Пригоди Шерлока Холмса
The Red-headed League
Ithoughtoftheassistant’sfondnessforphotography,andhistrickofvanishingintothecellar. Thecellar! Therewastheendofthistangledclue. ThenImadeinquiriesastothismysteriousassistantandfoundthatIhadtodealwithoneofthecoolestandmostdaringcriminalsinLondon. Hewasdoingsomethinginthecellar—somethingwhichtookmanyhoursadayformonthsonend. Whatcoulditbe,oncemore? Icouldthinkofnothingsavethathewasrunningatunneltosomeotherbuilding.
"SofarIhadgotwhenwewenttovisitthesceneofaction. Isurprisedyoubybeatinguponthepavementwithmystick. Iwasascertainingwhetherthecellarstretchedoutinfrontorbehind. Itwasnotinfront. ThenIrangthebell,and,asIhoped,theassistantansweredit. Wehavehadsomeskirmishes,butwehadneverseteyesuponeachotherbefore. Ihardlylookedathisface. HiskneeswerewhatIwishedtosee. Youmustyourselfhaveremarkedhowworn,wrinkled,andstainedtheywere. Theyspokeofthosehoursofburrowing. Theonlyremainingpointwaswhattheywereburrowingfor. Iwalkedroundthecorner,sawtheCityandSuburbanBankabuttedonourfriend’spremises,andfeltthatIhadsolvedmyproblem. WhenyoudrovehomeaftertheconcertIcalleduponScotlandYardanduponthechairmanofthebankdirectors,withtheresultthatyouhaveseen."
"Andhowcouldyoutellthattheywouldmaketheirattemptto-night?"Iasked.
"Well,whentheyclosedtheirLeagueofficesthatwasasignthattheycarednolongeraboutMr.JabezWilson’spresence—inotherwords,thattheyhadcompletedtheirtunnel. Butitwasessentialthattheyshoulduseitsoon,asitmightbediscovered,orthebullionmightberemoved.
