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Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes
The Man with the Twisted Lip
Capítulo 6, Página 8
"Some
years
ago—in
May
1884,
to
be
precise—a
gentleman
named
Neville
St.
Clair
came
to
Lee,
appearing
to
have
plenty
of
money.
He
took
a
large
villa,
landscaped
the
grounds
nicely,
and
lived
in
style.
Gradually,
he
made
friends
in
the
area,
and
in
1887
he
married
the
daughter
of
a
local
brewer,
with
whom
he
now
has
two
children.
He
had
no
job
but
was
interested
in
several
companies
and
usually
went
to
town
in
the
morning,
returning
by
the
5:00
train
from
Cannon
Street
every
night.
Mr.
St.
Clair
is
now
thirty-seven,
a
man
of
moderate
habits,
a
good
husband,
a
loving
father,
and
liked
by
everyone
who
knows
him.
I
should
add
that
his
total
debts,
as
far
as
we
know,
are
£88
10s.,
while
he
has
£220
in
the
Capital
and
Counties
Bank.
So
there’s
no
reason
to
think
money
problems
are
troubling
him."
"Last
Monday,
Mr.
Neville
St.
Clair
went
to
town
earlier
than
usual,
saying
he
had
two
important
tasks
and
would
bring
his
son
a
box
of
bricks.
By
chance,
his
wife
received
a
telegram
that
same
Monday,
shortly
after
he
left,
saying
a
valuable
parcel
she
was
expecting
was
ready
at
the
Aberdeen
Shipping
Company
offices.
If
you
know
London
well,
you’ll
know
the
company’s
office
is
in
Fresno
Street,
which
branches
off
Upper
Swandam
Lane,
where
you
found
me
tonight.
Mrs.
St.
Clair
had
lunch,
went
to
the
City,
did
some
shopping,
went
to
the
company’s
office,
got
her
package,
and
at
exactly
4:00
was
walking
through
Swandam
Lane
on
her
way
back
to
the
station.
Are
you
following
me
so
far?"
"It’s
very
clear."
"Remember,
Monday
was
extremely
hot,
and
Mrs.
St.
Clair
walked
slowly,
hoping
to
find
a
cab
because
she
didn't
like
the
area
she
was
in.
As
she
walked
down
Swandam
Lane,
she
suddenly
heard
a
cry
and
was
shocked
to
see
her
husband
looking
down
at
her
from
a
second-floor
window.
He
seemed
to
be
calling
to
her.
The
window
was
open,
and
she
clearly
saw
his
face,
which
looked
very
upset.
He
waved
his
hands
wildly
and
then
disappeared
from
the
window
so
quickly
that
it
seemed
like
he
was
pulled
back
by
some
strong
force.
One
detail
she
noticed
was
that
although
he
wore
a
dark
coat,
like
the
one
he
left
in,
he
had
no
collar
or
necktie."
"Convinced
something
was
wrong,
she
ran
down
the
steps—since
the
house
was
the
opium
den
where
you
found
me
tonight—and
tried
to
go
up
the
stairs
to
the
first
floor.
At
the
bottom
of
the
stairs,
however,
she
was
stopped
by
this
Lascar
man
I
mentioned,
who
pushed
her
back,
helped
by
a
Dane
who
works
there,
and
they
forced
her
out
into
the
street.
Overcome
with
doubt
and
fear,
she
ran
down
the
lane
and
luckily
met
some
policemen
with
an
inspector
on
Fresno
Street.
The
inspector
and
two
officers
went
back
with
her,
and
despite
the
owner’s
resistance,
they
reached
the
room
where
Mr.
St.
Clair
was
last
seen.
He
was
not
there.
In
fact,
the
whole
floor
was
empty
except
for
a
crippled
man,
who
seemed
to
live
there.
Both
he
and
the
Lascar
insisted
that
no
one
else
had
been
in
the
front
room
that
afternoon.
Their
denial
was
so
strong
that
the
inspector
almost
believed
Mrs.
St.
Clair
was
mistaken
when
she
suddenly
cried
out
and
grabbed
a
small
box
on
the
table,
tearing
it
open.
Out
fell
a
pile
of
children's
bricks.
It
was
the
toy
he
had
promised
to
bring
home."
"This
discovery
and
the
cripple's
obvious
confusion
made
the
inspector
realize
the
seriousness
of
the
situation.
The
rooms
were
carefully
searched,
and
everything
pointed
to
a
terrible
crime.
The
front
room
was
simply
furnished
as
a
sitting-room
and
led
into
a
small
bedroom
facing
the
back
of
a
wharf.
Between
the
wharf
and
the
bedroom
window
was
a
narrow
strip
that
was
dry
at
low
tide
but
covered
with
over
four
feet
of
water
at
high
tide.
The
bedroom
window
was
wide
and
opened
from
below.
On
examining
it,
they
found
traces
of
blood
on
the
windowsill
and
several
drops
on
the
wooden
floor
of
the
bedroom.
Hidden
behind
a
curtain
in
the
front
room
were
all
of
Mr.
Neville
St.
Clair’s
clothes
except
his
coat.
His
boots,
socks,
hat,
and
watch
were
all
there.
There
were
no
signs
of
violence
on
these
clothes,
and
no
other
trace
of
Mr.
Neville
St.
Clair.
He
must
have
gone
out
the
window,
as
no
other
exit
was
found,
and
the
bloodstains
on
the
sill
suggested
he
couldn’t
have
saved
himself
by
swimming,
as
the
tide
was
at
its
highest
during
the
incident."
"Now,
about
the
people
who
seemed
involved
in
this
matter.
The
Lascar
was
known
to
have
a
very
bad
past,
but
since
Mrs.
St.
Clair
said
he
was
at
the
bottom
of
the
stairs
just
moments
after
her
husband
appeared
at
the
window,
he
could
only
have
been
an
accessory
to
the
crime.
He
claimed
complete
ignorance
and
insisted
he
knew
nothing
about
Hugh
Boone,
his
lodger,
nor
could
he
explain
why
the
missing
man’s
clothes
were
there."
"That’s
the
Lascar
manager.
Now
about
the
sinister
cripple
living
on
the
second
floor
of
the
opium
den,
who
was
the
last
person
to
see
Neville
St.
Clair.
His
name
is
Hugh
Boone,
and
his
horrible
face
is
well-known
to
anyone
who
frequently
visits
the
City.
He
is
a
professional
beggar
but
pretends
to
sell
wax
vestas
to
avoid
police
trouble.
A
little
way
down
Threadneedle
Street,
on
the
left,
there's
a
small
corner
in
the
wall.
That’s
where
he
sits
every
day,
cross-legged
with
his
tiny
stock
of
matches
on
his
lap.
He
is
such
a
pitiful
sight
that
people
often
drop
coins
into
the
greasy
leather
cap
beside
him.
I’ve
watched
him
many
times
before
I
thought
of
getting
to
know
him
professionally,
and
I
was
amazed
at
how
much
he
collected
in
a
short
time.
His
appearance
is
so
striking
that
no
one
can
pass
without
noticing
him.
He
has
orange
hair,
a
pale
face
with
a
horrible
scar
that
turns
up
his
upper
lip,
a
bulldog
chin,
and
very
sharp
dark
eyes
that
contrast
with
his
hair
color.
His
wit
also
sets
him
apart,
as
he
always
has
a
quick
reply
to
any
teasing
from
passers-by.
This
is
the
man
who
was
the
lodger
at
the
opium
den
and
the
last
to
see
the
gentleman
we
are
looking
for."
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Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes — B2 Inglés | Cuentana