A Study in Scarlet Arthur Conan Doyle (interesting novels in english TXT) š
- Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
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āYes, 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 thenā āā
John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and suspicion in his eyes. āWhere was you hid to see all that?ā he cried. āIt seems to me that you knows a deal more than you should.ā
Holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the constable. āDonāt get arresting me for the murder,ā he said. āI 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?ā
Rance resumed his seat, without however losing his mystified expression. āI went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. That brought Murcher and two more to the spot.ā
āWas the street empty then?ā
āWell, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any good goes.ā
āWhat do you mean?ā
The constableās features broadened into a grin. āIāve seen many a drunk chap in my time,ā he said, ābut never anyone so cryinā drunk as that cove. He was at the gate when I came out, a-leaninā up agin the railings, and a-singinā at the pitch oā his lungs about Columbineās Newfangled Banner, or some such stuff. He couldnāt stand, far less help.ā
āWhat sort of a man was he?ā asked Sherlock Holmes.
John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression. āHe was an uncommon drunk sort oā man,ā he said. āHeād haā found hisself in the station if we hadnāt been so took up.ā
āHis faceā āhis dressā ādidnāt you notice them?ā Holmes broke in impatiently.
āI should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop him upā āme and Murcher between us. He was a long chap, with a red face, the lower part muffled roundā āā
āThat will do,ā cried Holmes. āWhat became of him?ā
āWeād enough to do without lookinā after him,ā the policeman said, in an aggrieved voice. āIāll wager he found his way home all right.ā
āHow was he dressed?ā
āA brown overcoat.ā
āHad he a whip in his hand?ā
āA whipā āno.ā
āHe must have left it behind,ā muttered my companion. āYou didnāt happen to see or hear a cab after that?ā
āNo.ā
āThereās a half-sovereign for you,ā my companion said, standing up and taking his hat. āI 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 sergeantās 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.ā
We started off for the cab together, leaving our informant incredulous, but obviously uncomfortable.
āThe blundering fool,ā Holmes said, bitterly, as we drove back to our lodgings. āJust to think of his having such an incomparable bit of good luck, and not taking advantage of it.ā
āI am rather in the dark still. It is true that the description of this man tallies with your idea of the second party in this mystery. But why should he come back to the house after leaving it? That is not the way of criminals.ā
āThe ring, man, the ring: that was what he came back for. If we have no other way of catching him, we can always bait our line with the ring. I shall have him, Doctorā āIāll lay you two to one that I have him. I must thank you for it all. I might not have gone but for you, and so have missed the finest study I ever came across: a study in scarlet, eh? Why shouldnāt we use a little art jargon. Thereās the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it. And now for lunch, and then for Norman Neruda. Her attack and her bowing are splendid. Whatās that little thing of Chopinās she plays so magnificently: Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay.ā
Leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound carolled away like a lark while I meditated upon the many-sidedness of the human mind.
V Our Advertisement Brings a VisitorOur morningās exertions had been too much for my weak health, and I was tired out in the afternoon. After Holmesā departure for the concert, I lay down upon the sofa and endeavoured to get a couple of hoursā sleep. It was a useless attempt. My mind had been too much excited by all that had occurred, and the strangest fancies and surmises crowded into it. Every time that I closed my eyes I saw before me the distorted baboon-like countenance of the murdered man. So sinister was the impression which that face had produced upon me that I found it difficult to feel anything but gratitude for him who had removed its owner from the world. If ever human features bespoke vice of the most malignant type, they were certainly those of Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland. Still I recognized that justice must be done, and that the depravity of the victim was no condonement in the eyes of the law.
The more I thought of it the more extraordinary did my companionās hypothesis, that the man had been poisoned, appear. I remembered how he had sniffed his lips, and had no doubt that he had detected something which had given rise to the idea. Then, again, if not poison, what had caused the manās death, since there was neither wound nor marks of strangulation? But, on the other hand, whose blood was that which lay so thickly upon the floor? There were no signs of a struggle, nor had the victim any weapon with which he might have wounded an antagonist. As long as all these questions
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