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- Артур Конан Дойл
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- Tales of Terror and Mystery
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- Стр. 98/137
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"
I
don
’
t
think
there
is
much
more
for
me
to
explain
.
We
got
to
a
village
called
Amersham
that
night
in
the
character
of
two
gentlemen
upon
a
walking
tour
,
and
afterwards
we
made
our
way
quietly
to
London
,
whence
MacCoy
went
on
to
Cairo
and
I
returned
to
New
York
.
My
mother
died
six
months
afterwards
,
and
I
am
glad
to
say
that
to
the
day
of
her
death
she
never
knew
what
happened
.
She
was
always
under
the
delusion
that
Edward
was
earning
an
honest
living
in
London
,
and
I
never
had
the
heart
to
tell
her
the
truth
.
He
never
wrote
;
but
,
then
,
he
never
did
write
at
any
time
,
so
that
made
no
difference
.
His
name
was
the
last
upon
her
lips
.
"
There
’
s
just
one
other
thing
that
I
have
to
ask
you
,
sir
,
and
I
should
take
it
as
a
kind
return
for
all
this
explanation
,
if
you
could
do
it
for
me
.
You
remember
that
Testament
that
was
picked
up
.
I
always
carried
it
in
my
inside
pocket
,
and
it
must
have
come
out
in
my
fall
.
I
value
it
very
highly
,
for
it
was
the
family
book
with
my
birth
and
my
brother
’
s
marked
by
my
father
in
the
beginning
of
it
.
I
wish
you
would
apply
at
the
proper
place
and
have
it
sent
to
me
.
It
can
be
of
no
possible
value
to
anyone
else
.
If
you
address
it
to
X
,
Bassano
’
s
Library
,
Broadway
,
New
York
,
it
is
sure
to
come
to
hand
.
"
It
WAS
a
curious
thing
,
said
the
private
tutor
;
one
of
those
grotesque
and
whimsical
incidents
which
occur
to
one
as
one
goes
through
life
.
I
lost
the
best
situation
which
I
am
ever
likely
to
have
through
it
.
But
I
am
glad
that
I
went
to
Thorpe
Place
,
for
I
gained
—
well
,
as
I
tell
you
the
story
you
will
learn
what
I
gained
.
I
don
’
t
know
whether
you
are
familiar
with
that
part
of
the
Midlands
which
is
drained
by
the
Avon
.
It
is
the
most
English
part
of
England
.
Shakespeare
,
the
flower
of
the
whole
race
,
was
born
right
in
the
middle
of
it
.
It
is
a
land
of
rolling
pastures
,
rising
in
higher
folds
to
the
westwards
,
until
they
swell
into
the
Malvern
Hills
.
There
are
no
towns
,
but
numerous
villages
,
each
with
its
grey
Norman
church
.
You
have
left
the
brick
of
the
southern
and
eastern
counties
behind
you
,
and
everything
is
stone
—
stone
for
the
walls
,
and
lichened
slabs
of
stone
for
the
roofs
.
It
is
all
grim
and
solid
and
massive
,
as
befits
the
heart
of
a
great
nation
.
It
was
in
the
middle
of
this
country
,
not
very
far
from
Evesham
,
that
Sir
John
Bollamore
lived
in
the
old
ancestral
home
of
Thorpe
Place
,
and
thither
it
was
that
I
came
to
teach
his
two
little
sons
.
Sir
John
was
a
widower
—
his
wife
had
died
three
years
before
—
and
he
had
been
left
with
these
two
lads
aged
eight
and
ten
,
and
one
dear
little
girl
of
seven
.
Miss
Witherton
,
who
is
now
my
wife
,
was
governess
to
this
little
girl
.
I
was
tutor
to
the
two
boys
.
Could
there
be
a
more
obvious
prelude
to
an
engagement
?
She
governs
me
now
,
and
I
tutor
two
little
boys
of
our
own
.
But
,
there
—
I
have
already
revealed
what
it
was
which
I
gained
in
Thorpe
Place
!
It
was
a
very
,
very
old
house
,
incredibly
old
—
pre
-
Norman
,
some
of
it
—
and
the
Bollamores
claimed
to
have
lived
in
that
situation
since
long
before
the
Conquest
.
It
struck
a
chill
to
my
heart
when
first
I
came
there
,
those
enormously
thick
grey
walls
,
the
rude
crumbling
stones
,
the
smell
as
from
a
sick
animal
which
exhaled
from
the
rotting
plaster
of
the
aged
building
.
But
the
modern
wing
was
bright
and
the
garden
was
well
kept
.
No
house
could
be
dismal
which
had
a
pretty
girl
inside
it
and
such
a
show
of
roses
in
front
.
Apart
from
a
very
complete
staff
of
servants
there
were
only
four
of
us
in
the
household
.
These
were
Miss
Witherton
,
who
was
at
that
time
four
-
and
-
twenty
and
as
pretty
—
well
,
as
pretty
as
Mrs
.
Colmore
is
now
—
myself
,
Frank
Colmore
,
aged
thirty
,
Mrs
.
Stevens
,
the
housekeeper
,
a
dry
,
silent
woman
,
and
Mr
.
Richards
,
a
tall
military
-
looking
man
,
who
acted
as
steward
to
the
Bollamore
estates
.
We
four
always
had
our
meals
together
,
but
Sir
John
had
his
usually
alone
in
the
library
.
Sometimes
he
joined
us
at
dinner
,
but
on
the
whole
we
were
just
as
glad
when
he
did
not
.
For
he
was
a
very
formidable
person
.
Imagine
a
man
six
feet
three
inches
in
height
,
majestically
built
,
with
a
high
-
nosed
,
aristocratic
face
,
brindled
hair
,
shaggy
eyebrows
,
a
small
,
pointed
Mephistophelian
beard
,
and
lines
upon
his
brow
and
round
his
eyes
as
deep
as
if
they
had
been
carved
with
a
penknife
.
He
had
grey
eyes
,
weary
,
hopeless
-
looking
eyes
,
proud
and
yet
pathetic
,
eyes
which
claimed
your
pity
and
yet
dared
you
to
show
it
.
His
back
was
rounded
with
study
,
but
otherwise
he
was
as
fine
a
looking
man
of
his
age
—
five
-
and
-
fifty
perhaps
—
as
any
woman
would
wish
to
look
upon
.
