Спогади Шерлока Холмса
The Stock-Broker’s Clerk
Thensuddenlycamealowguggling,garglingsound,andabriskdrumminguponwoodwork.Holmessprangfranticallyacrosstheroomandpushedatthedoor.Itwasfastenedontheinnerside.Followinghisexample,wethrewourselvesuponitwithallourweight.Onehingesnapped,thentheother,anddowncamethedoorwithacrash.Rushingoverit,wefoundourselvesintheinnerroom.Itwasempty.
Butitwasonlyforamomentthatwewereatfault.Atonecorner,thecornernearesttheroomwhichwehadleft,therewasaseconddoor.Holmessprangtoitandpulleditopen.Acoatandwaistcoatwerelyingonthefloor,andfromahookbehindthedoor,withhisownbracesroundhisneck,washangingthemanagingdirectoroftheFranco-MidlandHardwareCompany.Hiskneesweredrawnup,hisheadhungatadreadfulangletohisbody,andtheclatterofhisheelsagainstthedoormadethenoisewhichhadbrokeninuponourconversation.InaninstantIhadcaughthimroundthewaist,andheldhimupwhileHolmesandPycroftuntiedtheelasticbandswhichhaddisappearedbetweenthelividcreasesofskin.Thenwecarriedhimintotheotherroom,wherehelaywithaclay-colouredface,puffinghispurplelipsinandoutwitheverybreath—adreadfulwreckofallthathehadbeenbutfiveminutesbefore.
"Whatdoyouthinkofhim,Watson?"askedHolmes.
Istoopedoverhimandexaminedhim.
