"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 lamented1 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 malignant2 brain was there, as the gentlest tremors4 of the edges of the web remind one of the foul5 spider which lurks6 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 possessed8. But now——" He shrugged9 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 Baker10 Street. A young doctor, named Verner, had purchased my small Kensington practice, and given with astonishingly little demur11 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, and that it was my friend who had really found the money.
Our months of partnership12 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 steamship13 FRIESLAND, which so nearly cost us both our lives. His cold and proud nature was always averse14, however, from anything in the shape of public applause, and he bound me in the most stringent15 terms to say no further word of himself, his methods, or his successes—a prohibition16 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 leisurely17 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 clattered19 up the stair, and an instant later a wild-eyed and frantic20 young man, pale, disheveled, and palpitating, burst into the room. He looked from one to the other of us, and under our gaze of inquiry21 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 sedative22. 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 recognize it, but I assure you that, beyond the obvious facts that you are a bachelor, a solicitor23, 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 deductions24, and to observe the untidiness of attire25, the sheaf of legal papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing which had prompted them. Our client, however, stared in amazement26.
"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 jail 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 expressive27 face showed a sympathy which was not, I am afraid, entirely28 unmixed with satisfaction.
"Dear me," said he, "it was only this moment at breakfast that I was saying to my friend, Dr. Watson, that sensational29 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 headlines are: 'Mysterious Affair at Lower Norwood. Disappearance30 of a Well Known Builder. Suspicion of Murder and Arson31. 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 wrung32 his hands in an agony of apprehension33, and swayed backward and forward 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 protruded34 the bundle of indorsed 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 the paragraph in question?"
Underneath35 the vigorous headlines which our client had quoted, I read the following suggestive narrative36:
"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 withdrawn37 from the business, in which he is said to have massed 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 conflagration39 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 scattered40 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 motive41 for the crime, and altogether it cannot be doubted that sensational developments will follow.
"LATER.—It is rumoured42 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 sinister43 developments in the investigation44 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 charred45 remains46 have been found among the charcoal47 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 Inspector48 Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, who is following up the clues with his accustomed energy and sagacity."
Sherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes and fingertips together to this remarkable49 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 justify50 your arrest?"
"I live at Torrington Lodge51, 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 doorway52. 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 wilful53 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 recognize 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 notebook, covered with scribbled54 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 astonishment55 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 gray eyes fixed57 upon me with an amused expression. I could hardly believe my own 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 worthy58 hands. Of course, I could only stammer59 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 insistent60 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 benefactor62, 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-aged63 woman, who was, I suppose, his housekeeper64."
"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-room65, where a frugal66 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 eyebrows67 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 brain could cut through that which was impenetrable to him. I saw him look curiously68 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 constables70 are at the door, and there is a four-wheeler waiting." The wretched young man arose, and with a last beseeching71 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 drawn38 up on a suburban72 line, since nowhere save in the immediate18 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 corroborates73 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 haphazard74 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 pretext75 to see his client that night. He waits until the only other person in the house is in bed, and then in the solitude76 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 pointed77 to him. Is not all this 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 conceal78 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 such 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 bustled79 into his frockcoat, "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 prospect80 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 soothe81 his own ruffled82 spirits. At last he flung down the instrument, and plunged83 into a detailed84 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 attained85 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 blackguard. The father was away in search of his son. The mother was at home—a little, fluffy86, blue-eyed person, in a tremor3 of fear and indignation. Of course, she would not admit even the possibility of his guilt87. But she would not express either surprise or regret over the fate of Oldacre. On the contrary, she spoke88 of him with such bitterness that she was unconsciously considerably89 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 hatred90 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 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 aviary91, and I was so horrified92 at his brutal93 cruelty that I would have nothing more to do with him.' She rummaged94 in a bureau, and presently she produced a photograph of a woman, shamefully95 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 villa96 of staring brick, standing97 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 notebook. 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 consolation98 I have had to-day. Lestrade was not there, but his head constable69 did the honours. They had just found 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 distinguished99 that one of them was marked with the name of 'Hyams,' who was Oldacres 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, mere100 smears101 and discolourations, but undoubtedly102 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 affluent103 circumstances. But it seemed to me that all the papers were not there. There were allusions104 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 scent105, 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 withered106 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 had passed. Mr. McFarlane had left his hat, and to the best of her belief his stick, in the hall. She had been awakened107 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 clenched108 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 defiance109 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 checks 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 retired110 builder has such very large transactions. Is it possible that he has had a hand in the affair? Cornelius might be a broker111, 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 checks. 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 harassed112, 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 premature113 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 today."
My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiarities114 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 remonstrances115. I was not surprised, therefore, when this morning he left his untouched meal behind him, and started with me for Norwood. A crowd of morbid116 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 triumphant117.
"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 whitewashed118 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 writhing119 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 deceptive120 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 judgment121, is it not, Lestrade?"
"Yes, some of us are a little too much inclined to be cock-sure, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade. The man's insolence122 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 peg123! Such a very natural action, too, if you come to think of it." Holmes was outwardly calm, but his whole body gave a wriggle124 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 hilarious125 manner and at his rather wild observation.
"I don't know whether you think that McFarlane came out of jail 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 equanimity126, 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, heartily127. "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 attic128. 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 spasm129 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. "Kindly130 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 grudge132 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 draught133 a coil of gray smoke swirled134 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, wizened135 man darted136 out of it, like a rabbit out of its burrow137.
"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 newcomer 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 odious138 face—crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty, light-gray eyes and white lashes56.
"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 alterations139 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 zealous140 historian to lay out his foolscap once more—eh, Watson? Well, now, let us see where this rat has been lurking141."
A lath-and-plaster partition had been run across the passage six feet from the end, with a door cunningly concealed142 in it. It was lit within by slits143 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 chaff131 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 daresay 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 den7 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 wager144 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 deception145, 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, malicious146, vindictive147 person is the gentleman who is now waiting 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 rankled148 in his wicked, scheming brain, and all his life he has longed for vengeance149, but never seen his chance. During the last year or two, things have gone against him—secret speculation150, I think—and he finds himself in a bad way. He determines to swindle his creditors151, and for this purpose he pays large checks to a certain Mr. Cornelius, who is, I imagine, himself under another name. I have not traced these checks yet, but I have no doubt that they were banked under that name at some provincial152 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 retention153 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 supreme154 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 descend155, 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 whined156 incessantly157. "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 conspiracy158, if not for attempted murder."
"And you'll probably find that your creditors will impound the banking159 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 fully61 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 daresay 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."
收听单词发音 |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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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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lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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stringent
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| adj.严厉的；令人信服的；银根紧的 | |
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prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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sedative
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| adj.使安静的，使镇静的；n. 镇静剂，能使安静的东西 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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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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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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arson
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| n.纵火，放火 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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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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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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54
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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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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56
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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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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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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63
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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64
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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65
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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66
frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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67
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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68
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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69
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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70
constables
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| n.警察( constable的名词复数 ) | |
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71
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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72
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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73
corroborates
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| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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74
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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75
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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76
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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77
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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78
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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79
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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80
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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81
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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82
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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83
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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84
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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85
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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86
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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87
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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88
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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89
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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90
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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91
aviary
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| n.大鸟笼，鸟舍 | |
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92
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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93
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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94
rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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95
shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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96
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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97
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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98
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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99
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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100
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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101
smears
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| 污迹( smear的名词复数 )； 污斑； （显微镜的）涂片； 诽谤 | |
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102
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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103
affluent
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| adj.富裕的，富有的，丰富的，富饶的 | |
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104
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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105
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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106
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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107
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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108
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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110
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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111
broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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112
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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113
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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114
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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115
remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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116
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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117
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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118
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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120
deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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121
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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122
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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123
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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124
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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125
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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126
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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127
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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128
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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129
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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130
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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131
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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132
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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133
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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134
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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136
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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137
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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138
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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139
alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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140
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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141
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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142
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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143
slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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144
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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145
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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146
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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147
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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148
rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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150
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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151
creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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152
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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153
retention
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| n.保留，保持，保持力，记忆力 | |
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154
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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155
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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156
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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157
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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158
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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159
banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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