From 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.' Copyright 1892, by Harper &
Brothers
I had called upon my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes one day in the autumn
of last year, and found him in deep conversation with a very stout,
florid-faced elderly gentleman, with fiery red hair. With an apology
for my intrusion I was about to withdraw, when Holmes pulled me
abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me.
"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson,"
he said, cordially.
"I was afraid that you were engaged."
"So I am. Very much so."
"Then I can wait in the next room."
"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and
helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that
he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also."
The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of
greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small,
fat-encircled eyes.
"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his arm-chair and
putting his finger-tips together, as was his custom when in judicial
moods. "I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is
bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of every-day
life. You have shown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has
prompted you to chronicle, and if you will excuse my saying so,
somewhat to embellish so many of my own little adventures."
"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," I
observed.
"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went
into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that
for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life
itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of the
imagination."
"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting."
"You did, doctor; but none the less you must come round to my view,
for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you, until your
reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. Now,
Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this
morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most
singular which I have listened to for some time. You have heard me
remark that the strangest and most unique things are very often
connected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes; and
occasionally, indeed, where there is room for doubt whether any
positive crime has been committed. As far as I have heard, it is
impossible for me to say whether the present case is an instance of
crime or not; but the course of events is certainly among the most
singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would
have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask you, not
merely because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the opening part,
but also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to
have every possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have
heard some slight indication of the course of events, I am able to
guide myself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my
memory. In the present instance I am forced to admit that the facts
are, to the best of my belief, unique."
The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some
little pride, and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the
inside pocket of his great-coat. As he glanced down the advertisement
column, with his head thrust forward, and the paper flattened out upon
his knee, I took a good look at the man, and endeavored, after the
fashion of my companion, to read the indications which might be
presented by his dress or appearance. I did not gain very much,
however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore every mark of being an
average commonplace British tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He
wore rather baggy gray shepherd's-check trousers, a not over clean
black frock-coat unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat, with a
heavy brassy Albert chain and a square pierced bit of metal dangling
down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with
a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether, look
as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save his
blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and discontent
upon his features.
Sherlock Holmes's quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his
head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. "Beyond the
obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labor, that he
takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and
that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce
nothing else."
Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the
paper, but his eyes upon my companion.
"How in the name of good fortune did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?"
he asked. "How did you know, for example, that I did manual labor?
It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship's carpenter."
"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than
your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more
developed."
"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?"
"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that;
especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use
an arc-and-compass breastpin."
"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?"
"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five
inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where
you rest it upon the desk?"
"Well, but China?"
"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist
could only have been done in China. I have made a small study of
tattoo marks, and have even contributed to the literature of the
subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of a delicate pink
is quite peculiar to China. When in addition I see a Chinese coin
hanging from your watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple."
Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "I thought
at first that you had done something clever, but I see that there was
nothing in it, after all."
"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistake in
explaining. 'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and my poor little
reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid.
Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?"
"Yes, I have got it now," he answered, with his thick red finger
planted half-way down the column. "Here it is. This is what began it
all. You just read it for yourself, sir."