Все приключения Шерлока Холмса / All adventures of Sherlock Holmes

I soon found out which was the window of his bedroom, and early next morning I took a ladder which was lying in the lane behind the hotel. I woke him up. I described Drebber’s death to him, and I gave him the same choice of the poisoned pills. But he sprang from his bed and flew at my throat. I stabbed him to the heart.

I have little more to say. After that I was working for a day or so. Then I planned to come back to America. I was standing in the yard when a youngster asked if there was a cabman there called Jefferson Hope.

He said that his cab was wanted by a gentleman at 221B, Baker Street. I went there, I suspected no harm. But this man here had the bracelets on my wrists. That’s my story, gentlemen. You may consider me to be a murderer; but I am an officer of justice as you are.”

The man’s narrative was really thrilling. Even the professional detectives were keenly interested in his story. When he finished we sat for some minutes in a stillness.

“I need a little more information,” Sherlock Holmes said at last.

“Who was your accomplice who came for the ring?”

The prisoner winked at my friend jocosely.

“I can tell my secrets,” he said, “but I don’t get other people into trouble. I saw your advertisement. My friend volunteered to go and see. I think he did it smartly.”

“Not a doubt of that,” said Holmes heartily.

“Now, gentlemen,” the Inspector remarked gravely, “the law is the law. On Thursday the prisoner will be brought before the magistrates, and your attendance will be required.

Until then I will be responsible for him.”

He rang the bell, and a couple of warders led Jefferson off. My friend and I took a cab back to Baker Street.

Chapter VII

The Conclusion

We were waiting for that Thursday. But a higher Judge took the matter in hand. Jefferson Hope’s aneurism burst, and he died upon the floor of the cell, with a placid smile upon his face.

“Gregson and Lestrade will be wild about his death,” Holmes remarked.

“I think they did very little,” I answered.

“What you really do in this world is not important,” returned my companion, bitterly. “The question is, what can you make people believe that you do. Never mind,” he continued, more brightly, after a pause. “I don’t remember any better case. Yet it was simple enough.”

“Simple!” I ejaculated.

“Yes,” said Sherlock Holmes.