DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
father's place of business?"

"He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers of
Fenchurch Street."

"Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will leave
the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given you. Let
the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it to affect
your life."

"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be true
to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back."

For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was
something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which compelled
our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon the table and
went her way, with a promise to come again whenever she might be
summoned.

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips
still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and
his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down from the
rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a counsellor,
and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with the thick blue
cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of infinite languor in
his face.

"Quite an interesting study, that maiden," he observed. "I found her
more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, is
rather a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you consult my
index, in Andover in '77, and there was something of the sort at The
Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however, there were one or two
details which were new to me. But the maiden herself was most
instructive."

"You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisible
to me," I remarked.

"Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know where to look,
and so you missed all that was important. I can never bring you to
realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of thumb-nails,
or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace. Now, what did you
gather from that woman's appearance? Describe it."

"Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with a
feather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beads
sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her dress
was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little purple
plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and were worn
through at the right forefinger. Her boots I didn't observe. She had
small round, hanging gold earrings, and a general air of being fairly
well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way."

Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.

"'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have
really done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed
everything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and you
have a quick eye for colour. Never trust to general impressions, my
boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. My first glance is always
at a woman's sleeve. In a man it is perhaps better first to take the
knee of the trouser. As you observe, this woman had plush upon her
sleeves, which is a most useful material for showing traces. The
double line a little above the wrist, where the typewritist presses
against the table, was beautifully defined. The sewing-machine, of
the hand type, leaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and
on the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right
across the broadest part, as this was. I then glanced at her face,
and, observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, I
ventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to
surprise her."

"It surprised me."

"But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and
interested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots which
she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were really odd
ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and the other a
plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower buttons out of
five, and the other at the first, third, and fifth. Now, when you see
that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed, has come away from home
with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no great deduction to say that
she came away in a hurry."

"And what else?" I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, by my
friend's incisive reasoning.

"I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving home
but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right glove was
torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see that both
glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She had written in a
hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have been this morning, or
the mark would not remain clear upon the finger. All this is amusing,
though rather elementary, but I must go back to business, Watson.
Would you mind reading me the advertised description of Mr. Hosmer
Angel?"

I held the little printed slip to the light.

"Missing," it said, "on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman

father's place of business?"

"He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers of

Fenchurch Street."

"Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will leave

the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given you. Let

the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it to affect

your life."

"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be true

to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back."

For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was

something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which compelled

our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon the table and

went her way, with a promise to come again whenever she might be

summoned.

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips

still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and

his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down from the

rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a counsellor,

and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with the thick blue

cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of infinite languor in

his face.

"Quite an interesting study, that maiden," he observed. "I found her

more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, is

rather a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you consult my

index, in Andover in '77, and there was something of the sort at The

Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however, there were one or two

details which were new to me. But the maiden herself was most

instructive."

"You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisible

to me," I remarked.

"Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know where to look,

and so you missed all that was important. I can never bring you to

realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of thumb-nails,

or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace. Now, what did you

gather from that woman's appearance? Describe it."

"Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with a

feather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beads

sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her dress

was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little purple

plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and were worn

through at the right forefinger. Her boots I didn't observe. She had

small round, hanging gold earrings, and a general air of being fairly

well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way."

Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.

"'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have

really done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed

everything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and you

have a quick eye for colour. Never trust to general impressions, my

boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. My first glance is always

at a woman's sleeve. In a man it is perhaps better first to take the

knee of the trouser. As you observe, this woman had plush upon her

sleeves, which is a most useful material for showing traces. The

double line a little above the wrist, where the typewritist presses

against the table, was beautifully defined. The sewing-machine, of

the hand type, leaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and

on the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right

across the broadest part, as this was. I then glanced at her face,

and, observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, I

ventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to

surprise her."

"It surprised me."

"But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and

interested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots which

she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were really odd

ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and the other a

plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower buttons out of

five, and the other at the first, third, and fifth. Now, when you see

that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed, has come away from home

with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no great deduction to say that

she came away in a hurry."

"And what else?" I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, by my

friend's incisive reasoning.

"I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving home

but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right glove was

torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see that both

glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She had written in a

hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have been this morning, or

the mark would not remain clear upon the finger. All this is amusing,

though rather elementary, but I must go back to business, Watson.

Would you mind reading me the advertised description of Mr. Hosmer

Angel?"

I held the little printed slip to the light.

"Missing," it said, "on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman