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Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes
The Adventure of the Speckled Band
Capítulo 8, Página 30
Holmes
had
brought
up
a
long
thin
cane,
and
this
he
placed
upon
the
bed
beside
him.
By
it
he
laid
the
box
of
matches
and
the
stump
of
a
candle.
Then
he
turned
down
the
lamp,
and
we
were
left
in
darkness.
How
shall
I
ever
forget
that
dreadful
vigil?
I
could
not
hear
a
sound,
not
even
the
drawing
of
a
breath,
and
yet
I
knew
that
my
companion
sat
open-eyed,
within
a
few
feet
of
me,
in
the
same
state
of
nervous
tension
in
which
I
was
myself.
The
shutters
cut
off
the
least
ray
of
light,
and
we
waited
in
absolute
darkness.
From
outside
came
the
occasional
cry
of
a
night-bird,
and
once
at
our
very
window
a
long
drawn
catlike
whine,
which
told
us
that
the
cheetah
was
indeed
at
liberty.
Far
away
we
could
hear
the
deep
tones
of
the
parish
clock,
which
boomed
out
every
quarter
of
an
hour.
How
long
they
seemed,
those
quarters!
Twelve
struck,
and
one
and
two
and
three,
and
still
we
sat
waiting
silently
for
whatever
might
befall.
Suddenly
there
was
the
momentary
gleam
of
a
light
up
in
the
direction
of
the
ventilator,
which
vanished
immediately,
but
was
succeeded
by
a
strong
smell
of
burning
oil
and
heated
metal.
Someone
in
the
next
room
had
lit
a
dark-lantern.
I
heard
a
gentle
sound
of
movement,
and
then
all
was
silent
once
more,
though
the
smell
grew
stronger.
For
half
an
hour
I
sat
with
straining
ears.
Then
suddenly
another
sound
became
audible—a
very
gentle,
soothing
sound,
like
that
of
a
small
jet
of
steam
escaping
continually
from
a
kettle.
The
instant
that
we
heard
it,
Holmes
sprang
from
the
bed,
struck
a
match,
and
lashed
furiously
with
his
cane
at
the
bell-pull.
“You
see
it,
Watson?”
he
yelled.
“You
see
it?”
But
I
saw
nothing.
At
the
moment
when
Holmes
struck
the
light
I
heard
a
low,
clear
whistle,
but
the
sudden
glare
flashing
into
my
weary
eyes
made
it
impossible
for
me
to
tell
what
it
was
at
which
my
friend
lashed
so
savagely.
I
could,
however,
see
that
his
face
was
deadly
pale
and
filled
with
horror
and
loathing.
He
had
ceased
to
strike
and
was
gazing
up
at
the
ventilator
when
suddenly
there
broke
from
the
silence
of
the
night
the
most
horrible
cry
to
which
I
have
ever
listened.
It
swelled
up
louder
and
louder,
a
hoarse
yell
of
pain
and
fear
and
anger
all
mingled
in
the
one
dreadful
shriek.
They
say
that
away
down
in
the
village,
and
even
in
the
distant
parsonage,
that
cry
raised
the
sleepers
from
their
beds.
It
struck
cold
to
our
hearts,
and
I
stood
gazing
at
Holmes,
and
he
at
me,
until
the
last
echoes
of
it
had
died
away
into
the
silence
from
which
it
rose.
“What
can
it
mean?”
I
gasped.
“It
means
that
it
is
all
over,”
Holmes
answered.
“And
perhaps,
after
all,
it
is
for
the
best.
Take
your
pistol,
and
we
will
enter
Dr.
Roylott’s
room.”
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Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes — C1 Inglés | Cuentana