Этюд в багровых тонах

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           “Andyournameis?” 

           “MynameisSawyerher’sisDennis,whichTomDennismarriedherandasmart,cleanlad,too,aslongashe’satsea,andnostewardinthecompanymorethoughtof;butwhenonshore,whatwiththewomenandwhatwithliquorshops 

           “Hereisyourring,Mrs.Sawyer,”Iinterrupted,inobediencetoasignfrommycompanion; “itclearlybelongstoyourdaughter,andIamgladtobeabletorestoreittotherightfulowner.” 

           Withmanymumbledblessingsandprotestationsofgratitudetheoldcronepackeditawayinherpocket,andshuffledoffdownthestairs. SherlockHolmessprangtohisfeetthemomentthatshewasgoneandrushedintohisroom. Hereturnedinafewsecondsenvelopedinanulsterandacravat. “I’llfollowher,”hesaid,hurriedly; “shemustbeanaccomplice,andwillleadmetohim. Waitupforme.” ThehalldoorhadhardlyslammedbehindourvisitorbeforeHolmeshaddescendedthestair. LookingthroughthewindowIcouldseeherwalkingfeeblyalongtheotherside,whileherpursuerdoggedhersomelittledistancebehind. “Eitherhiswholetheoryisincorrect,”Ithoughttomyself,“orelsehewillbelednowtotheheartofthemystery.” Therewasnoneedforhimtoaskmetowaitupforhim,forIfeltthatsleepwasimpossibleuntilIheardtheresultofhisadventure. 

           Itwascloseuponninewhenhesetout. Ihadnoideahowlonghemightbe,butIsatstolidlypuffingatmypipeandskippingoverthepagesofHenriMurger’s“ViedeBohème.” 

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