He put on his overcoat and began to hurry in such a hurry that it seemed as if his zeal had overwhelmed him.
‘Take your hat,’ he said.
‘Are you telling me to go?’
‘Yes. Of course, if there is nothing bigger than that. '
A minute later, we hurried to Brixton Road in a hired car.
Foggy cloudy morning. The houses have a brown covering on their heads. It looks as if there is a shadow on the street below. My partner is in a very happy mood. I walked silently. In this depressing weather, I am going through a painful work. My mind is completely taken away.
Holmes was talking about music with one mind. I interrupted him and said, "I don't think you pay much attention to handicrafts."
He replied, ‘I have not received any information yet. It is a big mistake to form an opinion before the evidence is collected. That affects the judiciary. '
Raising my finger, I said, ‘I will get the information soon. This is Brixton Road, and if I'm not mistaken, Then this is the house. '
‘That’s right. Coachman, stop the car. 'We were still a hundred yards away. But he had to go down there on his instructions. The rest I walked.
No. 3 Loriston Gardens stands with an ominous look. It is one of the four houses located a short distance from the road. There are people in two of the four houses, two empty. The last two houses have three rows of open windows, And here and there a garden of some small trees scattered here and there has separated the houses from the road. A yellowish narrow path of mud and stone ran through the garden. The whole place is really in the rain at night. The garden is surrounded by a three-foot high brick wall. Above him stands a fat police constable leaning against a wall with a piece of wooden rail. He is crowded with a small crowd of pedestrians. Raising their throats like deer and widening their eyes, they are trying unsuccessfully to see what has happened inside.
I thought Sherlock Holmes would immediately break into the house and solve the mystery. But he did not go that way. Completely inattentively he began to walk on the sidewalk. Sometimes to the ground, sometimes to the sky, She stared at the houses on the opposite side, or at the railings. Seeing everything, he slowly took the path and started walking on the grass on both sides of the said elevated path. The eyes are always on the ground. Paused twice. Once I saw a smile on his face. A happy exhilaration too
As if it came to the ears. There are many footprints on the wet sticky ground. But there are a lot of cops traveling this way, So from then on I didn't understand what my partner was expecting. But I have found so much evidence of his quick-sightedness that I can no doubt see that he has a lot to hide.
At the door of the house we met a tall, white-faced, Sean-haired man. A notebook in his hand. He came running and shook hands with my partner with great enthusiasm. ‘Thank you for coming. Look, I didn't let anything touch me. '
‘Without that!’ Said my friend, pointing the way. ‘Even if a herd of buffalo had walked through there, there would have been no more chaos than this. Gregson, you must have reached your own conclusion before you let it happen?
The detective avoided his words and said, ‘I had a lot of work to do inside the house. I had a lot of work inside my coworker. It was up to him to look into it. '
Holmes looked at me sarcastically and raised his eyebrows, saying, ‘When you and Lestred are in the hall, there is nothing left for the third person to do.
Rubbing both hands in complacency, Gregson said, ‘I seem to have done everything I could. However, the case is strange and I know that such a case suits you well. '
Sherlock Holmes asked, ‘You didn’t come here in a hired car?’
No. '
‘Not even Leicester?’
"No, sir."
‘Then let’s take a look at the house. ‘With this absurd remark he entered the house. Gregson in the back. Impressions of surprise on his face.
A wooden dusty passage leads to the kitchen and office. Two doors on the left and right. It is clear that a door has been closed for several weeks. The other door is the dining room. The mysterious incident happened in that house. Holmes stepped inside. I followed him. My mind is overwhelmed by the feeling of the sub-state of death.
A large square house. The furniture looks bigger because there is nothing. Cheap paper folds glitter on the wall. The roof has fallen and has scars in places. Somewhere or other a lot of paper has opened and hung. As a result, the yellow plaster on the bottom has come out. On the opposite side of the door is a fancy fireplace, Fake white stone mantelpiece on top of it. Placing the last of a red candle in one of its corners. There is so much dust in the only window of the house that in the dim light of the house everything has a yellowish tinge. There is a layer of dust all over the house, and the yellow hue is even more noticeable.
All this I noticed later. Like then all my attention fell on the one horrible frozen human body. The body is lying on the floor. Blind eyes stared at the faded shilling. The man will be forty-three years old, medium build, broad shoulders, black curly hair, short thick beard. Wearing a thick cloth coat is also a waistcoat. Light colored trousers, shiny collar and cuffs. A top hat with a brushed brush is lying on the floor next to it. Two hand fists. The two arms, spread out, part of the body wrapped together. It seems that he had to fight a lot against death. The shadow of horror on his hard face. I think he has such a strong hatred on his face that I have never seen in human face. With this horrible deformity of the body, a low forehead, a snub nose and thick lips have been added to form a monkey-like shape. It seems to have increased due to the unusual posture of his body. I have seen all sorts of deaths, but I have never seen the horrible form I saw in this dark, horrible house on a main street on the outskirts of London.
The slender otter-shaped Leicester stood at the door.He greeted both of us.
Said ‘I will be confused about this case sir. I have never seen such a thing. And I'm not a boy. '
"What's the clue?"
Lestrad replied, "Nothing."
Schalke Holmes walked over to the corpse and examined it thoroughly. "You know there are no wounds," he said, pointing to bloodstains.
The two detectives said together, "Sure!"
‘Then this blood must have belonged to a second person — probably the killer, if the murder really happened. In this context, I am reminded of the events surrounding Van Janssen's death in Utrecht in '04. Gregson, do you remember that case? '
"No, sir."
‘You should read. Nothing new happens under the sun. What has happened has happened before. '
As he spoke, his light fingers seemed to be flying all over the corpse — waving, pressing, unbuttoning, examining. But there is no distant impression in the eyes. The test work was completed very quickly. It is unthinkable that such a thorough work could be done so quickly. At the end of it all, he dried the lips of the deceased, and saw the soles of his patent leather shoes.
Asked, "Didn't it move at all?"
"Not more than what was needed for the test."
‘Now you can send it to the morgue,’ he said. "I don't know anything else."
A stretcher and four men were deployed. At Gregson's command, they entered the house and picked up the stranger. As soon as he was picked up, a ring fell on the floor. Lestrad picked it up and looked at it.
‘Surely there was a woman here,’ he exclaimed. "It's a woman's wedding ring."
Everyone saw the ring on the palm of their hand. We saw him around him. There is no doubt that this pure gold object was once adorned on the finger of a wedding bride.
"It simply came to our notice then. God knows, there was enough spin before. '
Holmes said, ‘You know what, it didn’t get any simpler? Nothing can be known by looking at it. What's in his pocket? '
‘There’s everything there,’ said Gregson, pointing to a pile of loads on a low step of the stairs. A gold watch of the Bird Company of London, No. 96173. Albert Chen of quite solid gold. Crafted gold ring. Gold pin-dog-shaped head, ruby in sight. Russian leather card-case, with Cleveland's Enk J, Dreber's card full. Today, his letters E, J, D are written on his clothes. There was no bag of money, but seven pounds thirteen shillings was retail. A pocket-version of Boccaccio's "Deca-Meron", with Joseph Stangerson's name on its front page. Two letters to E, J, Draber, and Joseph Stangerson.
‘At what address?’
‘The American Exchange, the stand will remain until asked. Both are from the Guiyon Steamship Company. There is also mention of their ship being deported from Liverpool. It is clear that this unfortunate man is about to return to New York soon. '
‘Did you find out about this Stangerson?’
Gregson said, ‘I did it right away, sir. I have advertised in all the newspapers. I sent a man to the American Exchange. He has not returned yet. "
‘Did you send someone to Cleveland?’
"I telegraphed in the morning."
‘What’s in it?’
"It simply came to our notice then. We would love to hear from you."
‘Do you think you want to know the final story?’
"Strangerson's news has been sought."
‘Nothing else? Is there no incident on which the case is hanging? Can't you telegram again? '
"I said everything I had to say," Gregson said in a wounded voice.
Sherlock Holmes smiled. Then, as if to say, Leastred entered the hall-room, rubbing his hands very happily from the front room.
‘Mr. Gregson,’ he said, ‘I have just made a very big discovery. If I hadn't examined Dewaltak well, I wouldn't have caught it. '
The little man's eyes began to twinkle as he spoke. The joy of taking one hand on his co-worker seems to have appeared in his eyes.
"Come with me," he said and hurried back from the house. The weather in that house has become much lighter since the terrible man was removed. ‘Now, stand there!’
‘When a matchstick was burning under his shoes, he leaned against the wall.
‘Look at that!’ He said proudly.
As I said before, I have opened the paper in many places on the wall. In that particular corner of the room, a large piece of paper fell open and yellow plaster came out. There is only one word written in blood-red letters on that square-plaster:
RA CHE
One of the spectators shouted, "What are you talking about?" Because it is in a very dark corner of the house, no one noticed it, no one even thought to look this way. The killer wrote it with his own blood. Look, there's blood on the wall. It became clear that it was not suicide. Why was that angle chosen for writing? That's what I'm saying. Why was Mantelpiece chosen? That's what I'm saying. Look at that candle on the mantelpiece. It was on fire at the time of the incident, and when it did, that corner of the room became the brightest, not the darkest. '
Your writing has been much better.