Етюд у багряних тонах
Tobias Gregson shows what he can do.
SherlockHolmesandIreadthesenoticesovertogetheratbreakfast,andtheyappearedtoaffordhimconsiderableamusement.
“Itoldyouthat,whateverhappened,LestradeandGregsonwouldbesuretoscore.”
“Thatdependsonhowitturnsout.”
“Oh,blessyou,itdoesn’tmatterintheleast. Ifthemaniscaught,itwillbeonaccountoftheirexertions;ifheescapes,itwillbeinspiteoftheirexertions. It’sheadsIwinandtailsyoulose. Whatevertheydo,theywillhavefollowers. ‘Unsottrouvetoujoursunplussotquil’admire.’”
“Whatonearthisthis?”Icried,foratthismomenttherecamethepatteringofmanystepsinthehallandonthestairs,accompaniedbyaudibleexpressionsofdisgustuponthepartofourlandlady.
“It’stheBakerStreetdivisionofthedetectivepoliceforce,”saidmycompanion,gravely; andashespokethererushedintotheroomhalfadozenofthedirtiestandmostraggedstreetArabsthateverIclappedeyeson.
“‘Tention!”criedHolmes,inasharptone,andthesixdirtylittlescoundrelsstoodinalinelikesomanydisreputablestatuettes. “InfutureyoushallsendupWigginsalonetoreport,andtherestofyoumustwaitinthestreet. Haveyoufoundit,Wiggins?”
“No,sir,wehain’t,”saidoneoftheyouths.
“Ihardlyexpectedyouwould. Youmustkeeponuntilyoudo. Hereareyourwages.” 13Hehandedeachofthemashilling.
“Now,offyougo,andcomebackwithabetterreportnexttime.”
