Воспоминания Шерлока Холмса
The Final Problem
"
"Ofwhat?"
"Ofair-guns."
"MydearHolmes,whatdoyoumean?"
"Ithinkthatyouknowmewellenough,Watson,tounderstandthatIambynomeansanervousman.Atthesametime,itisstupidityratherthancouragetorefusetorecognizedangerwhenitiscloseuponyou.MightItroubleyouforamatch?"Hedrewinthesmokeofhiscigaretteasifthesoothinginfluencewasgratefultohim.
"Imustapologizeforcallingsolate,"saidhe,"andImustfurtherbegyoutobesounconventionalastoallowmetoleaveyourhousepresentlybyscramblingoveryourbackgardenwall."
"Butwhatdoesitallmean?"Iasked.
Heheldouthishand,andIsawinthelightofthelampthattwoofhisknuckleswereburstandbleeding.
"It’snotanairynothing,yousee,"saidhe,smiling."Onthecontrary,itissolidenoughforamantobreakhishandover.IsMrs.Watsonin?"
"Sheisawayuponavisit."
"Indeed!Youarealone?"
"Quite."
"ThenitmakesittheeasierformetoproposethatyoushouldcomeawaywithmeforaweektotheContinent."
"Where?"
"Oh,anywhere.It’sallthesametome."
Therewassomethingverystrangeinallthis.ItwasnotHolmes’snaturetotakeanaimlessholiday,andsomethingabouthispale,wornfacetoldmethathisnerveswereattheirhighesttension.
