The Adv. Of Wisteria Lodge(威斯特利亚·罗吉遇险记)

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The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

The Adventure of

Wisteria Lodge

Arthur Conan Doyle

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

1. The Singular Experience of Mr.

John Scott Eccles

I find it recorded in my notebook that it was a bleak and windy day

towards the end of March in the year 1892. Holmes had received a

telegram while we sat at our lunch, and he had scribbled a reply. He made

no remark, but the matter remained in his thoughts, for he stood in front of

the fire afterwards with a thoughtful face, smoking his pipe, and casting an

occasional glance at the message. Suddenly he turned upon me with a

mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"I suppose, Watson, we must look upon you as a man of letters," said

he. "How do you define the word 'grotesque'?"

"Strange--remarkable," I suggested.

He shook his head at my definition.

"There is surely something more than that," said he; "some underlying

suggestion of the tragic and the terrible. If you cast your mind back to

some of those narratives with which you have afflicted a long-suffering

public, you will recognize how often the grotesque has deepened into the

criminal. Think of that little affair of the red-headed men. That was

grotesque enough in the outset, and yet it ended in a desperate attempt at

robbery. Or, again, there was that most grotesque affair of the five orange

pips, which let straight to a murderous conspiracy. The word puts me on

the alert."

"Have you it there?" I asked.

He read the telegram aloud.

"Have just had most incredible and grotesque experience. May I

consult you?

"Scott Eccles, "Post Office, Charing Cross."

"Man or woman?" I asked.

"Oh, man, of course. No woman would ever send a reply-paid

telegram. She would have come."

"Will you see him?"

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

"My dear Watson, you know how bored I have been since we locked

up Colonel Carruthers. My mind is like a racing engine, tearing itself to

pieces because it is not connected up with the work for which it was built.

Life is commonplace, the papers are sterile; audacity and romance seem to

have passed forever from the criminal world. Can you ask me, then,

whether I am ready to look into any new problem, however trivial it may

prove? But here, unless I am mistaken, is our client."

A measured step was heard upon the stairs, and a moment later a stout,

tall, gray-whiskered and solemnly respectable person was ushered into the

room. His life history was written in his heavy features and pompous

manner. From his spats to his gold-rimmed spectacles he was a

Conservative, a churchman, a good citizen, orthodox and conventional to

the last degree. But some amazing experience had disturbed his native

composure and left its traces in his bristling hair, his flushed, angry cheeks,

and his flurried, excited manner. He plunged instantly into his business.

"I have had a most singular and unpleasant experience, Mr. Holmes,"

said he. "Never in my life have I been placed in such a situation. It is most

improper--most outrageous. I must insist upon some explanation." He

swelled and puffed in his anger.

"Pray sit down, Mr. Scott Eccles," said Holmes in a soothing voice.

"May I ask, in the first place, why you came to me at all?"

"Well, sir, it did not appear to be a matter which concerned the police,

and yet, when you have heard the facts, you must admit that I could not

leave it where it was. Private detectives are a class with whom I have

absolutely no sympathy, but none the less, having heard your name--"

"Quite so. But, in the second place, why did you not come at once?"

Holmes glanced at his watch.

"It is a quarter-past two," he said. "Your telegram was dispatched

about one. But no one can glance at your toilet and attire without seeing

that your disturbance dates from the moment of your waking."

Our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair and felt his unshaven

chin.

"You are right, Mr. Holmes. I never gave a thought to my toilet. I was

only too glad to get out of such a house. But I have been running round

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

making inquiries before I came to you. I went to the house agents, you

know, and they said that Mr. Garcia's rent was paid up all right and that

everything was in order at Wisteria Lodge."

"Come, come, sir," said Holmes, laughing. "You are like my friend, Dr.

Watson, who has a bad habit of telling his stories wrong end foremost.

Please arrange your thoughts and let me know, in their due sequence,

exactly what those events are which have sent you out unbrushed and

unkempt, with dress boots and waistcoat buttoned awry, in search of

advice and assistance."

Our client looked down with a rueful face at his own unconventional

appearance.

"I'm sure it must look very bad, Mr. Holmes, and I am not aware that

in my whole life such a thing has ever happened before. But will tell you

the whole queer business, and when I have done so you will admit, I am

sure, that there has been enough to excuse me."

But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustle outside,

and Mrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robust and official-

looking individuals, one of whom was well known to us as Inspector

Gregson of Scotland Yard, an energetic, gallant, and, within his limitations,

a capable officer. He shook hands with Holmes and introduced his

comrade as Inspector Baynes, of the Surrey Constabulary.

"We are hunting together, Mr. Holmes, and our trail lay in this

direction." He turned his bulldog eyes upon our visitor. "Are you Mr. John

Scott Eccles, of Popham House, Lee?"

"I am."

"We have been following you about all the morning."

"You traced him through the telegram, no doubt," said Holmes.

"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. We picked up the scent at Charing Cross Post-

Office and came on here."

"But why do you follow me? What do you want?"

"We wish a statement, Mr. Scott Eccles, as to the events which let up

to the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, near

Esher."

Our client had sat up with staring eyes and every tinge of colour struck

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

from his astonished face.

"Dead? Did you say he was dead?"

"Yes, sir, he is dead."

"But how? An accident?"

"Murder, if ever there was one upon earth."

"Good God! This is awful! You don't mean--you don't mean that I am

suspected?"

"A letter of yours was found in the dead man's pocket, and we know

by it that you had planned to pass last night at his house."

"So I did."

"Oh, you did, did you?"

Out came the official notebook.

"Wait a bit, Gregson," said Sherlock Holmes. "All you desire is a plain

statement, is it not?"

"And it is my duty to warn Mr. Scott Eccles that it may be used against

him."

"Mr. Eccles was going to tell us about it when you entered the room. I

think, Watson, a brandy and soda would do him no harm. Now, sir, I

suggest that you take no notice of this addition to your audience, and that

you proceed with your narrative exactly as you would have done had you

never been interrupted."

Our visitor had gulped off the brandy and the colour had returned to

his face. With a dubious glance at the inspector's notebook, he plunged at

once into his extraordinary statement.

"I am a bachelor," said he, "and being of a sociable turn I cultivate a

large number of friends. Among these are the family of a retired brewer

called Melville, living at Abermarle Mansion, Kensington. It was at his

table that I met some weeks ago a young fellow named Garcia. He was, I

understood, of Spanish descent and connected in some way with the

embassy. He spoke perfect English, was pleasing in his manners, and as

good-looking a man as ever I saw in my life.

"In some way we struck up quite a friendship, this young fellow and I.

He seemed to take a fancy to me from the first, and within two days of our

meeting he came to see me at Lee. One thing led to another, and it ended

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

in his inviting me out to spend a few days at his house, Wisteria Lodge,

between Esher and Oxshott. Yesterday evening I went to Esher to fulfil

this engagement.

"He had described his household to me before I went there. He lived

with a faithful servant, a countryman of his own, who looked after all his

needs. This fellow could speak English and did his housekeeping for him.

Then there was a wonderful cook, he said, a half-breed whom he had

picked up in his travels, who could serve an excellent dinner. I remember

that he remarked what a queer household it was to find in the heart of

Surrey, and that I agreed with him, though it has proved a good deal

queerer than I thought.

"I drove to the place--about two miles on the south side of Esher. The

house was a fair-sized one, standing back from the road, with a curving

drive which was banked with high evergreen shrubs. It was an old,

tumbledown building in a crazy state of disrepair. When the trap pulled up

on the grass-grown drive in front of the blotched and weather-stained door,

I had doubts as to my wisdom in visiting a man whom I knew so slightly.

He opened the door himself, however, and greeted me with a great show

of cordiality. I was handed over to the manservant, a melancholy, swarthy

individual, who led the way, my bag in his hand, to my bedroom. The

whole place was depressing. Our dinner was tete-a-tete, and though my

host did his best to be entertaining, his thoughts seemed to continually

wander, and he talked so vaguely and wildly that I could hardly

understand him. He continually drummed his fingers on the table, gnawed

his nails, and gave other signs of nervous impatience. The dinner itself

was neither well served nor well cooked, and the gloomy presence of the

taciturn servant did not help to enliven us. I can assure you that many

times in the course of the evening I wished that I could invent some

excuse which would take me back to Lee.

"One thing comes back to my memory which may have a bearing upon

the business that you two gentlemen are investigating. I thought nothing of

it at the time. Near the end of dinner a note was handed in by the servant. I

noticed that after my host had read it he seemed even more distrait and

strange than before. He gave up all pretence at conversation and sat,

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

smoking endless cigarettes, lost in his own thoughts, but he made no

remark as to the contents. About eleven I was glad to go to bed. Some time

later Garcia looked in at my door--the room was dark at the time- -and

asked me if I had rung. I said that I had not. He apologized for having

disturbed me so late, saying that it was nearly one o'clock. I dropped off

after this and slept soundly all night.

"And now I come to the amazing part of my tale. When I woke it was

broad daylight. I glanced at my watch, and the time was nearly nine. I had

particularly asked to be called at eight, so I was very much astonished at

this forgetfulness. I sprang up and rang for the servant. There was no

response. I rang again and again, with the same result. Then I came to the

conclusion that the bell was out of order. I huddled on my clothes and

hurried downstairs in an exceedingly bad temper to order some hot water.

You can imagine my surprise when I found that there was no one there. I

shouted in the hall. There was no answer. Then I ran from room to room.

All were deserted. My host had shown me which was his bedroom the

night before, so I knocked at the door. No reply. I turned the handle and

walked in. The room was empty, and the bed had never been slept in. He

had gone with the rest. The foreign host, the foreign footman, the foreign

cook, all had vanished in the night! That was the end of my visit to

Wisteria Lodge."

Sherlock Holmes was rubbing his hands and chuckling as he added

this bizarre incident to his collection of strange episodes.

"Your experience is, so far as I know, perfectly unique," said he. "May

I ask, sir, what you did then?"

"I was furious. My first idea was that I had been the victim of some

absurd practical joke. I packed my things, banged the hall door behind me,

and set off for Esher, with my bag in my hand. I called at Allan Brothers',

the chief land agents in the village, and found that it was from this firm

that the villa had been rented. It struck me that the whole proceeding could

hardly be for the purpose of making a fool of me, and that the main objet

must be to get out of the rent. It is late in March, so quarter- day is at hand.

But this theory would not work. The agent was obliged to me for my

warning, but told me that the rent had been paid in advance. Then I made

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TheAdventureofWisteriaLodge1TheAdventureofWisteriaLodgeArthurConanDoyleTheAdventureofWisteriaLodge21.TheSingularExperienceofMr.JohnScottEcclesIfinditrecordedinmynotebookthatitwasableakandwindydaytowardstheendofMarchintheyear1892.Holmeshadreceivedatelegramwhilewesatatourlunch,andhehadscribbledareply....

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