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all fell together in a neat pattern. I wedged my poor frozen
fingers under the edge of the window and pulled. The old
woman looked up from her book, then rose and came to
open the window more fully. I looked up at "her" bitterly.
"Damn you, Holmes, what the hell are you doing
here? And for God's sake help me in this window before
you have to scrape me up off the pavement."
Soon I stood shivering and dripping on my carpet,
and awkwardly dried my spectacles on the curtain so I
wouldn't have to squint to see Holmes. He stood there in
his dingy old lady's dress, that horrid mole on his face,
looking not in the least apologetic for the trouble he had
put me to.
"Damn it, Holmes, your flair for the dramatic entrance
could have broken my neck, and if I avoid pneumonia
it'll be no thanks to the last few minutes. Turn your
back; I must get out of these clothes." He obediently turned
a chair to a blank wall, one with no reflecting object, I
noticed, and I peeled off my clothes clumsily in front of
the hot little fire, put on the long grey robe I had left folded
over the stool that morning, and got a towel for my hair.
"All right, you may turn around now." I pushed the
sodden clothing into a corner until I could deal with them
later. Holmes and I were close, but I didn't care to wave
my underclothing about in front of his nose. There are
limits to friendship.
I went to the night table for my comb and, pulling
a stool in front of the fire, I began to undo my wet braids
to steam in the heat. My fingers, toes, and nose were fiery
with returning sensation. The shivering had subsided
somewhat, but I could not suppress the occasional hard
shudder. Holmes frowned.
"Have you any brandy?" he asked in a low voice.
"You know I don't drink the stuff."
"That is not what I asked," he said, all patience and
condescension. "I asked if you had any. I want some
brandy."
"Then you'll have to ask my neighbour for some."
"I doubt that the young lady would appreciate a figure
like myself at her door, somehow."
"It doesn't matter, she's home in Kent for the holidays
anyway."
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"Then I shall just have to assume that she gave her
permission." He let himself out into the hallway, then put
his head back in the door. "By the way, don't touch that
machine on the desk. It's a bomb."
I sat eyeing the tangle of wires with the black box
in its centre until he returned with my neighbour's bottle
and two of her magnificent glasses. He poured generously
and handed me a glass, and poured a smaller amount for
himself.
"Not a very nice brandy, but it will taste better in
these glasses. Drink it," he ordered.
I dutifully took a large mouthful and swallowed. It
made me cough but calmed my shudders, and by the time
I finished it I was aware of a warm glow spreading out to
my very fingertips.
"I suppose you know that alcohol is not the optimum
treatment for hypothermia?" I accused him, somewhat truculently.
I was really most annoyed at the whole charade,
and the melodramatic touch of the bomb was tiresome.
"Had you been in danger of that I would not have
given you brandy. However, I can see that it has made you
feel better, so finish combing out your hair and then sit in
a comfortable chair. We have a long conversation ahead
of us. Ah, how forgetful I am in my old age." He went
over to the old lady's shopping basket and drew out a parcel
that I immediately recognised as Mrs. Hudson's handiwork.
My attitude lightened immediately.
"What a life-giving surprise. Bless Mrs. Hudson.
However, I cannot eat sitting across from a dirty old
woman with an insect crawling up her chin. And if you
leave fleas in my rooms, I shan't forgive you easily."
"It's clean dirt," he assured me and peeled off the
gruesome mole. He stood up and removed the skirt and
loose overshirt, moving stiffly, and sat down again as Sherlock
Holmes, more or less.
"My appetite thanks you."
I finished towelling my wet hair and reached greedily
for one of Mrs. Hudson's inimitable meat pies. I did keep
bread and cheese for informal meals, but even two days
old, as this one seemed to be, it was much superior even
to the Stilton that lay festering nobly in my stocking
drawer.
I emerged from the feast some time later to find
Holmes watching me with a curious expression on his face,
which disappeared instantly, replaced by his customary
slightly superior gaze.
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"I was hungry," I declared unnecessarily, somewhat
defensive. "I had a murderous tutorial, for which I skipped
lunch, and then worked in the Bodleian all afternoon. I
don't remember if I had breakfast. I may have done."
"What so engrossed you this time?"
"Actually, I was doing some work that might interest
you. My maths tutor and I were working with some problems
in theory, involving base eight, when we came across
some mathematical exercises developed by an old acquaintance
of yours."
"I assume you speak of Professor Moriarty?" His voice
was as cold as the ivy outside my window, but I refused to
be subdued.
"Exactly. I spent the day hunting down some articles
he published. I was interested in the mind and the personality
as well as the mathematics."
"What impression did you have of the man?"
" The subtlest of all the beasts in the garden' comes
to mind. His cold-blooded, ruthless use of logic and language
struck me as somehow reptilian, although that may
be unkind to snakes. I believe that had I not known the
identity of the writer, the words alone would have succeeded
in raising my hackles."
"Being a good mammal yourself apparently, rather
than a cold-blooded thinking machine such as your teacher
is known to be," he said drily.
"Ah," I said, speaking lightly with the freedom of the
brandy's glow, "but I have never called you cold-blooded,
now have I, my dear Holmes?"
He sat very still for a moment and then cleared his
throat. "No, you have not. Have you finished with Mrs.
Hudson's picnic?"
"Yes, thank you." I allowed him to pack away the
remnants. His movements seemed terribly stiff, but as he
hated to have his ailments noted, I said nothing. He had
probably taken a chill in his old woman's clothes, and his
rheumatism was acting up. "If you would just put it over
there, I will enjoy it greatly for lunch tomorrow."
"No, I am sorry, but I shall have to put it back in
my shopping basket. We may need it tomorrow."
"Holmes, I don't much like the sound of that. I have
an engagement for tomorrow. I am going to Berkshire. I
have already put it off for three days, and I have no intention
of further delaying it because of some demand of
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yours."
"You have no choice, Russell. We must be away from
here, before they find us."
"Who? Holmes, what is going on? Don't tell me you
suggest we go out again into that." I waved my hand at
the window, where the damp, splashing drops told of rain
halfway to being snow. "I'm not even dry from the first
time. And what is that thing you've brought--is it really
a bomb? Why did you bring it here? Talk to me, Holmes!"
"Very well, to be succinct: We shall go out, but not
yet; the bomb was here, attached to your door when I arrived;
and 'what's going on' is nothing less than attempted
murder."
I stared at him aghast. The tangled object on the
desk seemed to writhe gently in the edges of my vision,
and I felt cold fingers running up my spine. When I had
my breath back I spoke again and was pleased to find that
my voice was almost firm.
"Who wishes to kill me? And how did you know
about it?" I did not think it necessary to ask why.
"Well done, Russell. A quick mind is worthless unless
you can control the emotions with it as well. Tell me
first, why did you come up the ivy, rather than through
the door? You did not have your revolver and could hardly
have expected to leap in the window and overpower your
intruder." His dry voice was marginally too casual, but I [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]