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XII. The Strange Story of Jonathan Small

           

           “Icouldhearthemeasuredtrampoftheirfootstepssoundingthroughthelonelycorridors.Suddenlyitceased,andIheardvoices,andascuffle,withthesoundofblows.Amomentlatertherecame,tomyhorror,arushoffootstepscominginmydirection,withtheloudbreathingofarunningman.Iturnedmylanterndownthelong,straightpassage,andtherewasthefatman,runninglikethewind,withasmearofbloodacrosshisface,andcloseathisheels,boundinglikeatiger,thegreatblack-beardedSikh,withaknifeflashinginhishand.Ihaveneverseenamanrunsofastasthatlittlemerchant.HewasgainingontheSikh,andIcouldseethatifheoncepassedmeandgottotheopenairhewouldsavehimselfyet.Myheartsoftenedtohim,butagainthethoughtofhistreasureturnedmehardandbitter.Icastmyfirelockbetweenhislegsasheracedpast,andherolledtwiceoverlikeashotrabbit.ErehecouldstaggertohisfeettheSikhwasuponhim,andburiedhisknifetwiceinhisside.Themanneverutteredmoannormovedmuscle,butlaywerehehadfallen.Ithinkmyselfthathemayhavebrokenhisneckwiththefall.Yousee,gentlemen,thatIamkeepingmypromise.Iamtellingyoueveryworkofthebusinessjustexactlyasithappened,whetheritisinmyfavourornot.”

           Hestopped,andheldouthismanacledhandsforthewhiskey-and-waterwhichHolmeshadbrewedforhim.

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