Етюд у багряних тонах
Our Advertisement brings a Visitor.
Iglancedatmycompanion,andhisfacehadassumedsuchadisconsolateexpressionthatitwasallIcoulddotokeepmycountenance.
Theoldcronedrewoutaneveningpaper,andpointedatouradvertisement. “It’sthisashasbroughtme,goodgentlemen,”shesaid,droppinganothercurtsey; “agoldweddingringintheBrixtonRoad. ItbelongstomygirlSally,aswasmarriedonlythistimetwelvemonth,whichherhusbandisstewardaboardaUnionboat,andwhathe’dsayifhecome‘omeandfoundherwithoutherringismorethanIcanthink,hebeingshortenoughatthebesto’times,butmoreespeciallywhenhehasthedrink. Ifitpleaseyou,shewenttothecircuslastnightalongwith——”
“Isthatherring?”Iasked.
“TheLordbethanked!”criedtheoldwoman; “Sallywillbeagladwomanthisnight. That’sthering.”
“Andwhatmayyouraddressbe?”Iinquired,takingupapencil.
“13,DuncanStreet,Houndsditch. Awearywayfromhere.”
“TheBrixtonRoaddoesnotliebetweenanycircusandHoundsditch,”saidSherlockHolmessharply.
Theoldwomanfacedroundandlookedkeenlyathimfromherlittlered-rimmedeyes. “Thegentlemanaskedmeformyaddress,”shesaid.“Sallylivesinlodgingsat3,MayfieldPlace,Peckham.”
