The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

by Arthur Conan Doyle

I happened to look a little to one side and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back again in the opposite direction. “One for you, Watson,” said Holmes when I pointed it out. “You have saved us a long walk, which would have brought us back on our own traces. Let us follow the return track.”

“Ten minutes’ talk with you, my good sir,” said Holmes in the sweetest of voices.

“To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.” “The dog did nothing in the night-time.” “That was the curious incident,” remarked Sherlock Holmes.

“You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as the means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithful servants.” “Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from my features?” “Your features and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourself recall how your reverie commenced?”

“Well, if we can't we can't,” said Holmes, cheerfully.

We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk about nothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he had purchased his own Stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundred guineas, at a Jew broker's in Tottenham Court Road for fifty-five shillings. This led him to Paganini, and we sat for an hour over a bottle of claret while he told me anecdote after anecdote of that extraordinary man.

Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable,

Save for the occasional use of cocaine, he had no vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest against the monotony of existence when cases were scanty and the papers uninteresting.

“I can see that you have not slept for a night or two,” said Holmes in his easy, genial way. “That tries a man’s nerves more than work, and more even than pleasure. May I ask how I can help you?”

Of course, legally, we are putting ourselves hopelessly in the wrong; but I think that it is worth it.”

Holmes and I followed them down the lane, and my friend plucked at my sleeve as we came out.

“Watson,” said he, “if it should ever strike you that I am getting a little overconfident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case than it deserves, kindly whisper ‘Norbury’ in my ear, and I shall be infinitely obliged to you.”

Then Sherlock Holmes cocked his eye at me, leaning back on the cushions with a pleased and yet critical face, like a connoisseur who has just taken his first sip of a comet vintage.

we won’t talk of it. Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old loves are the worst.

One day last week—on Thursday night, to be more exact—I found that I could not sleep, having foolishly taken a cup of strong café noir after my dinner.

Even his iron constitution, however, had broken down under the strain of an investigation which had extended over two months, during which period he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day and had more than once, as he assured me, kept to his task for five days at a stretch.

Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed that it had pleased him.

But I held up a warning finger. “You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For heaven’s sake don’t get started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds.” Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignation towards the colonel, and the talk drifted away into less dangerous channels.

“The matter grows in interest,” said he. “Watson, your country trip has been a distinct success. I have had a charming morning.”

As we passed it Holmes, to my unutterable astonishment, leaned over in front of me and deliberately knocked the whole thing over. The glass smashed into a thousand pieces and the fruit rolled about into every corner of the room. “You’ve done it now, Watson,” said he coolly. “A pretty mess you’ve made of the carpet.”

Sorry to see that you’ve had the British workman in the house. He‘s a token of evil.

“I have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear Watson,” said he. “When your round is a short one you walk, and when it is a long one you use a hansom.

agent I had a most interesting gossip with his landlady.

We shall find him in Hudson Street to-morrow, Watson, and meanwhile I should be the criminal myself if I kept you out of bed any longer.”

In spite of his capacity for concealing his emotions, I could easily see that Holmes was in a state of suppressed excitement, while I was myself tingling with that half-sporting, half-intellectual pleasure which I invariably experienced when I associated myself with him in his investigations.

the evening has brought a breeze with it. What do you say to a ramble through London?”

DURING MY LONG AND INTIMATE ACQUAINTANCE WITH MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES I had never heard him refer to his relations, and hardly ever to his own early life.

“My dear Watson,” said he, “I cannot agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues.

“The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroft one of the queerest men.

“I will be at your service in an instant, Watson. You will find tobacco in the Persian slipper.”

You are the stormy petrel of crime, Watson. What is it?”

“That is of enormous importance,” said Holmes, making a note upon his shirtcuff.

When we reached Scotland Yard she was handed over at once to the female searcher.

Holmes sat silently, with his head thrown back and his eyes closed, in an attitude which might seem listless to a stranger, but which I knew betokened the most intense self-absorption.

What a lovely thing a rose is!”

He walked past the couch to the open window and held up the drooping stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson and green. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural objects.

“There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion,” said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. “It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are an embellishment of life, not ...

“You suspect someone?” “I suspect myself.” “What!” “Of coming to conclusions too rapidly.”

“On the contrary,” said Holmes, “out of my last fifty-three cases my name has only appeared in four, and the police have had all the credit in forty-nine. I don’t blame you for not knowing this, for you are young and inexperienced, but if you wish to get on in your new duties you will work with me and not against me.” “I’d be very glad of a hint or two,” said the detective, changing his manner. “I’ve certainly had no credit from the case so far.”

“Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion,” said Holmes, uncovering a dish of curried chicken. “Her cuisine is a little limited, but she has as good an idea of breakfast as a Scotchwoman.

“There! there!” said Holmes soothingly, patting him upon the shoulder. “It was too bad to spring it on you like this, but Watson here will tell you that I never can resist a touch of the dramatic.”

“After leaving you at the station I went for a charming walk through some admirable Surrey scenery to a pretty little village called Ripley, where I had my tea at an inn and took the precaution of filling my flask and of putting a paper of sandwiches in my pocket.

It was very long, though—almost as long, Watson, as when you and I waited in that deadly room when we looked into the little problem of the Speckled Band.

It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent start in private practice, the very intimate relations which had existed between Holmes and myself became to some extent modified.

“Yes, I have been using myself up rather too freely,” he remarked, in answer to my look rather than to my words;

“I think that you know me well enough, Watson, to understand that I am by no means a nervous man. At the same time, it is stupidity rather than courage to refuse to recognize danger when it is close upon you. Might I trouble you for a match?”

you should come away with me for a week to the Continent.” “Where?” “Oh, anywhere. It’s all the same to me.”

I think that you had better return to England, Watson.” “Why?” “Because you will find me a dangerous companion now.

In over a thousand cases I am not aware that I have ever used my powers upon the wrong side.

I shall ever regard as the best and the wisest man whom I have ever known.