Этюд в багровых тонах
A Continuation of the Reminiscences of John Watson, M.D.
AsIdrove,IcouldseeoldJohnFerrierandsweetLucylookingatmeoutofthedarknessandsmilingatme,justasplainasIseeyouallinthisroom. Allthewaytheywereaheadofme,oneoneachsideofthehorseuntilIpulledupatthehouseintheBrixtonRoad.
“Therewasnotasoultobeseen,norasoundtobeheard,exceptthedrippingoftherain. WhenIlookedinatthewindow,IfoundDrebberallhuddledtogetherinadrunkensleep. Ishookhimbythearm, ‘It’stimetogetout,’Isaid.
“‘Allright,cabby,’saidhe.
“Isupposehethoughtwehadcometothehotelthathehadmentioned,forhegotoutwithoutanotherword,andfollowedmedownthegarden. Ihadtowalkbesidehimtokeephimsteady,forhewasstillalittletop-heavy. Whenwecametothedoor,Iopenedit,andledhimintothefrontroom. Igiveyoumywordthatalltheway,thefatherandthedaughterwerewalkinginfrontofus.
“‘It’sinfernallydark,’saidhe,stampingabout.
“‘We’llsoonhavealight,’Isaid,strikingamatchandputtingittoawaxcandlewhichIhadbroughtwithme. ‘Now,EnochDrebber,’Icontinued,turningtohim,andholdingthelighttomyownface,‘whoamI?’
“Hegazedatmewithbleared,drunkeneyesforamoment,andthenIsawahorrorspringupinthem,andconvulsehiswholefeatures,whichshowedmethatheknewme. Hestaggeredbackwithalividface,andIsawtheperspirationbreakoutuponhisbrow,whilehisteethchatteredinhishead.
