Знак четырех
VIII. The Baker Street Irregulars
Howcouldyoupossiblytellthatitwasthewooden-leggedmanwhocameinthenight?Idon’tquiteunderstandhowyoucanbesosure.”
“Hisvoice,sir.Iknewhisvoice,whichiskindo’thickandfoggy.Hetappedatthewinder,—aboutthreeitwouldbe.‘Showaleg,matey,’sayshe:‘timetoturnoutguard.’MyoldmanwokeupJim,—that’smyeldest,—andawaytheywent,withoutsomuchasawordtome.Icouldhearthewoodenlegclackin’onthestones.”
“Andwasthiswooden-leggedmanalone?”
“Couldn’tsay,Iamsure,sir.Ididn’thearnooneelse.”
“Iamsorry,Mrs.Smith,forIwantedasteamlaunch,andIhaveheardgoodreportsofthe—Letmesee,whatishername?”
“TheAurora,sir.”
“Ah!She’snotthatoldgreenlaunchwithayellowline,verybroadinthebeam?”
“No,indeed.She’sastrimalittlethingasanyontheriver.She’sbeenfreshpainted,blackwithtworedstreaks.”
“Thanks.IhopethatyouwillhearsoonfromMr.Smith.Iamgoingdowntheriver;andifIshouldseeanythingoftheAuroraIshalllethimknowthatyouareuneasy.Ablackfunnel,yousay?”
“No,sir.Blackwithawhiteband.”
“Ah,ofcourse.Itwasthesideswhichwereblack.Good-morning,Mrs.Smith.—Thereisaboatmanherewithawherry,Watson.Weshalltakeitandcrosstheriver.
“Themainthingwithpeopleofthatsort,”saidHolmes,aswesatinthesheetsofthewherry,“isnevertoletthemthinkthattheirinformationcanbeoftheslightestimportancetoyou.Ifyoudo,theywillinstantlyshutuplikeanoyster.
