33 лучших юмористических рассказа на английском / 33 Best Humorous Short Stories. Коллектив авторовЧитать онлайн книгу.
His Wife, and What Happened to Jones!’
I became dumb at once. He paused for a moment, and then suddenly changing back to his usual pitiless, analytical style, he said: ‘When I say these are trifles, they are so in comparison to an affair that is now before me. A crime has been committed, – and, singularly enough, against myself. You start,’ he said. ‘You wonder who would have dared to attempt it. So did I; nevertheless, it has been done. I have been ROBBED!’
‘YOU robbed! You, Hemlock Jones, the Terror of Peculators!’ I gasped in amazement, arising and gripping the table as I faced him.
‘Yes! Listen. I would confess it to no other. But YOU who have followed my career, who know my methods; you, for whom I have partly lifted the veil that conceals my plans from ordinary humanity, – you, who have for years rapturously accepted my confidences, passionately admired my inductions and inferences, placed yourself at my beck and call, become my slave, groveled at my feet, given up your practice except those few unremunerative and rapidly decreasing patients to whom, in moments of abstraction over MY problems, you have administered strychnine for quinine and arsenic for Epsom salts; you, who have sacrificed anything and everybody to me, – YOU I make my confidant!’
I arose and embraced him warmly, yet he was already so engrossed in thought that at the same moment he mechanically placed his hand upon his watch chain as if to consult the time. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Have a cigar?’
‘I have given up cigar smoking,’ I said.
‘Why?’ he asked.
I hesitated, and perhaps colored. I had really given it up because, with my diminished practice, it was too expensive. I could afford only a pipe. ‘I prefer a pipe,’ I said laughingly. ‘But tell me of this robbery. What have you lost?’
He arose, and planting himself before the fire with his hands under his coattails, looked down upon me reflectively for a moment. ‘Do you remember the cigar case presented to me by the Turkish Ambassador for discovering the missing favorite of the Grand Vizier in the fifth chorus girl at the Hilarity Theatre? It was that one. I mean the cigar case. It was incrusted with diamonds.’
‘And the largest one had been supplanted by paste,’ I said.
‘Ah,’ he said, with a reflective smile, ‘you know that?’
‘You told me yourself. I remember considering it a proof of your extraordinary perception. But, by Jove, you don’t mean to say you have lost it?’
He was silent for a moment. ‘No; it has been stolen, it is true, but I shall still find it. And by myself alone! In your profession, my dear fellow, when a member is seriously ill, he does not prescribe for himself, but calls in a brother doctor. Therein we differ. I shall take this matter in my own hands.’
‘And where could you find better?’ I said enthusiastically. ‘I should say the cigar case is as good as recovered already.’
‘I shall remind you of that again,’ he said lightly. ‘And now, to show you my confidence in your judgment, in spite of my determination to pursue this alone, I am willing to listen to any suggestions from you.’
He drew a memorandum book from his pocket and, with a grave smile, took up his pencil.
I could scarcely believe my senses. He, the great Hemlock Jones, accepting suggestions from a humble individual like myself! I kissed his hand reverently, and began in a joyous tone:
‘First, I should advertise, offering a reward; I should give the same intimation in hand-bills, distributed at the ‘pubs’ and the pastry-cooks’. I should next visit the different pawnbrokers; I should give notice at the police station. I should examine the servants. I should thoroughly search the house and my own pockets. I speak relatively,’ I added, with a laugh. ‘Of course I mean YOUR own.’
He gravely made an entry of these details.
‘Perhaps,’ I added, ‘you have already done this?’
‘Perhaps,’ he returned enigmatically. ‘Now, my dear friend,’ he continued, putting the note-book in his pocket and rising, ‘would you excuse me for a few moments? Make yourself perfectly at home until I return; there may be some things,’ he added with a sweep of his hand toward his heterogeneously filled shelves, ‘that may interest you and while away the time. There are pipes and tobacco in that corner.’
Then nodding to me with the same inscrutable face he left the room. I was too well accustomed to his methods to think much of his unceremonious withdrawal, and made no doubt he was off to investigate some clue which had suddenly occurred to his active intelligence.
Left to myself I cast a cursory glance over his shelves. There were a number of small glass jars containing earthy substances, labeled ‘Pavement and Road Sweepings,’ from the principal thoroughfares and suburbs of London, with the sub-directions ‘for identifying foot-tracks.’ There were several other jars, labeled ‘Fluff from Omnibus and Road Car Seats,’ ‘Cocoanut Fibre and Rope Strands from Mattings in Public Places,’ ‘Cigarette Stumps and Match Ends from Floor of Palace Theatre, Row A, 1 to 50.’ Everywhere were evidences of this wonderful man’s system and perspicacity.
I was thus engaged when I heard the slight creaking of a door, and I looked up as a stranger entered. He was a rough-looking man, with a shabby overcoat and a still more disreputable muffler around his throat and the lower part of his face. Considerably annoyed at his intrusion, I turned upon him rather sharply, when, with a mumbled, growling apology for mistaking the room, he shuffled out again and closed the door. I followed him quickly to the landing and saw that he disappeared down the stairs. With my mind full of the robbery, the incident made a singular impression upon me. I knew my friend’s habit of hasty absences from his room in his moments of deep inspiration; it was only too probable that, with his powerful intellect and magnificent perceptive genius concentrated on one subject, he should be careless of his own belongings, and no doubt even forget to take the ordinary precaution of locking up his drawers. I tried one or two and found that I was right, although for some reason I was unable to open one to its fullest extent. The handles were sticky, as if some one had opened them with dirty fingers. Knowing Hemlock’s fastidious cleanliness, I resolved to inform him of this circumstance, but I forgot it, alas! until – but I am anticipating my story.
His absence was strangely prolonged. I at last seated myself by the fire, and lulled by warmth and the patter of the rain on the window, I fell asleep. I may have dreamt, for during my sleep I had a vague semi-consciousness as of hands being softly pressed on my pockets – no doubt induced by the story of the robbery. When I came fully to my senses, I found Hemlock Jones sitting on the other side of the hearth, his deeply concentrated gaze fixed on the fire.
‘I found you so comfortably asleep that I could not bear to awaken you,’ he said, with a smile.
I rubbed my eyes. ‘And what news?’ I asked. ‘How have you succeeded?’
‘Better than I expected,’ he said, ‘and I think,’ he added, tapping his note-book, ‘I owe much to YOU.’
Deeply gratified, I awaited more. But in vain. I ought to have remembered that in his moods Hemlock Jones was reticence itself. I told him simply of the strange intrusion, but he only laughed.
Later, when I arose to go, he looked at me playfully. ‘If you were a married man,’ he said, ‘I would advise you not to go home until you had brushed your sleeve. There are a few short brown sealskin hairs on the inner side of your forearm, just where they would have adhered if your arm had encircled a seal-skin coat with some pressure!’
‘For once you are at fault,’ I said triumphantly; ‘the hair is my own, as you will perceive; I have just had it cut at the hairdresser’s, and no doubt this arm projected beyond the apron.’
He frowned slightly, yet, nevertheless, on my turning to go he embraced me warmly – a rare exhibition in that man of ice. He even helped me on with my overcoat and pulled out and smoothed down the flaps of my pockets. He was particular, too, in fitting my arm in my overcoat sleeve, shaking the sleeve down from the armhole to the cuff with his deft fingers. ‘Come again soon!’ he said, clapping me on the back.
‘At