The Sherlock Holmes Collection: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes; The Hound of the Baskervilles; The Return of Sherlock Holmes. Артур Конан Дойл

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СКАЧАТЬ counties in our short drive, starting in Middlesex, passing over an angle of Surrey, and ending in Kent. See that light among the trees? That is The Cedars, and beside that lamp sits a woman whose anxious ears have already, I have little doubt, caught the clink of our horse’s feet.”

      “But why are you not conducting the case from Baker Street?” I asked.

      “Because there are many inquiries which must be made out here. Mrs St Clair has most kindly put two rooms at my disposal, and you may rest assured that she will have nothing but a welcome for my friend and colleague. I hate to meet her, Watson, when I have no news of her husband. Here we are. Whoa, there, whoa!”

      We had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its own grounds. A stable-boy had run out to the horse’s head, and springing down I followed Holmes up the small, winding gravel drive which led to the house. As we approached, the door flew open, and a little blonde woman stood in the opening, clad in some sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy pink chiffon at her neck and wrists. She stood with her figure outlined against the flood of light, one hand upon the door, one half-raised in her eagerness, her body slightly bent, her head and face protruded, with eager eyes and parted lips, a standing question.

      “Well?” she cried, “well?” And then, seeing that there were two of us, she gave a cry of hope which sank into a groan as she saw that my companion shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

      “No good news?”

      “None.”

      “No bad?”

      “No.”

      “Thank God for that. But come in. You must be weary, for you have had a long day.”

      “This is my friend, Dr Watson. He has been of most vital use to me in several of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it possible for me to bring him out and associate him with this investigation.”

      “I am delighted to see you,” said she, pressing my hand warmly. “You will, I am sure, forgive anything that may be wanting in our arrangements, when you consider the blow which has come so suddenly upon us.”

      “My dear madam,” said I, “I am an old campaigner, and if I were not I can very well see that no apology is needed. If I can be of any assistance, either to you or my friend here, I shall be indeed happy.”

      “Now, Mr Sherlock Holmes,” said the lady as we entered a well-lit dining room, upon the table of which a cold supper had been laid out, “I should very much like to ask you one or two plain questions, to which I beg that you will give a plain answer.”

      “Certainly, madam.”

      “Do not trouble about my feelings. I am not hysterical, nor given to fainting. I simply wish to hear your real, real opinion.”

      “Upon what point?”

      “In your heart of hearts, do you think that Neville is alive?”

      Sherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question. “Frankly, now!” she repeated, standing upon the rug and looking keenly down at him as he leaned back in a basket chair.

      “Frankly, then, madam, I do not.”

      “You think that he is dead?”

      “I do.”

      “Murdered?”

      “I don’t say that. Perhaps.”

      “And on what day did he meet his death?”

      “On Monday.”

      “Then perhaps, Mr Holmes, you will be good enough to explain how it is that I have received a letter from him today.”

      Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been galvanized.

      “What!” he roared.

      “Yes, today.” She stood smiling, holding up a little slip of paper in the air.

      “May I see it?”

      “Certainly.”

      He snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out upon the table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. I had left my chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder. The envelope was a very coarse one and was stamped with the Gravesend postmark and with the date of that very day, or rather of the day before, for it was considerably after midnight.

      “Coarse writing,” murmured Holmes. “Surely this is not your husband’s writing, madam.”

      “No, but the enclosure is.”

      “I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go and inquire as to the address.”

      “How can you tell that?”

      “The name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has dried itself. The rest is of the greyish colour, which shows that blotting paper has been used. If it had been written straight off, and then blotted, none would be of a deep black shade. This man has written the name, and there has then been a pause before he wrote the address, which can only mean that he was not familiar with it. It is, of course, a trifle, but there is nothing so important as trifles. Let us now see the letter. Ha! there has been an enclosure here!”

      “Yes, there was a ring. His signet ring.”

      “And you are sure that this is your husband’s hand?”

      “One of his hands.”

      “One?”

      “His hand when he wrote hurriedly. It is very unlike his usual writing, and yet I know it well.

      “Dearest do not be frightened. All will come well. There is a huge error which it may take some little time to rectify. Wait in patience.

      Neville.”

      “Written in pencil upon the flyleaf of a book, octavo size, no watermark. Hum! Posted today in Gravesend by a man with a dirty thumb. Ha! And the flap has been gummed, if I am not very much in error, by a person who had been chewing tobacco. And you have no doubt that it is your husband’s hand, madam?”

      “None. Neville wrote those words.”

      “And they were posted today at Gravesend. Well, Mrs St Clair, the clouds lighten, though I should not venture to say that the danger is over.”

      “But he must be alive, Mr Holmes.”

      “Unless this is a clever forgery to put us on the wrong scent. The ring, after all, proves nothing. It may have been taken from him.”

      “No, no; it is, it is his very own writing!”

      “Very well. It may, however, have been written on Monday and only posted today.”

      “That is possible.”

      “If so, much may have happened between.”

      “Oh, СКАЧАТЬ