“在刑事专家看来，”福尔摩斯先生说，“自从莫里亚蒂教授死了以后，伦敦变成了一座十分乏味的城市。”
　　 “我不认为会有很多正派的市民同意你的看法，”我回答说。
　　 “对，对，我不应该自私，”他笑着说，一面把他的椅子从餐桌旁挪开，“当然这对社会有好处，除了可怜的专家无事可做以外，谁也没受损失。在那个家伙还活动的时候，你可以在每天的早报上看出大量可能发生的情况。而且，华生，常常只是一点极小的线索，一个最模糊的迹象，就足以告诉我这个恶毒的匪首在什么地方；如同蛛网的边缘稍有颤动，就使你想到潜伏在网中央的那只可恶的蜘蛛。对掌握线索的人来说，一切小的盗窃行为、任意的暴行、意图不明的逞凶，都可以连成一个整体。对一个研究上层的学者来说，欧洲别的首都没有具备过象伦敦当时所具有的那些有利条件。可是，现在……”他耸了耸肩，很幽默地表示对他自己花了不少气力造成的现状不满。
　　 我现在谈到的那个时候，福尔摩斯回国已经几个月了。我依着他的请求，出让了我的诊所，搬回贝克街我们合住过的旧寓所。有个姓弗纳的年轻医生买了我在肯辛顿开的小诊所，他半点也没犹豫就照我冒昧提出的最高价付了钱，使我感到奇怪。几年以后，我发现弗纳是福尔摩斯的远亲，钱实际上是他筹措的，这才明白过来。
　　 在我们合作的那几个月里，日子过得并不象他所说的那样平淡无奇。因为我大致翻看了一下我的笔记，就找出了在这个时启发生的前穆里罗总统文件案和荷兰轮船“弗里斯兰”号的惊人事件，后者差点使我们两人丧失性命。不过他那种冷静、自重的性格，一向不喜欢任何形式的公开赞扬。他以最严格的规定来约束我不再说一句有关他本人、他的方法或是他的成功的话。我已经解释过了，这项禁令只是到现在才被撤消。
　　 发完那一通古怪的议论之后，福尔摩斯先生往椅子背上一靠，悠闲地打开当天的早报，这时一阵吓人的门铃声引起了我们的注意，紧跟着一阵咚咚的敲门声，象是什么人在用拳头捶打大门。门开了，我听见有人冲进过道和上楼梯的急促的脚步声。没过一会儿，一个脸色苍白、头发散乱的年轻人，发狂似地闯进屋来。他两眼充满了激愤，全身都在颤抖。他来回看了看我们两个。在我们疑问目光的注视下，他感到有必要为他这样无礼地闯进来表示一下歉意。
　　 “对不起，福尔摩斯先生，”他大声说，“您不要责怪我，我几乎要疯了。福尔摩斯先生，我就是那个倒霉的约翰·赫克托·麦克法兰。”
　　 他作了这样的自我介绍，似乎只要一提他的姓名，就可以解释他的访问和访问的方式；但是从我同伴毫无反应的脸上，我能看出这个姓名对他和我都一样不说明什么。
　　 “抽支烟吧，麦克法兰先生，”他说着把烟盒递过去，“我相信我的朋友华生医生会根据症状给你开一张镇定剂的处方。最近这几天天气真够热的。现在如果你感到心定了些，请在那把椅子上坐下来，慢慢地告诉我们你是谁，有什么事找我。你只讲了你的名字，好象我应该认得你，可是除了你是个单身汉、律师、共济会会员、哮喘病患者这些显而易见的事实以外，确实我对你一点也不了解。”
　　 由于我熟悉我朋友的方法，我很容易领会他的推理，并且看出是这位年轻人的不修边幅、随身带的那一札文件、他表链上的护身符和他喘起的声音使福尔摩斯作出了这些推测。可是这位年轻的委托人惊得目瞪口呆。
　　 “不错，您说的就是我。除此以外，我现在还是全伦敦最不幸的人。看在老天的份上，您别不管我，福尔摩斯先生。要是在我没有把话讲完以前他们来逮捕我的话，务必请您告诉他们给我时间把全部事实告诉您。只要我知道有您在外面为我奔走，我可以高高兴兴地走进监狱。”
　　 “逮捕你！”福尔摩斯说，“这的确太……太有意思了。那你会因为什么罪被逮捕呢？”
　　 “谋杀下诺伍德的约纳斯·奥德克先生。”
　　 在我同伴富于表情的脸上，露出一种似乎多少带点满意的同情。
　　 “啊，”他说，“刚才吃早饭的时候，我还对我的朋友华生医生说一切轰动社会的案子已经从报上消失了呢。”
　　 我们的客人伸出一只颤抖的手把仍在福尔摩斯膝盖上放着的《每日电讯报》拿起来。
　　 “要是您看过这份报的话，先生，那您一眼就能看出我今天为什么来找您了。我觉得好象人人都在谈论着我的名字和我的灾祸。”他把报翻到刊登重要新闻的那一版。“就在这儿。如果您允许的话，我给您念念。您听这个，福尔摩斯先生。这是标题：‘下诺伍德的神秘案件——著名建筑师失踪——怀疑为谋杀纵火案——罪犯的线索'，那就是他们正在追查的线索，福尔摩斯先生。我知道它必然会引到我身上来。我在伦敦桥站一下车就被跟踪了，他们只是在等着对我发出逮捕证。这会使我母亲伤心的——一定会使她伤心的！”在极度恐惧中，他使劲扭着自己的手，在椅子上来回摇晃。
　　 我注意看了看这个被控行凶的男子：他长着淡黄色的头发，面貌清秀，但显得十分疲乏，两只蓝色的眼睛带着惊恐的神色，脸刮得净光，神经质的嘴唇显得优柔寡断。他的年龄大约在二十岁左右，衣着和举止都象个绅士。从他的浅色夏季外衣的口袋里露出一卷签注过的证书，说明了他的职业。
　　 “咱们得利用现在这段时间，”福尔摩斯说，“华生，请你把报拿起来念一念刚才谈到的那一段，好吗？”
　　 就在我们的委托人引述过的大标题下面，有这样一段带暗示的叙述，我照着念道：
　　 “昨晚深夜或今日凌晨时，下诺伍德发生了一起意外事件，恐系严重犯罪行为。约纳斯·奥德克先生为该郊区颇有名气之居民，经营建筑业多年，因而致富。奥德克先生系独身，五十二岁，住锡登罕路尽头之幽谷山庄，以习性怪僻出名，朴素沉默寡言，不爱交际，近几年实已退出建筑业，然宅后之贮木场仍在。昨夜十二点左右，贮木场发出火警，消防车不久即赶至现场，但因木燥火猛，无法扑救，直至整堆木料烧尽始熄。至此，起火原因似属偶然，但另有迹象显示或系严重犯罪行为。火灾现场未见户主，殊令人诧异。经查询，始知户主已失踪。检查卧室，床无人睡过，而保险柜门已开，若干重要文件散落满地。最后发现室内曾发生激烈格斗之迹象，并找到少量血迹及橡木手杖一根，柄上亦沾有血迹。现已查明，是夜奥德克先生曾在卧室接待来客，该手杖即来客之物。此深夜来客为年轻律师约翰·赫克托·麦克法兰先生，即中东区格莱沙姆大楼４２６号格雷姆——麦克法兰事务所之合伙人。警方相信已掌握能说明犯罪动机之有力证据。总之，此事件有惊人发展，则毋庸置疑。
　　 本报付印时，谣传麦克法兰先生，因谋杀约纳斯·奥德克罪已被逮捕。逮捕证确已发出。正在诺伍德进行之调查又有不祥发展。在建筑师所住楼下寝室里，除有格斗迹象外，现又发现法国式落地窗敞开，并有笨重物体从室内拖往木料堆的痕迹。最后在火场灰烬中找到被烧焦之残骸一说已被肯定。按照警方推测，此乃一起极其惊人之凶案。受害者在寝室中被击毙，文件被盗，尸体拖至木料堆焚烧灭迹。此案已交苏格兰场素有经验之警官雷斯垂德进行调查，此刻渠正以其惯有之精力与机智追查线索。”
　　 福尔摩斯合着眼，两手指尖顶着指尖，听了这起惊人的报道。
　　 “这件案子有几点的确值得注意，”他慢吞吞地说，“麦克法兰先生，我想先问一问：既然看起来有足够的证据可以逮捕你，怎么你依然逍遥法外呢？”
　　 “福尔摩斯先生，我和父母同住在布莱克希斯多林顿寓①所，但是昨晚因为有点事要替约纳斯·奥德克先生办一办，就在诺伍德一家旅馆里住下来，从旅馆去他家把事情办了。我是在火车上看到报上您刚才听过的那条新闻，才知道诺伍德发生的事件。我立即看出自己的处境非常危险，就赶来把这件案子委托给您。我知道要是我在城里的办公室或在家里，准会给抓走了。有人从伦敦桥车站就跟住我，我一点都不怀疑——哎呀！什么人来了？”
　　 那是门铃响了，立即又从楼梯上传来沉重的脚步声。过了一会儿，我们的老朋友雷斯垂德出现在房门口。我从他身后一眼看见门外站着的两名穿的。
　　 我们这位不幸的委托人站起身来，脸色发白。
　　 “由于你蓄意谋杀下诺伍德的约纳斯·奥德克先生，我现在逮捕你。”
　　 麦克法兰作出一个绝望的手势向我们求援。
　　 “等一等，雷斯垂德。”福尔摩斯说，“再等半个小时左右不会对你有影响吧。这位绅士正要给我们讲这桩非常有趣的事件的经过，这可能帮助我们把事情弄清楚。”
　　 “我觉得弄清楚它不会有困难了，”雷斯垂德冷酷地说。
　　 “不过，如果你允许的话，我倒很有兴趣听他讲。”
　　 “好吧，福尔摩斯先生，我很难拒绝你的任何要求，因为过去你给我们帮过一两次忙，在我们苏格兰场这方面，还欠你一份情呢。”雷斯垂德说，“我必须同犯人在一起，而且还不得不警告他：凡是他说的话都会成为不利于他的证据。”
　　 “这再好不过了，”我们的委托人说，“我只请求您一定要听我讲，并且明白我讲的绝对是真话。”
　　 雷斯垂德看了一下他的表。“我给你半小时，”他说。
　　 “我必须先说明，”麦克法兰说，“我对约纳斯·奥德克先生一点都不了解。他的名字我熟悉，因为很多年以前我父母和他认识，但是他们后来疏远了。因此，昨天下午，大约三点钟，当他走进我城里的办公室的时候，我感到非常奇怪。在他说明了来意之后，我感到更加惊奇。他手里拿着几张从笔记本中撕下来的单页，上面写满了很潦草的字——就是这几张——把它放在我桌上。
　　 “'这是我的遗嘱，'他说，'麦克法兰先生，我要你把它照正式法定的格式写出来。你写你的，我就在这坐着。'
　　 “我开始抄写这份遗嘱。当我看到他除有若干保留外，把其余的全部财产留给我的时候，您可以想象出来我的惊讶。他是个小雪貂似的怪人，长着全白的眉毛。我抬头看他的时候，发现他那双锐利的灰色眼睛正盯着我，脸上带着一种开心的表情。当我读到遗嘱中那些条文的时候，我简直不能相信我的眼睛，可是他解释说，他是个没有任何活着的亲属的单身汉，他在青年时期就认识我的父母，而且一直听说我是个值得信任的年轻人，所以放心把他的钱交给我。当然，我只能结结巴巴地说些感谢的话。遗嘱照格式写好了，签了字，由我的书记当证人。就是这张蓝纸上写的。我已经说过，这些小纸条只是草稿。奥德克先生然后告诉我，还有一些字据——租约、房契、抵押凭据、临时期证等等，应该让我看看。他说只有在这一些都办完以后他才放心，并且要我晚上就带着这份遗嘱去诺伍德，在他家里把所有的事情都安排一下。'记住，我的孩子，在这一切还没有办完以前，什么话也不要对你父母说。咱们先不讲，好给他们一个小小的意外之喜。'他非常坚持这一点，还要我答应一定做到。
　　 “您能想象出来，福尔摩斯先生，我当时无心拒绝他任何要求。他成了我的保护人，我一心想丝毫不差地实现他的愿望。于是我给家里打了一个电报，说我手边有要紧的事，不好估计我会呆到多晚才回家。奥德克先生还告诉过我，他希望我能在九点钟跟他一起吃晚饭，因为九点以前他可能还没有到家。可是，他住的地方很难找，我到他家的时候快九点半了。我发现他……”
　　 “等一下！”福尔摩斯说，“是谁开的门？”
　　 “一个中年妇女，我猜是他的女管家。”
　　 “把你的名字说出来的，我想就是她吧？”
　　 “不错，”麦克法兰说。
　　 “请说下去。”
　　 麦克法兰擦了擦额头上的汗，然后继续讲他这段经过：
　　 “这个妇女把我领进一间起居室，里面已经摆好了简单的晚饭。后来，约纳斯·奥德克先生带我到他的卧室去，那里立着一个保险柜。他打开保险柜，取出来一大堆文件。我们把这堆文件仔细看了一遍，直到十一点和十二点之间才看完。他说我们不要打搅女管家，就让我从法国窗户出去。那扇窗一直是开着的。”
　　 “窗帘放下来没有？”福尔摩斯问。
　　 “我说不准，不过我想是放了一半下来。对，我记得他为了打开窗户，把窗帘拉起来了。我找不到我的手杖，他说：'没关系，我的孩子，我希望从现在起能经常见到你。我会把你的手杖收好，等你下次来取。'我离开他的时候，卧室里的保险柜是开着的，那些分成几小包的字据还摆在桌上。已经那么晚了，当然我回不去布莱克希斯，就在安纳利·阿姆斯旅馆过了一夜。其他的我都不知道，一直到今天早晨才从报上知道了这件可怕的事情。”
　　 “你还有别的要问吗，福尔摩斯先生？”雷斯垂德说。在他听年轻人讲这段不平凡的经历的时候，我见他有一两次扬其他的眉毛来。
　　 “在我没有去布莱克希斯以前，没什么要问的了。”
　　 “你是说没有去诺伍德以前吧，”雷斯垂德说。
　　 “啊，对了，我要说的是诺伍德，”福尔摩斯说，脸上带着他那种高深莫测的微笑。雷斯垂德从多次经验中知道福尔摩斯的脑子就象把锋利的剃刀，能切开在他看来是坚不可破的东西。他只是不愿承认这一点。我见他好奇地看着我的同伴。
　　 “过会儿我想跟你说一两句话，福尔摩斯先生，”他说，“好吧，麦克法兰先生，我的两个警士就在门口，外面还有辆四轮马车在等着。”这个可怜的年轻人站了起来，祈求地对我们看了最后一眼，从屋里走出来。带着他上了马车，但雷斯垂德留下了。
　　 福尔摩斯正在看他拿在手里的那几页遗嘱草稿，脸上带着极感兴趣的样子。
　　 “这份遗嘱的确有些特点，雷斯垂德，你看呢？”他说着便把草稿递过去。
　　 “我能看出头几行和第二页中间几句，还有最后一两行。这些象印的一样清楚，”他说，“其余的都写得不清楚。有三个地方我一点也认不出来。”
　　 “你怎么解释这一点？”福尔摩斯说。
　　 “你怎么解释呢？”
　　 “是在火车上写的。清楚的部分说明火车停在站上，不清楚的部分说明火车在行驶，最不清楚的部分说明火车正经过道岔。有经验的专家能立刻断定这是在一条郊区铁路线上写出来的，因为只有在大城市附近才能接二连三碰到道岔。假如他花了全旅程的时间来写这份遗嘱，那必定是一趟快车，在诺伍德和伦敦桥之间只停过一次。”
　　 雷斯垂德笑了起来。
　　 “在分析问题上你比我强，福尔摩斯先生，”他说，“你说的这一点跟案子有什么关系呢？”
　　 “它足以证实年轻人所谈的这份遗嘱是约纳斯·奥德克昨天在旅途中拟好的。一个人竟会以这样随便的方式来写一份这么重要的文件，岂非怪事？这说明他实际上并不重视这份遗嘱。只有根本不打算让自己立的遗嘱生效的人才会这样做。”
　　 “这等于他同时给自己出了一张死刑判决书，”雷斯垂德说。
　　 “哦，你这样想吗？”
　　 “你不这样想吗？”
　　 “很可能，不过这件案子对我来说还不清楚。”
　　 “不清楚？如果这样一件案子都不算是清楚的话，还有什么能算是清楚的呢？有个年轻人忽然知道只要某个老人一死，他就可以继承一笔财产。他怎么办？他不告诉任何人，安排了某种借口在当天昨上去拜访他的委托人。一直等到全屋仅存的第三者睡了，在单独的一间卧室里他杀了委托人，把尸体放在木料堆里焚烧，然后离开那里去附近的旅馆。卧室里和手杖上的血迹都很少。可能他想象连这一点点血迹也不会留下，并且希望只要尸体毁了，就可以掩盖委托人如何毙命的一切痕迹，因为那些痕迹迟早要把他暴露出来。这不是很明显吗？”
　　 “我的好雷斯垂德，你所说的使我感到有点过于明显，”福尔摩斯说，“你没有把想象力加到你许多长处中去，但是，如果你能试试把自己摆在这个年轻人的地位上来看，你会挑选立遗嘱的那个晚上去行凶吗？你不觉得把立遗嘱和行凶这两件事连接得这么紧是很危险的吗？还有，你会选择别人知道你在那里、正是这家的佣人开门让你进屋的这样一个时机吗？还有最后一点，你会那么煞费苦心地藏尸体，而又留下手杖作为暴露你是凶犯的证据吗？雷斯垂德，你必须承认这些都是不可能的。”
　　 “至于那根手杖，福尔摩斯先生，你我都知道：一个罪犯总是慌慌张张的，往往干出头脑冷静的人能避免的一些事情来。他很可能是不敢回那间屋里去。你给我一个别的能符合事实的推测吧。”
　　 “我能够很容易地给你举出好几个推测，”福尔摩斯说，“譬如，有这样一个可能的、甚至是很可能的推测，我把它当礼物赠送给你。老人正在给年轻人看那些贵重的证券，因为窗帘只放下了一半，一个过路的流浪汉在窗外看见了他们。年轻律师走了，流浪汉就进屋来，看到那根手杖，便抓起手杖把奥德克打死，烧了尸体以后就跑了。”
　　 “为什么流浪汉要烧掉尸体？”
　　 “就这点来说，为什么麦克法兰是要这样做呢？”
　　 “为了掩盖一些证据。”
　　 “可能流浪汉想不叫人知道出了谋杀案。”
　　 “那为什么流浪汉不拿东西呢？”
　　 “因为那些字据都是不能转让的。”
　　 “好吧，福尔摩斯先生，你可以去找你的流浪汉。在你找他的时候，我们不放走这个年轻人。将来会证明谁是对的。请注意这一点，福尔摩斯先生：就我们所知，字据一张都没有动过。我们这个犯人根本没有理由要拿走字据，因为他是法定继承人，在任何情况下他都会得到这些字据。”
　　 我的朋友好象给这句话扎了一下。“我无意否认目前的证据在某些方面对你的推测非常有利，”他说，“我只想指出还有其他可能的推测。就象你说的，将来会作出判断。再见！大概今天我会顺便去诺伍德，看看你进展得怎样。”
　　 这位侦探走了，我的朋友从椅子上起来，带着一个人面对合他兴趣的任务时那种神情，为这天的工作做好准备。
　　 “华生，刚才我说过，我第一个行动的方向必须是布莱克希斯，”他说着一边匆忙穿上他的长外衣。
　　 “为什么不是诺伍德？”
　　 “我们在这个案子里看到有两件紧接着出现的怪事。当局正在犯这样一个错误，就是他们把注意力集中在第二件怪事上，因为它恰巧确实是犯罪行为。但在我看来，显然处理这个案子的合理途径应该是从设法说明第一个事件着手，就是那张不寻常的遗嘱。它立得那么草率，又给了那么一个意想不到的继承人。这一点清楚了，可能下一步就好办些。
　　 “亲爱的朋友，我想你帮不上我的忙。我一个人不会有什么危险的，否则我不会想到单独行动。等我晚上见你的时候，我相信能够告诉你我为了这个求我保护的小伙子已经做到了什么。”
　　 我的朋友回来得很晚。从他憔悴、焦急的脸上，我一眼就看出他出发时所抱的希望落空了。他拉了一小时的提琴，琴声单调而低沉，他竭力使自己的烦躁心情平静下来。最后他猛地放下了提琴，开始详细讲他失败的尝试。
　　 “一切都错了，华生，简直错到底了。我在雷斯垂德面前装着不在乎，但从我本心说，我相信他这一回路子走对了，咱们却走错了。我的直觉指着这个方向，一切事实却指着另一个方向。恐怕英国的陪审团的智力远没有达到这种高度，以致他们宁愿接受我的假设而不要雷斯垂德的证据。”
　　 “你去了布莱克希斯吗？”
　　 “去了，华生。我到了那里，很快就发现死去的奥德克是个不可小看的恶棍。麦克法兰的父亲出去找儿子了，他母亲在家。她是个蓝眼睛、个子矮小、愚昧无知的妇女，恐惧和气愤使她不停地发抖。当然，她认为她儿子简直不可能犯罪，可是她对奥德克的遭遇既不表示惊讶，也不表示惋惜。恰恰相反，她谈起奥德克时流露的那种深恶痛绝的样子，等于她不自觉地在支持警方的理由。因为要是她儿子曾经听过她这样谈论奥德克的话，那就会自然而然使他产生憎恨和干出暴行。'奥德克以前与其说是人，倒不如说是个恶毒狡猾的怪物，'她说。'从年轻的时候起，他一直就是一个怪物。'
　　 “那时候您就认识他？'我说。
　　 “'是的，我很熟悉他。其实，他是最早向我求婚的一个。谢谢老天我还有眼力离开他，跟一个也许比他穷、但是比他好的人结了婚。在我和奥德克订婚以后，听人讲其他怎样把一只猫放进鸟舍里去。他这种残酷无情的举动使我厌恶极了，再也不愿跟他有任何往来。'她从写字台抽屉里翻出一张女人的照片，脸部给刀划得支离破碎。'这是我自己的相片，'她说，'在我结婚的那天上午，他为了诅咒我，把它弄成这样给我寄来了。'
　　 “'不过，'我说，'至少他现在宽恕你了，因为他将全部财产都留给了你的儿子。'
　　 “'我儿子和我都不要约纳斯·奥德克任何东西，不管他是死是活，'她郑重其事地大声说，'天上有上帝呀，福尔摩斯先生。上帝已经惩罚了这个坏人，到时候上帝也会证明我儿子手上没有沾他的血。'
　　 “我还试了追寻一两个线索，但是找不到有助于我们的假设的东西，有几点恰恰同我们的假设相反。最后我放弃了，去了诺伍德。
　　 “幽谷庄这个地方是一所现代式的大别墅，全部用烧砖盖成的，前面是庭园和种了一丛丛月桂树的草坪。右边是着过火的贮木场，从那里到大路上还有一段距离。这是我在笔记本上画的简图。左边这扇窗户是奥德克的房间，站在这条路上就可以望到屋里，你明白吧。雷斯垂德不在那儿，这是我今天得到的仅有的一点安慰，但是他的警长尽了主人之谊。他们刚发现了一个莫大的宝藏。他们在灰烬中寻找了一上午，除烧焦的有机体残骸以外，还找到几个变了色的金属小圆片。我仔细检查了这些圆片，原来是男裤钮扣。我甚至还辨认出一粒钮扣上的标记：'海安姆'，这是奥德克的裁缝的姓。然后我仔细检查草坪，希望找到别的痕迹和脚印，可是这场干旱使一切东西都变得象铁一样坚硬，什么也看不出来，只看出象是一具尸体或是一捆什么东西曾经被拖过一片水腊树的矮篱笆，方向正对着木料堆。这些当然符合官方的推测。我在草坪上爬来爬去，背上晒着八月天的太阳，一小时以后我才站起，还是跟去那里以前一样不明白。
　　 “在院子里一无所获，我就进屋去检查那间卧室，里面血迹很少，仅仅是沾上了些，但颜色新鲜。手杖已被人移动了，上面的血迹也很少。那根手杖的确是属于麦克法兰的，他也承认了。地毯上可以看出他和奥德克的脚印，但是没有第三者的脚印，这又使警场赢上一着。他们的得分在往上加，咱们却原地未动。
　　 “我看到过一点点希望，不过也落空了。我检查了保险柜里的东西，其中大部分早已取出来在桌上放着。那些字据都封在封套里，有一两件已经给他们拆开了。在我看，那都是些没有很大价值的东西；从银行存折上也看不出奥德克先生的境况有多富裕。但是我觉得并非所有的字据都在那里。有几处提到一些文凭——可能是更值钱的，但是我找不出来。当然，如果咱们能证明这一点，它就会使雷斯垂德的说法自相矛盾。难道会有人偷走他明知自己不久就要继承的东西吗？
　　 “我检查了所有其它的地方，也没找着线索，最后不得不在女管家身上碰碰运气。勒克辛顿太太是个矮个子，皮肤黑黑的，不多说话，有一双多疑、斜着看人的眼睛。我相信只要她肯说话，她能说出点什么来，但她的嘴紧得象个蜡人一样。是的，她在九点半的时候让麦克法兰先生进来了。她后悔不该让他进屋。她是十点半去睡的；她的房间在那一头，听不见这边发生的事情。麦克法兰先生把他的帽子和一根她相信是他的手杖放在门厅里。她给火警惊醒了。她的不幸的好主人肯定是被人谋害的。他有仇人吗？唉，谁都有仇人，不过奥德克先生很少同人往来，只接见找他办事的人。她看了那些钮扣，并且断定就是他昨晚穿的衣服上的。因为一个月没有下雨，木料堆非常干燥，所以烧得很快。她到了贮木场的时候，除一片烈火之处，什么也看不见了。她和所有的救火员都闻到肉烧焦了的气味。她一点不知道有什么字据，也不知道奥德克先生的私事。
　　 “喏，我亲爱的华生，这就是我的失败经过。但是……但是……”他突然握紧拳头，好象恢复了自信，“我知道一切都不对。我确实感到全不对。还有点重要的情况，女管家是知道的，可是问不出来。她那种愠怒、反抗的眼神，只说明她自觉有罪。不过再多说也没有用了。除非运气找上门来，恐怕这件诺伍德的失踪案不会在咱们的破案记录中出现。我看耐心的公众只好容忍这一次。”
　　 “这个年轻人的外表一定会感动任何一个陪审团吧？”我说。
　　 “那是个危险的论点，我亲爱的华生。你记得一八八七年那个想要咱们帮他开脱的大谋杀犯贝尔特·司蒂芬斯吧？你见过态度比他更温和、更象主日学校的儿童似的年轻人吗？”
　　 “这倒是真的。”
　　 “除非咱们能提出另一个可取的假设来，不然麦克法兰就算完了。在这个现在就可以对他提出控诉的案子中，你简直找不出一点毛病。进一步调查的结果反倒加强了立案理由。我想起来了，那些字据中还有一点奇怪的地方，也许可以作为一次调查的起点。我在翻看银行存折的时候，发现余额无几，主要因为过去一年里有几张大额支票开给了柯尼利亚斯先生。我很想知道跟这位退休的建筑师有过这样的大宗交易的柯尼利亚斯先生是什么人。也许他和这件案子有关系？柯尼利亚斯先生可能是个掮客，但是我没有找到和这几笔大额付款相符的凭据。既然现在没有别的迹象，我必须向银行查询那位把支票兑换成现款的绅士。但是，我的朋友，我担心这件案子将不光彩地以雷斯垂德吊死咱们的委托人告结束，这对苏格兰场无疑会成为一次胜利。”
　　 我不知道那一夜福尔摩斯究竟睡了多久，但我下楼吃早饭的时候，见他脸色苍白，满面愁容，他那双发亮的眼睛由于周围的黑圈显得更加明亮。在他的椅子附近的地毯上满是烟头和当天的早报。有一份电报摊在餐桌上。
　　 “你看这是什么意思，华生？”他把电报扔过来问我。
　　 电报是从诺伍德来的，全文如下：
　　 新获重要证据，麦克法兰罪行已定，奉劝放弃此案。
　　 雷斯垂德
　　 “听起来象真的，”我说。
　　 “这是雷斯垂德自鸣得意的小胜利，”福尔摩斯回答说，脸上露出一丝苦笑。“不过，放弃这个案子也许还不到时候。不管怎样，任何新的重要证据就象一把双刃的刀，它可能不一定朝着是雷斯垂德猜想的方向切过去。先吃早饭吧，华生。咱们一块儿出去看看有什么可做的，今天我觉得好象需要你的陪伴和精神援助。”
　　 我的朋友自己却没有吃早饭。他在比较紧张的时候就不让自己吃东西，这是他的一个特性。我见过他滥用自己的体力，直到由于营养不足而晕倒。“我现在匀不出精力来消化食物，”他总是以这句话来回答我从医学的角度提出的劝告。因此，这天他没吃早饭就和我出发去诺伍德，并不使我奇怪。有一群好奇的人围在幽谷庄外，这所郊外的别墅和我想象的一样。雷斯垂德在里面迎接我们，胜利使他满面红光，样子很得意。“啊，福尔摩斯先生，你已经证明我们错了吧？你找到那个流浪汉没有？”他高声说。
　　 “我还没有得出什么结论，”我的同伴回答说。
　　 “可是我们昨天得出的结论，现在证明是对的，你得承认这次我们走在你前头了，福尔摩斯先生。”
　　 “你的神气确实象发生了不平常的事情。”
　　 雷斯垂德大笑起来。
　　 “你也和我们一样不喜欢落在别人后面，”他说，“一个人不能指望事事如意，是不是这样，华生医生？先生们，请到这边来。我想我能彻底说服你们本案的凶犯就是约翰·麦克法兰。”
　　 他领我们走出过道，来到那边的一间昏暗的门厅。
　　 “这是年轻的麦克法兰作案后必定要来取他的帽子的地方，”他说。“现在你们看一看这个。”他突然戏剧性地划亮了一根火柴，照出白灰墙上有一点血迹。当他把火柴凑近了些，我看见的不仅是血迹，而且是一个印得很清楚的大拇指纹。
　　 “用你的放大镜看看吧，福尔摩斯先生。”
　　 “我正用放大镜看着呢。”
　　 “你知道大拇指的指纹没有两个同样的。”
　　 “我听说过类似这样的话。”
　　 “那好，请你把墙上的指纹和今天早上我命令从麦克法兰的右手大拇指上取来的蜡指纹比一比吧。”他把蜡指纹挨着血迹举起来，这时候不用放大镜也能看出确实都是由同一个大拇指上印出来的。很明显我们这个不幸的委托人是没希望了。
　　 “这是决定性的，”雷斯垂德说。
　　 “对，是决定性的，”我不由自主地附和他。
　　 “决定性的！”福尔摩斯说。我从他的语其中听出了点什么，便转过头来看着他。他的表情起了意外的变化，面部因暗暗自喜而不住地抽动，眼睛象星星一样闪闪发光，似乎在竭力忍住一阵大笑。
　　 “哎！哎！”他终于说，“谁能想得到？光看外表多么不可靠，这一点不假！看上去是那么好的一个年轻人！这件事教训我们不要相信自己的眼力，是不是，雷斯垂德？”
　　 “是的，咱们当中有的人就是有些过于自信，福尔摩斯先生。”雷斯垂德说。这个人的傲慢真令人生气，但是我们说不出口来。
　　 “那位年轻人从挂钉上取下帽子的时候会用右手大拇指在墙上按一下，简直是天意！多么自然的一个动作，如果你仔细想一想。”福尔摩斯表面上很镇静，可是他说这话时，抑制不住的兴奋使他全身都在颤动。
　　 “顺便问一下，雷斯垂德，是谁作出这个惊人的发现的？”
　　 “是女管家勒克辛顿太太告诉夜勤警士的。”
　　 “夜勤警士当时在哪里？”
　　 “他留在出事的那间卧室里守着不让动里面的东西。”
　　 “但是为什么你们昨天没有发现这个血迹呢？”
　　 “嗯，我们当时没有特殊理由要仔细检查这间门厅。再说，你看，这个地方不大显眼。”
　　 “对，对，当然是不大显眼。我想很可能这血迹昨天就在墙上吧？”
　　 雷斯垂德望着福尔摩斯，仿佛他在想这人是不是疯子。我承认连我对福尔摩斯那种高兴的样子和相当任性地表示意见也感到惊奇。
　　 “我不懂你是否认为麦克法兰为了增加自己的罪证，他深夜从监狱里跑出来过，”雷斯垂德说，“我可以请世界上任何一位专家来鉴定这是不是他的拇指印。”
　　 “毫无疑问，这是他的拇指印。”
　　 “那就够了，”雷斯垂德说，“我是个注重实际的人，福尔摩斯先生，只有在找到证据的时候我才下结论。要是你还有什么要说的，你可以在起居室找到我。我要在那里写我的报告。”
　　 福尔摩斯已经恢复了平静，但我在他的表情中似乎仍旧看得出来他心里觉得可笑。
　　 “哎，这是个很糟的发展，是不是，华生？不过这里面有些奇妙之处，还给咱们的委托人留下几分希望。”
　　 “你这样讲使我听了很高兴，”我由衷地说，“刚才我觉得恐怕他没有希望了。”
　　 “我就不愿意说出这样的话来，亲爱的华生。事实上在咱们这位朋友极其重视的证据中，有一个十分严重的缺陷。”
　　 “真的？什么缺陷？”
　　 “就是这点：我知道昨天我检查门厅的时候，墙上并没有血迹。华生，现在咱们到有太阳的地方去散散步吧。”
　　 我陪着我的朋友在花园里散步；我的脑子很乱，心里却因为有了希望开始觉得有些热呼呼的。福尔摩斯把别墅的每一面都按顺序看了看，很有兴趣地检查了这所房子。然后他领头走进屋里。从地下室到阁楼，他把整个的建筑都看到了。大多数的房间里没有家具摆设。但是他仍然仔细地检查了这些房间。最后到了顶层的走廊上，那里有三间空闲的卧室，福尔摩斯突然又高兴起来。
　　 “这件案子的确很有特点，华生，”他说，“我想现在是跟咱们的朋友雷斯垂德说真心话的时候了。他已经嘲笑过咱们，也许咱们也可以照样回敬他，如果我对案子的判断证明是对了的话。有了，有了，我想我知道咱们该采取什么办法。”
　　 福尔摩斯打扰这位苏格兰场警官的时候，他仍在起居室挥笔书写。
　　 “我知道你在写一份关于这件案子的报告，”他说。
　　 “我是在写。”
　　 “你不认为有点为时过早吗？我总觉得你的证据不足。”
　　 雷斯垂德很了解我的朋友，决不会不注意他的话。他把笔放下来，好奇地看着福尔摩斯。
　　 “你那是什么意思，福尔摩斯先生？”
　　 “我只是要说有一个重要的证人你还没有见到。”
　　 “你能提出来吗？”
　　 “我想我能做到。”
　　 “那就提出来吧。”
　　 “我尽力而为。你有几个警士？”
　　 “能马上召集来的有三个。”
　　 “好极了！”福尔摩斯说，“他们都是身体壮、嗓门大的吧？”
　　 “当然是，但是我不明白他们的嗓门跟这有什么关系。”
　　 “也许我能帮助你弄明白这点和一两个别的问题，”福尔摩斯说，“请把你的警士叫来，我要试一试。”
　　 过了五分钟，三名警士已经集合在大厅里了。
　　 “外面的小屋里有一大堆麦秸，”福尔摩斯说，“请你们搬两捆进来。我看这点麦秸可以帮个大忙把我需要的证人找来。谢谢你们。华生，我相信你口袋里有火柴。现在，雷斯垂德先生，请你们都陪我到顶层楼梯的平台上去。”
　　 我已经说过，那三间空着的卧室外面有一条很宽的走廊。福尔摩斯把我们都集合在走廊的一头。三名警士在咧着嘴笑；雷斯垂德望着我的朋友，脸上交替地流露出惊奇、期待和讥笑。福尔摩斯站在我们前面，神气活象个在变戏法的魔术家。
　　 “请你派一位警士去提两桶水来好吗？把那两捆麦秸放在这里，不要挨着墙。现在我看一切都准备好了。”
　　 雷斯垂德的脸已经开始变红。他生气了。
　　 “我不明白你是否在跟我们开玩笑，歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生，”他说，“如果你知道些什么，你满可以讲出来，用不着做这种毫无意义的举动。”
　　 “我向你保证，我的好雷斯垂德，我做每一件事情都是有完全理由的。你可能记得几小时以前你好象是占了上风的时候，你跟我开了点玩笑，那末现在你就别不让我来点排场呀。华生，你先开窗户，然后划根火柴把麦秸点着，可以吗？”
　　 我照他的话做了。烧着的干麦秸噼啪作响，冒出了火焰，一股白烟给穿堂风吹得在走廊里缭绕。
　　 “现在咱们看看能不能给你找出那个证人来，雷斯垂德。请各位跟我一起喊'着火了'好吗？来吧，一，二，三——”
　　 “着火啦！”我们都高声叫喊。
　　 “谢谢。请你们再来一下。”
　　 “着火啦！”
　　 “先生们，还要来一次，一起喊。”
　　 “着火啦！”这一声大概全诺伍德都听到了。
　　 喊声刚落，就发生了惊人的事情。在走廊尽头的那堵看起来是完整的墙上，突然打开了一扇门，一个矮小、干瘦的人从门里冲出来，象是一只兔子从它的地洞里蹦了出来似的。
　　 “好极了！”福尔摩斯沉着地说，“华生，往麦秸上浇一桶水。这就行啦！雷斯垂德，请允许我给你介绍。这就是你们的那个失踪的主要证人约纳斯·奥德克先生。”
　　 雷斯垂德十分吃惊地望着这个陌生人。走廊的亮光晃得他不停地眨眼。他盯着看看我们，又看看仍在冒烟的火堆。那是一张可憎的脸：狡诈，，凶狠，长着两只多疑的、浅灰色的眼睛。
　　 “这是怎么回事？”雷斯垂德终于说话了，“你这些时候在干什么？”
　　 奥德克看见这个侦探发怒的样子害怕了，不自然地笑了一声。
　　 “我又没害人。”
　　 “没害人吗？你想尽了办法要把一个无辜者送上绞架。要不是有这位先生的话，说不定你就干成了。”
　　 这个坏家伙开始抽噎起来。
　　 “说实话，先生，我只是开了个玩笑。”
　　 “啊！这是玩笑吗？我包你笑不出来。把他带下去，留在起居室里等我来。”
　　 三个警士把奥德克带走后，雷斯垂德接着说：“福尔摩斯先生，刚才当着警士面前我不便说，但是在华生医生面前，我不怕承认这是你做得最出色的一件事，虽然我想不出来你是怎样做的。你救了一个无辜者的性命，并且避免了一场会毁掉我在警界声誉的丑闻。”
　　 福尔摩斯微笑着拍了拍雷斯垂德的肩膀。
　　 “不但无损于你的声誉，我的好先生，你反而会看到你的名声大增呢。只要把你写的报告稍加改动，他们就觉得要想蒙骗雷斯垂德巡官的眼睛有多么难哪。”
　　 “那你不希望报告中有你的名字？”
　　 “一点也不。工作就是奖赏。等将来我允许这位热心的历史学家再拿起笔的时候，或许我也会受到称赞——嗯，华生？好吧，现在让咱们看看这只耗子隐藏的地方。”
　　 离这条过道的尽头六英尺的地方，曾经用抹过灰的板条隔出来一小间，隔墙上巧妙地安装了一扇暗门。小间全靠屋檐缝隙中透过来一点光照明，里面有几件家具，还存了食物和水，同一些书、报纸放在一起。
　　 在我们往外走的时候，福尔摩斯说：“这是建筑师的有利条件。他能给自己准备一间密室而不需要任何帮手——当然，他那个女管家除外。我应该马上把她也放进你的猎囊。”
　　 “我接受你的意见。可是你怎么知道这个地方，福尔摩斯先生？”
　　 “我先断定他就藏在屋里。当我第一次走过这条走廊的时候，发现它比楼下那条同样的走廊短了六英尺，这一来他藏的地方就十分清楚了。我也料到他没有勇气能在火警面前呆着不动。当然，我们也可以进去把他抓住，但是我觉得逼他出来更有趣。再说，雷斯垂德，上午你戏弄了我，也该我来迷惑你一下作为回敬了。”
　　 “嗯，先生，你的确向我报复了。但是你究竟是怎么知道他藏在屋里的呢？”
　　 “那个拇指印，雷斯垂德。你当时说它是决定性的。在完全不同的意义上，它真是决定性的。我知道前天那里并没有这个指印。我对细节非常注意，这一点你也许知道；而且那天我检查过大厅，墙上确实什么也没有。因此，指印是后来在夜里按上去的。”
　　 “但是怎么按上去的呢？”
　　 “很简单。那天晚上他们把分成小包的字据用火漆封口的时候，约纳斯·奥德克叫麦克法兰用大拇指在其中的一个封套上的热火漆上按一下使它粘牢。这个年轻人很快而且很自然地这样做了，我相信连他自己也忘了这件事。很可能这是碰巧发生的事，奥德克本人当时并没有想要利用它。后来他在密室里盘算这件案子的时候，忽然想到他可以利用这个指印制造一个可以证明麦克法兰有罪的确证。他只要从那个火漆印上取个蜡模，用针刺出足够的血涂在模子上面，然后夜里亲自或者叫女管家把印按在墙上就行了。这是天下最简单的事情。如把他带进密室的那些文件检查一遍，你准能找到那个有指纹的火漆印，这我可以打赌。”
　　 “妙极了！”雷斯垂德说，“妙极了！经你这样一讲，一切都清清楚楚了。但是，福尔摩斯先生，这个局的目的又是什么呢？”
　　 我看见这位态度傲慢的侦探忽然变得象个小孩在问他老师问题一样，真是有趣。
　　 “这个我认为不难解释。正在楼下等着的这位绅士是个很狡猾、恶毒、记仇的人。你知道麦克法兰的母亲从前拒绝过他的求婚吗？你不知道？我早对你说过应该先去布莱克希斯，然后去诺伍德。后来，这种感情上的伤害在他的诡诈的心里产生了怨恨，他终生渴望报复，但没有找到机会。最近一两年里，情况变得对他不利——大概是暗中从事投机生意失败，他发现自己的处境不妙。他决心要骗其他所有的债主。为了达到这个目的，他给某个柯尼利亚斯先生开出了大额支票。我猜想这个人就是他自己，用了另一个名字。我还没有追查过这些支票，但是我相信这些支票全都用那个名字存进了外地一个小镇的银行，奥德克时常去那个小镇过一种双重人格的生活。他打算将来改名换姓，把这笔钱取出来，然后去别的地方重新开始一切。”
　　 “嗯，完全可能。”
　　 “在他想来，假如他能做出这样一个假象，就是他被旧情人的独子谋杀了，他就可以销声匿迹，同时又对他的旧情人进行了报复。这个恶毒计谋真是个杰作，他象个大师一样把它实现了。为了造成一个明显的犯罪动机而写的那张遗嘱，要麦克法兰瞒着父母私下来见他，故意留藏下手杖，卧室里的血迹，木料堆中的动物尸骨和钮扣——这一切都令人惊叹。他布下的这张罗网，在几小时前看来仍然牢固，但是他缺少艺术家所具有的那种懂得什么时候停住的至高天赋。他画蛇添足，想把已经套在这个不幸的年轻人脖子上的绳索拉得更紧一些，结果他把一切都毁了。咱们下楼去吧，雷斯垂德。我还有一两个问题要问问他。”
　　 那个恶棍在自己的起居室里坐着，两旁各站着一个。
　　 “那是一个玩笑，我的好先生——一个恶作剧，没有别的用意，”他不停地哀告，“我向你保证，先生，我把自己藏起来只是为了知道我的失踪会带来什么影响。我相信你不至于认为我会让年轻的麦克法兰先生受到任何伤害吧。”
　　 “那要由陪审团来决定，”雷斯垂德说，“不管怎样，即使不是谋杀未遂，我们也要控告你密谋罪。”
　　 “你大概就要看到你的债主要求银行冻结柯尼利亚斯先生的存款了，”福尔摩斯说。
　　 奥德克吃了一惊，转过头来恶狠狠地看着我的朋友。
　　 “我得多谢你啦，”他说，“也许总有一天我会报答你的恩惠。”
　　 福尔摩斯不计较地微笑了一下。
　　 “我想今后几年里你不会有时间干别的了，”他说，“顺便问一下，除了你的裤子以外，你还把什么丢进了木料堆？一条死狗？几只兔子？或者是别的东西？你不愿意说出来？哎，你多不客气呀！没关系，我想有两只兔子就足够解释那些血迹和烧黑了的骨灰了。华生，如果你要写一篇经过的话，你不妨说是兔子吧。”

　　"FROM the point of view of the criminal expert," said Mr. Sherlock Holmes, "London has become a singularly uninteresting city since the death of the late lamented Professor Moriarty."
　　
　　"I can hardly think that you would find many decent citizens to agree with you," I answered.
　　
　　"Well, well, I must not be selfish," said he, with a smile, as he pushed back his chair from the breakfast-table. "The community is certainly the gainer, and no one the loser, save the poor out-of-work specialist, whose occupation has gone. With that man in the field one's morning paper presented infinite possibilities. Often it was only the smallest trace, Watson, the faintest indication, and yet it was enough to tell me that the great malignant brain was there, as the gentlest tremors of the edges of the web remind one of the foul spider which lurks in the centre. Petty thefts, wanton assaults, purposeless outrage -- to the man who held the clue all could be worked into one connected whole. To the scientific student of the higher criminal world no capital in Europe offered the advantages which London then possessed. But now ----" He shrugged his shoulders in humorous deprecation of the state of things which he had himself done so much to produce.
　　
　　At the time of which I speak Holmes had been back for some months, and I, at his request, had sold my practice and returned to share the old quarters in Baker Street. A young doctor, named Verner, had purchased my small Kensington practice, and given with astonishingly little demur the highest price that I ventured to ask -- an incident which only explained itself some years later when I found that Verner was a distant relation of Holmes's, and that it was my friend who had really found the money.
　　
　　Our months of partnership had not been so uneventful as he had stated, for I find, on looking over my notes, that this period includes the case of the papers of Ex-President Murillo, and also the shocking affair of the Dutch steamship FRIESLAND, which so nearly cost us both our lives. His cold and proud nature was always averse, however, to anything in the shape of public applause, and he bound me in the most stringent terms to say no further word of himself, his methods, or his successes -- a prohibition which, as I have explained, has only now been removed.
　　
　　Mr. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his chair after his whimsical protest, and was unfolding his morning paper in a leisurely fashion, when our attention was arrested by a tremendous ring at the bell, followed immediately by a hollow drumming sound, as if someone were beating on the outer door with his fist. As it opened there came a tumultuous rush into the hall, rapid feet clattered up the stair, and an instant later a wild-eyed and frantic young man, pale, dishevelled, and palpitating, burst into the room. He looked from one to the other of us, and under our gaze of inquiry he became conscious that some apology was needed for this unceremonious entry.
　　
　　"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes," he cried. "You mustn't blame me. I am nearly mad. Mr. Holmes, I am the unhappy John Hector McFarlane."
　　
　　He made the announcement as if the name alone would explain both his visit and its manner; but I could see by my companion's unresponsive face that it meant no more to him than to me.
　　
　　"Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane," said he, pushing his case across. "I am sure that with your symptoms my friend Dr. Watson here would prescribe a sedative. The weather has been so very warm these last few days. Now, if you feel a little more composed, I should be glad if you would sit down in that chair and tell us very slowly and quietly who you are and what it is that you want. You mentioned your name as if I should recognise it, but I assure you that, beyond the obvious facts that you are a bachelor, a solicitor, a Freemason, and an asthmatic, I know nothing whatever about you."
　　
　　Familiar as I was with my friend's methods, it was not difficult for me to follow his deductions, and to observe the untidiness of attire, the sheaf of legal papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing which had prompted them. Our client, however, stared in amazement.
　　
　　"Yes, I am all that, Mr. Holmes, and in addition I am the most unfortunate man at this moment in London. For Heaven's sake don't abandon me, Mr. Holmes! If they come to arrest me before I have finished my story, make them give me time so that I may tell you the whole truth. I could go to gaol happy if I knew that you were working for me outside."
　　
　　"Arrest you!" said Holmes. "This is really most grati -- most interesting. On what charge do you expect to be arrested?"
　　
　　"Upon the charge of murdering Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of Lower Norwood."
　　
　　My companion's expressive face showed a sympathy which was not, I am afraid, entirely unmixed with satisfaction.
　　
　　"Dear me," said he; "it was only this moment at breakfast that I was saying to my friend, Dr. Watson, that sensational cases had disappeared out of our papers."
　　
　　Our visitor stretched forward a quivering hand and picked up the DAILY TELEGRAPH, which still lay upon Holmes's knee.
　　
　　"If you had looked at it, sir, you would have seen at a glance what the errand is on which I have come to you this morning. I feel as if my name and my misfortune must be in every man's mouth." He turned it over to expose the central page. "Here it is, and with your permission I will read it to you. Listen to this, Mr. Holmes. The head-lines are: `Mysterious Affair at Lower Norwood. Disappearance of a Well-known Builder. Suspicion of Murder and Arson. A Clue to the Criminal.' That is the clue which they are already following, Mr. Holmes, and I know that it leads infallibly to me. I have been followed from London Bridge Station, and I am sure that they are only waiting for the warrant to arrest me. It will break my mother's heart -- it will break her heart!" He wrung his hands in an agony of apprehension, and swayed backwards and forwards in his chair.
　　
　　I looked with interest upon this man, who was accused of being the perpetrator of a crime of violence. He was flaxen-haired and handsome in a washed-out negative fashion, with frightened blue eyes and a clean-shaven face, with a weak, sensitive mouth. His age may have been about twenty-seven; his dress and bearing that of a gentleman. From the pocket of his light summer overcoat protruded the bundle of endorsed papers which proclaimed his profession.
　　
　　"We must use what time we have," said Holmes. "Watson, would you have the kindness to take the paper and to read me the paragraph in question?"
　　
　　Underneath the vigorous head-lines which our client had quoted I read the following suggestive narrative:---
　　
　　Late last night, or early this morning, an incident occurred at Lower Norwood which points, it is feared, to a serious crime. Mr. Jonas Oldacre is a well-known resident of that suburb, where he has carried on his business as a builder for many years. Mr. Oldacre is a bachelor, fifty-two years of age, and lives in Deep Dene House, at the Sydenham end of the road of that name. He has had the reputation of being a man of eccentric habits, secretive and retiring. For some years he has practically withdrawn from the business, in which he is said to have amassed considerable wealth. A small timber-yard still exists, however, at the back of the house, and last night, about twelve o'clock, an alarm was given that one of the stacks was on fire. The engines were soon upon the spot, but the dry wood burned with great fury, and it was impossible to arrest the conflagration until the stack had been entirely consumed. Up to this point the incident bore the appearance of an ordinary accident, but fresh indications seem to point to serious crime. Surprise was expressed at the absence of the master of the establishment from the scene of the fire, and an inquiry followed, which showed that he had disappeared from the house. An examination of his room revealed that the bed had not been slept in, that a safe which stood in it was open, that a number of important papers were scattered about the room, and, finally, that there were signs of a murderous struggle, slight traces of blood being found within the room, and an oaken walking-stick, which also showed stains of blood upon the handle. It is known that Mr. Jonas Oldacre had received a late visitor in his bedroom upon that night, and the stick found has been identified as the property of this person, who is a young London solicitor named John Hector McFarlane, junior partner of Graham and McFarlane, of 426, Gresham Buildings, E.C. The police believe that they have evidence in their possession which supplies a very convincing motive for the crime, and altogether it cannot be doubted that sensational developments will follow.
　　
　　LATER. -- It is rumoured as we go to press that Mr. John Hector McFarlane has actually been arrested on the charge of the murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre. It is at least certain that a warrant has been issued. There have been further and sinister developments in the investigation at Norwood. Besides the signs of a struggle in the room of the unfortunate builder it is now known that the French windows of his bedroom (which is on the ground floor) were found to be open, that there were marks as if some bulky object had been dragged across to the wood-pile, and, finally, it is asserted that charred remains have been found among the charcoal ashes of the fire. The police theory is that a most sensational crime has been committed, that the victim was clubbed to death in his own bedroom, his papers rifled, and his dead body dragged across to the wood-stack, which was then ignited so as to hide all traces of the crime. The conduct of the criminal investigation has been left in the experienced hands of Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, who is following up the clues with his accustomed energy and sagacity.
　　
　　Sherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes and finger-tips together to this remarkable account.
　　
　　"The case has certainly some points of interest," said he, in his languid fashion. "May I ask, in the first place, Mr. McFarlane, how it is that you are still at liberty, since there appears to be enough evidence to justify your arrest?"
　　
　　"I live at Torrington Lodge, Blackheath, with my parents, Mr. Holmes; but last night, having to do business very late with Mr. Jonas Oldacre, I stayed at an hotel in Norwood, and came to my business from there. I knew nothing of this affair until I was in the train, when I read what you have just heard. I at once saw the horrible danger of my position, and I hurried to put the case into your hands. I have no doubt that I should have been arrested either at my City office or at my home. A man followed me from London Bridge Station, and I have no doubt --- Great Heaven, what is that?"
　　
　　It was a clang of the bell, followed instantly by heavy steps upon the stair. A moment later our old friend Lestrade appeared in the doorway. Over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of one or two uniformed policemen outside.
　　
　　"Mr. John Hector McFarlane?" said Lestrade.
　　
　　Our unfortunate client rose with a ghastly face.
　　
　　"I arrest you for the wilful murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of Lower Norwood."
　　
　　McFarlane turned to us with a gesture of despair, and sank into his chair once more like one who is crushed.
　　
　　"One moment, Lestrade," said Holmes. "Half an hour more or less can make no difference to you, and the gentleman was about to give us an account of this very interesting affair, which might aid us in clearing it up."
　　
　　"I think there will be no difficulty in clearing it up," said Lestrade, grimly.
　　
　　"None the less, with your permission, I should be much interested to hear his account."
　　
　　"Well, Mr. Holmes, it is difficult for me to refuse you anything, for you have been of use to the force once or twice in the past, and we owe you a good turn at Scotland Yard," said Lestrade. "At the same time I must remain with my prisoner, and I am bound to warn him that anything he may say will appear in evidence against him."
　　
　　"I wish nothing better," said our client. "All I ask is that you should hear and recognise the absolute truth."
　　
　　Lestrade looked at his watch. "I'll give you half an hour," said he.
　　
　　"I must explain first," said McFarlane, "that I knew nothing of Mr. Jonas Oldacre. His name was familiar to me, for many years ago my parents were acquainted with him, but they drifted apart. I was very much surprised, therefore, when yesterday, about three o'clock in the afternoon, he walked into my office in the City. But I was still more astonished when he told me the object of his visit. He had in his hand several sheets of a note-book, covered with scribbled writing -- here they are -- and he laid them on my table.
　　
　　"`Here is my will,' said he. `I want you, Mr. McFarlane, to cast it into proper legal shape. I will sit here while you do so.'
　　
　　"I set myself to copy it, and you can imagine my astonishment when I found that, with some reservations, he had left all his property to me. He was a strange little, ferret-like man, with white eyelashes, and when I looked up at him I found his keen grey eyes fixed upon me with an amused expression. I could hardly believe my own senses as I read the terms of the will; but he explained that he was a bachelor with hardly any living relation, that he had known my parents in his youth, and that he had always heard of me as a very deserving young man, and was assured that his money would be in worthy hands. Of course, I could only stammer out my thanks. The will was duly finished, signed, and witnessed by my clerk. This is it on the blue paper, and these slips, as I have explained, are the rough draft. Mr. Jonas Oldacre then informed me that there were a number of documents -- building leases, title-deeds, mortgages, scrip, and so forth -- which it was necessary that I should see and understand. He said that his mind would not be easy until the whole thing was settled, and he begged me to come out to his house at Norwood that night, bringing the will with me, and to arrange matters. `Remember, my boy, not one word to your parents about the affair until everything is settled. We will keep it as a little surprise for them.' He was very insistent upon this point, and made me promise it faithfully.
　　
　　"You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not in a humour to refuse him anything that he might ask. He was my benefactor, and all my desire was to carry out his wishes in every particular. I sent a telegram home, therefore, to say that I had important business on hand, and that it was impossible for me to say how late I might be. Mr. Oldacre had told me that he would like me to have supper with him at nine, as he might not be home before that hour. I had some difficulty in finding his house, however, and it was nearly half-past before I reached it. I found him ---"
　　
　　"One moment!" said Holmes. "Who opened the door?"
　　
　　"A middle-aged woman, who was, I suppose, his housekeeper."
　　
　　"And it was she, I presume, who mentioned your name?"
　　
　　"Exactly," said McFarlane.
　　
　　"Pray proceed."
　　
　　McFarlane wiped his damp brow and then continued his narrative:--
　　
　　"I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room, where a frugal supper was laid out. Afterwards Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me into his bedroom, in which there stood a heavy safe. This he opened and took out a mass of documents, which we went over together. It was between eleven and twelve when we finished. He remarked that we must not disturb the housekeeper. He showed me out through his own French window, which had been open all this time."
　　
　　"Was the blind down?" asked Holmes.
　　
　　"I will not be sure, but I believe that it was only half down. Yes, I remember how he pulled it up in order to swing open the window. I could not find my stick, and he said, `Never mind, my boy; I shall see a good deal of you now, I hope, and I will keep your stick until you come back to claim it.' I left him there, the safe open, and the papers made up in packets upon the table. It was so late that I could not get back to Blackheath, so I spent the night at the Anerley Arms, and I knew nothing more until I read of this horrible affair in the morning."
　　
　　"Anything more that you would like to ask, Mr. Holmes?" said Lestrade, whose eyebrows had gone up once or twice during this remarkable explanation.
　　
　　"Not until I have been to Blackheath."
　　
　　"You mean to Norwood," said Lestrade.
　　
　　"Oh, yes; no doubt that is what I must have meant," said Holmes, with his enigmatical smile. Lestrade had learned by more experiences than he would care to acknowledge that that razor-like brain could cut through that which was impenetrable to him. I saw him look curiously at my companion.
　　
　　"I think I should like to have a word with you presently, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he. "Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of my constables are at the door and there is a four-wheeler waiting." The wretched young man arose, and with a last beseeching glance at us walked from the room. The officers conducted him to the cab, but Lestrade remained.
　　
　　Holmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft of the will, and was looking at them with the keenest interest upon his face.
　　
　　"There are some points about that document, Lestrade, are there not?" said he, pushing them over.
　　
　　The official looked at them with a puzzled expression.
　　
　　"I can read the first few lines, and these in the middle of the second page, and one or two at the end. Those are as clear as print," said he; "but the writing in between is very bad, and there are three places where I cannot read it at all."
　　
　　"What do you make of that?" said Holmes.
　　
　　"Well, what do YOU make of it?"
　　
　　"That it was written in a train; the good writing represents stations, the bad writing movement, and the very bad writing passing over points. A scientific expert would pronounce at once that this was drawn up on a suburban line, since nowhere save in the immediate vicinity of a great city could there be so quick a succession of points. Granting that his whole journey was occupied in drawing up the will, then the train was an express, only stopping once between Norwood and London Bridge."
　　
　　Lestrade began to laugh.
　　
　　"You are too many for me when you begin to get on your theories, Mr. Holmes," said he. "How does this bear on the case?"
　　
　　"Well, it corroborates the young man's story to the extent that the will was drawn up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey yesterday. It is curious -- is it not? -- that a man should draw up so important a document in so haphazard a fashion. It suggests that he did not think it was going to be of much practical importance. If a man drew up a will which he did not intend ever to be effective he might do it so."
　　
　　"Well, he drew up his own death-warrant at the same time," said Lestrade.
　　
　　"Oh, you think so?"
　　
　　"Don't you?"
　　
　　"Well, it is quite possible; but the case is not clear to me yet."
　　
　　"Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what COULD be clear? Here is a young man who learns suddenly that if a certain older man dies he will succeed to a fortune. What does he do? He says nothing to anyone, but he arranges that he shall go out on some pretext to see his client that night; he waits until the only other person in the house is in bed, and then in the solitude of a man's room he murders him, burns his body in the wood-pile, and departs to a neighbouring hotel. The blood-stains in the room and also on the stick are very slight. It is probable that he imagined his crime to be a bloodless one, and hoped that if the body were consumed it would hide all traces of the method of his death -- traces which for some reason must have pointed to him. Is all this not obvious?"
　　
　　"It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as being just a trifle too obvious," said Holmes. "You do not add imagination to your other great qualities; but if you could for one moment put yourself in the place of this young man, would you choose the very night after the will had been made to commit your crime? Would it not seem dangerous to you to make so very close a relation between the two incidents? Again, would you choose an occasion when you are known to be in the house, when a servant has let you in? And, finally, would you take the great pains to conceal the body and yet leave your own stick as a sign that you were the criminal? Confess, Lestrade, that all this is very unlikely."
　　
　　"As to the stick, Mr. Holmes, you know as well as I do that a criminal is often flurried and does things which a cool man would avoid. He was very likely afraid to go back to the room. Give me another theory that would fit the facts."
　　
　　"I could very easily give you half-a-dozen," said Holmes. "Here, for example, is a very possible and even probable one. I make you a free present of it. The older man is showing documents which are of evident value. A passing tramp sees them through the window, the blind of which is only half down. Exit the solicitor. Enter the tramp! He seizes a stick, which he observes there, kills Oldacre, and departs after burning the body."
　　
　　"Why should the tramp burn the body?"
　　
　　"For the matter of that why should McFarlane?"
　　
　　"To hide some evidence."
　　
　　"Possibly the tramp wanted to hide that any murder at all had been committed."
　　
　　"And why did the tramp take nothing?"
　　
　　"Because they were papers that he could not negotiate."
　　
　　Lestrade shook his head, though it seemed to me that his manner was less absolutely assured than before.
　　
　　"Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look for your tramp, and while you are finding him we will hold on to our man. The future will show which is right. Just notice this point, Mr. Holmes: that so far as we know none of the papers were removed, and that the prisoner is the one man in the world who had no reason for removing them, since he was heir-at-law and would come into them in any case."
　　
　　My friend seemed struck by this remark.
　　
　　"I don't mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways very strongly in favour of your theory," said he. "I only wish to point out that there are other theories possible. As you say, the future will decide. Good morning! I dare say that in the course of the day I shall drop in at Norwood and see how you are getting on."
　　
　　When the detective departed my friend rose and made his preparations for the day's work with the alert air of a man who has a congenial task before him.
　　
　　"My first movement, Watson," said he, as he bustled into his frock-coat, "must, as I said, be in the direction of Blackheath."
　　
　　"And why not Norwood?"
　　
　　"Because we have in this case one singular incident coming close to the heels of another singular incident. The police are making the mistake of concentrating their attention upon the second, because it happens to be the one which is actually criminal. But it is evident to me that the logical way to approach the case is to begin by trying to throw some light upon the first incident -- the curious will, so suddenly made, and to so unexpected an heir. It may do something to simplify what followed. No, my dear fellow, I don't think you can help me. There is no prospect of danger, or I should not dream of stirring out without you. I trust that when I see you in the evening I will be able to report that I have been able to do something for this unfortunate youngster who has thrown himself upon my protection."
　　
　　It was late when my friend returned, and I could see by a glance at his haggard and anxious face that the high hopes with which he had started had not been fulfilled. For an hour he droned away upon his violin, endeavouring to soothe his own ruffled spirits. At last he flung down the instrument and plunged into a detailed account of his misadventures.
　　
　　"It's all going wrong, Watson -- all as wrong as it can go. I kept a bold face before Lestrade, but, upon my soul, I believe that for once the fellow is on the right track and we are on the wrong. All my instincts are one way and all the facts are the other, and I much fear that British juries have not yet attained that pitch of intelligence when they will give the preference to my theories over Lestrade's facts."
　　
　　"Did you go to Blackheath?"
　　
　　"Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very quickly that the late lamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable black-guard. The father was away in search of his son. The mother was at home -- a little, fluffy, blue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear and indignation. Of course, she would not admit even the possibility of his guilt. But she would not express either surprise or regret over the fate of Oldacre. On the contrary, she spoke of him with such bitterness that she was unconsciously considerably strengthening the case of the police, for, of course, if her son had heard her speak of the man in this fashion it would predispose him towards hatred and violence. `He was more like a malignant and cunning ape than a human being,' said she, `and he always was, ever since he was a young man.'
　　
　　"`You knew him at that time?' said I.
　　
　　"`Yes, I knew him well; in fact, he was an old suitor of mine. Thank Heaven that I had the sense to turn away from him and to marry a better, if a poorer, man. I was engaged to him, Mr. Holmes, when I heard a shocking story of how he had turned a cat loose in an aviary, and I was so horrified at his brutal cruelty that I would have nothing more to do with him.' She rummaged in a bureau, and presently she produced a photograph of a woman, shamefully defaced and mutilated with a knife. `That is my own photograph,' she said. `He sent it to me in that state, with his curse, upon my wedding morning.'
　　
　　"`Well,' said I, `at least he has forgiven you now, since he has left all his property to your son.'
　　
　　"`Neither my son nor I want anything from Jonas Oldacre, dead or alive,' she cried, with a proper spirit. `There is a God in Heaven, Mr. Holmes, and that same God who has punished that wicked man will show in His own good time that my son's hands are guiltless of his blood.'
　　
　　"Well, I tried one or two leads, but could get at nothing which would help our hypothesis, and several points which would make against it. I gave it up at last and off I went to Norwood.
　　
　　"This place, Deep Dene House, is a big modern villa of staring brick, standing back in its own grounds, with a laurel-clumped lawn in front of it. To the right and some distance back from the road was the timber-yard which had been the scene of the fire. Here's a rough plan on a leaf of my note-book. This window on the left is the one which opens into Oldacre's room. You can look into it from the road, you see. That is about the only bit of consolation I have had to-day. Lestrade was not there, but his head constable did the honours. They had just made a great treasure-trove. They had spent the morning raking among the ashes of the burned wood-pile, and besides the charred organic remains they had secured several discoloured metal discs. I examined them with care, and there was no doubt that they were trouser buttons. I even distinguished that one of them was marked with the name of `Hyams,' who was Oldacre's tailor. I then worked the lawn very carefully for signs and traces, but this drought has made everything as hard as iron. Nothing was to be seen save that some body or bundle had been dragged through a low privet hedge which is in a line with the wood-pile. All that, of course, fits in with the official theory. I crawled about the lawn with an August sun on my back, but I got up at the end of an hour no wiser than before.
　　
　　"Well, after this fiasco I went into the bedroom and examined that also. The blood-stains were very slight, mere smears and discolorations, but undoubtedly fresh. The stick had been removed, but there also the marks were slight. There is no doubt about the stick belonging to our client. He admits it. Footmarks of both men could be made out on the carpet, but none of any third person, which again is a trick for the other side. They were piling up their score all the time and we were at a standstill.
　　
　　"Only one little gleam of hope did I get -- and yet it amounted to nothing. I examined the contents of the safe, most of which had been taken out and left on the table. The papers had been made up into sealed envelopes, one or two of which had been opened by the police. They were not, so far as I could judge, of any great value, nor did the bank-book show that Mr. Oldacre was in such very affluent circumstances. But it seemed to me that all the papers were not there. There were allusions to some deeds -- possibly the more valuable -- which I could not find. This, of course, if we could definitely prove it, would turn Lestrade's argument against himself, for who would steal a thing if he knew that he would shortly inherit it?
　　
　　"Finally, having drawn every other cover and picked up no scent, I tried my luck with the housekeeper. Mrs. Lexington is her name, a little, dark, silent person, with suspicious and sidelong eyes. She could tell us something if she would -- I am convinced of it. But she was as close as wax. Yes, she had let Mr. McFarlane in at half-past nine. She wished her hand had withered before she had done so. She had gone to bed at half-past ten. Her room was at the other end of the house, and she could hear nothing of what passed. Mr. McFarlane had left his hat, and to the best of her belief his stick, in the hall. She had been awakened by the alarm of fire. Her poor, dear master had certainly been murdered. Had he any enemies? Well, every man had enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept himself very much to himself, and only met people in the way of business. She had seen the buttons, and was sure that they belonged to the clothes which he had worn last night. The wood-pile was very dry, for it had not rained for a month. It burned like tinder, and by the time she reached the spot nothing could be seen but flames. She and all the firemen smelled the burned flesh from inside it. She knew nothing of the papers, nor of Mr. Oldacre's private affairs.
　　
　　"So, my dear Watson, there's my report of a failure. And yet -- and yet ---" -- he clenched his thin hands in a paroxysm of conviction -- "I KNOW it's all wrong. I feel it in my bones. There is something that has not come out, and that housekeeper knows it. There was a sort of sulky defiance in her eyes, which only goes with guilty knowledge. However, there's no good talking any more about it, Watson; but unless some lucky chance comes our way I fear that the Norwood Disappearance Case will not figure in that chronicle of our successes which I foresee that a patient public will sooner or later have to endure."
　　
　　"Surely," said I, "the man's appearance would go far with any jury?"
　　
　　"That is a dangerous argument, my dear Watson. You remember that terrible murderer, Bert Stevens, who wanted us to get him off in '87? Was there ever a more mild-mannered, Sunday-school young man?"
　　
　　"It is true."
　　
　　"Unless we succeed in establishing an alternative theory this man is lost. You can hardly find a flaw in the case which can now be presented against him, and all further investigation has served to strengthen it. By the way, there is one curious little point about those papers which may serve us as the starting-point for an inquiry. On looking over the bank-book I found that the low state of the balance was principally due to large cheques which have been made out during the last year to Mr. Cornelius. I confess that I should be interested to know who this Mr. Cornelius may be with whom a retired builder has such very large transactions. Is it possible that he has had a hand in the affair? Cornelius might be a broker, but we have found no scrip to correspond with these large payments. Failing any other indication my researches must now take the direction of an inquiry at the bank for the gentleman who has cashed these cheques. But I fear, my dear fellow, that our case will end ingloriously by Lestrade hanging our client, which will certainly be a triumph for Scotland Yard."
　　
　　I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night, but when I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his bright eyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them. The carpet round his chair was littered with cigarette-ends and with the early editions of the morning papers. An open telegram lay upon the table.
　　
　　"What do you think of this, Watson?" he asked, tossing it across.
　　
　　It was from Norwood, and ran as follows:--
　　
　　"IMPORTANT FRESH EVIDENCE TO HAND. MCFARLANE'S GUILT DEFINITELY ESTABLISHED. ADVISE YOU TO ABANDON CASE. -- LESTRADE."
　　
　　"This sounds serious," said I.
　　
　　"It is Lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory," Holmes answered, with a bitter smile. "And yet it may be premature to abandon the case. After all, important fresh evidence is a two-edged thing, and may possibly cut in a very different direction to that which Lestrade imagines. Take your breakfast, Watson, and we will go out together and see what we can do. I feel as if I shall need your company and your moral support to-day."
　　
　　My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and I have known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted from pure inanition. "At present I cannot spare energy and nerve force for digestion," he would say in answer to my medical remonstrances. I was not surprised, therefore, when this morning he left his untouched meal behind him and started with me for Norwood. A crowd of morbid sightseers were still gathered round Deep Dene House, which was just such a suburban villa as I had pictured. Within the gates Lestrade met us, his face flushed with victory, his manner grossly triumphant.
　　
　　"Well, Mr. Holmes, have you proved us to be wrong yet? Have you found your tramp?" he cried.
　　
　　"I have formed no conclusion whatever," my companion answered.
　　
　　"But we formed ours yesterday, and now it proves to be correct; so you must acknowledge that we have been a little in front of you this time, Mr. Holmes."
　　
　　"You certainly have the air of something unusual having occurred," said Holmes.
　　
　　Lestrade laughed loudly.
　　
　　"You don't like being beaten any more than the rest of us do," said he. "A man can't expect always to have it his own way, can he, Dr. Watson? Step this way, if you please, gentlemen, and I think I can convince you once for all that it was John McFarlane who did this crime."
　　
　　He led us through the passage and out into a dark hall beyond.
　　
　　"This is where young McFarlane must have come out to get his hat after the crime was done," said he. "Now, look at this." With dramatic suddenness he struck a match and by its light exposed a stain of blood upon the whitewashed wall. As he held the match nearer I saw that it was more than a stain. It was the well-marked print of a thumb.
　　
　　"Look at that with your magnifying glass, Mr. Holmes."
　　
　　"Yes, I am doing so."
　　
　　"You are aware that no two thumb marks are alike?"
　　
　　"I have heard something of the kind."
　　
　　"Well, then, will you please compare that print with this wax impression of young McFarlane's right thumb, taken by my orders this morning?"
　　
　　As he held the waxen print close to the blood-stain it did not take a magnifying glass to see that the two were undoubtedly from the same thumb. It was evident to me that our unfortunate client was lost.
　　
　　"That is final," said Lestrade.
　　
　　"Yes, that is final," I involuntarily echoed.
　　
　　"It is final," said Holmes.
　　
　　Something in his tone caught my ear, and I turned to look at him. An extraordinary change had come over his face. It was writhing with inward merriment. His two eyes were shining like stars. It seemed to me that he was making desperate efforts to restrain a convulsive attack of laughter.
　　
　　"Dear me! Dear me!" he said at last. "Well, now, who would have thought it? And how deceptive appearances may be, to be sure! Such a nice young man to look at! It is a lesson to us not to trust our own judgment, is it not, Lestrade?"
　　
　　"Yes, some of us are a little too much inclined to be cocksure, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade. The man's insolence was maddening, but we could not resent it.
　　
　　"What a providential thing that this young man should press his right thumb against the wall in taking his hat from the peg! Such a very natural action, too, if you come to think of it." Holmes was outwardly calm, but his whole body gave a wriggle of suppressed excitement as he spoke. "By the way, Lestrade, who made this remarkable discovery?"
　　
　　"It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Lexington, who drew the night constable's attention to it."
　　
　　"Where was the night constable?"
　　
　　"He remained on guard in the bedroom where the crime was committed, so as to see that nothing was touched."
　　
　　"But why didn't the police see this mark yesterday?"
　　
　　"Well, we had no particular reason to make a careful examination of the hall. Besides, it's not in a very prominent place, as you see."
　　
　　"No, no, of course not. I suppose there is no doubt that the mark was there yesterday?"
　　
　　Lestrade looked at Holmes as if he thought he was going out of his mind. I confess that I was myself surprised both at his hilarious manner and at his rather wild observation.
　　
　　"I don't know whether you think that McFarlane came out of gaol in the dead of the night in order to strengthen the evidence against himself," said Lestrade. "I leave it to any expert in the world whether that is not the mark of his thumb."
　　
　　"It is unquestionably the mark of his thumb."
　　
　　"There, that's enough," said Lestrade. "I am a practical man, Mr. Holmes, and when I have got my evidence I come to my conclusions. If you have anything to say you will find me writing my report in the sitting-room."
　　
　　Holmes had recovered his equanimity, though I still seemed to detect gleams of amusement in his expression.
　　
　　"Dear me, this is a very sad development, Watson, is it not?" said he. "And yet there are singular points about it which hold out some hopes for our client."
　　
　　"I am delighted to hear it," said I, heartily. "I was afraid it was all up with him."
　　
　　"I would hardly go so far as to say that, my dear Watson. The fact is that there is one really serious flaw in this evidence to which our friend attaches so much importance."
　　
　　"Indeed, Holmes! What is it?"
　　
　　"Only this: that I KNOW that that mark was not there when I examined the hall yesterday. And now, Watson, let us have a little stroll round in the sunshine."
　　
　　With a confused brain, but with a heart into which some warmth of hope was returning, I accompanied my friend in a walk round the garden. Holmes took each face of the house in turn and examined it with great interest. He then led the way inside and went over the whole building from basement to attics. Most of the rooms were unfurnished, but none the less Holmes inspected them all minutely. Finally, on the top corridor, which ran outside three untenanted bedrooms, he again was seized with a spasm of merriment.
　　
　　"There are really some very unique features about this case, Watson," said he. "I think it is time now that we took our friend Lestrade into our confidence. He has had his little smile at our expense, and perhaps we may do as much by him if my reading of this problem proves to be correct. Yes, yes; I think I see how we should approach it."
　　
　　The Scotland Yard inspector was still writing in the parlour when Holmes interrupted him.
　　
　　"I understood that you were writing a report of this case," said he.
　　
　　"So I am."
　　
　　"Don't you think it may be a little premature? I can't help thinking that your evidence is not complete."
　　
　　Lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard his words. He laid down his pen and looked curiously at him.
　　
　　"What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?"
　　
　　"Only that there is an important witness whom you have not seen."
　　
　　"Can you produce him?"
　　
　　"I think I can."
　　
　　"Then do so."
　　
　　"I will do my best. How many constables have you?"
　　
　　"There are three within call."
　　
　　"Excellent!" said Holmes. "May I ask if they are all large, able-bodied men with powerful voices?"
　　
　　"I have no doubt they are, though I fail to see what their voices have to do with it."
　　
　　"Perhaps I can help you to see that and one or two other things as well," said Holmes. "Kindly summon your men, and I will try."
　　
　　Five minutes later three policemen had assembled in the hall.
　　
　　"In the outhouse you will find a considerable quantity of straw," said Holmes. "I will ask you to carry in two bundles of it. I think it will be of the greatest assistance in producing the witness whom I require. Thank you very much. I believe you have some matches in your pocket, Watson. Now, Mr. Lestrade, I will ask you all to accompany me to the top landing."
　　
　　As I have said, there was a broad corridor there, which ran outside three empty bedrooms. At one end of the corridor we were all marshalled by Sherlock Holmes, the constables grinning and Lestrade staring at my friend with amazement, expectation, and derision chasing each other across his features. Holmes stood before us with the air of a conjurer who is performing a trick.
　　
　　"Would you kindly send one of your constables for two buckets of water? Put the straw on the floor here, free from the wall on either side. Now I think that we are all ready."
　　
　　Lestrade's face had begun to grow red and angry.
　　
　　"I don't know whether you are playing a game with us, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he. "If you know anything, you can surely say it without all this tomfoolery."
　　
　　"I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I have an excellent reason for everything that I do. You may possibly remember that you chaffed me a little some hours ago, when the sun seemed on your side of the hedge, so you must not grudge me a little pomp and ceremony now. Might I ask you, Watson, to open that window, and then to put a match to the edge of the straw?"
　　
　　I did so, and, driven by the draught, a coil of grey smoke swirled down the corridor, while the dry straw crackled and flamed.
　　
　　"Now we must see if we can find this witness for you, Lestrade. Might I ask you all to join in the cry of `Fire!'? Now, then; one, two, three ---"
　　
　　"Fire!" we all yelled.
　　
　　"Thank you. I will trouble you once again."
　　
　　"Fire!"
　　
　　"Just once more, gentlemen, and all together."
　　
　　"Fire!" The shout must have rung over Norwood.
　　
　　It had hardly died away when an amazing thing happened. A door suddenly flew open out of what appeared to be solid wall at the end of the corridor, and a little, wizened man darted out of it, like a rabbit out of its burrow.
　　
　　"Capital!" said Holmes, calmly. "Watson, a bucket of water over the straw. That will do! Lestrade, allow me to present you with your principal missing witness, Mr. Jonas Oldacre."
　　
　　The detective stared at the new-comer with blank amazement. The latter was blinking in the bright light of the corridor, and peering at us and at the smouldering fire. It was an odious face -- crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty, light-grey eyes and white eyelashes.
　　
　　"What's this, then?" said Lestrade at last. "What have you been doing all this time, eh?"
　　
　　Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back from the furious red face of the angry detective.
　　
　　"I have done no harm."
　　
　　"No harm? You have done your best to get an innocent man hanged. If it wasn't for this gentleman here, I am not sure that you would not have succeeded."
　　
　　The wretched creature began to whimper.
　　
　　"I am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke."
　　
　　"Oh! a joke, was it? You won't find the laugh on your side, I promise you. Take him down and keep him in the sitting-room until I come. Mr. Holmes," he continued, when they had gone, "I could not speak before the constables, but I don't mind saying, in the presence of Dr. Watson, that this is the brightest thing that you have done yet, though it is a mystery to me how you did it. You have saved an innocent man's life, and you have prevented a very grave scandal, which would have ruined my reputation in the Force."
　　
　　Holmes smiled and clapped Lestrade upon the shoulder.
　　
　　"Instead of being ruined, my good sir, you will find that your reputation has been enormously enhanced. Just make a few alterations in that report which you were writing, and they will understand how hard it is to throw dust in the eyes of Inspector Lestrade."
　　
　　"And you don't want your name to appear?"
　　
　　"Not at all. The work is its own reward. Perhaps I shall get the credit also at some distant day when I permit my zealous historian to lay out his foolscap once more -- eh, Watson? Well, now, let us see where this rat has been lurking."
　　
　　A lath-and-plaster partition had been run across the passage six feet from the end, with a door cunningly concealed in it. It was lit within by slits under the eaves. A few articles of furniture and a supply of food and water were within, together with a number of books and papers.
　　
　　"There's the advantage of being a builder," said Holmes, as we came out. "He was able to fix up his own little hiding-place without any confederate -- save, of course, that precious housekeeper of his, whom I should lose no time in adding to your bag, Lestrade."
　　
　　"I'll take your advice. But how did you know of this place, Mr. Holmes?"
　　
　　"I made up my mind that the fellow was in hiding in the house. When I paced one corridor and found it six feet shorter than the corresponding one below, it was pretty clear where he was. I thought he had not the nerve to lie quiet before an alarm of fire. We could, of course, have gone in and taken him, but it amused me to make him reveal himself; besides, I owed you a little mystification, Lestrade, for your chaff in the morning."
　　
　　"Well, sir, you certainly got equal with me on that. But how in the world did you know that he was in the house at all?"
　　
　　"The thumb-mark, Lestrade. You said it was final; and so it was, in a very different sense. I knew it had not been there the day before. I pay a good deal of attention to matters of detail, as you may have observed, and I had examined the hall and was sure that the wall was clear. Therefore, it had been put on during the night."
　　
　　"But how?"
　　
　　"Very simply. When those packets were sealed up, Jonas Oldacre got McFarlane to secure one of the seals by putting his thumb upon the soft wax. It would be done so quickly and so naturally that I dare say the young man himself has no recollection of it. Very likely it just so happened, and Oldacre had himself no notion of the use he would put it to. Brooding over the case in that den of his, it suddenly struck him what absolutely damning evidence he could make against McFarlane by using that thumb-mark. It was the simplest thing in the world for him to take a wax impression from the seal, to moisten it in as much blood as he could get from a pin-prick, and to put the mark upon the wall during the night, either with his own hand or with that of his housekeeper. If you examine among those documents which he took with him into his retreat I will lay you a wager that you find the seal with the thumb-mark upon it."
　　
　　"Wonderful!" said Lestrade. "Wonderful! It's all as clear as crystal, as you put it. But what is the object of this deep deception, Mr. Holmes?"
　　
　　It was amusing to me to see how the detective's overbearing manner had changed suddenly to that of a child asking questions of its teacher.
　　
　　"Well, I don't think that is very hard to explain. A very deep, malicious, vindictive person is the gentleman who is now awaiting us downstairs. You know that he was once refused by McFarlane's mother? You don't! I told you that you should go to Blackheath first and Norwood afterwards. Well, this injury, as he would consider it, has rankled in his wicked, scheming brain, and all his life he has longed for vengeance, but never seen his chance. During the last year or two things have gone against him -- secret speculation, I think -- and he finds himself in a bad way. He determines to swindle his creditors, and for this purpose he pays large cheques to a certain Mr. Cornelius, who is, I imagine, himself under another name. I have not traced these cheques yet, but I have no doubt that they were banked under that name at some provincial town where Oldacre from time to time led a double existence. He intended to change his name altogether, draw this money, and vanish, starting life again elsewhere."
　　
　　"Well, that's likely enough."
　　
　　"It would strike him that in disappearing he might throw all pursuit off his track, and at the same time have an ample and crushing revenge upon his old sweetheart, if he could give the impression that he had been murdered by her only child. It was a masterpiece of villainy, and he carried it out like a master. The idea of the will, which would give an obvious motive for the crime, the secret visit unknown to his own parents, the retention of the stick, the blood, and the animal remains and buttons in the wood-pile, all were admirable. It was a net from which it seemed to me a few hours ago that there was no possible escape. But he had not that supreme gift of the artist, the knowledge of when to stop. He wished to improve that which was already perfect -- to draw the rope tighter yet round the neck of his unfortunate victim -- and so he ruined all. Let us descend, Lestrade. There are just one or two questions that I would ask him."
　　
　　The malignant creature was seated in his own parlour with a policeman upon each side of him.
　　
　　"It was a joke, my good sir, a practical joke, nothing more," he whined incessantly. "I assure you, sir, that I simply concealed myself in order to see the effect of my disappearance, and I am sure that you would not be so unjust as to imagine that I would have allowed any harm to befall poor young Mr. McFarlane."
　　
　　"That's for a jury to decide," said Lestrade. "Anyhow, we shall have you on a charge of conspiracy, if not for attempted murder."
　　
　　"And you'll probably find that your creditors will impound the banking account of Mr. Cornelius," said Holmes.
　　
　　The little man started and turned his malignant eyes upon my friend.
　　
　　"I have to thank you for a good deal," said he. "Perhaps I'll pay my debt some day."
　　
　　Holmes smiled indulgently.
　　
　　"I fancy that for some few years you will find your time very fully occupied," said he. "By the way, what was it you put into the wood-pile besides your old trousers? A dead dog, or rabbits, or what? You won't tell? Dear me, how very unkind of you! Well, well, I dare say that a couple of rabbits would account both for the blood and for the charred ashes. If ever you write an account, Watson, you can make rabbits serve your turn."