Сборник адаптированных рассказов английских и американских писателей. Часть 1 [Oscar Wilde] (fb2) читать постранично, страница - 64

"Do you know where we are?" Holmes asked.

"Surely that is Baker Street," I answered looking through the window.

"Exactly. We are in the house which stands opposite to our old house."

"But why are we here?"

"Because I would like to look at our old rooms. Will you come a little nearer to the window and see if anything has changed during the three years of my absence?"

I looked across at our old window and gave a cry of surprise. There was a man sitting on a chair there. A strong light was burning in the room. The face was turned half-round and it was a perfect reproduction" of Holmes.

"Good heavens!" I cried. "It is wonderful."

Holmes smiled.

"It really is rather like me, isn't?"

"Everyone would think it was you."

"It is figure of wax" and it has been made by a French artist who spent some days working at it. The rest I arranged myself during my visit to Baker Street this afternoon."

"But why?"

"Because I wanted certain people to think that I was there."

"And you thought the rooms were watched?"

"I knew they were watched."

"By whom?"

"By Professor Moriarty's friends. You must remember that they knew, and only they knew I was alive. They believed I should come back to my rooms."

My friend's plans were clear to me at last. We stood silently in darkness and watched the hurrying figures who passed in front of us. I especially noticed two men who stood at the door of the house. I showed them to Holmes but he only gave a cry of impatience and continued to watch the street. I looked at the lighted window again and to my great surprise I saw that the wax figure had moved and it was no more the face but the back that was turned towards us.

"It has moved!" I cried.

"Of course, it has moved," said Holmes. “Mrs. Hudson has made some change in that figure eight times during the last two hours. She works it from the front so that her shadow may never be seen”

Suddenly I heard a sound coming from the back of the house in which we were hidden. A door opened and shut. A minute later a man came into the room. He was three yards from us and I realised that he had no idea of our presence. He went to the window. He carried something like a stick but soon I saw it was a sort of gun. He opened the window and the light of the street fell full upon his face. The man seemed to be very excited. His two eyes shone like stars. He took something from the pocket of his coat and put it into the gun. For some time he stood listening. Then he put his finger on the trigger" and fired. There was a sound of broken glass. At that moment Holmes jumped like a tiger on to the man's back and knocked him down. The man was up again in a moment but then I struck him with my revolver. He fell to the floor and I fell on him. As I held him my friend blew on a whistle." Two policemen in uniform with one detective rushed through the front door and into the room.

"Is that you, Lestrade?" asked Holmes.

"Yes, Mr Holmes. It's good to see you back in London, sir."

“I think you want a little unofficial help. Three undetected murders in one year won't do”.

We had all stood up. The policemen held the prisoner. Holmes went to the window and closed it. Lestrade lit two candles. I was able at last to have a good look at our prisoner. He was a strong man with cruel blue eyes and an aggressive nose. He did not look at any of us but his eyes were fixed at Holmes's face.

“You fiend” he kept on saying. “You clever, clever fiend”.

"Ah, Colonel," said Holmes. "I don't think I have had the pleasure of seeing you since the time when you showed so much interest in me at the Reichenbach Falls."

The colonel still stared at my friend.

"You clever, clever fiend!" was all he could say.

"I haven't introduced you yet," said Holmes. "This gentleman is Colonel" Sebastian Moran, once an off icer of the Indian Army and the best shot in our Eastern Empire. I believe I am right, Colonel, in saying that your bag of tigers is still the greatest there."

The man said nothing but looked at my friend very angrily.

"I must say that you had one small surprise for me," continued Holmes. "I did not expect you would make use of this empty house. I thought you would shoot from the street where my friend Lestrade and his men were waiting for you. With that exception" all has gone as I expected."

Holmes picked up the gun from the floor and was examining its mechanism.

"An admirable gun,"'4 he said. "I knew the mechanic who constructed it to the order of Professor Moriarty. Take care of it, Lestrade."

"We will look after that," said Lestrade. "Anything else to say?"

"Only to ask you what Colonel Moran will be charged" with?"

"With the attempted murder of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, of course."

"Not so, Lestrade. I do not want to appear in the matter at all. You have got the man who shot Ronald Adair with the bullet from an air-gun through the open window of the second floor front of No 427 Park Lane on the thirtieth of last month. That's the charge. Yes, Lestrade. I congratulate you on your success. And now, Watson, let us go and have a smoke in my old study."

Mrs. Hudson was very pleased to see us again. She took us the room and showed us the strange wax figure.

"I'm afraid the bullet has spoilt the figure because it passed right through the head. I picked it up from the floor. Here it is."

Holmes held it out to me.

"Look, Watson. A soft revolver bullet. Who would expect to find such a thing fired from an air-gun! All right, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you f or your help. And now, Watson, sit down in your old armchair once more. There are many things I would like to discuss with you."

He took his clothes from the wax figure and put them on, and now he was the Holmes of old.

"Well," he said, "Moran was the best shot in India and there are few better in London. Have you heard his name?" "No, I haven't."

"Well, well, such is fame. But if I remember right, you had not heard the name of Professor Moriarty who was one of the most intelligent men of the century. Just give me my index of biographies from the shelf."

He turned over several pages and gave the book back to me. I read:

Moran, Sebastian, Colonel. Unemployed. Born in London 1840. Son of Mr. Augustus Moran, once British Minister to Persia. Educated in Eton and Oxford. Served in the army in the Eastern Empire. Author of several books on hunting. Address: Conduit Street.

On the margin" was written in Holmes's hand:

The second most dangerous man in London.

"This is surprising," I said. "The man's career is that of a good soldier."

"Yes," Holmes answered, "at first he did well. But he began to go wrong and had to leave India. He came to London and it was at this time that he met Professor Moriarty. Moriarty gave him a lot of money and used him in the most difficult jobs. You remember when I called on you in 1887 I closed the shutters because I was afraid of air-guns. I knew of the existence" of this air-gun and I knew also that it would be used by one of the best shots. When we were in Switzerland, Moran f ollowed us with Moriarty and he tried to kill me in the mountains. When I read in France in the newspapers about Ronald's death, I was certain that Colonel Moran had done it. He had played cards with him and had followed him home from the club. He shot him through the open window. I came over at once but a friend of his saw me and I was sure he would tell Moran about my return. That is why I decided to put the wax figure in my room and watch the street from the empty house. I also warned the police."

"Yes," I said, "but why did he murder Ronald?"

"I think that's not difficult to explain. They played cards and Adair saw that Moran cheated him" so he probably warned him that he would tell everyone about it unless he promised not to come to the club again. This would mean ruin" to Moran who lived by his