Знак чотирьох
XII. The Strange Story of Jonathan Small
“Aprettyjustice!Whoselootisthis,ifitisnotours?WhereisthejusticethatIshouldgiveituptothosewhohaveneverearnedit?LookhowIhaveearnedit!Twentylongyearsinthatfever-riddenswamp,alldayatworkunderthemangrove-tree,allnightchainedupinthefilthyconvict-huts,bittenbymosquitoes,rackedwithague,bulliedbyeverycursedblack-facedpolicemanwholovedtotakeitoutofawhiteman.ThatwashowIearnedtheAgratreasure;andyoutalktomeofjusticebecauseIcannotbeartofeelthatIhavepaidthispriceonlythatanothermayenjoyit!Iwouldratherswingascoreoftimes,orhaveoneofTonga’sdartsinmyhide,thanliveinaconvict’scellandfeelthatanothermanisathiseaseinapalacewiththemoneythatshouldbemine.”Smallhaddroppedhismaskofstoicism,andallthiscameoutinawildwhirlofwords,whilehiseyesblazed,andthehandcuffsclankedtogetherwiththeimpassionedmovementofhishands.Icouldunderstand,asIsawthefuryandthepassionoftheman,thatitwasnogroundlessorunnaturalterrorwhichhadpossessedMajorSholtowhenhefirstlearnedthattheinjuredconvictwasuponhistrack.
“Youforgetthatweknownothingofallthis,”saidHolmesquietly.“Wehavenotheardyourstory,andwecannottellhowfarjusticemayoriginallyhavebeenonyourside.”
“Well,sir,youhavebeenveryfair-spokentome,thoughIcanseethatIhaveyoutothankthatIhavethesebraceletsuponmywrists.Still,Ibearnogrudgeforthat.Itisallfairandabove-board.IfyouwanttohearmystoryIhavenowishtoholditback.
