修道院公学（22）

“What do you make of that, Watson?” Holmes whispered.

“It looks like a flight.”

“A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I could see. Well, it certainly was not Mr. James Wilder, for there he is at the door.”

A red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. In the middle of it was the black figure of the secretary, his head advanced, peering out into the night. It was evident that he was expecting someone. Then at last there were steps in the road, a second figure was visible for an instant against the light, the door shut, and all was black once more. Five minutes later a lamp was lit in a room upon the first floor.

“It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by the Fighting Cock,” said Holmes.

“The bar is on the other side.”

“Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests. Now, what in the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at this hour of night, and who is the companion who comes to meet him there? Come, Watson, we must really take a risk and try to investigate this a little more closely.”

Together we stole down to the road and crept across to the door of the inn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes struck a match and held it to the back wheel, and I heard him chuckle as the light fell upon a patched Dunlop tyre. Up above us was the lighted window.

“I must have a peep through that, Watson. If you bend your back and support yourself upon the wall, I think that I can manage.”

An instant later his feet were on my shoulders. But he was hardly up before he was down again.

“Come, my friend,” said he, “our day's work has been quite long enough. I think that we have gathered all that we can. It's a long walk to the school, and the sooner we get started the better.”

He hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across the moor, nor would he enter the school when he reached it, but went on to Mackleton Station, whence he could send some telegrams. Late at night I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated by the tragedy of his master's death, and later still he entered my room as alert and vigorous as he had been when he started in the morning. “All goes well, my friend,” said he. “I promise that before to-morrow evening we shall have reached the solution of the mystery.”

福尔摩斯低声说：“华生，你看这是怎么一回事？”

“象是逃跑。”

“我看见是一个人乘着单骑马车。肯定不是王尔得先生，他还在门那儿。”

黑暗中突然出现一片红色灯光。灯光下出现了秘书的身影，他探头探脑地向黑暗中窥视着，显然他在等待着某个人。不一会儿，听到路上有脚步声，借着灯光我们又看到第二个身影一闪，门关上了，又是一漆黑暗。五分钟以后，楼下的一个房间里，一盏灯点亮了。

福尔摩斯说：“'斗鸡'旅店的一习一惯是很怪的。”

“酒吧间设在另一面。”

“是的，这些人是人们说的私人住客。在这样的深夜，王尔得先生在那个黑窝里到底干什么，到那儿和他见面的人又是谁。华生，我们必须冒一下险，尽力把这件事调查得更清楚点。”

我们两个偷偷地下了山坡，来到大路，然后弯下一身，俯行到旅店的门前。自行车仍然靠在墙上。福尔摩斯划了一根火柴去照后轮。火光照亮加厚的一邓一禄汽车胎时，我听到他轻轻地笑了一声。在我们的头上就是有灯光的窗户。

“华生，我必须往里看看。要是你弯下腰并且扶着墙，我想我可以看到。”

不一会儿他的两只脚已经蹬在我的肩膀上，但是他还没有站直又立即下来了。

他说：“朋友，我们这一天工作得够长了。我想我们能够弄到的情况都弄到了。到学校还要走很远，我们越快动身越好。”

当我们疲惫地穿过荒原时，他很少开口讲话，到了学校他没有进去，却继续向麦克尔顿车站走去，在那儿他发了几封电报。回校后他又去安慰贺克斯塔布尔博士，博士正为那位教师的死亡而悲伤不已。后来他进到我屋子里，仍然象一早出发时那样一精一力饱满和机警。他说：“我的朋友，一切顺利，我保证明天晚上以前我们就可以解决这个神秘的案件。”