Baker Street Charterers

"Maybe there is a flaw in this." Of course Jones refused to admit that his analysis was wrong, "But we analyze it as usual. This Mr. Sedes Schuerto used to live with his brother and had a dispute, and now his brother is dead. The treasure was stolen. Since Sedus left, no one has seen his brother, and the bed has not been slept in. It is very obvious that Sedus is very disturbed, and he is indeed acting abnormally. You see Well, if I attack Seides from all sides, he's going to get away with it."

Holmes was indifferent to Jones' swearing appearance, and asked calmly, "Then what do you think of this strange wooden stick, the poisoned wooden thorn and this piece of paper?"

"Ah, this." Jones paced the room. "This room is full of Indian curios. If this wooden thorn is poisonous, someone can use it to kill people, and so does Sedus. This broken note is just a lie." It's just a trick, for mysteries. I think the only thing worth knowing is how he got out of it? Ah! By the way, there's a hole in the roof—"

Holmes raised his eyebrows, and spoke slowly, "There is a saying that is quite true, 'It is harder to live with a fool than a mind'."

Jones exclaimed excitedly as if he had discovered a new world, "Look! Facts speak louder than words! There is a secret door on the roof, and it's still open!"

"I have just opened it," replied Holmes.

"Ah...really?" He was a little disappointed, and then waved his hands, "Okay, no matter who finds the secret door, it means that this is the way the murderer left, the sheriff—"

He ordered, "Mr. Sholto, it is now my duty to tell you that anything you say may be against you, because of your brother's death, I am formally arresting you on behalf of the government."

Poor Sedes trembled all over, and cried out in despair, "I knew it! I knew it would happen!"

Holmes reassured him, "Please take it easy, Mr. Sholto, I think I can clear you of all charges."

"Clean up the charges?" Jones sneered, "My Mr. Great Theorist, I advise you not to agree to such a thing lightly. The facts are probably not as simple as you always deduced in the past."

"It seems that you also know that the facts are not simple." Holmes sneered, "Not only do I want to prove his innocence, but I will also tell you the name of one of the murderers--Jonathan Small, who is not tall and has a strong personality. Sensitive, with a wooden stake on his right leg, and uneducated. The characteristic is that the inside of the wooden bar has been worn away, and a rough square forefoot is nailed under the left boot, and an iron palm is nailed to the heel. About 40 years old, very dark skin, should have been a prisoner before - you can deduce this from the footprints on the windowsill..."

Jones seemed to be attracted, but his eyes were still contemptuous, and he smiled indifferently, "Sounds good, what about the other person?"

Holmes went down the stairs. "The other man is very eccentric. It won't be long before I can introduce these two people to you. Watson, I need you to come here."

Watson walked over immediately, Holmes whispered something to him, Watson nodded, and then came to Nora and said, "Nora, Holmes has to stay here for a while, I need to send Miss Morstan back, By the way, help him find a dog with a special sense of smell-will you come with us?"

Nuo Shou was in a period of excitement, and immediately refused after hearing the words, "Of course not, Watson, I can't bear to leave such an interesting case."

"Are you reluctant to leave the case, or are you reluctant to leave Sherlock?" Watson said jokingly, and Nora immediately gave him a sidelong glance.He waved his hand and said goodbye, "Let's go, be careful."

"Good night, Miss Morstan, Watson."

"Goodbye, Nora," said Mary, smiling.

After watching Watson and Mary walk out of the room, Nora turned her head. Holmes was leaning against the dark wall with his arms folded, with a pipe in his mouth. Half of his face was buried in the shadow, and he seemed to be in deep thought.

It was almost twelve o'clock in the middle of the night, and it was quiet outside. Except for a few policemen who spared no effort to search the house, there were hardly any other sounds.Nora's gaze shifted from Holmes to the wooden splinters that were placed in the bag as evidence, and she was silent for a while before she spoke in a low voice, "Sherlock..."

Holmes turned his head and stared at her silently with doubts in his eyes.

"That stinger..." Nora whispered, "I think I know where it came from."

Holmes stood up slowly, "Oh?"

"I once saw something similar in a book that introduced rare weapons." Nora raised her head, looked straight into his cold gray eyes, and said softly, "In some places that are inaccessible or where civilization has never invaded." In a land with lush vegetation, there are some people who are good at hunting. They still abide by the way of life left by their ancestors. They drink blood like fur. They are fierce and powerful. They like to use something called blowing needles to shoot and kill sharp prey not far away. You Look at the two ends of this stinger, one is sharp and the other is blunt, which is very similar to the kind of weapon I have seen before."

"Blowing needles?" Holmes rubbed his chin and pondered. "I do have the impression that there are such aboriginal races in India, Africa and South America who use this kind of weapon, so what do you mean—"

"Do you remember what Miss Morstan said? She said that her father and Captain Sholto were once stationed in the Andaman Islands. I think you know exactly where it is--India, near the Bay of Bengal, where the climate is humid and full of Coral reefs, sharks, and the half-civilized natives who live there, what can you think of?"

"You suspect that the murderer is from the Andaman Islands, where he had a grudge with Mr. Morstan and Mr. Sholto?" Holmes responded quickly.

"It's just speculation," Nora said.

"No, this conjecture is very useful, and I think it is close to part of the truth." Holmes paused with gentle eyes, and then asked softly, "But I am very curious. You seem to be very familiar with these obscure knowledge."

"Mr. Hawke's clinic has a rich collection of books." Nora replied without blinking. "In our spare time, we are good teachers and helpful friends to each other, discussing those interesting little knowledge."

Holmes scrutinized her. "Good teacher and helpful friend?" He repeated the word, raised his eyebrows, and spoke slowly and steadily, "You seem to have a very high opinion of that Mr. Hawke."

On the way waiting for Watson to come, Nora felt that it would be okay to gossip with Holmes, so she replied without hesitation, "It is true. Although Cleveland, like Sherlock, usually does not pay attention to the quality of life, but for He never relaxes at work, he loves his work, and respects partners with the same interests. He is very friendly and tolerant to me, and he is the second friend who extended a helping hand to me after Watson came to London.”

Holmes was silent for a moment.

Cleveland - they even called out their Christian names. It seems that their relationship is indeed very good.

"I hope you will not mind what I say next." Holmes lowered his voice. "Mr. Cleveland Hawke is a 'mentor and friend', but he is also an unmarried man of the right age. You have too many associations with him. Maybe it doesn't do your reputation any more good at some point."

Nora was stunned for a few seconds before realizing the meaning of Holmes' words. She raised her eyebrows, stared at him silently for a few seconds, and finally spoke slowly.

"If I remember correctly, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are all unmarried men of the right age-of course, Watson has a lover, and you... Dear boss, it seems that at some point, living It doesn't do much good for my reputation that we hang out too much while we're together."

Holmes was quiet for a moment, and was about to speak, but Nora shrugged her shoulders, "Perhaps you think I behave differently from other ladies, and some people may accuse me of being dissolute and unmannered, which is simply vulgar—but you know , I tell you the truth, I don't care much about fame, nor do I care much about marrying a well-to-do gentleman."

She smiled slightly, her emerald green pupils were very bright and transparent in the dim night, and she had a sense of self-confidence and pride, "I can tell you clearly that the best life I want is to have a school of my own. house, doing a job I like, looking at my collection of books, raising a lazy cat, full and comfortable - I don’t even need a husband, before I meet the man I admire, I I'd rather live alone."

These words were so bold that even Sherlock Holmes, who always thought he was good at accepting new things, was momentarily stunned.

"You see, no one who treats me so tolerantly can agree with me, let alone others." Nora shook her head and smiled, "Since I can live a good life, why bother to find someone who can't agree with me at all?" My life concept is bound together. Dear Sherlock, I have always believed that marriage is the palace of love, and love cannot be satisfied. Fame cannot make me happy, and money cannot make me feel at ease. Only a heart-to-heart love Let me marry him willingly, put away my unnecessary arrogance and restlessness here, and he will become an equally important soul mate in my world-but I don't think I can find the right one so easily people."

"So," Nora smiled, "you don't have to worry about this problem. If one day I meet the man I love, I will definitely tell you and pray for your blessings. - As for Mr Hawke, I love him and respect him, but I won't get too close to him, you can rest assured, Sherlock."

The big detective was silent for a longer time this time than last time.

"This is even more worrying..." The big detective murmured in a low voice. When Nora cast a puzzled look, he corrected his face and smiled slightly, as if to pass the time, watching the ticking on the wall. The walking clock, with a low voice, asked her casually, "So—just as a chat among friends—what kind of person should you think of as a suitable person?"