"Manly Wade Wellman - Sherlock Holmes's War of the Worlds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wellman Manly Wade)

"It is only that I have never seen you so wrapped up in a thing, to the exclusion of all else. Of course, I
never ask you to confide in meтАФ"
"And that, my love, is one of your thousand or so charms. Let me say that the present case concerns
hap-penings at a great distance."
He tried to sound light and cheerful, but her eyes widened, as usual when she felt worried.
"I have never interfered with your work," she said. "But let me ask, will this investigation make you go
traveling far away?"
He shook his head, smiling. "No, I venture to predict that I can conduct all possible observations here
in London. Traveling far enough to be away from you is always unhappiness to me."
"And to me." She put out a hand to take his. "You have never said it so strongly before. My dearest,
they say that as people grow older their love cools, but ours remains constant and warm."
"It will always remain so," Holmes assured her. "And we are not old, we are in our prime. I am
forty-eightтАФa trifle older than you, several years younger than WatsonтАФbut the good Watson avers that
many an agile and athletic man of forty is slower and more breathless than I am."
"You respect Dr. Watson's medical judgment."
"I do, of course."
He rose, and so did she. They kissed warmly.
"And now," said Holmes, "let me say that last week I was able to find a bottle of Beaune, of an
excellent year, across the street at Dolamore's. Suppose we have a glass together, and I promise to
forget for a while this curious problem on which I am working."
6


For the next several days, Holmes was busy talking to officers at Scotland Yard and to Sir Robert
Norberton's creditors and solicitors. All of these listened to Holmes's sober suggestion that compassion
be shown to the desperate sportsman, whose fine colt was bound to run well in the Derby and bring his
master money enough to settle a vast indebtedness. On such terms the case was settled, and on the
evening of May 10 Holmes was grateful to find himself with no pressing duty. He sat in his easy chair
while Watson scribbled away at the desk.
"Another of your flattering accounts of my cases?" asked Holmes.
"Only notes, to add to my files for the Shoscombe Old Place matter, and something on a professional
event," said Watson. "I have been asked to conduct a seminar on tropical diseases at London
University."
"Which you will do well, I am sure." Holmes reached for the Maupassant volume, but instead picked
up a current magazine and leafed through it. His eye was caught by the title at the top of a page "The
Crystal Egg." He began to read with deep interest:


There was, until a year ago, a little and very grimy-looking shop near Seven Dials, over which, in
weather-worn lettering, the name of "C. Cave, Naturalist and Dealer in Antiquities," was in
scribed . . .


"More recently than a year ago, I should think," mused Holmes aloud.
"What did you say?" asked Watson, looking up.
"I had begun to read a story by Mr. H. G. Wells."
"Wells," repeated Watson, with something like as-perity. "A sensation-mongering hack, suspiciously
revo-lutionary in his notions."
Holmes smiled. "You dislike him as you dislike Maupassant."
"Not in the same way." Watson shook his head emphatically. "Maupassant, I told you, is objectionable