It was after tea on a summer evening, and the conversation, which had roamed in a desultory7, spasmodic fashion from golf clubs to the causes of the change in the obliquity8 of the ecliptic, came round at last to the question of atavism and hereditary9 aptitudes10. The point under discussion was, how far any singular gift in an individual was due to his ancestry11 and how far to his own early training.
“In your own case,” said I, “from all that you have told me, it seems obvious that your faculty12 of observation and your peculiar13 facility for deduction14 are due to your own systematic15 training.”
“To some extent,” he answered thoughtfully. “My ancestors were country squires16, who appear to have led much the same life as is natural to their class. But, none the less, my turn that way is in my veins17, and may have come with my grandmother, who was the sister of Vernet, the French artist. Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.”
“But how do you know that it is hereditary?”
“Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do.”
This was news to me indeed. If there were another man with such singular powers in England, how was it that neither police nor public had heard of him? I put the question, with a hint that it was my companion’s modesty18 which made him acknowledge his brother as his superior. Holmes laughed at my suggestion.
“My dear Watson,” said he, “I cannot agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues19. To the logician20 all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to underestimate one’s self is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one’s own powers. When I say, therefore, that Mycroft has better powers of observation than I, you may take it that I am speaking the exact and literal truth.”
“Is he your junior?”
“Seven years my senior.”
“How comes it that he is unknown?”
“Oh, he is very well known in his own circle.”
“Where, then?”
“Well, in the Diogenes Club, for example.”
I had never heard of the institution, and my face must have proclaimed as much, for Sherlock Homes pulled out his watch.
“The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroft one of the queerest men. He’s always there from quarter to five to twenty to eight. It’s six now, so if you care for a stroll this beautiful evening I shall be very happy to introduce you to two curiosities.”
Five minutes later we were in the street, walking towards Regent’s Circus.
“You wonder,” said my companion, “why it is that Mycroft does not use his powers for detective work. He is incapable21 of it.”
“But I thought you said —”
“I said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. If the art of the detective began and ended in reasoning from an armchair, my brother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived. But he has no ambition and no energy. He will not even go out of his way to verify his own solutions, and would rather be considered wrong than take the trouble to prove himself right. Again and again I have taken a problem to him, and have received an explanation which has afterwards proved to be the correct one. And yet he was absolutely incapable of working out the practical points which must be gone into before a case could be laid before a judge or jury.”
“It is not his profession, then?”
“By no means. What is to me a means of livelihood22 is to him the merest hobby of a dilettante23. He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, and audits24 the books in some of the government departments. Mycroft lodges25 in Pall26 Mall, and he walks round the corner into Whitehall every morning and back every evening. From year’s end to year‘s end he takes no other exercise, and is seen nowhere else, except only in the Diogenes Club, which is just opposite his rooms.”
“I cannot recall the name.”
“Very likely not. There are many men in London, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. Yet they are not averse27 to comfortable chairs and the latest periodicals. It is for the convenience of these that the Diogenes Club was started, and it now contains the most unsociable and unclubable men in town. No member is permitted to take the least notice of any other one. Save in the Stranger’s Room, no talking is, under any circumstances, allowed, and three offences, if brought to the notice of the committee, render the talker liable to expulsion. My brother was one of the founders28, and I have myself found it a very soothing29 atmosphere.”
We had reached Pall Mall as we talked, and were walking down it from the St. James’s end. Sherlock Holmes stopped at a door some little distance from the Carlton, and, cautioning me not to speak, he led the way into the hall. Through the glass panelling I caught a glimpse of a large and luxurious30 room, in which a considerable number of men were sitting about and reading papers, each in his own little nook. Holmes showed me into a small chamber31 which looked out into Pall Mall, and then, leaving me for a minute, he came back with a companion whom I knew could only be his brother.
Mycroft Holmes was a much larger and stouter33 man than Sherlock. His body was absolutely corpulent, but his face, though massive, had preserved something of the sharpness of expression which was so remarkable34 in that of his brother. His eyes, which were of a peculiarly light, watery35 gray, seemed to always retain that far-away, introspective look which I had only observed in Sherlock’s when he was exerting his full powers.
“I am glad to meet you, sir,” said he, putting out a broad, fat hand like the flipper36 of a seal. “I hear of Sherlock everywhere since you became his chronicler. By the way, Sherlock, I expected to see you round last week to consult me over that Manor37 House case. I thought you might be a little out of your depth.”
“No, I solved it,” said my friend, smiling.
“It was Adams, of course.”
“Yes, it was Adams.”
“I was sure of it from the first.” The two sat down together in the bow-window of the club. “To anyone who wishes to study mankind this is the spot,” said Mycroft. “Look at the magnificent types! Look at these two men who are coming towards us, for example.”
“The billiard-marker and the other?”
“Precisely. What do you make of the other?”
The two men had stopped opposite the window. Some chalk marks over the waistcoat pocket were the only signs of billiards38 which I could see in one of them. The other was a very small, dark fellow, with his hat pushed back and several packages under his arm.
“An old soldier, I perceive,” said Sherlock.
“And very recently discharged,” remarked the brother.
“Served in India, I see.”
“And a non-commissioned officer.”
“Royal Artillery39, I fancy,” said Sherlock.
“And a widower40.”
“But with a child.”
“Children, my dear boy, children.”
“Come,” said I, laughing, “this is a little too much.”
“Surely.” answered Holmes, “it is not hard to say that a man with that bearing, expression of authority, and sun-baked skin, is a soldier, is more than a private, and is not long from India.”
“That he has not left the service long is shown by his still wearing his ammunition41 boots, as they are called,” observed Mycroft.
“He had not the cavalry42 stride, yet he wore his hat on one side, as is shown by the lighter43 skin on that side of his brow. His weight is against his being a sapper. He is in the artillery.”
“Then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he has lost someone very dear. The fact that he is doing his own shopping looks as though it were his wife. He has been buying things for children, you perceive. There is a rattle44, which shows that one of them is very young. The wife probably died in childbed. The fact that he has a picture-book under his arm shows that there is another child to be thought of.”
I began to understand what my friend meant when he said that his brother possessed45 even keener faculties46 than he did himself. He glanced across at me and smiled. Mycroft took snuff from a tortoise-shell box and brushed away the wandering grains from his coat front with a large, red silk handkerchief.
“By the way, Sherlock,” said he, “I have had something quite after your own heart — a most singular problem — submitted to my judgment47. I really had not the energy to follow it up save in a very incomplete fashion, but it gave me a basis for some pleasing speculations48. If you would care to hear the facts —”
“My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted.”
The brother scribbled49 a note upon a leaf of his pocket-book, and, ringing the bell, he handed it to the waiter.
“I have asked Mr. Melas to step across,” said he. “He lodges on the floor above me, and I have some slight acquaintance with him, which led him to come to me in his perplexity. Mr. Melas is a Greek by extraction, as I understand, and he is a remarkable linguist50. He earns his living partly as interpreter in the law courts and partly by acting51 as guide to any wealthy Orientals who may visit the Northumberland Avenue hotels. I think I will leave him to tell his very remarkable experience in his own fashion.”
A few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout32 man whose olive face and coal black hair proclaimed his Southern origin, though his speech was that of an educated Englishman. He shook hands eagerly with Sherlock Holmes, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure when he understood that the specialist was anxious to hear his story.
“I do not believe that the police credit me — on my word, I do not,” said he in a wailing52 voice. “Just because they have never heard of it before, they think that such a thing cannot be. But I know that I shall never be easy in my mind until I know what has become of my poor man with the sticking-plaster upon his face.”
“I am all attention,” said Sherlock Holmes.
“This is Wednesday evening,” said Mr. Melas. “Well, then, it was Monday night — only two days ago, you understand — that all this happened. I am an interpreter, as perhaps my neighbour there has told you. I interpret all languages — or nearly all — but as I am a Greek by birth and with a Grecian name, it is with that particular tongue that I am principally associated. For many years I have been the chief Greek interpreter in London, and my name is very well known in the hotels.
“It happens not unfrequently that I am sent for at strange hours by foreigners who get into difficulties, or by travellers who arrive late and wish my services. I was not surprised, therefore, on Monday night when a Mr. Latimer, a very fashionably dressed young man, came up to my rooms and asked me to accompany him in a cab which was waiting at the door. A Greek friend had come to see him upon business, he said, and as he could speak nothing but his own tongue, the services of an interpreter were indispensable. He gave me to understand that his house was some little distance off, in Kensington, and he seemed to be in a great hurry, bustling53 me rapidly into the cab when we had descended54 to the street.
“I say into the cab, but I soon became doubtful as to whether it was not a carriage in which I found myself. It was certainly more roomy than the ordinary four-wheeled disgrace to London, and the fittings, though frayed55, were of rich quality. Mr. Latimer seated himself opposite to me and we started off through Charing56 Cross and up the Shaftesbury Avenue. We had come out upon Oxford57 Street and I had ventured some remark as to this being a roundabout way to Kensington, when my words were arrested by the extraordinary conduct of my companion.
“He began by drawing a most formidable-looking bludgeon loaded with lead from his pocket, and switching it backward and forward several times, as if to test its weight and strength. Then he placed it without a word upon the seat beside him. Having done this, he drew up the windows on each side, and I found to my astonishment58 that they were covered with paper so as to prevent my seeing through them.
“‘I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. Melas,’ said he. ‘The fact is that I have no intention that you should see what the place is to which we are driving. It might possibly be inconvenient59 to me if you could find your way there again.’
“As you can imagine, I was utterly60 taken aback by such an address. My companion was a powerful, broad-shouldered young fellow, and, apart from the weapon, I should not have had the slightest chance in a struggle with him.
“‘This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. Latimer,’ I stammered61. ‘You must be aware that what you are doing is quite illegal.’
“‘It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt,’ said he, ‘but we’ll make it up to you. I must warn you, however, Mr. Melas, that if at any time to-night you attempt to raise an alarm or do anything which is against my interest, you will find it a very serious thing. I beg you to remember that no one knows where you are, and that, whether you are in this carriage or in my house, you are equally in my power.’
“His words were quiet, but he had a rasping way of saying them, which was very menacing. I sat in silence wondering what on earth could be his reason for kidnapping me in this extraordinary fashion. Whatever it might be, it was perfectly62 clear that there was no possible use in my resisting, and that I could only wait to see what might befall.
“For nearly two hours we drove without my having the least clue as to where we were going. Sometimes the rattle of the stones told of a paved causeway, and at others our smooth, silent course suggested asphalt; but, save by this variation in sound, there was nothing at all which could in the remotest way help me to form a guess as to where we were. The paper over each window was impenetrable to light, and a blue curtain was drawn63 across the glasswork in front. It was a quarter-past seven when we left Pall Mall, and my watch showed me that it was ten minutes to nine when we at last came to a standstill. My companion let down the window, and I caught a glimpse of a low, arched doorway64 with a lamp burning above it. As I was hurried from the carriage it swung open, and I found myself inside the house, with a vague impression of a lawn and trees on each side of me as I entered. Whether these were private grounds, however, or bona-fide country was more than I could possibly venture to say.
“There was a coloured gas-lamp inside which was turned so low that I could see little save that the hall was of some size and hung with pictures. In the dim light I could make out that the person who had opened the door was a small, mean-looking, middle-aged65 man with rounded shoulders. As he turned towards us the glint of the light showed me that he was wearing glasses.
“‘Is this Mr. Melas, Harold?’ said he.
“‘Yes.’
“‘Well done, well done! No ill-will, Mr. Melas, I hope, but we could not get on without you. If you deal fair with us you’ll not regret it, but if you try any tricks, God help you!’ He spoke66 in a nervous, jerky fashion, and with little giggling67 laughs in between, but somehow he impressed me with fear more than the other.
“‘What do you want with me?’ I asked.
“‘Only to ask a few questions of a Greek gentleman who is visiting us, and to let us have the answers. But say no more than you are told to say, or —’ here came the nervous giggle68 again — ‘you had better never have been born.’
“As he spoke he opened a door and showed the way into a room which appeared to be very richly furnished, but again the only light was afforded by a single lamp half-turned down. The chamber was certainly large, and the way in which my feet sank into the carpet as I stepped across it told me of its richness. I caught glimpses of velvet69 chairs, a high white marble mantelpiece, and what seemed to be a suit of Japanese armour70 at one side of it. There was a chair just under the lamp, and the elderly man motioned that I should sit in it. The younger had left us, but he suddenly returned through another door, leading with him a gentleman clad in some sort of loose dressing-gown who moved slowly towards us. As he came into the circle of dim light which enabled me to see him more clearly I was thrilled with horror at his appearance. He was deadly pale and terribly emaciated71, with the protruding72, brilliant eyes of a man whose spirit was greater than his strength. But what shocked me more than any signs of physical weakness was that his face was grotesquely73 criss-crossed with sticking-plaster, and that one large pad of it was fastened over his mouth.
“‘Have you the slate75, Harold?’ cried the older man, as this strange being fell rather than sat down into a chair. ‘Are his hands loose? Now, then, give him the pencil. You are to ask the questions, Mr. Melas, and he will write the answers. Ask him first of all whether he is prepared to sign the papers?”
“The man’s eyes flashed fire.
“‘Never!’ he wrote in Greek upon the slate.
“‘On no conditions?’ I asked at the bidding of our tyrant77.
“‘Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek priest whom I know.’
“The man giggled78 in his venomous way.
“‘You know what awaits you, then?’
“‘I care nothing for myself.’
“These are samples of the questions and answers which made up our strange half-spoken, half-written conversation. Again and again I had to ask him whether he would give in and sign the documents. Again and again I had the same indignant reply. But soon a happy thought came to me. I took to adding on little sentences of my own to each question, innocent ones at first, to test whether either of our companions knew anything of the matter, and then, as I found that they showed no sign I played a more dangerous game. Our conversation ran something like this:
“‘You can do no good by this obstinacy79. Who are you?’
“‘I care not. I am a stranger in London.’
“‘Your fate will be on your own head. How long have you been here?’
“‘Let it be so. Three weeks.’
“‘The property can never be yours. What ails80 you?’
“‘It shall not go to villains81. They are starving me.’
“‘You shall go free if you sign. What house is this?’
“‘I will never sign. I do not know.’
“‘You are not doing her any service. What is your name?’
“‘Let me hear her say so. Kratides.’
“‘You shall see her if you sign. Where are you from?’
“‘Then I shall never see her. Athens.’
“Another five minutes, Mr. Holmes, and I should have wormed out the whole story under their very noses. My very next question might have cleared the matter up, but at that instant the door opened and a woman stepped into the room. I could not see her clearly enough to know more than that she was tall and graceful83, with black hair, and clad in some sort of loose white gown.
“‘Harold,’ said she, speaking English with a broken accent. ‘I could not stay away longer. It is so lonely up there with only — Oh, my God, it is Paul!’
“These last words were in Greek, and at the same instant the man with a convulsive effort tore the plaster from his lips, and screaming out ‘Sophy! Sophy!’ rushed into the woman’s arms. Their embrace was but for an instant, however, for the younger man seized the woman and pushed her out of the room, while the elder easily overpowered his emaciated victim and dragged him away through the other door. For a moment I was left alone in the room, and I sprang to my feet with some vague idea that I might in some way get a clue to what this house was in which I found myself. Fortunately, however, I took no steps, for looking up I saw that the older man was standing84 in the doorway, with his eyes fixed85 upon me.
“‘That will do, Mr. Melas,’ said he. ‘You perceive that we have taken you into our confidence over some very private business. We should not have troubled you, only that our friend who speaks Greek and who began these negotiations86 has been forced to return to the East. It was quite necessary for us to find someone to take his place, and we were fortunate in hearing of your powers.’
“I bowed.
“‘There are five sovereigns here,’ said he, walking up to me, ‘which will, I hope, be a sufficient fee. But remember,’ he added, tapping me lightly on the chest and giggling, ‘if you speak to a human soul about this — one human soul, mind — well, may God have mercy upon your soul!’
“I cannot tell you the loathing87 and horror with which this insignificant-looking man inspired me. I could see him better now as the lamp-light shone upon him. His features were peaky and sallow, and his little pointed88 beard was thready and illnourished. He pushed his face forward as he spoke and his lips and eyelids89 were continually twitching90 like a man with St. Vitus’s dance. I could not help thinking that his strange, catchy91 little laugh was also a symptom of some nervous malady92. The terror of his face lay in his eyes, however, steel gray, and glistening93 coldly with a malignant94, inexorable cruelty in their depths.
“‘We shall know if you speak of this,’ said he. ‘We have our own means of information. Now you will find the carriage waiting, and my friend will see you on your way.’
“I was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle, again obtaining that momentary95 glimpse of trees and a garden. Mr. Latimer followed closely at my heels and took his place opposite to me without a word. In silence we again drove for an interminable distance with the windows raised, until at last, just after midnight, the carriage pulled up.
“‘You will get down here, Mr. Melas,’ said my companion. ‘I am sorry to leave you so far from your house, but there is no alternative. Any attempt upon your part to follow the carriage can only end in injury to yourself.’
“He opened the door as he spoke, and I had hardly time to spring out when the coachman lashed76 the horse and the carriage rattled96 away. I looked around me in astonishment. I was on some sort of a heathy common mottled over with dark clumps97 of furze-bushes. Far away stretched a line of houses, with a light here and there in the upper windows. On the other side I saw the red signal-lamps of a railway.
“The carriage which had brought me was already out of sight. I stood gazing round and wondering where on earth I might be, when I saw someone coming towards me in the darkness. As he came up to me I made out that he was a railway porter.
“‘Can you tell me what place this is?’ I asked.
“‘Wandsworth Common,’ said he.
“‘Can I get a train into town?’
“‘If you walk on a mile or so to Clapham Junction,’ said he, ‘you’ll just be in time for the last to Victoria.’
“So that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes. I do not know where I was, nor whom I spoke with, nor anything save what I have told you. But I know that there is foul98 play going on, and I want to help that unhappy man if I can. I told the whole story to Mr. Mycroft Holmes next morning, and subsequently to the police.”
We all sat in silence for some little time after listening to this extraordinary narrative99. Then Sherlock looked across at his brother.
“Any steps?” he asked.
Mycroft picked up the Daily News, which was lying on the side-table.
“Anybody supplying any information as to the whereabouts of a Greek gentleman named Paul Kratides, from
Athens, who is unable to speak English, will be rewarded.
A similar reward paid to anyone giving information about a
Greek lady whose first name is Sophy. X 2473.
“That was in all the dailies. No answer.”
“How about the Greek legation?”
“I have inquired. They know nothing.”
“A wire to the head of the Athens police, then?”
“Sherlock has all the energy of the family,” said Mycroft, turning to me. “Well, you take the case up by all means and let me know if you do any good.”
“Certainly,” answered my friend, rising from his chair. “I’ll let you know, and Mr. Melas also. In the meantime, Mr. Melas, I should certainly be on my guard if I were you, for of course they must know through these advertisements that you have betrayed them.”
As we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a telegraph office and sent off several wires.
“You see, Watson,” he remarked, “our evening has been by no means wasted. Some of my most interesting cases have come to me in this way through Mycroft. The problem which we have just listened to, although it can admit of but one explanation, has still some distinguishing features.”
“You have hopes of solving it?”
“Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular indeed if we fail to discover the rest. You must yourself have formed some theory which will explain the facts to which we have listened.”
“In a vague way, yes.”
“What was your idea, then?”
“It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl had been carried off by the young Englishman named Harold Latimer.”
“Carried off from where?”
“Athens, perhaps.”
Sherlock Holmes shook his head. “This young man could not talk a word of Greek. The lady could talk English fairly well. Inference — that she had been in England some little time, but he had not been in Greece.”
“Well, then, we will presume that she had once come on a visit to England, and that this Harold had persuaded her to fly with him.”
“That is more probable.”
“Then the brother — for that, I fancy, must be the relationship — comes over from Greece to interfere100. He imprudently puts himself into the power of the young man and his older associate. They seize him and use violence towards him in order to make him sign some papers to make over the girl’s fortune of which he may be trustee — to them. This he refuses to do. In order to negotiate with him they have to get an interpreter, and they pitch upon this Mr. Melas, having used some other one before. The girl is not told of the arrival of her brother and finds it out by the merest accident.”
“Excellent, Watson!” cried Holmes. “I really fancy that you are not far from the truth. You see that we hold all the cards, and we have only to fear some sudden act of violence on their part. If they give us time we must have them.”
“But how can we find where this house lies?”
“Well, if our conjecture101 is correct and the girl’s name is or was Sophy Kratides, we should have no difficulty in tracing her. That must be our main hope, for the brother is, of course, a complete stranger. It is clear that some time has elapsed since this Harold established these relations with the girl — some weeks at any rate — since the brother in Greece has had time to hear of it and come across. If they have been living in the same place during this time, it is probable that we shall have some answer to Mycroft’s advertisement.”
We had reached our house in Baker102 Street while we had been talking. Holmes ascended103 the stair first, and as he opened the door of our room he gave a start of surprise. Looking over his shoulder, I was equally astonished. His brother Mycroft was sitting smoking in the armchair.
“Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir,” said he blandly104, smiling at our surprised faces. “You don’t expect such energy from me do you, Sherlock? But somehow this case attracts me.”
“How did you get here?”
“I passed you in a hansom.”
“There has been some new development?”
“I had an answer to my advertisement.”
“Ah!”
“Yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving.”
“And to what effect?”
Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper.
“Here it is,” said he, “written with a J pen on royal cream paper by a middle-aged man with a weak constitution.
“Sir [he says]:
“In answer to your advertisement of to-day’s date, I beg to inform you that I know the young lady in question very well. If you should care to call upon me I could give you some particulars as to her painful history. She is living at present at The Myrtles, Beckenham.
“Yours faithfully,
“J. DAVENPORT.
“He writes from Lower Brixton,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Do you not think that we might drive to him now, Sherlock, and learn these particulars?”
“My dear Mycroft, the brother’s life is more valuable than the sister’s story. I think we should call at Scotland Yard for Inspector105 Gregson and go straight out to Beckenham. We know that a man is being done to death, and every hour may be vital.”
“Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way,” I suggested. “We may need an interpreter.”
“Excellent,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Send the boy for a four-wheeler, and we shall be off at once.” He opened the table-drawer as he spoke, and I noticed that he slipped his revolver into his pocket. “Yes,” said he in answer to my glance, “I should say, from what we have heard, that we are dealing106 with a particularly dangerous gang.”
It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, at the rooms of Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just called for him, and he was gone.
“Can you tell me where?” asked Mycroft Holmes.
“I don’t know, sir,” answered the woman who had opened the door; “I only know that he drove away with the gentleman in a carriage.”
“Did the gentleman give a name?”
“No, sir.”
“He wasn’t a tall, handsome, dark young man?”
“Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in the face, but very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing all the time that he was talking.”
“Come along!” cried Sherlock Holmes abruptly107. “This grows serious,” he observed as we drove to Scotland Yard. “These men have got hold of Melas again. He is a man of no physical courage, as they are well aware from their experience the other night. This villain82 was able to terrorize him the instant that he got into his presence. No doubt they want his professional services, but, having used him, they may be inclined to punish him for what they will regard as his treachery.”
Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to Beckenham as soon as or sooner than the carriage. On reaching Scotland Yard, however, it was more than an hour before we could get Inspector Gregson and comply with the legal formalities which would enable us to enter the house. It was a quarter to ten before we reached London Bridge, and half past before the four of us alighted on the Beckenham platform. A drive of half a mile brought us to The Myrtles — a large, dark house standing back from the road in its own grounds. Here we dismissed our cab and made our way up the drive together.
“The windows are all dark,” remarked the inspector. “The house seems deserted108.”
“Our birds are flown and the nest empty,” said Holmes.
“Why do you say so?”
“A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out during the last hour.”
The inspector laughed. “I saw the wheel-tracks in the light of the gate-lamp, but where does the luggage come in?”
“You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the other way. But the outward-bound ones were very much deeper — so much so that we can say for a certainty that there was a very considerable weight on the carriage.”
“You get a trifle beyond me there,” said the inspector, shrugging his shoulders. “It will not be an easy door to force, but we will try if we cannot make someone hear us.”
He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, but without any success. Holmes had slipped away, but he came back in a few minutes.
“I have a window open,” said he.
“It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not against it, Mr. Holmes,” remarked the inspector as he noted109 the clever way in which my friend had forced back the catch. “Well, I think that under the circumstances we may enter without an invitation.”
One after the other we made our way into a large apartment, which was evidently that in which Mr. Melas had found himself. The inspector had lit his lantern, and by its light we could see the two doors, the curtain, the lamp, and the suit of Japanese mail as he had described them. On the table lay two glasses, an empty brandy-bottle, and the remains110 of a meal.
“What is that?” asked Holmes suddenly.
We all stood still and listened. A low moaning sound was coming from somewhere over our heads. Holmes rushed to the door and out into the hall. The dismal111 noise came from upstairs. He dashed up, the inspector and I at his heels, while his brother Mycroft followed as quickly as his great bulk would permit.
Three doors faced us upon the second floor, and it was from the central of these that the sinister112 sounds were issuing, sinking sometimes into a dull mumble113 and rising again into a shrill114 whine115. It was locked, but the key had been left on the outside. Holmes flung open the door and rushed in, but he was out again in an instant, with his hand to his throat.
“It’s charcoal,” he cried. “Give it time. It will clear.”
Peering in, we could see that the only light in the room came from a dull blue flame which flickered116 from a small brass117 tripod in the centre. It threw a livid unnatural118 circle upon the floor, while in the shadows beyond we saw the vague loom119 of two figures which crouched120 against the wall. From the open door there reeked121 a horrible poisonous exhalation which set us gasping122 and coughing. Holmes rushed to the top of the stairs to draw in the fresh air, and then, dashing into the room, he threw up the window and hurled123 the brazen124 tripod out into the garden.
“We can enter in a minute,” he gasped125, darting126 out again. “Where is a candle? I doubt if we could strike a match in that atmosphere. Hold the light at the door and we shall get them out, Mycroft, now!”
With a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged them out into the well-lit hall. Both of them were blue-lipped and insensible, with swollen127, congested faces and protruding eyes. Indeed, so distorted were their features that, save for his black beard and stout figure, we might have failed to recognize in one of them the Greek interpreter who had parted from us only a few hours before at the Diogenes Club. His hands and feet were securely strapped128 together, and he bore over one eye the marks of a violent blow. The other, who was secured in a similar fashion was a tall man in the last stage of emaciation129, with several strips of sticking-plaster arranged in a grotesque74 pattern over his face. He had ceased to moan as we laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him at least our aid had come too late. Mr. Melas, however, still lived, and in less than an hour, with the aid of ammonia and brandy, I had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes, and of knowing that my hand had drawn him back from that dark valley in which all paths meet.
It was a simple story which he had to tell, and one which did but confirm our own deductions130. His visitor, on entering his rooms, had drawn a life-preserver from his sleeve, and had so impressed him with the fear of instant and inevitable131 death that he had kidnapped him for the second time. Indeed, it was almost mesmeric, the effect which this giggling ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist, for he could not speak of him save with trembling hands and a blanched132 cheek. He had been taken swiftly to Beckenham, and had acted as interpreter in a second interview, even more dramatic than the first, in which the two Englishmen had menaced their prisoner with instant death if he did not comply with their demands. Finally, finding him proof against every threat, they had hurled him back into his prison and after reproaching Melas with his treachery, which appeared from the newspaper advertisement, they had stunned133 him with a blow from a stick, and he remembered nothing more until he found us bending over him.
And this was the singular case of the Grecian Interpreter, the explanation of which is still involved in some mystery. We were able to find out, by communicating with the gentleman who had answered the advertisement, that the unfortunate young lady came of a wealthy Grecian family, and that she had been on a visit to some friends in England. While there she had met a young man named Harold Latimer, who had acquired an ascendency over her and had eventually persuaded her to fly with him. Her friends, shocked at the event, had contented134 themselves with informing her brother at Athens, and had then washed their hands of the matter. The brother, on his arrival in England, had imprudently placed himself in the power of Latimer and of his associate, whose name was Wilson Kemp — a man of the foulest135 antecedents. These two, finding that through his ignorance of the language he was helpless in their hands, had kept him a prisoner, and had endeavoured by cruelty and starvation to make him sign away his own and his sister’s property. They had kept him in the house without the girl’s knowledge, and the plaster over the face had been for the purpose of making recognition difficult in case she should ever catch a glimpse of him. Her feminine perceptions, however, had instantly seen through the disguise when, on the occasion of the interpreter’s visit, she had seen him for the first time. The poor girl, however, was herself a prisoner, for there was no one about the house except the man who acted as coachman, and his wife, both of whom were tools of the conspirators136. Finding that their secret was out, and that their prisoner was not to be coerced137, the two villains with the girl had fled away at a few hours’ notice from the furnished house which they had hired, having first, as they thought, taken vengeance138 both upon the man who had defied and the one who had betrayed them.
Months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached us from Buda-Pesth. It told how two Englishmen who had been travelling with a woman had met with a tragic139 end. They had each been stabbed, it seems, and the Hungarian police were of opinion that they had quarrelled and had inflicted140 mortal injuries upon each other. Holmes, however, is, I fancy, of a different way of thinking, and he holds to this day that, if one could find the Grecian girl, one might learn how the wrongs of herself and her brother came to be avenged141.
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1
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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preeminent
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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obliquity
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| n.倾斜度 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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aptitudes
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| （学习方面的）才能，资质，天资( aptitude的名词复数 ) | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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logician
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| n.逻辑学家 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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dilettante
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| n.半瓶醋，业余爱好者 | |
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audits
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| n.审计，查账( audit的名词复数 )v.审计，查账( audit的第三人称单数 ) | |
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25
lodges
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| v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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founders
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| n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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stouter
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| 粗壮的( stout的比较级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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34
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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35
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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36
flipper
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| n. 鳍状肢，潜水用橡皮制鳍状肢 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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39
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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42
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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43
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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44
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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45
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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47
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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48
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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49
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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50
linguist
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| n.语言学家；精通数种外国语言者 | |
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51
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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52
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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53
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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54
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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55
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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57
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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58
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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59
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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60
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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61
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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63
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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66
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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67
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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68
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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71
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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72
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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73
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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76
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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catchy
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| adj.易记住的，诡诈的，易使人上当的 | |
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malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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93
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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98
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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102
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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103
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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106
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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107
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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108
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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mumble
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| n./v.喃喃而语，咕哝 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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122
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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emaciation
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| n.消瘦，憔悴，衰弱 | |
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deductions
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| 扣除( deduction的名词复数 )； 结论； 扣除的量； 推演 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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foulest
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| adj.恶劣的( foul的最高级 )；邪恶的；难闻的；下流的 | |
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conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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coerced
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| v.迫使做( coerce的过去式和过去分词 )；强迫；（以武力、惩罚、威胁等手段）控制；支配 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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140
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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