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Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes
The Man with the Twisted Lip
Capítulo 6, Página 8
“Some
years
ago—to
be
definite,
in
May,
1884—there
came
to
Lee
a
gentleman,
Neville
St.
Clair
by
name,
who
appeared
to
have
plenty
of
money.
He
took
a
large
villa,
laid
out
the
grounds
very
nicely,
and
lived
generally
in
good
style.
By
degrees
he
made
friends
in
the
neighbourhood,
and
in
1887
he
married
the
daughter
of
a
local
brewer,
by
whom
he
now
has
two
children.
He
had
no
occupation,
but
was
interested
in
several
companies
and
went
into
town
as
a
rule
in
the
morning,
returning
by
the
5:
from
Cannon
Street
every
night.
Mr.
St.
Clair
is
now
thirty-seven
years
of
age,
is
a
man
of
temperate
habits,
a
good
husband,
a
very
affectionate
father,
and
a
man
who
is
popular
with
all
who
know
him.
I
may
add
that
his
whole
debts
at
the
present
moment,
as
far
as
we
have
been
able
to
ascertain,
amount
to
£
88
10s.,
while
he
has
£
220
standing
to
his
credit
in
the
Capital
and
Counties
Bank.
There
is
no
reason,
therefore,
to
think
that
money
troubles
have
been
weighing
upon
his
mind.”
“Last
Monday
Mr.
Neville
St.
Clair
went
into
town
rather
earlier
than
usual,
remarking
before
he
started
that
he
had
two
important
commissions
to
perform,
and
that
he
would
bring
his
little
boy
home
a
box
of
bricks.
Now,
by
the
merest
chance,
his
wife
received
a
telegram
upon
this
same
Monday,
very
shortly
after
his
departure,
to
the
effect
that
a
small
parcel
of
considerable
value
which
she
had
been
expecting
was
waiting
for
her
at
the
offices
of
the
Aberdeen
Shipping
Company.
Now,
if
you
are
well
up
in
your
London,
you
will
know
that
the
office
of
the
company
is
in
Fresno
Street,
which
branches
out
of
Upper
Swandam
Lane,
where
you
found
me
to-night.
Mrs.
St.
Clair
had
her
lunch,
started
for
the
City,
did
some
shopping,
proceeded
to
the
company’s
office,
got
her
packet,
and
found
herself
at
exactly
4:
walking
through
Swandam
Lane
on
her
way
back
to
the
station.
Have
you
followed
me
so
far?”
“It
is
very
clear.”
“If
you
remember,
Monday
was
an
exceedingly
hot
day,
and
Mrs.
St.
Clair
walked
slowly,
glancing
about
in
the
hope
of
seeing
a
cab,
as
she
did
not
like
the
neighbourhood
in
which
she
found
herself.
While
she
was
walking
in
this
way
down
Swandam
Lane,
she
suddenly
heard
an
ejaculation
or
cry,
and
was
struck
cold
to
see
her
husband
looking
down
at
her
and,
as
it
seemed
to
her,
beckoning
to
her
from
a
second-floor
window.
The
window
was
open,
and
she
distinctly
saw
his
face,
which
she
describes
as
being
terribly
agitated.
He
waved
his
hands
frantically
to
her,
and
then
vanished
from
the
window
so
suddenly
that
it
seemed
to
her
that
he
had
been
plucked
back
by
some
irresistible
force
from
behind.
One
singular
point
which
struck
her
quick
feminine
eye
was
that
although
he
wore
some
dark
coat,
such
as
he
had
started
to
town
in,
he
had
on
neither
collar
nor
necktie.”
“Convinced
that
something
was
amiss
with
him,
she
rushed
down
the
steps—for
the
house
was
none
other
than
the
opium
den
in
which
you
found
me
to-night—and
running
through
the
front
room
she
attempted
to
ascend
the
stairs
which
led
to
the
first
floor.
At
the
foot
of
the
stairs,
however,
she
met
this
Lascar
scoundrel
of
whom
I
have
spoken,
who
thrust
her
back
and,
aided
by
a
Dane,
who
acts
as
assistant
there,
pushed
her
out
into
the
street.
Filled
with
the
most
maddening
doubts
and
fears,
she
rushed
down
the
lane
and,
by
rare
good-fortune,
met
in
Fresno
Street
a
number
of
constables
with
an
inspector,
all
on
their
way
to
their
beat.
The
inspector
and
two
men
accompanied
her
back,
and
in
spite
of
the
continued
resistance
of
the
proprietor,
they
made
their
way
to
the
room
in
which
Mr.
St.
Clair
had
last
been
seen.
There
was
no
sign
of
him
there.
In
fact,
in
the
whole
of
that
floor
there
was
no
one
to
be
found
save
a
crippled
wretch
of
hideous
aspect,
who,
it
seems,
made
his
home
there.
Both
he
and
the
Lascar
stoutly
swore
that
no
one
else
had
been
in
the
front
room
during
the
afternoon.
So
determined
was
their
denial
that
the
inspector
was
staggered,
and
had
almost
come
to
believe
that
Mrs.
St.
Clair
had
been
deluded
when,
with
a
cry,
she
sprang
at
a
small
deal
box
which
lay
upon
the
table
and
tore
the
lid
from
it.
Out
there
fell
a
cascade
of
children’s
bricks.
It
was
the
toy
which
he
had
promised
to
bring
home.”
“This
discovery,
and
the
evident
confusion
which
the
cripple
showed,
made
the
inspector
realise
that
the
matter
was
serious.
The
rooms
were
carefully
examined,
and
results
all
pointed
to
an
abominable
crime.
The
front
room
was
plainly
furnished
as
a
sitting-room
and
led
into
a
small
bedroom,
which
looked
out
upon
the
back
of
one
of
the
wharves.
Between
the
wharf
and
the
bedroom
window
is
a
narrow
strip,
which
is
dry
at
low
tide
but
is
covered
at
high
tide
with
at
least
four
and
a
half
feet
of
water.
The
bedroom
window
was
a
broad
one
and
opened
from
below.
On
examination
traces
of
blood
were
to
be
seen
upon
the
windowsill,
and
several
scattered
drops
were
visible
upon
the
wooden
floor
of
the
bedroom.
Thrust
away
behind
a
curtain
in
the
front
room
were
all
the
clothes
of
Mr.
Neville
St.
Clair,
with
the
exception
of
his
coat.
His
boots,
his
socks,
his
hat,
and
his
watch—all
were
there.
There
were
no
signs
of
violence
upon
any
of
these
garments,
and
there
were
no
other
traces
of
Mr.
Neville
St.
Clair.
Out
of
the
window
he
must
apparently
have
gone
for
no
other
exit
could
be
discovered,
and
the
ominous
bloodstains
upon
the
sill
gave
little
promise
that
he
could
save
himself
by
swimming,
for
the
tide
was
at
its
very
highest
at
the
moment
of
the
tragedy.”
“And
now
as
to
the
villains
who
seemed
to
be
immediately
implicated
in
the
matter.
The
Lascar
was
known
to
be
a
man
of
the
vilest
antecedents,
but
as,
by
Mrs.
St.
Clair’s
story,
he
was
known
to
have
been
at
the
foot
of
the
stair
within
a
very
few
seconds
of
her
husband’s
appearance
at
the
window,
he
could
hardly
have
been
more
than
an
accessory
to
the
crime.
His
defence
was
one
of
absolute
ignorance,
and
he
protested
that
he
had
no
knowledge
as
to
the
doings
of
Hugh
Boone,
his
lodger,
and
that
he
could
not
account
in
any
way
for
the
presence
of
the
missing
gentleman’s
clothes.”
“So
much
for
the
Lascar
manager.
Now
for
the
sinister
cripple
who
lives
upon
the
second
floor
of
the
opium
den,
and
who
was
certainly
the
last
human
being
whose
eyes
rested
upon
Neville
St.
Clair.
His
name
is
Hugh
Boone,
and
his
hideous
face
is
one
which
is
familiar
to
every
man
who
goes
much
to
the
City.
He
is
a
professional
beggar,
though
in
order
to
avoid
the
police
regulations
he
pretends
to
a
small
trade
in
wax
vestas.
Some
little
distance
down
Threadneedle
Street,
upon
the
left-hand
side,
there
is,
as
you
may
have
remarked,
a
small
angle
in
the
wall.
Here
it
is
that
this
creature
takes
his
daily
seat,
cross-legged
with
his
tiny
stock
of
matches
on
his
lap,
and
as
he
is
a
piteous
spectacle
a
small
rain
of
charity
descends
into
the
greasy
leather
cap
which
lies
upon
the
pavement
beside
him.
I
have
watched
the
fellow
more
than
once
before
ever
I
thought
of
making
his
professional
acquaintance,
and
I
have
been
surprised
at
the
harvest
which
he
has
reaped
in
a
short
time.
His
appearance,
you
see,
is
so
remarkable
that
no
one
can
pass
him
without
observing
him.
A
shock
of
orange
hair,
a
pale
face
disfigured
by
a
horrible
scar,
which,
by
its
contraction,
has
turned
up
the
outer
edge
of
his
upper
lip,
a
bulldog
chin,
and
a
pair
of
very
penetrating
dark
eyes,
which
present
a
singular
contrast
to
the
colour
of
his
hair,
all
mark
him
out
from
amid
the
common
crowd
of
mendicants
and
so,
too,
does
his
wit,
for
he
is
ever
ready
with
a
reply
to
any
piece
of
chaff
which
may
be
thrown
at
him
by
the
passers-by.
This
is
the
man
whom
we
now
learn
to
have
been
the
lodger
at
the
opium
den,
and
to
have
been
the
last
man
to
see
the
gentleman
of
whom
we
are
in
quest.”
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Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes — C1 Inglés | Cuentana