Возвращение Шерлока Холмса
The Adventure of the Empty House
Soitwas,mydearWatson,thatattwoo’clockto-dayIfoundmyselfinmyoldarmchairinmyownoldroom,andonlywishingthatIcouldhaveseenmyoldfriendWatsonintheotherchairwhichhehassooftenadorned.”
SuchwastheremarkablenarrativetowhichIlistenedonthatAprilevening—anarrativewhichwouldhavebeenutterlyincredibletomehaditnotbeenconfirmedbytheactualsightofthetall,sparefigureandthekeen,eagerface,whichIhadneverthoughttoseeagain.Insomemannerhehadlearnedofmyownsadbereavement,andhissympathywasshowninhismannerratherthaninhiswords.“Workisthebestantidotetosorrow,mydearWatson,”saidhe;“andIhaveapieceofworkforusbothto-nightwhich,ifwecanbringittoasuccessfulconclusion,willinitselfjustifyaman’slifeonthisplanet.”InvainIbeggedhimtotellmemore.“Youwillhearandseeenoughbeforemorning,”heanswered.“Wehavethreeyearsofthepasttodiscuss.Letthatsufficeuntilhalf-pastnine,whenwestartuponthenotableadventureoftheemptyhouse.”
Itwasindeedlikeoldtimeswhen,atthathour,Ifoundmyselfseatedbesidehiminahansom,myrevolverinmypocket,andthethrillofadventureinmyheart.Holmeswascoldandsternandsilent.Asthegleamofthestreet-lampsflasheduponhisausterefeatures,Isawthathisbrowsweredrawndowninthoughtandhisthinlipscompressed.
