The Adventure of the Three Garridebs

Arthur Conan Doyle

It may have been a comedy, or it may have been a tragedy. It cost one man his reason, it cost me a blood-letting, and it cost yet another man the penalties of the law. Yet there was certainly an element of comedy. Well, you shall judge for yourselves.

I remember the date very well, for it was in the same month that Holmes refused a knighthood for services which may perhaps some day be described. I only refer to the matter in passing, for in my position of partner and confidant I am obliged to be particularly careful to avoid any indiscretion. I repeat, however, that this enables me to fix the date, which was the latter end of June, 1902, shortly after the conclusion of the South African War. Holmes had spent several days in bed, as was his habit from time to time, but he emerged that morning with a long foolscap document in his hand and a twinkle of amusement in his austere gray eyes.

“There is a chance for you to make some money, friend Watson,” said he. “Have you ever heard the name of Garrideb?”

I admitted that I had not.

“Well, if you can lay your hand upon a Garrideb, there's money in it.”

“Why?”

“Ah, that's a long story—rather a whimsical one, too. I don't think in all our explorations of human complexities we have ever come upon anything more singular. The fellow will be here presently for cross-examination, so I won't open the matter up till he comes. But, meanwhile, that's the name we want.”

The telephone directory lay on the table beside me, and I turned over the pages in a rather hopeless quest. But to my amazement there was this strange name in its due place. I gave a cry of triumph.

“Here you are, Holmes! Here it is!”

Holmes took the book from my hand.

“‘Garrideb, N.,’ ” he read, “‘136 Little Ryder Street, W.’ Sorry to disappoint you, my dear Watson, but this is the man himself. That is the address upon his letter. We want another to match him.”

Mrs. Hudson had come in with a card upon a tray. I took it up and glanced at it.

“Why, here it is!” I cried in amazement. “This is a different initial. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, Moorville, Kansas, U. S. A.”

Holmes smiled as he looked at the card. “I am afraid you must make yet another effort, Watson,” said he. “This gentleman is also in the plot already, though I certainly did not expect to see him this morning. However, he is in a position to tell us a good deal which I want to know.”

A moment later he was in the room. Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, was a short, powerful man with the round, fresh, clean-shaven face characteristic of so many American men of affairs. The general effect was chubby and rather childlike, so that one received the impression of quite a young man with a broad set smile upon his face. His eyes, however, were arresting. Seldom in any human head have I seen a pair which bespoke a more intense inward life, so bright were they, so alert, so responsive to every change of thought. His accent was American, but was not accompanied by any eccentricity of speech.

“Mr. Holmes?” he asked, glancing from one to the other. “Ah, yes! Your pictures are not unlike you, sir, if I may say so. I believe you have had a letter from my namesake, Mr. Nathan Garrideb, have you not?”

“Pray sit down,” said Sherlock Holmes. “We shall, I fancy, have a good deal to discuss.” He took up his sheets of foolscap. “You are, of course, the Mr. John Garrideb mentioned in this document. But surely you have been in England some time?”

“Why do you say that, Mr. Holmes?” I seemed to read sudden suspicion in those expressive eyes.

“Your whole outfit is English.”

Mr. Garrideb forced a laugh. “I've read of your tricks, Mr. Holmes, but I never thought I would be the subject of them. Where do you read that?”

“The shoulder cut of your coat, the toes of your boots—could anyone doubt it?”

“Well, well, I had no idea I was so obvious a Britisher. But business brought me over here some time ago, and so, as you say, my outfit is nearly all London. However, I guess your time is of value, and we did not meet to talk about the cut of my socks. What about getting down to that paper you hold in your hand?”

Holmes had in some way ruffled our visitor, whose chubby face had assumed a far less amiable expression.

“Patience! Patience, Mr. Garrideb!” said my friend in a soothing voice. “Dr. Watson would tell you that these little digressions of mine sometimes prove in the end to have some bearing on the matter. But why did Mr. Nathan Garrideb not come with you?”

“Why did he ever drag you into it at all?” asked our visitor with a sudden outflame of anger. “What in thunder had you to do with it? Here was a bit of professional business between two gentlemen, and one of them must needs call in a detective! I saw him this morning, and he told me this fool-trick he had played me, and that's why I am here. But I feel bad about it, all the same.”

“There was no reflection upon you, Mr. Garrideb. It was simply zeal upon his part to gain your end—an end which is, I understand, equally vital for both of you. He knew that I had means of getting information, and, therefore, it was very natural that he should apply to me.”

Our visitor's angry face gradually cleared.

“Well, that puts it different,” said he. “When I went to see him this morning and he told me he had sent to a detective, I just asked for your address and came right away. I don't want police butting into a private matter. But if you are content just to help us find the man, there can be no harm in that.”

“Well, that is just how it stands,” said Holmes. “And now, sir, since you are here, we had best have a clear account from your own lips. My friend here knows nothing of the details.”

Mr. Garrideb surveyed me with not too friendly a gaze.

“Need he know?” he asked.

“We usually work together.”

“Well, there's no reason it should be kept a secret. I'll give you the facts as short as I can make them. If you came from Kansas I would not need to explain to you who Alexander Hamilton Garrideb was. He made his money in real estate, and afterwards in the wheat pit at Chicago, but he spent it in buying up as much land as would make one of your counties, lying along the Arkansas River, west of Fort Dodge. It's grazing-land and lumber-land and arable-land and mineralized-land, and just every sort of land that brings dollars to the man that owns it.

“He had no kith nor kin—or, if he had, I never heard of it. But he took a kind of pride in the queerness of his name. That was what brought us together. I was in the law at Topeka, and one day I had a visit from the old man, and he was tickled to death to meet another man with his own name. It was his pet fad, and he was dead set to find out if there were any more Garridebs in the world. ‘Find me another!’ said he. I told him I was a busy man and could not spend my life hiking round the world in search of Garridebs. ‘None the less,’ said he, ‘that is just what you will do if things pan out as I planned them.’ I thought he was joking, but there was a powerful lot of meaning in the words, as I was soon to discover.

“For he died within a year of saying them, and he left a will behind him. It was the queerest will that has ever been filed in the State of Kansas. His property was divided into three parts, and I was to have one on condition that I found two Garridebs who would share the remainder. It's five million dollars for each if it is a cent, but we can't lay a finger on it until we all three stand in a row.

“It was so big a chance that I just let my legal practice slide and I set forth looking for Garridebs. There is not one in the United States. I went through it, sir, with a fine-toothed comb and never a Garrideb could I catch. Then I tried the old country. Sure enough there was the name in the London telephone directory. I went after him two days ago and explained the whole matter to him. But he is a lone man, like myself, with some women relations, but no men. It says three adult men in the will. So you see we still have a vacancy, and if you can help to fill it we will be very ready to pay your charges.”

“Well, Watson,” said Holmes with a smile, “I said it was rather whimsical, did I not? I should have thought, sir, that your obvious way was to advertise in the agony columns of the papers.”

“I have done that, Mr. Holmes. No replies.”

“Dear me! Well, it is certainly a most curious little problem. I may take a glance at it in my leisure. By the way, it is curious that you should have come from Topeka. I used to have a correspondent—he is dead now—old Dr. Lysander Starr, who was mayor in 1890.”

“Good old Dr. Starr!” said our visitor. “His name is still honoured. Well, Mr. Holmes, I suppose all we can do is to report to you and let you know how we progress. I reckon you will hear within a day or two.” With this assurance our American bowed and departed.

Holmes had lit his pipe, and he sat for some time with a curious smile upon his face.

“Well?” I asked at last.

“I am wondering, Watson—just wondering!”

“At what?”

Holmes took his pipe from his lips.

“I was wondering, Watson, what on earth could be the object of this man in telling us such a rigmarole of lies. I nearly asked him so—for there are times when a brutal frontal attack is the best policy—but I judged it better to let him think he had fooled us. Here is a man with an English coat frayed at the elbow and trousers bagged at the knee with a year's wear, and yet by this document and by his own account he is a provincial American lately landed in London. There have been no advertisements in the agony columns. You know that I miss nothing there. They are my favourite covert for putting up a bird, and I would never have overlooked such a cock pheasant as that. I never knew a Dr. Lysander Starr, of Topeka. Touch him where you would he was false. I think the fellow is really an American, but he has worn his accent smooth with years of London. What is his game, then, and what motive lies behind this preposterous search for Garridebs? It's worth our attention, for, granting that the man is a rascal, he is certainly a complex and ingenious one. We must now find out if our other correspondent is a fraud also. Just ring him up, Watson.”

I did so, and heard a thin, quavering voice at the other end of the line.

“Yes, yes, I am Mr. Nathan Garrideb. Is Mr. Holmes there? I should very much like to have a word with Mr. Holmes.”

My friend took the instrument and I heard the usual syncopated dialogue.

“Yes, he has been here. I understand that you don't know him. … How long? … Only two days! … Yes, yes, of course, it is a most captivating prospect. Will you be at home this evening? I suppose your namesake will not be there? … Very good, we will come then, for I would rather have a chat without him. … Dr. Watson will come with me. … I understand from your note that you did not go out often. … Well, we shall be round about six. You need not mention it to the American lawyer. … Very good. Good-bye!”

It was twilight of a lovely spring evening, and even Little Ryder Street, one of the smaller offshoots from the Edgware Road, within a stone-cast of old Tyburn Tree of evil memory, looked golden and wonderful in the slanting rays of the setting sun. The particular house to which we were directed was a large, old-fashioned, Early Georgian edifice, with a flat brick face broken only by two deep bay windows on the ground floor. It was on this ground floor that our client lived, and, indeed, the low windows proved to be the front of the huge room in which he spent his waking hours. Holmes pointed as we passed to the small brass plate which bore the curious name.

“Up some years, Watson,” he remarked, indicating its discoloured surface. “It's his real name, anyhow, and that is something to note.”

The house had a common stair, and there were a number of names painted in the hall, some indicating offices and some private chambers. It was not a collection of residential flats, but rather the abode of Bohemian bachelors. Our client opened the door for us himself and apologized by saying that the woman in charge left at four o'clock. Mr. Nathan Garrideb proved to be a very tall, loose-jointed, round-backed person, gaunt and bald, some sixty-odd years of age. He had a cadaverous face, with the dull dead skin of a man to whom exercise was unknown. Large round spectacles and a small projecting goat's beard combined with his stooping attitude to give him an expression of peering curiosity. The general effect, however, was amiable, though eccentric.

The room was as curious as its occupant. It looked like a small museum. It was both broad and deep, with cupboards and cabinets all round, crowded with specimens, geological and anatomical. Cases of butterflies and moths flanked each side of the entrance. A large table in the centre was littered with all sorts of debris, while the tall brass tube of a powerful microscope bristled up among them. As I glanced round I was surprised at the universality of the man's interests. Here was a case of ancient coins. There was a cabinet of flint instruments. Behind his central table was a large cupboard of fossil bones. Above was a line of plaster skulls with such names as “Neanderthal,” “Heidelberg,” “Cro-Magnon” printed beneath them. It was clear that he was a student of many subjects. As he stood in front of us now, he held a piece of chamois leather in his right hand with which he was polishing a coin.

“Syracusan—of the best period,” he explained, holding it up. “They degenerated greatly towards the end. At their best I hold them supreme, though some prefer the Alexandrian school. You will find a chair here, Mr. Holmes. Pray allow me to clear these bones. And you, sir—ah, yes, Dr. Watson—if you would have the goodness to put the Japanese vase to one side. You see round me my little interests in life. My doctor lectures me about never going out, but why should I go out when I have so much to hold me here? I can assure you that the adequate cataloguing of one of those cabinets would take me three good months.”

Holmes looked round him with curiosity.

“But do you tell me that you never go out?” he said.

“Now and again I drive down to Sotheby's or Christie's. Otherwise I very seldom leave my room. I am not too strong, and my researches are very absorbing. But you can imagine, Mr. Holmes, what a terrific shock—pleasant but terrific—it was for me when I heard of this unparalleled good fortune. It only needs one more Garrideb to complete the matter, and surely we can find one. I had a brother, but he is dead, and female relatives are disqualified. But there must surely be others in the world. I had heard that you handled strange cases, and that was why I sent to you. Of course, this American gentleman is quite right, and I should have taken his advice first, but I acted for the best.”

“I think you acted very wisely indeed,” said Holmes. “But are you really anxious to acquire an estate in America?”

“Certainly not, sir. Nothing would induce me to leave my collection. But this gentleman has assured me that he will buy me out as soon as we have established our claim. Five million dollars was the sum named. There are a dozen specimens in the market at the present moment which fill gaps in my collection, and which I am unable to purchase for want of a few hundred pounds. Just think what I could do with five million dollars. Why, I have the nucleus of a national collection. I shall be the Hans Sloane of my age.”

His eyes gleamed behind his great spectacles. It was very clear that no pains would be spared by Mr. Nathan Garrideb in finding a namesake.

“I merely called to make your acquaintance, and there is no reason why I should interrupt your studies,” said Holmes. “I prefer to establish personal touch with those with whom I do business. There are few questions I need ask, for I have your very clear narrative in my pocket, and I filled up the blanks when this American gentleman called. I understand that up to this week you were unaware of his existence.”

“That is so. He called last Tuesday.”

“Did he tell you of our interview to-day?”

“Yes, he came straight back to me. He had been very angry.”

“Why should he be angry?”

“He seemed to think it was some reflection on his honour. But he was quite cheerful again when he returned.”

“Did he suggest any course of action?”

“No, sir, he did not.”

“Has he had, or asked for, any money from you?”

“No, sir, never!”

“You see no possible object he has in view?”

“None, except what he states.”

“Did you tell him of our telephone appointment?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

Holmes was lost in thought. I could see that he was puzzled.

“Have you any articles of great value in your collection?”

“No, sir. I am not a rich man. It is a good collection, but not a very valuable one.”

“You have no fear of burglars?”

“Not the least.”

“How long have you been in these rooms?”

“Nearly five years.”

Holmes's cross-examination was interrupted by an imperative knocking at the door. No sooner had our client unlatched it than the American lawyer burst excitedly into the room.

“Here you are!” he cried, waving a paper over his head. “I thought I should be in time to get you. Mr. Nathan Garrideb, my congratulations! You are a rich man, sir. Our business is happily finished and all is well. As to you, Mr. Holmes, we can only say we are sorry if we have given you any useless trouble.”

He handed over the paper to our client, who stood staring at a marked advertisement. Holmes and I leaned forward and read it over his shoulder. This is how it ran:

Howard Garrideb

Constructor of Agricultural Machinery

Binders, reapers, steam and hand plows, drills, harrows, farmers' carts, buckboards, and all other appliances.

Estimates for Artesian Wells

Apply Grosvenor Buildings, Aston

“Glorious!” gasped our host. “That makes our third man.”

“I had opened up inquiries in Birmingham,” said the American, “and my agent there has sent me this advertisement from a local paper. We must hustle and put the thing through. I have written to this man and told him that you will see him in his office to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock.”

“You want me to see him?”

“What do you say, Mr. Holmes? Don't you think it would be wiser? Here am I, a wandering American with a wonderful tale. Why should he believe what I tell him? But you are a Britisher with solid references, and he is bound to take notice of what you say. I would go with you if you wished, but I have a very busy day to-morrow, and I could always follow you if you are in any trouble.”

“Well, I have not made such a journey for years.”

“It is nothing, Mr. Garrideb. I have figured out our connections. You leave at twelve and should be there soon after two. Then you can be back the same night. All you have to do is to see this man, explain the matter, and get an affidavit of his existence. By the Lord!” he added hotly, “considering I've come all the way from the centre of America, it is surely little enough if you go a hundred miles in order to put this matter through.”

“Quite so,” said Holmes. “I think what this gentleman says is very true.”

Mr. Nathan Garrideb shrugged his shoulders with a disconsolate air. “Well, if you insist I shall go,” said he. “It is certainly hard for me to refuse you anything, considering the glory of hope that you have brought into my life.”

“Then that is agreed,” said Holmes, “and no doubt you will let me have a report as soon as you can.”

“I'll see to that,” said the American. “Well,” he added, looking at his watch, “I'll have to get on. I'll call to-morrow, Mr. Nathan, and see you off to Birmingham. Coming my way, Mr. Holmes? Well, then, good-bye, and we may have good news for you to-morrow night.”

I noticed that my friend's face cleared when the American left the room, and the look of thoughtful perplexity had vanished.

“I wish I could look over your collection, Mr. Garrideb,” said he. “In my profession all sorts of odd knowledge comes useful, and this room of yours is a storehouse of it.”

Our client shone with pleasure and his eyes gleamed from behind his big glasses.

“I had always heard, sir, that you were a very intelligent man,” said he. “I could take you round now if you have the time.”

“Unfortunately, I have not. But these specimens are so well labelled and classified that they hardly need your personal explanation. If I should be able to look in to-morrow, I presume that there would be no objection to my glancing over them?”

“None at all. You are most welcome. The place will, of course, be shut up, but Mrs. Saunders is in the basement up to four o'clock and would let you in with her key.”

Well, I happen to be clear to-morrow afternoon. If you would say a word to Mrs. Saunders it would be quite in order. By the way, who is your house-agent?”

Our client was amazed at the sudden question.

“Holloway and Steele, in the Edgware Road. But why?”

“I am a bit of an archaeologist myself when it comes to houses,” said Holmes, laughing. “I was wondering if this was Queen Anne or Georgian.”

“Georgian, beyond doubt.”

“Really. I should have thought a little earlier. However, it is easily ascertained. Well, good-bye, Mr. Garrideb, and may you have every success in your Birmingham journey.”

The house-agent's was close by, but we found that it was closed for the day, so we made our way back to Baker Street. It was not till after dinner that Holmes reverted to the subject.

“Our little problem draws to a close,” said he. “No doubt you have outlined the solution in your own mind.”

“I can make neither head nor tail of it.”

“The head is surely clear enough and the tail we should see to-morrow. Did you notice nothing curious about that advertisement?”

“I saw that the word ‘plough’ was misspelt.”

“Oh, you did notice that, did you? Come, Watson, you improve all the time. Yes, it was bad English but good American. The printer had set it up as received. Then the buckboards. That is American also. And artesian wells are commoner with them than with us. It was a typical American advertisement, but purporting to be from an English firm. What do you make of that?”

“I can only suppose that this American lawyer put it in himself. What his object was I fail to understand.”

“Well, there are alternative explanations. Anyhow, he wanted to get this good old fossil up to Birmingham. That is very clear. I might have told him that he was clearly going on a wild-goose chase, but, on second thoughts, it seemed better to clear the stage by letting him go. To-morrow, Watson—well, to-morrow will speak for itself.”

Holmes was up and out early. When he returned at lunchtime I noticed that his face was very grave.

“This is a more serious matter than I had expected, Watson,” said he. “It is fair to tell you so, though I know it will only be an additional reason to you for running your head into danger. I should know my Watson by now. But there is danger, and you should know it.”

“Well, it is not the first we have shared, Holmes. I hope it may not be the last. What is the particular danger this time?”

“We are up against a very hard case. I have identified Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law. He is none other than ‘Killer’ Evans, of sinister and murderous reputation.”

“I fear I am none the wiser.”

“Ah, it is not part of your profession to carry about a portable Newgate Calendar in your memory. I have been down to see friend Lestrade at the Yard. There may be an occasional want of imaginative intuition down there, but they lead the world for thoroughness and method. I had an idea that we might get on the track of our American friend in their records. Sure enough, I found his chubby face smiling up at me from the rogues' portrait gallery. ‘James Winter, alias Morecroft, alias Killer Evans,’ was the inscription below.” Holmes drew an envelope from his pocket. “I scribbled down a few points from his dossier: Aged forty-four. Native of Chicago. Known to have shot three men in the States. Escaped from penitentiary through political influence. Came to London in 1893. Shot a man over cards in a night-club in the Waterloo Road in January, 1895. Man died, but he was shown to have been the aggressor in the row. Dead man was identified as Rodger Prescott, famous as forger and coiner in Chicago. Killer Evans released in 1901. Has been under police supervision since, but so far as known has led an honest life. Very dangerous man, usually carries arms and is prepared to use them. That is our bird, Watson—a sporting bird, as you must admit.”

“But what is his game?”

“Well, it begins to define itself. I have been to the house-agent's. Our client, as he told us, has been there five years. It was unlet for a year before then. The previous tenant was a gentleman at large named Waldron. Waldron's appearance was well remembered at the office. He had suddenly vanished and nothing more been heard of him. He was a tall, bearded man with very dark features. Now, Prescott, the man whom Killer Evans had shot, was, according to Scotland Yard, a tall, dark man with a beard. As a working hypothesis, I think we may take it that Prescott, the American criminal, used to live in the very room which our innocent friend now devotes to his museum. So at last we get a link, you see.”

“And the next link?”

“Well, we must go now and look for that.”

He took a revolver from the drawer and handed it to me.

“I have my old favourite with me. If our Wild West friend tries to live up to his nickname, we must be ready for him. I'll give you an hour for a siesta, Watson, and then I think it will be time for our Ryder Street adventure.”

It was just four o'clock when we reached the curious apartment of Nathan Garrideb. Mrs. Saunders, the caretaker, was about to leave, but she had no hesitation in admitting us, for the door shut with a spring lock, and Holmes promised to see that all was safe before we left. Shortly afterwards the outer door closed, her bonnet passed the bow window, and we knew that we were alone in the lower floor of the house. Holmes made a rapid examination of the premises. There was one cupboard in a dark corner which stood out a little from the wall. It was behind this that we eventually crouched while Holmes in a whisper outlined his intentions.

“He wanted to get our amiable friend out of his room—that is very clear, and, as the collector never went out, it took some planning to do it. The whole of this Garrideb invention was apparently for no other end. I must say, Watson, that there is a certain devilish ingenuity about it, even if the queer name of the tenant did give him an opening which he could hardly have expected. He wove his plot with remarkable cunning.”

“But what did he want?”

“Well, that is what we are here to find out. It has nothing whatever to do with our client, so far as I can read the situation. It is something connected with the man he murdered—the man who may have been his confederate in crime. There is some guilty secret in the room. That is how I read it. At first I thought our friend might have something in his collection more valuable than he knew—something worth the attention of a big criminal. But the fact that Rodger Prescott of evil memory inhabited these rooms points to some deeper reason. Well, Watson, we can but possess our souls in patience and see what the hour may bring.”

That hour was not long in striking. We crouched closer in the shadow as we heard the outer door open and shut. Then came the sharp, metallic snap of a key, and the American was in the room. He closed the door softly behind him, took a sharp glance around him to see that all was safe, threw off his overcoat, and walked up to the central table with the brisk manner of one who knows exactly what he has to do and how to do it. He pushed the table to one side, tore up the square of carpet on which it rested, rolled it completely back, and then, drawing a jemmy from his inside pocket, he knelt down and worked vigorously upon the floor. Presently we heard the sound of sliding boards, and an instant later a square had opened in the planks. Killer Evans struck a match, lit a stump of candle, and vanished from our view.

Clearly our moment had come. Holmes touched my wrist as a signal, and together we stole across to the open trap-door. Gently as we moved, however, the old floor must have creaked under our feet, for the head of our American, peering anxiously round, emerged suddenly from the open space. His face turned upon us with a glare of baffled rage, which gradually softened into a rather shamefaced grin as he realized that two pistols were pointed at his head.

“Well, well!” said he coolly as he scrambled to the surface. “I guess you have been one too many for me, Mr. Holmes. Saw through my game, I suppose, and played me for a sucker from the first. Well, sir, I hand it to you; you have me beat and—”

In an instant he had whisked out a revolver from his breast and had fired two shots. I felt a sudden hot sear as if a red-hot iron had been pressed to my thigh. There was a crash as Holmes's pistol came down on the man's head. I had a vision of him sprawling upon the floor with blood running down his face while Holmes rummaged him for weapons. Then my friend's wiry arms were round me, and he was leading me to a chair.

“You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are not hurt!”

It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.

“It's nothing, Holmes. It's a mere scratch.”

He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket-knife.

“You are right,” he cried with an immense sigh of relief. “It is quite superficial.” His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. “By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive. Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?”

He had nothing to say for himself. He only sat and scowled. I leaned on Holmes's arm, and together we looked down into the small cellar which had been disclosed by the secret flap. It was still illuminated by the candle which Evans had taken down with him. Our eyes fell upon a mass of rusted machinery, great rolls of paper, a litter of bottles, and, neatly arranged upon a small table, a number of neat little bundles.

“A printing press—a counterfeiter's outfit,” said Holmes.

“Yes, sir,” said our prisoner, staggering slowly to his feet and then sinking into the chair. “The greatest counterfeiter London ever saw. That's Prescott's machine, and those bundles on the table are two thousand of Prescott's notes worth a hundred each and fit to pass anywhere. Help yourselves, gentlemen. Call it a deal and let me beat it.”

Holmes laughed.

“We don't do things like that, Mr. Evans. There is no bolt-hole for you in this country. You shot this man Prescott, did you not?”

“Yes, sir, and got five years for it, though it was he who pulled on me. Five years—when I should have had a medal the size of a soup plate. No living man could tell a Prescott from a Bank of England, and if I hadn't put him out he would have flooded London with them. I was the only one in the world who knew where he made them. Can you wonder that I wanted to get to the place? And can you wonder that when I found this crazy boob of a bug-hunter with the queer name squatting right on the top of it, and never quitting his room, I had to do the best I could to shift him? Maybe I would have been wiser if I had put him away. It would have been easy enough, but I'm a soft-hearted guy that can't begin shooting unless the other man has a gun also. But say, Mr. Holmes, what have I done wrong, anyhow? I've not used this plant. I've not hurt this old stiff. Where do you get me?”

“Only attempted murder, so far as I can see,” said Holmes. “But that's not our job. They take that at the next stage. What we wanted at present was just your sweet self. Please give the Yard a call, Watson. It won't be entirely unexpected.”

So those were the facts about Killer Evans and his remarkable invention of the three Garridebs. We heard later that our poor old friend never got over the shock of his dissipated dreams. When his castle in the air fell down, it buried him beneath the ruins. He was last heard of at a nursing-home in Brixton. It was a glad day at the Yard when the Prescott outfit was discovered, for, though they knew that it existed, they had never been able, after the death of the man, to find out where it was. Evans had indeed done great service and caused several worthy C. I. D. men to sleep the sounder, for the counterfeiter stands in a class by himself as a public danger. They would willingly have subscribed to that soup-plate medal of which the criminal had spoken, but an unappreciative bench took a less favourable view, and the Killer returned to those shades from which he had just emerged.

三个同姓人

这个故事也许是喜剧，也许是悲剧。它使一个人一精一神失了常，使我负了伤，使另一个人受到了法律的制裁。但这里面还是有喜剧的味道。好吧，让读者自己判断吧。

这个日期我记得很清楚，因为那是在福尔摩斯拒绝了爵士封号的同一个月里发生的事，他要被封爵是因为立了功，这功劳将来也许有一天我还要写出来。我只是顺便提及封爵的事，因为做为合作者我应该谨慎从事，避免一切冒失的行为。然而这件事却使我记牢了上述的日期，那是一九○二年六月底，就在南非战争结束后不久。福尔摩斯在一床一上一连躺了几天，这正是他不时表现出的行为，但有一天早晨他却从一床一上起来了，手里提着一份大页书写纸的文件，严峻的灰眼睛里闪着讽刺的笑意。

“华生老兄，现在有一个使你发财的好机会，"他说道。“你听说过加里德布这个姓吗？”

我承认没有听说过。

“要是你能抓住一个加里德布，就能赚一笔钱。”

“为什么？”

“那就说来话长了——而且有点异想天开。我认为在咱们所研究过的复杂的人类问题里头，还没有过这么新鲜的事儿呢。这个家伙马上就要来接受咱们的提问了，所以在他到来之前我暂且不多谈，但这个姓氏是咱们需要查一查的。”

电话簿就在我旁边的桌子上。我不抱希望地打开簿子翻阅着。但使我感到诧异的是在应该排列它的位置上还真有这个奇怪的姓氏。我得意地喊了一声。

“在这儿！埃尔摩斯，就在这儿！”

他把簿子接过去。

“Ｎ-加里德布，"他念道，"西区小赖德街！”３６号。抱歉，华生，这可能使你失望，这是写信者本人。咱们需要再找一个加里德布来配他。”

正说着，赫德森太太拿着托盘走了进来，上面有一个名片。我把片子接过来看了一眼。

“有了，在这儿！"我惊奇地喊道，“这是一个不同名字的开头字母。约翰-加里德布，律师，美国堪萨斯州穆尔维尔。”

福尔摩斯一看名片就笑了。“我看你还得再找一个出来才行，华生，"他说道，“这位也是计划之内的，不过我倒没想到他今天早上会来。但不管怎么说，他能告诉咱们许多我需要知道的东西。”

不大会儿，他就进来了。律师约翰-加里德布先生是一个身材不高、强壮有力的人，一张圆圆的、气色很好的、修面整洁的脸，就象许多美国事务家所具有的特征那样。他总的形象是丰满和相当孩子气的，他给人的印象是一个笑容可掬的青年。他的眼睛是引人注目的，我很少见到过一双如此反映内心生活的眼睛，那么亮，那么机警，那么迅速地反映出每一点思想变化。他的口音是美国腔调，但并不怪。

“哪位是福尔摩斯先生？"他在我们俩之间来回打量着。“不错，你的像片是很象你的，福尔摩斯先生，恕我冒昧。据我所知，我的同姓者给你写了一封信，对吗？”

“请坐下谈，"福尔摩斯说。"我觉得跟你有不少可讨论的问题。"他拿起那叠书写纸。“你就是这份文件中提到的约翰-加里德布先生喽。但你到英国已有相当长时间了吧？”

“你这是什么意思，福尔摩斯先生？”

我似乎在他那富于表情的眼中看到了突然的狐疑。

“你的服装全是英国的。”

加里德布勉强一笑。"我在书上读到过你的技巧，福尔摩斯先生，但我没料到我会成为研究的对象。你怎么看出来的？”

“你上衣的肩式，你靴子的足尖部——谁能看不出呢？”

“噢，我倒没想到我是这么明显的英国人模样。我是好些日子以前因事务来到英国的，所以，正如你说的，装束几乎都伦敦化了。不过，我想你的时间是宝贵的吧，我们见面也不是来谈袜子式样的。谈谈你手里拿着的文件好吗？”

福尔摩斯在某方面触怒了来访者，他那孩子气的脸孔变得远没有那么随和了。

“不要着急，加里德布先生！"我的朋友安慰他说，“华生医生可以告诉你，我的这些小插曲有时候是很解决问题的。不过，内森-加里德布先生怎么没同你一起来呢？”

“我就是不明白他把你拉进来干什么！"客人突然发起火来，“这事儿与你什么相干？本来是两个绅士之间的一点事务，而其中一个人突然找来一个侦探！今早我见到他，他告诉我干了这件蠢事，所以我才来这儿了。我觉得真倒霉！”

“这对你并不算丢脸的事，加里德布先生。这纯粹是他过于热心地想要达到你的目的——照我理解，这个目的对你们两人同样关系重大。他知道我有获得情报的办法，因此，他很自然地找到了我。”

客人脸上的怒气这才渐渐消了。

“既然这样，倒也没什么关系，"他说，“今早我一见他，他就告诉我找了侦探，我立即要了你的住址赶来。我用不着警察乱插手私人事务。但是如果你只是帮我们找出这个需要的人，那倒没有什么坏处。”

“正是这么回事，"福尔摩斯说，“先生，既然你来了，我们最好听你亲口谈谈情况。我的这位朋友对详情还不知道。”

加里德布先生以一种并不十分友好的眼光把我上下打量了一番。

“他有必要了解吗？"他问道。

“我们经常合作。”

“好吧，也没有什么必要保守秘密。我尽量简短地把基本事实告诉你。如果你是堪萨斯人，不用说你也会晓得亚历山大-汉密尔顿-加里德布是什么人。他是真正靠庄园起家的，后来又在芝加哥搞小麦仓库发了财，但他把钱都买成了大片土地，在道奇堡以西的堪萨斯河流域，足有你们一个县那么大片儿的土地，牧场、森林、耕地、矿区，无所不包，这些都是给他赚钱的地产。

“他没有亲属后代——至少我没有听说过有。但他对自己的稀有姓氏十分自豪。这就是使他和我相识的缘故。我在托皮卡搞法律方面的业务，有一天这个老头突然找上门来。由于又认识了一个姓加里德布的人，他乐得合不上嘴。他有一种怪癖，他想要认真地找一找，世界上还有没有别的加里德布了。'再给我找一个姓加里德布的！'他说。我对他讲，我是一个忙人，没有工夫整天到处乱跑去找加里德布们。'不管怎么说，'他说道，‘要是情况按我的布置发展，你不想找也得去找。'我当他是开玩笑，谁知不久以后我就发现，他的话是非常有分量的。

“因为他说这话还不到一年就死了，留下一个遗嘱。这真是堪萨斯州有史以来最古怪的一张遗嘱了。他要求把财产平分三份，我可以得其中一份，条件是我再找到两个姓加里德布的人分享那两份遗产。每份遗产是不多不少五百万美元，但非得有我们三个人一起来，否则分文不得动用。

“这是个重大的机会，我干脆就把法律业务放在一边，出发去找加里德布们。在美国一个也没有。我走遍了美国，先生，用细梳子把美国刮了一遍，但一个加里德布也没抓到。后来我就来到旧日的祖国碰运气。在伦敦电话簿上真的就有他的姓氏。两天之前我找到他，向他说明了情况。但他也是孤独一人，跟我一样，有几个女亲属，却没有男子。遗嘱里规定是三个成年男子。所以，你看，还缺一个人，要是你能帮我们再找出一个来，我们立刻给你报酬。”

“你瞧，华生，"福尔摩斯含笑说，“我说什么来着，不是有点一胡一思乱想吗？不过，先生，我觉得最简单的办法是在报纸上登启事。”

“我早登过了，没有人应征。”

“哎呀！这可真是一个古怪的小问题呀。好吧，我在业余时间可以留心一下。对了，你是托皮卡人倒也凑巧，我以前有一个通讯朋友，就是已故的莱桑德-斯塔尔博士，他在一八九○年是托皮卡市长。”

“老斯塔尔博士么！"客人说道，“他的名字至今受人敬重。好吧，福尔摩斯先生，我看我们所能做的就是向你报告事情的进展情况。一两天内你听我的信儿吧。"说完，这位美国人鞠了一躬就走了。

福尔摩斯已经点燃烟斗，他脸上含一着古怪的笑容坐了半天。

“你看怎么样？"我终于问他了。

“我感到奇怪，华生，我很奇怪！”

“奇怪什么？”

“我一直在奇怪，这个人跟咱们讲了这么一大堆谎话到底是什么目的。我差点脱口这样直接问他——因为有时候单刀直入最有效——但我还是采取了另一策略，让他自以为骗过了咱们。一个人跑来，身着穿了一年以上的磨了边儿的英国上衣和弯了膝的英国裤子，而在信上和他本人口述都说自己是一个刚到英国的美国外省人。寻人栏根本没登过他的启事，你知道我是从不放过那上面的任何东西的。那个地方是我喜欢的惊弓之鸟的隐蔽所，难道我连这样的一只野鸡都忽略了吗？我从来不知道托皮卡有个什么斯塔尔博士。到处都是破绽。我看他倒真是个美国人，只不过在伦敦多年未改变口音而已。那么他搞的到底是什么名堂，假装找加里德布的动机是什么呢？这是值得咱们注意的，因为，如果他是恶棍，那也是一个心理复杂、诡计多端的家伙。现在咱们需要搞清楚，另一位也是假的吗？给他挂个电话，华生。”

我挂了电话，听到电话另一端一个细弱发一颤的声音说道：

“不错，不错，我是内森-加里德布先生。福尔摩斯先生在吗？我很希望跟他谈一谈。”

我的朋友把电话接过去，而我象往常那样听着他那断断续续的对话。

“是的，他来过。我知道你不认识他……多久了？……才两天哪！……当然，这是非常吸引人的一件事。你今晚在家吗？你的同姓人今晚不会在你家吧？……那我们就来，我希望不当着他的面谈一谈。……华生医生跟我一起来……听说你是深居简出的……好，我们六点左右到你家。不用对美国律师讲……好，再见。”

这是一个可一爱一的暮春的黄昏，连狭小的赖德街在晚霞斜照之中也呈现出金黄动人的色泽。这条街只是艾奇沃路的一个小分支，离开那个在我们记忆中不祥的泰伯恩地方只有一箭之遥。我们走访的这座房子是旧式宽敞的早期乔治朝建筑，正面是青砖墙，只在一层楼有两座凸窗。我们的主顾就住在一层，这两个窗子就在他日间活动的那间大屋的正面。福尔摩斯指了指刻有那个怪姓氏的小铜牌。

“这牌子钉上有些年了，"他指点着褪了色的牌面说道。“至少这是他的真姓氏，这是值得注意的一点。”

这座房子有一个公用的楼梯，门厅内标着一些住户的姓名，有的是办公室，有的是私人住室。这不是一座成套的居民楼，而是生活不规律的单身汉的居住之处。我们的主顾亲自出来开门，他道歉说女工役四点下班走了。内森-加里德布先生是一个身材颇高、肌肉松一弛、肩背微弯的人，瘦削而秃顶，有六十出头的年纪。他脸色苍白如一尸一，皮肤暗无血色，正如一个从来没有运动过的人那样。大圆眼镜，山羊一胡一子，加上他那微弯的肩背，显出一种窥视的好奇表情。但总的印象是和蔼的，虽说有点怪癖。

屋子也是同样的古怪，象个小博物馆。房间又深又广，四周摆满了各式柜橱，其中堆满了地质学和解剖学的标本。屋门两边排着装蝴蝶和蛾子的箱匣。屋子中间一张大桌上都是七零八碎的各种物件，一台铜制大型显微镜高高地立在中央。环顾四周，我被这个人的兴趣之广泛给惊住了。这儿是一箱古钱币。那儿是一橱古石器。房子中间的那张桌子后边是一大架的古化石，上边陈列着一排石膏头骨，刻有"尼安德特人"、“海德堡人"、“克罗玛宁人"等字样。这个人显然是多种学科的一爱一好者。这时他站在我们面前，手里拿着一块小羊起正在擦一枚古钱。

“锡拉丘兹古币——属于最盛时期的，"他举起古钱解释道。“晚期大为退化了。我认为它们是其全盛时期的最佳古币，虽然有些人更推崇亚历山大钱。这儿有一把椅子，福尔摩斯先生。请允许我把骨头挪开。这位先生——对，华生医生——请你把那个日本花瓶挪开。你们瞧，这都是我的小嗜好。我的医生总是说我不出去活动，但既然这里有这么多东西吸引着我，我为什么要出去呢？我敢说，把一个柜橱的内容给搞上一个象样儿的目录也要花我整整三个月时间。”

福尔摩斯好奇地东张西望着。

“你告诉我你从来都不出去的吧？"他问道。

“有时候我乘车到撒斯比商店或克利斯蒂商店去。除此以外我极少出门。我身一体不太好，而我的研究又非常占时间。但是福尔摩斯先生，你可以想象，当我听说了这个无比的好运气的时候，这对我是多么惊人——令人兴奋但是骇人听闻——的意外啊。只要再有一个加里德布就行了，我们肯定能找到一个的。我有过一个兄弟，但已去世，而女一性一亲属不符条件。但是世界上总会有其他姓加里德布的人。我听说你专门处理奇异案件，所以把你请来了。当然那位美国先生说得也对，我应事先征求他的意见，其实我是好意。”

“我认为你这样做是极其明智的，"福尔摩斯说。“不过，难道你真的想继承美国庄园吗？”

“当然不。任何东西也不能使我离开我的收藏。但是那位美国先生担保说，一等事情办成他就买下我的地产。五百万美元是他出的价钱。目前市场上有十多种在我的收藏中所缺的标本，但我手头没有这几百镑就买不了。你想想我要是有了几百万美元该有多大潜力呀。老实讲，我有一个国家博物馆的基础，我可以成为当代的汉斯-斯隆。”

他的眼睛在大眼镜后面闪闪发亮了。看来他会不顾一切地去找同姓人的。

“我们来访只是见见面，没有必要打扰你的研究，"福尔摩斯说。"我一习一惯于和业务主顾直接接触。我没有多少问题要问你了，因为你把情况清楚地写在我口袋里这封信上了，那位美国先生的来访又补充了情况。据我了解，在本星期之前你根本不知道有这么一个人。”

“是这样。他是上星期二来找我的。”

“他把会见我的情况告诉你了吗？”

“是的，他立刻回到我这里，他本来很生气。”

“为什么生气？”

“他似乎认为那是有损他的人格。但他从你那儿回来以后又满高兴了。”

“他提出什么行动计划了吗？”

“没有。”

“他向你要过或得到过金钱吗？”

“没有，从来没有！”

“你看不出他可能有什么目的吗？”

“没有，除了他说的那件事。”

“你告诉他我们的电话约会了吗？”

“我告诉他了。”

福尔摩斯深思起来。我看得出他的困惑。

“你的收藏里有特别值钱的东西吗？”

“没有。我不是一个有钱的人。虽是很好的收藏品，但不值钱。”

“你不怕失盗吗？”

“一点不怕。”

“你住这屋子有多久了？”

“快五年了。”

福尔摩斯的问话被很响的敲门声打断了。主人刚一拉开门闩，美国人就兴奋地蹦了进来。

“来了！"他摇着一张报纸大声叫道。"我想我该及时来找你。内森-加里德布先生，祝贺你！你发财了，先生。咱们的事务圆满结束了，一切顺利。至于福尔摩斯先生，我们只能对你说，白麻烦你一趟，太对不起了。”

说着他把报纸递给主人。主人站在那里瞪大眼睛看报上的大字广告。福尔摩斯和我也伸着脖子从他身后看，上面登的是：

霍华德-加里德布农机制造商

经营捆扎机、收割机、蒸汽犁及手犁、播种机、松土机、农用大车、四轮弹簧座马车及各种设备，承包自流井工程

地址：阿斯顿，格罗斯一温一纳建筑区

“好极了！"主人激动地说。"这回三个人都齐了。”

“我曾在伯明翰展开过调查，"美国人说，“我的代理人把一份地方报纸上的这个广告寄给了我。咱们得赶紧行动起来把事办完。我已经给这个人写信告诉他你将于明天下午四点钟到他办公室洽谈。”

“你是想让我去看他？”

“你看怎么样，福尔摩斯先生？你不觉得这样安排更明智一点吗？我是一个旅行的美国人，我讲出一个动人的故事，人家凭什么相信我的话呢？而你是一个有着扎实社会关系的英国人，他不可能不重视你的话。如你愿意，我本可以同你一起去，但我明天却非常忙，你在那边要是发生什么困难，我会随时听从你的召唤的。”

“可是，我已多年没做这么远的旅行了。”

“这没有什么，加里德布先生，我已经替你算好了。你十二点动身，下午两点可以到达，当天晚上可以回来。你所需要做的只不过是见一见这个人，说明情况，搞一张法律宣誓书来证明有他这么一个人。我的天！"他十分激动地说，“我是不远千里从美国中部来这里的，你走这么一点路去把事办完算得了什么呢！”

“不错，"福尔摩斯说，“这位先生说的很对。”

内森-加里德布先生无可奈何地耸耸肩说，“好吧，要是你一定要我去我就去。既然你给我的生活带来这么巨大的希望，我实在很难拒绝你的要求。”

“那就一言为定了，"福尔摩斯说，“请你尽快把情况报告我。”

“我一定报告给你，”美国人说，“哎呀，我得走了。内森先生，我明天上午来，送你上伯明翰的火车。福尔摩斯先生，你和我同路走吗？那么，再见吧，明天晚上听我们的好消息吧。”

美国人走了，我注意到福尔摩斯脸上的困惑已消失，神色明朗了。

“加里德布先生，我想参观一下你的收藏品，"他说。“对我的职业来说，各种生气知识有一天都会有用处的，你的这间屋子真是这类知识的宝库。”

我们的主人非常高兴，大眼镜后面的两眼闪着光亮。

“我一向听说你是一个有才智的人，"他说，“如果你有时间，我现在就带你观看一遍。”

“不巧我现在没有时间。不过这些标本都有标签，也分了类，不用你亲自讲解也可以。如果我明天能一抽一出时间来，我想把它们看上一遍没什么妨碍吧？”

“毫无妨碍，非常欢迎。当然明天门是关了，但是四点以前桑德尔太太在地下室，她可以让你进来。”

“也好，我碰巧明天下午有时间，如果你能给桑德尔太太留个话，那就不成问题了。对了，你的房产经纪人是谁？”

主人对这个突然的问题起感奇怪。

“霍洛韦－斯蒂尔经纪商，在艾奇沃路。不过你为什么问这个？”

“关于房屋建筑我也有点考古学的嗜好，"福尔摩斯笑道，“我刚才在猜这座建筑是安妮女王朝的还是乔治朝的。”

“肯定是乔治朝的。”

“是的。但我觉得年代还要早一些。没关系，这是很容易问清楚的。好吧，再见吧，加里德布先生，祝你伯明翰之行成功。”

房产经纪商就在附近，但已下班，我们就回贝克街了。晚饭后福尔摩斯才又回到这个话题上来。

“咱们这个小问题结束了，"他说。"你自然已经在脑中形成解决方案喽。”

“我还摸不着头脑。”

“脑袋是很清楚了，尾巴得等明天再看。你没有注意到广告的特别吗？”

“我注意到'犁'这个字的拼法错了。”

“你也看见啦？华生，你是有长进了。那个拼法在英国是错的，但在美国是对的。排字工人是照排的。还有'四轮弹簧马车'，那也是美国玩意儿。自流井在美国比在英国普遍得多。总之，这是一个典型的美国广告，却自称是英国公司。你看是什么缘故？”

“我的结论只能是：那个美国人自己登的广告。他的目的是什么我却不能理解。”

“那倒可以有不同的解释。不管怎么说，他首先是想把这位老古董弄到伯明翰去。这是没有疑问的。我本来想告诉老头儿不要白跑这一趟了，但仔细一想还是让他去，腾出地方来好。明天，华生，明天便见分晓。”

福尔摩斯一大早就出去了。中午他回来时，我见他脸色相当一陰一沉。

“这个案子比我原先设想的要严重，华生，"他说道。“我应该对你实说，虽然我明知道告诉你以后你更是要去冒危险了。这么多年相处，我当然了解你的脾气了。但是必须告诉你，此行颇有危险。”

“这也不是我第一次与你共冒危险了，福尔摩斯。我希望这次不是最后一次。请告诉我，这次的具体危险是什么？”

“咱们遇到一个棘手的案子。我已经验明了约翰-加里德布律师先生的真正身分。他原来就是'杀人能手'伊万斯，颇有一陰一险凶恶的名声。”

“我还是不明白怎么回事。”

“当然，你的专业用不着整天去背诵新门监狱的大事记。我刚才去拜访了警察厅的雷斯垂德老伙计。那个地方尽避有时缺乏想象力，但是在严格的技术方面他们还是领先的。我想在他们的档案记录里可能会找到咱们这位美国朋友的线索。果然，我在罪犯照片馆发现了他那张天真的胖笑脸。'詹姆斯-一温一特，又名莫尔克罗夫特，外号杀人能手伊万斯'，这是照片上的姓名。"福尔摩斯从口袋里掏出一个信封又说：“我从他的档案里抄了一些要点：年龄四十四岁。原籍芝加哥。据悉在美国槍杀过三个人。通过有政治影响的人而逃出监狱。一八九三年抵伦敦。一八九五年一月在滑铁卢路的一家夜总会内因赌牌槍杀一人致死。伊万斯被证明是争吵中先动手者。死者验明为罗杰-普莱斯考特，原为芝加哥有名的伪币制造者。伊万斯于一九○一年获释，自那时期一直受警方监视，但无越轨行为。危险人物，常携武器并易于动武。你瞧，华生，这就是咱们的对手——一个活跃的对手，这是无法否认的。”

“但他搞的是什么名堂呢？”

“正在明朗化。我刚才到房产经纪人那里去了。他们说，咱们这个主顾住在那里已经五年。在此之前那间房曾有一年未出租。再往前，房客是一个无职业的先生，叫沃尔德伦，他的容貌房产商还记得很清楚。他突然不见了，再也没有消息。他是一个高身材、蓄一胡一须、面色黧黑的人。而普莱斯考特，就是被伊万斯槍杀的那个人，据警察局讲也是一个高个子、有一胡一须、面色黧黑的人。可以这样设想，美国罪犯普莱斯考特原来就住在我们这位天真朋友目前当做博物馆的这间屋子里。你瞧，总算有了一点线索。”

“下一步呢？”

“我们这就去搞清楚它。”

他从一抽一屉里拿出一把手槍递给我。

“我身上带着我那把常用的旧槍。要是咱们这位西部朋友照他的绰号行动，咱们就得防备他。我给你一小时休息时间，然后咱们就往赖德街办事。”

我们到达内森-加里德布的古怪住处时，刚好四点钟。看屋人桑德尔太太刚要回家，但她立即让我们进去了，门上装的是弹簧锁，福尔摩斯答应走时把门锁好。接着，大门关上了，她戴着帽子从窗外走过去，我们知道这楼下就剩下我们俩人了。福尔摩斯迅速检查了现场。屋角有一个柜橱离开墙有一点空隙。我们就躲在背面，福尔摩斯小声讲出了他的意图。

“他是想把这位老实的朋友诱出屋去，但是由于他深居简出，所以颇费手脚。编出的这一整套加里德布谎言都是为了这个目的。我得承认，这里面是有一点鬼聪明的，尽避房客的怪姓氏确实给了他一个意想不到的开端。他编造的谎言是相当狡猾的。”

“但他要达到什么目的呢？”

“这就是咱们要寻求的。就我观察所及，反正与咱们的主顾无关。这事和他槍杀的那个人有关系，那人可能曾是他的同谋犯。总之这间屋里有什么罪恶的秘密。这是我的看法，起先我想咱们的主顾在他的收藏中可能有他未知的值钱东西。但是罪犯普莱斯考特住饼这间房，就不这么简单了。好吧，华生，咱们只有耐住一性一子静观变化。”

时间过得很快。当听见大门开阖的声响时，我们就在柜后躲得更深了一点。接着有金属钥匙声，美国人进来了。他轻轻关上门，警觉回顾，甩掉大衣，直奔中间的大桌子走去，行动准确迅速，很是胸有成竹。他把桌子推到一旁，扯起桌下的一方地毯，卷起来，然后从口袋里掏出一个小撬棍，猛撬地板。只听木板滑开声，立刻就在地板上出现了一个方洞。杀人能手伊万斯擦燃一根火柴，点亮了一个蜡烛头，就消失在地平面之下了。

我们的机会来了。福尔摩斯碰一下我的手腕，我们就一起蹑足潜往洞一口。尽避我们动作很轻，但我们脚下的老地板准是发出了响声，因为美国人的脑袋突然伸出洞一口来担心地张望着。他的脸含怒地转向我们，但却渐渐转为一种惭笑，因为他发现两支手槍指着他的脑袋。

“好，好，"他一面冷静地爬上来一面说，“你们比我多一个人啊，福尔摩斯先生。我想，一起头你就看穿了我的把戏的，把我当傻瓜耍了。好，我算服了，你赢了我——”

说时迟那时快，他一抽一出一支手槍就放了两槍。我觉得大一腿上一热，就象烧红的烙铁贴在肉上一样。接着只听咔嚓一响，福尔摩斯用手槍砸中他的脑袋，我见他脸上淌着血趴在地上，福尔摩斯搜去他身上的武器。然后我朋友的结实的胳臂伸过来搂住我，扶