Етюд у багряних тонах
Our Advertisement brings a Visitor.
“Andyournameis——?”
“MynameisSawyer—her’sisDennis,whichTomDennismarriedher—andasmart,cleanlad,too,aslongashe’satsea,andnostewardinthecompanymorethoughtof;butwhenonshore,whatwiththewomenandwhatwithliquorshops——”
“Hereisyourring,Mrs.Sawyer,”Iinterrupted,inobediencetoasignfrommycompanion; “itclearlybelongstoyourdaughter,andIamgladtobeabletorestoreittotherightfulowner.”
Withmanymumbledblessingsandprotestationsofgratitudetheoldcronepackeditawayinherpocket,andshuffledoffdownthestairs. SherlockHolmessprangtohisfeetthemomentthatshewasgoneandrushedintohisroom. Hereturnedinafewsecondsenvelopedinanulsterandacravat. “I’llfollowher,”hesaid,hurriedly; “shemustbeanaccomplice,andwillleadmetohim. Waitupforme.” ThehalldoorhadhardlyslammedbehindourvisitorbeforeHolmeshaddescendedthestair. LookingthroughthewindowIcouldseeherwalkingfeeblyalongtheotherside,whileherpursuerdoggedhersomelittledistancebehind. “Eitherhiswholetheoryisincorrect,”Ithoughttomyself,“orelsehewillbelednowtotheheartofthemystery.” Therewasnoneedforhimtoaskmetowaitupforhim,forIfeltthatsleepwasimpossibleuntilIheardtheresultofhisadventure.
Itwascloseuponninewhenhesetout. Ihadnoideahowlonghemightbe,butIsatstolidlypuffingatmypipeandskippingoverthepagesofHenriMurger’s“ViedeBohème.”
