Chapter 4. The Story of the Bald-Headed Man

We followed the Indian down a sordid and common passage, ill lit and worse furnished, until he came to a door upon the right, which he threw open. A blaze of yellow light streamed out upon us, and in the centre of the glare there stood a small man with a very high head, a bristle of red hair all round the fringe of it, and a bald, shining scalp which shot out from among it like a mountain-peak from fir-trees. He writhed his hands together as he stood, and his features were in a perpetual jerk, now smiling, now scowling, but never for an instant in repose. Nature had given him a pendulous lip, and a too visible line of yellow and irregular teeth, which he strove feebly to conceal by constantly passing his hand over the lower part of his face. In spite of his obtrusive baldness, he gave the impression of youth. In point of fact he had just turned his thirtieth year.

“Your servant, Miss Morstan,” he kept repeating, in a thin, high voice. “Your servant, gentlemen. Pray step into my little sanctum. A small place, miss, but furnished to my own liking. An oasis of art in the howling desert of South London.”

We were all astonished by the appearance of the apartment into which he invited us. In that sorry house it looked as out of place as a diamond of the first water in a setting of brass. The richest and glossiest of curtains and tapestries draped the walls, looped back here and there to expose some richly-mounted painting or Oriental vase. The carpet was of amber-and-black, so soft and so thick that the foot sank pleasantly into it, as into a bed of moss. Two great tiger-skins thrown athwart it increased the suggestion of Eastern luxury, as did a huge hookah which stood upon a mat in the corner. A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove was hung from an almost invisible golden wire in the centre of the room. As it burned it filled the air with a subtle and aromatic odor.

“Mr. Thaddeus Sholto,” said the little man, still jerking and smiling. “That is my name. You are Miss Morstan, of course. And these gentlemen—”

“This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr. Watson.”

“A doctor, eh?” cried he, much excited. “Have you your stethoscope? Might I ask you—would you have the kindness? I have grave doubts as to my mitral valve, if you would be so very good. The aortic I may rely upon, but I should value your opinion upon the mitral.”

I listened to his heart, as requested, but was unable to find anything amiss, save indeed that he was in an ecstasy of fear, for he shivered from head to foot. “It appears to be normal,” I said. “You have no cause for uneasiness.”

“You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan,” he remarked, airily. “I am a great sufferer, and I have long had suspicions as to that valve. I am delighted to hear that they are unwarranted. Had your father, Miss Morstan, refrained from throwing a strain upon his heart, he might have been alive now.”

I could have struck the man across the face, so hot was I at this callous and off-hand reference to so delicate a matter. Miss Morstan sat down, and her face grew white to the lips. “I knew in my heart that he was dead,” said she.

“I can give you every information,” said he, “and, what is more, I can do you justice; and I will, too, whatever Brother Bartholomew may say. I am so glad to have your friends here, not only as an escort to you, but also as witnesses to what I am about to do and say. The three of us can show a bold front to Brother Bartholomew. But let us have no outsiders,—no police or officials. We can settle everything satisfactorily among ourselves, without any interference. Nothing would annoy Brother Bartholomew more than any publicity.” He sat down upon a low settee and blinked at us inquiringly with his weak, watery blue eyes.

“For my part,” said Holmes, “whatever you may choose to say will go no further.”

I nodded to show my agreement.

“That is well! That is well!” said he. “May I offer you a glass of Chianti, Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no other wines. Shall I open a flask? No? Well, then, I trust that you have no objection to tobacco-smoke, to the mild balsamic odor of the Eastern tobacco. I am a little nervous, and I find my hookah an invaluable sedative.” He applied a taper to the great bowl, and the smoke bubbled merrily through the rose-water. We sat all three in a semicircle, with our heads advanced, and our chins upon our hands, while the strange, jerky little fellow, with his high, shining head, puffed uneasily in the centre.

“When I first determined to make this communication to you,” said he, “I might have given you my address, but I feared that you might disregard my request and bring unpleasant people with you. I took the liberty, therefore, of making an appointment in such a way that my man Williams might be able to see you first. I have complete confidence in his discretion, and he had orders, if he were dissatisfied, to proceed no further in the matter. You will excuse these precautions, but I am a man of somewhat retiring, and I might even say refined, tastes, and there is nothing more unaesthetic than a policeman. I have a natural shrinking from all forms of rough materialism. I seldom come in contact with the rough crowd. I live, as you see, with some little atmosphere of elegance around me. I may call myself a patron of the arts. It is my weakness. The landscape is a genuine Corot, and, though a connoisseur might perhaps throw a doubt upon that Salvator Rosa, there cannot be the least question about the Bouguereau. I am partial to the modern French school.”

“You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto,” said Miss Morstan, “but I am here at your request to learn something which you desire to tell me. It is very late, and I should desire the interview to be as short as possible.”

“At the best it must take some time,” he answered; “for we shall certainly have to go to Norwood and see Brother Bartholomew. We shall all go and try if we can get the better of Brother Bartholomew. He is very angry with me for taking the course which has seemed right to me. I had quite high words with him last night. You cannot imagine what a terrible fellow he is when he is angry.”

“If we are to go to Norwood it would perhaps be as well to start at once,” I ventured to remark.

He laughed until his ears were quite red. “That would hardly do,” he cried. “I don't know what he would say if I brought you in that sudden way. No, I must prepare you by showing you how we all stand to each other. In the first place, I must tell you that there are several points in the story of which I am myself ignorant. I can only lay the facts before you as far as I know them myself.

“My father was, as you may have guessed, Major John Sholto, once of the Indian army. He retired some eleven years ago, and came to live at Pondicherry Lodge in Upper Norwood. He had prospered in India, and brought back with him a considerable sum of money, a large collection of valuable curiosities, and a staff of native servants. With these advantages he bought himself a house, and lived in great luxury. My twin-brother Bartholomew and I were the only children.

“I very well remember the sensation which was caused by the disappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the details in the papers, and, knowing that he had been a friend of our father's, we discussed the case freely in his presence. He used to join in our speculations as to what could have happened. Never for an instant did we suspect that he had the whole secret hidden in his own breast,—that of all men he alone knew the fate of Arthur Morstan.

“We did know, however, that some mystery—some positive danger—overhung our father. He was very fearful of going out alone, and he always employed two prize-fighters to act as porters at Pondicherry Lodge. Williams, who drove you to-night, was one of them. He was once light-weight champion of England. Our father would never tell us what it was he feared, but he had a most marked aversion to men with wooden legs. On one occasion he actually fired his revolver at a wooden-legged man, who proved to be a harmless tradesman canvassing for orders. We had to pay a large sum to hush the matter up. My brother and I used to think this a mere whim of my father's, but events have since led us to change our opinion.

“Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India which was a great shock to him. He nearly fainted at the breakfast-table when he opened it, and from that day he sickened to his death. What was in the letter we could never discover, but I could see as he held it that it was short and written in a scrawling hand. He had suffered for years from an enlarged spleen, but he now became rapidly worse, and towards the end of April we were informed that he was beyond all hope, and that he wished to make a last communication to us.

“When we entered his room he was propped up with pillows and breathing heavily. He besought us to lock the door and to come upon either side of the bed. Then, grasping our hands, he made a remarkable statement to us, in a voice which was broken as much by emotion as by pain. I shall try and give it to you in his own very words.

“‘I have only one thing,’ he said, ‘which weighs upon my mind at this supreme moment. It is my treatment of poor Morstan's orphan. The cursed greed which has been my besetting sin through life has withheld from her the treasure, half at least of which should have been hers. And yet I have made no use of it myself,—so blind and foolish a thing is avarice. The mere feeling of possession has been so dear to me that I could not bear to share it with another. See that chaplet dipped with pearls beside the quinine-bottle. Even that I could not bear to part with, although I had got it out with the design of sending it to her. You, my sons, will give her a fair share of the Agra treasure. But send her nothing—not even the chaplet—until I am gone. After all, men have been as bad as this and have recovered.

“‘I will tell you how Morstan died,’ he continued. ‘He had suffered for years from a weak heart, but he concealed it from every one. I alone knew it. When in India, he and I, through a remarkable chain of circumstances, came into possession of a considerable treasure. I brought it over to England, and on the night of Morstan's arrival he came straight over here to claim his share. He walked over from the station, and was admitted by my faithful Lal Chowdar, who is now dead. Morstan and I had a difference of opinion as to the division of the treasure, and we came to heated words. Morstan had sprung out of his chair in a paroxysm of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand to his side, his face turned a dusky hue, and he fell backwards, cutting his head against the corner of the treasure-chest. When I stooped over him I found, to my horror, that he was dead.

“‘For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what I should do. My first impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but I could not but recognize that there was every chance that I would be accused of his murder. His death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in his head, would be black against me. Again, an official inquiry could not be made without bringing out some facts about the treasure, which I was particularly anxious to keep secret. He had told me that no soul upon earth knew where he had gone. There seemed to be no necessity why any soul ever should know.

“‘I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking up, I saw my servant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He stole in and bolted the door behind him. “Do not fear, Sahib,” he said. “No one need know that you have killed him. Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?” “I did not kill him,” said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head and smiled. “I heard it all, Sahib,” said he. “I heard you quarrel, and I heard the blow. But my lips are sealed. All are asleep in the house. Let us put him away together.” That was enough to decide met. If my own servant could not believe my innocence, how could I hope to make it good before twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and I disposed of the body that night, and within a few days the London papers were full of the mysterious disappearance of Captain Morstan. You will see from what I say that I can hardly be blamed in the matter. My fault lies in the fact that we concealed not only the body, but also the treasure, and that I have clung to Morstan's share as well as to my own. I wish you, therefore, to make restitution. Put your ears down to my mouth. The treasure is hidden in—At this instant a horrible change came over his expression; his eyes stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled, in a voice which I can never forget, ‘Keep him out! For Christ's sake keep him out’! We both stared round at the window behind us upon which his gaze was fixed. A face was looking in at us out of the darkness. We could see the whitening of the nose where it was pressed against the glass. It was a bearded, hairy face, with wild cruel eyes and an expression of concentrated malevolence. My brother and I rushed towards the window, but the man was gone. When we returned to my father his head had dropped and his pulse had ceased to beat.

“We searched the garden that night, but found no sign of the intruder, save that just under the window a single footmark was visible in the flower-bed. But for that one trace, we might have thought that our imaginations had conjured up that wild, fierce face. We soon, however, had another and a more striking proof that there were secret agencies at work all round us. The window of my father's room was found open in the morning, his cupboards and boxes had been rifled, and upon his chest was fixed a torn piece of paper, with the words ‘The sign of the four’ scrawled across it. What the phrase meant, or who our secret visitor may have been, we never knew. As far as we can judge, none of my father's property had been actually stolen, though everything had been turned out. My brother and I naturally associated this peculiar incident with the fear which haunted my father during his life; but it is still a complete mystery to us.”

The little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffed thoughtfully for a few moments. We had all sat absorbed, listening to his extraordinary narrative. At the short account of her father's death Miss Morstan had turned deadly white, and for a moment I feared that she was about to faint. She rallied however, on drinking a glass of water which I quietly poured out for her from a Venetian carafe upon the side-table. Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair with an abstracted expression and the lids drawn low over his glittering eyes. As I glanced at him I could not but think how on that very day he had complained bitterly of the commonplaceness of life. Here at least was a problem which would tax his sagacity to the utmost. Mr. Thaddeus Sholto looked from one to the other of us with an obvious pride at the effect which his story had produced, and then continued between the puffs of his overgrown pipe.

“My brother and I,” said he, “were, as you may imagine, much excited as to the treasure which my father had spoken of. For weeks and for months we dug and delved in every part of the garden, without discovering its whereabouts. It was maddening to think that the hiding-place was on his very lips at the moment that he died. We could judge the splendor of the missing riches by the chaplet which he had taken out. Over this chaplet my brother Bartholomew and I had some little discussion. The pearls were evidently of great value, and he was averse to part with them, for, between friends, my brother was himself a little inclined to my father's fault. He thought, too, that if we parted with the chaplet it might give rise to gossip and finally bring us into trouble. It was all that I could do to persuade him to let me find out Miss Morstan's address and send her a detached pearl at fixed intervals, so that at least she might never feel destitute.”

“It was a kindly thought,” said our companion, earnestly. “It was extremely good of you.”

The little man waved his hand deprecatingly. “We were your trustees,” he said. ”That was the view which I took of it, though Brother Bartholomew could not altogether see it in that light. We had plenty of money ourselves. I desired no more. Besides, it would have been such bad taste to have treated a young lady in so scurvy a fashion. ‘Le mauvais go?t mène au crime.’ The French have a very neat way of putting these things. Our difference of opinion on this subject went so far that I thought it best to set up rooms for myself: so I left Pondicherry Lodge, taking the old khitmutgar and Williams with me. Yesterday, however, I learn that an event of extreme importance has occurred. The treasure has been discovered. I instantly communicated with Miss Morstan, and it only remains for us to drive out to Norwood and demand our share. I explained my views last night to Brother Bartholomew: so we shall be expected, if not welcome, visitors.”

Mr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased, and sat twitching on his luxurious settee. We all remained silent, with our thoughts upon the new development which the mysterious business had taken. Holmes was the first to spring to his feet.

“You have done well, sir, from first to last,” said he. “It is possible that we may be able to make you some small return by throwing some light upon that which is still dark to you. But, as Miss Morstan remarked just now, it is late, and we had best put the matter through without delay.”

Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube of his hookah, and produced from behind a curtain a very long befrogged topcoat with Astrakhan collar and cuffs. This he buttoned tightly up, in spite of the extreme closeness of the night, and finished his attire by putting on a rabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which covered the ears, so that no part of him was visible save his mobile and peaky face. “My health is somewhat fragile,” he remarked, as he led the way down the passage. “I am compelled to be a valetudinarian.”

Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme was evidently prearranged, for the driver started off at once at a rapid pace. Thaddeus Sholto talked incessantly, in a voice which rose high above the rattle of the wheels.

“Bartholomew is a clever fellow,” said he. “How do you think he found out where the treasure was? He had come to the conclusion that it was somewhere indoors: so he worked out all the cubic space of the house, and made measurements everywhere, so that not one inch should be unaccounted for. Among other things, he found that the height of the building was seventy-four feet, but on adding together the heights of all the separate rooms, and making every allowance for the space between, which he ascertained by borings, he could not bring the total to more than seventy feet. There were four feet unaccounted for. These could only be at the top of the building. He knocked a hole, therefore, in the lath-and-plaster ceiling of the highest room, and there, sure enough, he came upon another little garret above it, which had been sealed up and was known to no one. In the centre stood the treasure-chest, resting upon two rafters. He lowered it through the hole, and there it lies. He computes the value of the jewels at not less than half a million sterling.”

At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one another open-eyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure her rights, would change from a needy governess to the richest heiress in England. Surely it was the place of a loyal friend to rejoice at such news; yet I am ashamed to say that selfishness took me by the soul, and that my heart turned as heavy as lead within me. I stammered out some few halting words of congratulation, and then sat downcast, with my head drooped, deaf to the babble of our new acquaintance. He was clearly a confirmed hypochondriac, and I was dreamily conscious that he was pouring forth interminable trains of symptoms, and imploring information as to the composition and action of innumerable quack nostrums, some of which he bore about in a leather case in his pocket. I trust that he may not remember any of the answers which I gave him that night. Holmes declares that he overheard me caution him against the great danger of taking more than two drops of castor oil, while I recommended strychnine in large doses as a sedative. However that may be, I was certainly relieved when our cab pulled up with a jerk and the coachman sprang down to open the door.

“This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge,” said Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, as he handed her out.
 

第四章 秃头人的故事

我们随着印度人进去，经过了一条平平常常的、不整洁的、灯光不亮、陈设简陋的甬道，走到靠右边的一个门。他把门推开了，从屋内射一出来黄色的灯光，在灯光下站着一个身材不高的尖头顶的人，他的头顶已秃，光亮非常，周围生着一圈红发，象是枫树丛中冒出了一座秃光的山顶一样。他站在那里一搓一着双手。他的神情不定，一会儿微笑，一会儿又愁眉苦脸，没有一时镇静，天生一副下垂的嘴唇，露出黄色不整齐的牙齿，虽然他时常用手遮住脸的下半部，也不见得能够遮丑。他虽然已经秃头，但是看来还很年轻，实际上他也不过刚刚超过三十岁。

他不断高声重复地说：“摩斯坦小一姐，我愿为您效劳。""先生们，我愿为你们效劳。请到我这间小屋子里来吧。房间很小，小一姐，但是是按照我所喜欢的样式陈设的。这是在荒起的伦敦南郊沙漠中的一个小小的文化绿洲。”

我们对这间屋子的景象都很感惊破。屋子的建筑和陈设很不调和，好象一颗最出色的钻石镶在一个铜托子上。窗帘和挂毯都极华丽考究，中间露出来一精一美的画镜和东方制的花起。又厚又软的琥珀色和黑色的地毯，踏在上面舒适得很，好象走在绿草地上一样。两张大虎皮横铺在上面，在屋角的席子上摆着一只印度大水烟壶，更显得富有东方风味的华丽。屋顶当中隐隐有一根金色的线，悬挂着一盏银色的鸽子式的挂灯。灯火燃一烧的时候，空气中发出了清香的气味。

这矮小的人仍然是神情不安，微笑着自我介绍道：“我的名字叫塞笛厄斯·舒尔托。您当然是摩斯坦小一姐喽，这两位先生……”"这位是歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生，这位是华生医生。”

他很兴奋地喊道：“啊，一位医生？您带听诊起来了吗？我可以不可以请求您——您肯不肯给我听一听？劳驾吧，我心脏的僧帽瓣也许有一毛一病。我的大动脉还好，可是对于我的僧帽瓣，我要听听您的宝贵的意见。”

我听了听他的心脏，除去他由于恐怖而全身颤一抖以外，找不出什么一毛一病来。我道："心脏很正常，不必着急，您放心好了。”

他轻快地说道：“摩斯坦小一姐，请您原谅我的焦急，我时常难受，总疑心我的心脏不好。既然正常，我很高兴。摩斯坦小一姐，您的父亲如果能克制自己，不伤到他的心脏，他到现在可能还活着呢。”

我不禁怒从心起，真想向他脸上打一拳。这样应当审慎的话，怎好如此直说呢？摩斯坦小一姐坐了下来，面色惨白。她说道：“我心里早已明白我父亲已经去世了。”

他道：“我能尽量告诉您一切，并且还能主持公道；无论我哥哥巴索洛谬要说什么，我也是要主持公道的。今天您和您的两位朋友同来，我高兴极了，他们两位不只是您的保护人，还可以对我所要说的和所要做的事作个证人。咱们三人可以共同对付我哥哥巴索洛谬，可是咱们不要外人参加——不要警察或官方。咱们可以无需外人的干预而圆满地解决咱们自己的问题。如果把事情公开，我哥哥巴索洛谬是绝不会同意的。”他坐在矮矮的靠椅上，用无神的泪汪汪的蓝眼睛望着我们，期待着我们的回答。

福尔摩斯道：“我个人可以保证，无论您说什么，我都不会向别人说。”

我也点头表示同意。

他道：“那好极啦！那好极啦！摩斯坦小一姐，我可以不可以敬您一杯香梯酒或是透凯酒？我这里没有别的酒。我开一瓶①好不好？不喝？好吧，我想你们不会反对我吸这种有柔和的东方香味的烟吧。我有些神经紧张，我觉得我的水烟是无上的镇定剂。"他燃上大水烟壶，烟从烟壶里的玫瑰水中徐徐地冒了出来。我们三人环坐成一个半圆圈，伸着头，两手支着下巴，这个破怪而又激动的矮小的人，光光的头，坐在我们中间，局促不安地吸着烟——

①意大利产红葡萄酒。——译者注

他道：“当我决意和您联系的时候，本想把我的住址告诉您，可是恐怕您不了解，带了不合适的人一同来。所以我才这样安排，叫我的仆人先和你们见面，我对他的临机应变的能力是十分信任的。我嘱咐他，如果情形不对，就不要带你们同来。我事先的慎重布置谅可得到您的谅解，因为我不愿和人来往，甚至可以说是个一性一情高傲的人，我觉得再没有比警察一类的人更不文雅的了。我天一性一不喜欢任何粗俗的人，我很少同他们接触。我的生活，你们可以看到，周围都是文雅的气氛，我可以自命为艺术鉴赏家，这是我的嗜好。那幅风景画确实是高罗特的真迹，有的鉴赏家也许会怀疑那幅萨尔瓦多·罗萨的①②作品的真伪，可是那幅布盖娄的画确是真品。我对现在的法③国派特别喜欢。”——

①高罗特Corot：法国著名风景画家，1796年生于巴黎，1875年?

庥诎屠琛！胝咦?

②萨尔瓦多·罗萨SalvatorRosa（1615—1673）：拿波里的名画家、雕刻家、诗人及音乐家，生于拿波里附近的仑内拉。——译者注

③布盖娄Bouguereau：法国名画家。1825年生于拉·罗歇，1905年殁于同地，其出名作品多以宗教为主题。——译者注

摩斯坦小一姐道：“舒尔托先生，请原谅我。我被请来是因为您有话见教，时间已经不早，我希望咱们的谈话愈简短愈好。”

他答道：“至少也要占些时候，因为咱们还要同到诺伍德去找我哥哥巴索洛谬去。咱们都要去，我希望咱们能胜过他。我以为合乎情理而采取的步骤他却不以为然，因此他对我很不满意，昨晚我和他曾经争辩了很久。你们想象不出他忿怒的时候，是一个多么难于对付的人。”

我不免搀言道：“如果咱们还须去诺伍德，好不好咱们马上就动身。”

他笑到耳根发红后，说道：“那样不太合适，如果突然陪你们去，我不知道他要说些什么呢。不，我必须事先作好准备，把咱们彼此的处境先谈一谈。头一件我要告诉你们的就是，在这段故事里还有几点连我自己都没有搞清楚呢。我只能把我所知道的事实说给你们听。

“我的父亲，你们会猜想到，就是过去在印度驻军里的约翰·舒尔托少校。他大约是在十一年前退休后，才到上诺伍德的樱沼别墅来住的。他在印度很发了些财，带来一大笔钱和一批贵重的古玩，还有几个印度仆人。有了这些好条件，他就买了一所房子，过着非常优裕的生活。我和巴索洛谬是孪生兄弟，我父亲只有我们这两个孩子。

“我还很清楚地记得摩斯坦上尉的失踪在社会上所引起的轰动，详情还是我们从报纸上读到的呢。因为我们知道他是父亲的朋友，所以常常无拘无束地在他面前讨论这件事。他有时也和我们揣测这件事是怎么发生的，我们丝毫也没有疑心到这整个的秘密却藏在他一个人的心里——只有他一个人知道阿瑟·摩斯坦的结局。

“可是我们确也知道有些秘密——有些恐怖的事——存在我父亲心里。他平常不敢一人独自出门，他还雇了两个拳击手为樱沼别墅看门。今天为你们赶车的威廉就是其中的一个，他过去是英国轻量级拳赛的冠军。我父亲从来不告诉我们他所怕的是什么，他对装有木腿的人尤其加意地戒备。有一次他用槍打伤了一个装木腿的人，后来证明了这人是个来兜揽生意的平常商贩，我们赔了一大笔养伤费才算了结。我哥哥和我先以为这不过是我父亲的一时冲动罢了，后来一经过一桩一桩的事情，才使我们改变了看法。

“一八八二年春间，我父亲接到了一封从印度来的信，这封信对他是一个很大的打击。他在早餐桌上读完这封信后几乎晕倒，从那天气他就病倒了，一直到他死去。信的内容是什么，我们从来也未发现，可是在他拿着这封信的时候，我从旁边看见信很短，而且字迹潦草。他多年患着脾脏肿大的病，这一下，病情很快就进一步地严重化了。到了四月底，医生断定他已没有希望了，叫我们到他面前听他最后的遗嘱。

“当我们走进房间的时候，他呼吸急促地倚在高枕上面。他叫我们把门锁上，到一床一的两旁来。他紧一握我们的手，因为痛苦难堪而又感情激动，所以断断续续地告诉了我们一件惊人的事。我现在试用他自己的话来向你们重述一遍。

“他说：‘在我临终的时候，只有一件事象是一块石头似的压在我的心上，就是我对待摩斯坦孤女的行为实是遗憾。由于我一生不可宽恕的贪心，使她没能得到这些宝物——其中至少一半是属于她的。可是我也未曾利用过这些宝物——贪婪真是极愚蠢的行为。只要知道宝物藏在我身边，我就感到心满意足，再也舍不得分给别人。你们来看，在盛金鸡纳霜的药品旁边的那一串珠子项圈，虽然是我专为送给她而找出来的，就是这个我也是难以割舍的。我的儿子们，你们应当把阿格拉宝物公平地分给她。可是在我咽起以前决不要给她——就是那串项圈也不要给她，因为即使病重到我这种地步的人，也说不定还会痊愈呢。

“他继续说：‘我要告诉你们摩斯坦是怎样死的。他多年以来，心脏就衰弱，可是他从未告诉过人，只有我一个人知道。在印度的时候，我和他经过一系列的惊破事故，得到了一大批宝物。我把这些宝物带回了英国。在摩斯坦到达伦敦的当天晚上，他就一直跑到这里来要他应得的那一份儿。他从车站步行到这里，是由现已死去的忠心老仆拉尔·乔达开门请进来的。摩斯坦和我之间因为平分宝物意见分歧，争辩得很厉害，摩斯坦在盛怒之下从椅子上跳了起来，随后忽然把手放在胸侧，面色一陰一暗，向后跌倒，头撞在宝箱的角上。当我弯腰扶他的时候，使我感到万分惊恐，他竟已死了。

“我在椅子上坐了好久，一精一神错乱，不知如何是好。开始时我自然也想到应该报告警署，可是我考虑到当时的情况，我恐怕无法避免要被指为凶手。他是在我们争论当中断气的，他头上的伤口对我更是不利。还有，在法庭上未免要问到宝物的来源，这更是我特别要保守秘密的。他告诉过我：没有一个人知道他来这里。因此这件事似乎没有叫别人知道的必要。

“当我还在考虑这件事的时候，抬起头来，忽然看见仆人拉尔·乔达站在门口。他偷偷地走了进来，回手闩了门，说道："主人，不要害怕。没有人会知道你害死了他。咱们把他藏起来，还有谁能知道呢？"我道：“我并没有害死他。"拉尔·乔达摇头笑道：“主人，我都听见了，我听见你们争吵，我听见他倒了下去，可是我一定严守秘密。家里的人全都睡着了。咱们把他掩埋起来吧。"这样就使我决定了。我自己的仆人还不能相信我，我还能希望十二个坐在陪审席上的愚蠢的商人会宣告我无罪吗？拉尔·乔达和我当天晚上就把一尸一身掩埋了，没有几天，伦敦报纸就都登了摩斯坦上尉失踪的疑案。从我所说的过程中你们可以知道，摩斯坦的死亡很难说是我的过失。我的错误是除了隐藏一尸一身外还隐藏了宝物，我得到了我应得的宝物，还霸占了摩斯坦的一份，所以我希望你们把宝物归还给他的女儿。你们把耳朵凑到我的嘴边来。宝物就藏在……

“话还没有说完，他就面色突变，他的两眼向外注视，他的下颏下坠，用一种令我永不能忘的声音喊道：‘把他赶出去！千万把……千万把他赶出去！我们一起回头看他所盯住的窗户。黑暗里有一个面孔正向我们凝视。我们可以看见他那在玻璃上被压得变白的鼻子。一个多一毛一的脸，两只凶狠的眼睛，还有凶恶的表情。我们兄弟二人赶紧冲到窗前，可是那个人已经不见了。再回来看我们的父亲，只见他头已下垂，脉搏已停。

“当晚我们搜查了花园，除了窗下花一床一上的一个鲜明的脚印以外，这个不速之客并未留有其他痕迹。但是只根据这一点迹象，我们或者还会猜疑那个凶狠的脸是出于我们的幻想。不久，我们就另外得到了更确切的证明，原来在我们附近有一帮人对我们正在进行秘密活动。我们在第二天早晨发现了父亲卧室的窗户大开，他的橱柜和箱子全都经过了搜查，在他的箱子上钉着一张破纸，上面潦草地写着：‘四个签名。这句话怎样解释和秘密来过的人是谁，我们到现在也不知道。我们所能断定的只是：虽然所有的东西全都被翻一动过了，可是我父亲的财物并没有被窃。我们兄弟二人自然会联想到，这回事情和他平日的恐惧是有关联的，但仍然还是一个完全不能了解的疑案。”

这矮小的人重新点着了他的水烟壶，深思地连吸了几口。我们坐在那里，全神贯注地听他述说这个离破的故事。摩斯坦小一姐在听到他叙述到关于她父亲死亡的那一段话时，面色变得惨白。为了怕她会晕倒，我轻轻地从放在旁边桌上的一个威尼斯式的水瓶里倒了一杯水给她喝，她方才恢复过来。歇洛克·福尔摩斯靠在椅上闭目深思。当我看到他的时候，我不禁想到：就在今天他还说人生枯燥无聊呢。在这里至少有一个问题将要对他的智慧做一次最大的考验。塞笛厄斯·舒尔托先生对我们这个看看，那个看看，由于他叙述的故事所给我们的影响，他显然觉得自豪，他继续吸着水烟壶又说了下去。

他道：“你们可以想象得到，我哥哥和我由于听到我父亲所说的宝物，全都感到十分兴奋。经过好几个礼拜，甚至好几个月的工夫，我们把花园的各个角落全都挖掘遍了，也没有寻到。想到这些宝物收藏的地方竟留在他临终的口中，未免使人发狂。我们从那个拿出来的项圈就可以推想到这批遗失的宝物是多么贵重了。关于这串项圈，我的哥哥巴索洛谬和我也曾经讨论过。这些珠子无疑地是很值钱的，他也有点难以割舍。当然，在对待朋友方面，他也有点象我父亲一样的缺点。他又想到，如果把项圈送人，可能会引起些无谓的闲话，最后还可能给我们找来麻烦。我所能够做到的只有劝我哥哥由我先把摩斯坦小一姐的住址找到，然后每隔一定时间给她寄一颗拆下来的珠子，这样至少也可以使她的生活不致发生困难。”

我的同伴诚恳地说道：“真是好心眼啊，您这样做是太感人了。”

这矮小的人不以为然地挥手道：“我们只是你们的财产的保管者，这是我的看法！可是我哥哥的见解和我不同。我们自己有很多财产，我也不希望再多。再说对于这位年轻小一姐做出卑鄙的事也是情理难容的。鄙俗为罪恶之源这句法国谚语是很有道理的。由于弟兄双方对于这个问题的意见不同，最后只好和他分居，我带着一个印度仆人和威廉离开了樱沼别墅。昨天我发觉了一件最重要的事情：宝物已经找到了。我才立刻和摩斯坦小一姐取得了联系，现在只剩了咱们一起到诺伍德去向他追索咱们应得的一份宝物了，昨晚我已经把我的意见向我哥哥巴索洛谬说过了。也许咱们不是他所欢迎的客人，可是他同意在那里等着咱们。”

塞笛厄斯·舒尔托先生的话说完了，坐在矮椅子上手指不住地一抽一动。我们全都默无一言，我们的思想全都集中在这个破异事件的发展上面。福尔摩斯第一个站了起来。

他说：“先生，您从头到尾做的全都很圆满，也许我们还可以告诉您一些您还不知道的事情作为报答呢。可是正如摩斯坦小一姐方才所说的，天色已晚了，咱们还是赶办正事要紧，不要再迟了。”

我们的新朋友盘起水烟壶的烟管，从幔帐后面拿出一件羔皮领袖的又长又厚的大衣。虽然晚上还很闷热，他却从上到下紧紧地扣上了钮扣，最后戴上一顶兔皮帽子，把帽沿扣过耳朵，除了他那清瘦的面孔以外，他的身一体任何部分都已遮盖起来。当他引导我们走出甬道的时候，他道：“我的身一体太弱，我只好算一个病人了。”

我们的车在外面等候着，对我们的出行显然早已作了准备，因为马夫立即赶车急行起来。塞笛厄斯不断地谈话，声音高过了辚辚的车轮声。

他道：“巴索洛谬是个聪明人，你们猜猜他怎样找到宝物的？他最后的结论断定宝物是藏在室内。他把整所房子的容积都计算出来，每个角落也小心量过了，没有一英寸之地被他漏算的。他最后发现了这所楼房高度是七十四英尺，可是他把所有的各个房间的高度都分别衡量了。用钻探方法，确定了楼板的厚度，再加上室内的高度，总共也不过是七十英尺。一共差了四英尺。这个差别只有在房顶上去找。他在最高一层房屋的用板条和灰泥修成的天花板上打穿了一个洞。在那儿，一点也不错，就在上面找到了一个封闭着的、任何人也不知道的屋顶室。那个宝物箱就摆在天花板中央的两条椽木上。他把宝物箱从洞一口取了下来，发现了里边的珠宝。他估计这批珠宝的总值不下五十万英镑。”

听到了这个庞大的数字，我们睁大了眼睛互相望着。如果我们能够代摩斯坦小一姐争取到她应得的那一份，她将立刻由一个起穷的家庭教师变成英国最富的继承人了。当然，她的忠实的朋友们全都应当替她欢喜，可是我，惭愧的很，我的良心被我的自私心遮住了，我心上象有一块重石压着。我含含糊糊地说了几句道贺的话，然后垂头丧平地坐在那里，俯首无言，后来甚至连我们新朋友所说的话也充耳不闻了。他显然是一个忧郁症的患者，我渺茫地记得好象他说出了一连串的症状，并从他的皮夹里拿出了无数的秘方，希望我对他这些秘方的内容和作用作一些解释，我真希望他把我那天晚上对他的回答全都忘掉。福尔摩斯还记得听到我叮嘱他不要服用两滴以上的蓖麻油和建议他服用大剂量的番木鳖硷作为镇定剂。①不管怎么样吧，直到车骤然停住，马车夫跳下车来把车门打开的时候，我才算松了一口气。①番木鳖硷（Strychnine）俗称士的年或士的宁，是一种剧毒一性一生物硷，在医药上用作神经兴奋剂。——译者注

当塞笛厄斯·舒尔托先生扶她下车的时候，他说道：“摩斯坦小一姐，这就是樱沼别墅。”