedly ill,” said Holmes. “Perhaps you are hardly equal to telling me what occurred.”

“It is all here,” said the inspector, tapping a bulky notebook.

“Still, if the lady is not too exhausted—”

“There is really so little to tell. I have no doubt that wicked Susan had planned an entrance for them. They must have known the house to an inch. I was conscious for a moment of the chloroform rag which was thrust over my mouth, but I have no notion how long I may have been senseless. When I woke, one man was at the bedside and another was rising with a bundle in his hand from among my son's baggage, which was partially opened and littered over the floor. Before he could get away I sprang up and seized him.”

“You took a big risk,” said the inspector.

“I clung to him, but he shook me off, and the other may have struck me, for I can remember no more. Mary the maid heard the noise and began screaming out of the window. That brought the police, but the rascals had got away.”

“What did they take?”

“Well, I don't think there is anything of value missing. I am sure there was nothing in my son's trunks.”

“Did the men leave no clue?”

“There was one sheet of paper which I may have torn from the man that I grasped. It was lying all crumpled on the floor. It is in my son's handwriting.”

“Which means that it is not of much use,” said the inspector. “Now if it had been in the burglar's—”

“Exactly,” said Holmes. “What rugged common sense! None the less, I should be curious to see it.”

The inspector drew a folded sheet of foolscap from his pocketbook.

“I never pass anything, however trifling,” said he with some pomposity. “That is my advice to you, Mr. Holmes. In twenty-five years' experience I have learned my lesson. There is always the chance of finger-marks or something.”

Holmes inspected the sheet of paper.

“What do you make of it, Inspector?”

“Seems to be the end of some queer novel, so far as I can see.”

“It may certainly prove to be the end of a queer tale,” said Holmes. “You have noticed the number on the top of the page. It is two hundred and forty-five. Where are the odd two hundred and forty-four pages?”

“Well, I suppose the burglars got those. Much good may it do them!”

“It seems a queer thing to break into a house in order to steal such papers as that. Does it suggest anything to you, Inspector?”

“Yes, sir, it suggests that in their hurry the rascals just grabbed at what came first to hand. I wish them joy of what they got.”

“Why should they go to my son's things?” asked Mrs. Maberley.

“Well, they found nothing valuable downstairs, so they tried their luck upstairs. That is how I read it. What do you make of it, Mr. Holmes?”

“I must think it over, Inspector. Come to the window, Watson.” Then, as we stood together, he read over the fragment of paper. It began in the middle of a sentence and ran like this:

    “… face bled considerably from the cuts and blows, but it was nothing to the bleeding of his heart as he saw that lovely face, the face for which he had been prepared to sacrifice his very life, looking out at his agony and humiliation. She smiled—yes, by Heaven! she smiled, like the heartless fiend she was, as he looked up at her. It was at that moment that love died and hate was born. Man must live for something. If it is not for your embrace, my lady, then it shall surely be for your undoing and my complete revenge.”

“Queer grammar!” said Holmes with a smile as he handed the paper back to the inspector. “Did you notice how the ‘he’ suddenly changed to ‘my’? The writer was so carried away by his own story that he imagined himself at the supreme moment to be the hero.”

“It seemed mighty poor stuff,” said the inspector as he replaced it in his book. “What! are you off, Mr. Holmes?”

“I don't think there is anything more for me to do now that the case is in such capable hands. By the way, Mrs. Maberley, did you say you wished to travel?”

“It has always been my dream, Mr. Holmes.”

“Where would you like to go—Cairo, Madeira, the Riviera?”

“Oh, if I had the money I would go round the world.”

“Quite so. Round the world. Well, good-morning. I may drop you a line in the evening.” As we passed the window I caught a glimpse of the inspector's smile and shake of the head. “These clever fellows have always a touch of madness.” That was what I read in the inspector's smile.

“Now, Watson, we are at the last lap of our little journey,” said Holmes when we were back in the roar of central London once more. “I think we had best clear the matter up at once, and it would be well that you should come with me, for it is safer to have a witness when you are dealing with such a lady as Isadora Klein.”

We had taken a cab and were speeding to some address in Grosvenor Square. Holmes had been sunk in thought, but he roused himself suddenly.

“By the way, Watson, I suppose you see it all clearly?”

“No, I can't say that I do. I only gather that we are going to see the lady who is behind all this mischief.”

“Exactly! But does the name Isadora Klein convey nothing to you? She was, of course, the celebrated beauty. There was never a woman to touch her. She is pure Spanish, the real blood of the masterful Conquistadors, and her people have been leaders in Pernambuco for generations. She married the aged German sugar king, Klein, and presently found herself the richest as well as the most lovely widow upon earth. Then there was an interval of adventure when she pleased her own tastes. She had several lovers, and Douglas Maberley, one of the most striking men in London, was one of them. It was by all accounts more than an adventure with him. He was not a society butterfly but a strong, proud man who gave and expected all. But she is the ‘belle dame sans merci’ of fiction. When her caprice is satisfied the matter is ended, and if the other party in the matter can't take her word for it she knows how to bring it home to him.”

“Then that was his own story—”

“Ah! you are piecing it together now. I hear that she is about to marry the young Duke of Lomond, who might almost be her son. His Grace's ma might overlook the age, but a big scandal would be a different matter, so it is imperative— Ah! here we are.”

It was one of the finest corner-houses of the West End. A machine-like footman took up our cards and returned with word that the lady was not at home. “Then we shall wait until she is,” said Holmes cheerfully.

The machine broke down.

“Not at home means not at home to you,” said the footman.

“Good,” Holmes answered. “That means that we shall not have to wait. Kindly give this note to your mistress.”

He scribbled three or four words upon a sheet of his notebook, folded it, and handed it to the man.

“What did you say, Holmes?” I asked.

“I simply wrote: ‘Shall it be the police, then?’ I think that should pass us in.”

It did—with amazing celerity. A minute later we were in an Arabian Nights drawing-room, vast and wonderful, in a half gloom, picked out with an occasional pink electric light. The lady had come, I felt, to that time of life when even the proudest beauty finds the half light more welcome. She rose from a settee as we entered: tall, queenly, a perfect figure, a lovely mask-like face, with two wonderful Spanish eyes which looked murder at us both.

“What is this intrusion—and this insulting message?” she asked, holding up the slip of paper.

“I need not explain, madame. I have too much respect for your intelligence to do so—though I confess that intelligence has been surprisingly at fault of late.”

“How so, sir?”

“By supposing that your hired bullies could frighten me from my work. Surely no man would take up my profession if it were not that danger attracts him. It was you, then, who forced me to examine the case of young Maberley.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. What have I to do with hired bullies?”

Holmes turned away wearily.

“Yes, I have underrated your intelligence. Well, good-afternoon!”

“Stop! Where are you going?”

“To Scotland Yard.”

We had not got halfway to the door before she had overtaken us and was holding his arm. She had turned in a moment from steel to velvet.

“Come and sit down, gentlemen. Let us talk this matter over. I feel that I may be frank with you, Mr. Holmes. You have the feelings of a gentleman. How quick a woman's instinct is to find it out. I will treat you as a friend.”

“I cannot promise to reciprocate, madame. I am not the law, but I represent justice so far as my feeble powers go. I am ready to listen, and then I will tell you how I will act.”

“No doubt it was foolish of me to threaten a brave man like yourself.”

“What was really foolish, madame, is that you have placed yourself in the power of a band of rascals who may blackmail or give you away.”

“No, no! I am not so simple. Since I have promised to be frank, I may say that no one, save Barney Stockdale and Susan, his wife, have the least idea who their employer is. As to them, well, it is not the first—” She smiled and nodded with a charming coquettish intimacy.

“I see. You've tested them before.”

“They are good hounds who run silent.”

“Such hounds have a way sooner or later of biting the hand that feeds them. They will be arrested for this burglary. The police are already after them.”

“They will take what comes to them. That is what they are paid for. I shall not appear in the matter.”

“Unless I bring you into it.”

“No, no, you would not. You are a gentleman. It is a woman's secret.”

“In the first place, you must give back this manuscript.”

She broke into a ripple of laughter and walked to the fireplace. There was a calcined mass which she broke up with the poker. “Shall I give this back?” she asked. So roguish and exquisite did she look as she stood before us with a challenging smile that I felt of all Holmes's criminals this was the one whom he would find it hardest to face. However, he was immune from sentiment.

“That seals your fate,” he said coldly. “You are very prompt in your actions, madame, but you have overdone it on this occasion.”

She threw the poker down with a clatter.

“How hard you are!” she cried. “May I tell you the whole story?”

“I fancy I could tell it to you.”

“But you must look at it with my eyes, Mr. Holmes. You must realize it from the point of view of a woman who sees all her life's ambition about to be ruined at the last moment. Is such a woman to be blamed if she protects herself?”

“The original sin was yours.”

“Yes, yes! I admit it. He was a dear boy, Douglas, but it so chanced that he could not fit into my plans. He wanted marriage—marriage, Mr. Holmes—with a penniless commoner. Nothing less would serve him. Then he became pertinacious. Because I had given he seemed to think that I still must give, and to him only. It was intolerable. At last I had to make him realize it.”

“By hiring ruffians to beat him under your own window.”

“You do indeed seem to know everything. Well, it is true. Barney and the boys drove him away, and were, I admit, a little rough in doing so. But what did he do then? Could I have believed that a gentleman would do such an act? He wrote a book in which he described his own story. I, of course, was the wolf; he the lamb. It was all there, under different names, of course; but who in all London would have failed to recognize it? What do you say to that, Mr. Holmes?”

“Well, he was within his rights.”

“It was as if the air of Italy had got into his blood and brought with it the old cruel Italian spirit. He wrote to me and sent me a copy of his book that I might have the torture of anticipation. There were two copies, he said—one for me, one for his publisher.”

“How did you know the publisher's had not reached him?”

“I knew who his publisher was. It is not his only novel, you know. I found out that he had not heard from Italy. Then came Douglas's sudden death. So long as that other manuscript was in the world there was no safety for me. Of course, it must be among his effects, and these would be returned to his mother. I set the gang at work. One of them got into the house as servant. I wanted to do the thing honestly. I really and truly did. I was ready to buy the house and everything in it. I offered any price she cared to ask. I only tried the other way when everything else had failed. Now, Mr. Holmes, granting that I was too hard on Douglas—and, God knows, I am sorry for it!—what else could I do with my whole future at stake?”

Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, well,” said he, “I suppose I shall have to compound a felony as usual. How much does it cost to go round the world in first-class style?”

The lady stared in amazement.

“Could it be done on five thousand pounds?”

“Well, I should think so, indeed!”

“Very good. I think you will sign me a check for that, and I will see that it comes to Mrs. Maberley. You owe her a little change of air. Meantime, lady”—he wagged a cautionary forefinger—“have a care! Have a care! You can't play with edged tools forever without cutting those dainty hands.”

三角墙山庄

我与福尔摩斯所经历过的冒险，再没有比这次更突然、更富戏剧一性一的了。我已经有一段时间没见到他了，也不知道他近来活动的方向是什么。但是这天早上他谈兴不错，他刚让我坐在壁炉一边的旧沙发上，而他本人衔着烟斗坐在对面，就有人来了。如果我说来的是一头发狂的公牛，也许更能说明我的意思。

呼的一声门被冲开，闯进一个巨大的黑人。要不是面目狰狞，他将会给人一种滑稽之感，因为他穿着一身鲜艳的灰格西装，飘垂着一条橙红领带。他那宽脸庞和扁鼻子使劲伸向前方，两只一陰一沉的黑眼睛冒着抑制不住的怒火，并轮流打量着我们两人。

“你们两位谁叫福尔摩斯？"他问道。

福尔摩斯懒洋洋地把烟斗举了一下。

“哈，原来就是你吗？"这位来访者说着，以一种令人不快的鬼祟轻步绕过桌子。“你听着，福尔摩斯先生，请你不要多管闲事，让人们各管各的事。你听懂了吗？”

“说下去，"福尔摩斯说道，“很有意思。”

“哈，你觉得有意思，是吧？"这个蛮汉咆哮道，“等我收拾你一顿，你就不觉得有意思了。我对付过你这种人，收拾过之后他们就老实了。你看这个，福尔摩斯先生！”

他伸出一只硕一大无朋的拳头在福尔摩斯鼻子底下晃。福尔摩斯满有兴致地细看着他的拳头。"你是生来就这样儿的吗？"他问道：“还是慢慢练出来的呢？”

不知是由于我朋友那冰冷的镇静，还是由于我抄起了拨火棒的缘故，总而言之这位访客的态度变得不那么神气活现了。

“反正我已经警告你了，"他说。"我有个朋友对哈罗那边的事有兴趣——你知道我指的是什么——他用不着你多管闲事。明白吗？你不是法律，我也不是法律，要是你管闲事，我就不客气。记住没错儿。”

“我早就想见见你了，"福尔摩斯说。“我不让你坐了，因为我不喜欢你身上的气味。你不就是斯蒂夫-迪克西，那个搞拳击的吗？”

“这正是我的名字，你要是说话不客气我就收拾你。”

“那你倒用不着，"福尔摩斯使劲盯着这位客人的奇丑无比的嘴巴说。“不过你在荷尔本酒吧外头杀死小伙子珀金斯的事——怎么着！你怎么要走哇？”

这个黑人一下退缩了回去，面色铁灰。"少跟我说这些没用的话。"他说道。"我跟什么珀金斯有什么相干？这小子出事的时候我正在伯明翰斗牛场进行训练。”

“不错，你可以对法官这么讲，斯蒂夫，"福尔摩斯说。"我一直在注意你跟巴内-斯托克代尔的勾当——”

“我的老天！埃尔摩斯先生——”

“行了。这个就算了。等我需要你的时候再说。”

“那再见吧，福尔摩斯先生。我希望你不计较今天我上这儿来的事儿吧？”

“那除非你告诉我是谁叫你来的。”

“那你还用问吗，福尔摩斯先生。就是你刚才说的那个人。”

“是谁指使他的呢？”

“老天，我可不知道，福尔摩斯先生。他就跟我说：‘斯蒂夫，你去找福尔摩斯先生，就说要是他上哈罗去就有生命危险。'就是这么回事，都是实话。"没等再问他别的，这位客人就一溜烟跑出去了，走得跟来得一般快。福尔摩斯一面暗笑，一面磕去烟斗里的灰。

“华生，幸亏你没有敲破他那结实的脑袋。我看见你拿拨火棒的动作了。其实他倒是一个不妨事的，别看浑身是肌肉，倒是个愚蠢的、放空炮的小孩子，很容易把他镇住，就象刚才那样。他是斯宾塞-约翰流一氓集一团一的成员，最近参加了一些卑鄙的勾当，等我腾下手来再处理他们。他的顶头上司巴内，倒是一个狡猾的家伙。他们专干袭击、威胁之类的勾当。我所要知道的是，在这次事件里，他们背后是什么人？”

“但他们为什么要威胁你呢？”

“就是这个哈罗森林案件。他们这一来，倒使我决心侦查这个案子了，既然有这么多人一大动干戈，那必是有点来头的。”

“到底是怎么回事呢？”

“刚才我刚要对你讲这个事儿，就发生了这场闹剧。这是麦伯利太太的来信。如果你同意跟我走一趟的话，咱们就给她拍一个电报，立刻动身。”

我看信上写的是：

福尔摩斯先生：

我最近遇到一连串怪事，都与我的住宅有关，甚望得到您的帮助。如蒙明日前来，我将全天在家。本宅即在哈罗车站附近。我已故的丈夫莫提梅-麦伯利是您的早期顾客之一。

玛丽-麦伯利谨启

住址是：三角墙山庄，哈罗森林。

“你瞧，就是这么回事，"福尔摩斯说。"你要是有时间的话，咱们就可以上路了。”

经过一段短途的火车和马车旅程之后，我们到达了这所住宅。这是一座砖瓦木料的别墅，周围有一英亩天然草原的园地。上层窗子上面有三小垛尖形的山墙，算是"三角墙山庄"这个名称的证据。屋后有一丛半大的郁郁松树，这地方总的印象是不景气和不畅快。但是室内的家具是颇考究的，而接待我们的也是一位颇有风度的上了年纪的夫人，谈吐举止无不显示出有教养与文化。

“我对您丈夫的印象还很清楚，"福尔摩斯说，“虽然那只是多年以前我替他办过一件小事。”

“也许您对我儿子道格拉斯的名字更为熟悉。”

福尔摩斯十分有兴趣地注视着她。

“怎么！您就是道格拉斯-麦伯利的母亲么？我跟他有一面之一交一。当然啦，伦敦谁不认识他呢。那时节他可真是一位健美的男子呵！现在他在什么地方呢？”

“死了，福尔摩斯先生，死了！他是驻罗马的参赞，上个月患肺炎死在罗马了。”

“太可惜了。谁也没法儿把他这样一个人和死联系在一起。我从来没有见过一个象他那样一精一力充沛的人。他的生命力是顽强的，真正顽强的！”

“顽强得太过了，福尔摩斯先生，正是那毁了他。你印象里他总是潇洒倜傥的样子，但你没见过他变成一个抑郁寡言的人的情形。他的心被伤透了。简直就在一个月之间我就眼看着我的雍容大方的孩子变成一个疲惫的愤世之徒了。”

“是恋一爱一——为了一个女人吗？”

“一个魔鬼。好了，我请你来不是为了谈我的儿子，福尔摩斯先生。”

“华生和我都在听您的吩咐，请说吧。”

“近来发生了一些极其古怪的事情。我搬到这座房子里已经一年多了，由于我想闭门谢客，过清静日子，因此一直与邻居不大来往。三天之前我见了一个自称是房产经营商人的来访者。他说这所宅子被他的一个主顾看中了，如果我愿意脱手，价钱不成问题。我觉得奇怪，因为附近有几所同样条件的房产都在出售，但是自然我对他的提议还是感兴趣的。于是我提出一个价钱，比我买房的价钱高出五百镑。这事立刻就成一交一了，但是他又说他主顾也要买家具，问我能否也要一个价钱。这儿有些家具是我从老家带来的，你可以看出那是极上等的家具，于是我就要了一个相当合算的高价。他也立刻同意了。我本来就打算到国外走一走，而这次一交一易是非常赚钱的，看来我往后的日子是满富裕，不会成问题了。

“昨天这个人把写好的合同带来了。幸亏我把合同给我的律师苏特罗先生过了目，他也在哈罗居住。他对我讲：‘这是一个非常古怪的合同。你注意到没有，如果你签了字，你就没有合法权利把房子里的任何东西拿走——包括你的私人用品。'当天晚上那个人来的时候，我指出了这一点，我告诉他我只卖家具。

“'不，不是家具，而是一切，'他说。

“'那我的衣服，我的首饰怎么办？'

“'当然，当然会照顾到你的私人用品。但是一切物岂不经检查不得携出房外。我的主顾是一个非常慷慨的人，但是他有他的一爱一好和特殊一习一惯。对他来说，要不就全买，要不就不买。'

“'既然如此，那就别买。'我说。这件事就这么给搁下了。但是这个事儿实在稀奇古怪，我恐怕——”

说到这里出了一件意外的干扰。

福尔摩斯举起手来止住了谈话，然后他大步抢到房间另一端，呼地把门一开，揪进一个又高又瘦的女人，他抓着她的肩膀。这女人死命挣扎着被揪进了屋，就象一只被抓出鸡笼的小鸡一样扯着嗓子乱叫。

“放开我！你要干吗？"她尖一叫着。

“是苏珊，你这是怎么回事？”

“太太，我正要进来问客人是不是留下用饭，这个人就扑上来了。”

“我已经听见她躲在门外有五分钟了，但我没有打断您的有趣叙述。苏珊，你有点气喘，对不对？你干这种工作有点困难。”

苏珊愤愤地但是吃惊地转向捉住她的那个人。"你是谁？你有什么权利这样揪住我？”

“我只是想当你的面问一个问题。麦伯利太太，您对什么人说过要给我写信和找我帮忙了吗？”

“没有，福尔摩斯先生。”

“谁发的信？”

“苏珊。”

“这就是了。苏珊。你给谁写信或捎信儿说你女主人要找我了？”

“你瞎说。我没报信。”

“苏珊，气喘的人可能会短命的，说谎是没有好结果的。你到底对谁讲了？”

“苏珊！"她的女主人一大声说道，“我看你是一个狡猾的坏女人。我想起来了，你曾在篱边对一个男人说话来着。”

“那是我的私事，"苏珊生气地回嘴。

“要是我告诉你，跟你说话的那个人是巴内，怎么样？”

“既然你知道，还问什么？”

“我本来不能肯定，但现在我肯定了。好吧，苏珊，要是你告诉我巴内背后是什么人，那是值得给你十英镑的。”

“那是一个经常用千镑顶你的十镑的人。”

“这么说，是一个富有的男人？不对，你笑了，必是一个富有的女人。到此为止我们已知道这么多了，你还不如说出名字来挣这现成儿的十镑。”

“我宁可先看你下地狱！”

“什么话！苏珊！"麦伯利太太喊道。

“我不干了。我对你们都够了。我将叫人明天来取我的箱子。"说着她径直走出门去。

“再见，苏珊。别忘了用樟脑阿片酊……那么，"福尔摩斯等门一关上立刻从打趣转入严肃，“这个集一团一是认真要干一桩案子的。你看他们行动多么紧张。你给我的信上是上午十点的邮戳。苏珊立即向巴内报信。巴内毫不耽搁时间就去找他的主子请示；而他，或她——我倾向于女主子，因为刚才苏珊认为我说错时笑过——制订了行动计划。黑人斯蒂夫被找了来，到次日上午十一点时我已受到警告。你看，这是迅雷不及掩耳的行动。”

“但他们的目的是什么呢？”

“这正是需要解决的问题。在你以前是谁住这所房子？”

“一位退休的海军上校，姓弗格森。”

“这个人有什么特异之点么？”

“没听说。”

“本来我怀疑是不是他埋了什么。当然喽，如今人们埋金子都是埋在邮政银行里头，但是世界上总是有那么一些疯癫的怪人。要是没有这种人，世界岂不是太单调了吗。起先我确是设想过埋珍宝的可能一性一，但是，如果是那样的话，他们要你的家具干什么呢？你总不会有什么拉斐尔原作或莎士比亚第一对开本而自己不知道吧？”

“没有，除了一套王室德比茶具之外，再也没有比它更值钱的珍品了。”

“这种茶具是不值得这一大套神秘行动的。另外，他们为什么不公开说明所要的东西呢？如果他们要你的茶具，他们直接出高价买茶具就是了，何必买你的全部东西，连锅盆碗柜都不放过？不对，照我看，你家里是有点什么你自己还不知道的东西，而要是知道的话你决不会放手的。”

“这也是我的想法，"我说道。

“华生都同意了，那就准是了。”

“那么，福尔摩斯先生，到底是什么呢？”

“来，咱们来看一看光用逻辑分析能不能把它定在一个最小范围。你在这里住了一年了。”

“快两年了。”

“那更好。在这么长的一段时间内并没有人向你要什么东西。突然，在这三四天之内，你遇到了急迫的需求者。你看这说明什么呢？”

“那只能说明，"我说道，“不管被需求的东西是什么，它是刚刚进入住宅的。”

“这又准是了，"福尔摩斯说。"那么，麦伯利太太，最近新来了什么东西没有？”

“没有，今年我什么新东西也没买。”

“是吗！那可是真怪了。好吧，我想还是观察事态的进一步发展，以便取得足够的资料。你的律师是一个有能力的人吗？”

“苏特罗先生能力很强。”

“你还有一个女仆吗？刚才摔门的苏珊是唯一的女仆吗？”

“我还有一个年轻的女仆。”

“你需要请苏特罗在本宅留宿一两夜。你可能需要保护。”

“危险从何处来呢？”

“谁敢说呢。这个案子确实是不明朗。既然我搞不清他们想要的是什么，我必须从另一头入手，找到主谋。这个自称房产经纪商的人留下住址没有？”

“只留下名片和职业。海恩斯－约翰逊，拍卖商兼估价商。”

“看样子在电话簿上是找不到他的。正常的商人绝不隐瞒营业的地址。好吧，如果发生新的情况，请通知我。我已经接办你的案子，我就一定把它办成功。”

我们经过门厅的时候，福尔摩斯那无所不见的目光落在角落里堆着的几个箱子上面。上面贴的海关标签五光十色。

“'米兰'。'卢塞恩'。这是从意大利来的。”

“这都是我可怜的儿子道格拉斯的东西。”

“还没打过包吗？到达多久了？”

“上周到的。”

“但是你刚才却说——，这很可能就是线索。谁知道里面有没有珍贵东西呢？”

“不可能的，福尔摩斯先生，可怜的道格拉斯只有工资和一小笔年金。他能有什么值钱的东西？”

福尔摩斯沉思起来。

“赶紧，麦伯利太太，"最后他说道。“立刻叫人把这些抬到你卧室去。尽快检查箱内，看看到底有什么东西。明天我来听你检查的结果。”

显然，三角墙山庄是被严密监视着，因为我们拐过路角高篱笆的时候，只见黑人拳击家正站在那里。我们是突然遇上他的，在这个偏僻的地方更显出他的狰狞一逼一人的形象。福尔摩斯用手去摸衣袋。

“摸手槍吗，福尔摩斯先生？”

“不，摸鼻烟盒，斯蒂夫。”

“你真逗，福尔摩斯先生。”

“要是我跟踪你，你就不觉得逗了。今天早上我对你有言在先了。”

“是这么着，福尔摩斯先生，我考虑过你今天早上的话了，我不愿意再有人提起珀金斯那桩事了。如果我能为你效力，你发话好了。”

“那么，告诉我在这个案子里你的主子是谁。”

“我的天哪！我跟你说的是实话，福尔摩斯先生，我真不知道。我的上司巴内给我命令，就是这些。”

“好吧，你记住，斯蒂夫，这座宅子里的太太，以及房子里的一切东西，都是受我保护的。别忘了。”

“好，福尔摩斯先生，我记住了。”

“华生，看来他为了自己保命是真给我吓住了，"我们往前走着的时候福尔摩斯这么说。"要是他真知道他的主顾是谁，我看他是会出卖他的。幸亏我掌握一点约翰集一团一的情况，而斯蒂夫是其成员。华生，看来这个案子用得着兰代尔-派克，现在我去找他。等我回来时可能会对这件事更清楚一些。”

后来我一直没再看见福尔摩斯，但是我可以想象他是怎么过的这半天。兰代尔-派克是有关一切社会传闻方面福尔摩斯的活参考书。这位古怪懒散的人物在他全部醒着的时间内都呆在圣詹姆斯大街一家俱乐部的凸肚窗内，在这里接收并转发全首都的小道新闻。据说，他那四位数字的收入全靠给小报投稿，这种报纸是专供好事之徒消遣的读物。在伦敦社会的混泥浊水之中，只要稍起一点波澜漩涡，就会被这架人情记录器自动而准确地记载下来。福尔摩斯总是谨慎地帮助兰代尔获得知识，有时候也接受他的帮助。

次日清早我到福尔摩斯房间，从他的态度上看，我就知道情况良好，但谁知有一个意外在等着我们，那就是下面这封电报：

请立即前来。住宅被盗。警察在场。苏特罗

福尔摩斯吹了声口哨。"戏剧到了高xdx潮，而且比我预料的还快。华生，在这案子背后是有一股强大势力的，对此我不会有什么惊讶的，因为昨天我听到了一点消息。这个苏特罗当然是她的律师喽。昨天没有请你留在那里守卫，我算是失策了。看来这个苏特罗是个软骨头。没法子，还是到哈罗走一趟吧。”

这回三角墙山庄跟昨天那井井有条的样子可大不一样了。花园门口站着几个看热闹的闲杂人，另外有两个警察在检查窗口和种植着天竺葵的花一床一。进到屋内，我们遇见一位白发苍苍的老绅士，他自称是律师，旁边还有一位满面红光、忙忙叨叨的警官，上来就以老熟人的资格跟福尔摩斯周旋起来。"嗨，福尔摩斯先生，这回可没你插手的事儿，纯粹是一件普通盗窃案，低级警察就满可以应付得了，用不着专家过问。""当然，案子是在有能力的警察手里呢，"福尔摩斯说，“你是说，只是普通盗窃案吗？”

“没错儿。我们很知道作案的是什么人以及到什么地方去找他们。就是那个巴内集一团一，还有那个黑人——有人在附近瞧见过他们。”

“很高明！请问他们偷了什么东西？”

“这个吗，看来他们没有十分得手，麦伯利太太被麻醉了，住宅被——好，女主人来了。”

昨天接待我们的这位女主人，面色苍白、十分虚弱，由一个小女仆搀扶着进来了。

“福尔摩斯先生，昨天你给了我十分正确的建议，"她苦笑着说，“真该死，我却没有照办。我不愿麻烦苏特罗先生，结果毫无戒备。”

“我今天早上才听说，"律师说道。

“昨天福尔摩斯先生劝我请人留宿戒备，我没有照办，结果吃了亏。”

“你看来很虚弱，"福尔摩斯说，“大概你的体力支持不了叙述事件的经过吧。”

“事件不是明摆着的吗，"警官指着他的日记本说。

“不过，如果夫人一体力允许的话——”

“其实经过倒也不多。我看那个可恶的苏珊是给他们开过路了。他们一定对这房子十分熟悉了。有一会儿时间我感觉到了按在我嘴上的氯仿纱布，但是我不清楚我失去知觉有多长时间。我醒过来的时候，有一个人在一床一边，另一个人手里拿着一卷纸刚从我儿子的行李堆里站起来，那行李打开了一部分，弄得满地是东西。在他还没来得及逃走之前，我跳起来揪住了他。”

“你太冒险了，"警官说。

“我揪住他，但他摔开了我，另一个人可能打了我，因为我什么也不记得了。女仆玛丽听见响声，对着窗外大叫起来，警察就来了，但流一氓已经逃走。”

“他们拿走了什么？”

“我认为，没有丢什么值钱的东西。我知道我儿子的箱子里没有什么。”

“他们没留下什么痕迹吗？”

“有一张纸可能是我从那人手里夺下来的，它留在地板上，皱得很厉害，是我儿子的手迹。”

“既是他的手迹，说明这纸是没有用处的，"警官说。“要是犯人的——”

“高明，"福尔摩斯说，“常识健全！但是，我还是好奇地想看一看这张纸。”

警官从他的笔记本里拿出一张大页书写纸。

“我从来不放过任何微细的东西，"他郑重其事地说。"这也是我对你的忠告，福尔摩斯先生。干了二十年工作，我是学会了一些东西，总是有可能发现指纹什么的。”

福尔摩斯检查了这张纸。

“警官先生，你的意见如何？”

“照我看来，很象是一本古怪小说的结尾。”

“它可能就是一个古怪故事的结局，"福尔摩斯说，“你看见上方的页数了吧。二百四十五页。那二百四十四页哪里去了呢？”

“我看是犯人拿走了。这对他们有什么用处！”

“侵入住宅偷这样的东西是非常莫名片妙的事。你觉得这说明什么问题？”

“是的，这说明在慌乱之间他们抓到什么就是什么。我希望他们为所得到的东西高兴。”

“为什么偏偏去翻我儿子的东西呢？"麦伯利太太问道。

“这个么，他们在楼下没找到值钱的东西，于是就跑到楼上去了。这是我的分析。你的意见如何，福尔摩斯先生？”

“我得仔细考虑一下。华生，你到窗前来。"我们站在那里，他把那张纸读了一遍。开头是半截句子，写的是：

"……脸上的刀伤和击伤淌着许多血，但是当他看到那张他愿为之牺牲生命的脸，那脸在漠然望着他的悲痛和屈辱的时候，这时他脸上淌的血比其他心底里淌的血又算得什么啊。他抬起头来看她，她竟笑了，她竟然笑了！就象没有人心的魔鬼那样笑了！在这一刹那，一爱一灭亡了，恨产生了。人总是得为什么目的而生活的。小一姐，如果不是为了拥抱你，那我就为了毁灭你和复仇而生活吧。”

“真是奇怪的文法！"福尔摩斯笑着把纸还给了警官。"你注意到'他'突然变成'我'了没有？作者过于激动了，在关键时刻他把自己幻想成主角了。”

“文章实在不怎么样，"警官一面把纸放回本子里，一面说道。"怎么，你就走了吗，福尔摩斯先生？”

“既然有能手处理这个案子，我在这里也没有用了。对了，麦伯利太太，你好象说过有出国游历的想法是吗？”

“那一直是我的梦想，福尔摩斯先生。”

“你打算到什么地方，开罗？马德拉群岛？利维埃拉？”

“哎，要是有钱，我是要周游世界的。”

“不错，周游世界。好吧。再见吧。我下午可能给你一封信。"经过窗口的时候，我瞅见警官在微笑摇头。他的笑容仿佛在说，“这种聪明人多少都有点疯病。”

“好，华生，咱们的旅程总算告一段落了，"当我们又回到喧嚣的伦敦市中心的时候，福尔摩斯这样说着。"我想还是马上办完这件事的好。你最好能跟我一起来，因为和伊莎多拉-克莱因这样一位女士打一交一道，还是有一个见证人较为安全。”

我们雇了一辆马车，朝着格罗斯汶诺广场的某一地址疾驰而去。福尔摩斯本来一直沉思不语，但突然对我讲起话来。

“我说，华生，你弄明白是怎么回事了吧？”

“还不敢说。我只知道咱们要去会见那位幕后的女士。”

“一点不错！但是伊莎多拉-克莱因这个名字你没有印象吗？当然，她就是那位著名的美一女。从来没有别的女人能够比得上她的美貌。她是纯西班牙血统，就是南美征服者的血统，她的家族已在巴西伯南布哥当了几代领袖了。她嫁给了年老的德国糖业大王克莱因，不久以后就成为世界上最美丽而且也最富有的寡一妇。接着的是一个为所欲为的时期。她有好几个情一人，而道格拉斯-麦伯利这位伦敦最不平凡的人物之一，也是起情一人中的一个。从总的报道来看，他并不是一时的追求。他不是一个一交一际场上的浮华公子，而是一个坚强骄傲的人，他一交一出了自己的一切，也起望得到一切。而她呢，则是一位一浪一漫小说中的ｂｅｌｌｅｄａｍｅｓａｎｓｍｅｒｃｉ（法文：冷酷无情的美一女）。她的要求满足之后，就一刀两断了，要是对方不接受她的意见，她就会不择手段地想法达到目的。”

“这么说，那是他自己的故事喽——”

“对！现在你把情节串起来了！听说她即将嫁给年轻的洛蒙公爵，他的年龄差不多够做她的儿子了。公爵的母亲也许可以不介意她的年龄，但要是传出一件严重的丑闻，那就不一样了，所以有必要——啊，我们到了。”

这是伦敦西区最考究的住宅之一。有一个行动机械的仆人把我们的名片送了上去并又回来说女主人不在家。福尔摩斯毫不扫兴地说：“那我们就等她回来。”

“机仆人"慌了。

“不在家就是对你们不在家，"仆人说。

“也好，"福尔摩斯说。"那我们也就不用恭候了。请你把这个条子一交一给你的女主人。”

说着他在日记本的一页纸上匆匆写了三四个