《福尔摩斯探案全集之回忆录》是阿瑟·柯南·道尔于1894年出版的福尔摩斯系列小说中的第四本，收录《银班驹》《黄色脸孔》《最后一案》等12个短篇故事。福尔摩斯是一个充满智慧的侦探。他面对的案件疑云重重、扑朔迷离，但在逻辑推理下，最终都真相大白。作者讲述故事文笔简练，悬念精巧，引人入胜。

福尔摩斯探案全集之回忆录
福尔摩斯系列第四部
跌宕起伏 诡秘离奇

经典名作，长销不衰，受众极广
纯英文版，吸引英文爱好者
BBC剧集《神探夏洛克》美剧《基本演绎法》再次掀起福尔摩斯热潮

英文原版，经典呈现

文学经典读物、语言学习读本
读英文经典 品经典英文

“I am afraid, Watson, that I shallhave to go,” said Holmes as we sat down together to our breakfast one morning.

“Go! Where to?”

“ToDartmoor;to King’s Pyland.”

I was not surprised. Indeed, my onlywonder was that he had not already been mixed up in this extraordinary case,which was the one topic of conversation through the length and breadth ofEngland. For awhole day my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chestand his brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with the strongestblack tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks. Fresheditions of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only to be glancedover and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he was, I knew perfectlywell what it was over which he was brooding. There was but one problem beforethe public which could challenge his powers of analysis, and that was thesingular disappearance of the favourite for the Wessex Cup, and the tragicmurder of its trainer. When, therefore, he suddenly announced his intention ofsetting out for the scene of the drama, it was only what I had both expectedand hoped for.

“I should be most happy to go downwith you if I should not be in the way,” said I.

“My dear Watson, you would confer agreat favour upon me by coming. And I think that your time will not bemisspent, for there are points about the case which promise to make it anabsolutely unique one. We have, I think, just time to catch our train atPaddington, and I will go further into the matter upon our journey. You wouldoblige me by bringing with you your very excellent field-glass.”

And so it happened that an hour or solater I found myself in the corner of a first-class carriage flying along enroute for Exeter, while Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed inhis ear-flapped travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh paperswhich he had procured at Paddington. We had leftReadingfar behind us before he thrust thelast one of them under the seat and offered me his cigar-case.

“We are going well,” said he, lookingout of the window and glancing at his watch. “Our rate at present isfifty-three and a half miles an hour.”

“I have not observed the quarter-mileposts,” said I.

“Nor have I. But the telegraph postsupon this line are sixty yards apart, and the calculation is a simple one. Ipresume that you have looked into this matter of the murder of John Straker andthe disappearance of Silver Blaze?”

“I have seen what the Telegraph andthe Chronicle have to say.”

“It is one of those cases where theart of the reasoner should be used rather for the sifting of details than forthe acquiring of fresh evidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete,and of such personal importance to so many people that we are suffering from aplethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. The difficulty is to detachthe framework of fact—of absolute undeniable fact—from the embellishments oftheorists and reporters. Then, having established ourselves upon this soundbasis, it is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn and what are thespecial points upon which the whole mystery turns. On Tuesday evening Ireceived telegrams from both Colonel Ross, the owner of the horse, and fromInspector Gregory, who is looking after the case, inviting my coperation.”

“Tuesday evening!” I exclaimed. “Andthis is Thursday morning. Why didn’t you go down yesterday?”

“Because I made a blunder, my dearWatson—which is, I am afraid, a more common occurrence than anyone would thinkwho only knew me through your memoirs. The fact is that I could not believe itpossible that the most remarkable horse inEnglandcould long remain concealed, especially in so sparsely inhabited a place as thenorth ofDartmoor. From hour to hour yesterdayI expected to hear that he had been found, and that his abductor was themurderer of John Straker. When, however, another morning had come and I foundthat beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy Simpson nothing had been done, I feltthat it was time for me to take action. Yet in some ways I feel that yesterdayhas not been wasted.”

“You have formed a theory, then?”

“At least I have got a grip of theessential facts of the case. I shall enumerate them to you, for nothing clearsup a case so much as stating it to another person, and I can hardly expect yourcoperation if I do not show you the position from which we start.”

I lay back against the cushions,puffing at my cigar, while Holmes, leaning forward, with his long, thinforefinger checking off the points upon the palm of his left hand, gave me asketch of the events which had led to our journey.

“Silver Blaze,” said he, “is from theSomomy stock and holds as brilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is nowin his fifth year and has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf toColonel Ross, his fortunate owner. Up to the time of the catastrophe he was thefirst favourite for the Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him. Hehas always, however, been a prime favourite with the racing public and hasnever yet disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous sums of moneyhave been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, that there were many peoplewho had the strongest interest in preventing Silver Blaze from being there atthe fall of the flag next Tuesday.

“The fact was, of course, appreciatedat King’s Pyland, where the colonel’s training-stable is situated. Every precautionwas taken to guard the favourite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retiredjockey who rode in Colonel Ross’ colours before he became too heavy for theweighing-chair. He has served the colonel for five years as jockey and forseven as trainer, and has always shown himself to be a zealous and honestservant. Under him were three lads, for the establishment was a small one,containing only four horses in all. One of these lads sat up each night in thestable, while the others slept in the loft. All three bore excellentcharacters. John Straker, who is a married man, lived in a small villa abouttwo hundred yards from the stables. He has no children, keeps one maid-servant,and is comfortably off. The country round is very lonely, but about half a mileto the north there is a small cluster of villas which have been built by aTavistock contractor for the use of invalids and others who may wish to enjoythe pure Dartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies two miles to the west, whileacross the moor, also about two miles distant, is the larger trainingestablishment of Mapleton, which belongs to Lord Backwater and is managed bySilas Brown. In every other direction the moor is a complete wilderness,inhabited only by a few roaming gypsies. Such was the general situation lastMonday night when the catastrophe occurred.