serious?”
“It’s possible, isn’t it?”
“No! The real Holmes is dead. It’s folly to think that scrawny, gibbering imitation presuming on Dr. Axminster’s hospitality is the genuine article. You know that as well as I do.”
“Perhaps. But I have a feeling that whoever he is, neither of us has seen the last of him-personally or professionally.”
“We’d better have,” John said in ominous tones. “If he tries to interfere in any more of our investigations, I may not be able to restrain myself from strangling, bludgeoning, stabbing, or shooting him.”
Sabina rolled her eyes and maintained an eloquent silence.
Вы читаете The Bughouse Affair
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