DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect. Leave
Paddington by the 11.15."
"What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at me. "Will
you go?"

"I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at
present."

"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a
little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good, and
you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes' cases."

"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through
one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must pack at once,
for I have only half an hour."

My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect
of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were few and
simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a cab with my
valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. Sherlock Holmes was
pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even
gaunter and taller by his long grey travelling-cloak and
close-fitting cloth cap.

"It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he. "It makes a
considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can
thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless or else
biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall get the
tickets."

We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers
which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged and read,
with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past
Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and
tossed them up onto the rack.

"Have you heard anything of the case?" he asked.

"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days."

"The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just been
looking through all the recent papers in order to master the
particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple
cases which are so extremely difficult."

"That sounds a little paradoxical."

"But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a clue.
The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult
it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they have established
a very serious case against the son of the murdered man."

"It is a murder, then?"

"Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for granted
until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it. I will
explain the state of things to you, as far as I have been able to
understand it, in a very few words.

"Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in
Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a Mr.
John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned some years
ago to the old country. One of the farms which he held, that of
Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was also an
ex-Australian. The men had known each other in the colonies, so that
it was not unnatural that when they came to settle down they should
do so as near each other as possible. Turner was apparently the
richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant but still remained, it
seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequently
together. McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an
only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wives living.
They appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring English
families and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys
were fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of
the neighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl.
Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least.
That is as much as I have been able to gather about the families. Now
for the facts.

"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at
Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the
Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out of
the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been out with
his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told the man that
he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance to keep at
three. From that appointment he never came back alive.

"From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a
mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One was
an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was William
Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both these
witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The game-keeper
adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had
seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under
his arm. To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight
at the time, and the son was following him. He thought no more of the
matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that had
occurred.

"The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder, the

be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect. Leave

Paddington by the 11.15."

"What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at me. "Will

you go?"

"I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at

present."

"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a

little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good, and

you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes' cases."

"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through

one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must pack at once,

for I have only half an hour."

My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect

of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were few and

simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a cab with my

valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. Sherlock Holmes was

pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even

gaunter and taller by his long grey travelling-cloak and

close-fitting cloth cap.

"It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he. "It makes a

considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can

thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless or else

biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall get the

tickets."

We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers

which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged and read,

with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past

Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and

tossed them up onto the rack.

"Have you heard anything of the case?" he asked.

"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days."

"The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just been

looking through all the recent papers in order to master the

particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple

cases which are so extremely difficult."

"That sounds a little paradoxical."

"But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a clue.

The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult

it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they have established

a very serious case against the son of the murdered man."

"It is a murder, then?"

"Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for granted

until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it. I will

explain the state of things to you, as far as I have been able to

understand it, in a very few words.

"Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in

Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a Mr.

John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned some years

ago to the old country. One of the farms which he held, that of

Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was also an

ex-Australian. The men had known each other in the colonies, so that

it was not unnatural that when they came to settle down they should

do so as near each other as possible. Turner was apparently the

richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant but still remained, it

seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequently

together. McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an

only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wives living.

They appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring English

families and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys

were fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of

the neighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl.

Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least.

That is as much as I have been able to gather about the families. Now

for the facts.

"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at

Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the

Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out of

the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been out with

his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told the man that

he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance to keep at

three. From that appointment he never came back alive.

"From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a

mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One was

an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was William

Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both these

witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The game-keeper

adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had

seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under

his arm. To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight

at the time, and the son was following him. He thought no more of the

matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that had

occurred.

"The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder, the