DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
of it?'
"'Yes, but with my back towards it.'
"This concluded the examination of the witness."

"I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "that the coroner in
his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy. He
calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father
having signalled to him before seeing him, also to his refusal to
give details of his conversation with his father, and his singular
account of his father's dying words. They are all, as he remarks,
very much against the son."

Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon the
cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been at some pains,"
said he, "to single out the very strongest points in the young man's
favour. Don't you see that you alternately give him credit for having
too much imagination and too little? Too little, if he could not
invent a cause of quarrel which would give him the sympathy of the
jury; too much, if he evolved from his own inner consciousness
anything so outré as a dying reference to a rat, and the incident of
the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I shall approach this case from the
point of view that what this young man says is true, and we shall see
whither that hypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket
Petrarch, and not another word shall I say of this case until we are
on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall
be there in twenty minutes."

It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through the
beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn, found
ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A lean,
ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the
platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings
which he wore in deference to his rustic surroundings, I had no
difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. With him we
drove to the Hereford Arms where a room had already been engaged for
us.

"I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as we sat over a cup of
tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy
until you had been on the scene of the crime."

"It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes answered. "It is
entirely a question of barometric pressure."

Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said.

"How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud in
the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and
the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotel
abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall use the
carriage to-night."

Lestrade laughed indulgently. "You have, no doubt, already formed
your conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "The case is as plain
as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes.
Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such a very positive
one, too. She has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though I
repeatedly told her that there was nothing which you could do which I
had not already done. Why, bless my soul! here is her carriage at the
door."

He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the
most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet
eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all
thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement
and concern.

"Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to the other
of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition, fastening upon my
companion, "I am so glad that you have come. I have driven down to
tell you so. I know that James didn't do it. I know it, and I want
you to start upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt
upon that point. We have known each other since we were little
children, and I know his faults as no one else does; but he is too
tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who
really knows him."

"I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock Holmes. "You
may rely upon my doing all that I can."

"But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion? Do
you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think that
he is innocent?"

"I think that it is very probable."

"There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly
at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes."

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my colleague has
been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he said.

"But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did it.
And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why
he would not speak about it to the coroner was because I was
concerned in it."

"In what way?" asked Holmes.

"It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had many

of it?'

"'Yes, but with my back towards it.'

"This concluded the examination of the witness."

"I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "that the coroner in

his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy. He

calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father

having signalled to him before seeing him, also to his refusal to

give details of his conversation with his father, and his singular

account of his father's dying words. They are all, as he remarks,

very much against the son."

Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon the

cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been at some pains,"

said he, "to single out the very strongest points in the young man's

favour. Don't you see that you alternately give him credit for having

too much imagination and too little? Too little, if he could not

invent a cause of quarrel which would give him the sympathy of the

jury; too much, if he evolved from his own inner consciousness

anything so outré as a dying reference to a rat, and the incident of

the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I shall approach this case from the

point of view that what this young man says is true, and we shall see

whither that hypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket

Petrarch, and not another word shall I say of this case until we are

on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall

be there in twenty minutes."

It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through the

beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn, found

ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A lean,

ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the

platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings

which he wore in deference to his rustic surroundings, I had no

difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. With him we

drove to the Hereford Arms where a room had already been engaged for

us.

"I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as we sat over a cup of

tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy

until you had been on the scene of the crime."

"It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes answered. "It is

entirely a question of barometric pressure."

Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said.

"How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud in

the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and

the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotel

abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall use the

carriage to-night."

Lestrade laughed indulgently. "You have, no doubt, already formed

your conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "The case is as plain

as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes.

Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such a very positive

one, too. She has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though I

repeatedly told her that there was nothing which you could do which I

had not already done. Why, bless my soul! here is her carriage at the

door."

He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the

most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet

eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all

thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement

and concern.

"Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to the other

of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition, fastening upon my

companion, "I am so glad that you have come. I have driven down to

tell you so. I know that James didn't do it. I know it, and I want

you to start upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt

upon that point. We have known each other since we were little

children, and I know his faults as no one else does; but he is too

tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who

really knows him."

"I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock Holmes. "You

may rely upon my doing all that I can."

"But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion? Do

you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think that

he is innocent?"

"I think that it is very probable."

"There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly

at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes."

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my colleague has

been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he said.

"But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did it.

And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why

he would not speak about it to the coroner was because I was

concerned in it."

"In what way?" asked Holmes.

"It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had many