[Sherlock Holmes] The Legend of the Nightingale

(Nightingale's Diary)

"That's it," said MacPherson. "It's not quite clear yet."

"Another bloodstain, huh?" Watson knelt down and looked around, then took out a small magnifying glass from his pocket and looked around.I kind of want to hold him back because there's definitely no trace left by now.The magnifying glass seemed to belong to Holmes.

"It was several feet away from the dead man. Could it be the dead man's. Did he die instantly?" I asked.

"Yes. He lay motionless on the ground, so his blood won't drip here." McPherson said in the tone of a primary school teacher.I always thought he was a little provocative.

"It's a bit like a study in scarlet." Watson stood up and said, "but according to that theory, there wouldn't be so much blood. It seems that the murderer injured himself. Did Lucas resist?"

"Not at all. Very clean, not a sound." McPherson whistled a little inappropriately. "When we came in, he was lying upright on the ground, and he didn't struggle much from the bloodstains. It must have been too sudden."

"Isn't this very strange, why did the murderer bleed?" I was worried.At this point Watson coughed, and his answer startled me.

"That's the only way. When the murderer attacked the victim with a knife, he used too much force, and the knife fell out of his hand-this is a very normal phenomenon-and he grabbed the blade and cut his hand. So when the murderer walked out of the room This blood stain was left behind."

"Why didn't Holmes let you come directly?" I smiled wryly.

"No, it's nothing, it's just...experience."

Wouldn't that be more scary?I almost forgot that Watson, who looked so gentle, had also killed someone.Military doctors still have time to go into battle with a gun.

"That's easy, find out who is injured among the suspects." I said.

"Only Mademoiselle Annafernaille was wounded, but she had it before the murder."

Watson and I looked at each other.From his eyes, I feel that the case is not too mysterious so far.

"Let's meet the two suspects first," I said. "The clues must be on them. The scope has been locked. It won't be too difficult."

McPherson smiled like I said something silly.

"Then please go ahead, miss."

The first to meet was Mademoiselle Anna Fornai, the betrothed wife of the deceased.The first thing we see is her right hand tightly wrapped in gauze.Like a widow, she wore a black veil on her head and a black glove on her left hand. She was wiping tears with her head down when we entered.The atmosphere was a little dull for a while, and Watson and I didn't know where to start. In the end, he found a topic by relying on the privilege of the doctor's profession:

"Miss Vernay, how did you hurt your hand?"

"A week ago, I got burned while ironing," she replied.

"Someone can prove this." McPherson added, "Lucas' housekeeper and valet saw her when she came that day, and her hands were bandaged like this at that time. I need to say this a few times What, Miss Nightingale?"

The aggressiveness is a bit obvious.I began to feel angry, but the thought that I was not sure of myself prevented me from rebutting him confidently.I didn't know how to answer him yet, but Watson replied first:

"Why do you think her suspicion can be ruled out?"

The tone is a bit spicy.I looked at Watson in surprise.The eyes he stared at McPherson were still calm, and his soft tone sounded very ironic.

"Almost." MacPherson said a little nervously.

"This is so irresponsible. Her right hand is bandaged and she can still hold a knife with her left hand!" Watson raised his voice.

"Doctor, you have to think about this. If she held the knife with her left hand, the wound would be on the right chest. Now the incision is on the left heart."

"That's too absolute." The doctor laughed.

"There is a little bit, but now there is still a little bit of evidence. Her left hand was not scratched."

Now no one speaks.

"We'd better not say it to death in front of the suspect." McPherson was triumphant, and glanced at the bewildered Anna.

"No, no." I rushed to say, "Let's talk about something else. Miss Vernay, did you have anything unusual from the time you came to leave that day?"

About half an hour later, Watson and I sent the nervous Anna away with our brains exhausted.MacPherson's complacency was also gone, because dissatisfaction with me was a trivial matter, and if the case was not solved, it would be a big trouble.

"Let's meet our client next," I said, a little discouraged. "The opera singer. I hope she won't be too disappointed when she sees us alone here, without Holmes...."

Watson patted me on the shoulder. "It's okay, if you think about it, there will always be a way."

I hope that what he is thinking is not really impossible, and there will be a solution when Holmes comes.

Hilda Hopkins' reaction was also to be expected.She was a tall, buxom woman in her early thirties, with a pearl set and shoulder-length brown hair carefully permed to a glossy shine.One can imagine how glamorous she is on the opera stage in evening dress.But the London heartthrob is currently on the verge of a nervous breakdown, with eyes like a frightened bird ready to jump up and run for the door at any moment.

"Hasn't Mr. Holmes come?" She rushed to ask us as soon as she saw us, her voice was trembling, and it was hard to imagine that this woman had a lark's voice.

"Not yet. He will come when necessary," I said. "Miss Hopkins, we are here on his commission. Tell us all you can."

Watson and I didn't have the reassuring charisma of Sherlock Holmes, and it was hard to get her to settle down.Watson's doctor's temperament played a little role. He described the situation in a nice way, which felt like telling a terminally ill patient that it was okay and there was hope.Then we checked her hand and there was no injury.

"Why did you visit Mr. Lucas?" I asked.

"Something personal, of course."

"Sorry, could you be more specific?"

"Something about... him and my sister."

I rolled my eyes.Watson stepped on my foot, and then took the topic directly.

"The bad thing about you now is why it took you so long to call someone after you entered Lucas' room. You should have found the body immediately."

It took all we could to stop Hilda's whistle-like screams.If this continues, her opera career will be ruined.

"As soon as I opened the door and saw blood all over the place, I passed out!" she finally yelled.

The two of us were silent again, only she was still chattering nervously.

"No one noticed, not at all. I just woke up and ran downstairs to tell them, these nasty servants, what was going on in their minds, they all hid away when they saw my carriage coming, just It seems that I have done something shameful! I..."

"I beg you, don't get excited, the matter is not over yet, we haven't found the truth yet." I lightly supported her shoulders and pushed her back on the chair.

"You mean, passed out, but no one saw?"

"There is no way." McPherson spoke again, "Who knows if she is telling the truth."

"And the murder weapon is at the scene." Watson said thoughtfully. "It's the decorative dagger that Lucas hung on the wall. Anyone can take it down and use it."

"Anyone can take it down..."

"When the servants saw me, they took it for me," said Hilda, wiping away her tears, "because I was a stranger. Miss Vernail knew them very well, and she was a frequent visitor, and they did not believe it was She. But it's not me either."

After a few more conversations, we let Hilda go home, and of course went to great lengths to reassure her.MacPherson was dismissed for quiet discussion without ridicule, and Watson and I were in trouble.

"I thought you'd come to a conclusion quickly."

"You think too highly of me," said Watson, somewhat despondently. "I'm not a detective."

"Finally gather your thoughts," I said, "the murder weapon was in the house. If it was Hilda, it was a spur of the moment, not a murder. There was a motive, too, and she said Lucas played with her sister. Then she ran down by herself. It is also possible to report the crime. If it is Anna..."

"The problem is that neither of them got a scratch," interrupted Watson. "These hypotheses don't work."

"Then...could it be because of the third person?" I suddenly felt dizzy.

"No. No, not likely. I mean, I can't say that."

I walked back and forth in the room a few times, Watson sat on the chair where the suspects were sitting just now, closed his eyes and meditated.I kept repeating all the clues as I thought about it so as not to forget.

"Yes, I almost forgot. We should look at it this way. The second drop of blood was left by the murderer. We just need to hold on to that, and then our only goal is to find the person who scratched himself."

"You mean there may be a third person?" Watson looked at me with his chin in his hand.

"Maybe there is, but it's too early to think about it now, because we still don't know the truth about these two suspects."

"If you follow your thinking just now, they can be ruled out just because they didn't get scratched." Watson made a desperate gesture.His unintentional behavior somehow irritated me a little bit.After a few more brisk walks, I stopped.

"We couldn't find the wound, perhaps because it took... Why, Watson, do we fail to see such an obvious fact, and still trouble ourselves here?"

"You mean..."

"Come on, we have to take some risks." I pulled Watson out, "It would be great to have you. It really can't be helped if only Holmes is here."

“It’s a really flattering evaluation.”

The author has something to say: actually wrote the title upside down, just corrected it.This is the title of Chapter 12, and Chapter 11 has been changed.And if the little angels guess the result, please don't spoiler. . .