Этюд в багровых тонах

Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

           “Youseemtobeawalkingcalendarofcrime,”saidStamfordwithalaugh. “Youmightstartapaperonthoselines. Callitthe‘PoliceNewsofthePast.’” 

           “Veryinterestingreadingitmightbemade,too,”remarkedSherlockHolmes,stickingasmallpieceofplasterovertheprickonhisfinger. “Ihavetobecareful,”hecontinued,turningtomewithasmile,“forIdabblewithpoisonsagooddeal.” Heheldouthishandashespoke,andInoticedthatitwasallmottledoverwithsimilarpiecesofplaster,anddiscolouredwithstrongacids. 

           “Wecamehereonbusiness,”saidStamford,sittingdownonahighthree-leggedstool,andpushinganotheroneinmydirectionwithhisfoot. “Myfriendherewantstotakediggings,andasyouwerecomplainingthatyoucouldgetnoonetogohalveswithyou,IthoughtthatIhadbetterbringyoutogether.” 

           SherlockHolmesseemeddelightedattheideaofsharinghisroomswithme. “IhavemyeyeonasuiteinBakerStreet,”hesaid,“whichwouldsuitusdowntotheground. Youdon’tmindthesmellofstrongtobacco,Ihope?” 

           “Ialwayssmoke‘ship’s’myself,”Ianswered. 

           “That’sgoodenough.Igenerallyhavechemicalsabout,andoccasionallydoexperiments.Wouldthatannoyyou?” 

           “Bynomeans.” 

           “Letmeseewhataremyothershortcomings. Igetinthedumpsattimes,anddon’topenmymouthfordaysonend. YoumustnotthinkIamsulkywhenIdothat. Justletmealone,andI’llsoonberight. 

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