Возвращение Шерлока Холмса
The Adventure of the Empty House
IknewnotwhatwildbeastwewereabouttohuntdowninthedarkjungleofcriminalLondon,butIwaswellassured,fromthebearingofthismasterhuntsman,thattheadventurewasamostgraveone—whilethesardonicsmilewhichoccasionallybrokethroughhisasceticgloombodedlittlegoodfortheobjectofourquest.
IhadimaginedthatwewereboundforBakerStreet,butHolmesstoppedthecabatthecornerofCavendishSquare.Iobservedthatashesteppedouthegaveamostsearchingglancetorightandleft,andateverysubsequentstreetcornerhetooktheutmostpainstoassurethathewasnotfollowed.Ourroutewascertainlyasingularone.Holmes’sknowledgeofthebywaysofLondonwasextraordinary,andonthisoccasionhepassedrapidlyandwithanassuredstepthroughanetworkofmewsandstables,theveryexistenceofwhichIhadneverknown.Weemergedatlastintoasmallroad,linedwithold,gloomyhouses,whichledusintoManchesterStreet,andsotoBlandfordStreet.Hereheturnedswiftlydownanarrowpassage,passedthroughawoodengateintoadesertedyard,andthenopenedwithakeythebackdoorofahouse.Weenteredtogether,andhecloseditbehindus.
Theplacewaspitchdark,butitwasevidenttomethatitwasanemptyhouse.Ourfeetcreakedandcrackledoverthebareplanking,andmyoutstretchedhandtouchedawallfromwhichthepaperwashanginginribbons.Holmes’scold,thinfingersclosedroundmywristandledmeforwarddownalonghall,untilIdimlysawthemurkyfanlightoverthedoor.
