Этюд в багровых тонах
A Continuation of the Reminiscences of John Watson, M.D.
Iassentedgladly,andwealldescendedtogether. Ourprisonermadenoattemptatescape,butsteppedcalmlyintothecabwhichhadbeenhis,andwefollowedhim. Lestrademountedthebox,whippedupthehorse,andbroughtusinaveryshorttimetoourdestination. WewereusheredintoasmallchamberwhereapoliceInspectornoteddownourprisoner’snameandthenamesofthemenwithwhosemurderhehadbeencharged.Theofficialwasawhite-facedunemotionalman,whowentthroughhisdutiesinadullmechanicalway. “Theprisonerwillbeputbeforethemagistratesinthecourseoftheweek,”hesaid;“inthemeantime,Mr.JeffersonHope,haveyouanythingthatyouwishtosay? Imustwarnyouthatyourwordswillbetakendown,andmaybeusedagainstyou.”
“I’vegotagooddealtosay,”ourprisonersaidslowly. “Iwanttotellyougentlemenallaboutit.”
“Hadn’tyoubetterreservethatforyourtrial?”askedtheInspector.
“Imayneverbetried,”heanswered. “Youneedn’tlookstartled.Itisn’tsuicideIamthinkingof. AreyouaDoctor?”Heturnedhisfiercedarkeyesuponmeasheaskedthislastquestion.
“Yes;Iam,”Ianswered.
“Thenputyourhandhere,”hesaid,withasmile,motioningwithhismanacledwriststowardshischest.
Ididso;andbecameatonceconsciousofanextraordinarythrobbingandcommotionwhichwasgoingoninside. Thewallsofhischestseemedtothrillandquiverasafrailbuildingwoulddoinsidewhensomepowerfulenginewasatwork.
