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kuξַ:PUBG廭32ǿ廭

2020-08-09 18:04:40  Դձ
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kuξַַ:a g 9 559 v i p

"A cold hand seemed to close round my heart. Someone, then, was inthat room where my precious treaty lay upon the table. I ranfrantically up the stair and along the passage. There was no one inthe corridors, Mr. Holmes. There was no one in the room. All wasexactly as I left it, save only that the papers which had beencommitted to my care had been taken from the desk on which they lay.The copy was there, and the original was gone."

kuξַ廭

There was silence in the room. It was broken by Mycroft Holmes."Can you not make reparation? It would ease your conscience, andpossibly your punishment."

My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had theeffect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were fewand simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a cab withmy valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. Sherlock Holmes waspacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made evengaunter and taller by his long gray travelling-cloak and close fittingcloth cap.

"Yes, I am doing so."

kuξַ ɻ

There was little difficulty in entering the grounds, forunrepaired breaches gaped in the old park wall. Making our way amongthe trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about to enterthrough the window when out from a clump of laurel bushes there dartedwhat seemed to be a hideous and distorted child, who threw itself uponthe grass with writhing limbs and then ran swiftly across the lawninto the darkness.<"Something has been taken. There is less dust in this corner ofthe shelf than elsewhere. It may have been a book lying on its side.It may have been a box. Well, well, I can do nothing more. Let us walkin these beautiful woods, Watson, and give a few hours to the birdsand the flowers. We shall meet you here later, Hopkins, and see ifwe can come to closer quarters with the gentleman who has paid thisvisit in the night."

A crime of mysterious character was committed last night at 16Godolphin Street, one of the old-fashioned and secluded rows ofeighteenth century houses which lie between the river and the Abbey,almost in the shadow of the great Tower of the Houses of Parliament.This small but select mansion has been inhabited for some years by Mr.Eduardo Lucas, well known in society circles both on account of hischarming personality and because he has the well-deserved reputationof being one of the best amateur tenors in the country. Mr. Lucas isan unmarried man, thirty-four years of age, and his establishmentconsists of Mrs. Pringle, an elderly housekeeper, and of Mitton, hisvalet. The former retires early and sleeps at the top of the house.The valet was out for the evening, visiting a friend at Hammersmith.From ten o'clock onward Mr. Lucas had the house to himself. Whatoccurred during that time has not yet transpired, but at a quarterto twelve Police-constable Barrett, passing along Godolphin Streetobserved that the door of No. 16 was ajar. He knocked, but received noanswer. Perceiving a light in the front room, he advanced into thepassage and again knocked, but without reply. He then pushed openthe door and entered. The room was in a state of wild disorder, thefurniture being all swept to one side, and one chair lying on its backin the centre. Beside this chair, and still grasping one of itslegs, lay the unfortunate tenant of the house. He had been stabbedto the heart and must have died instantly. The knife with which thecrime had been committed was a curved Indian dagger, plucked down froma trophy of Oriental arms which adorned one of the walls. Robbery doesnot appear to have been the motive of the crime, for there had been noattempt to remove the valuable contents of the room. Mr. Eduardo Lucaswas so well known and popular that his violent and mysterious fatewill arouse painful interest and intense sympathy in a widespreadcircle of friends.

kuξַйҶ ۻ

"'Only to ask a few questions of a Greek gentleman who is visitingus, and to let us have the answers. But say no more than you aretold to say, or-' here came the nervous giggle again-'you had betternever have been born.'

"She is not in her senses. She is madly in love. She has been toldall about him. She cares nothing."

<"I do not think so," he said, at last."One of the most dangerous classes in the world," said he, "is thedrifting and friendless woman. She is the most harmless and oftenthe most useful of mortals, but she is the inevitable inciter of crimein others. She is helpless. She is migratory. She has sufficient meansto take her from country to country and from hotel to hotel. She islost, as often as not, in a maze of obscure pensions andboarding-houses. She is a stray chicken in a world of foxes. Whenshe is gobbled up she is hardly missed. I much fear that some evil hascome to the Lady Frances Carfax."

Dear Watson:

kuξַͻ

<"It is surely rather fanciful.""Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering tohis wife. Remember the card upon the bird's leg."

"No, Mr. Holmes, I did not."

ƷͼƬkuξַ

(ࣺӱӱ)

kuξַר

kuξַƼĶ

kuξַɭˣ"ҸϲʧܵС" "How could I help suspecting him, when I actually saw him with thecoronet in his hand?" ϸ

PGCȫFaZeɱ| ̵2018|ϲܣƷ̲IJһС

kuξַԤ8.48ԪƱʽҽμA5ʵʱΣ "She told me to ask you." ϸ

kuξַɭ-˹¹ʡ| ̵2018|÷ռ
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