there? we have no means of judging."
"not more than a few minutes, sir. i forgot to tell you
that mrs. marker, the housekeeper, had been in there tidying
not very long before -- about a quarter of an hour, she
says."
"well, that gives us a limit. our lady enters this room and
what does she do? she goes over to the writing-table. what
for? not for anything in the drawers. if there had been
anything worth her taking it would surely have been locked
up. no; it was for something in that wooden bureau.
halloa! what is that scratch upon the face of it? just hold
a match, watson. why did you not tell me of this, hopkins?"
the mark which he was examining began upon the brass work on
the right-hand side of the keyhole, and extended for about
four inches, where it had scratched the varnish from the
surface.
"i noticed it, mr. holmes. but you'll always find scratches
round a keyhole."
"this is recent, quite recent. see how the brass shines
where it is cut. an old scratch would be the same colour as
the surface. look at it through my lens. there's the
varnish, too, like earth on each side of a furrow. is mrs.
marker there?"
a sad-faced, elderly woman came into the room.
"did you dust this bureau yesterday morning?"
"yes, sir."
"did you notice this scratch?"
"no, sir, i did not."
"i am sure you did not, for a duster would have swept away
these shreds of varnish. who has the key of this bureau?"
"the professor keeps it on his watch-chain."
"is it a simple key?"
"no, sir; it is a chubb's key."
"very good. mrs. marker, you can go. now we are making a
little progress. our lady enters the room, advances to the
bureau, and either opens it or tries to do so. while she is
thus engaged young willoughby smith enters the room. in her
hurry to withdraw the key she makes this scratch upon the
door. he seizes her, and she, snatching up the nearest
object, which happens to be this knife, strikes at him in
order to make him let go his hold. the blow is a fatal one.
he falls and she escapes, either with or without the object
for which she has come. is susan the maid there? could
anyone have got away through that door after the time that
you heard the cry, susan?"
"no sir; it is impossible. before i got down the stair i'd
have seen anyone in the passage. besides, the door never
opened, for i would have heard it."
"that settles this exit. then no doubt the lady went out
the way she came. i understand that this other passage
leads only to the professor's room. there is no exit that
way?"
"no, sir."
"we shall go down it and make the acquaintance of the
professor. halloa, hopkins! this is very important, very
important indeed. the professor's corridor is also lined
with cocoanut matting."
"well, sir, what of that?"
"don't you see any bearing upon the case? well, well, i
don't insist upon it. no doubt i am wrong. and yet it
seems to me to be suggestive. come with me and introduce
me."
we passed down the passage, which was of the same length as
that which led to the garden. at the end was a short flight
of steps ending in a door. our guide knocked, and then
ushered us into the professor's bedroom.
it was a very large chamber, lined with innumerable volumes,
which had overflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in
the corners, or were stacked all round at the base of the
cases. the bed was in the centre of the room, and in it,
propped up with pillows, was the owner of the house. i have
seldom seen a more remarkable-looking person. it was a
gaunt, aquiline face which was turned towards us, with
piercing dark eyes, which lurked in deep hollows under
overhung and tufted brows. his hair and beard were white,
save that the latter was curiously stained with yellow
around his mouth. a cigarette glowed amid the tangle of
white hair, and the air of the room was fetid with stale
tobacco-smoke. as he held out his hand to holmes i
perceived that it also was stained yellow with nicotine.
"a smoker, mr. holmes?" said he, speaking well-chosen
english with a curious little mincing accent. "pray take a
cigarette. and you, sir? i can recommend them, for i have
them especially prepared by ionides of alexandria. he sends
me a thousand at a time, and i grieve to say that i have to
arrange for a fresh supply every fortnight. bad, sir, very
bad, but an old man has few pleasures. tobacco and my work
-- that is all that is left to me."
holmes had lit a cigarette, and was shooting little darting
glances all over the room.
"tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco," the old man
exclaimed. "alas! what a fatal interruption! who could
have foreseen such a terrible catastrophe? so estimable a
young man! i assure you that after a few months' training
he was an admirable assistant. what do you think of the
本文链接:
http://m.picdg.com/38_38018/5748818.html