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Eight Great Sherlock Holmes Stories
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
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eBook - ePub
Eight Great Sherlock Holmes Stories
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
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This choice compilation features eight of Sherlock Holmes' finest adventures, including `The Final Problem,` Conan Doyle's unsuccessful attempt to retire his hero permanently. Also included are such perennial favorites as `A Scandal in Bohemia,` `The Red-headed League,` `The Adventure of the Speckled Band,` `The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb,` `The Musgrave Ritual,` `The Adventure of the Empty House,` and `The Adventure of the Dancing Men.`
This Dover edition is specially designed for those who need or prefer large print and meets the standards of the National Association for the Visually Handicapped.
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EuropÀische Literarische SammlungenA Scandal in Bohemia
To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observerâexcellent for drawing the veil from menâs motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.
I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away from each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in following out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police. From time to time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his summons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he had accomplished so delicately and successfully for the reigning family of Holland. Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of my former friend and companion.
One nightâit was on the twentieth of March, 1888âI was returning from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. He was at work again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.
His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.
âWedlock suits you,â he remarked. âI think, Watson, that you have put on seven and a half pounds since I saw you.â
âSeven!â I answered.
âIndeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, I fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me that you intended to go into harness.â
âThen, how do you know?â
âI see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless servant girl?â
âMy dear Holmes,â said I, âthis is too much. You would certainly have been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as I have changed my clothes I canât imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice; but there, again, I fail to see how you work it out.â
He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together.
âIt is simplicity itself,â said he; âmy eyes tell me that on the inside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile weather, and that you had a particularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of the London slavey. As to your practice, if a gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge on the right side of his top-hat to show where he has secreted his stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce him to be an active member of the medical profession.â
I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his process of deduction. âWhen I hear you give your reasons,â I remarked, âthe thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously simple that I could easily do it myself, though at each successive instance of your reasoning I am baffled until you explain your process. And yet I believe that my eyes are as good as yours/â
âQuite so,â he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself down into an armchair. âYou see, but you do not observe. The distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps which lead up from the hall to this room.â
âFrequently.â
âHow often?â
âWell, some hundreds of times.â
âThen how many are there?â
âHow many? I donât know.â
âQuite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have both seen and observed. By the way, since you are interested in these little problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two of my trifling experiences, you may be interested in this.â He threw over a sheet of thick, pink-tinted note-paper which had been lying open upon the table. âIt came by the last post,â said he. âRead it aloud.â
The note was undated, and without either signature or address.
âThere will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight oâclock [it said], a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of Europe have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. This account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask.
âThis is indeed a mystery,â I remarked. âWhat do you imagine that it means?â
âI have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you deduce from it?â
I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was written.
âThe man who wrote it was presumably well to do,â I remarked, endeavouring to imitate my companionÊŒs processes. âSuch paper could not be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong and stiff.â
âPeculiarâthat is the very word,â said Holmes. âIt is not an English paper at all. Hold it up to the light.â
I did so, and saw a large âEâ with a small âg,â a âP,â and a large âGâ with a small âtâ woven into the texture of the paper.
âWhat do you make of that?â asked Holmes.
âThe name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather.â
âNot at all. The âGâ with the small âtâ stands for âGesellschaft,â which is the German for âCompany.â It is a customary contraction like our âCoÊŒ âPÊŒ of course, stands for âPapierÊŒ Now for the âEg.â Let us glance at our Continental Gazetteer.â He took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves. âEglow, Eglonitzâhere we are, Egria. It is in a German-speaking countryâin Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. âRemarkable as being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous glass-factories and paper-millsÊŒ Ha, ha, my boy, what do you make of that?â His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud from his cigarette.
âThe paper was made in Bohemia,â I said.
âPrecisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you note the peculiar construction of the sentenceââThis account of you we have from all quarters received.â A Frenchman or Russian could not have written that. It is the German who is so un-courteous to his verbs. It only remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who writes upon Bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his face. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts.â
As he spoke there was a sharp sound of horsesâ hoofs and grating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes whistled.
âA pair, by the sound,â said he. âYes,â he continued, glancing out of the window. âA nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred and fifty guineas apiece. Thereâs money in this case, Watson, if there is nothing else.â
âI think that I had better go, Holmes.â
âNot a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my Boswell. And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss it.â
âBut your clientââ
âNever mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he comes. Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best attention.â
A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in the passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a loud and authoritative tap.
âCome in!â said Holmes.
A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inches in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich with a richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. He carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper part of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered. From the lower part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin suggestive of resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy.
âYou had my note?â he asked with a deep harsh voice and a strongly marked German accent. âI told you that I would call.â He looked from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address.
âPray take a seat,â said Holmes. âThis is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. Whom have I the honour to address?â
âYou may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you alone.â
I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into my chair. âIt is both, or none,â said he. âYou may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to me.â
The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. âThen I must begin,â said he, âby binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon European history.â
âI promise,â said Holmes.
âAnd I.â
âYou will excuse this mask,â continued our strange visitor. âThe august person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may confess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is not exactly my ownâ
âI was aware of it,â said Holmes drily.
âThe circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and seriously compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak plainly, the matter implicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary kings of Bohemia.â
âI was also aware of that,â murmured Holmes, settling himself down in his armchair and closing his eyes.
Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid, lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.
âIf your Majesty would condescend to state your case,â he remarked, âI should be better able to advise you.â
The man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. âYou are right,â he cried; âI am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?â
âWhy, indeed?â murmured Holmes. ...