Етюд у багряних тонах
Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
OntheverydaythatIhadcometothisconclusion,IwasstandingattheCriterionBar,whensomeonetappedmeontheshoulder,andturningroundIrecognizedyoungStamford,whohadbeenadresserundermeatBarts. ThesightofafriendlyfaceinthegreatwildernessofLondonisapleasantthingindeedtoalonelyman. InolddaysStamfordhadneverbeenaparticularcronyofmine,butnowIhailedhimwithenthusiasm,andhe,inhisturn,appearedtobedelightedtoseeme. Intheexuberanceofmyjoy,IaskedhimtolunchwithmeattheHolborn,andwestartedofftogetherinahansom.
“Whateverhaveyoubeendoingwithyourself,Watson?”heaskedinundisguisedwonder,aswerattledthroughthecrowdedLondonstreets. “Youareasthinasalathandasbrownasanut.”
Igavehimashortsketchofmyadventures,andhadhardlyconcludeditbythetimethatwereachedourdestination.
“Poordevil!”hesaid,commiseratingly,afterhehadlistenedtomymisfortunes. “Whatareyouuptonow?”
“Lookingforlodgings.”Ianswered. “Tryingtosolvetheproblemastowhetheritispossibletogetcomfortableroomsatareasonableprice.”
“That’sastrangething,”remarkedmycompanion;“youarethesecondmanto-daythathasusedthatexpressiontome.”
“Andwhowasthefirst?”Iasked.
“Afellowwhoisworkingatthechemicallaboratoryupatthehospital. Hewasbemoaninghimselfthismorningbecausehecouldnotgetsomeonetogohalveswithhiminsomeniceroomswhichhehadfound,andwhichweretoomuchforhispurse.”
