Собака Баскервиллей
Death on the Moor
"Why,Dr.Watson,that’snotyou,isit? YouarethelastmanthatIshouldhaveexpectedtoseeoutonthemooratthistimeofnight. But,dearme,what’sthis? Somebodyhurt? Not—don’ttellmethatitisourfriendSirHenry! "Hehurriedpastmeandstoopedoverthedeadman. Iheardasharpintakeofhisbreathandthecigarfellfromhisfingers.
"Who—who’sthis? "hestammered.
"ItisSelden,themanwhoescapedfromPrincetown."
Stapletonturnedaghastlyfaceuponus,butbyasupremeefforthehadovercomehisamazementandhisdisappointment. HelookedsharplyfromHolmestome.
"Dearme! Whataveryshockingaffair! Howdidhedie?"
"Heappearstohavebrokenhisneckbyfallingovertheserocks. MyfriendandIwerestrollingonthemoorwhenweheardacry."
"Iheardacryalso. Thatwaswhatbroughtmeout. IwasuneasyaboutSirHenry."
"WhyaboutSirHenryinparticular? "Icouldnothelpasking.
"BecauseIhadsuggestedthatheshouldcomeover. WhenhedidnotcomeIwassurprised,andInaturallybecamealarmedforhissafetywhenIheardcriesuponthemoor. Bytheway"—hiseyesdartedagainfrommyfacetoHolmes’s—"didyouhearanythingelsebesidesacry?"
"No,"saidHolmes; "didyou?"
"No."
"Whatdoyoumean,then?"
