WhenIglanceovermynotesandrecordsoftheSherlockHolmescasesbetweentheyears’82and’90,Iamfacedbysomanywhichpresentstrangeandinterestingfeaturesthatitisnoeasymattertoknowwhichtochooseandwhichtoleave.Some,however,havealreadygainedpublicitythroughthepapers,andothershavenotofferedafieldforthosepeculiarqualitieswhichmyfriendpossessedinsohighadegree,andwhichitistheobjectofthesepaperstoillustrate.Some,too,havebaffledhisanalyticalskill,andwouldbe,asnarratives,beginningswithoutanending,whileothershavebeenbutpartiallyclearedup,andhavetheirexplanationsfoundedratheruponconjectureandsurmisethanonthatabsolutelogicalproofwhichwassodeartohim.Thereis,however,oneoftheselastwhichwassoremarkableinitsdetailsandsostartlinginitsresultsthatIamtemptedtogivesomeaccountofitinspiteofthefactthattherearepointsinconnectionwithitwhichneverhavebeen,andprobablyneverwillbe,entirelyclearedup.
Theyear’87furnisheduswithalongseriesofcasesofgreaterorlessinterest,ofwhichIretaintherecords.AmongmyheadingsunderthisonetwelvemonthsIfindanaccountoftheadventureoftheParadolChamber,oftheAmateurMendicantSociety,whoheldaluxuriousclubinthelowervaultofafurniturewarehouse,ofthefactsconnectedwiththelossoftheBritishbarqueSophyAnderson,ofthesingularadventuresoftheGricePatersonsintheislandofUffa,andfinallyoftheCamberwellpoisoningcase.Inthelatter,asmayberemembered,SherlockHolmeswasable,bywindingupthedeadman’swatch,toprovethatithadbeenwounduptwohoursbefore,andthatthereforethedeceasedhadgonetobedwithinthattime—adeductionwhichwasofthegreatestimportanceinclearingupthecase.AlltheseImaysketchoutatsomefuturedate,butnoneofthempresentsuchsingularfeaturesasthestrangetrainofcircumstanceswhichIhavenowtakenupmypentodescribe.
ItwasinthelatterdaysofSeptember,andtheequinoctialgaleshadsetinwithexceptionalviolence.Alldaythewindhadscreamedandtherainhadbeatenagainstthewindows,sothatevenhereintheheartofgreat,hand-madeLondonwewereforcedtoraiseourmindsfortheinstantfromtheroutineoflifeandtorecognisethepresenceofthosegreatelementalforceswhichshriekatmankindthroughthebarsofhiscivilisation,likeuntamedbeastsinacage.Aseveningdrewin,thestormgrewhigherandlouder,andthewindcriedandsobbedlikeachildinthechimney.SherlockHolmessatmoodilyatonesideofthefireplacecross-indexinghisrecordsofcrime,whileIattheotherwasdeepinoneofClarkRussell’sfinesea-storiesuntilthehowlofthegalefromwithoutseemedtoblendwiththetext,andthesplashoftheraintolengthenoutintothelongswashoftheseawaves.Mywifewasonavisittohermother’s,andforafewdaysIwasadwelleroncemoreinmyoldquartersatBakerStreet.
“Why,”saidI,glancingupatmycompanion,“thatwassurelythebell.Whocouldcometo-night?Somefriendofyours,perhaps?”
“ExceptyourselfIhavenone,”heanswered.“Idonotencouragevisitors.”
“Aclient,then?”
“Ifso,itisaseriouscase.Nothinglesswouldbringamanoutonsuchadayandatsuchanhour.ButItakeitthatitismorelikelytobesomecronyofthelandlady’s.”
SherlockHolmeswaswronginhisconjecture,however,fortherecameastepinthepassageandatappingatthedoor.Hestretchedouthislongarmtoturnthelampawayfromhimselfandtowardsthevacantchairuponwhichanewcomermustsit.
“Comein!”saidhe.
Themanwhoenteredwasyoung,sometwo-and-twentyattheoutside,well-groomedandtrimlyclad,withsomethingofrefinementanddelicacyinhisbearing.Thestreamingumbrellawhichheheldinhishand,andhislongshining