Пригоди Шерлока Холмса

The Five Orange Pips

           AlltheseImaysketchoutatsomefuturedate,butnoneofthempresentsuchsingularfeaturesasthestrangetrainofcircumstanceswhichIhavenowtakenupmypentodescribe. 

           ItwasinthelatterdaysofSeptember,andtheequinoctialgaleshadsetinwithexceptionalviolence. Alldaythewindhadscreamedandtherainhadbeatenagainstthewindows,sothatevenhereintheheartofgreat,hand-madeLondonwewereforcedtoraiseourmindsfortheinstantfromtheroutineoflifeandtorecognizethepresenceofthosegreatelementalforceswhichshriekatmankindthroughthebarsofhiscivilization,likeuntamedbeastsinacage. Aseveningdrewin,thestormgrewhigherandlouder,andthewindcriedandsobbedlikeachildinthechimney. SherlockHolmessatmoodilyatonesideofthefireplacecross-indexinghisrecordsofcrime,whileIattheotherwasdeepinoneofClarkRussell’sfinesea-storiesuntilthehowlofthegalefromwithoutseemedtoblendwiththetext,andthesplashoftheraintolengthenoutintothelongswashoftheseawaves. Mywifewasonavisittohermother’s,andforafewdaysIwasadwelleroncemoreinmyoldquartersatBakerStreet. 

           "Why,"saidI,glancingupatmycompanion,"thatwassurelythebell. Whocouldcometo-night? Somefriendofyours,perhaps?" 

           "ExceptyourselfIhavenone,"heanswered. "Idonotencouragevisitors." 

           "Aclient,then?" 

           "Ifso,itisaseriouscase. Nothinglesswouldbringamanoutonsuchadayandatsuchanhour. ButItakeitthatitismorelikelytobesomecronyofthelandlady’s." 

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