DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74

Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the
bed beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the stump of a
candle. Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left in darkness.

How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a
sound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my
companion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same state
of nervous tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut off the
least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.

From outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at our
very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that the
cheetah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear the deep tones
of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of an hour. How
long they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and one and two and
three, and still we sat waiting silently for whatever might befall.

Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the direction
of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by a
strong smell of burning oil and heated metal. Someone in the next
room had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle sound of movement, and
then all was silent once more, though the smell grew stronger. For
half an hour I sat with straining ears. Then suddenly another sound
became audible--a very gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small
jet of steam escaping continually from a kettle. The instant that we
heard it, Holmes sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed
furiously with his cane at the bell-pull.

"You see it, Watson?" he yelled. "You see it?"

But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I heard
a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary
eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which my friend
lashed so savagely. I could, however, see that his face was deadly
pale and filled with horror and loathing. He had ceased to strike and
was gazing up at the ventilator when suddenly there broke from the
silence of the night the most horrible cry to which I have ever
listened. It swelled up louder and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and
fear and anger all mingled in the one dreadful shriek. They say that
away down in the village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry
raised the sleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts,
and I stood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of
it had died away into the silence from which it rose.

"What can it mean?" I gasped.

"It means that it is all over," Holmes answered. "And perhaps, after
all, it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will enter Dr.
Roylott's room."

With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the corridor.
Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply from within.
Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his heels, with the
cocked pistol in my hand.

It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a
dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of
light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar. Beside this
table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott clad in a long
grey dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet
thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers. Across his lap lay the
short stock with the long lash which we had noticed during the day.
His chin was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful,
rigid stare at the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a
peculiar yellow band, with brownish speckles, which seemed to be
bound tightly round his head. As we entered he made neither sound nor
motion.

"The band! the speckled band!" whispered Holmes.

I took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began to
move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat
diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.

"It is a swamp adder!" cried Holmes; "the deadliest snake in India.
He has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in
truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit
which he digs for another. Let us thrust this creature back into its
den, and we can then remove Miss Stoner to some place of shelter and
let the county police know what has happened."

As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man's lap, and
throwing the noose round the reptile's neck he drew it from its
horrid perch and, carrying it at arm's length, threw it into the iron
safe, which he closed upon it.

Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of
Stoke Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a narrative
which has already run to too great a length by telling how we broke
the sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the
morning train to the care of her good aunt at Harrow, of how the slow
process of official inquiry came to the conclusion that the doctor
met his fate while indiscreetly playing with a dangerous pet. The
little which I had yet to learn of the case was told me by Sherlock
Holmes as we travelled back next day.

"I had," said he, "come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which
shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from
insufficient data. The presence of the gipsies, and the use of the

Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the

bed beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the stump of a

candle. Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left in darkness.

How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a

sound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my

companion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same state

of nervous tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut off the

least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.

From outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at our

very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that the

cheetah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear the deep tones

of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of an hour. How

long they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and one and two and

three, and still we sat waiting silently for whatever might befall.

Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the direction

of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by a

strong smell of burning oil and heated metal. Someone in the next

room had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle sound of movement, and

then all was silent once more, though the smell grew stronger. For

half an hour I sat with straining ears. Then suddenly another sound

became audible--a very gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small

jet of steam escaping continually from a kettle. The instant that we

heard it, Holmes sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed

furiously with his cane at the bell-pull.

"You see it, Watson?" he yelled. "You see it?"

But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I heard

a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary

eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which my friend

lashed so savagely. I could, however, see that his face was deadly

pale and filled with horror and loathing. He had ceased to strike and

was gazing up at the ventilator when suddenly there broke from the

silence of the night the most horrible cry to which I have ever

listened. It swelled up louder and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and

fear and anger all mingled in the one dreadful shriek. They say that

away down in the village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry

raised the sleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts,

and I stood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of

it had died away into the silence from which it rose.

"What can it mean?" I gasped.

"It means that it is all over," Holmes answered. "And perhaps, after

all, it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will enter Dr.

Roylott's room."

With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the corridor.

Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply from within.

Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his heels, with the

cocked pistol in my hand.

It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a

dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of

light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar. Beside this

table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott clad in a long

grey dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet

thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers. Across his lap lay the

short stock with the long lash which we had noticed during the day.

His chin was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful,

rigid stare at the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a

peculiar yellow band, with brownish speckles, which seemed to be

bound tightly round his head. As we entered he made neither sound nor

motion.

"The band! the speckled band!" whispered Holmes.

I took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began to

move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat

diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.

"It is a swamp adder!" cried Holmes; "the deadliest snake in India.

He has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in

truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit

which he digs for another. Let us thrust this creature back into its

den, and we can then remove Miss Stoner to some place of shelter and

let the county police know what has happened."

As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man's lap, and

throwing the noose round the reptile's neck he drew it from its

horrid perch and, carrying it at arm's length, threw it into the iron

safe, which he closed upon it.

Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of

Stoke Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a narrative

which has already run to too great a length by telling how we broke

the sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the

morning train to the care of her good aunt at Harrow, of how the slow

process of official inquiry came to the conclusion that the doctor

met his fate while indiscreetly playing with a dangerous pet. The

little which I had yet to learn of the case was told me by Sherlock

Holmes as we travelled back next day.

"I had," said he, "come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which

shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from

insufficient data. The presence of the gipsies, and the use of the