DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
"What then?"

"The knees of his trousers."

"And what did you see?"

"What I expected to see."

"Why did you beat the pavement?"

"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are
spies in an enemy's country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square.
Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it."

The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner
from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to
it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the main
arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City to the north and
west. The roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce
flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while the footpaths were
black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to
realise as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately business
premises that they really abutted on the other side upon the faded
and stagnant square which we had just quitted.

"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along
the line, "I should like just to remember the order of the houses
here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London.
There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the
Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian
Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building depot. That carries us
right on to the other block. And now, Doctor, we've done our work, so
it's time we had some play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then
off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony,
and there are no red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums."

My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very
capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the
afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness,
gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his
gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those
of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted,
ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his
singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and
his extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as I have often
thought, the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which
occasionally predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him
from extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was
never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been
lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his black-letter
editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come
upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the
level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his
methods would look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not
that of other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in
the music at St. James's Hall I felt that an evil time might be
coming upon those whom he had set himself to hunt down.

"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he remarked as we emerged.

"Yes, it would be as well."

"And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This
business at Coburg Square is serious."

"Why serious?"

"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to
believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being
Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help
to-night."

"At what time?"

"Ten will be early enough."

"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."

"Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger, so
kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved his hand,
turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.

I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was always
oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with
Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what
he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw
clearly not only what had happened but what was about to happen,
while to me the whole business was still confused and grotesque. As I
drove home to my house in Kensington I thought over it all, from the
extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the "Encyclopaedia"
down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with
which he had parted from me. What was this nocturnal expedition, and
why should I go armed? Where were we going, and what were we to do?
I had the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's
assistant was a formidable man--a man who might play a deep game. I
tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter
aside until night should bring an explanation.

It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my way
across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two

"What then?"

"The knees of his trousers."

"And what did you see?"

"What I expected to see."

"Why did you beat the pavement?"

"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are

spies in an enemy's country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square.

Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it."

The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner

from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to

it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the main

arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City to the north and

west. The roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce

flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while the footpaths were

black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to

realise as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately business

premises that they really abutted on the other side upon the faded

and stagnant square which we had just quitted.

"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along

the line, "I should like just to remember the order of the houses

here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London.

There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the

Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian

Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building depot. That carries us

right on to the other block. And now, Doctor, we've done our work, so

it's time we had some play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then

off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony,

and there are no red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums."

My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very

capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the

afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness,

gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his

gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those

of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted,

ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his

singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and

his extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as I have often

thought, the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which

occasionally predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him

from extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was

never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been

lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his black-letter

editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come

upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the

level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his

methods would look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not

that of other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in

the music at St. James's Hall I felt that an evil time might be

coming upon those whom he had set himself to hunt down.

"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he remarked as we emerged.

"Yes, it would be as well."

"And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This

business at Coburg Square is serious."

"Why serious?"

"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to

believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being

Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help

to-night."

"At what time?"

"Ten will be early enough."

"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."

"Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger, so

kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved his hand,

turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.

I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was always

oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with

Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what

he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw

clearly not only what had happened but what was about to happen,

while to me the whole business was still confused and grotesque. As I

drove home to my house in Kensington I thought over it all, from the

extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the "Encyclopaedia"

down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with

which he had parted from me. What was this nocturnal expedition, and

why should I go armed? Where were we going, and what were we to do?

I had the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's

assistant was a formidable man--a man who might play a deep game. I

tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter

aside until night should bring an explanation.

It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my way

across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two