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Шерлок Холмс при смерти. Ч.9

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

THE ADVENTURE OF THE DYING DETECTIVE

Part 9

It was with a sinking heart that I reentered Holmes’s bedroom. For all that I knew the worst might have happened in my absence. To my enormous relief, he had improved greatly in the interval. His appearance was as ghastly as ever, but all trace of delirium had left him and he spoke in a feeble voice, it is true, but with even more than his usual crispness (четкость звучания речи) and lucidity.

‘Well, did you see him, Watson?’

‘Yes; he is coming.’

‘Admirable, Watson! Admirable! You are the best of messengers.’

‘He wished to return with me.’

‘That would never do, Watson. That would be obviously impossible. Did he ask what ailed me?’

‘I told him about the Chinese in the East End.’

‘Exactly! Well, Watson, you have done all that a good friend could. You can now disappear from the scene.’

‘I must wait and hear his opinion, Holmes.’

‘Of course you must. But I have reasons to suppose that this opinion would be very much more frank and valuable if he imagines that we are alone. There is just room behind the head of my bed, Watson.’

‘My dear Holmes!’

‘I fear there is no alternative, Watson. The room does not lend itself to concealment, which is as well, as it is the less likely to arouse suspicion. But just there, Watson, I fancy that it could be done.’ Suddenly he sat up with a rigid intentness upon his haggard face. ‘There are the wheels, Watson. Quick, man, if you love me! And don't budge, whatever happens - whatever happens, do you hear? Don't speak! Don't move! Just listen with all your ears.’ Then in an instant his sudden access of strength departed, and his masterful, purposeful talk droned away into the low, vague murmurings of a semi-delirious man.

From the hiding-place into which I had been so swiftly hustled I heard the footfalls upon the stair, with the opening and the closing of the bedroom door. Then, to my surprise, there came a long silence, broken only by the heavy breathings and gaspings of the sick man. I could imagine that our visitor was standing by the bedside and looking down at the sufferer. At last that strange hush was broken.