Все приключения Шерлока Холмса / All adventures of Sherlock Holmes

We were driving furiously for the Brixton Road.

It was a foggy, cloudy morning. My companion was talking about fiddles. As for myself, I was silent, for the dull weather depressed my spirits.

Number 3, Lauriston Gardens, was one of four houses which stood back some little way from the street. Two of them were occupied and two were empty. There was a “To Let” card near the house. A small garden separated each of these houses from the street, and was traversed by a narrow pathway. It was yellowish in colour, and consisted of a mixture of clay and of gravel.

The whole place was very sloppy from the night rain.

Sherlock Holmes lounged up and down the pavement, and gazed vacantly at the ground, the sky, the opposite houses and the line of railings. Then he proceeded slowly down the path, or rather down the fringe of grass, and looked at the ground. Twice he stopped. He smiled, and uttered an exclamation of satisfaction.

At the door of the house, a tall, white-faced, flaxen-haired[19 - flaxen-haired – с льняными волосами] man met us.

He had a notebook in his hand. He rushed forward and wrung my companion’s hand with effusion.

“It is indeed kind of you to come,” he said, “My colleague, Mr. Lestrade, is here.”

Holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrows sardonically.

“With two such men as yourself and Lestrade here, I am useless,” he said.

Gregson rubbed his hands.

“I think,” he answered; “it’s a queer case, and I knew your taste for such things.

”

“You did not come here in a cab?” asked Sherlock Holmes.

“No, sir.”

“Nor Lestrade?”

“No, sir.”

“Then let us go and look at the room.”

And Sherlock Holmes entered the house.

A short passage led to the kitchen and offices. I saw two doors to the left and to the right. One of these was closed. The other belonged to the dining-room, where the mysterious affair occurred. Holmes walked in, and I followed him.

It was a large square room without furniture.

A vulgar paper adorned the walls. Opposite the door was a showy fireplace, surmounted by a mantelpiece. On one corner of this was the stump of a red wax candle. The window was so dirty that the light was hazy and uncertain. All these details I observed afterwards.

A single grim motionless figure lay upon the floor. It was a man about forty-three or forty-four years of age, middle-sized, broad shouldered, with curling black hair, and a short stubbly beard.