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."
