Przygody sherlocka holmesa ebook


 

Ebook „The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes / Przygody Sherlocka Holmesa”, Arthur Conan Doyle. EPUB, MOBI. Wypróbuj 14 dni za darmo lub kup teraz do. Przygody Sherlocka Holmesa w wersji do nauki angielskiego, Arthur Conan Doyle, Marta Fihel, Dariusz Jemielniak. EPUB, MOBI. Wypróbuj 14 dni za darmo lub. Sherlock Holmes Tom 1 - Arthur Conan Doyle - ebook · The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (part I). Przygody Sherlocka Holmesa w wersji do · Sherlock Holmes.

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Przygody Sherlocka Holmesa Ebook

Holmes wysyła Watsona wraz z przybyłym zza oceanu, ostatnim spadkobiercą, sir Henrym, Dziwne przygody Sherlocka Holmes. PRZEZ Kindle eBook. ISBN (format pdf). Z PLIKU ZOSTAŁY .. a przygody Sherlocka Holmesa od samego początku zrobiły furorę i ukazywały się regularnie, aracer.mobi Read the original Sherlock Holmes novels and short stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle anywhere for free. This app contains the following Short story.

He was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give any immediate answer to my remonstrance. He leaned upon his hand, with his untasted breakfast before him, and he stared at the slip of paper which he had just drawn from its envelope. Then he took the envelope itself, held it up to the light, and very carefully studied both the exterior and the flap. The Greek e with the peculiar top flourish is distinctive. But if it is Porlock, then it must be something of the very first importance.

She was strong enough to hold her own in a gentle, elastic fashion, which bent to his moods and reasserted itself when they were past. Lately she had felt the constant pressure too oppressive and she had relieved it by feeling out for a career of her own. She did occasional odd jobs for the London press, and did them in such fashion that her name was beginning to be known in Fleet Street. In finding this opening she had been greatly helped by an old friend of her father —and possibly of the reader —Mr.

Edward Malone of the Daily Gazette.

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Malone was still the same athletic Irishman who had once won his international cap at Rugby, but life had toned him down also, and made him a more subdued and thoughtful man. He had put away a good deal when last his football-boots had been packed away for good.

His muscles may have wilted and his joints stiffened, but his mind was deeper and more active. The boy was dead and the man was born.

In person he had altered little, but his moustache was heavier, his back a little rounded, and some lines of thought were tracing themselves upon his brow.

Post-war conditions and new world problems had left their mark.

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For the rest he had made his name in journalism and even to a small degree in literature. Certainly they were very good chums. It was a Sunday evening in October, and the lights were just beginning to twinkle out through the fog which had shrouded London from early morning. Professor Challenger sat with his thick, bandy legs outstretched to the fire, and his hands thrust deeply into trouser pockets.

His dress had a little of the eccentricity of genius, for he wore a loose-collared shirt, a large knotted maroon-coloured silk tie, and a black velvet smoking-jacket, which, with his flowing beard, gave him the appearance of an elderly and Bohemian artist. On one side of him ready for an excursion, with bowl hat, short-skirted dress of black, and all the other fashionable devices with which women contrive to deform the beauties of nature, there sat his daughter, while Malone, hat in hand, waited by the window.

Sit down! A relic of atavism and the fear of a dagger, but still persistent. You have a perpetual air of catching a train. Even Enid is beginning to understand that. But still, as you say, there is time enough. But to-night we are trying to introduce some variety. We are doing the Spiritualists. They have over four hundred registered churches in Great Britain. Homo Sapiens! Homo idioticus! Who do they pray to— the ghosts? We should get some copy out of them. He is a rising surgeon, you know.

He is level-headed and is looked on as an authority on psychic research, as they call the new science which deals with these matters. He seems to take these people seriously.

What literature have they? Atkinson has five hundred volumes, but complains that his psychic library is very imperfect. You see, there is French, German, Italian, as well as our own. Pestilential nonsense!

I, with all my interests and no time for one-half of them! Enid, you are too absurd. You spoke with such assurance, I thought you knew something about it. Am I to study mathematics in order to confute the man who tells me that two and two are five? Must I study physics once more and take down my Principia because some rogue or fool insists that a table can rise in the air against the law of gravity?

Does it take five hundred volume to inform us of a thing which is proved in every police-court when an impostor is exposed?

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Enid, I am ashamed of you! I give in. In fact, I have the same feeling that you have. Every great mind has its weaker side. It is a sort of reaction against all the good sense. You come suddenly upon a vein of positive nonsense.

That is what is the matter with these fellows. If we re-open all the old questions, how can we ever get ahead with the new ones? This matter is settled by common sense, the law of England, and by the universal assent of every sane European. Challenger hesitated. He seemed to be struggling with himself. He wished to speak, and yet speech was painful. Then, with an abrupt, impatient gesture, he plunged into his story:.

It was tootoo intimate. Perhaps too absurd. I was ashamed to have been so shaken. But it shows how even the best balanced may be caught unawares. You knew her, Malone You can guess what it meant to me. It was the night after the cremationhorrible, Malone, horrible! I saw the dear little body slide down, down…and then the glare of flame and the door clanged to.

It may be a warning to you. That night —the night after the cremation —I sat up in the hall. You know the house at Rotherfield, Malone. It was in the big hall. I sat by the fireplace, the room all draped in shadow, and my mind draped In shadow also. I should have sent her to bed, but she was lying back in her chair and I did not wish to wake her.

It may have been one in the morning —I remember the moon shining through the stained-glass window. I sat and I brooded. Then suddenly there came a noise. Then it grew louder and more distinct —it was a clear rat-tat-tat. Now comes the queer coincidence, the sort of thing out of which legends grow when credulous folk have the shaping of them.

Now, supposing that he broke away during or after the tragedy, where could he have gone to? The horse is a very gregarious creature. Why should he run wild upon the moor? He would surely have been seen by now. And why should gypsies kidnap him?

These people always clear out when they hear of trouble, for they do not wish to be pestered by the police. They could not hope to sell such a horse. They would run a great risk and gain nothing by taking him. Surely that is clear. Therefore he is at Mapleton. Let us take that as a working hypothesis and see what it leads us to. This part of the moor, as the inspector remarked, is very hard and dry. But it falls away towards Mapleton, and you can see from here that there is a long hollow over yonder, which must have been very wet on Monday night.

If our supposition is correct, then the horse must have crossed that, and there is the point where we should look for his tracks. We had been walking briskly during this conversation, and a few more minutes brought us to the hollow in question.

The track of a horse was plainly outlined in the soft earth in front of him, and the shoe which he took from his pocket exactly fitted the impression. We imagined what might have happened, acted upon the supposition, and find ourselves justified. Let us proceed. We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mile of dry, hard turf. Again the ground sloped, and again we came on the tracks. Then we lost them for half a mile, but only to pick them up once more quite close to Mapleton.

It was Holmes who saw them first, and he stood pointing with a look of triumph upon his face. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along after it. His eyes were on the trail, but I happened to look a little to one side and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back again in the opposite direction.

Let us follow the return track.

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We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt which led up to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran out from them.

But here he is, sir, to answer your questions for himself. No, sir, no, it is as much as my place is worth to let him see me touch your money. Afterwards, if you like. As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawn from his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the gate with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand.

Go about your business! And you, what the devil do you want here? We want no strangers here. Be off, or you may find a dog at your heels. He started violently and flushed to the temples. Holmes smiled. Brown, I am quite at your disposal. It was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into grays before Holmes and the trainer reappeared.

Never have I seen such a change as had been brought about in Silas Brown in that short time. His face was ashy pale, beads of perspiration shone upon his brow, and his hands shook until the hunting-crop wagged like a branch in the wind. The other winced as he read the menace in his eyes. It shall be there. Should I change it first or not? Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. Well, you shall hear from me to-morrow. Of course you observed the peculiarly square toes in the impressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded to them.

Again, of course no subordinate would have dared to do such a thing. I described to him how, when according to his custom he was the first down, he perceived a strange horse wandering over the moor.

How he went out to it, and his astonishment at recognizing, from the white forehead which has given the favourite its name, that chance had put in his power the only horse which could beat the one upon which he had put his money. When I told him every detail he gave it up and thought only of saving his own skin. He knows that his only hope of mercy is to produce it safe. I follow my own methods and tell as much or as little as I choose.

That is the advantage of being unofficial. I am inclined now to have a little amusement at his expense. Say nothing to him about the horse. We had only been a few hours in Devonshire, and that he should give up an investigation which he had begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me.

The colonel and the inspector were awaiting us in the parlour. Holmes shrugged his shoulders. Might I ask for a photograph of Mr.

John Straker? If I might ask you to wait here for an instant, I have a question which I should like to put to the maid. As we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads held the door open for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leaned forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve. Drive on, coachman! Four days later Holmes and I were again in the train, bound for Winchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup.

Colonel Ross met us by appointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag to the course beyond the town. His face was grave, and his manner was cold in the extreme. The colonel was very angry. You could have got fifteen to one yesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter, until you can hardly get three to one now.

As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grandstand I glanced at the card to see the entries. Wessex Plate [it ran] 50 sovs. New course one mile and five furlongs.

Silver Blaze favourite? Five to fifteen against Desborough! Five to four on the field! My colours have not passed. As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighing enclosure and cantered past us, bearing on its back the well-known black and red of the colonel. What is this that you have done, Mr. For a few minutes he gazed through my field-glass.

An excellent start! From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight. The six horses were so close together that a carpet could have covered them, but halfway up the yellow of the Mapleton stable showed to the front.

Let us all go round and have a look at the horse together. The horse looks very fit and well. It never went better in its life.

I owe you a thousand apologies for having doubted your ability. You have done me a great service by recovering my horse. You would do me a greater still if you could lay your hands on the murderer of John Straker. The colonel flushed angrily. Sherlock Holmes laughed. And it may lessen his guilt if I say that it was done in self-defence, and that John Straker was a man who was entirely unworthy of your confidence.

But there goes the bell, and as I stand to win a little on this next race, I shall defer a lengthy explanation until a more fitting time.

And yet there were indications there, had they not been overlaid by other details which concealed their true import. I went to Devonshire with the conviction that Fitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although, of course, I saw that the evidence against him was by no means complete.

You may remember that I was distrait and remained sitting after you had all alighted. I was marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly have overlooked so obvious a clue. Powdered opium is by no means tasteless. The flavour is not disagreeable, but it is perceptible. Were it mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would undoubtedly detect it and would probably eat no more.

A curry was exactly the medium which would disguise this taste. That is unthinkable. Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated from the case, and our attention centres upon Straker and his wife, the only two people who could have chosen curried mutton for supper that night.

The opium was added after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy, for the others had the same for supper with no ill effects. Which of them, then, had access to that dish without the maid seeing them? The Simpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the stables, and yet, though someone had been in and had fetched out a horse, he had not barked enough to arouse the two lads in the loft. Obviously the midnight visitor was someone whom the dog knew well.

For what purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously, or why should he drug his own stable-boy? And yet I was at a loss to know why. There have been cases before now where trainers have made sure of great sums of money by laying against their own horses through agents and then preventing them from winning by fraud. Sometimes it is a pulling jockey. Sometimes it is some surer and subtler means.

What was it here? I hoped that the contents of his pockets might help me to form a conclusion. It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of knife which is used for the most delicate operations known in surgery.

And it was to be used for a delicate operation that night. A horse so treated would develop a slight lameness, which would be put down to a strain in exercise or a touch of rheumatism, but never to foul play.

So spirited a creature would have certainly roused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the knife. It was absolutely necessary to do it in the open air. But in examining his belongings I was fortunate enough to discover not only the method of the crime but even its motives.

We have most of us quite enough to do to settle our own. I at once concluded that Straker was leading a double life and keeping a second establishment.

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The nature of the bill showed that there was a lady in the case, and one who had expensive tastes. Liberal as you are with your servants, one can hardly expect that they can download twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies. I questioned Mrs. Straker had led out the horse to a hollow where his light would be invisible. Once in the hollow, he had got behind the horse and had struck a light; but the creature, frightened at the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of animals feeling that some mischief was intended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe had struck Straker full on the forehead.

He had already, in spite of the rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his delicate task, and so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh. Do I make it clear? It struck me that so astute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicate tendon-nicking without a little practise.

What could he practise on?

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My eyes fell upon the sheep, and I asked a question which, rather to my surprise, showed that my surmise was correct. I have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over head and ears in debt, and so led him into this miserable plot.

We must have an amnesty in that direction, I think.

This is Clapham Junction, if I am not mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in less than ten minutes. If you care to smoke a cigar in our rooms, Colonel, I shall be happy to give you any other details which might interest you. Now and again, however, it chanced that even when he erred the truth was still discovered.

I have noted of some half-dozen cases of the kind; the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual and that which I am about to recount are the two which present the strongest features of interest. Few men were capable of greater muscular effort, and he was undoubtedly one of the finest boxers of his weight that I have ever seen; but he looked upon aimless bodily exertion as a waste of energy, and he seldom bestirred himself save where there was some professional object to be served. Then he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable.

That he should have kept himself in training under such circumstances is remarkable, but his diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits were simple to the verge of austerity. Save for the occasional use of cocaine, he had no vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest against the monotony of existence when cases were scanty and the papers uninteresting.

One day in early spring he had so far relaxed as to go for a walk with me in the Park, where the first faint shoots of green were breaking out upon the elms, and the sticky spear-heads of the chestnuts were just beginning to burst into their fivefold leaves.

For two hours we rambled about together, in silence for the most part, as befits two men who know each other intimately. It was nearly five before we were back in Baker Street once more. Illustrated Edition - ebook. The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. Illustrated Edition ebook Arthur Conan Doyle. Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na: Dlaczego warto? Przeczytaj fragment w darmowej aplikacji Legimi na: Ebooka przeczytasz na: Kindlu MOBI. Pobierz fragment dostosowany na: Kindla MOBI. Opinie o ebooku The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.

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