Спогади Шерлока Холмса
The Final Problem
Thetorrent,swollenbythemeltingsnow,plungesintoatremendousabyss,fromwhichthesprayrollsuplikethesmokefromaburninghouse.Theshaftintowhichtheriverhurlsitselfisanimmensechasm,linedbyglisteningcoal-blackrock,andnarrowingintoacreaming,boilingpitofincalculabledepth,whichbrimsoverandshootsthestreamonwardoveritsjaggedlip.Thelongsweepofgreenwaterroaringforeverdown,andthethickflickeringcurtainofsprayhissingforeverupward,turnamangiddywiththeirconstantwhirlandclamour.Westoodneartheedgepeeringdownatthegleamofthebreakingwaterfarbelowusagainsttheblackrocks,andlisteningtothehalf-humanshoutwhichcameboomingupwiththesprayoutoftheabyss.
Thepathhasbeencuthalfwayroundthefalltoaffordacompleteview,butitendsabruptly,andthetravellerhastoreturnashecame.Wehadturnedtodoso,whenwesawaSwissladcomerunningalongitwithaletterinhishand.Itborethemarkofthehotelwhichwehadjustleftandwasaddressedtomebythelandlord.Itappearedthatwithinaveryfewminutesofourleaving,anEnglishladyhadarrivedwhowasinthelaststageofconsumption.ShehadwinteredatDavosPlatzandwasjourneyingnowtojoinherfriendsatLucerne,whenasuddenhemorrhagehadovertakenher.Itwasthoughtthatshecouldhardlyliveafewhours,butitwouldbeagreatconsolationtohertoseeanEnglishdoctor,and,ifIwouldonlyreturn,etc.
