Знак четырех
V. The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge
Asetofstepsstoodatonesideoftheroom,inthemidstofalitteroflathandplaster,andabovethemtherewasanopeningintheceilinglargeenoughforamantopassthrough.Atthefootofthestepsalongcoilofropewasthrowncarelesslytogether.
Bythetable,inawoodenarm-chair,themasterofthehousewasseatedallinaheap,withhisheadsunkuponhisleftshoulder,andthatghastly,inscrutablesmileuponhisface.Hewasstiffandcold,andhadclearlybeendeadmanyhours.Itseemedtomethatnotonlyhisfeaturesbutallhislimbsweretwistedandturnedinthemostfantasticfashion.Byhishanduponthetabletherelayapeculiarinstrument,—abrown,close-grainedstick,withastoneheadlikeahammer,rudelylashedonwithcoarsetwine.Besideitwasatornsheetofnote-paperwithsomewordsscrawleduponit.Holmesglancedatit,andthenhandedittome.
“Yousee,”hesaid,withasignificantraisingoftheeyebrows.
InthelightofthelanternIread,withathrillofhorror,“Thesignofthefour.”
“InGod’sname,whatdoesitallmean?”Iasked.
“Itmeansmurder,”saidhe,stoopingoverthedeadman.“Ah,Iexpectedit.Lookhere!”Hepointedtowhatlookedlikealong,darkthornstuckintheskinjustabovetheear.
“Itlookslikeathorn,”saidI.
“Itisathorn.Youmaypickitout.Butbecareful,foritispoisoned.”
Itookitupbetweenmyfingerandthumb.Itcameawayfromtheskinsoreadilythathardlyanymarkwasleftbehind.Onetinyspeckofbloodshowedwherethepuncturehadbeen.
“Thisisallaninsolublemysterytome,”saidI
