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DarqueDante
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test2

Dataset card Data Studio Files
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"But why are you not conducting the case from Baker Street?" I asked.
"Because there are many inquiries which must be made out here. Mrs.
St. Clair has most kindly put two rooms at my disposal, and you may
rest assured that she will have nothing but a welcome for my friend
and colleague. I hate to meet her, Watson, when I have no news of her
husband. Here we are. Whoa, there, whoa!"
We had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its own
grounds. A stable-boy had run out to the horse's head, and springing
down, I followed Holmes up the small, winding gravel-drive which led
to the house. As we approached, the door flew open, and a little
blonde woman stood in the opening, clad in some sort of light
mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy pink chiffon at her neck
and wrists. She stood with her figure outlined against the flood of
light, one hand upon the door, one half-raised in her eagerness, her
body slightly bent, her head and face protruded, with eager eyes and
parted lips, a standing question.
"Well?" she cried, "well?" And then, seeing that there were two of
us, she gave a cry of hope which sank into a groan as she saw that my
companion shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
"No good news?"
"None."
"No bad?"
"No."
"Thank God for that. But come in. You must be weary, for you have had
a long day."
"This is my friend, Dr. Watson. He has been of most vital use to me
in several of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it possible for
me to bring him out and associate him with this investigation."
"I am delighted to see you," said she, pressing my hand warmly. "You
will, I am sure, forgive anything that may be wanting in our
arrangements, when you consider the blow which has come so suddenly
upon us."
"My dear madam," said I, "I am an old campaigner, and if I were not I
can very well see that no apology is needed. If I can be of any
assistance, either to you or to my friend here, I shall be indeed
happy."
"Now, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said the lady as we entered a well-lit
dining-room, upon the table of which a cold supper had been laid out,
"I should very much like to ask you one or two plain questions, to
which I beg that you will give a plain answer."
"Certainly, madam."
"Do not trouble about my feelings. I am not hysterical, nor given to
fainting. I simply wish to hear your real, real opinion."
"Upon what point?"
"In your heart of hearts, do you think that Neville is alive?"
Sherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question. "Frankly,
now!" she repeated, standing upon the rug and looking keenly down at
him as he leaned back in a basket-chair.
"Frankly, then, madam, I do not."
"You think that he is dead?"
"I do."
"Murdered?"
"I don't say that. Perhaps."
"And on what day did he meet his death?"
"On Monday."
"Then perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you will be good enough to explain how it
is that I have received a letter from him to-day."
Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been galvanised.
"What!" he roared.
"Yes, to-day." She stood smiling, holding up a little slip of paper
in the air.
"May I see it?"
"Certainly."
He snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out upon
the table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. I had left
my chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder. The envelope was a
very coarse one and was stamped with the Gravesend postmark and with
the date of that very day, or rather of the day before, for it was
considerably after midnight.