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Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes
A Case of Identity
Capítulo 3, Página 13
“My
dear
fellow,
is
it
possible
you
do
not
see
how
strongly
it
bears
upon
the
case?”
“I
cannot
say
that
I
do
unless
it
were
that
he
wished
to
be
able
to
deny
his
signature
if
an
action
for
breach
of
promise
were
instituted.”
“No,
that
was
not
the
point.
However,
I
shall
write
two
letters,
which
should
settle
the
matter.
One
is
to
a
firm
in
the
City,
the
other
is
to
the
young
lady’s
stepfather,
Mr.
Windibank,
asking
him
whether
he
could
meet
us
here
at
six
o’clock
to-morrow
evening.
It
is
just
as
well
that
we
should
do
business
with
the
male
relatives.
And
now,
Doctor,
we
can
do
nothing
until
the
answers
to
those
letters
come,
so
we
may
put
our
little
problem
upon
the
shelf
for
the
interim.”
I
had
had
so
many
reasons
to
believe
in
my
friend’s
subtle
powers
of
reasoning
and
extraordinary
energy
in
action
that
I
felt
that
he
must
have
some
solid
grounds
for
the
assured
and
easy
demeanour
with
which
he
treated
the
singular
mystery
which
he
had
been
called
upon
to
fathom.
Once
only
had
I
known
him
to
fail,
in
the
case
of
the
King
of
Bohemia
and
of
the
Irene
Adler
photograph;
but
when
I
looked
back
to
the
weird
business
of
the
Sign
of
Four,
and
the
extraordinary
circumstances
connected
with
the
Study
in
Scarlet,
I
felt
that
it
would
be
a
strange
tangle
indeed
which
he
could
not
unravel.
I
left
him
then,
still
puffing
at
his
black
clay
pipe,
with
the
conviction
that
when
I
came
again
on
the
next
evening
I
would
find
that
he
held
in
his
hands
all
the
clues
which
would
lead
up
to
the
identity
of
the
disappearing
bridegroom
of
Miss
Mary
Sutherland.
A
professional
case
of
great
gravity
was
engaging
my
own
attention
at
the
time,
and
the
whole
of
next
day
I
was
busy
at
the
bedside
of
the
sufferer.
It
was
not
until
close
upon
six
o’clock
that
I
found
myself
free
and
was
able
to
spring
into
a
hansom
and
drive
to
Baker
Street,
half
afraid
that
I
might
be
too
late
to
assist
at
the
dénouement
of
the
little
mystery.
I
found
Sherlock
Holmes
alone,
however,
half
asleep,
with
his
long,
thin
form
curled
up
in
the
recesses
of
his
armchair.
A
formidable
array
of
bottles
and
test-tubes,
with
the
pungent
cleanly
smell
of
hydrochloric
acid,
told
me
that
he
had
spent
his
day
in
the
chemical
work
which
was
so
dear
to
him.
“Well,
have
you
solved
it?”
I
asked
as
I
entered.
“Yes.
It
was
the
bisulphate
of
baryta.”
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Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes — C1 Inglés | Cuentana