Этюд в багровых тонах / A Study in Scarlet

Where did an English army doctor meet all this? Clearly in Afghanistan. I then remarked that you came from Afghanistan, and you were astonished.”

“It is simple enough as you explain it,” I said. “You remind me of Edgar Allen Poe’s Dupin[13 - Edgar Allen Poe’s Dupin – Дюпен из романов Эдгара Алана По].”

Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe.

“You think that you are complimenting me,” he observed. “Now, in my opinion, Dupin was a very inferior fellow.

He had some analytical genius, no doubt; but he was not a phenomenon as Poe imagined.”

“And what about Gaboriau’s works[14 - Gaboriau’s works – романы Габорио (о детективе Лекоке)]?” I asked. “What do you think of Lecoq? Is he a real detective?”

Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically.

“Lecoq was a miserable bungler,” he said, in an angry voice; “The question was how to identify an unknown prisoner. I can do it in twenty-four hours.

Lecoq took six months or so. These books can teach the detectives what to avoid.”

I walked over to the window, and looked out into the busy street.

“This fellow may be very clever,” I said to myself, “but he is certainly very conceited.”

“There are no crimes and no criminals in these days,” he said, querulously. “No use to have brains in our profession. I can make my name famous.”

I was annoyed at his bumptious style of conversation.

I decided to change the topic.

“I wonder what that fellow is looking for?” I asked. A man was walking slowly down the other side of the street. He had a large blue envelope in his hand.

“You mean the retired sergeant of Marines[15 - retired sergeant of Marines – отставной флотский сержант],” said Sherlock Holmes.

“Oh!” thought I to myself. “He knows that I cannot verify his guess.”

Suddenly the man saw the number on our door, and ran rapidly across the roadway.

We heard a loud knock, a deep voice below, and heavy steps.

“For Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” he said. He stepped into the room and handed my friend the letter.

Here was an opportunity to check my companion’s words.

“May I ask you,” I said, “what your trade may be?”

“Commissionaire, sir,” he said, gruffly.

“And you were?” I asked, with a malicious glance at my companion.