字裏行間英文經典：福爾摩斯探案全集之四簽名 下載 mobi epub pdf 電子書 2024

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內容簡介

　　《福爾摩斯探案全集之四簽名》是柯南?道爾1890年創作的第二本以夏洛剋?福爾摩斯為主角的推理小說。故事發生在1887年，講述瞭一個復雜的密謀，其中提到不列顛東印度公司的服役、印度民族起義、一個被竊的寶物以及由四位罪犯和兩位腐敗監獄看護所擬定的秘密協定。在這個故事中，華生醫生將來的妻子登場。

作者簡介

　　阿瑟·柯南·道爾（1859—1930），英國小說傢，因成功塑造偵探人物夏洛剋·福爾摩斯而成為偵探小說曆史上最重要的作傢之一。代錶作有《福爾摩斯探案集》（《血字的研究》、《四簽名》、《巴斯剋維爾的獵犬》等）。除此之外他還曾寫過《失落的世界》等多部其他類型的小說，其作品涉及科幻、懸疑、 曆史小說、愛情小說、戲劇、詩歌等。

目錄

Chapter I The Science of Deduction

Chapter II The Statement of the Case

Chapter III In Quest of a Solution

Chapter IV The Story of the Bald-Headed Man

Chapter V The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge

Chapter VI Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration

Chapter VII The Episode of the Barrel

Chapter VIII The Baker Street Irregulars

Chapter IX A Break in the Chain

Chapter X The End of the Islander

Chapter XI The Great Agra Treasure

Chapter XII The Strange Story of Jonathan Small

精彩書摘

　　Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece, and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist, all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvetlined armchair with a long sigh of satisfaction.

　　Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from day to day I had become more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled nightly within me at the thought that I had lacked the courage to protest. Again and again I had registered a vow that I should deliver my soul upon the subject; but there was that in the cool, nonchalant air of my companion which made him the last man with whom one would care to take anything approaching to a liberty.

　　His great powers, his masterly manner, and the experience which I had had of his many extraordinary qualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing him.

　　Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had taken with my lunch or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no longer.

　　“Which is it to-day?” I asked, “morphine or cocaine?”

　　He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he had opened. “It is cocaine,” he said, “a seven-per-cent solution. Would you care to try it?”

　　“No, indeed,” I answered brusquely. “My constitution has not got over the Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra strain upon it.”

　　He smiled at my vehemence. “Perhaps you are right, Watson,” he said. “I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it, however, so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind that its secondary action is a matter of small moment.”

　　“But consider!” I said earnestly. “Count the cost! Your brain may, as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid process which involves increased tissue-change and may at least leave a permanent weakness. You know, too, what a black reaction comes upon you. Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which you have been endowed? Remember that I speak not only as one comrade to another but as a medical man to one for whose constitution he is to some extent answerable.”

　　He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his finger-tips together, and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who has a relish for conversation.

　　“My mind,” he said, “rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own particular profession, or rather created it, for I am the only one in the world.”

　　“The only unofficial detective?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

　　“The only unofficial consulting detective,” he answered. “I am the last and highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson, or Lestrade, or Athelney Jones are out of their depths—which, by the way, is their normal state—the matter is laid before me. I examine the data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist’s opinion. I claim no credit in such cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The work itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers, is my highest reward. But you have yourself had some experience of my methods of work in the Jefferson Hope case.”

　　“Yes, indeed,” said I cordially. “I was never so struck by anything in my life. I even embodied it in a small brochure, with the somewhat fantastic title of ‘A Study in Scarlet.’”

　　He shook his head sadly.

　　“I glanced over it,” said he. “Honestly, I cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which produces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid.”

　　“But the romance was there,” I remonstrated. “I could not tamper with the facts.”

　　“Some facts should be suppressed, or, at least, a just sense of proportion should be observed in treating them. The only point in the case which deserved mention was the curious analytical reasoning from effects to causes, by which I succeeded in unravelling it.”

前言/序言

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