[Sherlock Holmes] The Legend of the Nightingale

(God's perspective)

"You are a genius, Watson." Holmes said a little nervously. "If you can analyze your so-called 'intuition' in a more scientific and precise way, you will be a little calmer than you are now."

"You agree with me?"

The detective raised a hand and calmly asked the doctor to be quiet for a moment.

"You're right, but you didn't think about it. Under the current circumstances, with the letter and Nightingale's handwriting, you might think it's a matter of course - Moriarty successfully transferred his assistant, and then revealed the truth , to hit us with this - it seems simple, but it is actually too rash. The concept of 'he has an assistant by our side' was instilled in us from the very beginning. Who this assistant is is also announced by him. Nightingale's unfavorable inferences are all based on the information he provided. This inference is reverse."

"It's very pretty," said Watson in a low voice. "If you wouldn't frighten me so much, I'd be more at peace."

"If you think about the draft for the telegram - not to mention how ridiculous it is to send such a telegram and prepare a draft in advance - they tried to explain that it was the product of Nightingale using her own paper and changing the handwriting. But this Why is the so-called confession letter in her own handwriting? Who would disguise the accidentally lost draft, but boldly leave the real handwriting when leaving important letters? The possible explanation is that what happened in the telegram At that time, they could only use the same paper, and now they managed to get her handwriting. They tried to make things perfect, but they showed their feet by contradicting themselves. As for the dark-haired woman, I don’t think there are any in London. As for her being the only woman who is small and black-haired. Only Nightingale is innocent, and everything he did with her before—creating the illusion that she is a murderer and destroying my reputation in London—is valid. If Nightingale is his Isn't it ridiculous to go through all this trouble? She can be used for more important things."

"What kind of expression is that?"

"Sorry, just stating the facts."

"Fortunately, because I was really thinking just now—it was just a conjecture. If she was really from the professor's side, they could push everything to her without worrying that she would really Arrested because you'd be exonerating her...if, just if, that would make sense. Of course that's not an option right now."

Holmes clasped his fingers, but did not answer immediately.

Watson's words were not entirely unreasonable.But there was something else he had not said to Watson.

Moriarty's letter was all lies.So even if this letter is used as evidence, it is not clear in court how to use words that are obviously lying to prove that someone is guilty.Insidious malice, condemned her in his own name, and cleared himself at the same time.

They knew Nightingale was leaving London.Regardless of whether the plan was exposed or not, as long as her family was contacted and she was found, this evil trick would be over.But it can't be that simple.A few people in Baker Street knew that it didn't matter what London thought Nightingale was.How can they prevent this scam from falling short, and how can they maintain the momentum they created before.

Ah, isn't that easy.

Unless Nightingale can't get back to Sussex.Unless she can no longer be found.Maybe they can find her - the rest, and the silenced so-called assistant.

He knew who it was.Although not all the details have been clarified, the impossible has been ruled out now.Very well, he had precisely avoided every deceptive step, but he was even more precise at the last step to throw himself into the trap.

"She's in Moriarty's hands, still in London."

Watson looked at Holmes in surprise.

"Would they hurt a defenseless woman?"

"It doesn't matter if it's a woman or not. And you don't seem to be very accurate when you say that you are unarmed. I remember the taxi number and find the coachman first. We are running out of time."

At this moment, the doorbell downstairs interrupted their conversation.After a while Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door.

"A tuner wants to see you, Mr. Holmes."

"It is your business to see the tuner, Mrs. Hudson," cried Holmes.

"He asked to see you by name."

Watson thought Holmes would ignore him, but the detective just frowned and stood up.

"Let him wait, I'll be right there."

He opened the door like a gust of wind and went out, followed by Watson.The tuner was in the living room. He looked like someone who was used to working with the piano. He was neatly dressed, calm and polite.Holmes smiled politely.

"Mr. Holmes?" said the tuner. "A lady called the tuner at Smith's this morning and gave me this address, asking me to have an interview with Mr. Holmes. She said that only the husband knew about the problem with the piano, and no one else in the family knew about it. I don't understand. Here is the form she signed."

The tuner handed Holmes a piece of paper.The detective lowered his eyes and scanned it. The order of Smith Music is usually used when buying a piano, and sometimes it is also used to record when looking for someone to tune it. The above items are nothing more than business and customer addresses.Holmes fixed his eyes on the box where the client signed.He took a closer look at the parts of the paper other than the literal meaning, and then neatly folded it into three folds.

"I see. Here's the piano, sir. Absolute silence is required for tuning, right?"

"Yes, sir, but madam says..."

"lady?!"

Holmes was in absolute silence, and it was Watson who blurted out.

"Oh, she looks younger, but looking at the signature, I thought..."

"Don't bother with this." Holmes's smile was a bit forced, and one almost suspected that he was hiding his gnashing of teeth. "She always thinks that I am omnipotent. But piano tuning is your specialty, sir. She has always played that piano. I never touch it. Mrs. Hudson, please show the luthier the way."

"Did you go to the piano store to find someone?" Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"No, I never care."

"Who invited that?"

"No matter who hired it, doesn't the piano need to be tuned? Now the tuner is here." Holmes knew how to deal with Mrs. Hudson. He calmly pressed her shoulders and made her turn back 180 degrees.

"Well, Mr. Holmes. I paid for my piano in the end anyway," said the poor landlady.

As soon as the tuner had left the drawing-room, Holmes turned to Watson with a smile which surprised the doctor.The fighting spirit in his eyes is like jumping candles, not condensed water.

"Anything to discover, Holmes?"

"Let's go, doctor. You go to the police and have Scotland Yard send someone to the restaurant where the murder took place."

"Dining room?"

"Yes, it's next to the Smith Music Store. I forgot what it's called. It's also where you got poisoned."

Holmes had already rushed to the door to take off his overcoat.Watson hurriedly cleaned up.

"There were two accidents in that restaurant in a row, and it has been closed for a long time."

"Yes, but the lady with the key to the back door can get in."

"You mean Angela?"

"My dear doctor, please don't spoil your genius in my mind so quickly."

"Will you at least tell me what's on that order? I don't want to go to Scotland Yard again and I can't tell why—wait, she got the tuner?"

"For some reason I still believe you're a genius."

"Don't interrupt. The question is can we trust the message? If it's false, it's a trap to assume they made her—I mean forced her to write it."

Holmes has quickly tidied up his gray coat and gray scarf, clean and tidy.Seeing Watson looking at him inexplicably while dealing with the knotted scarf, the detective unfolded the paper and stroked the folds with his slender pale fingers, as gently as wiping a violin.When he folded this piece of paper just now, it may have been a Sherlock Holmes-like expression of excitement. On the surface, he was calm and gentle, and he could not see the turbulent waves in his heart.

"About this question, you can see for yourself."

His eyes fell on the final signature.Although he guessed who the information came from, the way the language was organized was far beyond his expectations.Nightingale's handwriting was slightly scribbled, her real name was clear, but her surname was a bit blurred. If you look closely, there were still some fingerprints, as if the ink had been wiped by hand before it was dry.That signature was not Nightingale, not Angela Nightingale, nor the worst result he could think of, a message for help, but——

Angela Holmes.

"This... what is this?"

"What do you think this signifies?" Holmes stuffed the note into his coat pocket, opened the door and went out.Before Watson could put on his shoes, he bumped and followed out.

"It's like her. From the method to the content, it's confusing."

"That's it."

"Just like you, it's confusing."

"Don't you understand? Even if she sent a letter asking for help directly, we can't be sure if it is true or even fake. If she wrote this at their request, it would be a paragraph that seems Very normal text. Even you are baffled by this signature, and no one else would think of doing it. Everything can be forged, but..."

Standing on the steps outside the door of 221B, Holmes looked at Baker Street as usual, his face turned pale due to the ups and downs of emotions.

"A certain style, quality and feel of a person is unique and cannot be copied."

After the two went out, Mrs. Hudson tossed the piano with the tuner for a while, and then paid the tuner to go out.

"I don't know who hired the tuner to dare to ask him to tune it. It's really inexplicable."

Mrs. Hudson walked round the house, and then went to Holmes' room.According to experience, every time Holmes spends a long time in the room studying some problem, there is usually a mess left behind, overwhelming books and newspapers, experimental instruments, or other things that could not be expected in dreams.Seeing the unexpected cleanliness in the room this time, Mrs. Hudson couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.She went to the window and ran her finger over the sill to see if it needed cleaning, then breathed out at the window.Unexpectedly, an imprint appeared on the glass, and it seemed that someone had written on it with a finger before.Under the influence of the inquisitive atmosphere in 221B, out of curiosity, Mrs. Hudson blew another breath into the glass.

A hazy and incomplete word appeared under the mist:

Nightingale

The author has something to say: No.1 is coming back, I miss it so much. . .

I am about to go to school, and if I don’t go back, I will soon be unable to write it, because in fact, all the materials collected for writing this article are still in school and have not been brought back (＞＜)

A new round of struggle is about to begin (I mean myself~), I still want to thank the readers who encouraged me in my study and life~(≧ω≦)