雷神桥迷案
      Somewhere in the vaults of the bank of Cox and Co., at Charing Cross, there is a travel-worn and battered tin dispatch-box with my name, John H. Watson, M.D., Late Indian Army, painted upon the lid. It is crammed with papers, nearly all of which are records of cases to illustrate the curious problems which Mr.Sherlock Holmes had at various times to examine. Some, and not the least interesting, were complete failures, and as such will hardly bear narrating, since no final explanation is forthcoming. A problem without a solution may interest the student, but can hardly fail to annoy the casual reader. Among these unfinished tales is that of Mr. James Phillimore, who, stepping back into his own house to get his umbrella, was never more seen in this world. No less remarkable is that of the cutter Alicia, which sailed one spring morning into a small patch of mist from where she never again emerged, nor was anything further ever heard of herself and her crew. A third case worthy of note is that of Isadora Persano, the well-known journalist and duellist, who was found stark staring mad with a match box in front of him which contained a remarkable worm said to be unknown to science. Apart from these unfathomed cases, there are some which involve the secrets of private families to an extent which would mean consternation in many exalted quarters if it were thought possible that they might find their way into print. I need not say that such a breach of confidence is unthinkable, and that these records will be separated and destroyed now that my friend has time to turn his energies to the matter. There remain a considerable residue of cases of greater or less interest which I might have edited before had I not feared to give the public a surfeit which might react upon the reputation of the man whom above all others I revere. In some I was myself concerned and can speak as an eyewitness, while in others I was either not present or played so small a part that they could only be told as by a third person. The following narrative is drawn from my own experience.
      It was a wild morning in October, and I observed as I was dressing how the last remaining leaves were being whirled from the solitary plane tree which graces the yard behind our house. I descended to breakfast prepared to find my companion in depressed spirits, for, like all great artists, he was easily impressed by his surroundings. On the contrary, I found that he had nearly finished his meal, and that his mood was particularly bright and joyous, with that somewhat sinister cheerfulness which was characteristic of his lighter moments.
      “You have a case, Holmes?” I remarked.
      “The faculty of deduction is certainly contagious, Watson,” he answered. “It has enabled you to probe my secret. Yes, I have a case. After a month of trivialities and stagnation the wheels move once more.”
      “Might I share it?”
      “There is little to share, but we may discuss it when you have consumed the two hard-boiled eggs with which our new cook has favoured us. Their condition may not be unconnected with the copy of the Family Herald which I observed yesterday upon the hall-table. Even so trivial a matter as cooking an egg demands an attention which is conscious of the passage of time and incompatible with the love romance in that excellent periodical.”
      A quarter of an hour later the table had been cleared and we were face to face. He had drawn a letter from his pocket.
      “You have heard of Neil Gibson, the Gold King?” he said.
      “You mean the American Senator?”
      “Well, he was once Senator for some Western state, but is better known as the greatest gold-mining magnate in the world.”
      “Yes, I know of him. He has surely lived in England for some time. His name is very familiar.”
      “Yes, he bought a considerable estate in Hampshire some five years ago. Possibly you have already heard of the tragic end of his wife?”
      “Of course. I remember it now. That is why the name is familiar. But I really know nothing of the details.”
       Holmes waved his hand towards some papers on a chair. “I had no idea that the case was coming my way or I should have had my extracts ready,” said he. “The fact is that the problem, though exceedingly sensational, appeared to present no difficulty. The interesting personality of the accused does not obscure the clearness of the evidence. That was the view taken by the coroner’s jury and also in the police-court proceedings. It is now referred to the Assizes at Winchester. I fear it is a thankless business. I can discover facts, Watson, but I cannot change them. Unless some entirely new and unexpected ones come to light I do not see what my client can hope for.”
      “Your client?”
      “Ah, I forgot I had not told you. I am getting into your involved habit, Watson, of telling the story backward. You had best read this first.”
       The letter which he handed to me, written in a bold, masterful hand, ran as follows:
      Claridge’s Hotel,October 3rd.
      Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes:
      I can’t see the best woman God ever made go to her death without doing all that is possible to save her. I can’t explain things—I can’t even try to explain them, but I know beyond all doubt that Miss Dunbar is innocent. You know the facts—who doesn’t? It has been the gossip of the country. And never a voice raised for her! It’s the damned injustice of it all that makes me crazy. That woman has a heart that wouldn’t let her kill a fly. Well, I’ll come at eleven tomorrow and see if you can get some ray of light in the dark. Maybe I have a clue and don’t know it. Anyhow, all I know and all I have and all I am are for your use if only you can save her. If ever in your life you showed your powers, put them now into this case.
      Yours faithfully,J. Neil Gibson.

中文翻译
      查令十字科克斯银行的保险库里有一个满载风尘、破旧不堪的马口铁公文箱，盖子上写着我的姓名：约翰•H. 华生，医学博士，原属印度军团。箱子里面塞满了文件，绝大部分都是案卷，记录着歇洛克•福尔摩斯先生在各个时期经手的怪异问题。其中的一些案子虽然不乏趣味，结局却是彻底的失败，相关的事情既然永无定论，自然不适合形诸笔墨。没有答案的问题或许能引起研究者的兴趣，只可惜必然招致普通读者的怨声。有头无尾的故事包括詹姆斯•菲利莫尔先生的遭遇，他走回自己家里去拿雨伞，就这样从世上销声匿迹。独桅帆船“艾丽西亚号”的遭遇同样出奇，它在某个春日早晨驶入了一小团雾气，进去就没有出来，连同船上的人一起没了下文。第三个值得一提的此类故事以伊莎多拉•珀萨诺为主角，人们发现这位著名的记者兼决斗好手彻彻底底地失去了神志，直勾勾地瞪着面前的一个火柴盒，盒子里装的是一条古怪的蠕虫，据说是科学界闻所未闻的东西。抛开这些未曾破解的谜案不谈，还有些案子涉及极其重大的私家隐秘，竟至于达到了这样一种程度，一旦觉得这些案子有可能变成铅字，许多高高在上的处所就会出现惶惶不可终日的场面。不用说，像这种辜负他人信任的事情连想都不能想，眼下也已经到了把这些案子的记录挑出来销毁的时候，原因是我朋友刚好有时间，可以动手处理这件事情。剩下还有许多趣味或大或小的案子，我本来可以加工出来，可我又担心公众多食伤胃，由此损及我最为敬重的那个人的名望。有一些案子我曾经亲身参与，可以用目击证人的口吻来讲述，另一些则只能使用第三人称，因为我要么是未曾参与，要么就是参与的程度极为有限。以下这个故事则是我的亲身经历。
      十月里一个风声怒号的早晨，我一边穿衣，一边看狂风吹袭后园那株孤零零的悬铃木，卷走枝头的最后一些叶子。这之后，我走到楼下去吃早餐，满以为会看到我室友郁郁不乐的模样，因为他跟所有的艺术大师一样，很容易受到环境的触动。完全出乎我意料的是，他几乎已经吃完了早餐，神情也格外地兴高采烈，身上还带着一种多少有点儿不怀好意的欢快劲头，正是他轻松时刻的常态。
      “手头有案子吧，福尔摩斯？”我如是说道。
      “演绎的本领显然是具有传染性啊，华生。”他回答道。“你也学会用演绎法来窥探我的秘密啦。没错，我手头有件案子。连着过了一个月琐碎无聊、停滞不前的日子，轮子终于又转了起来。”
      “能给我讲讲吗？”
      “可讲的事情虽然不多，咱们倒不妨讨论一下，不过你得先吃完那两只鸡蛋。那两只鸡蛋是咱们的新厨子赏给咱们的，煮得梆硬，它们的火候多半跟我昨天在门厅桌子上看到的那本《家庭信使》不无关系。即便是应付煮鸡蛋这样的琐碎事情，你也得拿出一种准确把握时间的专注，与此同时，这样的专注是跟那本绝妙期刊里的言情故事水火不容的。”
      一刻钟之后，桌子已经收拾干净，我俩面对面地坐在了一起，他手里拿着从衣兜里掏出来的一封信。
      “你听说过金矿大王尼尔•吉布森吗？”他问道。
      “你是说那个美国参议员吗？”
      “没错，他一度是美国西部某个州的参议员，可他之所以出名，主要是因为他是世界上最大的金矿巨头。”
      “是的，我知道他。他来英国不是有些日子了嘛，他的名字我听着非常耳熟。”
      “没错，大概五年之前，他在汉普郡置下了一大片产业。他妻子惨遭横祸，兴许你已经听说了吧？”
      “那是当然，你一说我就想起来了。就是因为这件事情，我才会觉得他的名字耳熟。不过，其中的细节我确实是一无所知。”
      福尔摩斯冲着椅子上的一堆报纸挥了挥手。“我完全没想到这件案子会到我的手里，不然的话，我肯定是一早就把资料准备好啦。”他说道。“事实上，这件案子虽然极其轰动，看上去却没有什么疑难之处。被告的个性虽然迷人，终归也不能抹杀确凿的罪证。
      验尸官陪审团就是这种看法，地方法庭也是这种结论。到这会儿，案子已经转到了温切斯特的巡回法庭 。照我看，这恐怕是一件费力不讨好的活计。我有本事发现事实，华生，可我没本事改变事实。
      除非是有了什么意想不到的全新发现，如其不然，我这个主顾是没什么盼头的。”
      “你的主顾？”
      “哦，我倒是忘了，这件事情我还没跟你说呢。华生啊，我也染上了你那种莫名其妙的怪毛病，学会把故事倒过来讲啦。好了，你还是先读一读这个吧。”
      他把一封信递给了我，信上的笔迹清晰醒目，咄咄逼人，全文如下：
      克拉里奇酒店，十月三日
      亲爱的歇洛克•福尔摩斯先生：
      我不能眼睁睁看着古往今来最好的女人走向死亡，一定要尽一切的努力来挽救她。我解释不了这些事情，哪怕是试着解释一下都做不到，可我确切无疑地知道，邓巴小姐是无辜的。相关的事实您肯定已经知道了——谁不知道呢？这已经成了举国上下的谈资。可是，没有一个人站出来替她说话！就是这种全无公道的该死局面把我逼到了疯狂的边缘。这个女人心软得连苍蝇都不忍伤害啊。这样吧，我明天十一点钟过去找您，看您能不能从黑暗之中找出一点光明。说不定，我手里还有什么我自个儿都不知道的线索呢。不管怎么样，我所知的一切、我所有的一切，再加上我整个儿的人，全部都听您差遣，只要您能救她就行。如果您确实拥有那些神奇的本领，那就把它们全部用到这件案子上吧。
      您忠实的朋友 J. 尼尔•吉布森

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