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14 pages

English

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pubOne.info present you this new edition. Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-suffering woman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded at all hours by throngs of singular and often undesirable characters but her remarkable lodger showed an eccentricity and irregularity in his life which must have sorely tried her patience. His incredible untidiness, his addiction to music at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice within doors, his weird and often malodorous scientific experiments, and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him made him the very worst tenant in London. On the other hand, his payments were princely. I have no doubt that the house might have been purchased at the price which Holmes paid for his rooms during the years that I was with him.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819938828
Langue	English

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The Adventure of the Dying Detective
By
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was along-suffering woman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded atall hours by throngs of singular and often undesirable charactersbut her remarkable lodger showed an eccentricity and irregularityin his life which must have sorely tried her patience. Hisincredible untidiness, his addiction to music at strange hours, hisoccasional revolver practice within doors, his weird and oftenmalodorous scientific experiments, and the atmosphere of violenceand danger which hung around him made him the very worst tenant inLondon. On the other hand, his payments were princely. I have nodoubt that the house might have been purchased at the price whichHolmes paid for his rooms during the years that I was with him.
The landlady stood in the deepest awe of him andnever dared to interfere with him, however outrageous hisproceedings might seem. She was fond of him, too, for he had aremarkable gentleness and courtesy in his dealings with women. Hedisliked and distrusted the sex, but he was always a chivalrousopponent. Knowing how genuine was her regard for him, I listenedearnestly to her story when she came to my rooms in the second yearof my married life and told me of the sad condition to which mypoor friend was reduced.
“He's dying, Dr. Watson, ” said she. “For three dayshe has been sinking, and I doubt if he will last the day. He wouldnot let me get a doctor. This morning when I saw his bones stickingout of his face and his great bright eyes looking at me I couldstand no more of it. 'With your leave or without it, Mr. Holmes, Iam going for a doctor this very hour, ' said I. 'Let it be Watson,then, ' said he. I wouldn't waste an hour in coming to him, sir, oryou may not see him alive. ”
I was horrified for I had heard nothing of hisillness. I need not say that I rushed for my coat and my hat. As wedrove back I asked for the details.
“There is little I can tell you, sir. He has beenworking at a case down at Rotherhithe, in an alley near the river,and he has brought this illness back with him. He took to his bedon Wednesday afternoon and has never moved since. For these threedays neither food nor drink has passed his lips. ”
“Good God! Why did you not call in a doctor? ”
“He wouldn't have it, sir. You know how masterful heis. I didn't dare to disobey him. But he's not long for this world,as you'll see for yourself the moment that you set eyes on him.”
He was indeed a deplorable spectacle. In the dimlight of a foggy November day the sick room was a gloomy spot, butit was that gaunt, wasted face staring at me from the bed whichsent a chill to my heart. His eyes had the brightness of fever,there was a hectic flush upon either cheek, and dark crusts clungto his lips; the thin hands upon the coverlet twitched incessantly,his voice was croaking and spasmodic. He lay listlessly as Ientered the room, but the sight of me brought a gleam ofrecognition to his eyes.
“Well, Watson, we seem to have fallen upon evildays, ” said he in a feeble voice, but with something of his oldcarelessness of manner.
“My dear fellow! ” I cried, approaching him.
“Stand back! Stand right back! ” said he with thesharp imperiousness which I had associated only with moments ofcrisis. “If you approach me, Watson, I shall order you out of thehouse. ”
“But why? ”
“Because it is my desire. Is that not enough? ”
Yes, Mrs. Hudson was right. He was more masterfulthan ever. It was pitiful, however, to see his exhaustion.
“I only wished to help, ” I explained.
“Exactly! You will help best by doing what you aretold. ”
“Certainly, Holmes. ”
He relaxed the austerity of his manner.
“You are not angry? ” he asked, gasping forbreath.
Poor devil, how could I be angry when I saw himlying in such a plight before me?
“It's for your own sake, Watson, ” he croaked.
“For MY sake? ”
“I know what is the matter with me. It is a cooliedisease from Sumatra— a thing that the Dutch know more about thanwe, though they have made little of it up to date. One thing onlyis certain. It is infallibly deadly, and it is horribly contagious.”
He spoke now with a feverish energy, the long handstwitching and jerking as he motioned me away.