Этюд в багровых тонах
A Continuation of the Reminiscences of John Watson, M.D.
AmongthemanybilletswhichIhavefilledinAmericaduringmywanderinglife,IwasoncejanitorandsweeperoutofthelaboratoryatYorkCollege. Onedaytheprofessorwaslecturingonpoisions,25andheshowedhisstudentssomealkaloid,ashecalledit,whichhehadextractedfromsomeSouthAmericanarrowpoison,andwhichwassopowerfulthattheleastgrainmeantinstantdeath. Ispottedthebottleinwhichthispreparationwaskept,andwhentheywereallgone,Ihelpedmyselftoalittleofit. Iwasafairlygooddispenser,soIworkedthisalkaloidintosmall,solublepills,andeachpillIputinaboxwithasimilarpillmadewithoutthepoison. IdeterminedatthetimethatwhenIhadmychance,mygentlemenshouldeachhaveadrawoutofoneoftheseboxes,whileIatethepillthatremained. Itwouldbequiteasdeadly,andagooddeallessnoisythanfiringacrossahandkerchief. FromthatdayIhadalwaysmypillboxesaboutwithme,andthetimehadnowcomewhenIwastousethem.
“Itwasneareronethantwelve,andawild,bleaknight,blowinghardandrainingintorrents. Dismalasitwasoutside,Iwasgladwithin—sogladthatIcouldhaveshoutedoutfrompureexultation. Ifanyofyougentlemenhaveeverpinedforathing,andlongedforitduringtwentylongyears,andthensuddenlyfounditwithinyourreach,youwouldunderstandmyfeelings. Ilitacigar,andpuffedatittosteadymynerves,butmyhandsweretrembling,andmytemplesthrobbingwithexcitement.
