Этюд в багровых тонах
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Isawthecabpullup. Thedriverjumpeddown,andIsawhimopenthedoorandstandexpectantly.Nothingcameoutthough. WhenIreachedhimhewasgropingaboutfranticallyintheemptycab,andgivingventtothefinestassortedcollectionofoathsthateverIlistenedto. Therewasnosignortraceofhispassenger,andIfearitwillbesometimebeforehegetshisfare. OninquiringatNumber13wefoundthatthehousebelongedtoarespectablepaperhanger,namedKeswick,andthatnooneofthenameeitherofSawyerorDennishadeverbeenheardofthere.”
“Youdon’tmeantosay,”Icried,inamazement,“thatthattottering,feebleoldwomanwasabletogetoutofthecabwhileitwasinmotion,withouteitheryouorthedriverseeingher?”
“Oldwomanbedamned!”saidSherlockHolmes,sharply. “Weweretheoldwomentobesotakenin. Itmusthavebeenayoungman,andanactiveone,too,besidesbeinganincomparableactor. Theget-upwasinimitable. Hesawthathewasfollowed,nodoubt,andusedthismeansofgivingmetheslip. ItshowsthatthemanweareafterisnotaslonelyasIimaginedhewas,buthasfriendswhoarereadytorisksomethingforhim. Now,Doctor,youarelookingdone-up. Takemyadviceandturnin.”
Iwascertainlyfeelingveryweary,soIobeyedhisinjunction. IleftHolmesseatedinfrontofthesmoulderingfire,andlongintothewatchesofthenightIheardthelow,melancholywailingsofhisviolin,andknewthathewasstillponderingoverthestrangeproblemwhichhehadsethimselftounravel.
