“By killing the man?”
“No—by killing the horse. If you hadn’t grabbed my arm, I should have captured one of Lupin’s accomplices. Now, do you understand the folly of your act?”
Throughout the afternoon both men were morose. They did not speak a word to each other. At five o’clock they visited the rue Clapeyron, but were careful to keep at a safe distance from the houses. However, three young men who were passing through the street, arm in arm, singing, ran against Sholmes and Wilson and refused to let them pass. Sholmes, who was in an ill humor, contested the right of way with them. After a brief struggle, Sholmes resorted to his fists. He struck one of the men a hard blow on the chest, another a blow in the face, and thus subdued two of his adversaries. Thereupon the three of them took to their heels and disappeared.
“Ah!” exclaimed Sholmes, “that does me good. I needed a little exercise.”
But Wilson was leaning against the wall. Sholmes said:
“What’s the matter, old chap? You’re quite pale.”
Wilson pointed to his left arm, which hung inert, and stammered:
“I don’t know what it is. My arm pains me.”
“Very much?... Is it serious?”
“Yes, I am afraid so.”