Этюд в багровых тонах

A Continuation of the Reminiscences of John Watson, M.D.

           AsIdrove,IcouldseeoldJohnFerrierandsweetLucylookingatmeoutofthedarknessandsmilingatme,justasplainasIseeyouallinthisroom. Allthewaytheywereaheadofme,oneoneachsideofthehorseuntilIpulledupatthehouseintheBrixtonRoad. 

           “Therewasnotasoultobeseen,norasoundtobeheard,exceptthedrippingoftherain. WhenIlookedinatthewindow,IfoundDrebberallhuddledtogetherinadrunkensleep. Ishookhimbythearm, ‘It’stimetogetout,’Isaid. 

           “‘Allright,cabby,’saidhe. 

           “Isupposehethoughtwehadcometothehotelthathehadmentioned,forhegotoutwithoutanotherword,andfollowedmedownthegarden. Ihadtowalkbesidehimtokeephimsteady,forhewasstillalittletop-heavy. Whenwecametothedoor,Iopenedit,andledhimintothefrontroom. Igiveyoumywordthatalltheway,thefatherandthedaughterwerewalkinginfrontofus. 

           “‘It’sinfernallydark,’saidhe,stampingabout. 

           “‘We’llsoonhavealight,’Isaid,strikingamatchandputtingittoawaxcandlewhichIhadbroughtwithme. ‘Now,EnochDrebber,’Icontinued,turningtohim,andholdingthelighttomyownface,‘whoamI?’ 

           “Hegazedatmewithbleared,drunkeneyesforamoment,andthenIsawahorrorspringupinthem,andconvulsehiswholefeatures,whichshowedmethatheknewme. Hestaggeredbackwithalividface,andIsawtheperspirationbreakoutuponhisbrow,whilehisteethchatteredinhishead. 

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