DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
named Hosmer Angel. About five ft. seven in. in height; strongly
built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in the centre,
bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted glasses, slight
infirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coat
faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and grey Harris
tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots. Known to
have been employed in an office in Leadenhall Street. Anybody
bringing--"

"That will do," said Holmes. "As to the letters," he continued,
glancing over them, "they are very commonplace. Absolutely no clue in
them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There is one
remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you."

"They are typewritten," I remarked.

"Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the neat
little 'Hosmer Angel' at the bottom. There is a date, you see, but no
superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is rather vague. The
point about the signature is very suggestive--in fact, we may call it
conclusive."

"Of what?"

"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears
upon the case?"

"I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able to
deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were
instituted."

"No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters,
which should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, the
other is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking him
whether he could meet us here at six o'clock tomorrow evening. It is
just as well that we should do business with the male relatives. And
now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the answers to those letters
come, so we may put our little problem upon the shelf for the
interim."

I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers of
reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that he must
have some solid grounds for the assured and easy demeanour with which
he treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to
fathom. Once only had I known him to fail, in the case of the King of
Bohemia and of the Irene Adler photograph; but when I looked back to
the weird business of the Sign of Four, and the extraordinary
circumstances connected with the Study in Scarlet, I felt that it
would be a strange tangle indeed which he could not unravel.

I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the
conviction that when I came again on the next evening I would find
that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up to the
identity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary Sutherland.

A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at
the time, and the whole of next day I was busy at the bedside of the
sufferer. It was not until close upon six o'clock that I found myself
free and was able to spring into a hansom and drive to Baker Street,
half afraid that I might be too late to assist at the dénouement of
the little mystery. I found Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half
asleep, with his long, thin form curled up in the recesses of his
armchair. A formidable array of bottles and test-tubes, with the
pungent cleanly smell of hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent
his day in the chemical work which was so dear to him.

"Well, have you solved it?" I asked as I entered.

"Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta."

"No, no, the mystery!" I cried.

"Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon. There
was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said yesterday,
some of the details are of interest. The only drawback is that there
is no law, I fear, that can touch the scoundrel."

"Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss
Sutherland?"

The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet
opened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the
passage and a tap at the door.

"This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes.
"He has written to me to say that he would be here at six. Come in!"

The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some thirty
years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland,
insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating
grey eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of us, placed his
shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a slight bow sidled down
into the nearest chair.

"Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes. "I think that this
typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment with
me for six o'clock?"

"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite my
own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has troubled

named Hosmer Angel. About five ft. seven in. in height; strongly

built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in the centre,

bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted glasses, slight

infirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coat

faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and grey Harris

tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots. Known to

have been employed in an office in Leadenhall Street. Anybody

bringing--"

"That will do," said Holmes. "As to the letters," he continued,

glancing over them, "they are very commonplace. Absolutely no clue in

them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There is one

remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you."

"They are typewritten," I remarked.

"Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the neat

little 'Hosmer Angel' at the bottom. There is a date, you see, but no

superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is rather vague. The

point about the signature is very suggestive--in fact, we may call it

conclusive."

"Of what?"

"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears

upon the case?"

"I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able to

deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were

instituted."

"No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters,

which should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, the

other is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking him

whether he could meet us here at six o'clock tomorrow evening. It is

just as well that we should do business with the male relatives. And

now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the answers to those letters

come, so we may put our little problem upon the shelf for the

interim."

I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers of

reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that he must

have some solid grounds for the assured and easy demeanour with which

he treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to

fathom. Once only had I known him to fail, in the case of the King of

Bohemia and of the Irene Adler photograph; but when I looked back to

the weird business of the Sign of Four, and the extraordinary

circumstances connected with the Study in Scarlet, I felt that it

would be a strange tangle indeed which he could not unravel.

I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the

conviction that when I came again on the next evening I would find

that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up to the

identity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary Sutherland.

A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at

the time, and the whole of next day I was busy at the bedside of the

sufferer. It was not until close upon six o'clock that I found myself

free and was able to spring into a hansom and drive to Baker Street,

half afraid that I might be too late to assist at the dénouement of

the little mystery. I found Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half

asleep, with his long, thin form curled up in the recesses of his

armchair. A formidable array of bottles and test-tubes, with the

pungent cleanly smell of hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent

his day in the chemical work which was so dear to him.

"Well, have you solved it?" I asked as I entered.

"Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta."

"No, no, the mystery!" I cried.

"Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon. There

was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said yesterday,

some of the details are of interest. The only drawback is that there

is no law, I fear, that can touch the scoundrel."

"Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss

Sutherland?"

The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet

opened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the

passage and a tap at the door.

"This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes.

"He has written to me to say that he would be here at six. Come in!"

The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some thirty

years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland,

insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating

grey eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of us, placed his

shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a slight bow sidled down

into the nearest chair.

"Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes. "I think that this

typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment with

me for six o'clock?"

"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite my

own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has troubled