Inchoosingafewtypicalcaseswhichillustratetheremarkablementalqualitiesofmyfriend,SherlockHolmes,Ihaveendeavoured,asfaraspossible,toselectthosewhichpresentedtheminimumofsensationalism,whileofferingafairfieldforhistalents.Itis,however,unfortunatelyimpossibleentirelytoseparatethesensationalfromthecriminal,andachroniclerisleftinthedilemmathathemusteithersacrificedetailswhichareessentialtohisstatementandsogiveafalseimpressionoftheproblem,orhemustusematterwhichchance,andnotchoice,hasprovidedhimwith.WiththisshortprefaceIshallturntomynotesofwhatprovedtobeastrange,thoughapeculiarlyterrible,chainofevents.
ItwasablazinghotdayinAugust.BakerStreetwaslikeanoven,andtheglareofthesunlightupontheyellowbrickworkofthehouseacrosstheroadwaspainfultotheeye.Itwashardtobelievethatthesewerethesamewallswhichloomedsogloomilythroughthefogsofwinter.Ourblindswerehalf-drawn,andHolmeslaycurleduponthesofa,readingandre-readingaletterwhichhehadreceivedbythemorningpost.Formyself,mytermofserviceinIndiahadtrainedmetostandheatbetterthancold,andathermometeratninetywasnohardship.Butthemorningpaperwasuninteresting.Parliamenthadrisen.Everybodywasoutoftown,andIyearnedforthegladesoftheNewForestortheshingleofSouthsea.Adepletedbankaccounthadcausedmetopostponemyholiday,andastomycompanion,neitherthecountrynortheseapresentedtheslightestattractiontohim.Helovedtolieintheverycentreoffivemillionsofpeople,withhisfilamentsstretchingoutandrunningthroughthem,responsivetoeverylittlerumourorsuspicionofunsolvedcrime.Appreciationofnaturefoundnoplaceamonghismanygifts,andhisonlychangewaswhenheturnedhismindfromtheevil-doerofthetowntotrackdownhisbrotherofthecountry.
FindingthatHolmeswastooabsorbedforconversationIhadtossedasidethebarrenpaper,andleaningbackinmychairIfellintoabrownstudy.Suddenlymycompanion’svoicebrokeinuponmythoughts:
“Youareright,Watson,”saidhe.“Itdoesseemamostpreposterouswayofsettlingadispute.”
“Mostpreposterous!”Iexclaimed,andthensuddenlyrealizinghowhehadechoedtheinmostthoughtofmysoul,Isatupinmychairandstaredathiminblankamazement.
“Whatisthis,Holmes?”Icried.“ThisisbeyondanythingwhichIcouldhaveimagined.”
Helaughedheartilyatmyperplexity.
“Youremember,”hesaid,“thatsomelittletimeagowhenIreadyouthepassageinoneofPoe’ssketchesinwhichaclosereasonerfollowstheunspokenthoughtsofhiscompanion,youwereinclinedtotreatthematterasameretour-de-forceoftheauthor.OnmyremarkingthatIwasconstantlyinthehabitofdoingthesamethingyouexpressedincredulity.”
“Oh,no!”
“Perhapsnotwithyourtongue,mydearWatson,butcertainlywithyoureyebrows.SowhenIsawyouthrowdownyourpaperandenteruponatrainofthought,Iwasveryhappytohavetheopportunityofreadingitoff,andeventuallyofbreakingintoit,asaproofthatIhadbeeninrapportwithyou.”
ButIwasstillfarfromsatisfied.“Intheexamplewhichyoureadtome,”saidI,“thereasonerdrewhisconclusionsfromtheactionsofthemanwhomheobserved.IfIrememberright,hestumbledoveraheapofstones,lookedupatthestars,andsoon.ButIhavebeenseatedquietlyinmychair,andwhatcluescanIhavegivenyou?”
“Youdoyourselfaninjustice.Thefeaturesaregiventomanasthemeansbywhichheshallexpresshisemotions,andyoursarefaithfulservants.”
“Doyoumeantosaythatyoureadmytrainofthoughtsfrommyfeatures?”
“Yourfeaturesandespeciallyyoureyes.Perhapsyoucannotyourselfrecallhowyourreveriecommenced?”
“No,Icannot.”
“ThenIwilltellyou.Afterthrowingdownyourpaper,whichwastheactionwhichdrewmyattentiontoyou,yousatforhalfaminutewithavacantexpression.ThenyoureyesfixedthemselvesuponyournewlyframedpictureofGeneralGordon,andIsawbythealterationinyourfacethatatrainofthoughthadbeenstarted.Butitdidnotleadveryfar.YoureyesflashedacrosstotheunframedportraitofHenryWardBeecherwhichstandsuponthetopofyourbooks.Thenyouglancedupatthewall,andofcourseyourmeaningwasobvious.Youwerethinkingthatiftheportraitwereframeditwouldjustcoverthatbar