In late July in London, the River Thames had long since begun to exhale complex odors under the increasingly scorching sun, officially entering the "Great Stink" season.
Usually, gentlemen, aristocrats, and wealthy middle-class families had already begun to pack their bags and flee the city for their country villas or seaside resorts.
This year, however, an unusual sight emerged.
Some gentlemen who were originally supposed to depart for the countryside deliberately postponed their trips, or simply changed their plans.
"The breezes of Hampshire can wait, but Holmes's deductions cannot be missed," a banker told his wife.
Although the latter complained endlessly about London's stench, she was also intrigued by the story her husband described and tacitly approved the decision.
On the morning of the late July issue release date of "Good Words," long queues had already formed outside many major newsstands and bookstores in London.
The people in the queues were dressed variously: there were gentlemen in top hats carrying walking sticks; well-dressed clerks with eager expressions; and some young students with bloodshot eyes, who had clearly been up all night.
They conversed with each other, their topic, without exception, revolved around that name—Sherlock Holmes.
A middle-aged man dressed as a servant complained,
"Damn this weather! If it weren't for Mr. Holmes, I'd be enjoying the sea breeze in Sussex right now!"
Someone in front of him agreed,
"Indeed! My master originally planned to leave for Bath yesterday, but the thought of missing today's 'Good Words' made him unable to move, insisting I buy it before we go."
However, more people were guessing what surprise today's installment would bring them.
"Tell me, Jack, what amazing feat do you suppose Sherlock Holmes will perform today?"
"God only knows! In the last issue, he just glanced at the scene a few times and figured out so many clues; it was like he was a wizard!"
"He's no wizard; he uses 'deduction'! Observation, reasoning!"
"You talk as if you've already mastered 'deduction'!"
"I bet he'll definitely catch the fellow who left the word 'RACHE'..."
...
When the bookstore doors finally opened and the new issue of "Good Words" was brought out, a small commotion rippled through the crowd.
The magazine's cover immediately caught everyone's attention:
Sherlock Holmes was crouching on the ground, holding a magnifying glass, carefully examining a distinct muddy footprint; in the background was a hazy London streetscape, with the halo of a gas lamp illuminating the blurred shadow of a carriage.
"Give me a copy!"
"I want three! For my club friends!"
"Quick, quick, find out which page 'A Study in Scarlet' is on!"
The buying frenzy erupted almost instantly.
The magazines vanished from the newsstands at an astonishing rate, flowing into the eager hands of readers.
Soon, London's public reading rooms, gentlemen's club smoking rooms, and even the periodical sections of some large libraries were packed with readers.
At first, these places were filled only with the rustle of turning pages and subdued breathing.
But as the story progressed, exclamations of surprise occasionally rang out, along with "Aha!"s of sudden realization, and, of course, perplexed clicks of the tongue.
[Holmes ignored the corpse, pulled a tape measure and a large, round magnifying glass from his pocket, and began to search the room like a well-trained hound.
He paced silently around the room, sometimes stopping, sometimes kneeling, once even lying flat on the floor, meticulously examining the dust on the floor with his magnifying glass…
He used the tape measure to gauge the height of the blood-written word from the ground…
On one occasion, to my surprise, he carefully picked up a small pinch of curled, dark grey flakes from the corner of the fireplace with a pair of small tweezers, placed them in his palm, brought them to his nose to sniff, then took them to the light of the window for careful observation.
I leaned closer to look; these flaky ashes were very dark in color and had an undulating shape. …]
Some readers, upon reaching this point, couldn't help but mutter,
"What's so special about ashes? They're just ashes; even if there were words, you couldn't see them, could you?"
Other readers scoffed,
"You might not be able to see anything, but that's Sherlock Holmes; he must have some way!"
Other readers chimed in,
"Yes, Mr. Holmes must have a way!"
The readers who had started questioning immediately fell silent.
At this point, the proprietor of the public reading room also reminded them from the side,
"Hey, gentlemen, mind the time, there are still people waiting behind you!"
Those who had been discussing glanced at the dense crowd outside, immediately fell silent and resumed reading.
In the subsequent plot, Lionel showed readers almost all the traces Holmes discovered: footprints, puddles, wheel tracks, hoof prints, dust, as well as the gold watch, gold chain, gold ring engraved with a Freemason emblem, loose change in the victim's pocket, and a business card bearing the name "Enoch Drebber"...
Holmes, like a magician, continually extracted information from the corners where Lestrade had asserted "no clues whatsoever."
Finally, he stood before the blood-written "RACHE" and fell into brief contemplation.
Gregson and Lestrade eagerly put forward their conjectures about "Miss Rachel."
Readers also fell into contemplation; in the face of the massive amount of details, their poor brains were almost burnt out.
Everyone knew these traces held a secret, but all their thoughts quickly hit a dead end.
Various fragmentary conjectures were like shards of glass scattered everywhere; everyone knew that putting them together would restore the broken cup, but no one could accomplish this task.
At this point, the most astounding and tantalizing passage of the current installment appeared in the magazine:
[Holmes turned around and continued to the two detectives:
"This is a murder case. The murderer is a middle-aged man, slightly over six feet tall, but his feet are a bit small compared to his stature. He wears a pair of coarse square-toed boots, and smokes 'Trichinopoly' Indian cigars.
He and the victim arrived here in a four-wheeled cab. The cab was pulled by a horse; three of its shoes are old, but the shoe on its right foreleg is new.
Furthermore, the murderer most likely has a florid complexion and long fingernails on his right hand. That's all for now, but it might be of some help to you both."]
Readers, upon seeing this, just like the other characters in the novel—John Watson, Lestrade, and Gregson—slightly opened their mouths in astonishment.
They couldn't imagine how Holmes, from those scattered traces, had directly reconstructed the murderer's characteristics and his movements with the victim before death.
Only the height measurement could be vaguely guessed by some as being calculated from stride length or the height of the blood-written word from the ground, but the reasoning process for the other information was difficult to fathom.
Readers' eyes quickly reached the final part of this installment—
[Holmes strode out, leaving only one sentence:
"One more thing, gentlemen: in German, the word 'RACHE' means vengeance, so stop looking for 'Miss Rachel'; that is purely a waste of time!"
Having said these words, Holmes left the scene, leaving only the two dumbfounded detectives standing there. (This installment ends here. Please look forward to the next issue.)]
"Cut off like this again!"
Wails of lament echoed across the London sky.
(End of Chapter)