Шерлок Холмс при смерти. Ч.2

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

THE ADVENTURE OF THE DYING DETECTIVE

Part 2

I was horrified for I had heard nothing of his illness. I need not say that I rushed for my coat and my hat. As we drove back I asked for the details.

‘There is little I can tell you, sir. He has been working at a case down at Rotherhithe, in an alley near the river, and he has brought this illness back with him. He took to his bed on Wednesday afternoon and has never moved since. For these three days neither food nor drink has passed his lips.'

‘Good God! Why did you not call in a doctor?’

‘He wouldn’t have it, sir. You know how masterful he is. I didn't dare to disobey him. But he's not long for this world, as you'll see for yourself the moment that you set eyes on him.'

He was indeed a deplorable (книжное: [dɪ'plɔːrəbl] плачевный, прискорбный) spectacle. In the dim light of a foggy November day the sick room was a gloomy spot, but it was that gaunt, wasted face staring at me from the bed which sent a chill to my heart. His eyes had the brightness of fever, there was a hectic flush upon either cheek, and dark crusts clung to his lips; the thin hands upon the coverlet (уст. покрывало) twitched incessantly, his voice was croaking and spasmodic (судорожный). He lay listlessly as I entered the room, but the sight of me brought a gleam of recognition to his eyes.

‘Well, Watson, we seem to have fallen upon evil days,’ said he in a feeble voice, but with something of his old carelessness of manner.

‘My dear fellow!’ I cried, approaching him.

‘Stand back! Stand right back!’ said he with the sharp imperiousness (властность) which I had associated only with moments of crisis. ‘If you approach me, Watson, I shall order you out of the house.'

‘But why?’

‘Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?’

Yes, Mrs. Hudson was right. He was more masterful than ever. It was pitiful, however, to see his exhaustion.

‘I only wished to help,’ I explained.

‘Exactly! You will help best by doing what you are told.'

‘Certainly, Holmes.'

He relaxed the austerity (строгость) of his manner.

‘You are not angry?’ he asked, gasping for breath.

Poor devil, how could I be angry when I saw him lying in such a plight before me?

‘It's for your own sake (это ради вас самих), Watson,’ he croaked.

‘For MY sake?’