Возвращение Шерлока Холмса
The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist
“Youwillexcuseme,Iamsure.Itismybusiness,”saidhe,ashedroppedit.“Inearlyfellintotheerrorofsupposingthatyouweretypewriting.Ofcourse,itisobviousthatitismusic.Youobservethespatulatefinger-ends,Watson,whichiscommontobothprofessions?Thereisaspiritualityabouttheface,however”—shegentlyturnedittowardsthelight—“whichthetypewriterdoesnotgenerate.Thisladyisamusician.”
“Yes,Mr.Holmes,Iteachmusic.”
“Inthecountry,Ipresume,fromyourcomplexion.”
“Yes,sir,nearFarnham,onthebordersofSurrey.”
“Abeautifulneighbourhood,andfullofthemostinterestingassociations.Youremember,Watson,thatitwasneartherethatwetookArchieStamford,theforger.Now,MissViolet,whathashappenedtoyou,nearFarnham,onthebordersofSurrey?”
Theyounglady,withgreatclearnessandcomposure,madethefollowingcuriousstatement:
“Myfatherisdead,Mr.Holmes.HewasJamesSmith,whoconductedtheorchestraattheoldImperialTheatre.MymotherandIwereleftwithoutarelationintheworldexceptoneuncle,RalphSmith,whowenttoAfricatwenty-fiveyearsago,andwehaveneverhadawordfromhimsince.Whenfatherdied,wewereleftverypoor,butonedayweweretoldthattherewasanadvertisementinTheTimes,inquiringforourwhereabouts.Youcanimaginehowexcitedwewere,forwethoughtthatsomeonehadleftusafortune.Wewentatoncetothelawyerwhosenamewasgiveninthepaper.Therewemettwogentlemen,Mr.CarruthersandMr.Woodley,whowerehomeonavisitfromSouthAfrica.
