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The Adventure of the Devil's Foot | Arthur Conan Doyle | |
The Adventure of the Devil's Foot |
Page 10 of 18 |
Our visitor was so excited that he could hardly articulate, but at last in gasps and bursts his tragic story came out of him. "We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes! My poor parish is devil-ridden!" he cried. "Satan himself is loose in it! We are given over into his hands!" He danced about in his agitation, a ludicrous object if it were not for his ashy face and startled eyes. Finally he shot out his terrible news. "Mr. Mortimer Tregennis died during the night, and with exactly the same symptoms as the rest of his family." Holmes sprang to his feet, all energy in an instant. "Can you fit us both into your dog-cart?" "Yes, I can." "Then, Watson, we will postpone our breakfast. Mr. Roundhay, we are entirely at your disposal. Hurry--hurry, before things get disarranged." The lodger occupied two rooms at the vicarage, which were in an angle by themselves, the one above the other. Below was a large sitting-room; above, his bedroom. They looked out upon a croquet lawn which came up to the windows. We had arrived before the doctor or the police, so that everything was absolutely undisturbed. Let me describe exactly the scene as we saw it upon that misty March morning. It has left an impression which can never be effaced from my mind. |
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The Adventure of the Devil's Foot Arthur Conan Doyle |
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