Sherlock and I barely spoke until we had passed with all the stealth we could manage through back lanes, kitchen-gardens, a carriage-drive where a sleepy watchdog barked at us, rustling hedges, creaky gates, and at last beneath someone's dark windows to Oakley Street. There we could see the cab, a substantial four-wheeler, waiting at the next corner like a chariot of Heaven beneath a halo of gas-light.
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Hitching along half a step behind me, Sherlock spoke then to answer the question I had not asked. "I would be no gentleman if I did not give you my heartfelt thanks and let you go your merry way, Enola."
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My heart leapt.
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第十二章
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