The Greek Interpreter

Arthur Conan Doyle

During my long and intimate acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock Holmes I had never heard him refer to his relations, and hardly ever to his own early life. This reticence upon his part had increased the somewhat inhuman effect which he produced upon me, until sometimes I found myself regarding him as an isolated phenomenon, a brain without a heart, as deficient in human sympathy as he was pre-eminent in intelligence. His aversion to women and his disinclination to form new friendships were both typical of his unemotional character, but not more so than his complete suppression of every reference to his own people. I had come to believe that he was an orphan with no relatives living, but one day, to my very great surprise, he began to talk to me about his brother.

It was after tea on a summer evening, and the conversation, which had roamed in a desultory, spasmodic fashion from golf clubs to the causes of the change in the obliquity of the ecliptic, came round at last to the question of atavism and hereditary aptitudes. The point under discussion was, how far any singular gift in an individual was due to his ancestry and how far to his own early training.

“In your own case,” said I, “from all that you have told me, it seems obvious that your faculty of observation and your peculiar facility for deduction are due to your own systematic training.”

“To some extent,” he answered, thoughtfully. “My ancestors were country squires, who appear to have led much the same life as is natural to their class. But, none the less, my turn that way is in my veins, and may have come with my grandmother, who was the sister of Vernet, the French artist. Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.”

“But how do you know that it is hereditary?”

“Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do.”

This was news to me indeed. If there were another man with such singular powers in England, how was it that neither police nor public had heard of him? I put the question, with a hint that it was my companion's modesty which made him acknowledge his brother as his superior. Holmes laughed at my suggestion.

“My dear Watson,” said he, “I cannot agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues. To the logician all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to underestimate one's self is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one's own powers. When I say, therefore, that Mycroft has better powers of observation than I, you may take it that I am speaking the exact and literal truth.”

“Is he your junior?”

“Seven years my senior.”

“How comes it that he is unknown?”

“Oh, he is very well known in his own circle.”

“Where, then?”

“Well, in the Diogenes Club, for example.”

I had never heard of the institution, and my face must have proclaimed as much, for Sherlock Holmes pulled out his watch.

“The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroft one of the queerest men. He's always there from quarter to five to twenty to eight. It's six now, so if you care for a stroll this beautiful evening I shall be very happy to introduce you to two curiosities.”

Five minutes later we were in the street, walking towards Regent's Circus.

“You wonder,” said my companion, “why it is that Mycroft does not use his powers for detective work. He is incapable of it.”

“But I thought you said—”

“I said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. If the art of the detective began and ended in reasoning from an arm-chair, my brother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived. But he has no ambition and no energy. He will not even go out of his way to verify his own solution, and would rather be considered wrong than take the trouble to prove himself right. Again and again I have taken a problem to him, and have received an explanation which has afterwards proved to be the correct one. And yet he was absolutely incapable of working out the practical points which must be gone into before a case could be laid before a judge or jury.”

“It is not his profession, then?”

“By no means. What is to me a means of livelihood is to him the merest hobby of a dilettante. He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, and audits the books in some of the government departments. Mycroft lodges in Pall Mall, and he walks round the corner into Whitehall every morning and back every evening. From year's end to year's end he takes no other exercise, and is seen nowhere else, except only in the Diogenes Club, which is just opposite his rooms.”

“I cannot recall the name.”

“Very likely not. There are many men in London, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. Yet they are not averse to comfortable chairs and the latest periodicals. It is for the convenience of these that the Diogenes Club was started, and it now contains the most unsociable and unclubable men in town. No member is permitted to take the least notice of any other one. Save in the Stranger's Room, no talking is, under any circumstances, allowed, and three offences, if brought to the notice of the committee, render the talker liable to expulsion. My brother was one of the founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere.”

We had reached Pall Mall as we talked, and were walking down it from the St. James's end. Sherlock Holmes stopped at a door some little distance from the Carlton, and, cautioning me not to speak, he led the way into the hall. Through the glass paneling I caught a glimpse of a large and luxurious room, in which a considerable number of men were sitting about and reading papers, each in his own little nook. Holmes showed me into a small chamber which looked out into Pall Mall, and then, leaving me for a minute, he came back with a companion whom I knew could only be his brother.

Mycroft Holmes was a much larger and stouter man than Sherlock. His body was absolutely corpulent, but his face, though massive, had preserved something of the sharpness of expression which was so remarkable in that of his brother. His eyes, which were of a peculiarly light, watery gray, seemed to always retain that far-away, introspective look which I had only observed in Sherlock's when he was exerting his full powers.

“I am glad to meet you, sir,” said he, putting out a broad, fat hand like the flipper of a seal. “I hear of Sherlock everywhere since you became his chronicler. By the way, Sherlock, I expected to see you round last week, to consult me over that Manor House case. I thought you might be a little out of your depth.”

“No, I solved it,” said my friend, smiling.

“It was Adams, of course.”

“Yes, it was Adams.”

“I was sure of it from the first.” The two sat down together in the bow-window of the club. “To any one who wishes to study mankind this is the spot,” said Mycroft. “Look at the magnificent types! Look at these two men who are coming towards us, for example.”

“The billiard-marker and the other?”

“Precisely. What do you make of the other?”

The two men had stopped opposite the window. Some chalk marks over the waistcoat pocket were the only signs of billiards which I could see in one of them. The other was a very small, dark fellow, with his hat pushed back and several packages under his arm.

“An old soldier, I perceive,” said Sherlock.

“And very recently discharged,” remarked the brother.

“Served in India, I see.”

“And a non-commissioned officer.”

“Royal Artillery, I fancy,” said Sherlock.

“And a widower.”

“But with a child.”

“Children, my dear boy, children.”

“Come,” said I, laughing, “this is a little too much.”

“Surely,” answered Holmes, “it is not hard to say that a man with that bearing, expression of authority, and sunbaked skin, is a soldier, is more than a private, and is not long from India.”

“That he has not left the service long is shown by his still wearing his ‘ammunition boots’, as they are called,” observed Mycroft.

“He had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one side, as is shown by the lighter skin of that side of his brow. His weight is against his being a sapper. He is in the artillery.”

“Then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he has lost some one very dear. The fact that he is doing his own shopping looks as though it were his wife. He has been buying things for children, you perceive. There is a rattle, which shows that one of them is very young. The wife probably died in childbed. The fact that he has a picture-book under his arm shows that there is another child to be thought of.”

I began to understand what my friend meant when he said that his brother possessed even keener faculties that he did himself. He glanced across at me and smiled. Mycroft took snuff from a tortoise-shell box, and brushed away the wandering grains from his coat front with a large, red silk handkerchief.

“By the way, Sherlock,” said he, “I have had something quite after your own heart—a most singular problem—submitted to my judgment. I really had not the energy to follow it up save in a very incomplete fashion, but it gave me a basis for some pleasing speculation. If you would care to hear the facts—”

“My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted.”

The brother scribbled a note upon a leaf of his pocket-book, and, ringing the bell, he handed it to the waiter.

“I have asked Mr. Melas to step across,” said he. “He lodges on the floor above me, and I have some slight acquaintance with him, which led him to come to me in his perplexity. Mr. Melas is a Greek by extraction, as I understand, and he is a remarkable linguist. He earns his living partly as interpreter in the law courts and partly by acting as guide to any wealthy Orientals who may visit the Northumberland Avenue hotels. I think I will leave him to tell his very remarkable experience in his own fashion.”

A few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout man whose olive face and coal-black hair proclaimed his Southern origin, though his speech was that of an educated Englishman. He shook hands eagerly with Sherlock Holmes, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure when he understood that the specialist was anxious to hear his story.

“I do not believe that the police credit me—on my word, I do not,” said he in a wailing voice. “Just because they have never heard of it before, they think that such a thing cannot be. But I know that I shall never be easy in my mind until I know what has become of my poor man with the sticking-plaster upon his face.”

“I am all attention,” said Sherlock Holmes.

“This is Wednesday evening,” said Mr. Melas. “Well then, it was Monday night—only two days ago, you understand—that all this happened. I am an interpreter, as perhaps my neighbor there has told you. I interpret all languages—or nearly all—but as I am a Greek by birth and with a Grecian name, it is with that particular tongue that I am principally associated. For many years I have been the chief Greek interpreter in London, and my name is very well known in the hotels.

It happens not unfrequently that I am sent for at strange hours by foreigners who get into difficulties, or by travelers who arrive late and wish my services. I was not surprised, therefore, on Monday night when a Mr. Latimer, a very fashionably dressed young man, came up to my rooms and asked me to accompany him in a cab which was waiting at the door. A Greek friend had come to see him upon business, he said, and as he could speak nothing but his own tongue, the services of an interpreter were indispensable. He gave me to understand that his house was some little distance off, in Kensington, and he seemed to be in a great hurry, bustling me rapidly into the cab when we had descended to the street.

“I say into the cab, but I soon became doubtful as to whether it was not a carriage in which I found myself. It was certainly more roomy than the ordinary four-wheeled disgrace to London, and the fittings, though frayed, were of rich quality. Mr. Latimer seated himself opposite to me and we started off through Charing Cross and up the Shaftesbury Avenue. We had come out upon Oxford Street and I had ventured some remark as to this being a roundabout way to Kensington, when my words were arrested by the extraordinary conduct of my companion.

“He began by drawing a most formidable-looking bludgeon loaded with lead from his pocket, and switching it backward and forward several times, as if to test its weight and strength. Then he placed it without a word upon the seat beside him. Having done this, he drew up the windows on each side, and I found to my astonishment that they were covered with paper so as to prevent my seeing through them.

“‘I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. Melas,’ said he. ‘The fact is that I have no intention that you should see what the place is to which we are driving. It might possibly be inconvenient to me if you could find your way there again.’

“As you can imagine, I was utterly taken aback by such an address. My companion was a powerful, broad-shouldered young fellow, and, apart from the weapon, I should not have had the slightest chance in a struggle with him.

“‘This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. Latimer,’ I stammered. ‘You must be aware that what you are doing is quite illegal.’

“‘It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt,’ said he, ‘but we'll make it up to you. I must warn you, however, Mr. Melas, that if at any time to-night you attempt to raise an alarm or do anything which is against my interests, you will find it a very serious thing. I beg you to remember that no one knows where you are, and that, whether you are in this carriage or in my house, you are equally in my power.’

“His words were quiet, but he had a rasping way of saying them which was very menacing. I sat in silence wondering what on earth could be his reason for kidnapping me in this extraordinary fashion. Whatever it might be, it was perfectly clear that there was no possible use in my resisting, and that I could only wait to see what might befall.

“For nearly two hours we drove without my having the least clue as to where we were going. Sometimes the rattle of the stones told of a paved causeway, and at others our smooth, silent course suggested asphalt; but, save by this variation in sound, there was nothing at all which could in the remotest way help me to form a guess as to where we were. The paper over each window was impenetrable to light, and a blue curtain was drawn across the glass work in front. It was a quarter-past seven when we left Pall Mall, and my watch showed me that it was ten minutes to nine when we at last came to a standstill. My companion let down the window, and I caught a glimpse of a low, arched doorway with a lamp burning above it. As I was hurried from the carriage it swung open, and I found myself inside the house, with a vague impression of a lawn and trees on each side of me as I entered. Whether these were private grounds, however, or bona-fide country was more than I could possibly venture to say.

“There was a colored gas-lamp inside which was turned so low that I could see little save that the hall was of some size and hung with pictures. In the dim light I could make out that the person who had opened the door was a small, mean-looking, middle-aged man with rounded shoulders. As he turned towards us the glint of the light showed me that he was wearing glasses.

“‘Is this Mr. Melas, Harold?’ said he.

“‘Yes.’

“‘Well done, well done! No ill-will, Mr. Melas, I hope, but we could not get on without you. If you deal fair with us you'll not regret it, but if you try any tricks, God help you!’ He spoke in a nervous, jerky fashion, and with little giggling laughs in between, but somehow he impressed me with fear more than the other.

“‘What do you want with me?’ I asked.

“‘Only to ask a few questions of a Greek gentleman who is visiting us, and to let us have the answers. But say no more than you are told to say, or—’ here came the nervous giggle again—‘you had better never have been born.’

“As he spoke he opened a door and showed the way into a room which appeared to be very richly furnished, but again the only light was afforded by a single lamp half-turned down. The chamber was certainly large, and the way in which my feet sank into the carpet as I stepped across it told me of its richness. I caught glimpses of velvet chairs, a high white marble mantel-piece, and what seemed to be a suit of Japanese armor at one side of it. There was a chair just under the lamp, and the elderly man motioned that I should sit in it. The younger had left us, but he suddenly returned through another door, leading with him a gentleman clad in some sort of loose dressing-gown who moved slowly towards us. As he came into the circle of dim light which enabled me to see him more clearly I was thrilled with horror at his appearance. He was deadly pale and terribly emaciated, with the protruding, brilliant eyes of a man whose spirit was greater than his strength. But what shocked me more than any signs of physical weakness was that his face was grotesquely criss-crossed with sticking-plaster, and that one large pad of it was fastened over his mouth.

“‘Have you the slate, Harold?’ cried the older man, as this strange being fell rather than sat down into a chair. ‘Are his hands loose? Now, then, give him the pencil. You are to ask the questions, Mr. Melas, and he will write the answers. Ask him first of all whether he is prepared to sign the papers?’

“The man's eyes flashed fire.

“‘Never!’ he wrote in Greek upon the slate.

“‘On no condition?’ I asked, at the bidding of our tyrant.

“‘Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek priest whom I know.’

“The man giggled in his venomous way.

“‘You know what awaits you, then?’

“‘I care nothing for myself.’

“These are samples of the questions and answers which made up our strange half-spoken, half-written conversation. Again and again I had to ask him whether he would give in and sign the documents. Again and again I had the same indignant reply. But soon a happy thought came to me. I took to adding on little sentences of my own to each question, innocent ones at first, to test whether either of our companions knew anything of the matter, and then, as I found that they showed no signs I played a more dangerous game. Our conversation ran something like this:

“‘You can do no good by this obstinacy. Who are you?’

“‘I care not. I am a stranger in London.’

“‘Your fate will be upon your own head. How long have you been here?’

“‘Let it be so. Three weeks.’

“‘The property can never be yours. What ails you?’

“‘It shall not go to villains. They are starving me.’

“‘You shall go free if you sign. What house is this?’

“‘I will never sign. I do not know.’

“‘You are not doing her any service. What is your name?’

“‘Let me hear her say so. Kratides.’

“‘You shall see her if you sign. Where are you from?’

“‘Then I shall never see her. Athens.’

“Another five minutes, Mr. Holmes, and I should have wormed out the whole story under their very noses. My very next question might have cleared the matter up, but at that instant the door opened and a woman stepped into the room. I could not see her clearly enough to know more than that she was tall and graceful, with black hair, and clad in some sort of loose white gown.

“‘Harold,’ said she, speaking English with a broken accent. ‘I could not stay away longer. It is so lonely up there with only—Oh, my God, it is Paul!’

“These last words were in Greek, and at the same instant the man with a convulsive effort tore the plaster from his lips, and screaming out ‘Sophy! Sophy!’ rushed into the woman's arms. Their embrace was but for an instant, however, for the younger man seized the woman and pushed her out of the room, while the elder easily overpowered his emaciated victim, and dragged him away through the other door. For a moment I was left alone in the room, and I sprang to my feet with some vague idea that I might in some way get a clue to what this house was in which I found myself. Fortunately, however, I took no steps, for looking up I saw that the older man was standing in the door-way with his eyes fixed upon me.

“‘That will do, Mr. Melas,’ said he. ‘You perceive that we have taken you into our confidence over some very private business. We should not have troubled you, only that our friend who speaks Greek and who began these negotiations has been forced to return to the East. It was quite necessary for us to find some one to take his place, and we were fortunate in hearing of your powers.’

“I bowed.

“‘There are five sovereigns here,’ said he, walking up to me, ‘which will, I hope, be a sufficient fee. But remember,’ he added, tapping me lightly on the chest and giggling, ‘if you speak to a human soul about this—one human soul, mind—well, may God have mercy upon your soul!’

“I cannot tell you the loathing and horror with which this insignificant-looking man inspired me. I could see him better now as the lamp-light shone upon him. His features were peaky and sallow, and his little pointed beard was thready and ill-nourished. He pushed his face forward as he spoke and his lips and eyelids were continually twitching like a man with St. Vitus's dance. I could not help thinking that his strange, catchy little laugh was also a symptom of some nervous malady. The terror of his face lay in his eyes, however, steel gray, and glistening coldly with a malignant, inexorable cruelty in their depths.

“‘We shall know if you speak of this,’ said he. ‘We have our own means of information. Now you will find the carriage waiting, and my friend will see you on your way.’

“I was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle, again obtaining that momentary glimpse of trees and a garden. Mr. Latimer followed closely at my heels, and took his place opposite to me without a word. In silence we again drove for an interminable distance with the windows raised, until at last, just after midnight, the carriage pulled up.

“‘You will get down here, Mr. Melas,’ said my companion. ‘I am sorry to leave you so far from your house, but there is no alternative. Any attempt upon your part to follow the carriage can only end in injury to yourself.’

“He opened the door as he spoke, and I had hardly time to spring out when the coachman lashed the horse and the carriage rattled away. I looked around me in astonishment. I was on some sort of a heathy common mottled over with dark clumps of furze-bushes. Far away stretched a line of houses, with a light here and there in the upper windows. On the other side I saw the red signal-lamps of a railway.

“The carriage which had brought me was already out of sight. I stood gazing round and wondering where on earth I might be, when I saw some one coming towards me in the darkness. As he came up to me I made out that he was a railway porter.

“‘Can you tell me what place this is?’ I asked.

“‘Wandsworth Common,’ said he.

“‘Can I get a train into town?’

“‘If you walk on a mile or so to Clapham Junction,’ said he, ‘you'll just be in time for the last to Victoria.’

“So that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes. I do not know where I was, nor whom I spoke with, nor anything save what I have told you. But I know that there is foul play going on, and I want to help that unhappy man if I can. I told the whole story to Mr. Mycroft Holmes next morning, and subsequently to the police.”

We all sat in silence for some little time after listening to this extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock looked across at his brother.

“Any steps?” he asked.

Mycroft picked up the Daily News, which was lying on the side-table.

“Anybody supplying any information as to the whereabouts of a Greek gentleman named Paul Kratides, from Athens, who is unable to speak English, will be rewarded. A similar reward paid to any one giving information about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophy. X 2473.

“That was in all the dailies. No answer.”

“How about the Greek Legation?”

“I have inquired. They know nothing.”

“A wire to the head of the Athens police, then?”

“Sherlock has all the energy of the family,” said Mycroft, turning to me. “Well, you take the case up by all means, and let me know if you do any good.”

“Certainly,” answered my friend, rising from his chair. “I'll let you know, and Mr. Melas also. In the meantime, Mr. Melas, I should certainly be on my guard, if I were you, for of course they must know through these advertisements that you have betrayed them.”

As we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a telegraph office and sent off several wires.

“You see, Watson,” he remarked, “our evening has been by no means wasted. Some of my most interesting cases have come to me in this way through Mycroft. The problem which we have just listened to, although it can admit of but one explanation, has still some distinguishing features.”

“You have hopes of solving it?”

“Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular indeed if we fail to discover the rest. You must yourself have formed some theory which will explain the facts to which we have listened.”

“In a vague way, yes.”

“What was your idea, then?”

“It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl had been carried off by the young Englishman named Harold Latimer.”

“Carried off from where?”

“Athens, perhaps.”

Sherlock Holmes shook his head. “This young man could not talk a word of Greek. The lady could talk English fairly well. Inference—that she had been in England some little time, but he had not been in Greece.”

“Well, then, we will presume that she had come on a visit to England, and that this Harold had persuaded her to fly with him.”

“That is more probable.”

“Then the brother—for that, I fancy, must be the relationship—comes over from Greece to interfere. He imprudently puts himself into the power of the young man and his older associate. They seize him and use violence towards him in order to make him sign some papers to make over the girl's fortune—of which he may be trustee—to them. This he refuses to do. In order to negotiate with him they have to get an interpreter, and they pitch upon this Mr. Melas, having used some other one before. The girl is not told of the arrival of her brother, and finds it out by the merest accident.”

“Excellent, Watson!” cried Holmes. “I really fancy that you are not far from the truth. You see that we hold all the cards, and we have only to fear some sudden act of violence on their part. If they give us time we must have them.”

“But how can we find where this house lies?”

“Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl's name is or was Sophy Kratides, we should have no difficulty in tracing her. That must be our main hope, for the brother is, of course, a complete stranger. It is clear that some time has elapsed since this Harold established these relations with the girl—some weeks, at any rate—since the brother in Greece has had time to hear of it and come across. If they have been living in the same place during this time, it is probable that we shall have some answer to Mycroft's advertisement.”

We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had been talking. Holmes ascended the stair first, and as he opened the door of our room he gave a start of surprise. Looking over his shoulder, I was equally astonished. His brother Mycroft was sitting smoking in the arm-chair.

“Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir,” said he blandly, smiling at our surprised faces. “You don't expect such energy from me, do you, Sherlock? But somehow this case attracts me.”

“How did you get here?”

“I passed you in a hansom.”

“There has been some new development?”

“I had an answer to my advertisement.”

“Ah!”

“Yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving.”

“And to what effect?”

Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper.

“Here it is,” said he, “written with a J pen on royal cream paper by a middle-aged man with a weak constitution.

“Sir [he says]:

“In answer to your advertisement of to-day's date, I beg to inform you that I know the young lady in question very well. If you should care to call upon me I could give you some particulars as to her painful history. She is living at present at The Myrtles, Beckenham.

“Yours faithfully,

“J. Davenport.

“He writes from Lower Brixton,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Do you not think that we might drive to him now, Sherlock, and learn these particulars?”

“My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is more valuable than the sister's story. I think we should call at Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson, and go straight out to Beckenham. We know that a man is being done to death, and every hour may be vital.”

“Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way,” I suggested. “We may need an interpreter.”

“Excellent,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Send the boy for a four-wheeler, and we shall be off at once.” He opened the table-drawer as he spoke, and I noticed that he slipped his revolver into his pocket. “Yes,” said he, in answer to my glance; “I should say from what we have heard, that we are dealing with a particularly dangerous gang.”

It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, at the rooms of Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just called for him, and he was gone.

“Can you tell me where?” asked Mycroft Holmes.

“I don't know, sir,” answered the woman who had opened the door; “I only know that he drove away with the gentleman in a carriage.”

“Did the gentleman give a name?”

“No, sir.”

“He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?”

“Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in the face, but very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing all the time that he was talking.”

“Come along!” cried Sherlock Holmes, abruptly. “This grows serious,” he observed, as we drove to Scotland Yard. “These men have got hold of Melas again. He is a man of no physical courage, as they are well aware from their experience the other night. This villain was able to terrorize him the instant that he got into his presence. No doubt they want his professional services, but, having used him, they may be inclined to punish him for what they will regard as his treachery.”

Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to Beckenham as soon or sooner than the carriage. On reaching Scotland Yard, however, it was more than an hour before we could get Inspector Gregson and comply with the legal formalities which would enable us to enter the house. It was a quarter to ten before we reached London Bridge, and half past before the four of us alighted on the Beckenham platform. A drive of half a mile brought us to The Myrtles—a large, dark house standing back from the road in its own grounds. Here we dismissed our cab, and made our way up the drive together.

“The windows are all dark,” remarked the inspector. “The house seems deserted.”

“Our birds are flown and the nest empty,” said Holmes.

“Why do you say so?”

“A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out during the last hour.”

The inspector laughed. “I saw the wheel-tracks in the light of the gate-lamp, but where does the luggage come in?”

“You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the other way. But the outward-bound ones were very much deeper—so much so that we can say for a certainty that there was a very considerable weight on the carriage.”

“You get a trifle beyond me there,” said the inspector, shrugging his shoulder. “It will not be an easy door to force, but we will try if we cannot make some one hear us.”

He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, but without any success. Holmes had slipped away, but he came back in a few minutes.

“I have a window open,” said he.

“It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not against it, Mr. Holmes,” remarked the inspector, as he noted the clever way in which my friend had forced back the catch. “Well, I think that under the circumstances we may enter without an invitation.”

One after the other we made our way into a large apartment, which was evidently that in which Mr. Melas had found himself. The inspector had lit his lantern, and by its light we could see the two doors, the curtain, the lamp, and the suit of Japanese mail as he had described them. On the table lay two glasses, and empty brandy-bottle, and the remains of a meal.

“What is that?” asked Holmes, suddenly.

We all stood still and listened. A low moaning sound was coming from somewhere over our heads. Holmes rushed to the door and out into the hall. The dismal noise came from upstairs. He dashed up, the inspector and I at his heels, while his brother Mycroft followed as quickly as his great bulk would permit.

Three doors faced up upon the second floor, and it was from the central of these that the sinister sounds were issuing, sinking sometimes into a dull mumble and rising again into a shrill whine. It was locked, but the key had been left on the outside. Holmes flung open the door and rushed in, but he was out again in an instant, with his hand to his throat.

“It's charcoal,” he cried. “Give it time. It will clear.”

Peering in, we could see that the only light in the room came from a dull blue flame which flickered from a small brass tripod in the centre. It threw a livid, unnatural circle upon the floor, while in the shadows beyond we saw the vague loom of two figures which crouched against the wall. From the open door there reeked a horrible poisonous exhalation which set us gasping and coughing. Holmes rushed to the top of the stairs to draw in the fresh air, and then, dashing into the room, he threw up the window and hurled the brazen tripod out into the garden.

“We can enter in a minute,” he gasped, darting out again. “Where is a candle? I doubt if we could strike a match in that atmosphere. Hold the light at the door and we shall get them out, Mycroft. Now!”

With a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged them out into the well-lit hall. Both of them were blue-lipped and insensible, with swollen, congested faces and protruding eyes. Indeed, so distorted were their features that, save for his black beard and stout figure, we might have failed to recognize in one of them the Greek interpreter who had parted from us only a few hours before at the Diogenes Club. His hands and feet were securely strapped together, and he bore over one eye the marks of a violent blow. The other, who was secured in a similar fashion, was a tall man in the last stage of emaciation, with several strips of sticking-plaster arranged in a grotesque pattern over his face. He had ceased to moan as we laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him at least our aid had come too late. Mr. Melas, however, still lived, and in less than an hour, with the aid of ammonia and brandy I had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes, and of knowing that my hand had drawn him back from that dark valley in which all paths meet.

It was a simple story which he had to tell, and one which did but confirm our own deductions. His visitor, on entering his rooms, had drawn a life-preserver from his sleeve, and had so impressed him with the fear of instant and inevitable death that he had kidnapped him for the second time. Indeed, it was almost mesmeric, the effect which this giggling ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist, for he could not speak of him save with trembling hands and a blanched cheek. He had been taken swiftly to Beckenham, and had acted as interpreter in a second interview, even more dramatic than the first, in which the two Englishmen had menaced their prisoner with instant death if he did not comply with their demands. Finally, finding him proof against every threat, they had hurled him back into his prison, and after reproaching Melas with his treachery, which appeared from the newspaper advertisement, they had stunned him with a blow from a stick, and he remembered nothing more until he found us bending over him.

And this was the singular case of the Grecian Interpreter, the explanation of which is still involved in some mystery. We were able to find out, by communicating with the gentleman who had answered the advertisement, that the unfortunate young lady came of a wealthy Grecian family, and that she had been on a visit to some friends in England. While there she had met a young man named Harold Latimer, who had acquired an ascendancy over her and had eventually persuaded her to fly with him. Her friends, shocked at the event, had contented themselves with informing her brother at Athens, and had then washed their hands of the matter. The brother, on his arrival in England, had imprudently placed himself in the power of Latimer and of his associate, whose name was Wilson Kemp—a man of the foulest antecedents. These two, finding that through his ignorance of the language he was helpless in their hands, had kept him a prisoner, and had endeavored by cruelty and starvation to make him sign away his own and his sister's property. They had kept him in the house without the girl's knowledge, and the plaster over the face had been for the purpose of making recognition difficult in case she should ever catch a glimpse of him. Her feminine perception, however, had instantly seen through the disguise when, on the occasion of the interpreter's visit, she had seen him for the first time. The poor girl, however, was herself a prisoner, for there was no one about the house except the man who acted as coachman, and his wife, both of whom were tools of the conspirators. Finding that their secret was out, and that their prisoner was not to be coerced, the two villains with the girl had fled away at a few hours' notice from the furnished house which they had hired, having first, as they thought, taken vengeance both upon the man who had defied and the one who had betrayed them.

Months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached us from Buda-Pesth. It told how two Englishmen who had been traveling with a woman had met with a tragic end. They had each been stabbed, it seems, and the Hungarian police were of opinion that they had quarreled and had inflicted mortal injuries upon each other. Holmes, however, is, I fancy, of a different way of thinking, and holds to this day that, if one could find the Grecian girl, one might learn how the wrongs of herself and her brother came to be avenged.

希腊译员

我和歇洛克．福尔摩斯先生虽然相识很久，亲密无间，但少听他说起他的亲属，也很少听他讲起自己早年的生活。他这样沉默寡言，更加使我觉得他有点不近人情，以至有时我把他看作一个孤僻的怪人，一个有头脑无情感的人，虽然他的智力超群，却缺乏人类的感情。

他不喜欢接近女人，不愿结一交一新友，这都表明了他不易动感情的一性一格特征，不过尤其无情的是他绝口不提家人。因此我开始认为他是一个孤儿，没有亲属在世了。可是有一天，出乎我意料之外，他竟同我谈起他的哥哥来了。一个夏天的傍晚，茶后无事，我们便海阔天空、东拉西扯地闲聊起来，从高尔夫球俱乐部到黄赤一交一角变化的原因，最后谈到返祖现象和遗传适应一性一，讨论的要点是：一个人的出众才能有多少出于遗传，又有多少出于自身早年所受的训练。

“拿你本人来说，”我说道，“从你告诉过我的情况看来，似乎很明显，你的观察才能和独到的推理能力，都取决于自身的系统训练。”“在某种程度上是这样，”福尔摩斯思忖着说道，“我祖上是乡绅，看来，他们过着那个阶级的惯常生活。不过，我这种癖一性一是我血统中固有的。可能我祖母就有这种血统，因为她是法国美术家吉尔内的妹妹。血液中的这种艺术成分很容易具有最奇特的遗传形式。”“可是你怎么知道是遗传的呢？”“因为我哥哥迈克罗夫特掌握的推理艺术比我掌握的程度高。”这对我来说确实还是一件新闻。假如英国还有另外一个人也具有这样的奇异才能，警署和公众怎么对他竟然毫无所闻呢？

我说这是因为我朋友谦虚，所以他才认为哥哥比他强。福尔摩斯对我这种说法付之一笑。

“我亲一爱一的华生，”福尔摩斯说道，“我不同意有些人把谦虚列为美德。对逻辑学家来说，一切事物应当是什么样就是什么样，对自己估价过低和夸大自己的才能一样都是违背真理的。

所以，我说迈克罗夫特的观察力比我强，你可以相信我的话是毫不夸张的实话。”“你哥哥比你大几岁？”“比我大七岁。”“他为什么没有名气呢？”“噢，比如说，在第欧要尼俱乐部里。”我从未听说过这么个地方，我脸上的表情也一定显出了这一点，所以歇洛克．福尔摩斯拿出表看了看，说道：“第欧根尼俱乐部是伦敦最古怪的俱乐部，而迈克罗夫特是个最古怪的人。

他经常从下午四点三刻到七点四十分呆在那里。现在已经六点，如果你有兴致在这美妙的夜晚出去走走，我很高兴把这两个‘古怪’介绍给你。”五分钟以后，我们就来到了街上，向雷根斯圆形广场走去。“你一定很奇怪，”我的朋友说道，“为什么迈克罗夫特有这样的才能，却不用于做侦探工作呢？其实，他是不可能当侦探的。”“但我想你说的是．．．．．．”“我说他在观察和推理方面比我高明。假如侦探这门艺术只是从在扶物椅上推理就行，那么我哥哥一定是个举世无双的大侦探了。可是他既无做侦探工作的愿望，也无这种一精一力。他连去证实一下自己所做的论断也嫌麻烦，宁肯被人认为是谬误，也不愿费力去证明自己的正确。我经常向他请教问题，从他那里得到的解答，后来证明都是正确的。不过，在一件案子提一交一给法官或陪审一团一之前，要他提出确凿的有力的证据，那他就无能为力了。”“那么，他不是以侦探为职业的了？”“根本不是。我用以为生的侦探业务，在他只不过是纯粹业余癖好而已。他非常擅长数学，常在政一府各部门查帐。迈克罗夫特住在蓓尔美尔街，拐个弯就到了白厅。他每天步行上班，早出晚归，年年如此，没有其它活动，也从来不到别处去，唯一去处是他住所对面的第欧根尼俱乐部。”“我想不起有叫这名字的俱乐部了。”“很可能你不知道。伦敦有许多人，有的生一性一羞怯，有的愤世嫉俗，他们不愿与人为伍，可是他们并不反对到舒适的地方坐坐，看看最新的期刊。为了这个目的，第欧根尼俱乐部便诞生了，现在它接纳了城里最孤僻和最不一爱一交一际的人。会员们不准互相搭话。除了在会客室，绝对不准许一交一谈，如果犯规三次，引起俱乐部委员会的注意，谈话者就会补开除。我哥哥是俱乐部发起人之一，我本人觉得这个俱乐部气氛是很怡人的。”我们边走边谈，从詹姆斯街尽头转过去，不觉来到蓓尔美尔街。歇洛克．福尔摩斯在离卡尔顿大厅不远的一个门口停了下来，叮嘱我不要开口，把我领进大厅。我通过门上的玻璃看到一间宽大而豪华的房间，里面很多人坐着看报，每人各守一隅。福尔摩斯领我走进一间小屋，从这里可以望见蓓尔美尔街，然后离开了我一会儿，很快领回一个人来。我知道这就是他哥哥。迈克罗夫特．福尔摩斯比他弟弟高大粗一壮得多。他的身一体极为肥胖，他的面部虽然宽大，但某些地方却具有他弟弟特有的那种轮廓分明的样子。他水灵灵的双眼呈淡灰色，炯炯有神，似乎经常凝神深思，这种神情，我只在歇洛克一精一神贯注时看到过。“我很高兴见到你，先生，”他说道，伸出一只海豹掌一样又宽又肥的手来，“由于你为歇洛克作传，他才得以名扬四海。顺便说一下，歇洛克，我还以为上星期会看到你来找我商量那件庄园主住宅案呢。我想你可能有点力不从心吧。”“不，我已经把它解决了，”我朋友笑容可掬地说道。“当然，这是亚当斯干的了。”“不错，是亚当斯干的。”“从一开始我就确信这点。”两个人一在俱乐部凸肚窗旁坐下来。“一个人要想研究人类，这是最好的地方，”迈克罗夫特说道，“看，就拿这两个向我们走过来的人来说吧！这是多好的典型呀！”“你是说那弹子记分员和他身旁那个人吗？”“不错，你怎样看那个人呢？”这时那两个人在窗对面停下了。我可以看出，其中一个人的背心上有粉笔痕迹，那就是弹子戏的标志了。另一个瘦小黝一黑，帽子戴在后脑门上，腋下夹一着好几个小包。

“我看他是一个老兵，”歇洛克说道。“并且是新近退伍的，”他哥哥说道。“我看，他是在印度服役的。”“是一个军士。”“我猜，是皇家炮后队的。”歇洛克说道。“是一个鳏夫。”“不过有一个孩子。”“有不止一个孩子，我亲一爱一的弟弟，有不止一个孩子呢。”“得啦，”我笑着说道，“对我来说，这有点儿太玄乎了。”“可以肯定，”歇洛克答道，“他有那么一种威武的神情，风吹日晒的皮肤，一望而知他是一个军人，而且不是一个普通的士兵；他最近刚从印度返回不久。”“他刚退役不久还表现在他仍旧穿着那双他们所谓的炮兵靴子，”迈克罗夫特说道。“他走路的姿态不象骑兵，但是他歪戴着帽子，这一点可以从他一侧眼眉上边皮肤较浅看出来。他的体重又不符合作一个工兵的要求。所以说他是炮兵。”“还有，他那种十分悲伤的样子，显然说明他失去了某个最亲一爱一的人。从他自己出来买东西这件事来看，象是他丧失了妻子。你看，他在给孩子们买东西。那是一个拨一浪一鼓，说明有一个孩子很小。他妻子可能在产后去世。他腋下夹一着一本小人书，说明他还惦记另一个孩子。”这时我才明白为什么歇洛克．福尔摩斯说他哥哥比他本人的观察力还要敏锐。歇洛克瞅了我一眼，微微一笑。迈克罗夫特从一个玳瑁匣子里取出鼻烟，用一块大红丝巾把落在身上的烟末拂去。“顺便说说，歇洛克，”迈克罗夫特说道，“我有件很合你心意的事情，一个很不寻常的问题，我正在着手分析判断。但要我把它进行到底满解决，我确实没有那份一精一力。可是它却是我进行推理的良机。如果你愿意听听情况．．．．．．”“我亲一爱一的迈克罗夫特，我非常愿意。”他的哥哥从笔记本上撕下一页纸，匆忙写下几个字，按了按铃，把这张纸一交一给了侍者。“我已经叫人去请梅拉斯先生到这里来了。”迈克罗夫特说道，“他就住在我楼上，我和他有点熟，他在遇到疑难时，便来找我。据我所知，梅拉斯先生是希腊血统，一精一通数国语言。他的生活来源，一半是靠在法院充当译员，一半是靠给那些住在诺森伯兰街旅馆的阔绰的东方人作向导。我看还是让他自己把他的奇怪的的遭遇告诉你们吧。”过了几分钟，来了一个敌胖粗一壮的人，他那橄榄色的脸庞和漆黑的头发说明他是南方人，可是他讲起话来，却象是一个受过教育的英国人。他热情地同歇洛克．福尔摩斯握手。听说这位专家愿意听他的奇遇，他那一双黑色的眼睛闪烁出喜悦的光芒。“我所说的事，恐怕警察不会相信，”他悲戚地说道，“正因为他们以前没有听过这样的事。可是我知道，除非我弄清那个脸上贴橡皮膏的可怜的结果如何，我的心里是决不会轻松的。”“我洗耳恭听，”歇洛克．福尔摩斯说道。“现在是星期三晚上，”梅拉斯先生说道，“啊，那么，这件事是在星期一一夜晚，你知道，也就是发生在两天以前了。我是一个译员，也许我的邻居已尼向你们说过了：我能翻译所有语言－－或者说几乎是所有语言－－可是因为我出生在希腊，并且取的是希腊名字，所以我主要是翻译希腊语。多年来，我在伦敦希腊译员中首屈一指，我的名字早为各家旅馆所共知。“外国人遇到了困难，或是旅游者到达很晚，往往在不寻常的时候来请我给他们当翻译，这并不是很少见的。因此，星期一一夜晚，一位衣着时髦的年轻人拉蒂默先生来到我家中，要我陪他乘坐候在门口的一辆马车外出时，我毫不奇怪。他说，有一位希腊朋友因事到他家去拜访，他自己除了本国语言外，不会讲任何外国话，因此需要请位译员。他告诉我他家离这里还有一段路，住在肯辛顿，他似乎非常着急，我们一来到街上，他就一把将我推进马车内。“我坐进车中，立刻产生了怀疑，因为我发现我坐的车旧损了，但却很讲究，不象伦敦那种寒酸的普通四轮马车。拉蒂默先生坐在我对面，我刚想冒失地说：到肯辛顿从这儿走是绕远了，可是却被我同车人一种奇怪的举动打断了。“他从怀里取出一样子吓人、灌了铅的大头短棒，前后挥舞了几次，似乎是在试试它的份量和威力，然后一言不发地把它放在身旁座位上，接着他把两边的窗玻璃关好。

使我异常吃惊的是，我发现，窗上都蒙着纸，似乎存心不让我看到外面。“‘很抱歉，挡住你的视线了，梅拉斯先生，’他说道，‘我是不打算让你看到我们要去的地方。如果你能再找到原路回来，那对我可能是不方便的。’“你们可想而知，他这话使我大吃一惊。我这个同车人是个膀大腰圆、力气过人的青年，即使他没有武器，我也决不是他的对手。“‘这实在是一种越轨的行为，拉蒂默先生，’我结结巴巴地说道，‘要知道，你这样做是完全非法的。’“‘毫无疑问，这有点失礼，’他说道，‘不过我们会给你补偿的。但是，我必须警告你，梅拉斯先生，今晚不论如何，只要你妄图告警或做出什么对我不利的事，那对你是危险的。我提请你注意，现在没有一个知道你在何处，同时，不论在这辆四轮马车里或是在我家中，你都跑不出我的手心。’“他心平气和地说着，可是话音刺耳，极尽恫吓之能事。我默不作声地坐在那里，心中奇怪，究竟为会什么他要用这种怪办法来绑架我。可是不管怎样，我十分清楚，抵抗是没用的，只好听天由命了。“马车行驶了大约两小时，我丝毫不知要去何处。有时马车发出咯噔咯噔的声音，说明是走在石路上，有时走得平稳无声，说明是走在柏油路上。除了这些声音变化之外，没有别的什么能使我猜出我们现在何地。车窗被纸遮得不透亮光，前面的玻璃也拉上蓝色的窗帘。我们离开蓓尔美尔街时是七点一刻，而当我们终于停下车时，我的表已经是差十分九点。同车人把窗玻璃打开，我看到了一个低矮的拱形大门，上面点着一盏灯。我连忙忙从马车上下来，门打开了，我进入院内，模糊记得进来时看到一片草坪，两旁长满树木。我不敢确定，这到底是私人庭院呢，还是真正的乡下。“大厅里面点着一盏彩色煤油，拧得很小，我只看到房子很大，里面挂着许多图画，别的什么也看不见。在暗淡的灯光下，我可以看出那个开门的人身材矮小。形容委琐，是个中年人，双肩向前佝偻阒。

他向我们转过身来，亮光一闪，我这才看出他戴着眼镜。“‘是梅拉斯先生吗，哈罗德？’他说道。“‘对’“‘这事办得漂亮，办得漂亮！梅拉斯先生，我们没有恶意，可是没有你，我们办不成事。如果你对我们诚实，你是不会后悔的，如果你要耍花招，那就愿上帝保佑你！’他说话时一精一神不安、声音颤一抖，夹杂着格格的干笑，可不知道为什么，他给我的印象比那个年轻人更可怕。“‘你要我做什么？’我问道。“‘只是向那位拜访我们的希腊绅士问几个问题，并使我们得到答复。不过我们叫你说什么你就说什么，不得多嘴，否则’他又发出格格的干笑，‘否则，你还不如压根儿就没出生呢。’“他说着打开门，领我走进一间屋子，室中陈设很华丽，不过室内光线仍然来自一盏拧得很小的灯。这个房间很大，我进屋时，双脚踏在地毯上，软一绵绵的，说明它很高级。我又看到一些丝绒面软椅，一个高大的大理石白壁炉台，一旁似乎有一副日本铠甲，灯的正下方有一把椅子，那个年纪大的人打个手势，叫我坐下。年青人走出去，又突然从另一道门返回来，领进一个穿着肥一大的睡衣的人，慢慢地向我们走过来。当地走到昏暗的灯光之下，我才把他看得比较清楚，他那副样子顿时吓得我一毛一骨悚然。他面色蜡黄．憔悴异常，两只明亮而凸出的大眼睛，说明他虽然体力不佳，一精一力却还充沛。除了他那羸弱的身一体之外，使我更加震惊的是他脸上横七竖八地贴满了奇形怪状的橡皮膏，一大块纱布用橡皮膏粘在嘴上。“‘石板拿来了吗，哈罗德？’在那个怪人颓然倒在椅子中时，年纪大的人喊道：‘把他的手松开了吗？好，那么．给他一支笔。梅拉斯先生，请你向他发问，让他把回答写下来。首先问他，他是否准备在文件上签字？’“那个人双眼冒出怒火。”‘不！’他在石板上用希腊文写道。“‘没有商量的余地吗？’我按照那恶棍的吩咐问道。“‘除非我亲眼看见她在我认识的希腊牧师作证下结婚，别无商量余地。’“那个年长地家伙恶毒地狞笑着说道：‘那么，你知道你会得到什么结果吗？’“‘我什么都不在乎。’“上述问答只不过是我们这场连说带写的奇怪谈话的一些片断，我不得不再三再四地问他是否妥协让步，在文件上签字；而一次又一次得到同样愤怒的回答。我很快就产生了一种奇妙的想法。我在每次发问时加上自己要问的话，一开始问一些无关紧要的话，试一试在座的那两个是不是能听懂。后来，我发现他们毫无反应，便更大胆地探问起来。我们的谈话大致是这样的：“‘你这样固执是没有好处的。你是谁？’“‘我不在乎。我在伦敦人生地疏。’“‘你的命运全靠你自己决定。你在这里多久了？’“‘一爱一怎样就怎样吧。

三个星期’“‘这产业永远不会归你所有了。他们怎样折磨你’“‘它决不会落到恶棍手里。他们不给我饭吃’“‘加果你签字，你就能获得自一由。这是一所什么宅邸？’“‘我决不签字。我不知道。’“‘你一点也不为她着想么？你叫什么名字？’“‘我听她亲自这样说才相信。克莱蒂特。’“‘加果你签字，你就可以见到她。你从何处来？’“‘那我只好不见她。雅典。’“再有五分钟，福尔摩斯先生，我就能当着他们的面把全部事情探听清楚。再问一个问题就有可能把这件事查清，不料此时房门突然打开，走进一个女人。我看不清她的容貌，只觉她身材颀长，体态窈窈，乌黑的头发，穿着肥一大的白色睡衣。“‘哈罗德，’女子一操一着不标准的英语说道，‘我再也不能多呆了。这里太寂寞了，只有．．．啊，我的天哪，这不是保罗么！’“最后的两句话是用希腊语说的，话犹末了，那人把嘴上封的橡皮膏用力撕下，尖声叫喊着：‘索菲！索菲！’扑到女人怀里。然而，他们只拥抱了片刻，年轻人便抓住那女人，把她推出门去。年纪大的人毫不费力地抓住那消瘦的受害者，把他从另一道门拖出去。一时间室内只剩下我一人，我猛地站起来，模模糊糊地想：我可以设法发现一些线索，看看我究竟在什么地方。不过，幸而我还没有这样做，因为我一抬头就看到那年纪大的人站在门口，虎视眈眈地盯着我。“‘行了，梅拉斯先生，’他说道，‘你看我们没有拿你当外人，才请你参与了私事。我们有位讲希腊语的朋友，是他开头帮助我们进行谈判的；但他已因急事回东方去了，否则我们是不会麻烦你的。

我们很需要找个人代替他，听说你的翻译水平很高，我们感到很幸运。’“我点了点头。“‘这里有五英镑，’他向我走过来，说道，‘我希望这足够作为谢仪了。不过请记住，’他轻轻地柏了拍我的胸膛，笑声格格地说道，‘假若你把这事对别人讲出去－－当心．只要对一个活人讲了－－那就让上帝怜悯你的亡灵吧！’“我无法向你们形容这个面容委琐的人是何等地使我厌恶和惊骇不已。现在灯光照在他身上，我对他看得更清楚了。他面色憔悴而枯槁，一小撮一胡一须又细又稀，说话时把脸伸向前面，嘴唇和眼脸颤一动不止，活象个舞蹈病患者。我不禁想到他接二连三的怪诞笑声也是一种神经病的症状。然而，他面目可怖之处还在于那双眼睛，铁青发灰，闪烁着冷酷、恶毒、凶残的光。“‘如果你把这事宣扬出去，我们会知道的，’他说道，“‘我们有办法得到消息。现在有辆马车在外面等你，我的伙伴送你上路。’“我急忙穿过前厅坐上马车，又看了一眼树木和花园，拉蒂默先生紧跟着我，一言不发地坐在我对面。我们又是默不作声地行驶了一段漫长的路程，车窗依然挡着，最后，直到半夜，车才停住。”“‘请你在这里下丰，梅拉斯先生，’我的同车人说道，‘很抱歉，这里离你家很远，可是没有别的办法啊。你如果企图跟踪我们的马车，那只能对你自己有害。’“他边说边打开车门，我刚刚跳下车，车夫便扬鞭策马疾驶而去。我惊惜地环顾四周。

原来我置身荒野，四下是黑乎乎的灌木丛。远处一排房屋，窗户闪着灯光；另一边是铁路的红色信号灯。

“载我来到此地的那辆马车已经无影无踪了。我站在那里向四下呆呆地望着．想弄清究竟身在何地，这时我看到有人摸黑向我走来。等他走到我面前，我才看出他是铁路搬运工。

“‘你能告诉我这里是什么地方吗？’我问道。

“‘这是旺兹沃思荒地。’他说道。

“‘这里有火车进城吗？’“‘如果你步行一英里左右到克拉彭枢纽站，’他说道，‘正好可以赶上去维多利亚车站的未班车。’“我这段惊险经历就到此为止。福尔摩斯先生，除了刚才对你讲的事情之外，我既不知所到何地，也不知和我谈话的是何人，其它情况也一概不知。不过我知道那里正进行着肮脏的勾当。如果可能，我就要帮助那个不幸的人。第二天早最，我把全部情况告诉了迈克罗夫特，福尔摩斯先生，随后就向警察报了案。”听完了这一段离奇曲折的故事，我们一言不发地静坐了一会儿。后来歇洛克望望他哥哥。

“采取什么措施了吗？”歇洛克问道。

迈克罗夫特拿起桌上的一张《每日新闻》，上载：

今有希腊绅土保罗．文莱蒂特者，自雅典来此，不通英语；另有一希腊女子名叫索菲者；两人均告失踪，若有人告知其下落，当予重酬。Ｘ二四七三号。

“今天各家报纸都登载了这条广告。但毫无回音。”迈克罗夫特说道。”“希腊使馆知道了吗？”“我问过了，他们一