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Arthur Conan Doyle
The Man With The Twisted Lip
Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principal of the Theological College of St. George's, was much addicted to opium. The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some foolish freak when he was at college; for having read De Quincey's description of his dreams and sensations, he had drenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt to produce the same effects. He found, as so many more have done, that the practice is easier to attain than to get rid of, and for many years he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of mingled horror and pity to his friends and relatives. I can see him now, with yellow, pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-point pupils, all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a noble man.

One night -- it was in June, '89 -- there came a ring to my bell, about the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the clock. I sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work down in her lap and made a little face of disappointment.

"A patient!" said she. "You'll have to go out."

I groaned, for I was newly come back from a weary day.

We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps upon the linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in some dark-colored stuff, with a black veil, entered the room.

"You will excuse my calling so late," she began, and then, suddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms about my wife's neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. "Oh, I'm in such trouble!" she cried; "I do so want a little help."

"Why," said my wife, pulling up her veil, "it is Kate Whitney. How you startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when you came in."

"I didn't know what to do, so l came straight to you." That was always the way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds to a light-house.

< 2 >
"It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wine and water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or should you rather that I sent James off to bed?"

"Oh, no, no! I want the doctor's advice and help, too. It's about Isa. He has not been home for two days. I am so frightened about him!"

It was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her husband's trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend and school companion. We soothed and comforted her by such words as we could find. Did she know where her husband was? Was it possible that we could bring him back to her?

It seems that it was. She had the surest information that of late he had, when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den in the farthest east of the City. Hitherto his orgies had always been confined to one day, and he had come back, twitching and shattered, in the evening. But now the spell had been upon him eight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the dregs of the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off the effects. There he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the Bar of Gold, in Upper Swandam Lane. But what was she to do? How could she, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a place and pluck her husband out from among the ruffians who surrounded him?

There was the case, and of course there was but one way out of it. Might I not escort her to this place? And then, as a second thought, why should she come at all? I was Isa Whitney's medical adviser, and as such I had influence over him. I could manage it better if I were alone. I promised her on my word that I would send him home in a cab within two hours if he were indeed at the address which she had given me. And so in ten minutes I had left my armchair and cheery sitting-room behind me, and was speeding eastward in a hansom on a strange errand, as it seemed to me at the time, though the future only could show how strange it was to be.

< 3 >
But there was no great difficulty in the first stage of my adventure. Upper Swandam Lane is a vile alley lurking behind the high wharves which line the north side of the river to the east of London Bridge. Between a slop-shop and a gin-shop, approached by a steep flight of steps leading down to a black gap like the mouth of a cave, I found the den of which I was in search. Ordering my cab to wait, I passed down the steps, worn hollow in the centre by the ceaseless tread of drunken feet; and by the light of a flickering oil-lamp above the door I found the latch and made my way into a long, low room, thick and heavy with the brown opium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths, like the forecastle of an emigrant ship.

Through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying in strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a dark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black shadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright, now faint, as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of the metal pipes. The most lay silent, but some muttered to themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low, monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then suddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts and paying little heed to the words of his neighbor. At the farther end was a small brazier of burning charcoal, beside which on a three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin old man, with his jaw resting upon his two fists, and his elbows upon his knees, staring into the fire.

As I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe for me and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth.

"Thank you. I have not come to stay," said I. "There is a friend of mine here, Mr. Isa Whitney, and I wish to speak with him."

< 4 >
There was a movement and an exclamation from my right, and peering through the gloom I saw Whitney, pale, haggard, and unkempt, staring out at me.

"My God! It's Watson," said he. He was in a pitiable state of reaction, with every nerve in a twitter. "I say, Watson, what o'clock is it?"

"Nearly eleven."

"Of what day?"

"Of Friday, June 19th."

"Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. What d'you want to frighten the chap for?" He sank his face onto his arms and began to sob in a high treble key.

"I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waiting this two days for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"So I am. But you've got mixed, Watson, for I have only been here a few hours, three pipes, four pipes -- I forget how many. But I'll go home with you. I wouldn't frighten Kate -- poor little Kate. Give me your hand! Have you a cab?"

"Yes, I have one waiting."

"Then I shall go in it. But I must owe something. Find what I owe, Watson. I am all off color. I can do nothing for myself."

I walked down the narrow passage between the double row of sleepers, holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying fumes of the drug, and looking about for the manager. As I passed the tall man who sat by the brazier I felt a sudden pluck at my skirt, and a low voice whispered, "Walk past me, and then look back at me." The words fell quite distinctly upon my ear. I glanced down. They could only have come from the old man at my side, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very wrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from between his knees, as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his fingers. I took two steps forward and looked back. It took all my self-control to prevent me from breaking out into a cry of astonishment. He had turned his back so that none could see him but I. His form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull eyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting by the fire and grinning at my surprise, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He made a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he turned his face half round to the company once more, subsided into a doddering, loose-lipped senility.

< 5 >
"Holmes!" I whispered, "what on earth are you doing in this den?"

"As low as you can," he answered; "I have excellent ears. If you would have the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend of yours I should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with you."

"I have a cab outside."

"Then pray send him home in it. You may safely trust him, for he appears to be too limp to get into any mischief. I should recommend you also to send a note by the cabman to your wife to say that you have thrown in your lot with me. If you will wait outside, I shall be with you in five minutes."

It was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock Holmes's requests, for they were always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with such a quiet air of mastery. I felt, however, that when Whitney was once confined in the cab my mission was practically accomplished; and for the rest, I could not wish anything better than to be associated with my friend in one of those singular adventures which were the normal condition of his existence. In a few minutes I had written my note, paid Whitney's bill, led him out to the cab, and seen him driven through the darkness. In a very short time a decrepit figure had emerged from the opium den, and I was walking down the street with Sherlock Holmes. For two streets he shuffled along with a bent back and an uncertain foot. Then, glancing quickly round, he straightened himself out and burst into a hearty fit of laughter.

"I suppose, Watson," said he, "that you imagine that I have added opium-smoking to cocaine injections, and all the other l

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ภาคตะวันออกของ Webshort เรื่องราวเกมคำโต้ตอบสั้นของ StoriesChildren StoriesCrime สั้นสั้นสั้น StoriesFiction StoriesHorror สั้นสั้น StoriesHumor StoriesNonfiction สั้นสั้น StoriesRomance StoriesScience นิยายสั้น StoriesSearchArthur โคนันดอยล์คนที่ มี Lip บิดวิทนีย์ Isa พี่ชายของวิทนีย์เอเลีย D.D. สายหลักของการศาสนศาสตร์วิทยาลัยของเซนต์จอร์จของ ถูกมากติดฝิ่น นิสัยขึ้นมาจากเขา ฉันเข้าใจ จากบางประหลาดโง่เมื่อเขามาที่วิทยาลัย สำหรับมีอ่านอธิบาย De Quincey สววรค์และความฝันของเขา เขามีขาวยาสูบของเขากับ laudanum ในความพยายามที่จะสร้างลักษณะพิเศษเดียวกัน เขาพบ เป็นจำนวนมากเพิ่มเติมทำ ที่ปฏิบัติได้ง่ายขึ้นกว่าการกำจัดของ และหลายปีที่เขายังคงเป็นทาสยาเสพติด วัตถุของการบรรลุเข้าน่ากลัวและสงสารเพื่อนและญาติของเขา ฉันสามารถดูเขาตอนนี้ สีเหลือง ลักษณะหน้า ฝา drooping และชี้นักเรียน ต้องกับ พินาศ และทำลายมนุษย์โนเบิลทั้งหมด คืนหนึ่ง -ก็ในมิถุนายน, ' 89 - มาแหวนกับเบลล์ของฉัน เกี่ยวกับชั่วโมงเมื่อมนุษย์ให้นายของเขาครั้งแรก และสายตาที่นาฬิกามี ฉันนั่งในเก้าอี้ของฉัน และภรรยาวางเข็มของเธอทำงานในตักของเธอ และทำหน้าผิดหวังเล็กน้อย "ผู้ป่วย" กล่าวว่า เธอ "คุณจะได้ออกไป" ฉัน groaned สำหรับผมเพิ่งกลับมาจากวันเหนื่อยล้า We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps upon the linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in some dark-colored stuff, with a black veil, entered the room. "You will excuse my calling so late," she began, and then, suddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms about my wife's neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. "Oh, I'm in such trouble!" she cried; "I do so want a little help." "Why," said my wife, pulling up her veil, "it is Kate Whitney. How you startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when you came in." "I didn't know what to do, so l came straight to you." That was always the way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds to a light-house.< 2 > "It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wine and water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or should you rather that I sent James off to bed?" "Oh, no, no! I want the doctor's advice and help, too. It's about Isa. He has not been home for two days. I am so frightened about him!" It was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her husband's trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend and school companion. We soothed and comforted her by such words as we could find. Did she know where her husband was? Was it possible that we could bring him back to her? ดูเหมือนว่า เป็น เธอมีข้อมูลแน่นอนที่สุดที่ปลายของเขา เมื่อพอดีอยู่บนเขา ทำการใช้เดนมีฝิ่นในทางตะวันออกจากการเมืองมากที่สุด มาจนบัด orgies ของเขาได้เสมอถูกจำกัดไปหนึ่งวัน และเขาได้กลับมา twitching และ มลาย ในตอนเย็น แต่ตอนนี้มีการสะกด ถูกพระองค์ แปดสี่สิบชั่วโมง และเขาวาง อย่างไม่ต้องสงสัยระหว่าง dregs ของท่า หายใจในยาพิษ หรือนอนปิดผล เขามีให้แก่ เธอแน่ใจว่าของมัน ที่บาร์ของทอง ในเลน Swandam บน แต่สิ่งเธอจะทำอย่างไร วิธีใดเธอ หญิงสาว และเป็นพิเศษ จึงอาจทำให้ทางของเธอในสถาน และดึงสามีออกจาก ruffians ที่ล้อมรอบเขาหรือไม่ มีกรณี และแน่นอนมีแต่ทางหนึ่งก็ อาจฉันไม่ส่งเธอนี้ แล้ว เป็นความคิดที่สอง ทำไมควรเธอมาตลอด ผมปรึกษาแพทย์ Isa วิทนีย์ และเป็นเช่นผมมีอิทธิพลเหนือเขา ฉันสามารถจัดการดีกว่าถ้าฉันเป็นคนเดียวกัน ฉันสัญญาว่า เธอในคำของฉันที่จะส่งเขาบ้านในห้องภายใน 2 ชั่วโมงถ้าเขาแน่นอนที่อยู่ที่เธอมีให้ฉัน และดังนั้นใน 10 นาที ผมได้ทิ้งเก้าอี้และห้องพักนั่งเล่นร่าเริงข้างหลังของฉัน และถูกเพิ่มออกในแบบ hansom ในธุระแปลก เป็นเหมือนกับฉันในเวลา แม้ว่าอนาคตอาจแสดงเฉพาะวิธีแปลกก็จะ< 3 > แต่มีปัญหาไม่มากในระยะแรกของการผจญภัยของฉัน Swandam บนเลนเป็นทางชั่วที่ซุ่มซ่อนอยู่เบื้องหลัง wharves สูงซึ่งเส้นทางด้านเหนือของแม่น้ำฝั่งตะวันออกของสะพานลอนดอน ระหว่าง slop-ร้านกินร้าน ประดับ โดยเที่ยวบินที่สูงชันของบันไดลงไปที่ช่องว่างสีดำเช่นปากถ้ำ พบเดนของผมในการค้นหา สั่งซื้อของฉันให้แท็กซี่รอ ผมผ่านบันได สวมใส่กลวงในโดยตีนตะขาบไม่ขาดระยะของเท้าขี้เมา และ ด้วยไฟของน้ำมันไฟกะพริบที่ข้างประตูที่ผมพบสลัก และทำวิธีของฉันเป็นห้องยาว ต่ำ หนา และหนัก ด้วยควันฝิ่นสีน้ำตาล และตาม ด้วยท่าไม้ เช่น forecastle เป็นเรือ emigrant Through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying in strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a dark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black shadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright, now faint, as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of the metal pipes. The most lay silent, but some muttered to themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low, monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then suddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts and paying little heed to the words of his neighbor. At the farther end was a small brazier of burning charcoal, beside which on a three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin old man, with his jaw resting upon his two fists, and his elbows upon his knees, staring into the fire. As I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe for me and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth. "Thank you. I have not come to stay," said I. "There is a friend of mine here, Mr. Isa Whitney, and I wish to speak with him."< 4 > There was a movement and an exclamation from my right, and peering through the gloom I saw Whitney, pale, haggard, and unkempt, staring out at me. "My God! It's Watson," said he. He was in a pitiable state of reaction, with every nerve in a twitter. "I say, Watson, what o'clock is it?" "Nearly eleven." "Of what day?" "Of Friday, June 19th." "Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. What d'you want to frighten the chap for?" He sank his face onto his arms and began to sob in a high treble key. "I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waiting this two days for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!" "So I am. But you've got mixed, Watson, for I have only been here a few hours, three pipes, four pipes -- I forget how many. But I'll go home with you. I wouldn't frighten Kate -- poor little Kate. Give me your hand! Have you a cab?" "Yes, I have one waiting." "Then I shall go in it. But I must owe something. Find what I owe, Watson. I am all off color. I can do nothing for myself." I walked down the narrow passage between the double row of sleepers, holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying fumes of the drug, and looking about for the manager. As I passed the tall man who sat by the brazier I felt a sudden pluck at my skirt, and a low voice whispered, "Walk past me, and then look back at me." The words fell quite distinctly upon my ear. I glanced down. They could only have come from the old man at my side, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very wrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from between his knees, as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his fingers. I took two steps forward and looked back. It took all my self-control to prevent me from breaking out into a cry of astonishment. He had turned his back so that none could see him but I. His form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull eyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting by the fire and grinning at my surprise, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He made a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he turned his face half round to the company once more, subsided into a doddering, loose-lipped senility.< 5 > "Holmes!" I whispered, "what on earth are you doing in this den?" "As low as you can," he answered; "I have excellent ears. If you would have the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend of yours I should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with you." "I have a cab outside." "Then pray send him home in it. You may safely trust him, for he appears to be too limp to get into any mischief. I should recommend you also to send a note by the cabman to your wife to say that you have thrown in your lot with me. If you will wait outside, I shall be with you in five minutes." It was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock Holmes's requests, for they were always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with such a quiet air of mastery. I felt, however, that when Whitney was once confined in the cab my mission was practically accomplished; and for the rest, I could not wish anything better than to be associated with my friend in one of those singular adventures which were the normal condition of his existence. In a few minutes I had written my note, paid Whitney's bill, led him out to the cab, and seen him driven through the darkness. In a very short time a decrepit figure had emerged from the opium den, and I was walking down the street with Sherlock Holmes. For two streets he shuffled along with a bent back and an uncertain foot. Then, glancing quickly round, he straightened himself out and burst into a hearty fit of laughter. "I suppose, Watson," said he, "that you imagine that I have added opium-smoking to cocaine injections, and all the other l

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อาร์เธอร์โคนันดอยล์
ชายปากบิด
ISA วิทนีย์ พี่ชายของปลายเลียส วิทนีย์ d.d. อาจารย์ใหญ่ของวิทยาลัยเซนต์จอร์จ ถูกมากติดฝิ่น นิสัยที่เติบโตขึ้นเขา ตามที่ผมเข้าใจจากบางคนโง่ประหลาดเมื่อเขาอยู่ในวิทยาลัย มีให้อ่าน de Quincey รายละเอียดในฝันของเขาและความรู้สึก เขาก็เปียกด้วยสารละลายของฝิ่นผสมแอลกอฮอล์ยาสูบของเขาในความพยายามที่จะผลิตผลเดียวกัน เขาพบ เป็นมากขึ้นได้สำเร็จ การปฏิบัติเป็นเรื่องง่ายที่จะบรรลุกว่าได้แมะและหลายปีเขายังคงเป็นทาสยาเสพติด วัตถุระคนสยองขวัญและสงสารเพื่อนและญาติ ผมเห็นเขาในตอนนี้ กับสีเหลือง ใบหน้าซีดขาว ห้อยลงมาที่ฝา และขาชี้นักเรียนทั้งหมด huddled ในเก้าอี้ การก่อวินาศกรรมและทำลายของชนชั้นสูง .

-- มันเป็นคืนหนึ่งในเดือนมิถุนายน ปี 89 -- มีแหวนระฆังของฉันเกี่ยวกับเวลาที่ผู้ชายให้หาวครั้งแรกของเขาและมองนาฬิกา ฉันนั่งอยู่ในเก้าอี้ของฉันและภรรยาของฉันวางเข็มงานของเธอลงในตักของเธอและทำหน้าผิดหวังเล็กน้อย

" คนไข้ " " เธอกล่าว คุณจะต้องออกไป "

ผมคราง ผมเพิ่งกลับมาจากวันเหนื่อย

เราได้ยินเสียงประตูเปิด หรือรีบน้อยและจากนั้นขั้นตอนที่รวดเร็วบนเสื่อน้ำมันประตูเปิดออก ของเราเอง และผู้หญิงในบางเรื่อง ห่มสีเข้มกับผ้าคลุมดำ เข้าห้อง

" คุณจะโทษผมโทรมาช้า " เธอเริ่มต้น และจากนั้น ก็สูญเสียการควบคุมตนเองของเธอ เธอวิ่งหนีไปข้างหน้า เหวี่ยงแขนกับคอของภรรยาผม แล้วร้องไห้ , เมื่อไหล่ของเธอ " . โอ้ ฉันกำลังมีปัญหา ! เธอร้องไห้ " ฉันจึงต้องการความช่วยเหลือเล็ก ๆน้อย ๆ "

" ทำไม " ภรรยาดึงผ้าคลุมหน้าของเธอ" มันคือ เคท วิทนีย์ วิธีที่คุณทำให้ฉันตกใจนะ เคท ผมไม่ได้มีความคิดที่คุณมีเมื่อคุณเข้ามา "

" ไม่รู้จะทำอะไร เลยมาส่งตรงถึงคุณ . " นั่นคือวิธีที่ ชาวบ้านที่อยู่ในความเศร้าโศกมาเมียเหมือนนกบ้านแสง

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" มันหวานมากที่คุณมา ตอนนี้ คุณต้องดื่มน้ำ และนั่งสบายๆ และบอกเราเกี่ยวกับมัน