Собака Баскервилей / The Hound of the Baskervilles - стр. 10
“You have lost one of your boots?”
“My dear sir,” cried Dr. Mortimer, “You will find it when you return to the hotel. What is the use of troubling Mr. Holmes with trifles of this kind?”
“I only bought the pair last night in the Strand, and I have never worn them. I did a good deal of shopping. Among other things I bought these brown boots—and one of them was stolen before I had them on my feet.”
“It seems a strange thing to steal,” said Sherlock Holmes.
“And, now, gentlemen,” said the baronet, “it seems it is time for you to give me a full account of what you know.”
Dr. Mortimer presented the whole case as he had done on the morning before. Sir Henry Baskerville listened with the deepest attention.
“Of course, I’ve heard of the hound ever since I was a boy,” said he. “It’s a favourite story of the family, though I never thought of taking it seriously before. But as to my uncle’s death—well, you have not made up your mind whether it’s a case for a policeman or a clergyman.”
“And the letter to you at the hotel shows that someone knows more than we do about what goes on upon the moor,” said Dr. Mortimer.
“We now have to decide, Sir Henry, whether it is good for you to go to Baskerville Hall.”
“Why should I not go?”
“It may be dangerous.”
“Do you mean danger from this supernatural hound or do you mean danger from man?”
“Well, that is what we have to find out.”
“No one can prevent me from going to the home of my family. Now, look here, Mr. Holmes, could you and your friend, Dr. Watson, come and lunch with us at two. I’ll be able to tell you more clearly then about my plans.”
“You may expect us.”
“Then we meet again at two o’clock. Good morning!”
We heard our visitors go down the stairs and the front door bang. In a moment Holmes changed from the dreamer to the man of action.
“Watson, quick! Not a moment to lose!” We hurried together down the stairs and into the street. Dr. Mortimer and Baskerville were walking a little distance ahead of us in the direction of Oxford Street.
We followed into Oxford Street and down Regent Street. When our friends stopped and looked into a shop window, Holmes did the same. A moment later he gave a little cry of satisfaction, and I saw that a cab with a man inside which had stopped on the other side of the street was now driving again.
“There’s our man, Watson! Come along! We’ll have a good look at him.”
At that moment I saw a black beard and a pair of piercing eyes turned upon us through the window of the cab. He screamed something, and the cab drove off down Regent Street. Holmes looked round for another cab, but there were no empty cabs in sight.