Mr. Sherlock Holmes and I have known each other for a long time, and our friendship is very close. However, I almost never heard him mention his relatives, and he rarely told me about his early life.

He is so taciturn, which makes me feel that he is indifferent to human nature. Sometimes I even think that he is a lonely weirdo, a person with a developed mind, superior intelligence, but low emotional intelligence. He does not like to be close to the opposite sex or make new friends.

They all show that he is not easily emotional. What is even more ruthless is that he never mentions his relatives. So I began to think that he should be an orphan. This person has no relatives in the world. But one day, I did not expect at all,

He actually told me about his brother.

One evening in the summer, after tea, we chatted endlessly about the vast sea and sky, about golf clubs, the reasons for the changes in the yellow and red angles, and finally came to the issue of atavism and genetic adaptability.

The main point of discussion is: how much of a person's extraordinary talent is genetic, and how much is the influence of his or her early training.

"As far as you are concerned..." I said, "From what you told me, it seems that your extraordinary observation ability and unique reasoning ability obviously depend on your own systematic training."

"That's true to a certain extent." Holmes said thoughtfully, "My ancestors were country squires. It seems that they enjoyed the lifestyle of that class. But in my blood, this habit of mine

It is inherent, and my grandmother probably has this kind of bloodline. Since she is the sister of the French artist Gilnet, this artistic component is in the blood and can easily have a peculiar genetic form."

"But how do you know it's hereditary?"

"Because Mycroft, oh, is my brother. He has mastered the art of reasoning far better than me."

For me, this is indeed news. If there is another person in the UK who also has such a strange talent, how come the police department and the public are completely unaware of him? I said it is because he is humble, so I feel that my brother is more powerful than me.

He is strong. This view of mine was laughed at by Holmes.

"Dear Watson," said Holmes, "I object to some people classifying humility as a virtue. For logicians, everything is what it is, and it is the same to underestimate or exaggerate one's talents. They are all contrary to the truth.

. Therefore, you should believe it to be true when I say that I am not as observant as Mycroft."

"How much older is your brother than you?"

"I am 7 years older."

"Why isn't he famous?"

"Oh, he is still very famous in his own circle."

"Where is that?"

Oh, like in the Diogenes Club.

I had never heard of this place, and the expression on my face must have betrayed it, so my friend Holmes took out his watch, looked at it, and said: "The strangest club in London is probably the Diogenes."

The club, and my brother Mycroft, is the most eccentric person. He usually stays there from 4:45 to 7:40 in the afternoon. It is already 6 o'clock, and if on this wonderful night,

If you are interested in going out for a walk, I would be happy to introduce these two 'eccentrics' to you."

After 5 minutes, we walked onto the street and walked directly to the Regens Circus.

"You must be wondering," said Holmes, "Why doesn't Mycroft do detective work if he has such a talent? In fact, he cannot be a detective."

"But I thought you were talking about..."

"I said that I am not as good as him in terms of observation and reasoning. If the art of detective is just sitting in an armchair and reasoning, then Mycroft must be the world's greatest detective. However, he is not only

He has no desire to do detective work and lacks the energy. Even if he wants to prove his own conclusions, he finds it too much trouble. He would rather be judged as wrong than spend the effort to prove that he is right. I often ask him for advice.

Some questions, some answers, turned out to be completely correct. But if he is asked to present conclusive evidence before a case is submitted to the judge or jury, then he is not competent."

"So, he no longer pursues a career as a detective?"

"Of course not. Detective business is just a purely amateur hobby for him. He is especially good at mathematics and often audits accounts in various government departments. Mycroft lives in Pall Mall, just around the corner from Whitehall.

.He walks to work every day, leaving early and coming back late, day after day, without participating in any activities and never walking around elsewhere. The only place he goes is the Diogenes Club, just opposite his residence."

"I can't remember a club with that name."

"You may well be unfamiliar with it. There are many shy people in London, and many cynical people who refuse the company of others, but they have no objection to sitting in a comfortable place and browsing the latest journals.

For this purpose, the Diogenes Club was born, which welcomed the most withdrawn and unsociable people in the city. Members were not allowed to talk to each other, except in the drawing room, and no conversation was allowed. If it was violated three times

, if the club committee notices it, the speaker will be expelled. Mycroft is one of the founders of the club, and I personally think the atmosphere in this club is quite pleasant."

We walked and talked, turned down James Street, and soon came to Pall Mall Street. My friend Holmes stopped at a door near Carlton Hall, told me not to speak, and led me into the hall. I

Through the glass on the door, I saw a spacious and luxurious room. Many people were sitting in it reading newspapers, each keeping a small space. I was led into a small room by Holmes. From here I could see Pall Mall, and then

After leaving for a few minutes, he brought back a person. I knew this was his brother Mycroft.

Mycroft Holmes is much taller and stockier than his younger brother. He is very fat and has a broad face, but his broad face can still reveal his younger brother's unique chiseled look. His light gray eyes are watery.

He was very expressive, as if he was deep in thought at all times, an expression I have only ever noticed in Sherlock Holmes when he was concentrating.

"I'm glad to see you, sir!" he said, holding out a hand as wide and fat as a seal's paw: "Sherlock became famous because of your biography. Sherlock, by the way.

, I thought you would come to me to discuss the manor house case last week! I thought you might be in a bit of trouble!"

"No, it has been solved by me." Sherlock Holmes said with a smile.

"Of course, Adams did it."

"That's right, it's exactly what Adams did."

"I have firmly believed this from the beginning." The two sat down together by the bay window of the club. "If one is going to study humans, this is the most ideal place." Mycroft said, "Look,

Take these two people who came to us as an example, what an ideal model they are!"

"Are you talking about the pinball scorer and the guy next to him?"

"Exactly, what do you think of that person?"

At this time, the two men stopped on the opposite side of the window. I could see that one of them had chalk marks on his vest pocket, which was the sign of billiards. The other man was small and thin, with dark skin and a hat.

On the back of the head, there were multiple small bags under the arms.

"I think he is a veteran," said Sherlock.

"And he has just been discharged from the army." His brother Mycroft said.

"I think he served in India."

"He's a sergeant."

"I think they belong to the Royal Artillery," Sherlock said.

"He is a widower."

"But there is a child."

"Oh, there should be more than one child, brother, there can be more than one child."

"Forget it!" I said with a chuckle, "For me, this is a bit too mysterious."

"That's for sure." Sherlock replied, "He has the majestic look of a soldier and his weathered skin. You can tell at a glance that he is a soldier, and not an ordinary soldier. He has just returned from India.

Long time.”

"He is newly discharged from the army, and you can tell from the so-called artillery boots he is still wearing," Mycroft said.

"Judging from the way he walks, he doesn't look like a cavalryman, but he wears his hat crookedly, which can be seen from the lighter skin on one side of his eyebrows; judging from his weight, he does not meet the requirements of an engineer, so he is said to be

Should be an artilleryman."

"Also, the look of deep sadness on his face clearly shows that he has lost someone dearest to him. Judging from the fact that he is out shopping alone, it seems that the person who has lost is his wife. You see, he is giving

The children bought items, including a rattle, which meant that they had a very young child, and his wife probably died after childbirth. Look, he also had a little book under his arm, which meant that he was still thinking about another child.

"

Only then did I finally understand why Sherlock Holmes said that his brother's observation skills were sharper than his own. Sherlock glanced at me and smiled slightly. Mycroft took out snuff from a tortoiseshell box and used a piece of snuff.

A big red silk scarf was used to wipe away the cigarette dust that fell on the body.

"Sherlock, by the way," Mycroft said, "I have something that pleases you, an extraordinary problem. I am analyzing and deducing it. But if I can solve it perfectly, I will

I do not have enough energy, but it is a good time for me to start reasoning. If you are willing to listen to the situation..."

"My dear brother, I am more than happy to do so."

So, Mycroft tore off a page from his notebook, quickly wrote a few words, rang the bell, and handed the paper to the waiter.

"I have asked Mr. Melas to come here." Mycroft said: "He lives above me. I have had a little more contact with him. Whenever he encounters any difficult problem, he will

will come to me. According to my understanding, Mr. Melas is of Greek origin, fluent in many languages, and the way he makes a living, besides being an interpreter in the court, is to serve the wealthy people who live in the Northumberland Street Hotel.

The Oriental serves as a guide. I think it is best for him to tell you his strange experiences!"

A few minutes later, a man came in. He was short, fat and stocky, with an olive face and dark hair. This showed that he was from the south, but when he spoke, he sounded like an educated British man.

He shook hands with Sherlock Holmes enthusiastically, and his bright black eyes shone with joy when he learned that the expert was willing to hear about his strange experiences.

"I'm afraid the police won't believe what I'm telling you," he said sadly, "because they have never heard of such a thing before, but I understand that I can only figure out the poor man with the adhesive plaster on his face.

Only with the final result can my heart truly relax."

"I will listen attentively," said Sherlock Holmes.

"It's Wednesday night," said Mr. Melas. Well, that happened on Monday night, two days ago. I'm a translator myself, and my neighbors may have told you,

I can translate into any language, or almost any language, but I was born in Greece and have a Greek name, so I translate mainly into Greek. For many years I was one of the leading Greek translators in London.

Everyone in the hotel knows my name.

It was not uncommon for foreigners to ask me to be their translator at an emergency or when tourists were late. So on Monday night, Mr. Latimer, a fashionably dressed young man, came to
To be continued...