Етюд у багряних тонах
What John Rance had to tell.
Inthedingiestanddreariestofthemourdriversuddenlycametoastand. “That’sAudleyCourtinthere,”hesaid,pointingtoanarrowslitinthelineofdead-colouredbrick. “You’llfindmeherewhenyoucomeback.”
AudleyCourtwasnotanattractivelocality. Thenarrowpassageledusintoaquadranglepavedwithflagsandlinedbysordiddwellings. Wepickedourwayamonggroupsofdirtychildren,andthroughlinesofdiscolouredlinen,untilwecametoNumber46,thedoorofwhichwasdecoratedwithasmallslipofbrassonwhichthenameRancewasengraved. Onenquirywefoundthattheconstablewasinbed,andwewereshownintoalittlefrontparlourtoawaithiscoming.
Heappearedpresently,lookingalittleirritableatbeingdisturbedinhisslumbers. “Imademyreportattheoffice,”hesaid.
Holmestookahalf-sovereignfromhispocketandplayedwithitpensively. “Wethoughtthatweshouldliketohearitallfromyourownlips,”hesaid.
“IshallbemosthappytotellyouanythingIcan,”theconstableansweredwithhiseyesuponthelittlegoldendisk.
“Justletushearitallinyourownwayasitoccurred.”
Rancesatdownonthehorsehairsofa,andknittedhisbrowsasthoughdeterminednottoomitanythinginhisnarrative.
“I’lltellityefromthebeginning,”hesaid. “Mytimeisfromtenatnighttosixinthemorning. Ateleventherewasafightatthe‘WhiteHart’;butbarthatallwasquietenoughonthebeat.
