寻求解法
福尔摩斯回来时已经五点半了。他神采奕奕、兴致勃勃，情绪极佳——他的心情向来如此，时而也会陷入极度消沉的谷底。
“这件事并没有什么大谜团，”他接过我为他倒的茶，说道，“事实似乎只容许一种解释。”
“什么！你已经解开了？”
“嗯，那倒还说不上。我只是发现了一个有启发性的事实，仅此而已。不过，这事实_非常_有启发性。细节还有待补充。我刚查阅了《泰晤士报》的过期档案，发现上诺伍德的肖尔托少校——前孟买第三十四步兵团的——于1882年4月28日去世。”
“福尔摩斯，也许是我太迟钝了，可我看不出这能说明什么。”
“看不出来？真让我意外。那换个角度看。莫斯坦上尉失踪了。他在伦敦唯一可能去拜访的人就是肖尔托少校。肖尔托却否认听说他来过伦敦。四年后，肖尔托死了。_在他死后的一个星期内_，莫斯坦上尉的女儿收到了一份贵重的礼物，此后年年如此，如今更以一封信达到高潮，信中称她为受冤屈的女子。除了被夺去父亲这一点，还能指什么冤屈？而礼物为何恰在肖尔托死后立即开始赠送，除非是肖尔托的继承者知晓这谜团的内情，并想要作出补偿？你有什么能契合事实的另一种说法吗？”
“可这补偿多么古怪！送的方式也多么离奇！还有，他为何偏要现在写信，而不是六年前？再者，信里说要给她公道。她能有什么公道？若说她父亲还活着，也太牵强了。据你所知，她身上并无其他不公。”
“有困难，确实有困难，”歇洛克·福尔摩斯若有所思地说，“但我们今晚的出行会解决这一切。啊，一辆马车来了，莫斯坦小姐就在里面。都准备好了吗？那我们最好下去吧，已经稍微过点了。”
我拿起帽子和最粗的手杖，却见福尔摩斯从抽屉里取出左轮手枪，塞进衣袋。显然他认为今晚的活儿可能非同小可。
莫斯坦小姐裹着深色斗篷，敏感的脸上神色镇定，却有些苍白。若对我们正投身的这桩怪事毫无不安，那她便不止是女子了；然而她自制力极好，也爽快地回答了歇洛克·福尔摩斯追加的几个问题。
“肖尔托少校是爸爸极要好的朋友，”她说，“他的信里满是对少校的提及。他和爸爸在安达曼群岛统率部队，所以常在一处。对了，爸爸书桌里发现过一张奇怪的纸，谁也看不懂。我想它或许毫无紧要，但觉着您也许想看看，就带来了。在这儿。”
福尔摩斯小心展开纸，在膝上抚平。随后极有条理地用双凸透镜通体查验。
“这是印度本土制造的纸，”他说，“曾某时被钉在木板上。上面的图样似是一座大建筑局部的平面图，厅堂、走廊、通道繁多。一处有个红墨水画的小十字，上方以褪色的铅笔字写着‘从左数3.37’。左角有个奇特的符号，像四个十字排成一行、臂膀相连。旁边以极粗糙拙劣的字写着，‘四签名——乔纳森·斯莫尔、穆罕默德·辛格、阿卜杜拉·汗、多斯特·阿克巴尔。’不，我承认看不出这与本案有何关联。但它显然是一份重要文件。一直被妥存在皮夹里；因为两面都一般干净。”
“我们就是在他的皮夹里找到的。”
“那请妥善保管，莫斯坦小姐，它或许对我们有用。我渐疑此事比我起初想的更深更妙。我得重新思量了。”他靠回车厢，从紧蹙的眉头和放空的眼神可知他正凝神苦想。我和莫斯坦小姐低声聊着此行及其可能的结果，而我们这位同伴直至终点都保持着莫测的沉默。
那是九月的傍晚，还不到七点，白日却阴沉惨淡，浓密的毛毛雨雾低垂在这座大城之上。泥色的云凄然垂在泥泞的街巷。斯特兰德街上的路灯只是团团弥散的光斑，在溜滑的人行道上投下微弱的圆晕。店铺窗内的黄光泄入蒸郁的雾气，在拥挤的大道上投下阴沉游移的辉芒。在我看来，那些掠过窄窄光带的无尽面孔——悲的、喜的、憔悴的、欢畅的——有种诡谲如鬼的气味。如全人类般，他们从暗处浮入光中，又复归暗处。我本不轻易为外物所动，但这沉闷沉重的黄昏，加上我们所办怪事，却叫我紧张而抑郁。从莫斯坦小姐的神情看，她亦有同感。唯福尔摩斯能超脱于琐细影响之上。他膝上摊着翻开的笔记本，不时借口袋灯的光记下数字与备忘。
兰心剧院侧门已是人潮涌动。前方连绵的汉萨姆马车与四轮车辚辚而至，卸下胸前浆硬、披 Shawl 戴钻饰的男女。我们刚到作为约定的第三根柱子，一个穿车夫装的小个黑瘦精悍男子便来搭话。
“你们是和莫斯坦小姐同来的人？”他问。
“我是莫斯坦小姐，这两位是我的朋友。”她说。
他投来一双极锐利探究的眼。“小姐，恕我冒犯，”他带着执拗的口气说，“我得请您保证，两位同伴都不是警探。”
“我向您保证。”她答。
他尖声一哨，一个街头顽童牵来一辆四轮车，开了门。方才说话的男子跳上驭座，我们坐进车内。刚坐定，车夫便扬鞭策马，我们冲入雾街，疾驰而去。
情势颇怪。我们驶向未知之地，为着未知之事。然我们的邀约要么是彻头彻尾的恶作剧——那简直不可想象——要么便是我们有充足理由相信此行关乎重大。莫斯坦小姐的神态仍如往常坚毅从容。我试图以阿富汗的冒险轶事逗她开心，但说实话，我自己对处境兴奋难抑，对去向好奇不已，故事讲得有些缠夹。至今她仍宣称，我曾讲过一个动人 anecdote：深夜里一支滑膛枪探进我的帐篷，我朝它放了一枪双管虎崽。起初我还辨得出方向，但不久，凭着车速、雾气与我有限的伦敦知识，我便迷失了，只知似乎走了极远。歇洛克·福尔摩斯却从不迷向，车厢辚辚穿过广场、拐进曲折陋巷时，他低声报着地名。
“罗切斯特街，”他说，“现是文森特广场。现上了沃克斯豪尔桥路。看来是去萨里那边。对，果然。现过桥了。你能瞥见河。”
我们确曾一瞬望见泰晤士河一段，灯照在宽阔静水上；但车猛冲向前，不久便陷于对岸的街巷迷宫。
“华兹华斯路，”同伴说，“普赖尔路。云雀厅巷。斯托克韦尔坊。罗伯特街。冷港巷。看来我们这趟不往时髦地方去。”
我们确已抵近一处可疑而阴森的邻里。一长排暗淡砖房，唯街角酒馆的粗光俗艳稍破沉闷。接着是两层的别墅排排，各带一方迷你前园，再又是望不到头的新奇刺眼砖楼——巨城伸向乡野的怪物触手。终于，车在一排新弄堂的第三幢前停下。其余皆空置，我们停处也同邻般漆黑，唯厨房窗里漏一点微光。然我们一敲，门立时由一印度仆人打开，他戴黄头巾，着宽松白衣，系黄腰带。这东方身影框在三等郊居的寻常门道里，有种奇特的违和。
“萨希卜候着您，”他说；话音未落，内室传来尖细嗓音。“带他们来见我，侍役，”它喊道，“直接带他们来见我。”
In Quest of a Solution
It was half-past five before Holmes returned. He was bright, eager, and
in excellent spirits,—a mood which in his case alternated with fits of
the blackest depression.
“There is no great mystery in this matter,” he said, taking the cup of
tea which I had poured out for him. “The facts appear to admit of only
one explanation.”
“What! you have solved it already?”
“Well, that would be too much to say. I have discovered a suggestive
fact, that is all. It is, however, _very_ suggestive. The details are
still to be added. I have just found, on consulting the back files of
the _Times_, that Major Sholto, of Upper Norwood, late of the 34th
Bombay Infantry, died upon the 28th of April, 1882.”
“I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what this suggests.”
“No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way, then. Captain Morstan
disappears. The only person in London whom he could have visited is
Major Sholto. Major Sholto denies having heard that he was in London.
Four years later Sholto dies. _Within a week of his death_ Captain
Morstan’s daughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated from
year to year, and now culminates in a letter which describes her as a
wronged woman. What wrong can it refer to except this deprivation of
her father? And why should the presents begin immediately after
Sholto’s death, unless it is that Sholto’s heir knows something of the
mystery and desires to make compensation? Have you any alternative
theory which will meet the facts?”
“But what a strange compensation! And how strangely made! Why, too,
should he write a letter now, rather than six years ago? Again, the
letter speaks of giving her justice. What justice can she have? It is
too much to suppose that her father is still alive. There is no other
injustice in her case that you know of.”
“There are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties,” said
Sherlock Holmes, pensively. “But our expedition of to-night will solve
them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan is inside. Are
you all ready? Then we had better go down, for it is a little past the
hour.”
I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observed that Holmes
took his revolver from his drawer and slipped it into his pocket. It
was clear that he thought that our night’s work might be a serious one.
Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive face was
composed, but pale. She must have been more than woman if she did not
feel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon which we were
embarking, yet her self-control was perfect, and she readily answered
the few additional questions which Sherlock Holmes put to her.
“Major Sholto was a very particular friend of papa’s,” she said. “His
letters were full of allusions to the major. He and papa were in
command of the troops at the Andaman Islands, so they were thrown a
great deal together. By the way, a curious paper was found in papa’s
desk which no one could understand. I don’t suppose that it is of the
slightest importance, but I thought you might care to see it, so I
brought it with me. It is here.”
