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Doyle, Arthur Conan

"The Return Of Sherlock Holmes"

I stood at the
centre door with my eyes glancing at each of the others, ready
for any emergency, though, indeed, my plans were somewhat
vague as to what I should do if we were interrupted. For half an
hour, Holmes worked with concentrated energy, laying down
one tool, picking up another, handling each with the strength and
delicacy of the trained mechanic. Finally I heard a click, the
broad green door swung open, and inside I had a glimpse of a
number of paper packets, each tied, sealed, and inscribed. Holmes
picked one out, but it was hard to read by the flickering fire, and
he drew out his little dark lantern, for it was too dangerous, with
Milverton in the next room, to switch on the electric light.
Suddenly I saw him halt, listen intently, and then in an instant he
had swung the door of the safe to, picked up his coat, stuffed his
tools into the pockets, and darted behind the window curtain,
motioning me to do the same.
It was only when I had joined him there that I heard what had
alarmed his quicker senses. There was a noise somewhere within
the house.


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