20 лучших повестей на английском / 20 Best Short Novels

‘I’ll tell it ye from the beginning,’ he said. ‘My time is from ten at night to six in the morning. At eleven there was a fight at the “White Hart”; but bar that all was quiet enough on the beat. At one o’clock it began to rain, and I met Harry Murcher – him who has the Holland Grove beat – and we stood together at the corner of Henrietta Street a-talkin’. Presently – maybe about two or a little after – I thought I would take a look round and see that all was right down the Brixton Road. It was precious dirty and lonely. Not a soul did I meet all the way down, though a cab or two went past me. I was a-strollin’ down, thinkin’ between ourselves how uncommon handy a four of gin hot would be, when suddenly the glint of a light caught my eye in the window of that same house. Now, I knew that them two houses in Lauriston Gardens was empty on account of him that owns them who won’t have the drains seed too, though the very last tenant what lived in one of them died o’ typhoid fever. I was knocked all in a heap, therefore, at seeing a light in the window, and I suspected as something was wrong. When I got to the door—’

‘You stopped, and then walked back to the garden gate,’ my companion interrupted. ‘What did you do that for?’

Rance gave a violent jump, and stared at Sherlock Holmes with the utmost amazement upon his features.

‘Why, that’s true sir,’ he said; ‘though how you come to know it, Heaven only knows. Ye see when I got up to the door, it was so still and so lonesome, that I thought I’d be none the worse for some one with me. I ain’t afeard of anything on this side o’ the grave; but I thought that maybe it was him that died o’ the typhoid inspecting the drains what killed him. The thought gave me a kind o’ turn, and I walked back to the gate to see if I could see Murcher’s lantern, but there wasn’t no sign of him nor of any one else.’

‘There was no one in the street?’

‘Not a livin’ soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then I pulled myself together and went back and pushed the door open. All was quiet inside, so I went into the room where the light was a-burnin’. There was a candle flickering on the mantelpiece – a red wax one – and by its light I saw—’

‘Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked round the room several times, and you knelt down by the body, and then you walked through and tried the kitchen door, and then—’

John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and suspicion in his eyes. ‘Where was you hid to see all that?’ he cried. ‘It seems to me that you knows a deal more than you should.’

Holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the constable. ‘Don’t get arresting me for the murder,’ he said. ‘I am one of the hounds and not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or Mr. Lestrade will answer for that. Go on, though. What did you do next?’

Rance resumed his seat, without, however, losing his mystified expression. ‘I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. That brought Murcher and two more to the spot.’

‘Was the street empty then?’

‘Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any good goes.’

‘What do you mean?’

The constable’s features broadened into a grin. ‘I’ve seen many a drunk chap in my time,’ he said, ‘but never any one so cryin’ drunk as that cove. He was at the gate when I came out, a-leaning up ag’in the railings, and singin’ at the pitch o’ his lungs about Columbine’s New-fangled Banner, or some such stuff. He couldn’t stand, far less help.’

‘What sort of a man was he?’ asked Sherlock Holmes.

John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression: ‘He was an uncommon drunk sort o’ man,’ he said. ‘He’d ha’ found hisself in the station if we hadn’t been so took up.’

‘His face – his dress – didn’t you notice them?’ Holmes broke in impatiently.

‘I should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop him up – me and Murcher between us. He was a long chap, with a red face, the lower part muffled round—’

‘That will do,’ cried Holmes. ‘What became of him?’

‘We’d enough to do without lookin’ after him,’ the policeman said, in an aggrieved voice. ‘I’ll wager he found his way home all right.’

‘How was he dressed?’

‘A brown overcoat.’

‘Had he a whip in his hand?’

‘A whip – no.’

‘He must have left it behind,’ muttered my companion. ‘You didn’t happen to see or hear a cab after that?’

‘No.’

‘There’s a half-sovereign for you,’ my companion said, standing up and taking his hat. ‘I am afraid, Rance, that you will never rise in the force. That head of yours should be for use as well as ornament. You might have gained your sergeant’s stripes last night. The man whom you held in your hands is the man who holds the clue of this mystery, and whom we are seeking. There is no use of arguing about it now; I tell you that it is so. Come along, Doctor.’

We started off for the cab together, leaving our informant incredulous, but obviously uncomfortable.