书城小说夏洛克·福尔摩斯全集(上册)
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第63章 The Sign of Four(22)

“Got your message, sir,” said he, “and brought ’em on sharp.

Three bob and a tanner for tickets.”

“Here you are,” said Holmes, producing some silver. “In futurethey can report to you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot havethe house invaded in this way. However, it is just as well that youshould all hear the instructions. I want to find the whereaboutsof a steam launch called the Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith,black with two red streaks, funnel black with a white band. Sheis down the river somewhere. I want one boy to be at MordecaiSmith’s landing-stage opposite Millbank to say if the boat comesback. You must divide it out among yourselves and do both banksthoroughly. Let me know the moment you have news. Is that allclear?”

“Yes, guv’nor,” said Wiggins.

“The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds theboat. Here’s a day in advance. Now off you go!”

He handed them a shilling each, and away they buzzed down thestairs, and I saw them a moment later streaming down the street.

“If the launch is above water they will find her,” said Holmes ashe rose from the table and lit his pipe. “They can go everywhere,see everything, overhear everyone. I expect to hear before eveningthat they have spotted her. In the mean-while, we can do nothingbut await results. We cannot pick up the broken trail until we findeither the Aurora or Mr. Mordecai Smith.”

“Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going to bed,Holmes?”

“No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I neverremember feeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts mecompletely. I am going to smoke and to think over this queerbusiness to which my fair client has introduced us. If ever man hadan easy task, this of ours ought to be. Wooden-legged men are notso common, but the other man must, I should think, be absolutelyunique.”

“That other man again!”

“I have no wish to make a mystery of him to you, anyway. Butyou must have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider thedata. Diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, nakedfeet, stone-headed wooden mace, great agility, small poisoneddarts. What do you make of all this?”

“A savage!” I exclaimed. “Perhaps one of those Indians who werethe associates of Jonathan Small.”

“Hardly that,” said he. “When first I saw signs of strangeweapons I was inclined to think so, but the remarkable characterof the footmarks caused me to reconsider my views. Some of theinhabitants of the Indian Peninsula are small men, but none couldhave left such marks as that. The Hindoo proper has long andthin feet. The sandal-wearing Mohammedan has the great toe wellseparated from the others because the thong is commonly passedbetween. These little darts, too, could only be shot in one way.

They are from a blow-pipe. Now, then, where are we to find oursavage?”

“South American,” I hazarded.

He stretched his hand up and took down a bulky volume fromthe shelf.

“This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now beingpublished. It may be looked upon as the very latest authority.

What have we here?

“Andaman Islands, situated 340 miles to the north of Sumatra, inthe Bay of Bengal.’

Hum! hum! What’s all this? Moist climate, coral reefs, sharks, PortBlair, convict barracks, Rutland Island, cottonwoods—Ah, here weare.

“The aborigines of the Andaman Islands may perhaps claim thedistinction of being the smallest race upon this earth, though someanthropologists prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the Digger Indiansof America, and the Terra del Fuegians. The average height is ratherbelow four feet, although many full-grown adults may be foundwho are very much smaller than this. They are a fierce, morose,and intractable people, though capable of forming most devotedfriendships when their confidence has once been gained.”

Mark that, Watson. Now, then listen to this.

“They are naturally hideous, having large, misshapen heads, smallfierce eyes, and distorted features. Their feet and hands, however,are remarkably small. So intractable and fierce are they, that allthe efforts of the British officials have failed to win them over inany degree. They have always been a terror to shipwrecked crews,braining the survivors with their stone-headed clubs or shootingthem with their poisoned arrows. These massacres are invariablyconcluded by a cannibal feast.”

Nice, amiable people, Watson! If this fellow had been left to hisown unaided devices, this affair might have taken an even moreghastly turn. I fancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small would give agood deal not to have employed him.

“But how came he to have so singular a companion?”

“Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we had alreadydetermined that Small had come from the Andamans, it is not sovery wonderful that this islander should be with him. No doubtwe shall know all about it in time. Look here, Watson; you lookregularly done. Lie down there on the sofa and see if I can put youto sleep.”

He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myselfout he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air—his own,no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I havea vague remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face and therise and fall of his bow. Then I seemed to be floated peacefullyaway upon a soft sea of sound, until I found myself in dreamland,with the sweet face of Mary Morstan looking down upon me.

A Break in the Chain

It was late in the afternoon before I woke, strengthened andrefreshed. Sherlock Holmes still sat exactly as I had left him, savethat he had laid aside his violin and was deep in a book. He lookedacross at me as I stirred, and I noticed that his face was dark andtroubled.

“You have slept soundly,” he said. “I feared that our talk wouldwake you.”

“I heard nothing,” I answered. “Have you had fresh news, then?”

Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised and disappointed.