DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

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the deed had been overseen by your son; he had pursued the thief; had
struggled with him; they had each tugged at the coronet, their united
strength causing injuries which neither alone could have effected. He
had returned with the prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of
his opponent. So far I was clear. The question now was, who was the
man and who was it brought him the coronet?

"It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the
impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought it down, so there
only remained your niece and the maids. But if it were the maids, why
should your son allow himself to be accused in their place? There
could be no possible reason. As he loved his cousin, however, there
was an excellent explanation why he should retain her secret--the
more so as the secret was a disgraceful one. When I remembered that
you had seen her at that window, and how she had fainted on seeing
the coronet again, my conjecture became a certainty.

"And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently, for
who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must feel to
you? I knew that you went out little, and that your circle of friends
was a very limited one. But among them was Sir George Burnwell. I had
heard of him before as being a man of evil reputation among women. It
must have been he who wore those boots and retained the missing gems.
Even though he knew that Arthur had discovered him, he might still
flatter himself that he was safe, for the lad could not say a word
without compromising his own family.

"Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took next. I
went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George's house, managed to pick
up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that his master had cut
his head the night before, and, finally, at the expense of six
shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of his cast-off shoes. With
these I journeyed down to Streatham and saw that they exactly fitted
the tracks."

"I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening," said
Mr. Holder.

"Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home and
changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to play then,
for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert scandal, and I
knew that so astute a villain would see that our hands were tied in
the matter. I went and saw him. At first, of course, he denied
everything. But when I gave him every particular that had occurred,
he tried to bluster and took down a life-preserver from the wall. I
knew my man, however, and I clapped a pistol to his head before he
could strike. Then he became a little more reasonable. I told him
that we would give him a price for the stones he held--£1000 apiece.
That brought out the first signs of grief that he had shown. 'Why,
dash it all!' said he, 'I've let them go at six hundred for the
three!' I soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had
them, on promising him that there would be no prosecution. Off I set
to him, and after much chaffering I got our stones at 1000 pounds
apiece. Then I looked in upon your son, told him that all was right,
and eventually got to my bed about two o'clock, after what I may call
a really hard day's work."

"A day which has saved England from a great public scandal," said the
banker, rising. "Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but you shall
not find me ungrateful for what you have done. Your skill has indeed
exceeded all that I have heard of it. And now I must fly to my dear
boy to apologise to him for the wrong which I have done him. As to
what you tell me of poor Mary, it goes to my very heart. Not even
your skill can inform me where she is now."

"I think that we may safely say," returned Holmes, "that she is
wherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that
whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than sufficient
punishment."






THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER BEECHES

"To the man who loves art for its own sake," remarked Sherlock
Holmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the Daily Telegraph,
"it is frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations
that the keenest pleasure is to be derived. It is pleasant to me to
observe, Watson, that you have so far grasped this truth that in
these little records of our cases which you have been good enough to
draw up, and, I am bound to say, occasionally to embellish, you have
given prominence not so much to the many causes célèbres and
sensational trials in which I have figured but rather to those
incidents which may have been trivial in themselves, but which have
given room for those faculties of deduction and of logical synthesis
which I have made my special province."

"And yet," said I, smiling, "I cannot quite hold myself absolved from
the charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my
records."

"You have erred, perhaps," he observed, taking up a glowing cinder
with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood pipe which
was wont to replace his clay when he was in a disputatious rather
than a meditative mood--"you have erred perhaps in attempting to put
colour and life into each of your statements instead of confining

the deed had been overseen by your son; he had pursued the thief; had

struggled with him; they had each tugged at the coronet, their united

strength causing injuries which neither alone could have effected. He

had returned with the prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of

his opponent. So far I was clear. The question now was, who was the

man and who was it brought him the coronet?

"It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the

impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought it down, so there

only remained your niece and the maids. But if it were the maids, why

should your son allow himself to be accused in their place? There

could be no possible reason. As he loved his cousin, however, there

was an excellent explanation why he should retain her secret--the

more so as the secret was a disgraceful one. When I remembered that

you had seen her at that window, and how she had fainted on seeing

the coronet again, my conjecture became a certainty.

"And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently, for

who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must feel to

you? I knew that you went out little, and that your circle of friends

was a very limited one. But among them was Sir George Burnwell. I had

heard of him before as being a man of evil reputation among women. It

must have been he who wore those boots and retained the missing gems.

Even though he knew that Arthur had discovered him, he might still

flatter himself that he was safe, for the lad could not say a word

without compromising his own family.

"Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took next. I

went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George's house, managed to pick

up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that his master had cut

his head the night before, and, finally, at the expense of six

shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of his cast-off shoes. With

these I journeyed down to Streatham and saw that they exactly fitted

the tracks."

"I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening," said

Mr. Holder.

"Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home and

changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to play then,

for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert scandal, and I

knew that so astute a villain would see that our hands were tied in

the matter. I went and saw him. At first, of course, he denied

everything. But when I gave him every particular that had occurred,

he tried to bluster and took down a life-preserver from the wall. I

knew my man, however, and I clapped a pistol to his head before he

could strike. Then he became a little more reasonable. I told him

that we would give him a price for the stones he held--£1000 apiece.

That brought out the first signs of grief that he had shown. 'Why,

dash it all!' said he, 'I've let them go at six hundred for the

three!' I soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had

them, on promising him that there would be no prosecution. Off I set

to him, and after much chaffering I got our stones at 1000 pounds

apiece. Then I looked in upon your son, told him that all was right,

and eventually got to my bed about two o'clock, after what I may call

a really hard day's work."

"A day which has saved England from a great public scandal," said the

banker, rising. "Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but you shall

not find me ungrateful for what you have done. Your skill has indeed

exceeded all that I have heard of it. And now I must fly to my dear

boy to apologise to him for the wrong which I have done him. As to

what you tell me of poor Mary, it goes to my very heart. Not even

your skill can inform me where she is now."

"I think that we may safely say," returned Holmes, "that she is

wherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that

whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than sufficient

punishment."

THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER BEECHES

"To the man who loves art for its own sake," remarked Sherlock

Holmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the Daily Telegraph,

"it is frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations

that the keenest pleasure is to be derived. It is pleasant to me to

observe, Watson, that you have so far grasped this truth that in

these little records of our cases which you have been good enough to

draw up, and, I am bound to say, occasionally to embellish, you have

given prominence not so much to the many causes célèbres and

sensational trials in which I have figured but rather to those

incidents which may have been trivial in themselves, but which have

given room for those faculties of deduction and of logical synthesis

which I have made my special province."

"And yet," said I, smiling, "I cannot quite hold myself absolved from

the charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my

records."

"You have erred, perhaps," he observed, taking up a glowing cinder

with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood pipe which

was wont to replace his clay when he was in a disputatious rather

than a meditative mood--"you have erred perhaps in attempting to put

colour and life into each of your statements instead of confining