Знак четырех
XII. The Strange Story of Jonathan Small
Nightafternightthewholeskywasalightwiththeburningbungalows,anddayafterdaywehadsmallcompaniesofEuropeanspassingthroughourestatewiththeirwivesandchildren,ontheirwaytoAgra,wherewerethenearesttroops.Mr.AbelWhitewasanobstinateman.Hehaditinhisheadthattheaffairhadbeenexaggerated,andthatitwouldblowoverassuddenlyasithadsprungup.Therehesatonhisveranda,drinkingwhiskey-pegsandsmokingcheroots,whilethecountrywasinablazeabouthim.Ofcoursewestuckbyhim,IandDawson,who,withhiswife,usedtodothebook-workandthemanaging.Well,onefinedaythecrashcame.Ihadbeenawayonadistantplantation,andwasridingslowlyhomeintheevening,whenmyeyefelluponsomethingallhuddledtogetheratthebottomofasteepnullah.Irodedowntoseewhatitwas,andthecoldstruckthroughmyheartwhenIfounditwasDawson’swife,allcutintoribbons,andhalfeatenbyjackalsandnativedogs.AlittlefurtheruptheroadDawsonhimselfwaslyingonhisface,quitedead,withanemptyrevolverinhishandandfourSepoyslyingacrosseachotherinfrontofhim.Ireinedupmyhorse,wonderingwhichwayIshouldturn,butatthatmomentIsawthicksmokecurlingupfromAbelWhite’sbungalowandtheflamesbeginningtoburstthroughtheroof.IknewthenthatIcoulddomyemployernogood,butwouldonlythrowmyownlifeawayifImeddledinthematter.FromwhereIstoodIcouldseehundredsoftheblackfiends,withtheirredcoatsstillontheirbacks,dancingandhowlingroundtheburninghouse.
