Артур Дойл - Приключения Шерлока Холмса / The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (сборник)

“ We have let this affair go far enough [116],” he said. “Is there a train to North Walsham tonight?”

I looked it up in the time-table. The last train had just gone.

“Then we shall have breakfast early and take the very first train in the morning,” said Holmes. “We must be there. Ah! And here is also our expected telegram. One moment, Mrs. Hudson. There must be an answer. Yes, it means I was right. This message makes it evident that we should not lose any minute. We must explain what’s the matter [117]to Hilton Cubitt. It is a very dangerous web in which our simple Norfolk squire is caught.”

So, as I come to this part of my story (which before had seemed to me only childish and strange) I feel once again the fear and horror with which I was filled then. I’d like to tell my readers that there will be a happy end, but I can’t. This book should be truthful. I must tell the facts and I must follow them to the strange chain of events which some day will be the talk of the whole England. [118]

We had hardly arrived at [119]North Walsham, and said where we were going to, when the station-master [120]came up to us. “I suppose that you are the detectives from London?” he said.

Holmes was very much worried.

“What makes you think so?”

“Because Inspector Martin from Norwich has just arrived. But maybe you are the doctors. She’s not dead… not yet. You may be in time [121]to save her… although it doesn’t matter – she will come to the gallows [122].”

Holmes’s eyes became very anxious.

“We are going to Ridling Thorpe Manor,” he said, “but we haven’t heard anything what had happened there.”

“It’s a terrible business,” said the station-master. “They are shot, both Mr. Hilton Cubitt and his wife. She shot him and then herself… so the servants say. He’s dead and she is doomed to death. Oh my God, one of the oldest families in the County of Norfolk, and one of the most honoured.”

Without a word Holmes hurried to a carriage, and during the long seven miles’ drive he didn’t open his mouth. Seldom have I seen him so gloomy. He had been uneasy during all our journey from Baker Street, and I had seen that he had turned over the morning papers with anxious attention. But now this sudden realization of his worst fears came. He was sitting in his seat, thinking about everything. But there were a lot of interesting views there. We were passing through a country-side of England, where there were few houses, beautiful churches. Green landscape told of the glory and prosperity of old East Anglia. At last the driver pointed on the two roofs out of trees.

“That’s Ridling Thorpe Manor,” he said.

We came up to the front door. I looked around and saw the black tool-house, the sun-dial, with which we had such strange associations. An active little man with moustache had just come down from the carriage. He introduced himself as Inspector Martin, and he was very much surprised when he heard the name of my friend.

“But Mr. Holmes, the crime was only committed at three this morning. How could you hear of it in London and come here as soon as I?”

“I guessed it. I was hoping I could stop it.”

“Then I think you have some important evidence that we haven’t. Because we don’t know what to think – they were a very united couple.”

“I have only the evidence of the dancing men,” said Holmes. “I will explain everything to you later. However, it is very sad that it is too late to stop this tragedy… I hope that I can use the information that I know in order to help justice. Will you allow me to help you in your investigation, or will you prefer me to act independently?”

“I will be proud if we are working together, Mr. Holmes,” said the inspector.

“In that case I’ll be glad to hear the evidence [123]and to examine the place where it had happened.”

Inspector Martin was a clever man. He allowed my friend to do everything in his own way, he just watched and made some notes. The local doctor, an old, white-haired man, had just come down from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt’s room. He said that her injuries were serious, but not fatal. The bullet had hit her brain [124], and it would take some time [125]before she could speak. But the doctor couldn’t answer the question whether she had been shot or had shot herself. But certainly it happened at a very short distance. They found only one revolver in the room. Mr. Hilton Cubitt was shot in the heart. It was equally possible that he had shot her and then himself, or that she was the criminal, because the revolver lay on the floor right between them.

“Has anyone moved him?” asked Holmes.

“We have moved nothing except the lady. We could not leave her here, she was wounded and lying on the floor.”

“How long have you been here, doctor?”

“Since four o’clock.”

“Anyone else?”

“Yes, the policeman is here.”

“Have you touched nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. Who sent for you?”

“The housemaid, Saunders.”

“Was it she who gave the alarm [126]?”

“She and Mrs. King, the cook.”

“Where are they now?”

“In the kitchen, I think.”

“Then I think we had better hear their story now.”

The old hall with big windows turned into a court of investigation [127]. Holmes sat in a great, old-fashioned chair. I could read in his severe eyes that he was ready to devote his life to this case. He didn’t manage to save his client, it was too late. But at least he could take revenge [128]. Inspector Martin, the old country doctor, myself and a policeman made up the rest of that company.

The two women told their story clearly enough. They woke up because of a loud sound of an explosion, in a minute they heard a second one. They slept in different rooms, and Mrs. King had run to Saunders. Together they came to the room – the door was open and a candle was burning on the table. Their master lay on his face in the centre of the room. He was dead. Near the window his wife was sitting. She was horribly wounded, and her face was red with blood. She breathed heavily, but couldn’t say anything. The corridor and the room were full of smoke and the smell of powder. The window was shut. Both women were sure of it. They had sent for the doctor and for the policeman at once. Then, with the help of the groom and the stable-boy, they carried Mrs Cubitt to her room. She had a dress on, Mr. Cubitt was in his dressing-gown, over his night clothes. Nothing had been moved in the room. As far as Mrs. King and Saunders knew, husband and wife never quarreled. They were a very united couple.

These were the main points of the servants’ evidence. They were sure that every door was locked from the inside, and that no one could have escaped from the house. They both remembered that they noticed the smell of powder when they ran out of their rooms. “It’s important to pay attention to [129]this fact,” said Holmes to us. “And now I think that we can do a careful examination of the room.”

The room was really small. There were a lot of book shelves and a writing-table at the window, which looked out on the garden. The body of the poor squire was lying on the floor. The bullet was fired at him from the front, and remained in his body. His death was certainly painless. There was no powder on his dressing-gown or on his hands. The country doctor said the lady had stains on her face, but none on her hands.