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

the table. "What are these articles?"
"Another dealer in antiquities died two weeks back. I took these things when his shop was sold up."
The visitor picked up a crystal as big as his fist, egg-shaped and beautifully polished. A ray from the
lamp kindled blue flame within it. "What do you ask for this?"
"Cave priced it at five pounds."
"I'll pay that for it." A slim white hand flung back the ulster and from an inside pocket of the gray suit
drew a pocketbook and produced a five-pound note. "Don't bother to wrap it."
 As the purchaser stowed the crystal in his ulster pocket, another customer came through the front
door. He was short and shabby, with truculently bristling gray hair. He stopped and stared at the tall man
with sud-denly wide eyes.
"Templeton," he blurted out, "did you bring Sher-lock Holmes here?"
"I came of my own volition, Hudson," said Holmes coolly. "You have conjectured that I had come to
an-ticipate you. Your powers of deduction, though slight, should tell you the reason for my
presence."
"This is Sherlock Holmes?" Templeton was stammer-ing. "Hudson, I assure you I did not knowтАФ"
"Nor did Morse Hudson know," interrupted Holmes. "I sought him here on behalf of young Mr.
Fairdale Hobbs, whose Cellini ring was stolen."
"You can't prove I took it from him," blustered Hudson.
"My small but efficient organization has helped me trace it to your possession. Mr. Templeton here
should be wary of receiving stolen goods, and I will relieve him of such an embarrassment. I see the ring
on your forefinger." Holmes extended his hand. "Give it to me at once."
Hudson swelled with fury, but he tugged the ring free and handed it over. "You're a devil, and no
other word for it," he muttered.
"I am a consulting detective, which may mean the same thing to your sort," said Holmes, sliding
the ring into the pocket of his waistcoat.
Hudson blinked at Templeton. "Where's that crystal egg?" he demanded. "I heard from a Mr. Wace
about it."
"I have just bought it for five pounds," Holmes in-formed him, smiling. "I wonder, Hudson, how a man
of your wretchedly dull esthetic sense could see the beauty of that object."
"You know about it," charged Hudson, glaring. "Shall I tell Templeton here some interesting private
matters about you?"
"Do so, if you want me to tell the police some in-teresting matters about yourself. Suppose you keep
si-lent and hope that I do likewise. I have recovered my client's property so easily that I feel disposed to
let the matter rest."
He walked out. Hudson bustled after him into the chilly street.
"I demand that you sell me that crystal for five pounds, Mr. Holmes.
"You're in no position to demand anything of me, Hudson," Holmes said quietly, "but let me give you a
word of advice. If ever again you prowl this close to Baker Street below here, for whatever
reason, that day will see your shop filled with coldly suspicious men from Scotland Yard, and you will
watch its sun set through the bars of a cell. Is that sufficiently clear? I daresay it is."
He signaled a hansom and got in, leaving Hudson to glower helplessly in the wintry air, and rode to the
lodgings of Fairdale Hobbs in Great Orme Street near the British Museum. Hobbs was a plump young
man, wildly grateful for the return of the ring. It was a family heirloom, he said, and had been
promised to the girl he meant to marry. "You recovered it in less than twelve hours," he chattered as he
paid out Holmes's fee. "Marvelous!"
"Elementary," Holmes replied, smiling.
Back at his rooms in Baker Street, he rang for Billy, the page boy, and gave him a handful of
silver. "Circulate these shillings among the Baker Street Ir-regulars and give them thanks for tracing that
lost ring."
"We've learned something else, Mr. Holmes," said Billy. "Morse Hudson has moved into a new shop.