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- Артур Конан Дойл
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- Воспоминания Шерлока Холмса
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"
Underneath
is
written
in
a
hand
so
shaky
as
to
be
hardly
legible
,
'
Beddoes
writes
in
cipher
to
say
H.
has
told
all
.
Sweet
Lord
,
have
mercy
on
our
souls
!
'
"
That
was
the
narrative
which
I
read
that
night
to
young
Trevor
,
and
I
think
,
Watson
,
that
under
the
circumstances
it
was
a
dramatic
one
.
The
good
fellow
was
heart-broken
at
it
,
and
went
out
to
the
Terai
tea
planting
,
where
I
hear
that
he
is
doing
well
.
As
to
the
sailor
and
Beddoes
,
neither
of
them
was
ever
heard
of
again
after
that
day
on
which
the
letter
of
warning
was
written
.
They
both
disappeared
utterly
and
completely
.
No
complaint
had
been
lodged
with
the
police
,
so
that
Beddoes
had
mistaken
a
threat
for
a
deed
.
Hudson
had
been
seen
lurking
about
,
and
it
was
believed
by
the
police
that
he
had
done
away
with
Beddoes
and
had
fled
.
For
myself
I
believe
that
the
truth
was
exactly
the
opposite
.
I
think
that
it
is
most
probable
that
Beddoes
,
pushed
to
desperation
and
believing
himself
to
have
been
already
betrayed
,
had
revenged
himself
upon
Hudson
,
and
had
fled
from
the
country
with
as
much
money
as
he
could
lay
his
hands
on
.
Those
are
the
facts
of
the
case
,
Doctor
,
and
if
they
are
of
any
use
to
your
collection
,
I
am
sure
that
they
are
very
heartily
at
your
service
.
"
An
anomaly
which
often
struck
me
in
the
character
of
my
friend
Sherlock
Holmes
was
that
,
although
in
his
methods
of
thought
he
was
the
neatest
and
most
methodical
of
mankind
,
and
although
also
he
affected
a
certain
quiet
primness
of
dress
,
he
was
none
the
less
in
his
personal
habits
one
of
the
most
untidy
men
that
ever
drove
a
fellow-lodger
to
distraction
.
Not
that
I
am
in
the
least
conventional
in
that
respect
myself
.
The
rough-and-tumble
work
in
Afghanistan
,
coming
on
the
top
of
natural
Bohemianism
of
disposition
,
has
made
me
rather
more
lax
than
befits
a
medical
man
.
But
with
me
there
is
a
limit
,
and
when
I
find
a
man
who
keeps
his
cigars
in
the
coal-scuttle
,
his
tobacco
in
the
toe
end
of
a
Persian
slipper
,
and
his
unanswered
correspondence
transfixed
by
a
jack-knife
into
the
very
centre
of
his
wooden
mantelpiece
,
then
I
begin
to
give
myself
virtuous
airs
.
I
have
always
held
,
too
,
that
pistol
practice
should
be
distinctly
an
open-air
pastime
;
and
when
Holmes
,
in
one
of
his
queer
humours
,
would
sit
in
an
armchair
with
his
hair-trigger
and
a
hundred
Boxer
cartridges
and
proceed
to
adorn
the
opposite
wall
with
a
patriotic
V.
R.
done
in
bullet-pocks
,
I
felt
strongly
that
neither
the
atmosphere
nor
the
appearance
of
our
room
was
improved
by
it
.
Our
chambers
were
always
full
of
chemicals
and
of
criminal
relics
which
had
a
way
of
wandering
into
unlikely
positions
,
and
of
turning
up
in
the
butter-dish
or
in
even
less
desirable
places
.
But
his
papers
were
my
great
crux
.
He
had
a
horror
of
destroying
documents
,
especially
those
which
were
connected
with
his
past
cases
,
and
yet
it
was
only
once
in
every
year
or
two
that
he
would
muster
energy
to
docket
and
arrange
them
;
for
,
as
I
have
mentioned
somewhere
in
these
incoherent
memoirs
,
the
outbursts
of
passionate
energy
when
he
performed
the
remarkable
feats
with
which
his
name
is
associated
were
followed
by
reactions
of
lethargy
during
which
he
would
lie
about
with
his
violin
and
his
books
,
hardly
moving
save
from
the
sofa
to
the
table
.
Thus
month
after
month
his
papers
accumulated
until
every
corner
of
the
room
was
stacked
with
bundles
of
manuscript
which
were
on
no
account
to
be
burned
,
and
which
could
not
be
put
away
save
by
their
owner
.
One
winter
's
night
,
as
we
sat
together
by
the
fire
,
I
ventured
to
suggest
to
him
that
,
as
he
had
finished
pasting
extracts
into
his
commonplace
book
,
he
might
employ
the
next
two
hours
in
making
our
room
a
little
more
habitable
.
He
could
not
deny
the
justice
of
my
request
,
so
with
a
rather
rueful
face
he
went
off
to
his
bedroom
,
from
which
he
returned
presently
pulling
a
large
tin
box
behind
him
.
This
he
placed
in
the
middle
of
the
floor
,
and
,
squatting
down
upon
a
stool
in
front
of
it
,
he
threw
back
the
lid
.
I
could
see
that
it
was
already
a
third
full
of
bundles
of
paper
tied
up
with
red
tape
into
separate
packages
.
"
There
are
cases
enough
here
,
Watson
,
"
said
he
,
looking
at
me
with
mischievous
eyes
.
"
I
think
that
if
you
knew
all
that
I
had
in
this
box
you
would
ask
me
to
pull
some
out
instead
of
putting
others
in
.
"
"
These
are
the
records
of
your
early
work
,
then
?
"
I
asked
.
"
I
have
often
wished
that
I
had
notes
of
those
cases
.
"
"
Yes
,
my
boy
,
these
were
all
done
prematurely
before
my
biographer
had
come
to
glorify
me
.
"
He
lifted
bundle
after
bundle
in
a
tender
,
caressing
sort
of
way
.
"
They
are
not
all
successes
,
Watson
,
"
said
he
.
"
But
there
are
some
pretty
little
problems
among
them
.
Here
's
the
record
of
the
Tarleton
murders
,
and
the
case
of
Vamberry
,
the
wine
merchant
,
and
the
adventure
of
the
old
Russian
woman
,
and
the
singular
affair
of
the
aluminum
crutch
,
as
well
as
a
full
account
of
Ricoletti
of
the
club-foot
,
and
his
abominable
wife
.
And
here
--
ah
,
now
,
this
really
is
something
a
little
recherche
.
"
He
dived
his
arm
down
to
the
bottom
of
the
chest
and
brought
up
a
small
wooden
box
with
a
sliding
lid
such
as
children
's
toys
are
kept
in
.
From
within
he
produced
a
crumpled
piece
of
paper
,
an
old-fashioned
brass
key
,
a
peg
of
wood
with
a
ball
of
string
attached
to
it
,
and
three
rusty
old
discs
of
metal
.
