[Sherlock Holmes] The Legend of the Nightingale

(God's perspective)

"So, your opinion... Mr. Holmes?"

The detective looked at Holmes who had been silent for half an hour, and said helplessly.Most of the police in North Riding are not only not used to it, but they have never heard of the role of Sherlock Holmes on Baker Street.They couldn't figure out why the very talkative Mr. Holmes, who was relaxed on the road just now, turned into a different person as soon as he entered the scene, as if his language function had temporarily disappeared, and he couldn't even feel the existence of the people around him.In fact, he didn't know. If it hadn't been for the consideration that many traces at the scene could not be preserved for so long, Holmes wouldn't even listen to his previous introduction, because the detective believed in his own observations.Of course it would not have seemed strange if he had been observing, but Mr. Holmes had been standing motionless in the middle of the drawing room for at least ten minutes in a trance, or so it seemed to the detective.The location of the crime, as mentioned before, was in the owner's study, one floor away from the living room.Of course, the police would not stop checking the living room because the incident was not in the living room, but he still didn't see any need to focus more attention here than on the scene.

"Mr. Holmes? Oh! Please don't mind if I disturb you. I'm just... sorry, I'm going out."

"No, Mr. Inspector, I just need you to take a look at this." Perhaps it was the detective's unexpected caution and thoughtfulness that made Holmes happy, or maybe Holmes was not very enthusiastic about venting his anger on the detectives now. Instead of being nasty to the detective who tried to bother him with repeated noises, he smiled uncharacteristically and produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

"If I tell you this is evidence, what can you see?"

Mr. Holmes is used to leading students, the detective thought helplessly, but still took the paper.That's when the detective noticed two sticking plasters on his long fingers.

"Is your hand hurt, Mr. Holmes?"

Holmes shrugged his shoulders and made no answer.The detective had to focus on the piece of paper.

"Strange," he murmured, "I didn't know anyone still wrote with a quill."

"A real quill," said Holmes, "has no nib, but a quill, a goose, or a swan, though a swan sounds like a fuss."

"It seems to be back in the Middle Ages." The police detective smiled. "It's a pity that this paper is not. If I must know its origin, I need to investigate in detail. But Mr. Holmes, maybe you can tell me something now."

"That is enough," said Holmes. "Look at the contents."

"She wrote with great difficulty because of the ancient form of the pen—still recognizable as a woman's hand."

"Content. Not font."

The detective smiled again.There are only three lines above, or three phrases:

house living room

under the window

the blood

"If that's true," said the detective, "then it's supposed to mean there's blood under the living room window?"

"Yet you should have checked the scene. There was no blood."

"Not really. Where did you find this?"

"No, sir, first tell me what you see."

The detective looked around the living room.

"Mr. Holmes, of course, maybe these three words are not continuous, but separate. We need to look for clues in these three points separately. There is something in the living room, and there is something under the window, but it is not—not necessarily the living room. The window. The blood is not necessarily the blood in the drawing room or under the window. Is that so, Mr. Holmes?"

"Almost. Be more specific."

"The crime scene is a study, so the blood is from the study. Maybe under the window too."

"But it has almost faded now. Only filing is available."

"Never mind, it is still of some use," said Holmes. "I have just tried to reconstruct what happened before, but the clues are too sparse to do so."

"Restore?" The detective was silent for a while. "Actually, it might be possible. Mr. Holmes, when we first arrived at the scene, the scene was like this-although I think you should have heard it many times, it is best to say it again. Mr. Holmes, I mean Mr. Sherringford Holmes, was sitting in his study, in a state of coma, and Mr. Dale, the owner and the victim, was lying across the way, with the table knife still in his body. Not good for Mr. Holmes The evidence is that there are his fingerprints on it, but the problem is that the host's own fingerprints are also on the table knife. They may have used it during the meal. The knife is not too sharp, and it may be very difficult to use. Sorry, it should not be opened. Kind of a joke. I mean, Mr. Holmes, I've always suspected that the knife wasn't deadly enough, and if he was wounded from the front, at least someone from behind would need to keep him quiet. Mr. Holmes, scene There may be a third person."

"Or four, isn't it?" said Holmes, gazing at the paper. "If Sherringford hadn't been the murderer. If he wasn't, there would have been another man standing behind him and hitting on Mr. Dale, causing Sherringford to stab him in the face." With the effect of a knife, the blood will also splash on Sherringford who is on the chair. But in this way, that person will inevitably block part of the blood that would have been splashed on the floor. Did you find any incomplete places when restoring the blood stains?"

"It's a bit difficult, Mr. Holmes. It works theoretically, but when the blood spurts out, it's not as designed. In short, it doesn't matter whether it's missing or not..."

"I see," said Holmes. "Then the question of the table knife. Why do they eat in the study?"

"Isn't it obvious that the living room is being renovated."

"Is there any particular reason?"

"This is about those stupid witches. Mr. Dale was bewitched by them for some reason. He must install some strange statues in the living room. The construction started a few months ago. , and it’s not over yet, because they always say it’s inappropriate.”

"Does that seem a bit deliberate to you?"

"I have always thought so, Mr. Holmes."

"I heard Alicia was in the house at the time."

"Ah, that's the way it is, Mr. Holmes, but..." Holmes was as cold as ice when he mentioned this sensitive name, and the detective felt embarrassed instead. "But this Alicia, if you see her, you will know that she was born prematurely. Not only did she have mental problems, but she was also born weak. She can't use this knife, and it is impossible to assist the murderer to control a mature man. In fact, she was the first to see the scene and screamed in fright before people knew something was wrong."

"You think she can't lie?"

"No, let me say something not very kind, she doesn't have that intelligence."

"So no one doubted her."

"You see, sir," the police detective felt that the conversation was difficult again, "in recent days, everyone has gotten used to it. As long as Mr. Sherringford Holmes is around, Alicia will follow him. No one thinks there is any problem."

This statement seemed to make Holmes a little dissatisfied, but he restrained himself.

"The only one who has been in frequent contact with Mr. Dale recently is that cousin, Neil Graham?"

"Yes, sir."

"I think I need to find time to meet all the acquaintances of the victim." Holmes took a deep breath, implying that meeting people is much more difficult than dealing with still life. "Very well, Mr. Detective, you were more helpful than I expected. In fact, your style strikes me as familiar, even recognizable."

"That's quite possible. Maybe you saw my little brother at Scotland Yard."

"What's your name, detective?" Holmes apparently ignored the initial self-introduction when he first saw the group of houses.

"My name is Jones."

"Ah, you mean Ethelney Jones."

"Exactly," replied the Inspector. "Perhaps it's a tradition in my family. My father did it back home, and my son, now ten years old, intends to do so. I think the Yorkshire Police can prepare Bernard Jones now." A good set of gear and documents."

"Not necessarily." Holmes smiled slightly. "Who knows whether Mr. Jones Jr. will be a consulting detective in the future."

Walter's tailor's shop was dimly lit, casting the shadows of several women crowded together on the narrow wall.Anne Walter, who was as thin as a bone in the dim light, had an extremely ferocious expression, and Margo Bryant, who was tall and strong next to her, had a serious expression, bit her lips tightly, and said nothing.Cindy Green's face was pale, and she clutched the medieval spell nervously in her hands.Alicia stared blankly at the candle, her eyes glazed over.The younger twins were already home.Alicia wasn't supposed to be here either, but she had nowhere else to go.She has been in the tailor's shop for a long time.

"Cindy, you can go too." Margo said, "Leave the rest to us."

Cindy Green subconsciously flipped the pages of the little book with her fingers and shook her head.

"I'm still willing to listen."

"Cindy, we don't need it." Annie raised her voice slightly, "Take Alicia to bed and go home."

"Annie..."

"Alicia, you get out." Margo said suddenly and sharply, "Get out."

Poor Alicia seemed to wake up from a dream, and slipped out timidly. A 20-year-old woman seems to be inferior in intelligence and courage to a seven- or eight-year-old child.Cindy stared at her back helplessly.

"Annie, that's not fair." Cindy said, looking out the door. "There are things you never told me, not even Alicia. It made me very uncomfortable."

"Alicia? I thought a piece of brown sugar could make her spit out everything." Anne Walter said in a mocking tone.

"No, she's more afraid of going against your will than not having brown sugar."

"That's nothing."

"Margo, I should at least know if you've ever actually done something like that. The one with Dale."

"No. Of course not," said Anne angrily. "Do you think it's doing us any good?"

Cindy stared at Margo without speaking.

"Cindy, we're already in a hurry to count you as one of our members." Margo said sullenly, "Get out."

Cindy Green sighed, lowered her head and flipped through her book.

"Cindy, your book is a bit torn."

"I stained the title page," said Cindy.

The author has something to say: The author of a paper that has been confused for two days has finally updated a chapter!