Шерлок Холмс при смерти. Ч.4

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

THE ADVENTURE OF THE DYING DETECTIVE

Part 4

Never have I had such a shock! In an instant, with a tiger-spring, the dying man had intercepted me. I heard the sharp snap of a twisted key. The next moment he had staggered back to his bed, exhausted and panting after his one tremendous outflame of energy.

‘You won't take the key from me by force, Watson, I've got you, my friend. Here you are, and here you will stay until I will otherwise. But I'll humour you.’ (All this in little gasps, with terrible struggles for breath between.) ‘You've only my own good at heart. Of course I know that very well. You shall have your way, but give me time to get my strength. Not now, Watson, not now. It's four o'clock. At six you can go.’

‘This is insanity, Holmes.’

‘Only two hours, Watson. I promise you will go at six. Are you content to wait?’

‘I seem to have no choice.’

‘None in the world, Watson. Thank you, I need no help in arranging the clothes. You will please keep your distance. Now, Watson, there is one other condition that I would make. You will seek help, not from the man you mention, but from the one that I choose.’

‘By all means.’ (конечно, пожалуйста)

‘The first three sensible words that you have uttered since you entered this room, Watson. You will find some books over there. I am somewhat exhausted; I wonder how a battery feels when it pours electricity into a non-conductor (интересно,  что чувствует батарея, когда пытается пропустить ток через диэлектрик)? At six, Watson, we resume our conversation.’

But it was destined to be resumed long before that hour, and in circumstances (при обстоятельствах) which gave me a shock hardly second to that caused by his spring to the door. I had stood for some minutes looking at the silent figure in the bed. His face was almost covered by the clothes and he appeared to be asleep. Then, unable to settle down to reading, I walked slowly round the room, examining the pictures of celebrated criminals with which every wall was adorned. Finally, in my aimless perambulation, I came to the mantelpiece (каминная полка). A litter of pipes (трубки), tobacco-pouches (кисеты), syringes (шприцы), penknives (перочинные ножи), revolver-cartridges (револьверные патроны), and other debris (и прочий хлам) was scattered over it. In the midst of these was a small black and white ivory box with a sliding lid. It was a neat little thing, and I had stretched out my hand to examine it more closely, when.

It was a dreadful cry that he gave - a yell which might have been heard down the street. My skin went cold and my hair bristled at that horrible scream. As I turned I caught a glimpse of a convulsed face (мельком увидел искаженное лицо) and frantic eyes. I stood paralyzed, with the little box in my hand.

‘Put it down! Down, this instant, Watson - this instant, I say!’ His head sank back upon the pillow and he gave a deep sigh of relief as I replaced the box upon the mantelpiece. ‘I hate to have my things touched, Watson. You know that I hate it. You fidget me beyond endurance. You, a doctor - you are enough to drive a patient into an asylum (сумасшедший дом). Sit down, man, and let me have my rest!’