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Автор: Arthur Conan Doyle

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As we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord,
explaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance,
and that it was possible that we might spend the night there. A
moment later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing
in our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us
through the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand.
There was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for
unrepaired breaches gaped in the old park wall. Making our way
among the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about
to enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel
bushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted
child, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and
then ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness.
"My God!" I whispered; "did you see it?"
Holmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like
a vice upon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a low
laugh and put his lips to my ear.

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