I confess that I was considerably shocked by this fresh proof of my companion’s theories.
My respect for his powers of analysis increased greatly.
However, there still remained some suspicion in my mind that the whole thing was pre-arranged, intended to dazzle me.
When I looked at him, he had finished reading the note.
“How in the world did you figure that out?” I asked.
“Figure what out?” said he.
“That he was a retired sergeant(中士) of Marines(海军).”
“I have no time for such simple games,” he answered.
Then with a smile he said, “Excuse my rudeness.You broke the line of thought, but perhaps it is as well.
So you actually were not able to see that that man was a sergeant of Marines?”
“No, indeed.”
“It was easier to know it than to explain why I knew it.
If you were asked to prove that two and two made four, you might find some difficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact.
Even across the street I could see a great blue anchor tattooed on the back of the fellow’s hand.
That smelled of the sea.
He had a military carriage, however, and a regulation military haircut.
There we have the marine.
He was a man with some amount of self-importance and a certain air of command.
You must have observed the way in which he held his head.
His face also showed that he was a steady, respectable, middle-aged man—all facts which led me to believe that he had been a sergeant.”
“Wonderful!” I said.
“No—very ordinary,” said Holmes, though I thought from his expression that he was pleased at my evident surprise and admiration.
“I said just now that there were no criminals.
It appears that I am wrong—look at this!”
He threw me over the note which the gentleman had brought.
“Oh,” I cried, as I cast my eye over it, “this is terrible!”
“It does seem to be a little out of the common,” he remarked, calmly.
“Would you mind reading it to me aloud?”
This is the letter which I read to him—
“My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes:
“There has been a bad business during the night at 3, Lauriston Gardens, off the Brixton Road.
Our man on the beat saw a light there about two in the morning, and as the house was an empty one, he thought that something was wrong.
He found the door open, and in the front room he discovered the body of a gentleman.
The gentleman was well-dressed, and had cards in his pocket bearing the name of ‘Enoch J. Drebber, Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.’
There had been no robbery, nor is there any evidence as to how the man met his death.
There are marks of blood in the room, but there is no wound upon his body.
Indeed, the whole affair is a mystery.
If you can come round to the house any time before twelve, you will find me there.
I have left everything as it is until I hear from you.
If you are unable to come I will give you fuller details, and would be grateful if you would do this favor for me.
“Yours faithfully, TOBIAS GREGSON.”
“Get your hat,” Holmes said.
“You wish me to come?”
“Yes, if you have nothing better to do.”
A minute later we were both in a cab, driving for the Brixton Road.
When Holmes insisted upon stopping and finishing our journey upon foot, we were still a hundred yards or so from the house.
Number 3, Lauriston Gardens wore an unlucky and threatening look.
It was one of four houses which stood back some little way from the street, two being occupied and two empty.
The latter looked out with three levels of windows, all blank and dull, except here and there a “For Rent” card was placed on the glass.
The whole place was very muddy from the rain which had fallen through the night.
The garden was surrounded by a three-foot brick wall with wood railings upon the top.
I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would at once have hurried into the house and rushed into a study of the mystery.
But it appeared that that was not his intention.
He acted very calmly; he walked up and down the pavement, and gazed vacantly at the ground, the sky, the opposite houses and the line of fence railings.
Having finished his observation, he proceeded slowly down the path keeping his eyes focused upon the ground.
Twice he stopped, and once I saw him smile, and heard him utter a sound of satisfaction.
There were many marks of footsteps upon the wet soil, but since the police had been coming and going over it, I was unable to see how my companion could hope to learn anything from it.
But I had no doubt that he could see a great deal which was hidden from me, as I had seen his amazing power before.
At the door of the house, we were met by a tall, white-faced, blonde-haired man, with a notebook in his hand.
He rushed forward and shook my companion’s hand.
“It is indeed kind of you to come,” he said, “I have had everything left untouched.”
“Except that!” my friend answered, pointing at the path.
“If a herd of buffaloes had passed through there could not be a greater mess.
No doubt, however, you had drawn your own conclusions, Gregson, before you permitted this.”
“I have had so much to do inside the house,” the detective said.
“My coworker, Mr. Lestrade, is here. I had depended upon him to look after this.”
Holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrows.
“With two such men as yourself and Lestrade upon the ground, there will not be much for a third party to find out,” he said.
Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way.
“I think we have done all that can be done,” he answered, “it’s an unusual case though, and I knew your taste for such things.”
“You did not come here in a cab?” asked Sherlock Holmes.
“No, sir.” “Nor Lestrade?” “No, sir.”
“Then let us go and look at the room.”
With this irrelevant remark, he walked into the house, followed by Gregson.
