Kitabı oku: «Приключения Шерлока Холмса / The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes», sayfa 8

“And has he worked well in your absence?”

“Yes, sir. There’s never very much to do in the morning.”

“That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion on the matter in a day or two. Today is Saturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion.”

“Well, Watson,” said Holmes when our visitor had left us, “what do you make of it all¹³?”

“I make nothing of it,” I answered. “It is a very mysterious business.”

“As a rule,” said Holmes, “the more unusual a thing is the less mysterious it is in the end. But I must hurry up.”

“What are you going to do, then?” I asked.

“To smoke,” he answered. “It is a three pipe problem¹⁴, and I ask you not to speak to me for fifty minutes.” He sat in his chair, with his eyes closed. I had come to the conclusion that he had fallen asleep, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair like a man who had made up his mind and put his pipe down on the table.

“What do you think, Watson? Could you come with me for a few hours?” he said.

“I have nothing to do today. My practice is never very busy.”

We travelled by the Underground first; and then a short walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the unusual story which we had listened to in the morning. It was a little, shabby place, where two-storeyed houses looked out into a small garden. A brown board with “JABEZ WILSON” in white letters on a corner house showed us the place where our red-headed client carried on his business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it and looked it all over. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down again to the corner, still looking at the houses. Finally he returned to the pawnbroker’s, struck on the ground with his stick two or three times, went up to the door and knocked. It was opened by a young fellow, who asked him to come in.

“Thank you,” said Holmes, “I only wished to ask you how I could go from here tothe Strand¹⁵.”

“The first turning to the left,” answered the assistant, closing the door.

“Smart fellow,” remarked Holmes as we walked away. “I think, he is the fourth smartest man in London. I have known something of him before.”

“Evidently,” said I, “Mr. Wilson’s assistant is involved in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you asked your way only to see him.”

“Not him.”

“What then?”

“The knees of his trousers.”

“And what did you see?”

“What I expected to see.”