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Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes
The Boscombe Valley Mystery
Capítulo 4, Página 17
"Well,
nonsense
is
brighter
than
confusion,"
said
Holmes,
laughing.
"But
I
believe
this
is
Hatherley
Farm
on
the
left."
"Yes,
that's
it."
The
building
was
big
and
comfortable-looking,
with
two
stories
and
a
slate
roof.
Yellow
spots
of
lichen
covered
the
grey
walls.
But
the
closed
blinds
and
smokeless
chimneys
made
it
seem
sad,
as
if
the
horror
still
lingered.
We
knocked
on
the
door,
and
at
Holmes'
request,
the
maid
showed
us
the
boots
her
master
wore
when
he
died,
along
with
a
pair
belonging
to
his
son,
though
not
the
ones
he
wore
then.
Holmes
measured
them
carefully
from
several
points.
Then
he
asked
to
be
taken
to
the
courtyard,
and
we
all
followed
the
winding
path
to
Boscombe
Pool.
Sherlock
Holmes
was
different
when
he
was
on
a
case
like
this.
People
who
knew
him
as
the
quiet
thinker
from
Baker
Street
wouldn't
recognize
him
now.
His
face
was
flushed
and
intense.
His
eyebrows
were
tight,
and
his
eyes
shone
with
a
sharp
light.
He
bent
forward,
his
shoulders
hunched,
and
his
lips
were
tight.
The
veins
in
his
neck
stood
out.
His
nostrils
flared
as
if
he
was
on
a
hunt,
and
he
was
so
focused
that
he
ignored
questions
or
reacted
impatiently.
He
moved
quickly
and
quietly
along
the
path
through
the
meadows
and
woods
to
Boscombe
Pool.
The
ground
was
wet
and
marshy,
with
many
footprints
on
the
path
and
in
the
grass.
Holmes
sometimes
hurried
and
sometimes
stopped,
even
making
a
small
detour
into
the
meadow.
Lestrade
and
I
walked
behind,
Lestrade
indifferent,
while
I
watched
Holmes,
knowing
every
action
had
a
purpose.
Boscombe
Pool
is
a
small
lake,
about
fifty
yards
wide,
surrounded
by
reeds.
It
lies
between
Hatherley
Farm
and
Mr.
Turner's
private
park.
We
could
see
the
red
towers
of
the
rich
landowner's
house
above
the
woods
on
the
other
side.
On
the
Hatherley
side,
the
woods
were
thick,
with
a
narrow
strip
of
wet
grass
between
the
trees
and
the
reeds
by
the
lake.
Lestrade
showed
us
where
the
body
was
found.
The
ground
was
so
wet
that
I
could
see
the
marks
left
by
the
man's
fall.
Holmes,
with
his
eager
face
and
searching
eyes,
saw
many
other
things
on
the
trampled
grass.
He
moved
around
like
a
dog
picking
up
a
scent,
then
turned
to
my
companion.
"Why
did
you
go
into
the
pool?"
he
asked.
"I
used
a
rake
to
search
for
a
weapon
or
something.
But
how
did
you—"
"Oh,
I
have
no
time
for
that!
Your
left
foot
with
its
inward
twist
is
all
over
the
place.
A
mole
could
follow
it,
and
it
disappears
among
the
reeds.
It
would
have
been
easy
if
I
had
been
here
before
they
trampled
the
area.
Here
is
where
the
lodge-keeper
and
others
came,
covering
all
tracks
around
the
body.
But
here
are
three
sets
of
the
same
footprints."
He
took
out
a
lens
and
lay
on
his
waterproof
coat
to
see
better,
talking
more
to
himself
than
to
us.
"These
are
young
McCarthy's
footprints.
Twice
he
walked,
and
once
he
ran
fast,
so
the
soles
are
deep,
and
the
heels
are
barely
visible.
That
matches
his
story.
He
ran
when
he
saw
his
father
on
the
ground.
Here
are
the
father's
footprints
as
he
walked
back
and
forth.
What's
this?
The
gun's
butt-end
as
the
son
stood
listening.
And
this?
Tiptoes!
Unusual
square
boots!
They
come,
they
go,
and
come
again—of
course,
for
the
cloak.
Where
did
they
come
from?"
He
ran
up
and
down,
sometimes
losing,
sometimes
finding
the
track
until
we
were
at
the
edge
of
the
wood
under
a
large
beech
tree.
Holmes
traced
his
way
to
the
other
side
and
lay
down
with
satisfaction.
He
stayed
there
for
a
long
time,
turning
over
leaves
and
sticks,
gathering
dust
into
an
envelope,
and
examining
the
ground
and
tree
bark
with
his
lens.
A
jagged
stone
lay
among
the
moss,
which
he
also
examined
and
kept.
Then
he
followed
a
path
through
the
wood
to
the
high
road,
where
all
traces
were
lost.
"This
case
is
very
interesting,"
he
said,
returning
to
his
usual
manner.
"I
think
that
grey
house
must
be
the
lodge.
I'll
have
a
word
with
Moran
and
maybe
write
a
note.
After
that,
we
can
drive
back
for
lunch.
You
can
walk
to
the
cab;
I'll
join
you
soon."
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Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes — B1 Inglés | Cuentana