马斯格雷夫礼典02（在线收听）

One winter's night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to  him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his common-place book, he  might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He  could not deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went  off to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box  behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a  stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a  third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages.

“There are cases enough here, Watson,” said he, looking at me with mischievous  eyes. “I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me to  pull some out instead of putting others in.”

“These are the records of your early work, then?” I asked. “I have often  wished that I had notes of those cases.”

“Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to  glorify me.” He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing sort of way.  “They are not all successes, Watson,” said he. “But there are some pretty  little problems among them. Here's the record of the Tarleton murders, and the  case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian woman,  and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of  Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable wife. And here—ah, now, this  really is something a little recherché.”

He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small wooden  box with a sliding lid, such as children's toys are kept in. From within he  produced a crumpled piece of paper, an old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood  with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal.

“Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?” he asked, smiling at my  expression.

“It is a curious collection.”

“Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more  curious still.”

“These relics have a history then?”

“So much so that they are history.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of the  table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam  of satisfaction in his eyes.

有一年冬季的夜晚，我们一起坐在炉旁，我冒然向他提出，等他把摘要抄进备忘录以后，用 两小时整理房间，搞得稍稍适于居住一些。他无法反驳我这正当的要求，面有愠色，走进寝 室，一会儿就返回，身后拖着一只铁皮大箱子。他把箱子放在地板当中，拿个小凳蹲坐大箱 子前面，打开箱盖。我见箱内已有三分之一装进了文件，都是用红带子绑成的小捆。

“华生，这里有很多案件，”福尔摩斯调皮地望着我说道，“我想，如果你知道我这箱子里 装的都是什么，那么你就会要我把已装进去的拿出来，而不要我把没有装的装进去了。”

“这么说，这都是你早期办案的记载了？”我问道，“我总想对这些案件做些札记呢。”

“是的，我的朋友，这都是在我没成名以前办的案子。”福尔摩斯轻轻而又一爱一惜地拿出 一捆捆的文件。“这些并不都是成功的记录，华生，”他说道，“可是其中也有许多很有趣 。这是塔尔顿凶杀案报告，这是范贝里酒商案，俄国老妇人历险案，还有铝制拐杖奇案以及 跛足的里科里特和他可恶妻子的案件。还有这一件，啊，这才真是一桩有点儿新奇的案件呢 。”

他把手伸进箱子，从箱底取出一个小木匣，匣盖可以活动，活象儿童玩具盒子。福尔摩斯从 匣内取出一张一揉一皱了的纸，一把老式铜钥匙，一只缠着线球的木钉和三个生锈的旧金属 圆板。

“喂，我的朋友，你猜这些东西是怎么回事？”福尔摩斯看到我脸上的表情，笑容满面地问 道。

“这简直是一些稀奇古怪的收藏品。”

“非常希奇古怪，而围绕它们发生的故事，更会使你感到惊奇不迭呢。”

“那么，这些遗物还有一段历史吗？”

“不仅有历史，而且它们本身就是历史啊。”

“这是什么意思呢？”

歇洛克-福尔摩斯把它们一件一件拿出来，沿桌边摆成一行，然后又坐到椅子上打量着这些 东西，两眼露出满意的神情。