"Doyle, Arthur Conan - The Return Of Sherlock Holmes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doyle Arthur Conan)

crowded round to listen to what he said. I got as near him as I
could, but his observations seemed to me to be absurd, so I
withdrew again in some disgust. As I did so I struck against an
elderly, deformed man, who had been behind me, and I knocked
down several books which he was carrying. I remember that as I
picked them up, I observed the title of one of them, THE ORIGIN
OF TREE WORSHIP, and it struck me that the fellow must be some
poor bibliophile, who, either as a trade or as a hobby, was a
collector of obscure volumes. I endeavoured to apologize for the
accident, but it was evident that these books which I had so
unfortunately maltreated were very precious objects in the eyes
of their owner. With a snarl of contempt he turned upon his
heel, and I saw his curved back and white side-whiskers
disappear among the throng.
My observations of No. 427 Park Lane did little to clear up the
problem in which I was interested. The house was separated from
the street by a low wall and railing, the whole not more than
five feet high. It was perfectly easy, therefore, for anyone to
get into the garden, but the window was entirely inaccessible,
since there was no waterpipe or anything which could help the
most active man to climb it. More puzzled than ever, I retraced
my steps to Kensington. I had not been in my study five minutes
when the maid entered to say that a person desired to see me. To
my astonishment it was none other than my strange old book
collector, his sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame of
white hair, and his precious volumes, a dozen of them at least,
wedged under his right arm.
"You're surprised to see me, sir," said he, in a strange,
croaking voice.
I acknowledged that I was.
"Well, I've a conscience, sir, and when I chanced to see you go
into this house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to
myself, I'll just step in and see that kind gentleman, and tell
him that if I was a bit gruff in my manner there was not any harm
meant, and that I am much obliged to him for picking up my books."
"You make too much of a trifle," said I. "May I ask how you knew
who I was?"
"Well, sir, if it isn't too great a liberty, I am a neighbour of
yours, for you'll find my little bookshop at the corner of
Church Street, and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you
collect yourself, sir. Here's BRITISH BIRDS, and CATULLUS, and
THE HOLY WAR--a bargain, every one of them. With five volumes
you could just fill that gap on that second shelf. It looks
untidy, does it not, sir?"
I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turned
again, Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my
study table. I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds
in utter amazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted
for the first and the last time in my life. Certainly a gray
mist swirled before my eyes, and when it cleared I found my