空屋（8）

My observations of No. 427, Park Lane did little to clear up the problem in which I was interested. The house was separated from the street by a low wall and railing, the whole not more than five feet high. It was perfectly easy, therefore, for anyone to get into the garden, but the window was entirely inaccessible, since there was no water-pipe or anything which could help the most active man to climb it. More puzzled than ever I retraced my steps to Kensington. I had not been in my study five minutes when the maid entered to say that a person desired to see me. To my astonishment it was none other than my strange old book-collector, his sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame of white hair, and his precious volumes, a dozen of them at least, wedged under his right arm.

“You're surprised to see me, sir,” said he, in a strange, croaking voice.

I acknowledged that I was.

我多次观察公园路４２７号，但这对弄清楚我所关心的问题毫无作用。这所房子和大街只隔着一道半截是栅栏的矮墙，高不过五英尺，因此任何人想进花园都非常容易。但那扇窗户可完全够不着，因为墙外面没有水管或者别的东西可以帮助身一体轻巧的人爬上去。我比以前更加感到迷惑不解，只得折回肯辛顿。我在书房里呆了没到五分钟，女仆进来说有人要见我。叫我吃惊的是来者并非别人，就是那个古怪的旧书收藏家。灰白的须发中露出他那张轮廓分明而干瘦的脸，右臂下挟着他心一爱一的书，至少有十来本。

“您没想到是我吧，先生。"他的声音奇怪而嘶哑。

我承认没有想到是他。