DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
hansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered the passage I
heard the sound of voices from above. On entering his room I found
Holmes in animated conversation with two men, one of whom I
recognised as Peter Jones, the official police agent, while the other
was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and
oppressively respectable frock-coat.

"Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket
and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. "Watson, I think you
know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr.
Merryweather, who is to be our companion in to-night's adventure."

"We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see," said Jones in his
consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a
chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running
down."

"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,"
observed Mr. Merryweather gloomily.

"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," said the
police agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, which are, if
he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and
fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not
too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of the Sholto
murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than
the official force."

"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said the stranger
with deference. "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is the
first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I have not had
my rubber."

"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you will play
for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the
play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will
be some £30,000; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you
wish to lay your hands."

"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's a young
man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and I
would rather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in London.
He's a remarkable man, is young John Clay. His grandfather was a
royal duke, and he himself has been to Eton and Oxford. His brain is
as cunning as his fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every
turn, we never know where to find the man himself. He'll crack a crib
in Scotland one week, and be raising money to build an orphanage in
Cornwall the next. I've been on his track for years and have never
set eyes on him yet."

"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night.
I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I agree
with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is past ten,
however, and quite time that we started. If you two will take the
first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the second."

Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive and
lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the
afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets
until we emerged into Farrington Street.

"We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow
Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the
matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is not a
bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession. He has one
positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as tenacious as a
lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we are, and they are
waiting for us."

We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had found
ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and, following the
guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage and
through a side door, which he opened for us. Within there was a small
corridor, which ended in a very massive iron gate. This also was
opened, and led down a flight of winding stone steps, which
terminated at another formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to
light a lantern, and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling
passage, and so, after opening a third door, into a huge vault or
cellar, which was piled all round with crates and massive boxes.

"You are not very vulnerable from above," Holmes remarked as he held
up the lantern and gazed about him.

"Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon the
flags which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!"
he remarked, looking up in surprise.

"I must really ask you to be a little more quiet!" said Holmes
severely. "You have already imperilled the whole success of our
expedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit down
upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?"

The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a very
injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his knees
upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began to
examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few seconds
sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again and put his
glass in his pocket.

"We have at least an hour before us," he remarked, "for they can

hansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered the passage I

heard the sound of voices from above. On entering his room I found

Holmes in animated conversation with two men, one of whom I

recognised as Peter Jones, the official police agent, while the other

was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and

oppressively respectable frock-coat.

"Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket

and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. "Watson, I think you

know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr.

Merryweather, who is to be our companion in to-night's adventure."

"We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see," said Jones in his

consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a

chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running

down."

"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,"

observed Mr. Merryweather gloomily.

"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," said the

police agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, which are, if

he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and

fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not

too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of the Sholto

murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than

the official force."

"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said the stranger

with deference. "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is the

first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I have not had

my rubber."

"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you will play

for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the

play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will

be some £30,000; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you

wish to lay your hands."

"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's a young

man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and I

would rather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in London.

He's a remarkable man, is young John Clay. His grandfather was a

royal duke, and he himself has been to Eton and Oxford. His brain is

as cunning as his fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every

turn, we never know where to find the man himself. He'll crack a crib

in Scotland one week, and be raising money to build an orphanage in

Cornwall the next. I've been on his track for years and have never

set eyes on him yet."

"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night.

I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I agree

with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is past ten,

however, and quite time that we started. If you two will take the

first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the second."

Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive and

lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the

afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets

until we emerged into Farrington Street.

"We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow

Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the

matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is not a

bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession. He has one

positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as tenacious as a

lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we are, and they are

waiting for us."

We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had found

ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and, following the

guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage and

through a side door, which he opened for us. Within there was a small

corridor, which ended in a very massive iron gate. This also was

opened, and led down a flight of winding stone steps, which

terminated at another formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to

light a lantern, and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling

passage, and so, after opening a third door, into a huge vault or

cellar, which was piled all round with crates and massive boxes.

"You are not very vulnerable from above," Holmes remarked as he held

up the lantern and gazed about him.

"Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon the

flags which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!"

he remarked, looking up in surprise.

"I must really ask you to be a little more quiet!" said Holmes

severely. "You have already imperilled the whole success of our

expedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit down

upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?"

The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a very

injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his knees

upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began to

examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few seconds

sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again and put his

glass in his pocket.

"We have at least an hour before us," he remarked, "for they can